Smoking

Growing up, I never imagined that I'd be a smoker. Both my parents smoked when I was younger, and I hated it. Smoking was glamorous like it is in the movies--it was messy and smelly. The idea of being addicted to something (other than Pepsi) was also very repugnant to me.

The thought of "trying" it out never occurred to me, until one night while I was at work. Now, this was back in my security guard days (of course, everything terrible is from this period in my life). I had to relieve the guard who was working in the guard booth, who was a notorious smoker.

Actually, come to think of it, all of the guys smoked.

UH-OH! Peer pressure!

When I got to the booth, I caught my fellow guard sleeping. Well, to tell you the truth, I scared the shit out of him. He jumped about ten feet in the air when I knocked on the door. It was pretty funny because he was about 65 years old. He tried to play it off like he wasn't sleeping (the cardinal sin of guarding) so I played along and said nothing. In in his haste to get back inside (because it was cold and because he was embarrassed I caught him sleeping) he forgot some of his things.

One of the things he forgot was his newspaper. The other was a single cigar.

I found it an hour later while I was reading the papers (i.e. the funnies). It was wrapped in plastic, but it still smelled fantastic. When I'd worked at Walgreen's I'd loved the tobacco aisle where we kept all the cigars and pipe tobacco. The smells were all so colorful and delicious. Of course, I knew if I put a flame to the cigar it would go from smelling like exotic spices to odor of cat turds.

Still, the smell was intoxicating. I put the cigar in my pocket and forgot all about it--until I got home. Since I worked the graveyard shift, everyone in my family was gone or going when I got home. An hour after everyone had left I crept upstairs to my parent's room and scrounged up a lighter from my father's sock drawer (yes, that's where he used to keep spare lighters).

I went out onto the back porch and unwrapped the cigar, feeling like an outlaw. Tossing the wrapping aside, I put one end in my mouth and lit the other end (this was a cheap cigar, no need to cut the end off). To my surprise, the smoke didn't smell all that bad. I took a few puffs then stomped the thing out.

Smoking was overrated, I thought.

A few nights later I got in a fight with my folks (which was common in those days) and on my way to work I decided to buy a pack of smokes. It was kind of a "I'll show them! I'll slowly develop lung cancer!" As immature as that sounds, it's probably the best reason to start smoking. I puffed on a cigarette on the way to work and again on my lunch break. For some reason I just didn't get why people smoked. I mean it wasn't really all that great, just smelly and expensive.

I decided to try one more on the way home. With one hand on the wheel, I lit a cigarette (a Camel by the way) and stuck it to my lips. I was about to take a puff when I hit one of Kansas City's world-famous potholes. The sudden jolt interrupted my puff and I inhaled (for the first time) by accident.

Suddenly, my head my swimming and I knew why people smoked! I'd been doing it wrong! It took me a few attempts to replicated my inhale, but once I figured it out I became a smoking fiend.

Eventually I made a few attempts to quit, but it wasn't until I got married that I was able to quit for good.

My Second Pilgrimage to ‘Macca’

EDIT: BY STRANGE COINCIDENCE, I JUST LEARNED THAT TODAY IS PAUL'S 68TH BIRTHDAY. HAPPY BIRTHDAY PAUL!

Growing up, some of my best memories were of listening to The Beatles. In the early 1990’s, my Uncle David bought my parents their first CD player (which was roughly the size of a VCR). He bought them two “compact discs” to go with their new player—“A Decade of Steely Dan” (which I’ve only just recently learned to appreciate) and The Beatles album “Revolver.” My sister Amber and I used to crank up “Revolver” while we were home alone...

There was much couch jumping.

In 1993 Paul McCartney came to Kansas City to promote his then-current album "Off the Ground." Even though I knew very little about The Beatles, I knew that this was a big deal. My parents had never taken us to a concert before, so I didn’t know what to expect when my parents told us we were going. I was in elementary school, so while I don’t recall 100% of the show, it had a profound effect on me. I started buying records (cd’s) shortly after the concert. I started accumulating all the other Beatles albums (which I gave to my other sister Lindsey, after I got the remastered boxset a year ago).

I've been to a lot concerts since that Sunday night in 1993, but none have compared to McCartney’s show. I guess it's true what they say--you never forget your first time.

The concert was at Arrowhead Stadium and I remember there was no opening act—McCartney just got on stage and started playing “Drive My Car.” I only later came to understand how strange this was (most bands today usually have TWO opening acts). I also think there was an intermission (though I can’t be sure about that). I do know that it was light outside when the show started and nearly 11:00 at night when it was over.

Who knew that Muslims really do love him do?

While the show is a bit blurry I can recall a few key moments. Like the fireworks during “Live and Let Die,” and the really cool neon-lighted/psychedelic piano that Paul played during “Magical Mystery Tour.”

When I found out my Mom was pregnant a few years later, I became determined to make my unborn sibling a Beatles fan. I used to put headphones on my Mom’s belly and play Beatles albums. I’m not sure if Lindsey had a choice, but she has since grown up liking the Fab Four. A few years ago, while I was still in college I took her to see 1964 A Tribute, which is a Beatles tribute band I’d seen a few years earlier.

I made sure we sat up in the balcony so it’d be kinda hard to tell they weren’t the real deal. And while 1964 is fantastic, nothing beats the real thing. I missed the boat on seeing The Beatles because I was born too late which still kinda bums me out. I guess that's about as good an excuse as one could have, but it still smarts. Seeing McCartney was as close to seeing The Beatles as I could ever get, and I’ve always felt bad that Lindsey didn’t get the opportunity I had.

After all, McCartney is still alive. And touring.

So I every year I’d check and see if McCartney was coming anywhere near Missouri. I missed him once, in St. Louis (oddly enough) because I found out about the show too late to go. I swore I'd never let that happen again. Which is why I'm happy to report that on Saturday July 24, 2010 I’m going to see Paul McCartney once more in Kansas City. The show is going to be at the new Sprint Center (downtown), which I’ve never been to before, which adds another (albeit small) layer of excitement to the show.

But the real reason I’m excited isn't because I'm seeing Paul McCartney, the legend, live in concert one last time. And it's not because I get to go inside a shiny new concert venue…

No, I’m excited because I’m taking Lindsey with me. Luckily for her, she’s a hell of a lot older than I was when I saw him, so hopefully she’ll remember more than I did. The tickets were, as expected, way too expensive (I think I owe Paul McCartney a kidney for these damn seats) but we’re going. And it’s going to be great.