(no) Smokin'! Walking and biking were two good habits I picked up in May. I also picked up a bad one--smoking. It started (again) innocently enough. A pub in Soho. A proffered pint. An open deck of cigs. What's one cigarette, I said, tossing my then red curls. For a while, I kept it to about six a day. In July, with work pressures, I was heading back to a pack a day. I swore that after returning from Siggraph, I would quit. And I did. It's been 48 hours now, sans cigarettes. Do I miss them? Oh, yes, yes, yes. Am I irritable? Not really, fuck. Am I stuffing myself with chips and chocolate? No, not right at this very minute. By the way, did I say I really want a cigarette?