Redefining Rockel

There really isn't going to be much of anything in this post concerning Zen... or Art.

Cigarettes. They're amazing things.

Three and a quarter inches long. Cylindrical. Twenty of them fit into a package that fits neatly into the pocket of pretty much any type of clothing apparel.

A Six minute activity. Seven if you're slow. Four if you're me.

Best shared with friends. Or anyone, really, if friends aren't present. That's the one good thing I will say about cigarettes: they bring people together.

Fun Facts, from a variety of online sources:

-- Each year, a staggering 440,000 people die in the US from tobacco use. Nearly 1 of every 5 deaths is related to smoking. Cigarettes kill more Americans than alcohol, car accidents, suicide, AIDS, homicide, and illegal drugs combined.

-- America is the second largest producer of cigarettes, producing 499 Billion cigarettes in 2004 (approx. 24% exported).

-- China is the largest producer of cigarettes, producing 1.79 Trillion cigarettes in 2004 (approx. 1% exported)

-- Although 70% of smokers want to quit and 35% attempt to quit each year, less than 5% succeed. The low rate of successful quitting and the high rate of relapse are related to the effect of nicotine addiction.

-- The annual cost of tobacco use is more than $50 billion in direct medical costs, for a total of $97 billion in health care costs and lost productivity.

-- Smokers pay twice as much for life insurance and will die an average of over 12 years sooner than non-smokers.

-- Depending upon where you live in the US a habit of one pack per day can cost up to $1800 per year. Source: USMC National Health Naval Research Center - San Diego, CA.

-- If instead of smoking 2 packs per day for 50 years, you could have had an estimated $1,000,000 if you invested it in a major tobacco company.

Cigarettes have fascinated me for some time, now, in how they relate to depression. Depression is something I have been around, in some way, shape, or form, for the majority of my life. Or, at least, the majority of the part of my life during which I began (and continue) to care for the deeper things of this world and the meanings inherent within.

When I say depression, I refer to medical depression (i.e. - diagnosable, chemically imbalanced, "pseudo-scientific", uni-polar depression), not neurotic or responsive depression, or bi-polar depression.

Cigarettes and depression.

Beer is a depressant. We know this. People who suffer from depression, if they are not actively attempting to combat their illness, tend to gravitate toward depressants and unrewarding activities.

Cigarettes - I feel - are a depressed person's dream, even though they are not depressants.

The "chemical imbalance" that causes depression is one of serotonin reuptake. For those of you scientists reading this, I apologize for moving so slowly. For everyone else, don't panic, just think back to you college Psychology class.

The brain begins absorbing serotonin (reuptake), those lovely things that regulate mood, hunger, and sleep. This is why most depression (mild to moderate) is treated with SSRI's (Selective Serotonin Reuptake Inhibitors), that, you got it, inhibit some of the serotonin from being absorbed into the brain. Another less-common, less-pharmacological treatment involves a supplement of 5-HTP (5-hydroxy-tryptophan) which is thought to promote production of serotonin.

When you exercise, your brain releases endorphins. Again, we all know this. Those feel-good chemicals; the natural high.

When you smoke cigarettes, your brain releases endorphins.

Why, then, would I say that cigarettes are a depressed person's dream if they seem to be more of an "upper" than a depressant?

Because I think that it functions as both. No, your nervous system isn't more depressed than usual as an effect of the nicotine, but with all we know today about the destructive power of cigarettes I think it could hardly be seen as anything else.

When a depressed person smokes a cigarette, he (or she) feels better about himself, life, and everything around him, even if just by a fraction, and just for a minute. And although he might not admit this to anyone, somewhere he longs for that.

But he also knows he is doing something destructive, and that feeds the depression.

All of this to say that it has now been 11 days since my last cigarette and I feel extraordinarily healthy, and am actually quite happy most of the time, yet there are still times, as much as I don't want one (if this makes sense), that I want one.

-- Rockel

"To quit smoking is one of the easiest things in the world, I must have done it over a dozen times." -- Mark Twain.

I don't want to heal.
I don't want to feel.
I just want to waste away and die,
Or maybe taste the painful sigh
That she exhales upon her death:
That lovely, fatal, empty breath.

Just beat me
As I beat for you,
And come what may,
May you come through,
For if you are naught, then what of me?
A tissue wrapped in solemn effigy.

All alone,
I turn to stone,
'Cause you are gone, no company,
For I am you, and you were me,
Until, dismantled, I fell to the ground,
And you, too high, could not be found.

But beat away.
I'll do the same.
We'll keep ignoring
The pain, the shame,
And you and I shall forever stay
Bound together, yet miles away.

-- Rockel

When it's bad, it's hard to forget. But when it's good, you want to talk about it. Well, brace yourselves, because I had one today... and my, was it good. Leave now, or prepare for:

The Story of Rockel and the Sandwich.

It started as most sandwiches do, with two pieces of bread. But this was no ordinary bread. It was Pepperidge Farms Sourdough bread. Sooo dense. Soooo good. Then, these two pieces of delicious bread were transformed through ancient heating coils in my parents' ancient toaster into two pieces of delicious toast.

From there, while still hot from the toaster, the two pieces of toast were smothered in Mayonnaise. Mayonnaise. Not Miracle Whip. Dukes Mayonnaise. Smothered.

Then, the meat. But no ordinary meat. Oh, no. Straight from the Harris Teeter deli came the finest selection of Garlic Roast Beef, and I helped myself to, yes, four slices.

After the meat, came the cheese. Now, I'm going for flavor here... but also culture. I need something sharp, interesting... and... European, why not? An authentic German Muenster. Incredibly well aged and biting with flavor. Oh yes.

Now, the condiments. Again, we want no taste bud to be left out. So out comes the A1. That's right. Steak sauce on a Roast Beef sandwich. Oh yes I did. But did I leave it at that? Oh no, I didn't. Out came the Silver Spring Beer 'n Brat Mustard (made with real horseradish [not that fake stuff]), and a nice healthy dollop found it's way onto the sandwich before the second piece of toast was folded on top, signaling the end of the building process.

There was only one thing left to be done. Cut the sandwich in half. Into two rectangles, not triangles, as this was a manly man sandwich made for and by a manly man.

After marveling at my, now, two wonderful creations for several minutes, I sat down and enjoyed an incredibly intense dining experience.

WARNING: No guarantees are made to the deliciousness or edibility of any or all parts of this post. If you are unable to duplicate any of the ingredients to 100% effectiveness, Mr. Rockel does not encourage you to attempt to make this sandwich. All sandwiches made from this description may not be sold, traded, bartered, chewed, or digested without the express written consent of Mr. Matthew Rockel, God, and AOL/TimeWarner/HBO.