Sunday, May 13, 2007

Smoke No Longer Gets In Your Eyes (Or, All Who Judge Are Blind)

One of the silliest things I've heard lately - maybe even all year:

The Motion Picture Association of America will now consider smoking cigarettes onscreen on par with sex and violence when it determines movie ratings.

Um, what?

Yes, we all know smoking is bad.

Yes, we all know that the youngsters think smoking is, like, totally cool because role models like Linsday Lohan and Britney Spears and Paris Hilton all do it when they're clubbing and coking and whoring.

And, yes, we all know that while smoking is indeed cool - well, looks cool anyway - it just happens to be deadly.

Come on though - is there absolutely no personal responsibility in America? Just because smoking is in movies, doesn't mean kids are forced to huff and puff away on Camels or Marlboros or Parliaments or Salems or Virginia Slims or Winstons or Misties or American Spirits or Benson Hedges Ultra Light Menthol 100s.

Look, I know what you're thinking...I'm just trying to rationalize my recent lapse in personal will power by lashing out at a perfectly ordinary measure of our fast-descending draconian society.

Not really though.

I watched Mildred Pierce this afternoon on Turner Movie Classics.

Hey, it's Mother's Day.

Gay shit happens.

Everyone in the film was smoking and drinking and drinking and driving and smoking and drinking and driving without a care in the world.

All I could think was that if it were released today within the proposed new MPAA measures, it could possibly be rated XXX.

Suddenly, I felt so dirty - all of this dangerously glamorized smoking filling up the tiny world of my apartment.

It felt criminal.

I couldn't help but to join in the festivities. I lit up and smoked while Joan Crawford carried on in a giant fur coat and matching hat, trying to keep her bitch daughter out of jail.

Like I said, it's Mother's Day.

Gay shit happens.

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