Johnny America

 

Tom Conoboy Knows the An­swers # 5

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Here at John­ny Amer­i­ca Head­quar­ters we tend not know much about the lives and ca­reers of the kind con­trib­u­tors who send us the won­der­ful things they write. But some­times an au­thor will men­tion some­thing cryp­tic in cor­re­spon­dence, and we’ll em­bark on a Google minia­ture in­ves­ti­ga­tion. We al­ready knew that Tom Conoboy is a li­brar­i­an, and that he’s gen­er­ous enough to an­swer the ques­tions that come up in the nor­mal course of events at J. A. HQ, but then he men­tioned some­thing about a grap­pling hook in one of his mes­sages and we be­gan to won­der ex­act­ly what kind of li­brar­i­an this Tom Conoboy tru­ly is. Is he the ad­ven­tur­ous sort, like Noah Wyle’s char­ac­ter in the Made-for-TV flick The Li­brar­i­an: Quest for the Spear? Google Tom Conoboy’s name and you’ll find this ‘pub­lic­i­ty’ im­age in which he ap­pears to be loung­ing on a cliff. But is he re­al­ly loung­ing? Maybe Tom’s neme­sis, an an­ti-in­tel­lec­tu­al Pro­fes­sor Mo­ri­ar­ty sort is hold­ing a tri­dent to his back?. And what if Tom’s flash­ing a smile be­cause he knows there’s a mi­ni-sub wait­ing in the cold wa­ters be­low, and all he has to do to get out of this pinch is com­bine what he learned dur­ing child­hood lessons at the Shaolin tem­ple with the awe­some pow­er of the Dewey Dec­i­mal System?

Q1. What is your po­si­tion, if you have one, on the smok­ing of cig­a­rettes? Bad habit, clear­ly, but in cer­tain pair­ings (with cof­fee, at a bar af­ter the fu­ner­al of some­one your own age) pro­found­ly right.

A1: Since, from Ju­ly 1st 2007, Eng­land will see a com­plete ban on smok­ing in pub­lic places1, this is an op­por­tune time to dis­cuss the lu­na­cy of cig­a­rette smok­ing, which nat­u­ral­ly I shall do — be­ing a for­mer li­brar­i­an — in a com­plete­ly ob­jec­tive and un­bi­ased way.

The mo­rons had it com­ing to them, that’s what I say. They’ve been stink­ing out bars and restau­rants for years. Make them stand out­side in the rain with their pa­thet­ic lit­tle tubes of burn­ing, dried veg­etable mat­ter and leave our pub­lic spaces to the sen­si­ble people.

There. Now — like a smok­er af­ter his morn­ing ex­pec­to­ra­tion — ’ve got that off my chest, let’s de­bate the is­sues. The best po­si­tion on the smok­ing of cig­a­rettes is ob­vi­ous­ly sev­er­al rooms re­moved from them. Fail­ing that, how­ev­er, the sec­ond best po­si­tion is un­doubt­ed­ly with the damned things hang­ing from your own lips. It is one of those un­ex­plained pe­cu­liar­i­ties of life that cig­a­rettes smell com­plete­ly dif­fer­ent to the smok­er from how they do to the vic­tims. With that smoke in your own head, they’re sweet, cool, fra­grant, the to­bac­co fresh like it was har­vest­ed from the field on­ly hours be­fore. But that same smoke, the same smell, to any­one oth­er than the smok­er? It’s acrid, hor­rid, harsh. Even hard­ened smok­ers, if it isn’t their cig­a­rette, will re­coil from such smells. Why is that? Oh to be a bof­fin2 and be able to ex­plain such mysteries.

It should be ob­vi­ous from the above that I’m one of that fear­ful breed, the re­formed smok­er. So to an­swer the ques­tion prop­er­ly, is a cig­a­rette ever pro­found­ly right? Well, the best cig­a­rette ex­pe­ri­ence I ever had was one glo­ri­ous late night/early morn­ing al fres­co drag in the af­ter­math of an equal­ly glo­ri­ous al fres­co shag2 on Ab­erdeen beach many, many years ago. In the moon­light, with that woman curled against me and the warmth of love in­side me, I watched my cig­a­rette fray its smoke in­to the sky on its way to Ori­on, and I be­lieved, for those few mo­ments, that the world was perfect.

Per­fec­tion, then, is the on­ly time when it is ap­pro­pri­ate to smoke a cigarette.

1 http://www.smokefreeengland.co.uk/

2 http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boffin

3 http://www.answers.com/topic/shag

Q2. What’s the state of bar­be­cue in Britain? Do you know, for ex­am­ple, the epi­cure­an de­light that is ‘burnt ends’?

A2: Ah, sum­mer in Britain, the sound of lawn­mow­ers and loud mu­sic and do­mes­tic dis­putes, the threat of im­mi­nent rain and gov­ern­ment warn­ings of wa­ter short­ages, the vis­its from hat­ed rel­a­tives and the ever-present, kerosene and char­coal smell of the fine British bar­bie. It’s every Englishman’s du­ty to dust off the bar­bie in the ear­li­est weeks of April, blow­torch the con­gealed re­mains of last year’s last burg­er and pre­pare one and all for a brand new sea­son of e‑coli roulette. Sum­mer in the sub­urbs — where would we be with­out the chick­en breast car­cino­geni­cal­ly char­coaled on one side and lis­te­ria-pink on the oth­er? Or the trout, lov­ing­ly caught in Rut­land Wa­ter, the on­ly catch af­ter eight hours of fish­ing, then bar­bi­ed light­ly for ten min­utes, fol­lowed by in­cin­er­a­tion for the next hour as the no­ble fish­er­man falls asleep in the gar­den with his wine glass in his hand. Yes, sum­mer — the smell of burnt fish, the an­guished yell of the ex­is­ten­tial an­gler, the heady hum of am­bu­lance sirens.

It al­most makes you nos­tal­gic for winter.

Q3. If you work with cash, and know your em­ploy­er won’t catch you, how much is it fair to steal? A set max­i­mum per day? A percentage?

A3: If you work with cash, and know your em­ploy­er won’t catch you, how much is it fair to steal? A set max­i­mum per day? A percentage?

My moth­er, fine up­stand­ing woman, used to say to us “cheats nev­er pros­per.” Con­sid­er­ing how poor we were, that al­ways made me won­der about the hon­esty of our own fam­i­ly, but it was just that she missed off the next line — “hon­est folks nei­ther.” It’s one of those catch-22s that so be­set hu­man civ­i­liza­tion, like why the smok­er smells his cig­a­rette dif­fer­ent­ly from every­one else and why al fres­co per­fec­tion on Ab­erdeen beach doesn’t last forever.

There is, thank­ful­ly, a straight­for­ward­ly com­plex math­e­mat­i­cal for­mu­la for work­ing out this moral equa­tion. It bal­ances self-es­teem against cor­po­rate greed, weight­ed by resid­ual risk, square-root­ed for ob­vi­ous rea­sons and mul­ti­plied by the size of your over­draft. Which, all in all, is pret­ty self-ex­plana­to­ry. Just tell that to the judge.

Filed under Tom Conoboy Knows the Answers on June 16th, 2007

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