"THE AMAZING HUGGINI"

After smoking on-and-off for the past 30 years, I've finally decided it's high time I quit. The decision isn't based on any health considerations, but merely because of the fact the government has imposed such massive taxes on smoking products (even the cheapest cigarette brands are now over $4.50 per pack) that I see quitting as an act of defiance; one of the Little People stepping on the small toe of Big Government. Mind you, I've been thinking about quitting smoking for ages; it's the bit about actually doing it where I fall flat on my face. Nevertheless, I'm semi-serious this time, and I've been listening to a few ex-smoker friends advising me how best to quit. So far, I've been open to all suggestions but when a friend tried to refer me to a hypnotherapist for assistance, I passed on it. At first I wasn't sure why I wouldn't consider this option, I know hypnotherapy has been proven to be a very useful problem-solving tool and it was certainly effective in helping my friend stop smoking, but somehow it didn't seem a viable option for me.

But now, I think I may have found the reason for not seriously considering hypnotherapy. On one of my marathon house cleaning sessions that occurred during my vacation I found, forgotten and tucked away in between a large pile of paper, a yellowing and faded 11 x 17 diploma from 1985. It was from the very prestigious-sounding "Psycho Neurology Foundation / Hypno-Mind Science Church, Inc." (no, I am not making that up) and it acknowledged that I had successfully completed the required studies in the Dante Method of Hypnosis and was thereby registered as a Certified Hypnotherapist. It was even signed personally by Doctor Ronald Dante, PhD. just in case any autograph hounds care to get in touch.

Now, I had completely forgotten about this stunning academic achievement, but the sight of the shingle brought it all back to me. I attended the course, held in the Grand Ballroom of the historic Biltmore Hotel in Los Angeles at the insistence of my friend Donna, a New-Age enthusiast who was into crystals, past-life regression and all manner of Los Angeles-based weirdness going on in the 80's and she had somehow secured free tuition for us to attend the marathon three-day, fourteen hour-per-day course. To be honest, I don't remember much about the experience (perhaps I hypnotized myself into forgetting it), but I remember it was surprisingly interesting and fun, and I also remember being impressed that Dr Dante, who actually taught the course, was once married to screen legend Lana Turner. While I never considered taking hypnotherapy and further, Donna did and eventually had a small practice in Santa Barbara with several well-known show business clients, whose names she probably should have kept a to herself as opposed to telling me.

I suppose that whole Dante-esque experience is why I can't consider hypnotherapy as a smoking cessation aide. Rationally, I know there are many dedicated and highly-trained professionals who treat hypnotherapy as a serious study, but I can't help thinking about myself and Donna, who only attended a three-day course because it was free and we had some time on our hands, and both of whom now carry the title "Certified Hypnotherapist". With my luck I'd get a hypnotherapist with the same training as me, treating me.

My schooling may not be wasted though, because when I Googled Dr Ronald Dante for the purpose of this article, I discovered that he was also a night-club hypnotist in his spare time, back in the day when people actually enjoyed that sort of thing. I think that line of work is more to my liking, so if you see "The Amazing Huggini" advertised at your local venue, that will be me on stage, ready to hypnotize. If I'm not on stage you will probably find me somewhere outside, most likely smoking a cigarette.

IN PRAISE OF PUBLIC TRANSPORT

Long, long ago, in a state far, far away (California, that is), I fell in love with public transport. I fell so much in love in fact, that the picture accompanying this column is not from the current line of Los Angeles-based "MTA" buses, but is the picture of a circa 1980's "RTD" (Los Angeles Rapid Transport District) bus. I was ideally suited to ride the RTD when I lived in Los Angeles. Not only at 50 cents per ride was it affordable, but from my home one-half block north of Hollywood Boulevard, I could catch a bus going practically anywhere there was to go in Los Angeles without worry of fluctuating gas prices, exorbitant insurance rates, or the worry that I may come home one evening to find an automobile stripped, and sitting atop cinder blocks.

The ride from home to work (Beverly Hills) consisted of one bus trip (Downtown Los Angeles-Santa Monica on the Number 1 route); if I stayed too long at happy hour at the Rangoon Racquet Club, I could always take a Number 4 and transfer to a 429 at the intersection of Sunset and La Brea without missing a beat. Weekend activities were equally simple; Santa Anita racetrack, Santa Monica Beach, and the Beverly Center shopping mall were all easily reachable via courtesy of the RTD, and my monthly bus pass with the cartoon "smiley bus" imprinted on the card.

As much as I was in love with public transport however, these feelings quickly turned to hate when I moved back to Washington DC where, as I've said in this column before, the shortest distance between Point A and Point B is most definitely, a cube. In addition to the established "Metro" service, the largest carrier in the Washington metropolitan region, there was also an alarming assortment of local carriers; OmniRide, MARC, DASH, ATC; the acronyms spell out half the alphabet. I suppose this arrangement was meant to make life easier for commuters in the DC environs, but it only served to confuse me to the point of vowing never to take public transport again.

But now, I'm ready to say I'm wrong. If I'm honest, I really don't have much choice when it comes to my commuting change-of-heart; the new employment position I accepted is located in an area of Washington DC that, while accessible by car, simply isn't worth the money for parking, gas, and the man-hours lost sitting in the slug-paced parking lot known as Interstate 395. So with cheerful resignation this week, for the first time since my days in Los Angeles, I've taken up being a full-time commuter.

As public transport goes, my commute is fairly easy; a short walk to the bus stop (which is so close to my house I can see it from my sofa as I write); about ten further stops through a quiet, leafy suburban area of town then directly onto the freeway HOV lane for a short trip to the huge underground station at the Pentagon. If I time it correctly, there's no more than a five minute wait for the first "Blue Line" train, then only two subsequent stops before I reach my final destination, "Foggy Bottom". If I'm honest, the most difficult part of this commute is walking the .40m final leg of the journey to and from the office, but I console myself knowing that the slowly diminishing pain in my thighs means I'm getting in shape, and I've even calculated how much extra junk food I can eat with the calories I burn every day (riding public transport means you have time on your hands to work these things out in your head). Cost? $5.20 round trip which is a bit pricier than what I currently pay in gas, but the alternative to public transport isn't very attractive.

Should my gear-head's desire to drive to work win out, I'll be trapped into a monthly parking fee of between $275-$325 per month (assuming I can get a space), then there's fuel for my gas-guzzling Subaru which is currently $3.09 per gallon and rising. And the drive-time? Only a Washingtonian would believe that a one-way trip of less than seven miles means at least thirty minutes at a complete stand-still while the bus whizzes past in the HOV lane.

Let's face facts, these days it just makes more sense to take public transport. On the whole, it's less expensive than driving and time-wise more reliable on a daily basis than driving. And the best reason to take public transport these days? Wherever public transport is going most frequently is more likely where the jobs are. It may not be fun, but its simple economics.

Now, get on the bus.