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Now that Alameda has approved an even more draconian smoking ordinance, I have to ask myself some soul-searching questions.

Firstly, is there a limit on the number of nicotine patches someone can safely affi x to his or her body at any given time? Secondly, how many packs of nicotine gum can one chew in a day without excessive tooth wear?

Being born into a hirsute family, I have one additional risk factor; unless I shave the patch zone fi rst, when I yank the depleted patches off my chest, arms, legs and forehead, my screaming wakes up my neighbors.

To say I am a committed smoker is an understatement: every appliance and stick of furniture in my condo, including the beanbag couch, was purchased with Raleigh coupons.

Ironically, there was a time when smoking was permitted everywhere; no matter where you turned, you were in Marlboro Country.

Every coffee table had a minimum of two ashtrays on it.

If you refused a cigarette, people worried that you were coming down with the fl u or Baker's Itch.

Assuming you were not in an oxygen tent or on the operating table, you could even smoke in a hospital.

During one of my earlier liposuction ordeals, the nurse smoked during the entire procedure; I recovered just fi ne.

At my fitness center, the back row of stationary bikes had ash trays clamped to the handle bars; you could work off the corpulence and enjoy a good smoke at the same time.

Then someone cried havoc and unleashed the dogs of war on us smokers.

Smoking was even banned at beaches, for Pete's sake.

Beaches?

Did you ever hear of a careless smoker accidentally burning down a beach?

Sand does not burn; throw sand on a fi re and it goes out. Duh.

So much for fl oating on an inner tube or surfi ng and enjoying a smoke; and they call this progress?

Next, smoking was banned in bars. Try drinking a pitcher of beer, grazing on beer nuts, munching potato chips and downing a few Slim Jims and then not having a cigarette to aid in your digestion. Check your history: before Tums and Rolaids, there was the cigarette.

Traditionally a cigarette was a normal sequel, and a prequel, to dinner, but not anymore.

I live in a multi-rental complex and due to my neighbors' complaints and their smoke alarms always going off, I am forced to smoke inside my condo with the all the doors and windows sealed shut.

OK, so I had one small mattress fi re, but mostly things have been uneventful. I used to like smoking on the balcony where I could enjoy the fresh air.

Now I furtively smoke in solitary confi nement.

Would it surprise you to learn that my house plants have mysteriously died?

And I thought plants thrived on carbon dioxide.

To spare my parakeet the compressed smoke, I would let her perch on the balcony railing while I enjoyed an indoor smoke. I should say; I used to let her perch on the railing; she fl ew off soon after the new ordinance was passed.

You call that a coincidence? I think not.

Has anyone seen an iridescent lime green parakeet out there? She answers to the name of Polly.

I hope the non-smoking crowd is happy about tipping over the smoker's apple cart.

I picture them getting together at some watering hole like Cooper's 1400 Club and drinking a toast to squashing civil liberties and making ash trays an anachronism.

Jeffrey R Smith is also known as "The Silva Thin Man."