There are many different ways to quit smoking. These range from hypnosis to herbal medications. However, not all methods are suitable for everyone. One method that works for one person might not be the best approach for the other person. For this reason, I am going to describe five effective ways in this article that ARE possible for almost every person who is suffering from the most crippling addiction of all the time - SMOKING.

Cigarette smoking mainly involves two factors, namely:

Nicotine addiction

Psychological addiction

Any approach to permanently quit smoking must address these two components in order to be successful. The five proven ways that follow this philosophy are:

Wean yourself out of this habit by using nicotine replacement products, such as nicotine patches or nicotine gum. These products are easily available over the counter (without a prescription). This method works best when you combine it with cognitive therapy that addresses the emotional aspect of the addiction.

Wean yourself off of nicotine through “nicotine fading.” This approach involves progressively switching over to cigarette brands that contain lower and lower nicotine levels before quitting altogether — a recommended plan is to switch over once a week for 3 weeks to brands with 30%, 60%, and then 90% less nicotine than you started with. One advantage to this system is that you can gradually get rid of the ill effects of nicotine without having to experience a full blast of with-drawl symptoms, since your body is incrementally introduced to the changes in the chemical levels.

One effective approach for addressing your smoking habit is “relapse prevention.” This typically involves identification of your personal “triggers,” or “situations” for smoking, and then coming up with “coping behaviors” for dealing with them. Triggers can be a wide multitude of things — people, places, events, emotions, etc. Some instances for these triggers are anxiety, parties, stress, and anger. Once you've identified the instances that are prone to put you at risk for relapsing after you've quit, you can come up with ways to cope with them. For example, if you smoke while you are anxious, you can remind yourself to relax by counting from 10 to 1 instead of heading for a cigarette. If you tend to dive into your pocket for a cigarette when you are bored, you can keep a list of things that you can do in your spare time, and do these in order to distract yourself. If you have a will, the possibilities for these coping strategies are endless!

One effective approach to address your smoking habit is to propose a quit smoking contract with yourself — Schedule to give yourself small rewards for every successful day, and larger rewards for longer periods of time, that you don't smoke.

One more proven strategy to quit smoking is to form some sort of a support system - ask a non smoking friend or a family member to be your companion, who can help you stay on track and encourage you on your way independence.

Last but not the least, the most successful approach to quit smoking is to combine all of the above methods simultaneously. This way, your journey is most likely to lead to the much anticipated destination. If you fail once, it's OK. Keep trying. Never give up, and it's only a matter of time before you are smoke-free.

Take me back to the place that I know… a perfect Summer's day, clear, blue sky, perhaps the occasional fluffy cotton-wool cloud that dissipates within moments of its formation as the sun's heat burns through, evaporates the moisture in the air. Not yet ten am, and already the temperature registers as hot, no need to check the mercury level in the thermometer to confirm the fact. The kind of morning when you wake up and it feels good to be alive, where the draw of the beach really tales hold. The sound of the gentle waves lapping at the golden sand, the water, cool and clear, such perfect tranquillity. The fresh, gentle breeze and the sand warm and soft beneath your feet, it's a complete, multisensory experience. Everyone has such a scene in their memory, a picture they can conjure in the mind's eye… try it. Feel the sun warm on your shoulders: you start to relax and feel the tension ebbing away.

It was this coastal idyll that Mark held in his mind when he awoke, uncommonly early for a Saturday. He got up feeling enormously and unusually refreshed after his night's sleep. Having avoided he usual heavy Friday night, the inaugural piss-up that traditionally marked the boundaries between the working week and the weekend - although not entirely through choice: his drinking buddies, Dave and Steve were both on holiday, independently of one another, overseas - he noted the conspicuous absence of a hangover almost immediately. Dave and Steve were both big drinkers, and mark's new-ish, sort-of girlfriend, Chloe, considered them to be a bad influence. It was this opinion that caused the greatest number of arguments between the two of them, and was perhaps the reason why she and Mark remained only a sort-of item.

Dave had a girlfriend who was a good laugh, which is how he was now in Ibiza with her for a dirty fortnight of drinking, dancing, sun, sea and shagging. Steve was single and making the most of it: right now, he was having it large in Magaluf with a bunch of guys from his previous workplace. Mark didn't really enjoy clubbing - or rather, he didn't really enjoy the music the play in most clubs - he much preferred indie to dance - and being skint had tipped the scales in his decision against accepting Steve's invitation to join them. But he had been beginning to regret this decision when the British summertime had played out true to form and he had found himself with no one to hit the pub with at lunchtime on Wednesday after a particularly grim and gruelling morning at the office.

And now, waking up to a postcard-perfect summer's day and feeling like a new man, Mark saw an opportunity for him to compensate himself, if only on a small scale, and to make himself feel as though he had not missed out entirely. He didn't much feel like going on his own, though, so decided to give Chloe a ring. However on-off or casual they were, he did enjoy her company most of the time, and liked being seen with her, and he hoped to get her in her bikini if she was up for a trip to the coast

“'Lo?” She sounded sleepy, groggy, a tad rough.

“Clo, 's me,” Mark chimed chirpily.

“What time is it?” the girl at the other end of the line croaked.

Mark pictured her, half-propped up in bed in her pyjamas, her biscuit-blonde streaked hair tousled, holding her pink mobile to her ear. His mental image was pretty accurate, but didn't feature her clothes from the night before strewn about the floor and the foot of the bed, the crumpled fag packet and half-empty wine glass on the bedside, and didn't take account of her rotten cigs and Bacardi Breezer post-clubbing breath.

“Er, quarter to ten.” Replied Mark, himself a little shocked by his punctuality.

“It's Saturday,” she groaned, “and you've just woken me up at quarter to bloody ten? What the hell's wrong with you? You know I don't…”

“I know, I know you don't get up before half eleven on a weekend,” he cut her off. “But it's such a lovely day…”

“Wha..? Are you alright?”

“Yes. I thought you might fancy coming out for the day. To the seaside.”

“Eh?”

“I just thought…” Mark hesitated. He was beginning to think that phoning Chloe at this hour, with this proposition, had perhaps been a mistake.

“Ye-eah…” Her signal that he should go on made him realise he had hesitated for longer than he had first appreciated.

“Well, 'cause it's so nice, I wanted to head down to the coast, spend a few hours on the beach an' that, y'know, and I was wondering if you might, like, like to join me, a spot of sunbathing and maybe lunch or summat…”

“Ok.”

“Yeah?”

“Why not?”

“I'll pick you up in about forty-five?”

“Make it an hour, I need a shower and to dry my hair.”

Take a walk with me onto the beach… just out of reach. Mark was in a buoyant mood as he shaved, gelled his hair and cleaned his teeth.

He grabbed a towel and slipped his trunks on beneath his knee-length shorts. A dip could well be in order. He hummed Hard-Fi's 'Living for the Weekend' as he pulled a four-pack of Carling from the fridge and put it into the cool-bag he had got free with some other lager a couple of years back. He liked that song, and felt that it quite summed up his life since he had landed his job at the call centre where he had now been for over two years. He wanted a change of scenery, but there wasn't much that paid as well that he was qualified to do round his way.

Fifty minutes later he was pulling up in front of Chloe's house, the windows down and the Arctic Monkey's first album blaring full tilt on the stereo. He was raring to go, but Chloe wasn't quite ready when he rang her doorbell. She had managed to dry her hair, but had only just finished getting dressed: there was makeup to be done and she had to get her belongings together, and should she bring a towel?

It was another twenty minutes before they set off, and Mark had been getting impatient, but seeing Chloe beside him in a light summer dress with the wind blowing through her hair as they cruised down the motorway to the sound of the Kaiser Chiefs made everything alright. He'd get a couple of beers in him - but not enough to prevent him driving, and safely - maybe throw the Frisbee around a bit and paddle, between stints of simply relaxing, chilling, soaking up some sun.

The journey took a little longer than Mark had anticipated. It seemed that half of the south-east England had had the same idea as him. He'd decided against heading for Brighton, despite the fact he loved the place, because he figured it would be crowded, and because he wanted sand, not stones. And besides, Brighton really required at least an overnight stop: you can't go to Brighton and not hit the pubs and clubs, he thought, that would be just wrong. And so, stuck in a procession of slow-moving traffic, all coastward bound, while Chloe made busy texting and phoning various friends, Mark found himself drifting off into his own perfect world, the one he anticipated on arrival at that pure shore… Can you hear, what I hear, it's calling you my dear…

They arrived at Mark's chosen destination a little after twelve thirty. The car park was rammed, and some bozo was making a very bad job of slotting his Ford Fiesta into a space big enough for three cars, straddling the space in a manner that prevented Mark from parking his car. The other driver looked to be abandoning his vehicle like that, so leaning out of his window as the guy started to open his door, Mark called out to him.

“Hey!”

The Fiesta driver didn't respond.

“Hey, you! Yes, you!” hollered Mark as the drip looked up. “You can't just leave it like that!”

“What? You got a problem?”

“Yeah. I can't get my car in. Can you move yours over a bit?”

“I'm not being funny, but why can't you just park somewhere else?” The bloke was getting a bit aggressive for Mark's liking, but he would stand his ground.

“Mate, it's packed. I've just driven round for the past ten minutes and there aren't any spaces.”

“That's your hard luck, innit? Ask someone else to budge,” the Fiesta driver sneered.

“Oh, c'mon, man,” Mark pleaded, struggling to keep his cool. He wasn't keen on confrontation, but sometimes he lost it. This guy out to watch himself: he was hardly well-built, and Mark fancied that he was asking for a punch if he didn't watch out.

Chloe was making quiet noises about the Fiesta driver being a wanker, but was also whispering to Mark that he should leave it. Fortunately, after some huffing and puffing and cursing under his breath, the man - who was probably only in his early twenties, like Mark - got back in his car and straightened up, making room for Mark to pull in beside.

Down on the beach, the sight of two seas - one of water, another of people - greeted Mark. He and Chloe took their towels and bags to an unoccupied spot not too close to the sea - they didn't want to have to move straight away if the tide was coming in - but not so far that to paddle would be a trek. Chloe had brought her portable radio and tuned it into Atlantic 252, which was usually too poppy for Mark's liking, but he was feeling the summer vibe and it seemed somehow appropriate here. Pulling off her t-shirt to reveal a small halter-neck bikini top, she took out the latest edition of Heat and, lying on her back, began to read. Mark stripped off his shirt and, cracking open a can, sat and surveyed the scene. And he saw that it was good. The stresses of the working week, the argument with the bozo in the car park, the envy of his friends away on holiday, all slipped away. Upon a summer wind there's a certain melody. Children splashed in the clear blue water, while others made sandcastles. Young couples, lying, still, calm, soaking up the rays, tanning, tanning… a bunch of guys, probably about Mark's own age were kicking a football about, just enjoying being lads. Another group, of mixed sex, in their mid to late thirties, firing up a disposable barbecue. The aroma of sizzling sausages and flame-grilled burgers was making Mark hungry. But he was easily distracted and thoughts of food were immediately replaced by the girls… yes, tall girls, short girls, brown hair girls, blonde hair girls, big girls, skinny girls, carrying a little bitty weight girls…

Later, Mark and Chloe went and got some food, then they lay, replete, silent, enjoying the day. Later still, as the heat of the sun reached its height, they went for a paddle. Mark couldn't resist splashing his girlfriend, and then carrying him over his shoulder before launching her into the sea. She looked so hot wet! She feigned irritation at first, but within moments was completely into it too, throwing water at him, laughing, tickling and slapping him playfully. He wrestled her a bit, pinching her arse and almost succeeded in unfastening her bikini top: she retaliated by pulling his bathing shorts down, exposing a buttock to the world. No-one was looking, of course; just two more daytrippers larking about in the water. Drying off, Mark lay back and smiled to himself; Chloe was topping up her tan a little more before they had to head home. Yes, he thought, it's a perfect day…

He didn't see the fat middle-aged women with their sagging atrophied breasts, the fat, middle-aged men with their chests, red-raw with sunburn, covered in thick, grey hair, the spoiled bratty children fighting, throwing tantrums and kicking down the sandcastles of the little freckled children…

He looked through the litter on the beach, the cans and wrappers abandoned by other visitors on this and previous days…

He didn't see the dead fish washed up on the shore, with mutated gills and stunted fins, didn't notice the bedraggled, oil-covered gull flapping desperately over a clump of seaweed and a broken, moss-covered fishing net…

He didn't consider the possibility that someone may report him to the police as a suspected paedophile as he watched the children playing in the sea, skipping over the waves as they broke, or as their parents stripped them in the middle of the beach to towel them dry…

He didn't for a second think that, while he was checking out the girls as they passed by in their stringy bikinis, swinging their hips, that Chloe might be eyeing up the young guys on the beach as they flexed their muscles on their tanned, toned torsos…

As they drove home, Mark felt a lightness of being. The image in his mind's eye confirmed it all. It had been a perfect day. Take me back to the place that I know….

billboard after improvement

billboard before improvement

FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE

June 27, 2010
San Francisco

The Billboard Liberation Front (BLF) is honored to announce a new marketing partnership with Philip Morris (PM) that finally brings together the rugged sense of American independence with your most important choice as a consumer: your death. The message of “My Life. My Death. My Choice.” informs and empowers the consumer to choose, as their god given right, how they want to die. Philip Morris brings this message to the consumer to remind them that some rights are inalienable in life as they are in death.

“We’ve always said that the only two things in life that are unavoidable are death and taxes,” commented Michael E. Szymanczyk, Chairman and Chief Executive Officer, Philip Morris. “This campaign drives home that message where, if you are gonna die, might as well do it on your terms. Just like our Marlboro Men did.” According to Patrick B. Smelt, Chief of Marketing, “This bold message of independence and demanding life and death on your terms fits with the current zeitgeist of anti-establishmentarianism and post-post-modern rage at the repressive state demanding a healthier you and your environment.”

The BLF was honored to accept this exciting challenge. “We have no comment on President Obama’s health care reform, but many consumer of Philip Morris’s products do. We felt that this campaign picks up on a widespread rage that some nameless, faceless bureaucrat might give them cheaper health care, preventative treatment, and maybe deny them the sweet release we are all seeking,” said Rico T. Spoons, BLF Director of Offense as he idly drew a razorblade across his wrists. “This oppressive political climate and fascist approach towards health raises the comforting question of ‘how will you end it all?’ I like to think that we are just giving some poor folks a reminder that Philip Morris will always be there to help kill you.”

All former Marlboro Men, Wayne McLaren, David McLean and Dick Hammer, were unavailable for comment due to their rugged, manly choice of death by lung cancer.

The improvement can be viewed on Howard at Van Ness in San Francisco.

Major League Manager Dies

James Gammon—the manager from Major League and a lot of other stuff—died over the weekend after a long battle with cancer. Everybody smoke a pack of Marlboro Reds and talk like him in his honor.

Thank you for your continued support of Deadspin. See you tomorrow morning.

Send an email to David Matthews, the author of this post, at david@deadspin.com.

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