Just a New York State of Mind.

I will be heading to my favorite city soon.  I don’t plan on giving a day-to-day description of my travels, I just want to enjoy them.  So this will be my last blog until I return.  And when I do, I’m going to go gonzo on the epicenter of the world with essays, observations, and thoughts because even though I won’t be publishing in real-time, I write every day of my life, and being in the Big Apple will only start the creative juices flowing to the point of Ecstasy.  Hedy Lamar?  You ain’t got nothing on me!  Love you all.  See you soon.

Go, Billy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klyfE6M4GhY  

Two vices that make me tick. Tock.

I have very few vices and I’m non-judgmental.  But I’m here to tell you I have found out that one of mine is cigars.  Ha. Like you didn’t know. The second? I was confused at first what to call it. I didn’t even know what it was. But it was a genuine fix.  Like when I used to slosh down Old Style at Vito and Nick’s on the Southwest side of Chicago. One, two, three, four . . . .

Taking care of my parents I needed something that would spring me into the week.  You know. A hit. A rush. A fix! But alcohol and cigars didn’t always do the job.  I was missing something. I was missing the calm after the blaze was lit. So I went years missing that levelheaded feeling.  Oh, sure. I got the buzz. And I survived the hangover. But that wore thin after a while. Then when my dad passed? The need for something to calm me down was a void I could not seem to fill.  So I quit the brew forever. I haven’t had a drink in over 30 years. Nothing. Except I continued to experience this spatial vortex drilling into my mind as I continued to take care of my Mom.  

It was during this time between when my Dad died and I took on the responsibility of caretaker that I started smoking cigars again.  On the sly. Not regularly at all. Like E didn’t know. What an ass I was. She’s an angel. She put up with the smokey clothes and the stinky breath.  But even she knew there was a piece of the puzzle that was missing that gave me the calm after a storm had moved on. And there were plenty.

It’s only been in the last few years that I finally discovered the second vice, what it was that I was seeking that would, in the end, gently put me in a state of euphoria sans prescription drugs.  And even tonight – I’m amazed it was as simple as a snap of the fingers to produce the click.  Adrenaline.  A tsunami of peace and tranquility washes over me once it has done its job.

According to Merriam-Webster adrenaline or epinephrine “is used in both technical and nontechnical contexts. It is commonly used in describing the physiological symptoms (such as increased heart rate and respiration) that occur as part of the body’s fight-or-flight response to stress as when someone is in a dangerous, frightening, or highly competitive situation, as well as the feelings of heightened energy, excitement, strength, and alertness associated with those symptoms. In the figurative sense, it suggests a “drug” that provides something with a jolt of useful energy and stimulation.”  Specifically, just to make this clear, “epinephrine is a crystalline sympathomimetic hormone C9H13NO3 that is the principal blood-pressure-raising hormone secreted by the medulla of the adrenal glands, (and) is prepared from adrenal extracts (or made synthetically), (then) used medicinally especially to stimulate the heart during cardiac arrest and to treat life-threatening allergic reactions — called also adrenaline.”

I finally came full circle.

How do I know adrenaline is the missing link?  By the deep-breathing calm that it produces in its very process of what it’s intentionally generating the “heightened energy, excitement, strength, and alertness,” in my physical being.

Then once its job is over, I feel a sense of blissful relaxation.  Where do I get this adrenaline rush? I’m allergic to needles so I’ve chosen action movies as the spark, the jolt.  Yes. Movies such as The Commuter, The Jason Bourne Trilogy (plus the fourth), Enemy of the State. Collateral, Fight Club, Pulp Fiction, Kill Bill, Mission: Impossible, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.  I could go on for pages and pages.

Give me a cigar and one of those thrillers and I can reach a heightened sense of looking down from atop the Empire State Building or the Statue of Liberty imagining and wondering what it would be like to simply step out and . . . .  The physical and psychological high (no pun intended) is breathtaking. (No. Do not call the suicide hotline. Everything is under control.)

All I’m saying is that sense of feeling intoxicated with raw emotions, and then knowing what lies ahead is worth each pull of sensuality from the end of a good cigar and every nerve splitting second of a genuine, natural rush produced by a good, solid thriller!

Thank you, Quentin Tarantino, Tony Scott, David Fincher, Brian de Palma – and so many others.  Thank you.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BeR9XKdAgIc

The next level. Mission Impossible.

Just read in a recent sports article the phrase, “take it to the next level.”  After I stopped retching, I re-read the article and from what I could tell, I still couldn’t comprehend why anyone would want to use that phrase in any manner of sensible communication because unless you’re on an escalator, climbing stairs, or in an elevator the words are meaningless.  (Maybe The Book of Ecclesiastes is right.  “Meaningless! Meaningless!” says the Teacher.  “Utterly meaningless!  Everything is meaningless.”)

I’ve had that phrase thrown at me and when I hear it, the next phrase is sure to follow: “We’re going in another direction.”  In short, you’re no longer needed.  Excuse me as I continue to spew out what’s left in my system until I reach the dry heaves.

But let’s take this verbal sales tactic to task.  What is really meant by “taking it to the next level?” By the way, “it” can mean anything, football, cigar sales, office politics, whatever, but whoever’s appetite is in charge it is insatiable and will always be wanting – the next f..king level.  You will hear it no matter what your career.

Back to the question.  According to the Oxford English Dictionary, the standard definition of taking it to the next level  is “Further improve or develop something that is already successful.”  Hmmm.  Ok. Let’s look at say, Merriam-Webster’s take, “surpassing others: uncommonly good or impressive.”  Fine. One more. The Urban Dictionary states, “Anything above average basically.” Magnificent. That begs the question, “What is average?”

So in short, to cull these three definitions together I came up with “Do more!”  And MORE, more often than not, is the word in the cigar industry (any industry) that is used that means the broker or rep needs to make more sales, sign more customers, or expand the brand’s reach.  Fair.  It only makes sense. It’s Business.  I’m on full, naked, battle-scarred commission!  Why wouldn’t I want to sell more?  

However, manufacturers are seemingly NEVER pleased with what’s on the table. They want more.  And if more is not produced, they will go where they think they can achieve their insatiable desire for more and more and more. Kinda like that other sickening unoriginal pablum-laced phrase used by sales managers (a distortion unto itself) to motivate the troops – “Sell. Sell. Sell.”  Or worse, “ABC.”  

Excuse me I have to go lie down.  I’m upchucking guttural sounds only.  I’ll be back.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Sorry for the timeout.  But I had to compose myself.  Ah . . . .  No.  

I’m finished. I just had to get this off my chest.  There’s nothing more to say.  A conclusion is a fantasy.  There never will be an end.  Never.  Never.  Never.

(I applaud your curiosity if you completed this article.  Click on the link below and pay close attention to what the Joker is saying.  Tell me if I’m wrong.)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_DZ7pOVQgqo

 

Blue Cigar. No Candy.

Spurting spheres of savory, sweet smoke spiral in and around my salivating palate bringing scads of scintillating flavors to all of my senses.  Why – you would think I just had a gargantuan spoonful of buttercream icing off a towering wedding cake and I’m licking the spoon as I continue to smoke my cigar.

The variety of tastes are too numerous, too tumultuous to mention or remember, but I recall a rushing rainbow of raisin, caramel, chocolate, thyme, licorice, vanilla and the essence of lilac laced with humid air.

The experience was one of the most glorious smokes I can say I’ve had from a cigar for a long, long time – for the price.  Yes, I have to admit all this sensuous satisfaction came from a bundle cigar that costs about three dollars. And regardless of the amount of purchase price, it’s a cigar that would satiate the devilish desires of a preening prince or a penurious pauper alike.

My dilemma?  I cannot name the cigar due to its one fault – it is underfilled.  There’s simply not enough tobacco filler between the binder and the wrapper in this delightful conical tube.  It became squishy toward the last third, and any cigar smoker worth his or her salt would notice even when it is handled, its gossamer feather-like lightness is much too prominent to go unnoticed.  And the ash, that wispy, annoying granular, flaky remnant that continues to speckle my shirt, cannot be disregarded – or excused.

But forgive me if I don’t snub it out with snob-like snootiness.  NO!  The flavors are too intoxicating, the spasms of essences that continue to schmear my palate cannot be overlooked – nor can its luxurious bouquet, perfect draw, and construction be dismissed with the wave of my hand.

Perhaps I will have a chance to talk with the manufacturer about the loose bunching.  But until I do, I must keep the brand name a mystery so as not to offend.  And so that I may selfishly continue to draw upon its exquisite ecstasy.  

I am in the middle of the scene in the restaurant of the movie, “When Harry Met Sally,” as she groans, and gasps, and pounds the table with paroxysms of pleasure to the embarrassment of her date.  Yes, I should be having what she’s having.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PdJm3DVg3EM

The Perfect Cigar Review Template.

Note: Since copyright laws prevent me from reproducing any portion of Karl Ove Knausgaard’s, “So Much Longing In So Little Space: The Art of Edvard Munch” in toto, I have decided to provide you with a link where you can read the introduction to the book yourself. (It’s only 2½ pages.) The link is below.
Please read this as you think of today’s cigar reviews and ask yourself, isn’t this more beautiful than wading through ersatz acts of literature like this: The flavor notes are too mind-numbing to ferret out any one particular essence. But if I were pushed – the smoke is creamy like buttercream mixed with apricot, with a hint of woody birch bark, laced with a whisp of cucumber, cork, and the lead from a No.2 pencil ground to a fine powder and sprinkled on the underside of a fresh nectarine that just passed through the mist of a humid floral greenhouse recently sprayed with tepid water that has a tincture of moss on the bronze garden hose nozzle.
Read the luscious words (Starting with “Sometimes it is impossible . . .”) of Mr. Knausgaard’s preface as an all-purpose cigar review:
https://www.amazon.com/So-Much-Longing-Little-Space/dp/0143133136
If you’re honest – and you’ve read it – my conclusion is difficult to refute.
“Ciao”

John 8:32 “… and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

I’m amazed how much of a challenge it is to keep up with the cigar industry.  It’s like trying to stay on top of the ever-changing news, national and local – it can’t be done. Change is too fast, too constant and at times too confusing.

Chicago just elected a new mayor.  Lori Lightfoot. Preckwinkle, her challenger really didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell.  Why? She represented the old guard. But then again, former mayor Jane Byrne was voted to the fifth floor (1979-1983) screeching the hell and spitfire of change and declared that the machine had lost its lubrication and that things were going to be different now that she had control of Chicago.  But in the end, she became a cog in the wheel and added enough governmental grease to keep the machinations of the old City Council moving like it had before she took office.

Lori Lightfoot spewed the same promises.  People are expressing their sardonic smiles because they feel a change in the air.  But in reality, once you roll around in a pigsty, it’s next to impossible to remove the stench. And Chicago is a city whose government has been splashing around in the murky mud since the days of Al Capone (even before).  You know what’s created when you live in such an environment? Cynicism – and that’s what’s deeply embedded into Chicagoans – even with a new mayor.

Fortunately, I’m in a business that doesn’t extract that notion from those who work within it.  What I find is a commonality of respect. Yes. Believe it or not. Now, please don’t think I’ve lost all my noodles.  The cigar business isn’t by any means perfect despite its perceived romanticism and the speed of incoming new brands ersatz smiles, and split-second photos of giddy, happy people.  I hear about the negative whispering about the PCA, the CRA, the TAA and whatever other organizations there are out there that carries its own brand of cynicism. And you’ve no doubt heard that the closer you are to so and so the more likely your brand will find its way onto the shelves of the hundreds of humidors in the country.  But I can say with confidence that those who have a passion for the business are not at all in the same soup as Chicago’s elected officials.   

Despite the tincture of these imperfections, I do feel there are enough people in this industry that, despite their flaws, and we all have them, is one group with the foolproof connective tissue that has been lost in government – the cigar.  An inanimate object that speaks for itself. It doesn’t have to be voted in. (Damn the ratings.)

But there are enough other boutique brand manufacturers, or parties if you prefer to keep this metaphor linear, in the cigar industry that are at least given the chance to make it without having to jump into the drink to do so.  They answer to no one.

So, can an unknown cigar make it without having to kiss the ring of the powers that be? Of course. Yes. Why? Passion, determination, and just plain hard work.

Change occurs.  Recently this happened in the cigar business and I have to keep the details on the down low for obvious reasons.  There is a brand out there that is kicking some serious ass. How did it make it? Simple. Luck. And it’s a damn good cigar.  And as you know, even if you’re a good politician, with a modicum of luck (some still call it connections), you may make it. Yet in government, if your shadow crosses another politician who simply wants you out of the way, the machinations of years of corruption will simply take you down.

Not so with cigars.  Because a cigar that has created a tsunami of tantalizing taste satisfaction among the cigar smokers of the world is simply impossible to ignore – or squash.  No votes, no asinine reviews, no backstabbing rumors about this or that. Nope. The cigar, the nonhuman element, is what brings the brand to the top. It can’t be stopped.  Or as Marshall Field once said, “The customer is ALWAYS right.” However, in government, even though the constituents may be right, it’s the politician or political party with the power base who will prevail.

You see, the cigar has no agenda.  Yes, the person or persons behind the cigar may be an anthill of assholes.  But this glitch, this innate catholic human condition – will not prevent the lone cigar from becoming the ultimate winner.

Yet this scenario also has its flaws.  There once was a cigar that took the industry by storm.  It was the one everyone was talking about. Its meteoric rise into the stratosphere of the cigar firmament made it the number one pick for years.  Unfortunately, the brand owner was simply not able to leave well enough alone. He became greedy and as a result, and unbeknownst to him (egoist are oftimes unaware of their end game) almost put what seemed to be one of the best cigars in the grave.  It was never the cigar’s fault. It was the solipsism of the brand owner that wouldn’t let the cigar “live” on its own.

So no business is without weaknesses.  But the cigar industry – I believe, is the closest a business can achieve supremacy IF the master of its fate has faith on his or her side of the cigar – and I’m talking secular belief here.  Let the brand develop and grow (or die) naturally. As Milton Friedman, the late economist, once alluded to –  let the market take its course.

Anyone can push a politician to a position of power – read George Walker Bush.  

No one can shove or sell a cigar to success.

The truth will always win out.

Always.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7L1IAIM6e_0