It’s the end of 2021 for all practical purposes. I’ve worked my ass off these past twelve months to satiate the appetites of all the manufacturers I represent. You never know when they’re really satisfied. But some hint at it. (“Psst. Psst. I’m intuitive.”) But most of the year I’m in a humid, misty cloud of vapor that I can’t even see through because it’s all in my head. It’s all in my f*cking head! Damn. It’s all in my bleeding cranium! Sometimes I’ve wanted to scream, as former Mayor ( Ed Koch) of New York used to smile and ask passers-by, “HOW’M I DOIN’?”
Well, 2022 is going to swing like Fred and Ginger on a glistening, Hollywood sound stage. After starting the month of January off with a trip to Vegas to attend the TPE, it’s going to be like the cars of the early 1900s – crank it ‘til it starts.
And despite electronic starters replacing the arm-wrenching attacks, it’s still a grind, baby. It’s a concentrated effort. So despite the smiling, happy faces plastered all over Instagram, Twitter, Tic Tok, Facebook, and all the rest of social media – don’t let that fool ya.
My place of sanity? The garage where I write my impressions of whatever I experience as a cigar broker throughout the year in my madcap style at my own pace in the blog post, (www.irvcigarbroker.wordpress.com). I will continue to do it with fervor, froth – and a cigar. It’s therapy for me. Every broker needs a balloon to POP! And I do it through my prose.
What? Is this my “Michael Richards” moment? No. I’ve been writing like this as far back as I can remember, from “The Hole in the Wall in the Hall,” in grade school, to my completely ignoring the subject matter in a high school composition assignment (and getting an “A” on it), to entertaining the students at Chicago’s Roosevelt University as a columnist for the school paper, “The Torch.” I can still remember the very first word published in my opening column about being smacked in the face by a then-unknown fellow student, (Heidi), with her backpack upon entering the elevator when she shoved her way into the already crowded cubicle and decided to turn toward the front, “Hmmph!”
Yes! My imagination is as off-the-wall as ever before. Kinda like the tattoo on Lisbeth’s back. Large. (Her reasons.) Atypical. (My reasons.) We are fictional soul mates. (I just don’t dig face jewelry. Pause. Porcupine hairstyles or ponytails? Is okay.)
So welcome 2022. It’s great to have yet another year to get mucked and muddied – all over again!
IrvCigarBroker 