I don’t know if he reads my blog or not, but at this stage, I really don’t care. I’ve got a big-wig (above) flying in from the DR from De Los Reyes Cigars and we’re going to travel about and introduce cigars to a variety of shops in my territory.
It’s a great selection of cigars – Saga Golden Age, Saga Short Tails, Blend No. 7, and one of the strongest cigars with flavor on the planet – Don Julio Punta Espada. So it’s going to be a roller coaster week for me.
Whether I post or not is going to be up to my mental frame of mind and the time I have inside my rubber room. Arrrrrrg!!!!
It’s an extremely windy day. The sun in blazing and the sky is as blue as the azure waters off the coast of St. Croix. I’m at the Patio Cigar Lounge (Open 24/7). The cigar you see me smoking is almost making me sick. It’s beyond full-bodied. But the flavor is too rambunctious for me to let it go. I feel in a daze. Stupefied with sensory overload.
Even the wind can’t break through this cigar’s bodacious bouquet. It swirls back to me mixing with nature. A robin is bathing and splashing cooling water sprinkles everywhere. No towel needed. I study the bird. It possesses the air of insouciance. What else is there to do?
Looking at two turtles in a photo I was sent, gives me more to ponder. Are they so slow due to the small legs? Or the heavy shell?
This cigar is making me nauseated. I need to toss it. But I don’t. There is that distinct flavor that I want to explore. What? Tree bark? Licorice? Powdered black pepper? Blackstrap molasses? All oozing out of each draw. A critic’s nightmare. It has a toothy wrapper. Each Lilliputian bump carries more of that flavor I want so badly. There’s only one way to get it, smoke the cigar – burst into those nodules of nature. Sacrificial. Do I allow my heart to continue to race? Apparently.
I’m stunned into contemplation.
Why the turtles? Turtle soup is soup or stews made from the flesh of the turtle. The dish exists in some cultures and is viewed as a luxury or delicacy. (Google) Bad thought? Musings. Maybe an ortolan would be a more acceptable delicacy? Barbarism both.
Is this cigar causing me to spin out? I move to another chair. Less sun. Under the swaying umbrella, the shading helps my nausea subside. Just a few more puffs? This is a luxury. Legal. My head is swimming. I drank all my Dew. A volatile mix? Perhaps.
Crow by Blackbird Cigar Company. Dominican. One size. Gran Toro. Closed end. Infinite flavors. My son’s band is practicing in the basement. Gig tonight. An added growling of aural sensations. A silent bash to the head. The Yardbirds (1963) smashed their guitars before The Who (1964). Holy mackerel. I take what’s left and toss it into the bushes.
I have to sit still. The wind continues to pummel the garden. Warm air, which weighs less than cold air, rises. Then cool air moves in and replaces the rising warm air. This movement of air is what makes the wind blow. (Google)
I have to get into the air conditioned house. I pick up my notes that had been held down by an ashtray. Ashes are everywhere.
Today turned out to be very profitable. But if truth be told, I had other thoughts throughout the day. Those I will not share. But they were musings of calm, peace and love. And I was able to muscle through the net of reality that covers all of us in such a way that I was lulled into a world of exotic fragrances and sweet emotions.
Call me what you will – a romantic, a fool of the nuances of nature. But I have within me a very vivid imagination that I can call upon when I am overwhelmed and stressed. And today I tapped into that world and held onto those images as I drove back to the hotel, while I ate my dinner, and then as I worked on the computer to complete business – and finally put them on paper while smoking a cigar of choice. These words.
I will cherish this time. I will remember this day, yes – because of the stupendous success of sales, but also, and foremost the pull of the truth. Not fashioned of the nettles of nets, but the caresses of the ceaseless introspection of what I know will be.
Lilacs (from the French. lilac “shrub of genus Syringa with mauve flowers,”) give off one of my favorite floral scents. So when I got out of the car the other day, I was immediately enveloped by the flower’s sweet aroma in a parking lot off of I-176 near Libertyville. It’s one of the few natural blossom fragrances I can identify immediately. For whatever the reason, the lilac’s invisible mist calms me to the point of romantic sedation.
Some cigars give off a competing and intoxicating bouquet that has the same effect on me, but there is a caveat – it’s the first draw of expelled smoke that fully attracts my olfactory senses. It’s always the initial cloudy billow of burning tobacco that allows me an instant escape from the here and now.
I have also found that breathing in both of nature’s “tastes” are intensified if they are mixed with the natural air that surrounds me. Add some humidity, and heat from the sun and you have the perfect sensory climax.
After that, it’s a purple flower or a tumaceous cigar as usual. Not that the pungent tobacco laden perfume turns sour, it’s just not as sensual an affair the second time around. This goes for the lilacs as well. I can go right up to the pale violet florets and breathe in a colossal amount of the blossom’s aroma, but the delicate scent is just not there. All of this mixing tingles or sets off what I detect via the olfactory epithelium or a specialized epithelial tissue inside the nasal cavity that is involved in smell.
But who really cares about the scientific aspect, what really is being said is that there are aromas that beguile the senses. And that we need to be aware of these in order to fully appreciate nature’s gifts to us.
USA Today. Wednesday June 7th, 2017. James Bridge. Back page. Money section. Headline: “‘Sneakerheads’” lace up their shoes for resale.” Pivotal paragraph, “Some people might have put those retro Air Jordans on their feet. But others put them back up for sale as part of a secondary market NPD analyst Matt Powell estimates is worth between $200 million and $500 million a year.” Some are new. Some are “slightly worn.”
Count me in. But I’m going for the “slightly worn” cigar market. Half-smoked cigars. Yep. Just clip the juicy, wet part from the cigar and voila! Resale!!! Especially Cuban cigars. Those are primo. The cost will be commensurate to the length of what’s left of the cigar, and of course, the brand.
This is a sparkling new idea, so I’m just now working out the kinks. Copy cats? Forget it. I’ve already – due to the speed of the internet – applied for patent rights. This is going to be phenomenal. Big. Big. Big!
Listen. The supply is unlimited. Once the buyer gets by the fact that this cigar was held and chewed in the lips of whomever, it’ll be just like smoking a brand new cigar! Plus you got a deal!
Damn. The entrepreneurial spirit is alive! Ain’t life grand?
This performance piece by performance artist, Marina Abramović, “The Artist is Present,” actually brought tears to my eyes. When it was performed, hundreds of people waited in line to just sit in front of her and look. Marina did not get up for eight hours each day during a span of 720 hours.
At one point, her former lover, Ulay, who she hadn’t seen in years, comes to sit down in front of her. It is one of the most dramatic moments in the piece. I was surprised at my reaction.
But then, I wasn’t.
I’m in Michigan selling cigars.
You must watch the video. What is your reaction?
It’s been a rough day. So I thought I’d let someone else do the talking – Jules?