Awesome once a gain Eric, this has become something I look forward to reading on a daily basis! I agree with your message stated in the 7-20-4 Lancero post... This is an amazing place and so many things happen here that are just so outside of the norm and I really dig it. Keep up the great work.
Day Eight: Tatuaje Fausto. Not really sure where I got this.
Do you feel Fausto? Well, do you punk?
Fausto, translated, means lucky, fortunate, or auspicious, depending on your source. On the surface these three terms seems similar enough that one might easily dismiss them. And, I suppose, in a practical sense they may be right to do so. But I content these these terms each have unique meanings -- at least as they apply to me. Let me explain:
Formally, "luck" (or being lucky) is a function of chance. (Mysticism aside for a moment). It is a way of describing a random event or occurrence. If I win a prize for randomly selecting a number that matches the winning number, I've won. That's how I won the April lottery -- pure luck.
"Fortunate," in everyday parlance, is often used to describe someone who is lucky. Really what we mean, however, is that circumstances favor them in some important way. As an upper middle class white guy with a master's degree, I know I am more fortunate, in many ways, when compared to my African American neighbors. Hell, I'm even fortunate when compared to my sweet. In an office dominated by males in leadership positions she had to work much harder for her recent promotion than I had to for mine.
This brings us to "auspicious." Auspicious is a way of saying that conditions predict success. Whereas we don't really have the ability to change our luck or our privilege, we do have our ability to create conditions that will lead to or at least encourage success. While luck and privilege can certainly help, this is about hard work, perseverance, and the ability to move beyond the status quo and do something truly original. In other words, to be auspicious, means to act.
Did Pete Johnson have one of these particular meanings in mind when he named this cigar? Or does the name hold some other meaning? I guess it does't matter so much because right now I am reflecting on all three and thinking about how my fausto brought me to this particular moment and this particular place.
Day 9: Aging Room F55 and LFD Double Ligero from Casa Belicoso in Walnut Creek, CA.
I don't often amoke two cigars in one day, buy when I do...
Friday night my sweet and I flew down to the Bay Area for her 25th reunion and to help her sister shop for a dress for the wedding. As always we stayed with her parents in Walnut Creek. Of course while they were talking about where to start shopping, I was googling cigar bars. The day after I proposed to my sweet she took me to the Danville Wine and Cigar Bar and I thought that's where is end up. But, the girls were shopping closer to town so found myself at Casa Belicoso, a newish private lounge that let interlopers like me use the "common" area. The humidor was big but over humidified with infused cigars stacked next to non infused. The selection was poor too. When I asked for help finding a couple of sticks the lady there said "we don't carry those brands (tatuaje and Artoro Fuente) we focus on boutique blends." That must be why they had a row of RP and another of Drew Eatate. Sigh...
I ended up buying two sticks anyway because I didn't bring anything with me. I bought and Aging Room and a LFD, I started with the Aging Room and probably relit it a dozen times before I gave up because of the bitterness and the extra work it took to smoke. Simply put, it wasn't worth the effort. The LFD, on the other hand, was perfect. Smooth, more mild than I remembered, with prominent notes of spice and maybe leather. But what do I know.
With three weeks left before my marriage I admit I am looking for signs. Maybe even looking too hard. But today when I made a decision to put down a cigar that took all my energy to keep going and which repaid me only in bitterness to pick a much smoother, tastier, easier stick I found my sign.
Day Ten: Tatuaje Frank Jr.
A Kid in a Comic Store.
I decided after my last post I wasn't going to talk about my ex anymore. She's happy, I'm happy, there is simply no point. But I do have to say one thing about her, only because it gives a little context to rest of the story.
After the divorce, my ex stole my comic book collection.
I've always loved comics and what I collected at any one time tended to say a lot about who I was at that time. When I was a kid, for example, I tended to collect all the classics -- Superman, Spiderman, and so forth. When I joined the Army (and served in the finest military division in the world) I collected a lot of GI Joe comics. When I did archeology I tracked down all of the Indian Jones comics. As I hit my 30s I started collecting limited releases, and special editions like the Sandman. And she took them all.
It's no wonder, then, that I've been drawn to the Tatuaje monster series. By the time I "discovered" the little monster series they were already gone--I searched everywhere I could but no luck. I was like the kid in the comic book store trying to find that first edition Superman. Then one day I open my mail box and BOOM. Another box from BigShizza. He knew I wanted to try them so sent me one of each. By the time they came to me they were sitting in his humidor for 18 months, Now they been in mine for 6 and finally, today I broke one out. (I've actually had some of them before but the 5 Jim sent have stayed intact.).
I've been so in love with this line a started collecting the little monster cards and now have everyone accept Lil Drac and the Baby Face Pete cards. If you have one of these that you are willing to part with please let me know and we can make a trade. This brings me to the dual reason I am smoking the Frank Jr. While the cigar came from Jim and (and in fact my first little monster card also came from Jim, Trident sent me the Frank Jr. card a few months ago and was looking for a reason to thank him again.
Day Eleven: Arturo Fuente Hemingway Short Story, thanks to Big Shizza
"All the way!"
I had a *** of a time trying to decide what to smoke tonight. I had planned to muck my way through a fake cuban brought back by my soon-to-be father-in-law (glass front box and all) and write all about family and the sacrifices we make for them. Or something like that. Then, as I was driving home from work this evening it dawned on me that I got out of the army (the 82nd Airborne Division, the finest military division in the world) exactly 25 years ago today. A fake Cuban wasn't going to do it tonight.
So what then? I thought about a Ghurka Warpig that has been sitting in my humidor for a while. It would be my first Ghurka, but like the fake Cuban it won't do. A Man Of War? Rain would be pleased, I suppose, and I could craft that into some story about getting out of the army and compare my experience to that which we might anticipate for Rain. But no.
I smoked a few cigars when I was in the Army but they were (((clears throat)) Backwoods and Swishers. Once more, no!
Two humidors and a 96 Qt Coolidor and I have touched just about every cigar I own and I still can't decide. Meanwhile, the dog is barking, my son wants to watch a show, my daughter wants to read stories, my sweet wants me to work on wedding stuff...I know my time out in the garage is limited tonight so I do the most logical thing I can: I pick the shortest stick I have -- an Arturo Fuente Hemingway Short Story. In the end I suppose this was a reasonable choice. After all, Hemingway wrote "A Farewell to Arms" and, metaphorically at least, I suppose that's what leaving the military meant to me. That it's one of my favorite smokes in the whole world didn't hurt either....
Awesome once again brother! What's your fav smoke out if the ones you've had so far?
Oh, that's a tough one since I've smoked several of my favorites. If I had to pick I'd say the AF Hemingway I smoked last night or the LFD or the Padron or...***...I guess I don't know.
Day 12: La Flor de Antillas from my Sweet
Saint Valentine's Day
Some of you know that I proposed to my Sweet on St. Valentin's Day earlier this year. I picked that day primarily because my last "day in court" with my ex was February 14 the previous year and I wanted to take back the day.
I've smoked cigars on and off for a lot of years but really only started treating it as a hobby for a couple of years--about the same time as my sweet and I moved in together, interestingly. She has always been pretty tolerant and even has joined me couple of times for a smoke. But I never really had a sense of how supportive she was. I knew we "fit" and that's one of the things that drew us together. By the time we started dating we were, in many respect, already an old married couple. Not much surprised us in a lot of ways because we fit so well. She'd say something really outlandish about something she wanted to do or something she liked and I'd respond, "well of course you like that because I do to." But when It came to cigars, I just wasn't sure.
Starting February 1st I left a little present on her pillow every morning. Nothing big, just a things that I thought would be meaningful to her and to let he know I was thinking about her. When I woke up on St. Valentine's Day she surprised me with a bottle of single malt and a bouquet of cigars. One was the La Flor de Antillas. The flower of Antillas -- the perfect cigar to put in a bouquet and the perfect cigar to smoke tonight as a way of remembering how well she and I fit.
Day 13: 13 by Outlaw Cigars thanks to Medic45
Lucky 13
What else could I smoke today, the 13th day of my count down to my wedding but the 13 by Outlaw Cigars? Nothing, right?
With just over three weeks until the wedding I am, for the first time, feeling a little nervous. Not because i am questioning my choice but because I don't think I am ready for the actual event and honeymoon. When I lived in Edmonds Washington I knew Rick Steves of "Europe through the back door" fame. When we were both much younger he told me that he would never marry someone he hadn't traveled with because he felt if you traveled with someone you better learned who they really were. My ex and I rarely traveled; my sweet and I travel all of the time and herein lies the rub.
My sweet and I have very different travel styles. While we both love travel I tend to be pretty anxious and she is much more laid back. She would kill me if she knew I was sharing this with you but she has lost her ID while traveling, left her bag on the tram, booked the wrong flight -- twice! -- and so forth. In fact she JUST got her passport in the mail today for a trip in 23 days. In contrast, I tend to have every little detailed planned in advance--even, in many case down to the cab I'm likely to from the airport to the hotel. I make a list of everything I am going to pack and check it twice -- once as I lay everything ou on my bed the night before and a second time as I put it into my bag.
You can see why I am anxious, yes? We will be in central Mexico for almost two weeks and we have only four days of hotel booked because she wants to have to flexibility to move around if we want to. Okay, I get that but but man, is she causing me to loose some sleep over this!
For what it's worth I haven't always been like this. When I was younger I thought nothing of packing up at the spur of the moment to drive cross country, just because. But as I get older I need a little more certainty in my life. I need a fucking itinerary!
13 is considered an unlucky number and I suppose that might be contributing to my anxiety (at least tonight). Or perhaps that Ive had a little too much Zaya rum...
There is a term in psychology and the learning sciences to describe those inevitable memories in our lives that are forever imprinted in our mind. The term is "flash bulb memories" because like a photograph these memories have some permanency. For example, none of us on this forum will likely ever forget the day, indeed, the moment, we heard about 9/11.
I was getting dressed for work and like every morning I turned on the news. At first I was having a hard time tracking--a plane crashed into the World Trade Center? Impossible. Then the second plane, the Pentagon, and Flight 93. I was stunned. We all were. I stood there, half dressed, eyes fixed on the tv when my four year old son walked in, looked at the tv, looked at me, back at the tv, then asked "what's wrong daddy?" How do you explain that kind of evil to a four year old?
Reluctantly I went to work that day only to find that someone had brought in a tv and the entire office was huddled around it, transfixed. And then the real horror began as we saw first one, then the other tower fall. In times of disaster people always quote Mr. Rogers who said something like, "In time of danger always look for the helpers." In this case the helpers were crushed by millions of tons of steel and concrete as they tried to help stranger stuck on the upper floors.
Around lunch time I decided to take a walk to try to make just a little bit of sense of what happened. What was happening. I knew on that day everything would change and now, thinking back, I believe I was right. I ended up in church that afternoon praying for strength for me, for my family, and for my country. I prayed for the families of the victims and the souls of those who died that day. And, as hard as it was, I prayed for forgiveness for those that planned and carried out this atrocity.
By the time I got back to the office most people were packing up to go home--several hours early, knowing they weren't going to get much done that day anyway and knowing that above all else they needed to be with their family.
As a country I think we were forced to grow up that day but I am not sure we were entirely prepared for the responsibility. We believed that hanging the flag that had been stuck in the back corner of the garage was an appropriate sign of our patriotism. Necessary, to be sure, but not sufficient. And when it came time to supporting our troops we slapped a yellow ribbon magnet on the back of our car and called it good.
Two years before 9/11 I was walking pass a VFW lodge and noticed that one of their flags was leaning precariously to the side, waiting for any slight breeze to knock it over. I stopped, straitened the flag then shored it up with a few large rocks nearby then started back on my way. Before I had even got to the corner an elderly man came out of the lodge and started yelling, "Young man, young man, come here please." He explained that he and his friends had noticed the flag leaning and as they were talking about what to do about it they saw a dozen people walk by, oblivious. Then I can along. "No one much seems to care about the flag anymore one of them said." Added another, "most don't even know why it's important."
Today my soon-to be-step daughter was getting dressed for "Patriot Day" at her school and so I asked her what she knew about the day. "This is a day to celebrate America" she said. For a seven year old she is pretty smart but I really think she missed the mark on this one. Today is not the day to celebrate America; today is the day to remember what can happen when we become complacent, Patriotism is not a holiday: it is a full-time job. Likewise, the best way to support our troops has little to do with yellow ribbons and more to do with our ability to wage peace. And when peace isn't possible? The give them everything they need to be safe and win the day.
Day 15: La Aroma de Cuba mi Amore and San Cristobal, both thanks to Chris Olds.
Do you remember the first time you fell in love? Mine was in kindergarten and the object of my affection was a cute little blond girl named Amy Ziesler. I loved her and to prove it I would chase her around the playground every recess. She was a lot faster than me so I was never able to catch her which, I suppose for a lot of us, that's a pretty apt summary of love in general.
Amy use to tell the teacher on me all the time. Generally I just got a warning but once I had to stay in class during recess as punishment. Boy was I mad! It didn't help that when Amy came back in the class she had this smug little look on her face because she knew she was the reason I had to stay in. The worse part was I had to apologize to her! Mi amore! How could she?
I went home after school feeling humiliated. What was wrong with girls that they didn't want to be chased by me? I'll bet you anything that she would let Timmy chance her. In fact I bet they were in cahoots to get me in trouble...why those little...
When I got home my babysitter was already there and, noticing I was brooding a bit, asked me what was wrong. I told her everything: how I loved little Amy Ziesler, how I chased her to show her how much I loved her, how Timmy was trying to steal her away from me. I was nearly in tears by the time I was finished telling her the story. She tried to comfort me but I would have nothing to do with it. Finally she suggested I write her a letter. Since I was only five she actual wrote the note, while I dictated. It went something like this:
Dear Amy,
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH
I think you should let me chase you and not love Timmy. Timmy was my friend and he only chases you to be mean to me. You should NOT let him chase you any more. Love Eric
She even wrote all the letter "i" with hearts in the place of the tittle (snicker, snicker, I said 'tittle"). Determined to help me feel better my babysitter looked in the phone book to find her address. As luck would have it she only lived about five blocks away. "If we hurry we can make it back before your mom gets home" she said. So we nearly ran all the way to Amy's house so I could deliver my love letter to mi amore. As we approached the house my babysitter stayed on the sidewalk, "this is something you have to do alone," she told me. I walked up to the door, rang the door bell, and waited. "What was I going to say?" Amy's mom opened the door and immediately i knew whee Amy's looks came from -- God knows I wish I was still breastfeeding at five. "Is Amy there?" I asked nervously clutching the letter. "Just a moment" she responded before closing the door and, presumably, going to get Amy.
A few minutes later Amy came to the door, looked and me, looked at the letter in my hand and asked "what do you want?" This was the first time I every froze up talking to a girl. The first and maybe the last. "Well," she prodded, "what do you want." I realized at that moment, that everything I wanted to say was already written on this note so I leaned in, kissed her, thrust the note into her hand and like every reasonable five year old, ran away.
Amy and I never talked about that day again, but several days later as I was playing with Timmy (we just couldn't stay mad at each other) she came over and asked, "well, aren't you going to chase me?" "Mi amore!" I said, "of course I am going to chase you...." Here is what I smoked tonight.
Just read through this entire thread, and wow, I am really in awe of the brutal honesty. Keep this up and you're gonna have to add "Columnist" to your list of jobs!
Going back a few posts, this thread itself is one of the reasons I love this place, you've really opened yourself up but instead of the ridicule you'd get on most of the net here you get positives or friendly jabs from guys who will admit to going through some of the same sh-it; also helps some of us living through some of the same stuff that there's always a way to change things for the better.
Congrats on the wedding and Mexico ought to be awesome this time of year!
Just read through this entire thread, and wow, I am really in awe of the brutal honesty. Keep this up and you're gonna have to add "Columnist" to your list of jobs!
Going back a few posts, this thread itself is one of the reasons I love this place, you've really opened yourself up but instead of the ridicule you'd get on most of the net here you get positives or friendly jabs from guys who will admit to going through some of the same sh-it; also helps some of us living through some of the same stuff that there's always a way to change things for the better.
Congrats on the wedding and Mexico ought to be awesome this time of year!
Day 16: Man o' War Ruination thanks to ???
Questing Gemeinschaft
Rain chastised me a last night on V-herf for not including any MOW in my 30/30 thread. Normally, like most people, I simply ignored Rain but the more I thought about it the more I realized that he was right. Well, "right" might be too strong of a word, but I realized that I should--at least for a day--move beyond the self absorbed dribble typical of this thread, and pay homage to my fellow BOTLs and SOLTs. And who better captures the verve of the forum better than threadja...err, I mean Rain?
Germans have a word to talk about community that is difficult to translate in to English. Gemeinschaft means more than just a geographically specific group--like a neighborhood, for example. A better translation, though difficult to get right, is something like a voluntary group of people brought together spontaneously to provide some sense of being based on some shared tradition. Those that have served in the military a part of a gemeinschaft because we share a bond that is difficult, perhaps even impossible to understand if you haven't served. I don't say that to be exclusionary, but by way of explanation. If you served, you understand what i am trying to say; if you haven't well...
This forum is a gemeinschaft also.There are lots of cigar-related forums out on the interweb but everyone who has been around this forum knows that this one is different. We share something that, simply put, doesn't exist on other forums. If you are part of this forum you understand; if you are not, well...
Jim, I think, posted this video on Facebook a while ago that showed this seeming homeless man asking for handouts. Most people walked by without even acknowledging there existence. A few even took unnecessary jabs at them: "Get a job!" one man yelled. The punch line, though, was that every time someone gave him money he returned their money and added another $20. This experiment makes sense in a context where caring in an exception. Something like this would never work on ccom because we all would stop and give him money if we had money to give. And if we didn't have money to give? We'd give cigars, of course.
I remember the first time someone asked for my address. Looking back now I can't believe that I actually gave it to someone! Even early on I guess, I knew this was so much more than a simple online community. This was gemeinschaft. Thinking about it this way, a MOW for Rain, was the only logical choice. Here is what I smoked.
Day 17: DPG Blue Lancero thanks to SleevPlz.
“Blue”
Blue is my favorite color. I didn’t understand it to be my favorite color until I hit my mid thirties. I was about to climb Mount Adams with a couple of friends and needed a new parka. Mount Adams is a part of the Cascade Mountain Range and is just south of Mount Saint Helens in Washington State. The mountain is 12,276 feet high and while some routes are technical, it is still considered a walk up. Now this doesn’t mean that it is not a feat. Indeed, is is one of the most physically challenging things I’ve done. And it does require some skill and a fair amount of specialized equipment like plastic boots, crampons, ice axes, and, of course, a warm parka.
So I am on the phone talking to a sales guy at REI trying to order a parka and we get through all of the important specifications and then he asks me what color I want. Normally I would have responded with “Color? What do you mean ‘color?’ I don’t ****ing care what color it is!” But this time, without even thinking about it I asked, “Do you have it in blue?” As soon as I said it I thought to myself, “Geez, have I really become the guy who cares about color?” Apparently I had.
According to some people, your favorite color can tell something about your personality. Blue, they say, if the color of trust and those that favor blue are therefore, trustworthy. Others people, however, argue that blue is a calming color and those that favor blue, are therefore, calming influences in your life. Still others claims that blue is a cool color and...well you get the idea, it’s not really an ‘exact science’ and probably not even a science at all.
So does it matter that in my mid thirties, then, that I suddenly had a favorite color? Maybe. Knowing what you like, and don’t like is often seen as a matter of maturity. I’ve seen this play out time and time again on this forum: a noob comes on to the forum and they just want to try a bunch of different sticks and for a year or so thats what they do. Then, as they establish their taste they start coming back to a few sticks time and time again: they have developed an opinion about what they liked and don’t like. This brings me to the reason I picked this stick tonight. As many of you know, SleevePlz started a pass called “my favorite brands pass.” In the introductory post he said:
“At this point in my cigar career, I have really come to know what it is I like and don’t like. This pass will reflect that. It will begin and end only with cigars that I love. That’s right, the only cigars allowed in this pass are ones to which I approve.”
Because of my schedule--I’m getting married in a couple of weeks, if you haven’t heard--I wasn’t able to participate but I love the idea. Or more accurately I love that he knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to say so. So SleevePlz, thanks again for the smoke. This one is for you:
Day 18: Arturo Fuente Don Carlos thanks to Curtis Critchfield.
I’ve been looking forward to smoking this all day. I’m not sure what it is about the Don Carlos but I absolutely love it. More that the Opus X, more than a Davidoff, more than, well, more than just about anything except the Ashton Heritage Puro Sol (which I like equally). Most people would agree that the Don Carlos is a “higher end” stick (well, I think most people would agree) but it’s also affordable -- about $7 for the #3 if you buy them by the box. (And yes, I know that affordability is subjective too). So if I love them so much, how come I’m not smoking them every day? How come it is a “treat” stick for me?
Anticipating the Don Carlos on the ride home today, I thought a lot about what it means to treat yourself. The nature of a treat is that it is unusual -- not in the sense of being strange but in the sense of being the antithesis of “usual.” A thing is no longer a treat when it becomes an common or everyday experience. I suppose even Disneyland would lose some of its magic if I went there every day.
So how do we define “treat?” For some, a “treat” is dependent on finances. When I was in college I found $10 on the street and “treated” myself to a six pack of good beer. Other times “treat” is a self imposed condition -- a friend brings you back a special chocolate bar from their travels and you portion it out over several days or even weeks. Treats, I argue, play an important role in our lives. They cause us to slow down a bit, to savor, to focus, to give thanks. Eleven days and a wake up and I’ll be, once again, a married man. Following a short service we hope to have one hell of a party. The party isn’t a treat for us (that will come during the honeymoon) but is our way of treating our friends and family. Our way of saying, “Hey! Slow the *** down, savor, focus, give thanks…
Several years ago I read this great book by Stephanie Coontz called ‘The Way We Never Were.” The book is about how our sense of, indeed our longing for, a connection to a romanticized past shapes the way we live in the presence. Coontz argues that shows like “Leave it to Beaver” that, while fictitious, tend to shape viewer’s belief about the 1950s. No surprise here—there are stacks upon stacks of research that supports the impact of media on perceptions. But here is the really interesting thing: people that lived through the 1950s will reshape their memories after watching the show (or similar shows). Memory, it seems, is a fickle thing.
My first trip to Las Vegas was twenty-five years ago. At that point, Vegas was just starting to clean up a bit but that’s not saying much. At the very heart of the matter, Vegas is a dirty *** – always has been and always will be. You can give a dirty *** a bath, buy her a new wardrobe and some pretty underthings, wrap a string of pearls around her neck, but a dirty *** she will remain. And that’s a good thing, I think. In some ways I guess, Vegas reminds me of New Orleans but with better lights and worse food.
I remember walking down the strip the first night I was there wishing I could have gone back in time about 25 years to see Sinatra with the Count Basie and his orchestra at the Sands. Looking back it seems odd that I would long for a time I had never experienced except through the media (Oddly enough, Sinatra’s live album recorded at the Sands in 1966 was one of the tapes that got me through my deployment).
Last April I visited Vegas again for a few days and as I was walking down the street seeing that the lights and the people had grown tenfold, I wished I could go back 25 years to the first time I walked the streets of Vegas. How is it that now I longed for the place that seems so unsatisfactory at the time? Ah!, nostalgia, you fickle little ****!
My walked, quite by chance, ended at Caesar’s Palace and the underground shopping mall. At the far end of the mall, of course, is Case Fuente. I bought two lanceros, one I kept and smoked tonight and one I sent to Trident with a few other sticks to thank him for sending me one of the Tatuaje Little Monster cards.
As a kid growing up in the 70s I always struggled with my German heritage. In school I had to contend with teachers’ biases that equated all Germans with Hitler’s atrocities. In fact, one of most profound school memories was listening to a WWII veteran--the uncle of my third grade teacher--say that “the only good German is a dead German.” The same messages was repeated when I got home and turned on the television. One of the most popular shows at the time was Hogan’s Heroes. The show, set in a German POW camp, portrayed all German’s as either tyrannts or bumbling idiots.
As a family we didn’t celebrate our heritage. I think some of this had to do with the popular opinion at the time--I suppose it would have been a similar experience if I was Japanese. By the time I started college things were a lot different, from a social perspective but not really from an academic one. On the one hand it was okay to celebrate Oktoberfest but on the other, textbooks, lectures, and other course material tended to focus on Nazi Germany rather than the more plebeian society. I remember one particular lecture in world history class where the feminist/revisionist history professor proclaimed that the *** were butchers. My family were butchers, to be sure, but ours was limited to bovines and swine.
Other than the obvious connection between a cigar labeled “heritage” and a post about my heritage, why this cigar? And why this story?
Today, as it turns out, is Baron Frederick von Steuben Day. The good Baron left his comfortable home in Germany in the late 1700s to help George Washington kick the crap out of the Brits. Serving as Washington’s Chief of Staff he is credited with creating most of the military protocols and tactics used by the US military at least to the War of 1812. Some historians even claim to be able to identify traces of these core principles and practices in the modern US military. If this is true then one might argue that von Steuben helped defeat Hitler. Now that would be ironic!
Today I smoke a Ashton Heritage Puro Sol -- my last one, as it turns out -- reflecting on what it means to be German and what that might mean, if anything, to my new blended family. Here is what I smoked:
Day 21: Camacho Pre Embargo thanks to BlueTattoo
50 Shades of Camacho
Admit it. When you smoke a CC you feel a little naughty. Kind of like when you were a kid and you stole a beer from your parent's refrigerator, hid it under your shirt, snuck out back, and drank it behind the shed. You felt just a little naughty, didn't you? Or what about buying your first condom? Naughty, yes? When we do something that our subconscious considers "naughty" there is a predictable physiological reaction--blood pressure and pulse increases, you may start to sweat a little, your breathing changes, and you become hyper focused. Sometimes you even get a little boost of adrenalin. Your body does that because, essentially, its preparing itself for the chance that you will get caught and have to beat a hasty retreat. If you are one of the few that doesn't experience these reactions it means, most likely, that you are a sociopath. Okay, maybe sociopath is too strong a word, but it generally means that your subconscious doesn't "read" what you are doing as wrong.
I argue that part of the enjoyment we get from smoking a CC comes from the aroused state we are in when we smoke it--they simply taste better because our senses are heightened. Or at least thats my theory.
A couple of years ago the book "50 Shades of Gray" got a lot of press because it aroused a whole nation of middle class, middle aged sexually repressed women. Sexual arousal is similar to the arousal you get when you are doing something naughty -- the only exception is that (in most people anyway) most men don't get erections and most women don't find it necessary to change their panties after smoking a CC. (Remember, I said "most"). Of course, when you add a little lightweight BSDM to the mix -- something a lot of people consider at least a little naughty, you are, as the saying goes, "firing all pistons." Incidentally, this physiological reaction is addicting so it is no wonder that most of the people who read the first book also read the next two.
So what the hell does this have to do with a Pre-Embargo Camacho?Let me tell you...
Smoking a Pre-Embargo Camacho is an equivocal experience. On the one hand (assuming the pre embargo label is correct) you know you are smoking cuban leaf which you know to be illegal; on the other hand you know that you can buy these on ccom. In this sense it is a little bit like reading from 50 Shades;
“Suddenly he grabs me, tipping me across his lap. With one smooth movement, he angles his body so my torso is resting on the bed beside him. He throws his right leg over both mine and plants his left forearm on the small of my back, holding me down so I cannot move … He places his hand on my naked behind, softly fondling me, stroking around and around with his flat palm. And then his hand is no longer there … and he hits me—hard.”
We are not quite sure whether we ought to be aroused or not -- if you knew nothing about the context of this quote would you say this was foreplay or abuse? And therein is the rub. How much of the experience of smoking a CC is a result of heightened arousal and how much is the leaf itself? If you smoked a CC thinking it was from the DR would it taste the same? Would your enjoyment be the same? Does it matter?
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Do you feel Fausto? Well, do you punk?
Fausto, translated, means lucky, fortunate, or auspicious, depending on your source. On the surface these three terms seems similar enough that one might easily dismiss them. And, I suppose, in a practical sense they may be right to do so. But I content these these terms each have unique meanings -- at least as they apply to me. Let me explain:
Formally, "luck" (or being lucky) is a function of chance. (Mysticism aside for a moment). It is a way of describing a random event or occurrence. If I win a prize for randomly selecting a number that matches the winning number, I've won. That's how I won the April lottery -- pure luck.
"Fortunate," in everyday parlance, is often used to describe someone who is lucky. Really what we mean, however, is that circumstances favor them in some important way. As an upper middle class white guy with a master's degree, I know I am more fortunate, in many ways, when compared to my African American neighbors. Hell, I'm even fortunate when compared to my sweet. In an office dominated by males in leadership positions she had to work much harder for her recent promotion than I had to for mine.
This brings us to "auspicious." Auspicious is a way of saying that conditions predict success. Whereas we don't really have the ability to change our luck or our privilege, we do have our ability to create conditions that will lead to or at least encourage success. While luck and privilege can certainly help, this is about hard work, perseverance, and the ability to move beyond the status quo and do something truly original. In other words, to be auspicious, means to act.
Did Pete Johnson have one of these particular meanings in mind when he named this cigar? Or does the name hold some other meaning? I guess it does't matter so much because right now I am reflecting on all three and thinking about how my fausto brought me to this particular moment and this particular place.
Here is what I smoked:
I don't often amoke two cigars in one day, buy when I do...
Friday night my sweet and I flew down to the Bay Area for her 25th reunion and to help her sister shop for a dress for the wedding. As always we stayed with her parents in Walnut Creek. Of course while they were talking about where to start shopping, I was googling cigar bars. The day after I proposed to my sweet she took me to the Danville Wine and Cigar Bar and I thought that's where is end up. But, the girls were shopping closer to town so found myself at Casa Belicoso, a newish private lounge that let interlopers like me use the "common" area. The humidor was big but over humidified with infused cigars stacked next to non infused. The selection was poor too. When I asked for help finding a couple of sticks the lady there said "we don't carry those brands (tatuaje and Artoro Fuente) we focus on boutique blends." That must be why they had a row of RP and another of Drew Eatate. Sigh...
I ended up buying two sticks anyway because I didn't bring anything with me. I bought and Aging Room and a LFD, I started with the Aging Room and probably relit it a dozen times before I gave up because of the bitterness and the extra work it took to smoke. Simply put, it wasn't worth the effort. The LFD, on the other hand, was perfect. Smooth, more mild than I remembered, with prominent notes of spice and maybe leather. But what do I know.
With three weeks left before my marriage I admit I am looking for signs. Maybe even looking too hard. But today when I made a decision to put down a cigar that took all my energy to keep going and which repaid me only in bitterness to pick a much smoother, tastier, easier stick I found my sign.
Here is what I smoked:
A Kid in a Comic Store.
I decided after my last post I wasn't going to talk about my ex anymore. She's happy, I'm happy, there is simply no point. But I do have to say one thing about her, only because it gives a little context to rest of the story.
After the divorce, my ex stole my comic book collection.
I've always loved comics and what I collected at any one time tended to say a lot about who I was at that time. When I was a kid, for example, I tended to collect all the classics -- Superman, Spiderman, and so forth. When I joined the Army (and served in the finest military division in the world) I collected a lot of GI Joe comics. When I did archeology I tracked down all of the Indian Jones comics. As I hit my 30s I started collecting limited releases, and special editions like the Sandman. And she took them all.
It's no wonder, then, that I've been drawn to the Tatuaje monster series. By the time I "discovered" the little monster series they were already gone--I searched everywhere I could but no luck. I was like the kid in the comic book store trying to find that first edition Superman. Then one day I open my mail box and BOOM. Another box from BigShizza. He knew I wanted to try them so sent me one of each. By the time they came to me they were sitting in his humidor for 18 months, Now they been in mine for 6 and finally, today I broke one out. (I've actually had some of them before but the 5 Jim sent have stayed intact.).
I've been so in love with this line a started collecting the little monster cards and now have everyone accept Lil Drac and the Baby Face Pete cards. If you have one of these that you are willing to part with please let me know and we can make a trade. This brings me to the dual reason I am smoking the Frank Jr. While the cigar came from Jim and (and in fact my first little monster card also came from Jim, Trident sent me the Frank Jr. card a few months ago and was looking for a reason to thank him again.
Here is what I smoked:
"All the way!"
I had a *** of a time trying to decide what to smoke tonight. I had planned to muck my way through a fake cuban brought back by my soon-to-be father-in-law (glass front box and all) and write all about family and the sacrifices we make for them. Or something like that. Then, as I was driving home from work this evening it dawned on me that I got out of the army (the 82nd Airborne Division, the finest military division in the world) exactly 25 years ago today. A fake Cuban wasn't going to do it tonight.
So what then? I thought about a Ghurka Warpig that has been sitting in my humidor for a while. It would be my first Ghurka, but like the fake Cuban it won't do. A Man Of War? Rain would be pleased, I suppose, and I could craft that into some story about getting out of the army and compare my experience to that which we might anticipate for Rain. But no.
I smoked a few cigars when I was in the Army but they were (((clears throat)) Backwoods and Swishers. Once more, no!
Two humidors and a 96 Qt Coolidor and I have touched just about every cigar I own and I still can't decide. Meanwhile, the dog is barking, my son wants to watch a show, my daughter wants to read stories, my sweet wants me to work on wedding stuff...I know my time out in the garage is limited tonight so I do the most logical thing I can: I pick the shortest stick I have -- an Arturo Fuente Hemingway Short Story. In the end I suppose this was a reasonable choice. After all, Hemingway wrote "A Farewell to Arms" and, metaphorically at least, I suppose that's what leaving the military meant to me. That it's one of my favorite smokes in the whole world didn't hurt either....
Here is what I smoked:
Saint Valentine's Day
Some of you know that I proposed to my Sweet on St. Valentin's Day earlier this year. I picked that day primarily because my last "day in court" with my ex was February 14 the previous year and I wanted to take back the day.
I've smoked cigars on and off for a lot of years but really only started treating it as a hobby for a couple of years--about the same time as my sweet and I moved in together, interestingly. She has always been pretty tolerant and even has joined me couple of times for a smoke. But I never really had a sense of how supportive she was. I knew we "fit" and that's one of the things that drew us together. By the time we started dating we were, in many respect, already an old married couple. Not much surprised us in a lot of ways because we fit so well. She'd say something really outlandish about something she wanted to do or something she liked and I'd respond, "well of course you like that because I do to." But when It came to cigars, I just wasn't sure.
Starting February 1st I left a little present on her pillow every morning. Nothing big, just a things that I thought would be meaningful to her and to let he know I was thinking about her. When I woke up on St. Valentine's Day she surprised me with a bottle of single malt and a bouquet of cigars. One was the La Flor de Antillas. The flower of Antillas -- the perfect cigar to put in a bouquet and the perfect cigar to smoke tonight as a way of remembering how well she and I fit.
Here is what I smoked:
Lucky 13
What else could I smoke today, the 13th day of my count down to my wedding but the 13 by Outlaw Cigars? Nothing, right?
With just over three weeks until the wedding I am, for the first time, feeling a little nervous. Not because i am questioning my choice but because I don't think I am ready for the actual event and honeymoon. When I lived in Edmonds Washington I knew Rick Steves of "Europe through the back door" fame. When we were both much younger he told me that he would never marry someone he hadn't traveled with because he felt if you traveled with someone you better learned who they really were. My ex and I rarely traveled; my sweet and I travel all of the time and herein lies the rub.
My sweet and I have very different travel styles. While we both love travel I tend to be pretty anxious and she is much more laid back. She would kill me if she knew I was sharing this with you but she has lost her ID while traveling, left her bag on the tram, booked the wrong flight -- twice! -- and so forth. In fact she JUST got her passport in the mail today for a trip in 23 days. In contrast, I tend to have every little detailed planned in advance--even, in many case down to the cab I'm likely to from the airport to the hotel. I make a list of everything I am going to pack and check it twice -- once as I lay everything ou on my bed the night before and a second time as I put it into my bag.
You can see why I am anxious, yes? We will be in central Mexico for almost two weeks and we have only four days of hotel booked because she wants to have to flexibility to move around if we want to. Okay, I get that but but man, is she causing me to loose some sleep over this!
For what it's worth I haven't always been like this. When I was younger I thought nothing of packing up at the spur of the moment to drive cross country, just because. But as I get older I need a little more certainty in my life. I need a fucking itinerary!
13 is considered an unlucky number and I suppose that might be contributing to my anxiety (at least tonight). Or perhaps that Ive had a little too much Zaya rum...
Here is what I smoked tonight:
Patriots Day
There is a term in psychology and the learning sciences to describe those inevitable memories in our lives that are forever imprinted in our mind. The term is "flash bulb memories" because like a photograph these memories have some permanency. For example, none of us on this forum will likely ever forget the day, indeed, the moment, we heard about 9/11.
I was getting dressed for work and like every morning I turned on the news. At first I was having a hard time tracking--a plane crashed into the World Trade Center? Impossible. Then the second plane, the Pentagon, and Flight 93. I was stunned. We all were. I stood there, half dressed, eyes fixed on the tv when my four year old son walked in, looked at the tv, looked at me, back at the tv, then asked "what's wrong daddy?" How do you explain that kind of evil to a four year old?
Reluctantly I went to work that day only to find that someone had brought in a tv and the entire office was huddled around it, transfixed. And then the real horror began as we saw first one, then the other tower fall. In times of disaster people always quote Mr. Rogers who said something like, "In time of danger always look for the helpers." In this case the helpers were crushed by millions of tons of steel and concrete as they tried to help stranger stuck on the upper floors.
Around lunch time I decided to take a walk to try to make just a little bit of sense of what happened. What was happening. I knew on that day everything would change and now, thinking back, I believe I was right. I ended up in church that afternoon praying for strength for me, for my family, and for my country. I prayed for the families of the victims and the souls of those who died that day. And, as hard as it was, I prayed for forgiveness for those that planned and carried out this atrocity.
By the time I got back to the office most people were packing up to go home--several hours early, knowing they weren't going to get much done that day anyway and knowing that above all else they needed to be with their family.
As a country I think we were forced to grow up that day but I am not sure we were entirely prepared for the responsibility. We believed that hanging the flag that had been stuck in the back corner of the garage was an appropriate sign of our patriotism. Necessary, to be sure, but not sufficient. And when it came time to supporting our troops we slapped a yellow ribbon magnet on the back of our car and called it good.
Two years before 9/11 I was walking pass a VFW lodge and noticed that one of their flags was leaning precariously to the side, waiting for any slight breeze to knock it over. I stopped, straitened the flag then shored it up with a few large rocks nearby then started back on my way. Before I had even got to the corner an elderly man came out of the lodge and started yelling, "Young man, young man, come here please." He explained that he and his friends had noticed the flag leaning and as they were talking about what to do about it they saw a dozen people walk by, oblivious. Then I can along. "No one much seems to care about the flag anymore one of them said." Added another, "most don't even know why it's important."
Today my soon-to be-step daughter was getting dressed for "Patriot Day" at her school and so I asked her what she knew about the day. "This is a day to celebrate America" she said. For a seven year old she is pretty smart but I really think she missed the mark on this one. Today is not the day to celebrate America; today is the day to remember what can happen when we become complacent, Patriotism is not a holiday: it is a full-time job. Likewise, the best way to support our troops has little to do with yellow ribbons and more to do with our ability to wage peace. And when peace isn't possible? The give them everything they need to be safe and win the day.
Here is what I smoked today:
Do you remember the first time you fell in love? Mine was in kindergarten and the object of my affection was a cute little blond girl named Amy Ziesler. I loved her and to prove it I would chase her around the playground every recess. She was a lot faster than me so I was never able to catch her which, I suppose for a lot of us, that's a pretty apt summary of love in general.
Amy use to tell the teacher on me all the time. Generally I just got a warning but once I had to stay in class during recess as punishment. Boy was I mad! It didn't help that when Amy came back in the class she had this smug little look on her face because she knew she was the reason I had to stay in. The worse part was I had to apologize to her! Mi amore! How could she?
I went home after school feeling humiliated. What was wrong with girls that they didn't want to be chased by me? I'll bet you anything that she would let Timmy chance her. In fact I bet they were in cahoots to get me in trouble...why those little...
When I got home my babysitter was already there and, noticing I was brooding a bit, asked me what was wrong. I told her everything: how I loved little Amy Ziesler, how I chased her to show her how much I loved her, how Timmy was trying to steal her away from me. I was nearly in tears by the time I was finished telling her the story. She tried to comfort me but I would have nothing to do with it. Finally she suggested I write her a letter. Since I was only five she actual wrote the note, while I dictated. It went something like this:
Dear Amy,
I LOVE YOU SO MUCH
I think you should let me chase you and not love Timmy. Timmy was my friend and he only chases you to be mean to me. You should NOT let him chase you any more.
Love Eric
She even wrote all the letter "i" with hearts in the place of the tittle (snicker, snicker, I said 'tittle").
Determined to help me feel better my babysitter looked in the phone book to find her address. As luck would have it she only lived about five blocks away. "If we hurry we can make it back before your mom gets home" she said. So we nearly ran all the way to Amy's house so I could deliver my love letter to mi amore. As we approached the house my babysitter stayed on the sidewalk, "this is something you have to do alone," she told me. I walked up to the door, rang the door bell, and waited. "What was I going to say?" Amy's mom opened the door and immediately i knew whee Amy's looks came from -- God knows I wish I was still breastfeeding at five. "Is Amy there?" I asked nervously clutching the letter. "Just a moment" she responded before closing the door and, presumably, going to get Amy.
A few minutes later Amy came to the door, looked and me, looked at the letter in my hand and asked "what do you want?" This was the first time I every froze up talking to a girl. The first and maybe the last. "Well," she prodded, "what do you want." I realized at that moment, that everything I wanted to say was already written on this note so I leaned in, kissed her, thrust the note into her hand and like every reasonable five year old, ran away.
Amy and I never talked about that day again, but several days later as I was playing with Timmy (we just couldn't stay mad at each other) she came over and asked, "well, aren't you going to chase me?" "Mi amore!" I said, "of course I am going to chase you...." Here is what I smoked tonight.
Going back a few posts, this thread itself is one of the reasons I love this place, you've really opened yourself up but instead of the ridicule you'd get on most of the net here you get positives or friendly jabs from guys who will admit to going through some of the same sh-it; also helps some of us living through some of the same stuff that there's always a way to change things for the better.
Congrats on the wedding and Mexico ought to be awesome this time of year!
Questing Gemeinschaft
Rain chastised me a last night on V-herf for not including any MOW in my 30/30 thread. Normally, like most people, I simply ignored Rain but the more I thought about it the more I realized that he was right. Well, "right" might be too strong of a word, but I realized that I should--at least for a day--move beyond the self absorbed dribble typical of this thread, and pay homage to my fellow BOTLs and SOLTs. And who better captures the verve of the forum better than threadja...err, I mean Rain?
Germans have a word to talk about community that is difficult to translate in to English. Gemeinschaft means more than just a geographically specific group--like a neighborhood, for example. A better translation, though difficult to get right, is something like a voluntary group of people brought together spontaneously to provide some sense of being based on some shared tradition. Those that have served in the military a part of a gemeinschaft because we share a bond that is difficult, perhaps even impossible to understand if you haven't served. I don't say that to be exclusionary, but by way of explanation. If you served, you understand what i am trying to say; if you haven't well...
This forum is a gemeinschaft also.There are lots of cigar-related forums out on the interweb but everyone who has been around this forum knows that this one is different. We share something that, simply put, doesn't exist on other forums. If you are part of this forum you understand; if you are not, well...
Jim, I think, posted this video on Facebook a while ago that showed this seeming homeless man asking for handouts. Most people walked by without even acknowledging there existence. A few even took unnecessary jabs at them: "Get a job!" one man yelled. The punch line, though, was that every time someone gave him money he returned their money and added another $20. This experiment makes sense in a context where caring in an exception. Something like this would never work on ccom because we all would stop and give him money if we had money to give. And if we didn't have money to give? We'd give cigars, of course.
I remember the first time someone asked for my address. Looking back now I can't believe that I actually gave it to someone! Even early on I guess, I knew this was so much more than a simple online community. This was gemeinschaft. Thinking about it this way, a MOW for Rain, was the only logical choice. Here is what I smoked.
“Blue”
Blue is my favorite color. I didn’t understand it to be my favorite color until I hit my mid thirties. I was about to climb Mount Adams with a couple of friends and needed a new parka. Mount Adams is a part of the Cascade Mountain Range and is just south of Mount Saint Helens in Washington State. The mountain is 12,276 feet high and while some routes are technical, it is still considered a walk up. Now this doesn’t mean that it is not a feat. Indeed, is is one of the most physically challenging things I’ve done. And it does require some skill and a fair amount of specialized equipment like plastic boots, crampons, ice axes, and, of course, a warm parka.
So I am on the phone talking to a sales guy at REI trying to order a parka and we get through all of the important specifications and then he asks me what color I want. Normally I would have responded with “Color? What do you mean ‘color?’ I don’t ****ing care what color it is!” But this time, without even thinking about it I asked, “Do you have it in blue?” As soon as I said it I thought to myself, “Geez, have I really become the guy who cares about color?” Apparently I had.
According to some people, your favorite color can tell something about your personality. Blue, they say, if the color of trust and those that favor blue are therefore, trustworthy. Others people, however, argue that blue is a calming color and those that favor blue, are therefore, calming influences in your life. Still others claims that blue is a cool color and...well you get the idea, it’s not really an ‘exact science’ and probably not even a science at all.
So does it matter that in my mid thirties, then, that I suddenly had a favorite color? Maybe. Knowing what you like, and don’t like is often seen as a matter of maturity. I’ve seen this play out time and time again on this forum: a noob comes on to the forum and they just want to try a bunch of different sticks and for a year or so thats what they do. Then, as they establish their taste they start coming back to a few sticks time and time again: they have developed an opinion about what they liked and don’t like. This brings me to the reason I picked this stick tonight. As many of you know, SleevePlz started a pass called “my favorite brands pass.” In the introductory post he said:
“At this point in my cigar career, I have really come to know what it is I like and don’t like. This pass will reflect that. It will begin and end only with cigars that I love. That’s right, the only cigars allowed in this pass are ones to which I approve.”
Because of my schedule--I’m getting married in a couple of weeks, if you haven’t heard--I wasn’t able to participate but I love the idea. Or more accurately I love that he knows what he wants and isn’t afraid to say so. So SleevePlz, thanks again for the smoke. This one is for you:
I’ve been looking forward to smoking this all day. I’m not sure what it is about the Don Carlos but I absolutely love it. More that the Opus X, more than a Davidoff, more than, well, more than just about anything except the Ashton Heritage Puro Sol (which I like equally). Most people would agree that the Don Carlos is a “higher end” stick (well, I think most people would agree) but it’s also affordable -- about $7 for the #3 if you buy them by the box. (And yes, I know that affordability is subjective too). So if I love them so much, how come I’m not smoking them every day? How come it is a “treat” stick for me?
Anticipating the Don Carlos on the ride home today, I thought a lot about what it means to treat yourself. The nature of a treat is that it is unusual -- not in the sense of being strange but in the sense of being the antithesis of “usual.” A thing is no longer a treat when it becomes an common or everyday experience. I suppose even Disneyland would lose some of its magic if I went there every day.
So how do we define “treat?” For some, a “treat” is dependent on finances. When I was in college I found $10 on the street and “treated” myself to a six pack of good beer. Other times “treat” is a self imposed condition -- a friend brings you back a special chocolate bar from their travels and you portion it out over several days or even weeks. Treats, I argue, play an important role in our lives. They cause us to slow down a bit, to savor, to focus, to give thanks. Eleven days and a wake up and I’ll be, once again, a married man. Following a short service we hope to have one hell of a party. The party isn’t a treat for us (that will come during the honeymoon) but is our way of treating our friends and family. Our way of saying, “Hey! Slow the *** down, savor, focus, give thanks…
Here is what I smoked thanks to Curtis:
Nostalgia
Several years ago I read this great book by Stephanie Coontz called ‘The Way We Never Were.” The book is about how our sense of, indeed our longing for, a connection to a romanticized past shapes the way we live in the presence. Coontz argues that shows like “Leave it to Beaver” that, while fictitious, tend to shape viewer’s belief about the 1950s. No surprise here—there are stacks upon stacks of research that supports the impact of media on perceptions. But here is the really interesting thing: people that lived through the 1950s will reshape their memories after watching the show (or similar shows). Memory, it seems, is a fickle thing.
My first trip to Las Vegas was twenty-five years ago. At that point, Vegas was just starting to clean up a bit but that’s not saying much. At the very heart of the matter, Vegas is a dirty *** – always has been and always will be. You can give a dirty *** a bath, buy her a new wardrobe and some pretty underthings, wrap a string of pearls around her neck, but a dirty *** she will remain. And that’s a good thing, I think. In some ways I guess, Vegas reminds me of New Orleans but with better lights and worse food.
I remember walking down the strip the first night I was there wishing I could have gone back in time about 25 years to see Sinatra with the Count Basie and his orchestra at the Sands. Looking back it seems odd that I would long for a time I had never experienced except through the media (Oddly enough, Sinatra’s live album recorded at the Sands in 1966 was one of the tapes that got me through my deployment).
Last April I visited Vegas again for a few days and as I was walking down the street seeing that the lights and the people had grown tenfold, I wished I could go back 25 years to the first time I walked the streets of Vegas. How is it that now I longed for the place that seems so unsatisfactory at the time? Ah!, nostalgia, you fickle little ****!
My walked, quite by chance, ended at Caesar’s Palace and the underground shopping mall. At the far end of the mall, of course, is Case Fuente. I bought two lanceros, one I kept and smoked tonight and one I sent to Trident with a few other sticks to thank him for sending me one of the Tatuaje Little Monster cards.
Here is what I smoked,
Happy Von Steuben Day!
As a kid growing up in the 70s I always struggled with my German heritage. In school I had to contend with teachers’ biases that equated all Germans with Hitler’s atrocities. In fact, one of most profound school memories was listening to a WWII veteran--the uncle of my third grade teacher--say that “the only good German is a dead German.” The same messages was repeated when I got home and turned on the television. One of the most popular shows at the time was Hogan’s Heroes. The show, set in a German POW camp, portrayed all German’s as either tyrannts or bumbling idiots.
As a family we didn’t celebrate our heritage. I think some of this had to do with the popular opinion at the time--I suppose it would have been a similar experience if I was Japanese. By the time I started college things were a lot different, from a social perspective but not really from an academic one. On the one hand it was okay to celebrate Oktoberfest but on the other, textbooks, lectures, and other course material tended to focus on Nazi Germany rather than the more plebeian society. I remember one particular lecture in world history class where the feminist/revisionist history professor proclaimed that the *** were butchers. My family were butchers, to be sure, but ours was limited to bovines and swine.
Other than the obvious connection between a cigar labeled “heritage” and a post about my heritage, why this cigar? And why this story?
Today, as it turns out, is Baron Frederick von Steuben Day. The good Baron left his comfortable home in Germany in the late 1700s to help George Washington kick the crap out of the Brits. Serving as Washington’s Chief of Staff he is credited with creating most of the military protocols and tactics used by the US military at least to the War of 1812. Some historians even claim to be able to identify traces of these core principles and practices in the modern US military. If this is true then one might argue that von Steuben helped defeat Hitler. Now that would be ironic!
Today I smoke a Ashton Heritage Puro Sol -- my last one, as it turns out -- reflecting on what it means to be German and what that might mean, if anything, to my new blended family. Here is what I smoked:
50 Shades of Camacho
Admit it. When you smoke a CC you feel a little naughty. Kind of like when you were a kid and you stole a beer from your parent's refrigerator, hid it under your shirt, snuck out back, and drank it behind the shed. You felt just a little naughty, didn't you? Or what about buying your first condom? Naughty, yes? When we do something that our subconscious considers "naughty" there is a predictable physiological reaction--blood pressure and pulse increases, you may start to sweat a little, your breathing changes, and you become hyper focused. Sometimes you even get a little boost of adrenalin. Your body does that because, essentially, its preparing itself for the chance that you will get caught and have to beat a hasty retreat. If you are one of the few that doesn't experience these reactions it means, most likely, that you are a sociopath. Okay, maybe sociopath is too strong a word, but it generally means that your subconscious doesn't "read" what you are doing as wrong.
I argue that part of the enjoyment we get from smoking a CC comes from the aroused state we are in when we smoke it--they simply taste better because our senses are heightened. Or at least thats my theory.
A couple of years ago the book "50 Shades of Gray" got a lot of press because it aroused a whole nation of middle class, middle aged sexually repressed women. Sexual arousal is similar to the arousal you get when you are doing something naughty -- the only exception is that (in most people anyway) most men don't get erections and most women don't find it necessary to change their panties after smoking a CC. (Remember, I said "most"). Of course, when you add a little lightweight BSDM to the mix -- something a lot of people consider at least a little naughty, you are, as the saying goes, "firing all pistons." Incidentally, this physiological reaction is addicting so it is no wonder that most of the people who read the first book also read the next two.
So what the hell does this have to do with a Pre-Embargo Camacho?Let me tell you...
Smoking a Pre-Embargo Camacho is an equivocal experience. On the one hand (assuming the pre embargo label is correct) you know you are smoking cuban leaf which you know to be illegal; on the other hand you know that you can buy these on ccom. In this sense it is a little bit like reading from 50 Shades;
“Suddenly he grabs me, tipping me across his lap. With one smooth movement, he angles his body so my torso is resting on the bed beside him. He throws his right leg over both mine and plants his left forearm on the small of my back, holding me down so I cannot move … He places his hand on my naked behind, softly fondling me, stroking around and around with his flat palm. And then his hand is no longer there … and he hits me—hard.”
We are not quite sure whether we ought to be aroused or not -- if you knew nothing about the context of this quote would you say this was foreplay or abuse? And therein is the rub. How much of the experience of smoking a CC is a result of heightened arousal and how much is the leaf itself? If you smoked a CC thinking it was from the DR would it taste the same? Would your enjoyment be the same? Does it matter?
Here is what I smoked today: