Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair with a Rocky Patel Junior Sumatra in one hand and an ice cold HE'BREW Chosen Beer sweating on the table next to me, I'm trying to get my imagination back.
OK, not my "imagination," but the imagination I used to have. Somewhere between now and 30 years ago I lost it...or it lost me...maybe on purpose. At least that is what I have come up with so far since I was confronted with this situation last week.
It all started when my daughter, 14, decided to clean her room...actually clean it, not just rearrange the clutter. Maybe it was us telling her that the producers of "Hoarders" were calling, or the promise to repaint and redecorate that made the real results happen. Who really knows? But it was either she gets it done or Dad is calling in a Napalm strike. For days, she went through old stuff dating back to pre-school and tossed a lot of it. I was very proud of her as I have some pack rat tendencies myself. One evening, she was showing me a large folder stuffed with pre-school art projects and drawings asking me if I remembered them when she said she wished she still had that imagination.
Wow. If a 14 year old, who is supposed to have an amazing imagination, can recognize the drastic changes in her own imagination in just ten or eleven short years and wish for the old one back, where does that leave me? The more I thought about it, the more I wanted that childhood imagination back again. Hell! I'll take the teenage imagination...at least I know it will involve beautiful girls. What used to be running around the neighborhood with no shirt and no shoes all summer long playing "smear the something that rhymes with smear", drinking out of a neighbor's garden hose and collecting buckeyes in shopping bags has become gas mileage, pulling weeds and faucets that drip. What used to be baseball cards in my spokes pretending to be Evil Knievel has become motorcycle payments and little time to ride. What used to be playing for hours and hours in snow that seemed so deep convinced that I was a US infantry soldier fighting nazis in the Battle of the Bulge (when I was actually in the woods behind a house somewhere in my neighborhood) has become heating bills, school cancellations and doppler radar.
I don't know about you, but I really miss the days of that imagination. My Big Wheel WAS a Camaro, my Huffy WAS a Yamaha, and the big old furnace in my grandmother's basement absolutely positively WAS a monster that would grab me and kill me if I didn't pedal my tricycle past it at a minimum of mach 2. I COULD run like Franco Harris. I COULD throw like Kent Tekulve, and I COULD laugh so hard I would pee my pants. OK, I still do that but for different reasons. My point is we do grow up and we do change, but do we really have to lose all of that really cool imagination from childhood? No we don't. Many, like the Disney folks, know that, but for the average shmo, like me, how do you work that into the daily grind of being a grown-up?
My 9 month old son may be the key. Pretty soon, I will be blessed to witness that childhood imagination again through his eyes. It's up to me. I can just watch it as a grown-up, or I can try sometimes to leave the grown-up behind, jump in, and be a part of it. Can you herf on Sesame Street?
And that's the way I see it...From the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - Friends & Cigars
Posted: 2010-06-08
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair with the rising smoke from a Cain F Habano 550 slowly circling the room, my thoughts are mostly memories today - memories of a friend I lost on Friday who was laid to rest today.
If you've been enjoying cigars for more than a few weeks, you know how they possess many strange yet wonderful powers. Cigars are a great equalizer able to bring different backgrounds, lifestyles, professions, politics, ages and tax brackets together in a civil, respectful and enjoyable manner. Cigars create the environment that grows strong friendships and, just as cigars require a certain commitment of your time and thoughts, the friendships formed over cigars are committed friendships lasting many years often over many miles. Cigars are how I met Mark.
When I brought this little idea called the Blowin' Smoke Podcast to market, Mark discovered the show and decided to drop me a line to comment on something we discussed. That email led to another and another and soon Mark was a contributor to the show as well as a regular attendee of some of our larger herfs during the year. Mark was one of my biggest fans and I became one of his.
I cannot recall a time that Mark traveled from Buffalo to western Pennsylvania for a crazy herf or the annual Cigar Crawl that he did not come bearing gifts - each one with a story, and each story a reflection of the man Mark was. He would remember a small detail of a passing conversation or a comment you made and use it to stumble upon or seek out the perfect thoughtful gift.
Mark loved his family and you knew it. The proud father of two fine young men, Mark was always updating us on their school work, hobbies and community service. Mark's boys have a better grasp of the world around them than most adults I know and neither one of them are old enough to have a beer with me to toast their old man. Mark and Diane have raised them well. They will succeed.
There was one thing, however, I was always jealous of with Mark - his ability to enjoy what he enjoyed. That may sound silly, but it's true. With all the stresses of life, and later a cancer diagnosis, Mark would make it a point to enjoy what made him happy as much as he could and usually bring someone else with him. Because he loved roller coasters, Mark joined a group that traveled together to enjoy famous coasters. Because Mark loved professional wrestling (to this day, Mark...I still don't get it), he got involved in his region be penning a newsletter, becoming known in the inner circles, and eventually becoming a ring announcer. Because Mark loved fireworks, he signed himself and his best friend up for pyrotechnics classes. Because of these and many other things Mark decided to jump into, things I would guilt myself out of, he always had great stories to tell. I'm going to try to be more like Mark and try new things, get more involved. Life is, indeed, too short.
When Mark told me of his cancer diagnosis a couple years ago, I only wanted to think about him beating it, being strong and winning. Mark was beating it. He was strong and he was winning. And then he wasn't. You can only take so much and Mark fought hard. Cancer took all his strength until there wasn't anymore.
When I received word that Mark had passed, I had just lit up a cigar called "Simpatico." I found that to be appropriate. So, if you don't mind me asking, please pray for and smoke one for Mark and his family. Then, take a couple of minutes to think about how your life has been enriched by the people you've come to know through cigars...these magical little cigars. Rest easy, Mark.
And that's the way I see it...from the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - Zero Intelligence Policy
Posted: 2010-03-10
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair with a well-aged Arturo Fuente Short Story smoldering I find myself confused. Should this make me angry? Should this make me laugh? Should this make me sad for us as a people?
What the hell am I talking about? Well, this week we learned that a six year old kindergarten kid in Michigan was suspended for pretending his hand was a gun and pointing at another student. What? Yes, a six year old kid was suspended from school, not for dealing drugs, not for torching the locker room, not for calling the principal a cock sucker, and not for porking his math teacher in the broom closet, but for pointing at another student. School officials said they had asked the boy to stop pointing his finger gun at other students several times, but he did not. An investigation by the crack members of the school board subsequently determined that the six year old was not licensed to carry a concealed finger gun having failed a background check. Furthermore, a record of aggressive behavior against his mother for making him eat spinach forbade him from even owning a finger gun.
What the hell is going on here? Suspended? Really? Other kids were uncomfortable? Really? This makes me wonder if the goal here really is to turn boys into pussies instead of men and all kids into PC indoctrinated non-thinking feel-gooders instead of personally responsible, well-educated, thinkers, creators and problem solvers.
Isn't it ironic that the finger formation used to make a big scary imaginary gun to terrorize fellow students is exactly the same finger formation used to make a big ass "L" for loser on one's forehead? Hell, I make that same hand gesture several times a day when I pick my nose! Had the nut jobs that sit on school boards today been around when I was a kid, I never would have graduated. Boys doodled pictures of battles, guns, tanks and fighter planes spitting out bullets all the time. When I was six, my cousin and I used to run around the neighborhood for hours in a make believe WWII game killing nazis with finger gun 1911's and tree branches for rifles and bayonets. We had spring loaded toy guns that fired plastic rods with suction cups on the end and tried like hell to get one to stick to a buddy's face. We played cowboys and Indians...cops and robbers...and guess what, you idiot educators and school administrators? We survived. We learned how to play together, share and solve problems, and we didn't need mommy and daddy or government every time we didn't like something.
Should this little kid have been suspended from school? Absolutely not. Should he have been disciplined if he was asked to stop a certain behavior and did not? Absolutely. Perhaps no recess? Eat lunch with the principal instead of his friends? Stay after school and clean the chalkboards and erasers? Teach him consequence in a way he can understand at six years old. You claim to be educators. You should know this.
And that's the way I see it...from The Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - Snowpocalypse Now
Posted: 2010-02-06
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair smoking a Montecristo Cabinet Toro, slurping Nicaraguan coffee and staring out the Havana Room window at 15+ inches of snow on the ground, I am briefly distracted by the local newsbabe on the tube trying not to hyperventilate while she rehashes the snowfall totals and emergency declarations.
While I stare at the TV through the rich aromatic cigar smoke, my brain drifting back and forth between the doppler radar images and concocted images of what the newsbabe would like like in a Victoria's Secret push-up bra and matching thong, another vision pops into my under-caffeinated brain.
It's late 2009 and I am holed up with the Cretins in the Havana Room wallowing in my own ash covered stink following a weekend cigar and bourbon bender when somebody, it doesn't matter who, came up with the idea. The next two months are a blur until we find ourselves being air dropped on to the upper Mahoning Creek in north central Pennsylvania. Our provisions include cigars, coffee, and Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos. Our mission: terminate a rogue groundhog who has become "unhinged." His name is Kurtz, but his followers know him as Phil. We are equipped with various small arms, shoulder fired buck-tooth seeking missiles, and an M107 .50 cal Long Range Sniper Rifle.
After two days adrift, (because somebody dropped us up Mahoning Creek without a paddle) the current carried us to the outskirts of Punxsutawney very early on the morning of February 2nd. We devise a plan to disguise ourselves as drunken revelers in order to gain access to the perimeter surrounding Phil's controlled compound, Gobbler's Knob. It takes us approximately ten seconds to don our disguise.
What transpires over the next seven hours becomes the stuff of legend. The danger. The intrigue. The precision. Amid the height of the celebration, the intoxicated chaos and the ritual, a single shot timed perfectly with the knock of a cane on the tree stump door and it was done. All they found, in a nearby thicket, was a single cigar band. A calling card? Maybe. It read Gurkha Assassin.
If only. But for now, it's back to the newsbabe for the latest snow totals. Yeah, I got your 15 inches right here!
And that's the way I see it...From the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - A Bit Nipply
Posted: 2010-01-07
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous mobile Man Chair with the smoke of a Montecristo Classic Toro wafting through a crack in the window as I navigated the highways and byways of western Pennsylvania in January I realized again how much winter weather sucks, especially when it comes to smoking cigars.
I could go on about all the other reasons why winter weather sucks like home heating bills, idiots who think an SUV makes them impervious to black ice, hat head, and layered clothing to name a few, but when it screws with my cigar enjoyment, I really get pissed. Often, a little bit of cigar time goes a long way toward making all the crappy winter weather stuff more tolerable. Winter weather with the snow, ice and bone chilling cold, however, tends to dampen herfing spirits as more folks opt to stay in than deal with all the extra bull crap involved with just getting from Point A to Point Herf. Smoking bans have all but eliminated places to light up and a local cigar shop isn't always an option. Sure there is the old garage herf, but without some basic creature comforts like, I don't know…heat and a place to pee that doesn't make your 'nads climb up to your pancreas, it loses its luster quickly. I'm lucky to have the famous Havana Room where the super fantastic Blowin' Smoke Podcast emanates from, but waiting for the kerosene heaters to kick in can be a buzz kill when it's 10 below outside. I know. Maybe I shouldn't complain too much.
No matter how you slice it, winter weather herfing is generally not as easy as warm weather herfing, but it's not just location, location, location. So, I have assembled my list of 5 ways winter weather screws with my herfing.
5) Torch lighters and cold temps do not compliment one another. Wind proof my ass.
4) Fragile wrappers become exploding wrappers in cold temps.
2) Snot drippings tend to negatively influence a cigar's nuances.
1) Driving with a cigar in one hand and a Blackberry in the other is less safe when it is snowing.
You brothers and sisters of the leaf herfin' away in the warmer climates this time of year, smoke one for us Yankees up north. And tell Al Gore he's full of shit too.
And that's the way I see it…From the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - Lest I Offend
Posted: 2009-12-04
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair with a Gran Habano 3 Siglos robusto and a mug of Torcedor Coffee Cabinet Blend, I found myself offended. Not at the fact that my son yatched up formula all over my shoulder and down my back, or the fact that my trusty triple flame torch lighter refuses to work in temps below 50 degrees Fahrenheit, but at the fact that everybody else is so easily offended.
Every time you turn around, somebody is whining about being offended. This is the season we see and hear a lot of this infantile garbage with bunches of it focused on Christmas. When did we become such pussies that the expression "Merry Christmas" actually offends someone? A tree offends you? A TV commercial making fun of the mob offends you? Please. Grow a pair and grow up. Live your own life and stop trying to change mine based upon your mental shortcomings.
'Tis the season, though. So, in the spirit of bandwagon bitching, I'd like to take a moment and offer up some of the things that offend ME. Here goes.
Smoking bans. I am, at least I think I am, a free American engaging in a legal activity that is already disproportionately taxed. A legal business, such as a bar or restaurant, should be free to decide what their individual smoking situation should be. It offends me when both individuals and businesses are forced out of choice and into regulation of a legal activity.
Cigars that under-perform. Not cigars that are a personal dislike along subjective lines like taste, strength or appearance, but cigars that are plugged, poorly finished or don't burn well. When I drop a Hamilton or more on one of your cigars and it falls to pieces or I have to fight with it, that offends me. The goal is to relax and enjoy. Make it so. See the pictures below.
Politicians. Everything you do involves taking from someone. Every time you speak, it costs us money. When you can look me in the eye and tell me that a 2000 + page pile of dung is going to save us money, you offend me. Shut up. Do nothing. Get out of our way.
Misguided youth. Just because you graduated from high school or college doesn't mean the world owes you a thing. Be it a six figure salary or health insurance, you are young, inexperienced and stupid. You offend me. Turn off the reality shows, get a job or two and earn your way up.
Windproof lighters that aren't. If the act of lighting a cigar blows out your flame, that isn't windproof and that offends me. I want to hear an F-14 afterburner in my hand when I click.
Finally, holiday sales. Look, Sparky, you're not fooling anybody. It's a Christmas sale. This is the time of the year where you can win or lose, live or die and it's not because of the winter solstice. It's because it's Christmas and people are buying Christmas gifts. When you give in to PC while sticking your hand out to me, that offends me. Christmas or otherwise, call it what it is.
Time for a refill on the coffee. I hope the fabulous Girl Wonder lets me back in. Apparently she was offended by the requests to pull my finger. Typical.
And that's the way I see it...From the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - Evolution: From Birth to Herf
Posted: 2009-11-05
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair with a Don Gonzalez Corojo Robusto, I got to thinking about the recent changes in the conversations between your Freako and the fabulous Girl Wonder.
What used to be the sharing of mindless stories of the day's happenings at the orifice, discussions of the latest political ankle grabbing in Washington, or the current drama bubbling up from our collective families has been replaced by talk about the baby. Of course it has. There's a baby in the house and life pretty much revolves around the baby for a while, but I recently realized a close relationship between the baby topics of conversation and the average herf conversations that take place everywhere.
With a baby, you talk about naps. At a herf, you talk about cigars.
With a baby, you talk about how many bottles baby has had. At a herf, you talk about how many cigars you've had.
With baby, you talk about baby's development and learning. At a herf, you talk about your cigar history, the cigars you enjoy currently and why.
With a baby, you talk about poopy diapers and describe the contents relative to diet. At a herf, you talk about various cigars and describe their flavor, strength and body relative to the tobaccos in them.
With a baby, you relate baby's temperment with his diet and sleep schedule. At a herf, you relate cigars to various drink pairings, meals and times of day.
See what I mean? Sure there is small talk, political banter and general ball busting at a herf too, but the basics are almost always estabished early on to open the door for the other stuff.
I think when I introduce my son to the herf as a young man, in addition to the box of cigars I have set aside until his 18th or 21st birthday, I'll bring out the pictures of him as he is today at exactly one month old and try to recall the way his mother and I feel right now about him coming into our lives. Then, after some father/son formalities, begin a new era of herfing for me. Herfing with my son...something I never got to do with my dad. What awaits us between birth and herf remains to be seen, but those cigars will certainly be worth waiting for.
And that's the way I see it...From the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - Suck On This
Posted: 2009-10-15
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair with a Rocky Patel ITC 10th Anniversary Robusto and a mug of Nicaraguan Torcedor Coffee, I am thinking about boobs.
Yeah. What else is new? But I'm not thinking about boobs in the usual way. This is different.
You may have heard that the Girl Wonder and I recently had a baby boy. If you have ever had a child of your own or visited someone who has in the hospital, chances are you have experienced the lacto-nazis. Every birthing unit of every hospital and most OB/GYN offices have at least one lacto-nazi lurking around at all times. Their job is to befriend, indoctrinate, coerce and convert new and expectant mothers into the world of breast feeding come hell or high water. They prey on young fearful first time mothers who are already questioning their nurturing potential with all the raging hormones coursing through their veins. They sneak up on you, although a trained eye can easily spot them first. They loiter. They wear ID tags, but don't wear scrubs. They wait for that moment of weakness and they pounce! And like that, we guys get a time out and our toys taken away. No boobs! It sucks...literally.
Now let me be very clear. Breast feeding is a wonderful thing. From the bonding between mom and baby to the unmatched health benefits for baby, breast feeding is, hands down, the best. However, it is not the only choice and it is not always a choice for a number of reasons. You new moms and dads need to know that your choice to nurse or not or anything in between is your choice period and no one can or should judge you on your choice whatever it is or is not.
Back to the boobs. For several days, I watched quietly as two high ranking members of the lacto-gestapo worked their magic on the Girl Wonder. They grabbed, held, cupped, squeezed, pinched, tweaked, shook, kneaded, rolled, and jiggled my wife's boobs. And they didn't have to mow the lawn, do the dishes or buy her jewelry! They even hooked her up to pumps, hoses, tubes and gizmos called the Suck-Master 3000 or something. If I came at her with a gadget like that, the Girl Wonder would have me committed.
It was then, as I was being boobie-blocked by the lacto-nazis, that I wondered why I couldn't have a gig like that. Travel the world...play with boobs. I'm perfectly qualified. A quick refresher course and I'd be up to speed on the latest health information on breast feeding. I'm detail oriented. I'm a good listener. I can start immediately. And I love boobs. Why couldn't I do it? Oh, that's right. I'm a guy. That would be weird...or would it?
And that's the way I see it...From the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - The Reality Of It
Posted: 2009-09-17
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair smoking a La Gloria Cubana Wavell, I've been thinking back to the other night when I watched The Biggest Loser
season premiere while eating a piece of cake. While this is one "reality" show I don't mind watching for several reasons, not the least of which is the fact that I could be a contestant, the smartass cynic in me quickly took over. You skinny bastids might not understand.
How much difference would it make to us fat asses if the fast food joints would stop asking us if we would like "something else" with that? I'm all for accepting personal responsibility, but if you are going to put the image of some deep fried starchy thing drizzled in fudge with a ranch dipping sauce in my head, at best I'm going to consider it and at worst I'm going to get a frickin' bucket of it...and another Diet Coke to justify it. Just give me what I ask for and shut the hell up! I'm seeing a smaller pants size right there.
Next, how much difference would it make to us fat asses if we watched ourselves eat? You know. Wire your digital camera to the TV inputs and start the show. I know the mere thought of this makes me want to go on a hunger strike...except with donuts. I'd be less skeeved, maybe even a little confident watching myself eat a salad, but when the double quarter pounder with nougat rolled out along with a bag of Andy Capp Hot Fries, I'd be purging like Britney Spears after a Vegas buffet. Class reunion here I come!
Finally, getting back to The Biggest Loser, given the almost unbelievable circumstances of the contestants and what they have to do, it stands to reason that at one time or another somebody on that show has crapped their pants in the gym. That would be me. How could I possibly handle being turned on by sexy trainer Jillian Michaels while running a treadmill while she spit F-bombs two inches from my sweaty, cigar breath spewing face? I'll tell you how. Crap my pants.
That's got to be good for a pound...give or take, right?
And that's the way I see it From the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - Allow Me To Explain
Posted: 2009-08-20
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair, with a smoldering Augusto Reyes Nativo corona, I feel compelled to explain, or perhaps educate those who have not completely grasped the increasingly popular Stoopid Movie Thursday Herf concept.
If you are a herf virgin, you will not understand immediately, but you will understand eventually. Herf professionals, you may need a refresher from time to time. It's easy to begin taking yourself too seriously...unlike the Man Chair, of course.
The Stoopid Movie Thursday Herf is not about movies stupid or otherwise, and it is not about Thursdays. It's about the Herf, people. The Herf.
It's about pressing the pause button and slowing down. It's the sublime ceremony of enjoying a fine cigar in good company. It's about friends and inside jokes. It's about ligero, olor, and Connecticut shade. It's about sports and politics, beer and bourbon, Ginger and Mary Ann. It's about escaping for a while. It's about anything you want it to be and nothing you don't, because it's about the Herf...cigars and people.
While Stoopid Movie Thursday Herfs do generally include a movie, they are background...irrelevant. This is why the Man Chair scours the bargain rack at the local video store for the truly lame options that will fit the background noise designation perfectly...such as any movie starring Paris Hilton or Pauly Shore. That, and the Man Chair is a cheap bastard.
If you don't, make time to herf. A little or a lot, it doesn't matter as long as you herf. Whether it is Stoopid Movie Thursday Herfs, Fridays at the cigar shop, Wednesday poker nights, or Mondays in the garage, it's about the Herf.
And that's the way I see it From the Man Chair.
From the Man Chair - Meet the Man Chair
Posted: 2009-07-30
Hence embedded in the divine and righteous Man Chair with a Padilla Habano robusto in hand and a Diet Coke to my left, I am tasked with introducing you to this new segment found only on BlowinSmokePodcast.com called "From the Man Chair"...to give you a little taste of what to expect in the weeks and months to come.
When my full figured posterior parks itself in the Man Chair with a fine cigar, all that matters is what I think. From the Man Chair, I am in my Archie Bunker chair in my house playing by my rules...until the wife gets home. From the Man Chair, mine is the only opinion that matters. From the Man Chair, I am free to pontificate and proscribe at will. From the Man Chair, grandstanding is the national past time. You get the picture, right?
Now, before we go any further, we should lay down some Man Chair rules. These rules are always subject to modification, addition or deletion, that's right, From the Man Chair.
Rule #1 - Respect the Man Chair.
Rule #2 - When in doubt, see Rule #1.
Rule #3 - Only the rightful owner of the Man Chair may claim its powers unless a temporary substitute is duly chosen by said rightful owner.
Rule #4 - The Man Chair shall not be overturned, overruled, or appealed except as welcomed by the Man Chair.
Rule #5 - The Man Chair can be bribed.
Rule #6 - The Man Chair will deny Rule #5.
What's next? Only the Man Chair knows. We might be discussing the finer points of micro-brews one day and the rubbernecking of the Jon & Kate + clown car vagina the next.
It might get ugly. It might be weird. It might be exactly what we need. Stay tuned.
