From last Thursday to Sunday (yesterday) the Z family drove to the land of politico stooges – Washington DC. I’ve been to DC, but never did the full tour until now, and I can tell you, it is an absolutely spectacular place to visit. To say that it’s just a bunch of statues, museums, and big buildings is not only a gross understatement, but you slander the millions over the years who have toiled to make our nation’s capital one of the most breathtaking places you’ll ever happen to enjoy.

First off if you ever plan to do the tour, KNOW that you will walk the sidewalks and streets for miles on end and your legs and feet will ache beyond comprehension. Each morning I had a Motrin omelet with three pots of coffee to get me revved and going. Plus the fact that the temperature was in the high 90’s sure added to the difficulty of moving around. Of course my kids are 14 and 18 so they were pretty much fine. I, on the other hand was limping like a wounded grouse caught in a hunting trap. Even my wife who walks miles every day and is in great shape, was dragging terribly. I wished I could have rented a rickshaw and a massage therapist for the duration – happy ending, optional – no, not from the rickshaw guy.

We stayed across the river in Arlington and made use of the Washington Metro, an amazing subway service that gets you where you want to go cheap and fast. (Yes, it’s the same train line that had that horrible accident last week.) First stop was the Whitehouse and you get to see all of the crazies picketing, waving banners and shouting, like loons. Every time we walked by I would yell out, “Hell NO, we wont go!” I felt like a real rebel.  Then some old lady kneed me in the groin and called me a pinko.

If you’ve toured through Washington, you understand the grandeur I speak of. But if you’ve never been there, then it’s hard to even put into to words for you how grandiose it really is. There are buildings made of marble and concrete with ornate carvings and Roman columns that span ten football fields across. You think about the time period that these places were built in, and wonder how it all happened and how much massive.  manpower it took to complete. The Capitol Building and the Library of Congress are SO overly ornate, painted, sculpted and mosaic tiled that I was in awe (and pain) every step of the way.

Then there are the museums that one could spend days on end in each – the Air and Space Museum, the American History Museum, and the Holocaust Museum (yes, the same spot the guard was killed in several weeks ago) were indescribably breathtaking. I got to see Archie Bunker’s chair and Seinfeld’s puffy shirt, the Wright brother’s plane, and an Apollo space capsule. But nothing is more sobering than hours spent in remembrance of those who endured the grotesque pain of Nazi hatred. I learned a hell of a lot more than I ever knew about the holocaust and what actually led up to it. Seeing in person the real prison uniforms, luggage, shoes, hair, and belongings of those who had their lives erased was surreal and so very humbling.

But for the good news, I DID get to smoke a few cigars in some very wonderful shops. Friday afternoon I spent several hours at W. Curtis Draper, Tobacconist, located about two blocks from the Whitehouse, on 14th Street. It’s the fourth oldest tobacco shop in the U.S. (around 120 years old) and it is an oasis for the weary traveler in need of a smoke and fine companionship. Owners John and Matt spent the entire time talking cigars with me and sharing their concerns about the tobacco taxes, anti smoke laws, and the new FDA inheritance of governing tobacco. Even though they face a hell of a battle, their spirits are high and have countless friends who enter the doors to purchase a leafy diversion from life. The guys are doing some excellent “outside the box” thinking to cater to their customer base, including diners where you have a pre-meal cigar reception at the store, a multi-course feast at a local eatery (no smoking as the laws dictate), then back to the store for post meal smokes. Everyone from highbrow politicians, military personnel, businessmen, and everyday botl’s like you and me, are the clientele, and Rudy Guliani makes it a regular stop when visiting. And if you love cigars like me, it will become a regular stop upon every visit.

Another wonderful place to stroll is Georgetown with it’s beautiful college campus and cosmopolitan streets with trendy shops, restaurants, and Georgetown Tobacco, where I found the people to be wonderfully friendly and again, true tobacconists in every sense of the word. Wandering M Street with a big-ass AVO hanging from my jaw was a pleasure after our brick over pizza feast at Pizza Paradiso. On a nice day, this is a terrific place to peruse.

Can’t forget General George’s house in Mount Vernon. It’s a three story colonial mansion built on gorgeous farmland, with a breathtaking view of the Potomic River. Walking through the house that our nation’s founder lived in was pretty incredible. You get to see the actual bed he died in, which is ultra creepy, along with his tomb, but I say it’s a must visit if you’re in the area. GW also owned a distillery 2 miles up the road where over 11,000 gallons of hootch was produced back in colonial times. The original gristmill is still in operation and a very cool thing to see.

Sunday morning before leaving we visited the Lincoln Memorial and the stunning Vietnam Wall – another sobering reminder of war and the wake of sadness it leaves behind. The amount of names inscribed in that stone is something you don’t expect. And I wanted to mention that about three years ago in DC we toured the Arlington Cemetery, an experience that changes you when you leave the grounds. Time didn’t permit us going this time around, but I will again on my next visit, for sure.

Wow… we did a lot…saw a lot… and I complained that I ached a lot. Plus I drove everyone nuts because I stop to drink and pee every five minutes, where my wife can go all day without stopping like a god damned camel. We had a tremendous time and I would not only recommend it highly, but I’ll do it again in the future. If you can try to forget the fact that the politico dirtbags of society inhabit the city in droves, I guarantee you’ll have an amazing time, as my family and I did. Just MAKE SURE to stock up on your painkiller of choice.

Have a great week my Patriots,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

You guys all know that I’m the total nostalgic sort, and nothing but nothing says nostalgic like Father’s Day. But I happened to have had a hell of a few days of celebrating. On Thursday, Tommy 3 graduated eighth grade. (Dad is Tommy 1 and I’m the Jr.) On Friday, my daughter Nicole graduated high school. Then Saturday, we had a daylong, nightlong party and I am so friggin’ wiped, both physically and emotionally.

It has rained something like 20 of the past 23 days in our area and people are going stir crazy. Thursday it poured and the eighth grade ceremony was in the gym – the 4,000 degree gym. The speeches were dreadfully long and drawn out and over 300 kids got their diplomas for what seemed like a day and a half. But the upside? A massive collection of hot moms – hot sweaty moms that drove many a dad wacky. Lots of leg and low cut tops made Mr. Polish Snausage do his own little pomp and circumstance. And then the fact that half the eight grade girls looked 21 years old was most disturbing. God knows there’s a humidor in hell with my name inscribed on it.

But Friday was a miracle. What started as a cloudy, dismal looking day gave way to sun, 72 degrees, and blue skies and the high school seniors got to parade around the football field and it was just sensational. Now THIS ceremony was brutally surreal. I was picturing my girl crying getting on the first grade bus, then opened my eyes to see her in her cap and gown. Wow. I did all I could to hold back the tears and look like more of a fool than I normally tend to be. But again, it was the gaggle of steaming hot mothers that kept me perky and pomped. Funny how years ago people thought a 40 year-old woman was an old maid. And of course the senior girls looked like beautiful women, not 17 and 18 year old kids. Just a very memorable day.

So of course Saturday is our humongous party for the kids and of course it poured rain all god damned day long. But, I really didn’t give a rats ash cuz I drank and smoked and ate like a wolverine. I set up a tent in front of the garage and barbequed from underneath for close to twelve hours. My colon must look like a meat locker for crissakes. Don’t know if they’re a national brand, but we’ve got Thumann’s hot dogs, made from beef and pork and they blow up twice the size and split down the middle. The taste is so amazing and I kind of did the “one for you – one for me” thing all day. I also made sure to ingest a medium rare cheeseburger once every quarter hour. And for two days I’m now excreting once every quarter hour. (Yes, I am surely the king of TMI.)

I also put out on a table in the garage, a selection of fine smokes for the cigarophiles to partake. And god dayum, did “I” ever partake. I probably smoked eight or more cigars and washed them down with an eclectic mix of suds and libations. This would probably explain why Sunday morning I woke up at 11:30am and felt like Mike Tyson got medieval on my ass. Now my wife NEVER lets me sleep late on weekends cuz god knows nothing will get done around the house if I do. But yesterday was Father’s Day and the woman gave me the wonderful gift of slumber. No sex, just sleep. I guess the fact that I smelled like the ghost of Arturo Fuente had something to do with the lack of hummerage.

Of course the first thing I did when I woke up was fire up the grill that was still out front and threw on a few of those beef n’ pork puppies. That and a cup of java really added to my grotesque gassiness. For once it wasn’t raining and I just sat at the edge of the garage like a swollen statue and thanked God above for my kids, family, and all that I had. Then I ripped a fart that could have knocked the horn off rhino. The dudes three miles under the earth over at Norad ordered a fly over just to make sure this wasn’t a level-5 terror threat. No real damage other than a ruined pair of shorts…And I’m pretty sure I killed a family of squirrels in a neighboring tree.

Took a drive to Borders Books, guzzled an icy cold Seattle’s Best, and read for free for a couple of hours. Actually spent time with the newest Cigar Aficionado and I am now and expert on 20,000 dollar fountain pens and Dubai ocean front tennis courts. And I’m also having an incredible hankering for some Grey Poupon. I’m also up on all of Marvin Shanken’s wacky golf antics and I am so jealous. I can now cultivate eggs for my own homemade caviar and got to read the latest Netjets ad. You know, I think I actually remember reading something about cigars somewhere near the back of the book. Something about balsa wood, leather, and roasted meat flavors seems to stand out in my memory. Hell, this whole weekend was a collection of roasted meat flavors.

Then last night it was another round of leftover cheeseburgers and Rocky Balboa could have used my bowels as a punching bag. After that was leftover desserts and a fancy French waiter asked if I wanted just on thin little mint. Around 9:30 my dad stopped by, I gave him a big hug and a few maduros for the road. That was a nice was to cap off a hell of a weekend by yours truly. But at 10pm I fired up one last stogie and listened to the pouring rain beat down upon my driveway, once again

I hope you dudes have some good Father’s Day stuff to talk about right here. Let’s hear it boys, and if I don’t respond for a while, know that I’m most likely clogging the home’s plumbing facilities.

Oh yeah, I saved the cheesecake fer last. Enjoy.

Have a swell week youz guys.
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

“Woman… can’t live with ‘em, can’t live without ‘em.”
-    Flounder, Animal House

In the late 1990’s, author John Gray wrote a mega best selling hit entitled: Men are from Mars and Women are from Venus. The idea was that if the opposites sexes began to treat one another like we were from different planets, we would co-exist quite nicely here on this earthly plain. Gray claims that us men fail in our relationships because we attempt to fix a woman’s problems with our off the cuff, unemotional suggestions. He says that women don’t want answers – they want empathy - they want us to show that we understand how they feel and that we are there for them. Well, I think the author is the one who is from another galaxy because I have NO f@#king idea how a woman feels and I will NEVER understand then for as long as I live.

You guys know that I work from home and I don’t have the need to dress up or look presentable for anyone during the course of the day. For the longest time my wife would complain when she got home from her job that I looked like a slob and why can’t I look nice for her when she comes home. Last week we go to Kohl’s department store and she picks out a bunch of really nice shirts for me for the summer. So Friday I have a nice crisp golf shirt on, new jeans and shoes. The wife comes home, walks past my office, looks at me and snarls, “Why are you wearing your new stuff? You’re going to get food on them and turn them into crap within a week!”

For months she bitched that I dressed like a street urchin, and now I look nice and she bitched that I’m going to ruin my new clothes. All a man can do is throw his arms into the air and let out a hearty, “WTF?!”

Now my wife is ALWAYS telling me I’m fat, I look like a slob, and every other thing she can possibly kill me over. She basically acts more like my mother than my spouse. I never say anything bad to her because then I’m even more of a P.O.S. than usual. But this past weekend I threw out a zinger that I knew would wreak havoc. We were in the mall and I was waiting in the food court (yes, getting fatter by the minute on gyros, pizza, and Taco Hell) when she finally showed up with a sundress for our son’s 8th grade graduation. She asked if I liked the black one she picked out, or should she look at a lighter color. Well, the set up was there and I lobbed the girl an ugly-ass, off-speed curveball…

“I’d go for the black because it will cover that gut of yours a lot better.”

Yeah, that’s right Cotty, you horse’s ass, I REALLY DID say that. Holy Jezuz H. Christmas, I thought the gal was going to melt into an emotional puddle of goo right there in front of Auntie Anne’s Pretzels.

“I’m fat? I look fat? I really look that bad?” she whimpered like a bruised lil’ school girl.

“I’m just kidding honey,” I assured her. “I just thought it was a funny thing to say.”

Now, my wife is attractive and in good shape. She exercises and works hard to stay fit. She’s not fat at all, but I knew the pain that my off-hand remark would inflict, and after all the verbal beatings I have taken for SO LONG, it was time to have a little harmless fun. Well, harmless to me.

We walk no more than two minutes, and as we pass those annoying bastards in the T-Mobile booth, the wife turns to me and says, “You know, I think I look pretty good for my age.” I replied, “Of course you do.”

As we approached the knock-off designer sunglasses kiosk a minute later, she says, “You’ know, I’m not a kid anymore.” I said, “I know that.” She then says, “I can’t help it if I have a little more than I used to.” I replied, “I know you can’t.”

When we get inside the car, there is dead silence as she just stares aimlessly like her favorite kitten was devoured by a pit bull. I look at her, grab her wrist and say in a loud voice, “YOU’RE NOT FAT FOR CRISSAKES!”

“You think I’m fat and ugly.”

“No, I think you’re an oversensitive woman who breaks my balls for sport, but I make one stupid comment and you turn into a gelatinous blob of puke.” Good Lord. “Get a grip, woman, I was only kidding and you deserve a good shot once in a while”

“Tonight I start my diet. I’m also going to walk and extra mile each day. Do you think I should do crunches?”

It was an amazing little exchange that lasted well into the next day. She even told my daughter that I said she was a fat whale and needed to lose a lot of weight. I’m not one for pushing a person’s buttons, but this was downright bizarre. And the funny thing is, she wasn’t mad at me for the remark - she was saddened by it. Suddenly I felt so powerful, kind of like that wizard behind the curtain. And as much as my wife bats my skull in on a regular basis, I felt bad… well, maybe not all that bad.

Have a great week, my peeps. Btw, right now I’m wearing a cigar t-shirt that the Mrs. hates and my most blessed and holiest of boxer shorts. But don’t worry I’ll change into something nice and get yelled at a little later on.

Damed if ya do, and damned if ya don’t.

Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman.

We’ve talked about this subject a bunch here at the blogosphere, but it’s one with good merit. As you age, time goes faster and faster and faster and there just ain’t nothing you can do about it.

I truly remember the day my daughter first saw daylight, like it was yesterday. After her birth I called everyone and their brother, ran around like a friggin’ proud nutcase, and handed out some very premium sticks of tobacco. When we got her home, she screamed every night and I didn’t have a good night’s sleep for almost six straight months. There were times we just wanted to stick her on the back deck for the evening, but the unconditional love was tremendous and it still is today. And I say that as today is my baby’s 18th birthday and she graduates from high school in less than two weeks.

Un-friggin-believable. No, really.

One of the weird things that keeps on happening to me is that I’ll be talking about something in great detail, from what I think is not too long ago, and my wife will remind me that it happened like twelve years ago! I’ll be like, “Get the hell out of here, that’s only three or four years ago,” and she’ll say, “That was 1997,” and then my brain starts to smoke and make clicking and hissing noises. It’s scary and I swear I can see a guy with a huge net lurking from the corner of my eye.

What’s really nutty is that my long-term memory is phenomenal… names, faces, dates, lines from movies… I’m like a damned computer. I will run into people in the mall that I haven’t seen in twenty-five years, and even though they may be grayer or heavier, I recognize them and yell out their name – as they look at me like I’ve got two heads, not having a clue who I am. I’m amazing with particulars from sporting events, can repeat entire dialogues from films I saw ten years ago, meals I had, cigars I smoked, and almost anything from “way back when” whether it was really important or not. But, holy crap, don’t ask me where my friggin’ car keys are.

I’m not kidding, my short-term memory sucks ass. I can have an item in my hands for ten minutes, place it down, then a minute later have absolutely NO CLUE where the hell it is. It’s awful. I took an IQ test not so long ago (yeah, right, it was probably a decade ago) and I scored pretty well. The results of the test break down into something like 14 different areas that your brain works in, and it scores each area separately, then cumulating the final. In the areas I’ve always used for writing and creating and problem solving, like when I had my ad agency, I basically scored off the charts. But one area on the test is for “Short-Term Memory” and for that I scored slightly above a chimp and just below Forest Gump (run, Zman, run!) Unfortunately it skewed the shit out of my test score and only confirmed that my brain is slowly rotting away.

Another annoying thing that we all suffer from as we get older is… brain freeze – forgetting a name of a person or place that we’ve seen a thousand times. We can picture them in our head, we even talked about them just yesterday - but for some ungodly reason our mind cannot produce the answer we’re looking for. Oh, it’ll pop into out noggins an hour later while driving to he store, but we blank out at the most embarrassing times, and it drives me insane. I swear sometimes I’m ready to be fitted for a dribble bib. But I actually have read articles on the subject and it seems that we aren’t completely going bonkers. Something happens in our heads as we get older where a part of the brain that needs to come up with a name, doesn’t fire like it used to. It’s almost as if you open a file drawer but can’t seem to find the folder. You frantically look thru folder after folder, but can’t find the info. I’m sure you hate that as much as I do, but at least you should know it’s not a degenerative mind disease, only nature having a little fun with our feeble aging heads.

You know, I hit 50 this past December and it not only doesn’t bother me in the least, but I really DO subscribe to the fact that it is ONLY a number. I feel good about who I am and that’s what matter most – well, that and the fact that I sure as hell don’t need those little blue pills – thank you to the good Lord above.

So, I’m happy that my beautiful girl has made it through 18 years with her completely mental old man, and I thank God for that, too. I think my secret to keeping sane, whether in times of adversity or just on any plain old day – I stay in the present moment. I keep my head and thoughts grounded where I am, not dwelling on events of the past that can’t be changed, or scenarios in the future that haven’t ever happened. I try to stay right where I am and enjoy the moment. And THAT is what really does keep me a happy camper on a daily basis – even though I can’t drive anywhere ‘cause I don’t know where I left my freakin’ car keys.

Peace and love to all,
Tommy Z.
JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman

Headlines, we’ve got headlines. A little perusing through the various news sites makes one want to hurl their Corn Flakes. I think I even heard that new purchases of axes are up for those who are disgruntled by all the disgrutledness. I believe autoworkers and banks have now been placed above postal workers in that category. Yes, we sure as hell do live in interesting times.

General Motors Files for Bankruptcy Protection

Okay, now there’s a huge shocker. But guess what… the federal government is now the majority stakeholder of the century old automaker. Yeah, that same government that f@#ks up everything they put their greasy mitts on is in charge of GM. Gosh, isn’t that incredibly comforting. And what could be more comforting for the many vendors of GM, who will get completely impaled in the ass, maybe receiving ten cents on the dollar for their invoices, if they are even that lucky. I can’t even fathom the amount of vendors that supply the glass, rubber, plastics, metal, and every god damned thing that goes into producing an automobile. The ripple effect is sure to take place as many of these companies rely on GM for a huge portion of their business. God, this is so sad. Home Depot special on pick axes, aisle three. Get ‘em while they’re still in stock…

Jon and Kate Divorce

A goofy looking Korean guy and a hot blondie, Caucasian cougar momma are dominating the tabloids like never before. If you don’t know who these people are, they sired eight friggin kids and have been featured the past few years on the reality TV show, Jon and Kate Plus Eight. My wife and daughter absolutely LIVE for this sugar coated, milque toast drivel, about a bunch of little Asian looking kiddies who eat, fight, shit, play, and go on fancy trips paid for by the network. A once struggling couple in hick-town PA, now lives in a 3 million dollar home with all the accoutrements of the rich and famous. But fame has taken its toll on this bunch as the media and paparazzi stalk them wherever they go. But the brew ha-ha that’s dominating the news is hubby Jon’s inability to keep his wandering libido in check. While wifey is making skads of dough on a national book tour, dumb-ass daddy was hanging around in college bars with young chickies, and now divorce is imminent. Yeah, I do despise this bullsquat excuse for television, but Kate is a stinkin’ hottie who has kicked this dude Jon’s ass around since day one and now he’s getting the ultimate smack down. Damn… I think I’m slowly turning this blog into tabloid goop.

Susan Boyle Hospitalized

Who? You know, the chick that looks like the product of an old sea captain who mated with a mangy bulldog, who made global headlines for her stunning performance on the TV show, Britain’s Got Talent. When she made her first appearance, people in the audience laughed as she said she was going to sing a tune from Le Miserable, and then tore the house down with her incredible operatic tones. But alas, the old gal came in second place on the finale and reportedly collapsed back stage after the show from all the stress she had gone through from weeks prior. The singer, who looks like a disturbing Terry Gilliam cartoon from Monty Python, has checked into a London clinic for emotional distress. Rumor has it that she’s actually staying at a plastic surgery center for a complete makeover. Removing the snout, tail, and whiskers will probably be the first order of business, as transforming her into a somewhat palatable looking woman will be a real challenge. And, yes again, I’ve gone for the low hanging fruit with more tabloid goop.

Conan Starts the Tonight Show…Tonight!

No, not the Comic Character played by Arnold the Governator. Conan Obrien, the odd looking comic, will become the 4^th host in the history of the show and how exciting that is! Singer Sheryl Crow will be a guest as the onetime toy for lance Armstrong tells ladies how to wipe their genitalia with just one square of poopie paper. Also featured, rock band Pearl Jam will get in a steel cage match for charity against Green Day, and Tom Hanks will show us his birthmark shaped like the head of Meg Ryan. I’m excited…are you? (Just how tabloid can Zman go?)

Dozens of Beached Whales Shot Off the Coast of South Africa

PETA, you have yourself a well deserved field day with this one.

And that’s all the goop that’s fit to print this fine Monday as I leave you with a gratuitous cheesecake shot for the boys who have sent all those emails, cards, and letters.

Have a Swell Week,

Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman 

This morning was simply one of those spectacular weather days you would typically associate with the Memorial Day holiday – sunny, blue sky, and around 70 degrees at 9:30 am. It is the perfect day for a barbecue, a ball game, or time just spent with friends and loved ones.

I was on my way home this morning from the deli where I picked up a few bacon egg and cheese sandwiches for the family. I’ll save my cooking for later on tonight on the Weber, thank you. While sipping my coffee I looked ahead to see my neighbor, John Wroblewski, Sr., washing his truck in the driveway as his wife Shawn was cleaning up in their garage. I just felt it was my duty to stop by and say hello for a moment.

I don’t know them very well, but we’ve talked before, and John greeted me with a warm smile and a hello.

“Hey John. I know this is a tough day for you guys,” I said as my voice shook a little, “But I just wanted to say hello and tell you that your son is in my thoughts and heart today.”

John stood motionless as he stared into my eyes.

On April 6, 2004, in an ambush firefight in Ramadi, Iraq, JT Wroblewski, Second Lieutenant, United States Marine Corps, lost his life while attempting to save the lives of his troops he served with. JT, the 25 year-old son of John and Shawn, was the first Marine from the state of New Jersey to make the ultimate sacrifice during the Iraq war.

“Hey Tom, you don’t know how much that means to me,” John said.

Now, while I truly have NO idea how the man feels inside - I mean, how could I - but, I certainly do know what my stopping by meant to him.

“My family is so very proud of your son and we are so grateful for the service he gave.”

“Thank you so much, Tom. I really needed to hear that right about now.” John said. I’m not sure who’s eyes were glassier, but as I first said, I felt it was my duty to stop and pay my respects.

A couple of years ago, the road that enters our development was renamed after JT, and every day we are reminded of his sacrifice when we drive past the street sign. But on a day like today, it really hits home what it means to live in this neighborhood. A gathering took place on the day of the unveiling of the new street sign, as people from the community and Vietnam, Korean War, and WW2 veterans came to honor a hero.

On that somber day in April, 12 Marines lost their lives, including JT in that battle half way around the world. Since then, thousands of other sons and daughters have fought and died in Iraq and Afghanistan. Before that, the troops of Desert Storm were the first to deal with the oppressive heat and sand. And while the Middle East may be a new kind of fighting for our GI’s, it is still war, just the same. Over the centuries, so many American parents have had to endure the news that their boy would be coming home, but not of his own power.

Today there are parades a plenty all across small town USA. Little League Teams, Girl Scout Troops, and local politicians will be marching along side with Veterans of Foreign Wars. Tiny flags will be waved and people will stand and cheer. (And may I say there is no better place to enjoy a great cigar than a parade such as this!) Many will spend the day with good company (even though I will be shoveling mulch for the third day in a row.) And of course we’ll grill up a storm as the burgers, dogs, ribs, steaks, and chicken will be slathered and charred.

Today we honor those who served and gave it all. Every man and woman who is now gone, fought so we could be free… free to have barbecues. picnics, parades, ball games and gatherings. I feel that we truly honor our heroes by enjoying our freedom and celebrating life as an American citizen.

Being an American is the greatest freedom we can know, but it has always come with a price. Today we remember those sons and daughters, fathers and mothers who served when called upon. Today we are grateful to John Thomas Wroblewski and every person who has worn a uniform and made the country we live in, the greatest in the world.

Today we thank them and honor them all.

Peace,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars, Blog With the Zman

One of the great joys I have in my life is watching my fourteen years-old son play sports. He plays both travel hockey and baseball and I’ve been enjoying since he’s five. Of course it’s May and baseball is in full swing. It’s rained a hell of a lot since April and the rainouts are a total drag. But a nice warm day, blue sky, and watching the kid and his buddies is my own private Master Card moment.

At our home field we have a little hill on the first base side that the parents perch themselves on. It’s a great vantage point to see all aspects of play. And as you might expect, there is nothing I love more than sparking up a good cigar during a game. No one seems to mind as they all know that I’m a complete ash-hole and many will even compliment how good it smells – uh, I’m talking about my cigar.

Saturday was a little cool, but a fine day for a game. I decided to change my ritual a bit and go over to the third base side, which has small metal stands and is level with the playing field. I am accompanied by a chicken salad with bacon and tomato on rye with a large cup of java. That is one hell of a delicious sandwich, btw. After I partook in lunch, it’s the second inning and I pull out a Romeo Y Julieta Real Reserva robusto. It’s a great early day cigar with an Ecuadorian Connecticut wrapper and Nicaraguan filler – a nice toasty smoke. So I fire up and thoroughly enjoy the gift that Abner Doubleday gave us over a century ago. I also enjoyed the gift that our Island and Central American friends have bestowed upon us.

A good hour and a half has passed, it’s a good game, tied 4 – 4 in the fifth (they played seven innings in Babe Ruth ball) and it’s time for me to choose another bat. A friend of mine made a coffee run and I have a JR Ultimate Maduro that is begging to be clipped and lit. Well, I can’t let the poor thing beg too long.

It’s the sixth inning and my son is about to get his final at bat. He’s been dropping his hands a little in his swing and has hit the ball hard, but has hit all hard fly outs in his last five plate appearances. So as I’m talking to him. The umpire, who is about half way up the first base line starts yelling out loud, “Hey you with the cigar, get the hell away from those kids with that goddamned thing, NOW!”

The guy is making a spectacle and suddenly every eye is on me. My first thought is to put it out in this moron’s eye, but I think better and walk back to my spot all alone in the third base bleachers. This belligerent ball buster follows me and yells out “HEY! I told you to put that piece of garbage out!”

This prick is all attitude and now he’s ruining my god damned Mastercard moment. I answered back, “Listen… you did NOT tell me to put it out, you told me to get away from the kids, which I did. Secondly, I’ve been enjoying a cigar the entire game from this spot and all of a sudden you want to play health cop. And third, you’ve offended me most by referring to this incredible cigar as a PIECE OF GARBAGE?! This beautiful specimen is hand rolled in Honduras by craftsman. Have you ever been to Honduras? I have, it’s a beautiful place and the food is incredible.”

Mr Ump dick continues, “I’m not going to listen to your wiseass remarks.”

And I return with, “And I’m not going to waste good smoke on a Nazi prick like you.”

Like a complete jackass, this blow hard yells, “Yer outta here!” as he waves his arms like he’s throwing Earl Weaver out of the game. I laughed in the jerk’s face and told him, “I’m going to sit up on that hill with my cigar and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”

“Oh yeah, I’m calling the cops!”

“For what?” I asked. “For sitting on a hill with a cigar – about 50 yards away, NOT in the field area, whatsoever. Go ahead and call the cops you old crack head, you’re making a monster ass of yourself and the kids are all laughing at you.” And yes, everyone was laughing at him. In fact, the coaches from both teams start yelling at him as well as the parents.

So, I went up to my usual spot on the hill and enjoyed the rest of my delicious maduro in peace… even though my kid popped out deep to left.

Do do everything you can to piss off your local smoke Nazi, today,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars, Blog with the Zman

We’ve talked many times about the fact that men are raving horny boneheads. Yeah, we love sports and cigars, and guy food, and a good belt of hootch, but most of all we love chicks. I don’t think I speak for just myself when I say that most of our waking day is spent thinking about hot broads that we’d never have a shot at in a million years, yet they take occupancy in our brain’s residence.

Take ME for instance. I am a truly a lifelong horned pig. I think about woman maybe even more than I did as a kid in my late teens. Sometimes I think, “You know Z, there is really something mentally unstable with you.” But then I talk to other guys and they are every bit as bizarrely perverse. And as you get older, your standards drop like a lead buffoon and almost nothing is sacred any longer… case in point, this past weekend: My nieces first holy communion. Only a man can take a wonderful, lovely family event and turn it into his own personal Cougar hunt.

It was a gorgeous day this past Saturday and families were dressed in their finest garb to witness the little one’s first communion. But the daddies in church were treated to a lot more than the handing out the hosts. I can tell you in all my years I have NEVER seen such a gathering of insanely hot looking women at any church event anywhere in the history of man. One mom after another wore sleek dresses with high slits showing gams a plenty while displaying her mountains majesty. It was enough to make a monsignor stop thinking about alter boys for five minutes. All right, all right, that was uncalled for – okay, maybe not, but my point is valid. And what point is that? I’m not sure right now because I keep thinking about the cavalcade of mommies that drove me nuts while standing in a house of the Lord. Over and over, one incredibly gorgeous honey after another entered the parish, and over and over my impure thoughts rattled my cage like an uncontrolled smash into the wall at Daytona.

Yes, I’m pathetic and a loser of great proportions, but that doesn’t matter one bit when there’s a milf-o-rama going on in your local church and you KNOW that every hetero guy is in dire need of a trip to the nearest confessional. Bless me Father for I have sinned… it has been 30 seconds since my last deviant thought and the moment I step out from this curtain, my brain will be tortured once again, for I am worthless and weak, and there are cougars a plenty occupying the pews.

I ask myself over and over, “what the hell is wrong with me,” but it is God himself who is to blame for my thoughts of ludity while hanging in his houses of the holy. For it is our maker who hath given man his gratuitous lust for jiggling flesh of the female variety. It is the good Lord who ramped up our testosterone and bestowed upon us the ability to stand at attention at the mere sight of the slightest sign of cleavage or booty. And just what the bloody hell is a woman doing exposing cleavage in church? I’m damned serious. That is just wrong, wrong, wrong.

You know what? I AM just wrong, wrong, wrong. I think all “real” guys are wrong, wrong, wrong. We should be caged and fed and used for breeding purposes and that’s it. Other than microbrews, handrolled cigars, and ice hockey, we really contribute very little to a society as a whole. Okay, maybe a few guys have invented some important shit here and there and won Pulitzer prizes, yada, yada, yada, I’ll grant you that, but for the most part you can throw a collar on us and let us roam the yard for most the day. I think we’d be just fine if our only roles were to eat, dump, and procreate. Wait a minute, I think that’s all we do now. Well, except for the procreate part. We did that once – a long time ago and it’s jut some distant memory like a good novel you read many moons ago.

Listen, I’ve gone off on one of my infamous tangents, but that’s to be expected of a man, right? Our brains can only focus so long until it all comes back to hooters and beer…and football, and pizza, and muscle cars, and wicked bikes, and barbecued ribs, and cheeseburgers, and porterhouse steaks, and war movies, and the Sopranos, and maduros and  corojo, in churchill and robusto.

Hey, wow, that’s pretty impressive…maybe we are a lot deeper and more complex than I thought.

Bless me Fadda, for I have sinned. But I kind of liked it.

You have a swell day,

Tommy Z.

JR CIGARS Blog With the Zman

Jesus H Christmas… the Swine Flu. God damn it to hell, Swing friggin flu! What the hell, man? We’ve got all this annoying crapolla going on in the world and some pig has to f the world up with his stinkin’ hogged out germs. I mean, how much do you hate this shit? Our economy sucks a like Hoover and now this god forsaken pig virus comes along and pisses on our already turned over apple cart.

Son of a Bitch.

I am just not up for a world-crippling pandemic… are you? Come on, I lose 80% of the blog, my favorite hockey team goes down in a heap of flames, David Hasselhoff is stinking drunk and passed out again, and now THIS. It’s in 30 states and 19 countries and the TV news just won’t shut the f@#k up about it. Please, news people, just shut the f@#k up about Swine Flu.  I’m not kidding. Go back to telling us about rapes, murders, and fetuses found in dumpsters behind schools, yada, yada, yada.

TV news people are in their friggin glory all day long telling us about this new evil to invade the earth. Wow, they love it. Swine Flu is all the rage and it’s great for ratings. I swear the media invented this thing just to kick some ass during sweeps week. I noticed that just as Conan Obrien is about to take over the coveted Tonight Show spot, this dreaded pox magically appears out of nowhere. That’s an interesting connection, although far reaching, I do admit.

Damn.

Okay, I know I’m rambling (shit, I hope that’s not one of the symptoms.) Listen, I know it’s serious, and I know it’s potentially deadly, but if we think about this and continue to be reminded of it all day long, we’re all going to turn into spineless jellyfish and collapse under the weight of out own stress levels. Hey news drones, I’m not fooling around here, talk about something else… gimme the weather, the sports, the produce report, anything, just stop the sensationalism for just three minutes, would you for crissakes?

Remember the West Nile virus? That was supposed to wipe us off the face of the planet. What the hell happened there? What a bogus pandemic wannabee that was, huh? Oooooo, mosquitos bite some sick birds then bite a human or two and the world is eating Soilent Green before you know it. (I have no idea what that really meant, but it seems to fill up space quite nicely.)

This new strain of hell started in Mexico and it’s just another bad rap for our south of the border neighbors. You send us watered down cerveza, masked wrestlers, Taco stinkin’ Bell, and now this? And I’ve gotta think that anybody trying to cross the border is gonna feel the wrath of U.S. Marshalls, real bad. Thanx a ton, Pedro… you sent us Erik Estrada, and now a pig flu? (What, Estarda’s Puerto Rican? Well, he’s all I could think of. Besides, Carlos Mencia isn’t really Mexican either.) What’s the point I’m trying to make? I can’t remember for the life of me.

All I know is that I don’t need no stinkin’ Swine Flu and I don’t want to hear about this, 24/7. No more. Stop with the Swine. Stop with the Chicken Little Doom and gloom. I’m not being cavalier about this, I’m just not going to succumb to the fear mongering of the journalists who have conveniently forgotten that there’s anything else to talk about. I’ll bet there’s a good ten confirmed cases of ass itch in New Jersey right about now, but you don’t see Wolf Blitzer getting all lathered up about that, do ya?

Caution, education, prevention… that’s all good and necessary. But stop getting people like my neurotic Italian mother all f@#ked up and saying stupid shit like, ‘President Obama has to fix this Swine Flu, thing. And I like his wife’s shoes.” Mom, STOP IT right now! You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about and I’m sure you’re missing a good soap opera or something.

My advice to you all…keep smoking premium hand rolled cigars and just say NO to the Swine Flu. You’ll be the healthier person for it.

Enjoy,
Tommy Z.
JR Cigars Blog With the Zman

Swine Flu. Great, just f@#king great.

And then there’s Maude… wait, check that…

95 degrees here in North Jersey this weekend as I sweltered like a roast Polack at my son’s travel baseball game. New Jersey is like an alien world – 41 and sleet last week and yesterday I slathered on the Coppertone like the fair skinned doofus I am. Both Saturday and Sunday nights were cool and perhaps the nicest evenings I remember in the past year. And of course that gave me the perfect opportunity to crank up some wonderful seegars for the smoking. Saturday I cut the lawn for the first time in the season and puffed a terrific Camacho El Legend Ario – a dark and luscious, full flavored maduro. After dinner I set a lawn chair out front, got down with a good book, and enjoyed the hell out of a Montecristo Classic Churchill. That is one big-ass flavorful smoke. Sunday before the ball game I was loving my Cuigine natural robust from Arganese and at night it was the new Defiance by Xicar and that is one friggin awesome smoke – full flavored and perfectly rolled.

The NFL Draft was this past weekend and the New York Jets really did well by picking Mark “Dirty” Sanchez, who will no doubt become a nice NFL quarterback. My Giants picked up a wide receiver  to replace Plaxico leg shootin’ dumbass Buress, but you simply can’t replace a guy with his amazing talent. Sure he’s a mindless asshole, but I keep thinking about that catch in the corner of the endzone against New England and it hurts, I tell ya people, it hurts.

General Motors just fired over 20,000 workers and killed the Pontiac Brand. Good luck Obamarama, you crazy bastid.

Susan Boyle, the YouTube phenom who shocked everyone with her stunning performance on Britain’s Got Talent, announced today that she is indeed a man, baby. Susan, formerly known as Rocko Boyle, a former cock fighting manager from Brighton, was embarrassed by his girly voice so he started wearing wigs and ladies clothing to make up for the lack of masculinity. Now as a guy, he’s not that horrible, but as a women, she’s outright hideous. A good point many bring up is that if she were a beautiful woman, the judges and audience wouldn’t have made that big a deal about her. She would have been just another hot singer. But Susan is a ruddy faced old bat and for some reason people are seemingly stunned that ruddy faced old bats can sing well. We are one hell of a judgmental, p.o.s. bunch, aren’t we?

Jay Leno cancelled a taping of the tonight Show last week – have you seen this, have you heard about this, have you read about this? Apparently, Jay was soooo sick…

“How Sick was he?”

Jay was so sick that checked himself into the hospital early that morning, but his chin stayed on to record the show.

NHL playoffs…where anything can freakin’ happen… Yeah Baby.

If anyone is watching Donald Trump’s celebrity Apprentice, Melisa Rivers is an infantile horse faced jackass. The egos on that show are gargantuan and everyone of them should be forced to live in a measly 3,500 foot home and eat Hamburger Helper. It’s actually been pretty good tv, but it sure makes you hate the disgustingly privileged.

Wow, lot’s happening. Goodnight, Bea.

 Tommy Z.

JR Cigars Blog With the Zman