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