By Larry Winget

Best selling author Larry Winget has a new book and it’s not only his best work to date – it’s the most important book you might ever read. Yeah, those are some pretty strong words and rightfully so. But today, his message is very black & white.

Some of you have really had your blood pressure soar about my black and white approach to self-improvement, finances, parenting and life in general. You have pointed out that there are several areas that really are gray when it comes to life. No kidding? Thanks for pointing that out to me. I had NO IDEA that was the case. How could I know that? I have never had a problem or faced with a challenge. I have never raised teenagers, had money issues, been married or divorced, held a job, managed people, driven down the street, eaten out, bought anything, had a bill, or had to make a tough decision. Never. None of those things. I have lived a completely sheltered life in a cave blessed with only positive thoughts and outcomes. I have attracted all of my success through The Secret and The Law Of Attraction. I have never had a real life facing all of the things real people face and I honestly had no idea that life had any gray areas.

Come on folks, I know life if full of gray areas. It’s just that I think we have all become way too comfortable living in those gray areas. Gray areas used to be little tiny corners we could escape to in order to justify our stupid actions and results. Now the gray areas are everywhere! Our homes, our businesses, our government, our society, our grocery stores, in our books, and all over our televisions. Our leaders spew gray and drape it red, white and blue. Things are so gray that when someone actually draws a line and paints one side black and the other side white, it bothers the hell out of people! We have become comfortable and embraced the gray areas way too much and shied away from the uncomfortable realities of black and white. I want people to begin to think more in terms of black and white. Right or wrong. Good or bad. People need to understand they are either doing enough or they aren’t doing enough. We need to recognize we are either giving our best or we aren’t. You are either on the way, or you are in the way. You are either living within your means or you aren’t.  It’s either the truth or it’s a lie.

It’s easier to live in the black and white world. That’s why I am so confused by those who love the gray area so much. When faced with a decision, you just make it quickly based on whether it is the right thing to do or the wrong thing to do. You don’t have to wallow in it, meditate on it, study it, consider it, hold a focus group, or take a vote. You DO the right thing.

Why? Because you can. All it takes is some guts. A backbone. A pair.

You will be criticized for it. Trust me, I know. Who cares? You will be given grief at work for kissing up by doing your job when others are slacking. Tell them to kiss off. Your friends will give you crap about being too tough on your kids. They will laugh at you for saying no to spending money when you know you can’t afford it. They will ridicule you for not taking the easy road when you know you should take the right road. Those people are not your friends, dump them. Now. And never look back.

Do the right thing in your life every time to the best of your ability. You won’t be perfect at it. I’m certainly not. I mess up every day and slip and slide around in the gray area, just like everyone else. But every day, I remind myself I can do a little better; take more of a stand for what I know is right and take action on it. That’s all it takes: a decision to do it, a willingness to take action, the humility to admit you aren’t doing your best, the honestly to confront yourself for it, and the willingness to keep on doing what you know is right regardless of the consequences.

Yep, that’s it: it’s black or white.

Visit Larry’s website @ www.larrywinget.com

Larry’s new book is available at all the major bookstores and online retailers.

By Tommy Z.

Our very own Tommy Z reminisces about the plight of the Man’s Man. A while back, our fearless leader sat with tough-guy actor and Sopranos star Frank Vincent for his views on the subject.

I remember way back to when I was a very young child, my dad used the term “Man’s Man.” He spoke of guys like Sinatra, Bogart and Charlton Heston, Unitas, YA Tittle, Dimaggio, Mantle, Gordie Howe and Bobby Hull. They were “real” men – guys with character who exuded masculinity and had a certain edge about them. Back then it was definitely cool and you were looked up to if you embodied these qualities. But over the years, the politically correct do-gooders of society have almost forcefully eradicated this term and category of the male species. The great fear is that groups of people who do not fit that type of image such as effeminate men or homosexuals, geeks, nerds, and pocket calculator carrying brainiacs will feel excluded and take great offense – God knows, we just can’t have that. And one of the newest terms in our society coined by British journalist, Mark Simpsom is the much talked about metrosexual. On salon.com in July of 2002, Simpson was quoted as saying, “The typical metrosexual is a young man with money to spend, living in or within easy reach of a metropolis — because that’s where all the best shops, clubs, gyms and hairdressers are. He might be officially gay, straight or bisexual, but this is utterly immaterial because he has clearly taken himself as his own love object and pleasure as his sexual preference.”

Wow… this is the new cool? WTF happened to “Ah’ll be bock?”

The near extinction of the Man’s Man is a direct result of the agenda ridden crusaders of P.C. If it offends just one person, let’s give it the broad-brush treatment so that everyone can be happy and gay! I for one am sick of this mentality and was driven by an inner calling to stand up in the name of Men’s Men everywhere (kind of like when your sack is ready to bust because you have to pee really bad in the middle of the night). With all this talk of metrosexuals and the Queer Eye perspective, Men’s Men have become relegated to fourth-class citizenship facing certain extinction – that is, if we don’t stand up and make ourselves be heard.

One bona fide “real” man who whole-heartedly agrees with me wrote a book on the subject. Tough guy actor Frank Vincent, (the infamous Billy Batts in Goodfellas who told Joe Pesci to go home and get his fuckin’ shinebox, Casino, Raging Bull, and most recently psycho bastard, Phil Leotardo, Johnny Sack’s #2 man in the Sopranos) released a literary classic that should be owned by every living, breathing fan of this blog. ‘A Guy’s Guide to Being a Man’s Man’ is a fun, informative, and often times tongue-in-cheek look at what it takes for a guy to be a part of this esteemed classification. A while back I sat down with Frank for lunch and cigars and we talked about his theories behind the book.

I asked Frank point blank, what is the definition of the quintessential man’s man: “It’s a man who has dignity and respect – especially respect for women,” he noted, “And, he also displays the qualities of honor and loyalty. He must have self-respect and respect for others. Those are the assets that make up a real man’s man.”

One thing that Frank and I agree upon is that you don’t have to smoke cigars, drink, curse, surf porn sites or participate in dwarf-tossing competitions in order to be considered a real man (although, those activities do tend to heighten the testosterone levels significantly). There’s no requirement to know the lyrics to the Monty Python Lumberjack Song, and you need not physically transform yourself from the 98-pound weakling into the Charles Atlas prototype, as in the old comic book advertisements. So what then? Quite simply, it is more about an attitude – the way you think and the way you carry yourself. It’s really about who you are inside.

Guys – I say it’s time we show an outward pride in being real men. I really mean it. I say enough is enough, to the suffocating stranglehold of political correctness and those who perpetuate its inherent dangers. We have the constitutional right to speak our minds freely without persecution. If you don’t believe in same sex marriage that does not instantly qualify you as a queer hating homophobe. It makes you a person who has his own set of beliefs and choices. If you want to hunt, fish or wear a fur hat, it does not make you a murderer. If you want to surf the internet for porno sites, well, just make sure your history cache is deleted afterwards. (Those pop-up windows certainly do get a little hairy at times.) And if you choose to sit around all day Sunday in your underwear, watching football, scratching your boys, and sucking down Busch Light in cans… well, your wife is right – you are a lazy goddamned bastard. But gently remind her that it still doesn’t make you a homophobe.

Being Men’s Men doesn’t mean acting like sex-crazed, beer-swilling, Homer Simpson-esque Barbarians. In fact, it’s quite the opposite. Like Frank Vincent says, it’s about self-respect, honor and loyalty. And I’d say those are some pretty admirable qualities. I asked Frank, what final words he had for all the politically correct zealots who demand that we conform to their mediocre, metrosexual, smoke free, low-carb, un-opinionated, off-white, milquetoast world? He just smiled and said, “Very simple; do YOUR thing – but PLEASE show some tolerance and let other people do THEIR thing. Mind your own business and whatever you do; don’t infringe on my space.”

Well put my friend. I’ll light up a Hoyo Excaliber on that note.

And remember… If guns kill people, then spoons made Rosie O’donnell fat.

- ZMAN

You Got a Problem Wit Dat?

Yeah, I do. It’s sucks. It’s boring. And I’m really pissed because nobody’s gettin’ whacked. I was a Sopranos junkie… and for those of you who have never watched or followed the show, this is what life is now like for those of us who lived for the monumental series. On June 11, 2007, HBO aired the final episode of it’s all-time biggest hit, The Sopranos, and ever since then, Sunday nights without Tony, Carmela, Chris, Paulie, and Silvio just ain’t right.

Maybe you don’t like violence? Maybe you deplore gangsters. Maybe you’re the effeminate type and dig Desperate Houswives? Or maybe you’re just a cheap f@#k who won’t spend the coin for HBO? Whatever the reason, you’ve missed out on some of the finest acting and storylines the television world has ever known. The HBO series, which first aired in January of 1999, has become the most prolific drama in the history of television. In TV Guide’s list of the 50 Greatest Shows All-time, The Sopranos ranks number five, behind four legendary comedies: 1. Seinfeld, 2. Lucy, 3. The Honeymooners, and 4. All in the Family. It’s the highest rated cable series ever, and the only cable-show to win the Emmy for Outstanding Drama Series.

For some weirdo reason, perfectly nice everyday honest hard-working citizens were romantically addicted to the exploits of this brutal and violent crime family. Wonderful, law-abiding citizens worldwide were simply enamoured with Tony Soprano and his cast of goombas.“How in God’s name can you like that show?” I have been often asked. “Those people are are thieves, bullies, thugs, con men, philanderers, drug dealers, and ruthless, murdering psychopaths… yet, you love them? WTF?”

Again, for those of you who have never watched the series, for some unexplainable and disturbing reason …we could relate to them. SAY WHAT?! I know that sounds bizarre, but listen to me. The reason that regular everyday folks could relate to these people was because Tony and his family let you into their home and personal family lives. They didn’t live behind iron gates like the Corleones – they lived in suburban northern New Jersey, where mob boss Tony himself strolled down his driveway each and every morning to pick up the Newark Star Ledger. And that is where the brilliance of show creator David Chase comes in. He made them real people with real foibles and phobias. They may be Mafioso by day, but by night they return to their true families and face everyday issues like running a home, raising their kids, investing, paying taxes, dealing with prejudice, and caring for their health. In the past, mobsters were bigger than life as they gunned down their enemies in a blaze of bullets and fire on the silver screen. Tony Soprano visits his son’s guidance counselor, hosts family barbeques, protects his loved ones from a recurring black bear, and drives his daughter to visit a quaint New England college. (But of course while Meadow is visiting the campus, he crosses paths with an ex-mobster in the witness protection program – a guy who ratted – and Tony brutally strangles him with his bare hands. Gotta kill time somehow.)

There’s no denying whatsoever that the Sopranos are an abomination – a psychologically disturbed, ethically bankrupt, spiritually void gene pool. But, fans like myself are obsessed with their lives, and we love them unconditionally – as if they were of our own flesh and blood. When nine o’clock struck on Sunday nights and that magical, hypnotic theme song by the band A3 began to play… Bum, ba bum, bum, bum, wa wa wa…”Woke up this morning and got your self a gun…” like one of Pavlov’s dogs, I’d prop up in front of the TV in a semi-lathered state as Tony drove through the Jersey side of the Lincoln Tunnel, lighting his cigar, pulling the Turnpike ticket from the booth, cruising past, Pizzaland, Satriale’s Pork Store, and the rows of refinery tanks in lovely Newark. For the next 60 minutes, you couldn’t help but become are a blood sworn Soprano.

And now…Sunday nights are a bore. No pre-show pasta and canolis. No cigars with red wine. No hearing the F-word sixty-some odd times within an hour. Nobody getting shot, strangled, beaten, flogged, shoveled, maimed or curbed. No dead go-go dancers, burned up racehorses, pony-tailed assassins, or severed heads in a bowling ball bag… nothin’. Just boring ol’ Sunday night, sitting around with the loved ones.

How uncivilized.

- Zman

Some of you may think that Jason Vorhees of Friday the Thirteenth fame, was the orginator of the hockey mask. Well, puck breath, that ain’t quite right. You see, it was actually a French Canadian by the name of Jacques Plante, who first donned a goaltenders face mask on November 1, 1959. And this Sunday marks the 50th anniversary since Plante debuted his facial ware – and quite the coincidence, it was exactly one day after Halloween.

Goalies didn’t wear masks back in that time, but the man they referred to as Jake the Snake , was about to change NHL history. Just three minutes into a game against the New York Rangers at Madison Square Garden, Plante’s face was sliced open with an Andy Bathgate wristshot, delaying the game for 21 minutes as the Habs netminder lay on the ice in a pool of his own blood. After a trip to the locker room and a bunch of gnarly stitches, he returned to the ice, astonishing both fans and the players. And even more astonishing, the goaltender finished the game with a 3-1 victory over the Rangers.

It’s simply amazing that goalies of that era who faced beasts like Gordie Howe and Bobby Hull didn’t wear face and head protection. Plante and other names like Terry Sawchuck, Johnny Bower,  Glenn Hall, Eddie Johnston, and Gump Worsley may just have been the toughest and most fearless sons of bitches in all of sport.

Back in the 60’s, goalies started to slowly adopt the idea of a mask as a part of their equipment, even though they were crude fiberglass plates with eye holes and straps. Today’s masks are made of carbon fiber space-age material designed by engineers, with the sole purpose of stopping a cruise missile. And with guys Alex Ovetchkin on the ice, that just may be a really good idea.

Read some truly great stuff about the late Jacques Plante and this historic anniversary in sport at the NHL’s official website.

CLICK HERE>NHL.com/Jacques Plante

- ZMAN

By Izzy Jaecks

It’s a fact that All REAL guys love sports cars. Well, here’s some proof that a fast set of wheels can tune up the human engine…

I don’t need to be a plastic surgeon to appreciate a naked woman, and I don’t need to be a mechanic to appreciate the power of my car.

I love my car.  It’s not the newest, and right now it’s not at its shiniest, but at nearly 200,000 miles it’s still fast… really fast.  Brand new and stock, it clocked 0-60 in 6.7 seconds with a top speed of 143 mph.  I’ve not tested it 0-60, but I have taken it up to 110 mph… under controlled conditions of course… and I’m sticking to THAT story… I also like to amuse my mechanic by coming up to the service desk before being called, not because I can see that they are done with my car but because I can HEAR that they are done with my car because I recognize the sound instantaneously.

When price is not a factor, if given a choice between fast-and-shiny and moderate-and-modest, your average guy is going to go for the fast and shiny every time. And now, science agrees.

Researchers at Canada’s John Molson School of Business at Concordia University in Montreal tested testosterone levels in 39 men, first after they drove an old Toyota Camry and then after driving a Porsche 911, and shock of all shocks, every single one of them had a dramatic increase in testosterone while driving the Porsche.  To further prove it was the car and not just perceptions of the car, each driver and each car was tested after driving up and down an empty street and up and down a street filled with women. Studies didn’t say if the women were hot, but the testosterone levels were not affected by whether or not the men were being watched while driving.

You would need a significantly larger and more diverse test group than a mere 39 college-aged men to be considered “truly” scientific, but when a test this size is unanimous, it’s a damned good start towards being considered “fact”. I don’t know if it matters that the school shares its name with a mainstream Canadian beer though… would it be less scientific if it were conducted by an American school named “Bud”?  Hard to say… but whether or not science like this will win Nobel prizes, the results are not even remotely surprising.

Psychology would probably say that this has something to do with looking good and impressing the women-folk, but I think this has more to do with satisfying the latent, primeval hunter in all guys.  Looking good might attract the chicks, but speed and strength brings home the steaks… and I don’t care how much you like sex, but you can live a lot longer without sex than you can without food (no matter how hard that is to believe…)

So, now you can argue that it is good for the both of you for you to own a fast car… it’s Viagra on wheels!  And science backs it up…

Now, if only science could find—and eliminate – the gene that makes women want to buy shoes…

- IZZY

I am telling you straight out that Seth MacFarlane is a goddamned modern day genius, and at age 35, he is the highest paid screen writer in the history of television, receiving a whopping 100 million dollars from 20th Century FOX. He presently has three series on FOX, has won two Emmy awards, and the world must look like one great big son of a bitch of an oyster to the man.

In 1999 he gave birth to the most insane, brilliant, bizarre, show that has ever aired, the infamous Family Guy. If you’re a fan, then you know how brutally weird the humor is. It speaks to a very wide demographic of generations – from teens to retirees, which has been a massive recipe for success. Oddly enough, the show has been canceled twice, but a huge backlash from the fans and record setting DVD sales forced the people at FOX to reconsider. And now the show has been contracted through 2012 and is a certified billion-dollar franchise.

MacFarlane has a personal list of great shows and actors that he idolized as a kid – Jackie Gleason, Woody Allen, All in the Family, and not surprisingly, The Simpsons – and you can see a little bit of each in his characters, who are all certifiably nuts. This New England based dysfunctional family has more issues than Playboy Magazine and the things they say and do each week continue to astound and push the comic envelope way beyond the breaking point.

Peter Griffin, the dad and main character is probably one or two degrees more retarded and infantile than Homer Simpson, and it is amazing that he can somewhat function in the human race. In one episode he sees his doctor for a proctologist exam and when the doc slips on the rubber gloves and prods the Hershey Highway, Peter flips out and sues his physician on rape charges. He tells his wife in a state of terror, “He raped me…he did bad things to me…he took away my innocence.”

One of the stranger characters that has ever graced the tube (which is no longer a tube, btw) is the Griffin’s baby, Stewie – a football shaped headed infant who talks like a cultured socialite and has a recurring desire to kill his mother and take over the world. You know, typical baby stuff. It seems that only the family dog, Brian can hear and understand Stewie, but all these years, no one is really sure. In one of the funniest scenes I have ever watched in television, Stewie becomes a bookie and takes a $50 wager from Brian (who talks and walks upright) on a boxing match between Mike Tyson and the ancient performer Carol Channing. Of course, Brian picks Tyson – and of course, Channing wins the fight. When Brian steps out of the shower, Stewie is there – inquiring about his money. When Brian gives him a BS story and tries to blow him off, baby Griffin gets medieval on the pooch’s ass – smashing a glass of orange juice into his eye, slamming his head into the toilet, and breaking the towel rod off the wall, beating him within and inch of his canine life. I laughed so hard that I almost coughed up a lung.  In another episode, his mother Lois forgets to get Stewie from his crib, where in turn the psycho baby replies, “This isn’t some Tommy Lee pool party.

I used to watch a massive amount of television as a kid, but with today’s gathering of pablum puke ridden, un-intellectual, reality driven pap, I find very little to enjoy other than a ball game or a movie once in a while. I’ll still watch the Simpsons when in the mood, Two and a Half men is a very well written comedy, Heroes is pretty cool so far, but I’d have to say that Family Guy keeps me riveted to the screen and I’ll watch four straight repeat episodes in a row on cable. Wondering what these out of bounds characters will say next is what keeps me coming back for more. And I watch faithfully with my 14 year old son as we both howl like giddy morons and high-five during the good parts. Am I setting a good example? Don’t ask me serious questions when I’m in a Family Guy state of mind. Have some consideration.

Ok, are you ready for the most bizarre and jaw dropping fact of all about Seth MacFarlane? I will quote direct from Wikipedia because I couldn’t write this any better or different myself… On the morning of the September 11, 2001 attacks, MacFarlane was scheduled to return to Los Angeles on American Airlines Flight 11 from Boston, Massachusetts, after delivering a keynote speech at his alma mater. MacFarlane has stated his travel agent gave him an incorrect departure time (8:15 a.m. instead of 7:45 a.m.) and that he was suffering from a hangover from the previous night’s celebrations. As a result, he arrived at Logan International Airport sometime around 7:30 and was unable to board the flight. Fifteen minutes after departure, American Airlines Flight 11 was hijacked, and at 8:46 a.m. was flown into the North Tower of the World Trade Center in New York City, with no survivors

There is obviously a reason why the good man upstairs spared Mr. MacFarlane a tragic fate on the most tragic day in US history. And it looks like his fate was to continue on as the Family Guy for quite some time. “I really can’t let it affect me because I’m a comedy writer,” claims Seth. “I have to put that in the back of my head.”

- Z

Football and cigars are indeed, a very manly combination.

Cigar loving Washington Redskins fans can now enjoy the ultimate smoking experience while watching their favorite team at the elegant new Montecristo Club, which recently opened at Fed Ex Field. The Montecristo Club is Washington DC’s largest cigar lounge and the only one in America to be located in a football stadium.

Located on Fed Ex Field’s exclusive Club Level, the lounge accommodates over 1,000 guests. Spacious and warmly welcoming, the beautiful Montecristo Club features plush leather chairs, a full bar, flat panel TV’s for
football viewing and a stellar selection of Altadis U.S.A. premium cigars including Montecristo, H. Upmann,
Romeo y Julieta, Trinidad, and many more.

The Montecristo Club is the only place where smoking is permitted in the stadium. It was created to offer
enthusiasts a smoker-friendly, luxury destination for enjoying their favorite cigars while watching the game.
The Montecristo Club will also accommodate tailgaters in the Fed Ex Field parking lot where Montecristo girls
will be on hand in golf carts selling Altadis U.S.A. cigars.

Publishers Note: I hope there’s a lot of mirrors in that gorgeous club… ’cause the Red Skins are gonna need that and some smoke to win a few games this season. But at least they have the good people of Altadis to thank for saving their season.

For more information, contact Janelle Rosenfeld at (954) 938-7837 or jrosenfeld@altadisusa.com
www.altadisusa.

What’s your Dream Job? Making beer wouldn’t be so bad, eh?

Meet Egotv.com, a terrific website for us guys and new bestest buddies with PlanetZman! The site has all kinds of useful manly man stuff, including it’s own dedicated online mini-shows that are a hell lot of fun – and my new favorite is Tom Arnold Dream Jobs.

I’ve always really liked Tom Arnold’s humor, he’s a funny, down to earth guy and the perfect person to host this new show. In this episode, Tom visits Gordon Biersch, a Microbrewery in Burbank, California, that makes real German beer-garden style beers! It’s a true learning experience for all of us as the Head Brew Master shows us everything that goes into crafting a microbrewed beer.

Did you know that the complete cycle is five weeks to go from grain to glass? Hops, barley, water, and yeast is all you need to make a kick-ass brew and you’ll have fun seeing how it’s done – up close and personal! Damn it, guys, I wanna make some beer, too!

So click the link, watch the show, learn and enjoy!

CLICK HERE> Tom Arnold’s Dream Jobs – Microbrewing episode

- ZMAN

By Izzy Jaecks

Cheeseheads everywhere are burning their copies of Something About Mary at a rampant pace this evening, all because one Bret Fav – ra has flip flopped more than a flap jack cook at a Waffle House. The immortal number four has turned into the ultimate attention whore and Wisconsin native and PlanetZman contributing writer, Izzy Jaecks has had enough of his insipid blather.

Here in Wisconsin, you can’t go even one day without hearing a Favre update… and today, that update is: He’s signed with the Minnesota Vikings, the “sworn enemy” of the Green Bay Packers, the team that made Favre great in the first place.

The Packers made Favre great?  Well, DUH… Sure he’s statistically one of the best QB’s of ALL TIME, but ya don’t achieve greatness in a vacuum.  And not only was he a GREAT player, the Packers were—and are– a GREAT team.  The Packers are the oldest team in the NFL still under the same name and still in the same city… they’ve been around SINCE 1919!  They are owned by the RESIDENTS of Green Bay… always have been and probably always will be… and gained iconic status by winning the first TWO Super Bowls.  Sure we were lucky to have had Favre as our QB for 16 seasons, but HE was really the lucky one to have been a part of that kind of blue-collar history.

Sure, he retired from Green Bay when he might have had a good season or two left in him, but sixteen years is a sweet run for any professional football player.  Better to retire before your run goes sour and you become a washed-up has been still trying to compete with the young blood.  His departure was touching and tear-filled… aww.   But WAIT!  He’s changed his mind!  “I miss football!” he says.  Well “yay” we Wisconsinites said, until we find out he’s decided that he doesn’t think the Packers have a shot at the Super Bowl… He instead signs with… the New York Jets.

OK fine.  Many in Wisconsin tentatively support his decision and try to not harbor too many feelings of betrayal.  The 2008 season comes and goes, neither the Packers nor the Jets go all the way, and Favre hangs up jersey again, promising, “this time I’m REALLY retired.  Until today…

Rumors have been flying around for months, but today the rumors become true when Brett put on his newest Number Four: the purple and gold of the Minnesota Vikings.  Guess what, Brett.  Wisconsin simply doesn’t like you anymore.  We’re done here.

Have fun and don’t hurt yourself out there, old man…

If this were anything else but an American, cigar-friendly e-zine, the story that follows might have promised to be more racy based on the title.  But this is PlanetZman, not Penthouse, so there are some standards of “decency” to which we must adhere…Anyone who smokes cigars knows (or at least has been told) that Cuban cigars are the Holy Grail of sticks.  Their mystery and mystique is heightened for us Americans since the only legal way for us to smoke one is to leave the country to do so,* which would make for one REALLY expensive cigar.   My local cigar shop has some of those “pre-embargo” Cubans, and the few that I had from there were decent, but nothing truly special.  I’ve kicked around the idea of ordering some from websites that promise they will ship to the US, but I’m not ready to give up an arm and maybe even a foot on the shipping costs.

Luckily, earlier this year I was meeting up with some of my Canadian friends at a conference in Chicago.  One of them was gracious enough to sneak me in a Cuban. I’m sure the conversation at the border went something like this:

Customs Agent: “yoos got anything aboot you that’s illegal, eh?”
Friend: “No, eh”
Customs Agent: “OK then, eh”

Unfortunately, as he is not a smoker himself, my description of what kind of cigars I like fell on generous but deaf ears… He brought me a Romeo Y Julieta Romeo No1.  It was a lighter wrapper than I usually buy for myself, but embargo breakers can’t be choosers.  As Chicago is one of those pesky “smoke free” cities, I had to head out to the streets in front of the Hilton to light up…It cut perfectly.  Lighting was difficult, but that was not the cigar’s fault.  The flavor was somewhat light and sweet, but it still had something of a kick.   Hard to judge the aroma in the wind of the Windy City.  I enjoyed this stick down to the butt… and while I feel I should be “forever changed” by losing my Cuban virginity, I have to say to her, “I’ve had better, sweetie.”

I know better than to judge all Cuban cigars based on this one stick that luck brought me (and looking at a couple sites, this one didn’t happen to rate very well with more seasoned Cuban aficionados), but at least I can die feeling a little more complete for having at least one Cuban in my life.

- Izzy

* The Department of Homeland Security says, “Importation of Cuban-origin cigars and other Cuban-origin tobacco products is prohibited whether the goods are purchased by the importer or given to the importer as a gift. Similarly, the import ban extends to Cuban-origin cigars and other Cuban-origin tobacco products offered for sale over the Internet or through a catalog.”

Well gosh.