My take-away from the flick? To quote my own Facebook status: "The Quiet Man is the longest premium tobacco ad ever filmed. Also: Mary Kate had to have made the rest of Sean Thornton's life a living hell of high-level tsuris. Every year, I see the movie differently. How interesting." My take-away writ cigarcentric? Glad ya asked, gentlepersons.
It's hard to tell when exactly the Dbl Claro/Candela wrapper became the green beer of the cigar world, and I'm sure it happened quite early on as it is a somewhat unfortunate and entirely perfect fit -- but the traditionalist in me wants it known that Candela is a serious thing. Full-on deserving of yer considerations in the remaining Gregorian 364 -- not just be relegated to schtick and kitsch and blarney of that ilk. It, in fact, owned the cigar landscape of the mid 1950s to the '70s US. So much so, that Candela offerings were dubbed American Market Selection. If that black and white flick yer watching includes a stogie -- chances are it's green as I am in the 3/3 of a Skip Martin offering. This might be hard to fathom in our flavor-bomb era ushered in by improper tastings and taste, but the Candela is quite flavorful in its subtle nuances. Please don't make me discuss the retro-hale for another hour. No, I shan't share a link. Look it up. It exists.
Now I am not saying the names I named are schlock, mind you. It's just that much of schlock is perception and well, ridiculous hats. It's a mainly slippery and fully Yiddish slope Candela is more than halfway down. Please then, to allow me to act as a nice pair of cleats and slow the roll with a good bit of traction, gentlepersons. How? By asking you to nurse your today's near certain hangover with a bit of the hair of the dog that done bit ya -- and pair it with Candela smokes like perhaps a Fuente 8-5-8 Lonsdale, an Illusione 888 Candela, or a Puros Indios Churchill. Yes, I did place that list in a very specific order.
I do believe you'll have a deeper appreciation of the leaf. You might not end up loving the green as much as Ms. Piggy and/or Donald Trump, but then again -- ya might. And next year, do schtick not schlock... I'll be ever so happy to simply point and laugh at yer choice head-wear alone, ya maniacs, ya.
It might be the fact that I'm now hitting the end of the 2/3 on this Isabela Churchill, and am seeing the world through a nic induced fisheye lens -- actually I am certain it is that -- but I wanna leave ya with this:
I am not as old as the coming yarn might make me appear, but I come from a poor family. As such I recall vividly my family's first colored TV. My inaugural taste of it was the opening credits of Little House on the Prairie. Green rolling hills with bright yellow flowers. I recall too, screaming hurling down the highway at nearly 40mph in my Hyundai Accent some decades later. My phone rang and I received my first picture thusly. It was a photo of my sleeping daughter wrapped in pink, sent by her mom.
I didn't have a picture. Then my phone 'rang.' Then I had a picture. Amazing. My second SMS followed quick on its heels -- it was a shot of her mom's, pardon my French, tits. Such a beautiful tongue French. I killed my A/C, pulled a huey post-haste, and managed to gun the thing up to 45mph pointed in the direction of breasts and the promise thereof.
Yes, I watched The Quiet Man today. On something called Netflix. You may not have heard of it yet, but it's a thing. A thing new to me. Oh, time. Oh, another trip around the sun. I do hope ya had a good one, gentlepersons. With many more coming down the pike.