It's A Boy Cigar Brand Review

I thought I had smoked everything in cheap-o section of my local tobacconist's humidor. I had thought wrong. I grabbed an It's A Boy and headed to the It's A Counter, It's A Wallet loosely in hand. 

The Cigar:

It's A Boy - dunno...mini Churchill?

The cellophane wrapper is cheesy Americana iconography to we Brothers of the Leaf, no less than is a Bob's Big Boy statue to the zaftig. I was truly and duly sad to see it go.

Sadder, still, to see what was left behind. A rock hard cigar that seems to have been wrapped in brown paper grocery bag. It had the heady aroma of me not living up to my potential and trying to have a sense of humor about payday coming late. Actually, it had no aroma.

Nor taste.

Nor even smoke. Perhaps, I thought, it was designed to be smoked without detection in a hospital waiting room. I smoked it down through relights and fixed plugs. There was not so much as an honest chew. This has suddenly become not a review - but an indictment. 

If you are not a smoker, and find yourself in a cigar shoppe, speak to the clerk. He won't say "It's A Boy." If he does, punch him in his It's A Face. Seriously though, he'll have similarly priced options of far superior quality. Maybe think It's A Boy in the same way again as the Bob's Big Boy Statue...no one eats the statue.

Quorum Cigar Review

"Wearing a turtleneck is like being strangled by a really weak guy, all day. Wearing a backpack and a turtleneck is like a weak midget trying to bring you down." - Mitch Hedburg

Today's phrase that pays (I paid $2.49 for this stogie) is mild trespasses. 

Today's Cigar:

Quorum - Nicaraguan Blend - Ecuador Connecticut Wrapper - Churchill

Pre-light the surprisingly pleasant initial onset of honey vanilla aroma fades and turns to musk quickly. A cap-on draw bears no honey but offers some vanilla in not so crisp of a fashion. It does sharpen some and I bite the cap...

Still pre-light but now capless, the draw is dusty and nothing delineates clearly. Result stays pleasant enough. Draw feels to be on the right side of the tracks. I commence to the

Lighting this stick is a careful proposition, as it seems to want to get toasted and to do so in a hurry. A medium volume plume of previously undetected and cluttered spices are duly noted. They subside some after the first couple three draws, but remain a part of this stogie's hazy style.

The First third showcases a robust finish that almost overly sweetens on the palate and lasts straight through to the next puff. Cloudy. The cigar is a vague cloudy. I am on my Pacific Northwest porch and realize that this cigar is aping the weather. Overcast, unclear, et cetera. I am fogged in. Worse things have happened, still. I mean, I am on my porch, I am smoking a cigar.

The way it burns is the way it lit: quickly and for the most part evenly. Finish becomes mildly perfume-y. Ash holds fast. Falls in off in a clump at the close of the first third.

The second third remains all about the finish, and the finish ain't fine. Although at times, it is. It soon settles into an inconsistent spectrum ranging from not quite sweet to not quite bitter. I'm not quite impressed. I'm not quite depressed. There is a crack in the wrapper.

I believe there to be a crack in the wrapper. Smoke has been greatly reduced to my smoke-hole. However, I spy with my own little eye, no perceptible leak. Bitterness increases - or at least that's what I first notice. Secondly, I am aware the flow of smoke to my smoke-hole has increased. The output of smoke into G-d's green earth increases, too. It's aroma is feh. From start to finish, feh. Only its volume varies, and vary it does.

This cigar is all about trespasses so mild that they are hard to put a finger on. I put a finger on the crack. No heat escapes and it does not improve the again weak-ish draw. It sheepishly moves from almost miserable to almost serviceable. This cigar needs a mood stabilizer. I begin to feel as though I might need a mood stabilizer on account of this cigar. THIS CIGAR IS SUPPOSED TO BE MY MOOD STABILIZER.

Crazymaking: a form of domestic abuse wherein a partner sets you up to lose by causing self doubt in order to gain control. Thankfully, this cigar is not, in fact, domestic - it is a Nicaraguan blend.

At the end of the second third there is an attempt at nuttiness that ends in bittering up the finish. Trespasses remain mostly mild as does my enjoyment. The ash falls of in a second clump and the bitterness has not hit for a bit. Perhaps, I think, I overstated the bitterness. Perhaps, I think, a smooth finish is in order. The phone rings, it's my mother, I ignore it. This cigar hates when I talk to mom. I realize I haven't seen my friends in...how long?

The final third sees the chew breaking in nicely. Nicely enough that I begin to leave the stick in my stick-hole. It takes me an unusually long time to realize that this burns my nose hairs. More cracks form. When did the bitterness return, whenever it did, it was more bitter than ever. It burns hot enough to hurt my lip. I am only halfway through the last third.

I tell myself it will straighten out. It will be sweet again. It will buy me flowers, take me out for a lovely dinner, whisper all the right things in my ear...

For now, though, my lip is burnt. My nose hairs singed, and my palate too bitter to carry on. It strikes me in a moment of clarity that I might not survive to again see the sweetness of this cigar. I place it in my ashtray and leave it there.

I am writing this from a Safe House. 

Yours in the Brotherhood of the Leaf,

Ira Goldfeld

PS: pairings I'd recommend are restraining orders, handguns - because restraining orders are only pieces of paper, and a good defense attorney.

---------------

Domestic abuse is a very serious matter. 

Get help/info at 1.800.799.SAFE(7233) or 

The National Domestic Violence site HERE.

Number Five in the Gate but Number One in The End (But What If...)

Yesterday saw the announcement of Belmont's post positions and thusly we now know that the odds on and prohibitive favorite, American Pharoah will be breaking from the fifth spot. This might just be another piece of the Triple Crown puzzle sliding neatly into place, as that start has seen the most victors, fourteen, in the illustrious horse history of the Belmont Stakes.

Not only does this bode well numerically, which is a rather meaningless and trivial matter, but it does so tactically speaking, as well. This spot will give AP the room needed to use his tactical speed (pony-playing talk for boring) as it allows him to either lay back and watch the race unfurl as he did in the Kentucky Derby - or, as he did in the Preakness, simply do away with the field much earlier.

Let me say, as to my own remark re: boring, that like boxing, this is explained by Big George Foreman's "Boxing is like Jazz, the better it is - the less people understand it."

No matter Espinoza's decision on the matter of how AP runs the final jewel of the Triple crown, in the end Frosted or Materiality will be with him, in a struggling fashion, until the top of the stretch. Then, as I've predicted prior, namely HERE, Pharaoh pulls away and into the annals of horseplayer histories. What that means for our sport is not a topic for now, but I do weigh in on it in the link of the previous sentence.

What is not being bandied about the horse world, however, is what happens if Pharoah does not, in fact, seal the deal. What if we are left with another Crownless track year?

I am a fan of American Pharoah. The  best horse, though, is not always the best horse for the times. No other horse in this year's field, to be clear is more deserved...but I feel a better boost to the sport and end to this drought, would have by far been 2004's Smarty Jones. Heck, although he's a far lesser horse than is AP, California Chrome would have really gotten our sport entrenched in the hearts of the more casual fans, and might have made some less than simply casual. So, what does happen if another horse takes this year's Belmont?

Much the same, for the time being, than what would happen when American Pharaoh wins. That being not a whole bunch. However, it leaves the drought intact for a less Foreman-esque quote inspired victor. That may just be me making lemonade out of lemons that are still unpicked from the tree.

I feel amid all this noise of drought and all the (some very good) reasons sited as to its whys and hows, is that in '77 and '78 and around - the talk was of tarnish on the Crown due to its being too easy of a win. My, how times change views. At the end of the day, the secret elephant in the room is that many of horse racing's biggest fans - many of the people who make all or part of their living at a track - don't even bother with these big races.

The Triple Crown then, no matter its outcome, distances itself so far from the lifeblood of its own game, that it barely affects its heart. This is why horse racing might continue to become increasingly unpopular, but will never die. The casual fans have their little bits, and it happens in a vacuum from the folks that are the keepers of the Sport of Kings.

Boxing, transversely, is dying because the casuals want things like Mayweather/Pacquiao, and since they run that sport - their silly wish is granted. Leaving them to their childish tantrums in the fallout of their own ignorant wishes.

I feel that some important things were touched upon here, but overall, meh. Which is precisely the outcome I had hoped for. Plus, I got to include my K as a fleuron of sorts.

Yours in winning,
Me

The Three Stooges - Brideless Groom - 1947

Poor ol' Shemp does have more than his unfair share of naysayers. As you know, I rank him myself, as the deepest and most layered of Stooges. I hold fast to his inherent character complexities, as I hold fast to this being the reason that he is overlooked in favor of his little brother Curly, all too often. 

Brideless Groom has something for both sides of the Shemp Howard fence. It is at once an opportunity to enjoy his own personal tour de farce, and it also serves as an equal opportunity to see him get his nose for real busted by the lovely Christine McIntyre. The blonde bombshell of Stoogery plays Miss Hopkins here, one of the women Shemp pursues as a potential wife so that he might cash in on his inheritance of half a million 1947 bucks. The injury happens as she pummels him in a classic situation misunderstanding, ending with him prat-falling through a door.

Let me here all at once digress and delve.

This short is very, very slapstick heavy for the Shemp era. Because of this, even the ant-Shemp among we Stooges fans tend to enjoy this offering. The plot is an already familiar one for its time that, as mentioned, involves the death of Shemp's uncle, the ensuing inheritance, and its caveat. Shemp must be married to collect - and married in a hurry - seven hours to be exact. This is possibly in homage to Seven Chances, Buster Keaton's 1925 flick that is borrowed from heavily here. This is a time-sensitive scenario where the ticking clock acts as a very important and comedic character. 

Moe: Do you remember your Uncle Caleb?
Shemp: Do I? That old tightwad. He'd steeal flies from a blind spider.
Moe: Well he just died and left you 500 bucks
Shemp: Why that old skinflint (double take) 500,000 bucks? (cries) Poor uncle Kaleb. Like I was saying, he was a swell guy. Give ya the shirt off his back and throw in the buttons, too.

Here we see the verbal give and take that Shemp offers Moe, who must have reveled in the opportunity thereof, because he always longed to be more of an actor. "Sure, and Chaplin wanted to play Hamlet." Moe Howard lamented at the close of his illustrious career.

Larry gets to show some non slapstick chops here, as well:

Larry: You just got seven hours to get yourself a bride.
Shemp: it can't be done, no woman is interested in me.
Larry: Maybe not, pal. But if ya look real hard, you might find one interested in a half a million bucks!
Shemp: Maybe ya got something there...

Moe and Shemp's phone booth scene is a must see gag that highlights Shemp's physical talents, one of which is his quite ugly, and chock-full of trademarked character, mug. There is a subtlety in Shemp's slap-stick that I completely adore. 

Speaking of gags, Brideless Groom features longtime Stooges foil and almost-Stooge, Emil Sitka's famous "Hold hands, you lovebirds!" (The line is engraved on Sitka's headstone.)  My dad referenced this line often, as to why he always held my mother's hand. It was so that they couldn't hit each other as easily.

All along, Shemp is pursued by his enamored student, as he is a Professor of Voice, the tone-deaf Miss Dinkelmeyer portrayed by Dee Green - which I talk about here. Of course, at the short's end, the gal gets the guy and the Three Stooges show a women's rights tilt far beyond their years. 

Brideless Groom is a woman's world wherein women chase men as they see fit, and unapologetically so. A penniless Shemp sadly strikes out, but a potential half-millionaire Shemp is prey to be stalked by strong-willed women with their own worldly agendas. 

A brilliant side-gag here unfurls as the women fight over Shemp's inheritance. As Larry is about to knock out a dame with the butt of a gun, Moe offers his famous, "You wouldn't hit a lady with that." He then takes the gun and gives him a larger one, adding, "Use this it's bigger." Equal Rights meet Gun Rights and The Three Stooges show their social libertarian bent. I swoon. 

Watch this romp with delight, and follow it up with Husbands Beware, which uses stock footage from here. We do all know of Fake Shemp, no? My word...

All told, fence-sitters in the Shemp highly contested arena of such, are very likely to land in the far greener Pro-Shemp grasses after viewing Brideless Groom. Or well they should.

Final Grade B+