The Cigar Aficionado

I spotted a recent issue of "Cigar Aficionado" sitting at the kitchen table this morning while savoring my second cup of coffee. The name on the label was my wife's accounting business in Springvale, but with our home address under the name. How she came to have a subscription to "Cigar Aficionado" delivered to our house is one of the many modern mysteries directly associated to our new high tech existence. 

It appears that the publisher decided to reach out to accountants. Reach out? Why would a magazine devoted to smoking cigars reach out to an lady accountant in Maine?  My wife claims she does not smoke cigars. I have no memory of ever seeing her chewing on the butt of a 50 cent cigar. I will have to take her word on that. 

It must have been through gee whiz computer wizardry, the cigar market analysts discovered there are millions of accountants out there. It would follow, that most accountants must be men, what with crunching numbers being only slighlty less macho than ropin steers out on the Range. Accountants are most likely not poor. And because they wear suits, they are probably not fans of Chawin Tobacca.

Accountants often have offices with waiting areas. What do we find in most waiting areas besides chairs and small tables? Magazines. Clients who need accountants on a regular basis usually have deeper pockets. While the clients sit waiting, they might just pick up the "Cigar Aficionado" and be sucked into the world of cigars, bitches in bikinis, and guys wearing pork pie hats with names like Longshot Louie.

Using these assumptions, they must have thought they had a chance of landing more fans. There is a reasonable chance there are enough stogie smoking accountants to support the expense of sending them gratis, an obviously expensive to publish magazine. I am also guessing that a manly mag that supports the cigar smoking culture would be ecstatic to win over some these awesome examples of maledom who roll up their sleeves and fight the good fight, using nothing but their large brains and a calculator.

As I pondered all this and sipped that second cup of coffee, I noticed that the person on the cover was none other than one of my favorite Wingers to hate, Ronald Dion DeSantis, lame duck governor of Florida, the Sunshine State. And lying next to "Cigar Aficionado" was a black sharpie. 

Old men, no matter how old, never really grow up. Well, I know I haven't. I can think like an 8th grader in a heartbeat. Matter of fact, the older I get, the more fun it is for me to remember the silly fun and stupid games I created at that age; not really out of childhood and not exactly a teenager yet either. 

I picked up that sharpie and my awesome artistic talent took over. While I drew my masterpiece, I remembered how much fun it was sometimes to be a boneheaded 8th grader.

I looked at what I had done and laughed and laughed.

Ya'll keep it 'tween the ditches..Hear?

___________________

I promise. I had a tune picked out not 1/2 hour ago. Just right now at this moment, I have misplaced that thought. It is understandable, given how much garbage I have shoved into my brain over the years. There's not a lot of room anymore for any more garbage. And because I am a hoarder of things physical, apparently my afliction includes stashing my thought waves also. Instead of a garbage in, garbage out scenario, in my case it's garbage in, nothing out. And before I know it, my short term memory quiver is so full, it makes the 3000 emails I have ignored look like chump change.

I have never heard of Steve Earl . He is a musician I am not familar with. I was caught by his tune, "City of Immigrants". It is excellent. A real foot tapper with great lyrics. One play and I am hooked.

Not sure how I missed Steve Earle. He was born in 1955. He began his career as a songwriter in Nashville, Tennessee. His first abum debuted in 1986. He didn't look back I am sure. As of 2026, he has recorded or been part of 21 studio albums. He plays Country, rock, folk and most likely a slew of other genre's. The man is a talent. I can't wait to taste all of his music.