Smoke 'em if you got 'em.

It’s Sunday afternoon and I’m kicked back in my favorite black leather chair. The windows are open, there’s a light breeze kicking through the place bringing in the 67 degrees of Fall air from outside. The TV is showing me what I’ve missed so far of the World Series of Poker in which my friend Eric “Rizen” Lynch finished 24th for nearly a half-million dollar payout…and I have a cigar going.

I love cigars.

While growing up I noticed that all the best comedians carried them, using them almost as props: Groucho Marx was rarely seen without a stogie, David Letterman is a huge fan of ‘em, other legends of laughs include Bill Cosby, Milton Berle, and George Burns. Missouri’s own Mark Twain, a fan of cigars, offered up a couple of classics about my vice of choice: “If smoking is not allowed in heaven, I shall not go there” and “I smoke in moderation. Only one cigar at a time.” Love those lines.

I smoked my first cigar in college at a fraternity party. Once I had it in my hands, the visions of Groucho comically working his foils came back in abundance and I began flapping my gums. There’s just something about having a lit cigar. I’m not sure what it is, but I somehow find this confidence within me to start boisterously telling stories in an attempt to crack up my audience. This has been a constant in my life now for almost a decade and a half.

I keep a humidor in my office at work and a Macanudo ready to go at the drop of a hat. Sadly I had to give up my favorite cigar lighter on my return trip from my summer vacation down in Texas when I tried to get it past airport security. Grr. I managed to find another one online — thank God for e-commerce — so am now back in business. This thing is like a pocket blow torch with a punch cutter on the bottom. So, yeah, I could see why the airport wouldn’t let me onto the plane as I might carve small circles in my victims. Riiiiiight.

I tried cigarettes for a brief period of time during college but they just didn’t do it for me. It didn’t help that I tried to smoke them like cigars — down to the way I gripped them and speedily used them up as I gave them the deep draws usually reserved for heavier stock. Not good. Besides, you don’t inhale cigars so they won’t kill me as quickly as cigarettes.

Later on I moved into the realm of pipes and have enjoyed them quite a bit. They smell a million times better than cigars but I don’t think I’m going to allow myself out in public with my pipe until I’m in my fifties. I’ll usually light my pipe up every other night when I’m at home during the fall and winter, watching TV or writing while slowly puffing away. There’s a store down on the Country Club Plaza called Diebel’s that has a great selection of tobacco. I took my daughter down there several Christmases ago to pick out a pipe and tobacco as a gift for Scoot. I propped Gwen up on the counter and let her pick out the tobacco. The salesman had a heyday as my four year old would lean over a jar, take in a large smell, and then rise up with a quick shake of her head indicating “no.” Eventually she passed up on every tobacco except one — the salesman’s favorite. “Your daughter has great taste,” he said with a nod. Of course she does, she’s my Daddy’s Girl.

I just finished my cigar and it’s not even five o’clock. I’ve already finished my laundry for the day and the rest of this particular Sunday is all mine. I could head to the casino but I think I’ll wait until next Sunday when I begin my run during Octoberfe$t. If I survive the entire month of October I think I’ll treat myself to several boxes of some good cigars and take my buddies out with me to celebrate.

Ahh, victory cigars…I’m looking forward to becoming acquainted with you in five weeks.