Freedom is a Clove Cigarette

This week, the government overstepped its bounds yet again in the private lives of its citizens here in what we still like to think as the land of the free.

A federal ban on flavored cigarettes went into effect. This did not affect all flavored cigarettes, but only a marginal few, including clove cigarettes.

The rationale behind this ban is that flavored cigarettes are more appealing to children. Society was not always this paranoid about protecting children. I remember being able to buy cigarettes as a teenager growing up in the suburbs. Only a real asshole of a cashier would card someone for cigarettes. Now it’s commonplace to deny smokes to teenagers. The police conduct sting operations on convenience stores using real teenagers as live bait.

For all its good intentions, the effort against smoking has gone way too far. Now even adults who want to cannot buy flavored cigarettes. Interestingly, the ban does not cover the more popular brands nor does it outlaw miniature cigars (cigarillos), which are part of the larger tobacco companies’ domain.

I’m all for discouraging smoking. I’m very glad I never got into that habit. As a non-smoker, I enjoy the relatively smoke-free environment that is possible thanks to the indoor smoking ban in New York City. But being a beneficiary, I still see that it is wrong.

Businesses, like homes, should be able to determine for themselves if they want to be smoke free or not—though some businesses where smoking would be dangerous or harmful to others, such as gas stations, hospitals, etc. should have such a ban for safety reasons and already outlaw smoking on their own anyway. Some bars and restaurants would be smoking-friendly; others would be smoke-free. The choice would be yours. That, albeit in a small way, is what this country is supposed to be about.

We should have the freedom to buy clove cigarettes. They smell much better than regular cigarettes anyway.

“It’s a free country,” used to be a common phrase in the U.S.A. You don’t hear it much anymore.

Still a Happy Camper

This past weekend, I went camping with some friends in Vermont. It had been many years since I was camping, and I was determined to make a go of it and enjoy roughing it in the great outdoors.

I woke up early on a Friday and took Metro North to New Haven, where my friend Luke met me. We began our drive to Vermont and made good time despite a little bit of traffic congestion.

Our first destination was Curtis’ Barbeque in Putney, Vermont. Curtis’ is an outdoor place where the kitchen is two old blue school busses and Curtis himself grills under a corrugated steel awning outdoors in the company of the restaurant’s pet pig. They serve some of the best ribs I’ve ever eaten, and their chicken and baked potatoes are excellent as well. It is a delicious meal and if you’re anywhere near Putney Vermont, go there.

Luke and I were the first of our group to arrive at Fort Dummer State Park in Vermont. We celebrated our arrival with some beers, which became beers of consolation as we were soon scrambling to set up our tents in monsoon-like rains.

Despite being drenched by the rain twice, our group of campers had a good time. The rain eventually died down both Friday and Saturday and we got fires going and cooked delicious food and drank delicious beer.

Saturday, I accompanied Luke’s wife Sarah and her friend Michelle to the nearby town of Brattleboro, Vt. It was very satisfying to shop for dry clothes at Sam’s Outdoor Outfitters, which not only had free popcorn but awesome socks and hunting and camping equipment.

Brattleboro is full of used book stores. We visited Brattleboro Books, where the owner told us about her job as a truck driver who transported expensive art. The job went well until hijackers shot at her truck while she was transporting a $50 million painting.

Saturday night brought even more rain, and some of the group went to a restaurant in town, but four of us: Luke, Debbie, Mike and I stayed in the rain and Luke’s fire-tending acumen kept the campfire going despite another monsoon. We huddled in our rain ponchos and once the rain died down we feasted on burgers and chirizos.

Later, a bunch of us visited a possibly haunted slate quarry.

The next day we visited the quarry again and Luke, Sarah, Martha and I stopped by Curtis’ again and I filled up on ribs and a baked potato.

I’m already signed on for the next camping trip in late September. Hopefully I’ll stay dry, but either way it will be fun.

The Vantastic Blue Betty, Part I

My latest Notes from a Polite New Yorker column begins to document my adventure retrieving a van from Long Island.

What would have been a horrible and maddening day became a fun adventure thanks to spending much of the day with Jon P., also known as The Beast, and our mutual friend Joey Bones. The company you keep is very important, never more so than when things go wrong, and I was in the best of company that day.

The story of Blue Betty is not over; it is being written as we speak. She currently sits in my mother’s yard in Westchester. How she got there is a long story.

The Upper Decker Column

When my Notes from a Polite New Yorker column ran on GetUnderground.com, the most popular column of mine was the one about the Upper Decker.

For those that do not know what an Upper Decker is, kindly read the column, which is now archived on Kotori Magazine’s Web site. I am proud that this piece is again available to the public.

For many years, the first listing on Google if you searched “upper decker” was my column. One or two people who had executed Upper Deckers even sent me cell phone photos of their work. It was by far my most widely read columns and I like to think that I have helped popularize it.

If ever questioned, I would of course deny any knowledge of an individual Upper Decker. The brave legion of souls who carry out these actions must, like the French Resistance, operate in the shadows and let their anonymous work speak for itself.

If you have not read it before, kindly take the time to read my Upper Decker column now. Thank you.

Independent Pro Wrestling Rules

My latest Notes from a Polite New Yorker column is now online at Kotori Magazine. It recounts my love of wrestling and documents a good wrestling show I attended at the Hammerstein Ballroom.

The independent wrestling shows in New York (and Philadelphia also) will be notable for several reasons. One of them is the level of audience participation. At the show I went to, the crowd was at times both cruel and appreciative. For example, when the ring announcer paged an audience member, “Will Alex Johnson please report to the front ticket table,” the audience took up the chant of “Alex sucks! Alex sucks!” Later, the ring announcer had to page a man named Charles Seaman, and more hilarity ensued.

One of the reasons I made sure to attend the show was to see the Necro Butcher in action. You may know him from his performance in ‘The Wrestler’ in a very bloody match with Mickey Rourke. The Necro Butcher is famous for bloody and over-the-top hardcore wresting matches. His match was not that bloody, but it was good.

I have made it a point to try to make it to more independent wrestling shows. You should too.

Fireworks Are Good For You

I spent this past weekend in Connecticut with friends. We mostly observed the Fourth of July holiday by drinking copious amount of freedom-loving beer and eating large amounts of delicious food.

We also set off some fireworks. Early in the day on July 4, my friend Luke and I visited Uncle Guido’s Fantastic Fireworks in Guilford, Conn. There we found many enticing fireworks, including some very impressively packaged items promising thrilling displays of firepower.

The large party was held at a friend’s house in a town near where we attended high school. As evening descended, we prepared for our display. Another friend was able to travel to some Southern states and bring back fireworks that are illegal here in the Northeast. Luke and I were essentially the opening act for these larger fireworks.

We embraced our role with gusto. Luke is very adept at quickly lighting several fireworks at once, making for a more thrilling spectacle. Many of the party attendees were married people with children, and the kids were impressed with the fireworks both big and small. I even helped light sparklers for the children. As this wound down, our friend with the illegal fireworks lit off his large ordnance, and big colorful blooms filled the night sky above my friend’s yard.

I have heard many people portray the fireworks tradition of the Fourth of July as excessively juvenile and a grotesque abuse of our Revolutionary heritage. I disagree.

The use of fireworks, especially the use of fireworks that are illicit in regions with strict laws and regulations of fireworks and firearms, is very American. The Revolutionary War was fought by people who were not about to let the government dictate how they lived their lives. The first shots fired in New England were against soldiers coming to confiscate arms.

Our country exists because people were willing to break the law and light things that went BOOM. Celebrate accordingly.