micahsaul

Ok, so they’re not actually off brands. They are neither more nor less smelly or cancerous than Marlboros or Camels. But they just don’t quite have the same cachet as those two. This is not to say, of course, that they do not say as much about their smokers. Let’s examine:

Parliament is an odd brand. Many, many people smoke Parly lights, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone smoke a regular Parliament. Not sure what exactly that means.

The important thing about Parliament Light smokers is this: They are usually cute hipster girls with good fashion, good taste in music, and they are usually quitting smoking.

Gauloises are merely one of the many French and French-Canadian brands in vogue among the pretentious elite. Another common brand in this crowd is Export A. These are the sort of people that spend all day at the local cafe, playing Japanese Chess, writing in their Moleskine notebooks, and reading sprawling post-modern literature that everyone ahs heard of but no one ahs read like Gravity’s Rainbow and Infinite Jest. Or maybe that was just me in 2002…

American Spirits… oh, where to begin? “My body is a temple. I want no unwelcome chemicals entering it.” Earth to hippy! You are fucking smoking. you are currently inhaling more chemicals than you have names for, and just because there’s none added does not make the fuckers good for you! If you like the taste of Spirits better, great! If you like the fact that it takes about five years to smoke a single American Spirit cigarette, awesome! But do not claim that you are smoking them because there are no additives. That’s like claiming organic bacon will somehow make you less fat, or natural rat poison is somehow more environmentally safe.

Menthols are for people that don’t like smoking but want to smoke. The menthol numbs the throat and makes you feel vaguely like you’ve been ass-raped in the mouth. Menthols are for frat boys, thugs, and anyone who likes to feel like they’ve been ass-raped in the mouth.

Obviously, I’m not a fan.

Cloves are also for people who don’t like smoking but want to smoke. The clove numbs the throat and makes you cough blood the next day. They are for theatre fags, goth teenagers, and your spinster aunt who is going through a mid-life crisis and goes to Death Guild to pick up theatre fags and goth teenagers. But hey, at least she’s not getting ass-raped in the mouth.

And finally, why Camel smokers should never date each other and should find a Parliament Light smoker:

As discussed in yesterday’s lecture, the Camel smoker is at heart a roamer, a wanderer, a nomad, a vagabond, call them what you will. They are rarely content to stay in one place, and almost always have a certain wanderlust to them. This does not lead to a stable relationship. When you put two of these people together, you can be sure that the relationship will be passionate, intense, and incredibly shortlived. Invariably, one or the other will feel the need to move on, sooner rather than later. The constant threat of dissolution can cause the couple to live every day like it’s their last together, which of course leads to great stories, incredible adventures, and mindblowing sex… but very soon it will be over, hearts will be broken, and even more cigarettes will be smoked.

The Parliament Light smoker, on the other hand, is groundedd. She is content to stay put, she likely has a decent job at a publishing company or a magazine or a non-profit, and, as mentioned, she is trying to quit smoking. She is not likely to hop on a Greyhound bus tomorrow for parts unknown. And this grounds the Camel smoker. The relationship is probably not as violently intense as the menage a Camel, but this is a good thing. Burning a candle on two ends and all that. The wanderlust may win out, of course, and the Camel smoker may eventually leave the Parliament Light smoker, but he will regret it for the rest of his life.

And that’s what you needed to know to write about smokers.

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…and they always fall in love with the girl that smokes Parliament Lights.

I smoke. I am occasionally embarrassed by this. I occasionally try to quit. The problem is, those little motherfuckers are delicious, and I will likely be a smoker for a while still. So, let’s talk branding.

It is rarely a good idea to include brand names in your writing. The girlfriend was talking about reading some chick-lit novel recently in which the protagonist was constantly saying things like: “This is Midnight Smoke eyeliner, by MAC. It’ll look really good with your pale skin…” etc. This is bad. For one, product placement can be really jarring if handled poorly, as is the case here. For two, it hopelessly dates the piece (as an example, how many brands in Blade Runner are still around? Pan-Am, really? I’m certainly not saying Blade Runner is a bad movie because of this, but having ads in the future for a company that has gone the way of Dinersaurs Cereal). For three, no seriously, who the fuck talks like that?!

However, I occasionally break this rule. Yes, I have been known to include name brands in my prose. But I am selective. Pringles are still reconstituted and extruded potato wafers, Pabst Blue Ribbon is cheap beer that won first place at a county fair. But my characters that smoke (meaning most of them) smoke Camels and Parly Lights and Gauloise.

Why is this? Why do I make the choice (and it is clearly a conscious one) to break my hard and fast, no brand name rule when it comes to smoking? The answer is simple: cigarette brand is characterization. What a person smokes does a lot to say what that person likes, dislikes, etc. In short, who they are.

A Couple Examples:

A Marlboro smoker sure does want to be a cowboy… only one problem: he ain’t. See, a Marlboro smoker is a Bud drinker, a Broncos fan, a McDonalds eater. There’s nothing really wrong with those things, but they’re not the cowboy thing to do. Cowboys were rebels, criminals, archetypal tricksters in the Coyote vein. Cowboys were not, are not, and never will be mainstream America. I should know. I smoke Camels.

Now, a Camel smoker just likes a good tasting cigarette that is easily available anywhere in the world. I’ve found my brand in Istanbul, Budapest, Tokyo, Amsterdam, and down the street at the corner store. Yeah, it’s mainstream. Yeah, it’s still an all-American brand. But Camel’s like the pre-2004 Red Sox. Always second best, always the outsider. That’s probably why Camel’s are smoked by all the real Cowboys I know; the hardcore kids, the bike messengers, the Southern punks, the New Orleans circus freaks… all Camel smokers.

The Camel vs. Marlboro debate is the same as the Red Sox vs. Yankees rivalry, the Mac vs. PC battle… it is a battle between two inherently disparate world views. And working that into fiction is perfectly acceptable.

COMING TOMORROW:
The lesser brands, including Parliaments, Kools, American Spirits, and the non-smoker cigarette: Cloves.

Also, why the Camel guy always falls for the Parliament girl, and should never date another Camel smoker.

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I don’t remember when I started drinking whiskey. It was likely in 2001, during the first of my punk rock, dirty apartment, sleeping on the floor, sharing a small apartment with entirely too many fucking people phase. I know for a fact that it was certainly then or before, as I remember many nights during those six months spent kicking back glass after glass of Jameson or Macallan with my best friend Zane.

Well, seven years have passed, I’ve lived through two more of those phases, and Zane has passed away… but the love of whiskey remains, though it has changed form. I used to be an Irish man (not an Irishman, but a man who drinks Irish whiskey). Of course, that meant bottle upon bottle of Jameson, that particular tipple being the only Irish that deserves the name. I’d drink the occasional glass of Scotch, usually Macallan 18 year when we felt like splurging, but Irish was my drink. The reasons for this British Isles-centric taste were simple: 1) Scotch was expensive (excepting the shitty plastic jug scotch, but that stuff is glorified paint thinner, f’real) and 2) Bourbon was gross. Jack Daniels and Jim Beam, the only American whiskeys I’d tassted at that point, had about the appeal of an old southern man’s dirty bath water… and this is exactly what it tasted like. Ok, so in the later phases of my hipster lifestyle, I began to drink Ancient Age and Kessler’s, but this is merely because it was cheap, plentiful, and ironic.

Thus, my current love affair with Bourbon seems a tad incongruous. How did the lowest of the low become the highest of the high? In this case, I can remember exactly how it happened. And again, it is thanks to Zane. See, in 2003 I dropped out college for the second time, to travel across the country with Zane to go pick apples on an orchard on the New Hampshire/ Maine border. While living in his family’s old farmhouse, Zane introduced me to the most glorious liquid I had imbibed up to that point: Maker’s Mark. Here was an American Whiskey worthy of the name. Instead of Colonel Sanders’ bathtub, it tasted like a sunset as seen from the hills above Monticello. It tasted like what I’ve since learned the South to be: hospitable, beautiful, warm, inviting, dignified with a rustic edge. I was in love.

I’ve had many Bourbons since then, and have recently gotten into the small batch craft whiskeys. Often higher in alcohol, they are also head and shoulders above the cheaper, larger batch bourbons most people know in terms of flavor. If Jack Daniels is Budweiser (and Kessler and Ancient Age are PBR), these are the Fat Tires, the Chimays, the Red Hooks. They’re certainly pricier than Jim Beam, but quality doesn’t come cheap. Here are my favorites:

Black Maple Hill 21 Yr. (95 Proof) - First discovered this one at Alembic, in San Francisco. I asked for a Bourbon that would kick me in the teeth with a velvet boot and it does just that, coming in strong with a very full bodied flavor and a sharp tang that subsides and warms as it goes down your throat. According to the bartender at Whiskey Thieves, it’s been discontinued, which is just about the saddest thing I’ve ever heard. Made by Kentucky Bourbon Distillers, Ltd, who also make the excellent Rowan’s Creek.

Bulleit Bourbon Frontier Whiskey (90 Proof) - Found out about them through Metafilter years ago. I stole their recipe for Mint Juleps, which has since become my signature drink. Only recently tried the whiskey, when it became available at Safeway. Similar to Maker’s in many respects, it’s smooth as silk with some slightly fruity and peppery notes. Made by the Buffalo Trace Distillery, who also make unemployed-Micah’s standby, Ancient Age (it’s hard to beat $4 for a pint of tolerable whiskey).

Bookers (125 Proof) - This is the stuff. If Bourbon could be a schoolyard bully, it would be Bookers. A barrel proof whiskey, it is not watered down after distilling and aging like most other alcohols; what comes out of the barrel is what goes into the bottle. Despite the very high alcohol content, this is a nuanced Bourbon, with a strong, smoky, oaky flavor. Perhaps the best way to enjoy it is to take a small amount onto your tongue and just let it evaporate there. The flavor spreads across your palate and warms your entire mouth and throat. It’s part of Jim Beam’s small batch collection, which also includes the very fine Knob Creek and Basil Hayden’s.

All of the whiskey’s mentioned are available at BevMo, and I highly recommend giving them a try. After a long day of work, be it physical labor on an apple orchard in New England or hours in front of a computer screen at a tech company in downtown SF, nothing is quite as nice as a good book, some good music, maybe a good friend or two, and a glass of damn good bourbon. Cheers, y’all.

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