It Must Be Aura ‘Cause We Know It’s Not Aroma

All in favor of declaring cigar-smoking to be the dumbest fad of the ‘90s, say “Aye.”

All opposed, say “(Cough).”

I always suspected that cigar-smoking wasn’t the most exalted form of human behavior, for the simple reason that it consists of sticking a burning wad of leaves in your mouth and sucking in the fumes.

However, several things combined recently to strengthen this conviction, one of which was: I smoked a cigar.

Yes, I was caught up in all of the glamour and prestige of jamming a big smoldering torpedo in my face. So I settled myself in my hammock, lit up something from the Dominican Republic and let the reverie begin. Was that ever relaxing! The smoke actually had a calming effect on me, the same way mustard gas had a calming effect on World War I soldiers.

I spent 45 minutes in that hammock, lazily watching the clouds of cigar smoke drift up into the tree, causing the little woodland birds to chirp and chirp and then drop dead.

Only later did I discover that the smell of cigar repels all living things, including my wife, my children and the rest of the human community. So, after a shower and a disinfectant mouth-scrub, I began to realize that the only thing more relaxing than reclining in a hammock with a cigar is reclining in a hammock without one.

Thus ended my cigar experiment.

Yet this isn’t what led me to believe that cigar-smoking is the dumbest fad since smoking bananas. Two other things did that, the first of which was the Neiman-Marcus Christmas catalog.

There, amid the $400 humidors and the $350 cigar ashtrays, was a $2,100 leather smoking chair, expressly for the cigar smoker. The chair comes complete with a box of Prince Philip Cafe cigars, as well as a comfy pillow bearing the Macanudo Cigars crest.

I ask you: Is there anything more lame than the idea of some guy sitting in a $2,100 chair, proudly clutching a “cigar pillow” to his chest? I knew this fad was obnoxious, but I never knew it had reached the point of throw pillows.

But the final straw for me came when I bought a copy of Cigar Aficionado magazine. Half of the people pictured in this magazine are trying to look distinguished, like Winston Churchill (including the women), and half seem to be trying to look seedy, like Tony the Neighborhood Bookie (including the women). Only then did I realize that the ‘90s cigar-smoking fad combines snobbery with the one thing that is even more appealing to us affluent professionals: slumming. As much as I don’t ever want to smoke another cigar again, I’ve got to respect a fad that can combine these two elements. It’s like having a chauffeur for your AMC Pacer.

But then as I read on, I realized people don’t really smoke cigars for “show.” Don’t be ridiculous. A cigar isn’t some conspicuously obvious Freudian symbol of phallic dominance. Get your mind out of the gutter! A cigar is actually a symbol of “binkie”-separation anxiety.

But I jest. No, people smoke cigars because they have finely tuned palates that can appreciate the subtleties between different smokes.

One cigar, in the magazine’s ratings, is said to have “a hint of nuttiness on the palate.” Another has hints of “leather and nutmeg,” while a third has “spice and nuts on the midpalate.” Most amazing of all, is the cigar with a “good creamy texture.”

Pardon me? Aren’t we talking about smoke here? Can you spread it on your bagel? Does it leave a white mustache? Can the texture of tar and particulates ever be mistaken for, even, half-and-half?

Sure, because if you smoke enough cigars you’ve anesthetized all of the nerves in your tongue, not to mention your mid-palate. You could eat pork rinds and pronounce them creamy.

Still, I think I’ll buy me one of those cigars. I’m not crazy about smoke, but I’d sure enjoy a nice pint of cigar cream for one of those relaxing afternoons out in the hammock.

, DataTimes MEMO: To leave a message on Jim Kershner’s voice-mail, call 459-5493. Send e-mail to jimk@spokesman.com, or regular mail to Spokesman-Review, P.O. Box 2160, Spokane, WA 99210.

The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Jim Kershner The Spokesman-Review