WE'RE NOT ALONE - BUT WE ARE

We live in a society that consists more and more of people who are glued to their phone while reading stuff on social media that may, or may not, be true. Or useful.  It's almost funny, because if it's not on FaceBook it can't be true. Who are you going to believe - FaceBook or your lying eyes? That tree's not really there. Or that car. 

Well, the NAV system is, but only because it provides virtual information. I used to know somebody who would get all discombobulated (Scrabble Score!), because his NAV system told him to turn left on a road that was no longer there. "But it says that there's a road here". Well, buddy, turn left and see how far you get.

It also leads to idiotic social situations where people get together for drinks and then just stare at their phones. You'll have to send an app to see if they want another round. "Wanna have sex tonight?" "Phone sex?" "Eh..." "Just download the app". Open "settings"; tap on "kinky". You'll be surprised where that phone winds up.

I'm wondering what we'll do by the time we get software that starts directly running our lives. 

Okay, okay. I sound like a living anachronism (that Scrabble sh#t just keeps piling up) - but I also think that all that stuff that belongs in the SMART category doesn't make us any smarter. Au contraire, to say it in German. It just makes us lazy and gullible. And while on the move - Gullible's Travels. Sorry, couldn't resist.

See, I think that a truly SMART TV would find you programs worth watching, and turn itself off after a few hours. An actually SMART phone would tell you that it needs charging, and could you please just talk to people the analog way while that happens? Let's... start a FaceBook thread about that one. 

SOIR DU CIGARE

Since my previous column dealt with whisky, I'm now tempted to talk about another guilty pleasure of mine. Warning: controversial subject coming up! I smoke. Not cigarettes. That's smoking for amateurs. I smoke a pipe, and sometimes cigars, depending on the occasion and the quality of the cigars. To get the obvious thing out of the way: yes, smoking is bad for you. Especially if you inhale, which I don't. Also - living kills you dead. No doubt. 

Here in the Netherlands smoking is considered only slightly less evil than, say, committing necrophilia (which is also not allowed in restaurants). One preventive thing they try to do over here is that by now on tobacco packaging 90% of the tin, pounch, or can is covered in a photo of some horrible disease followed by the words "roken is dodelijk". Hey, that's funny - we both smoke the same blend: "roken is dodelijk".

To me it's more of a recreational activity and not so much an addiction. I sometimes go for two weeks without firing up the old briar. But: a good conversation is an excellent excuse for it, with the added bonus of giving the impression that since you take longer to answer (fiddling around with pipe and tamper) - you've given profound thought to what you're going to say. 

Example: "you want another round?" Me: puff, puff, tamp, puff - "sure". See how that works? Another bonus is that kids will look at you funny, because we are a dying breed. I know of two other pipe smokers here in town. That's it. A not-so-bonus is when women say stuff to you like "That smells so good. You remind me of my grandfather". Thanks, lady.

To me, smoking is all about ritual. Ingredients: pipe or cigar; source of fire (matches preferred); something to set fire to; beverage of choice; worthy conversation partners. Instant satisfaction. Which is how the Soir Du Cigare was born.

As it happens, I'm in a band. Every now and then we feel the need to get together in a non-music-playing setting to A: gossip about other musicians, B: talk about new repertoire, C: shoot the sh#t about any topic that comes to mind. This goes much better with a good Cuban (they are legal here!), and a fine beverage.

As a side thought: smoking is a pretty wasteful business - you spend money on something that you then set fire to, only to spend more money to do it again. Which kind of reminds me of something that Canadian chef Frederic Moran said in an Anthony Bourdain show: "food is faeces in waiting". But: I digress. 

You've probably figured out by now that the smoking part of the Soir du Cigare is a mere excuse for a get-together that's mainly aimed at conviviality (Scrabble Score!) and companionship. Which, in these days of cell phones and whatsapp and instagram, we get way too little of. There. I've said it.

BOOZE WILL GET YOU KILT

As many of my friends know, I am a whisky fan. I'm talking about Scottish and Irish whiskies (or whiskys). The jury is still out on bourbon, but I digress. As far as whiskies go, I prefer single malts, and, owing to this liquid hobby I go to whisky tastings with some regularity. One of these events is organized by a liquor store owner in Amsterdam who (predictably) specializes in whisky.

Here's how this works: after forking over the cover charge of around 25 Euros, you, and a jolly bunch of fellow lovers of Scottish libation enter a room that has all the accouttrements (Scrabble Score!) of an evening's fun. Tables, chairs, lots of whisky, and appropriate snacks. The idea is that you get to taste 5 or 6 samples with increasing amounts of flavor and percentages of alcohol, frequently from limited bottlings.

One of the things you'll encounter is that this sort of event attracts a fair amount of whisky snobs, too. They're like wine snobs, but drunker. I once encountered someone who reminded me of the comic book guy from the Simpsons, and who claimed to have his own barrel of single malt sitting at its distillery, where he employed a webcam and various pieces of measuring equipment to monitor the aging process.

After a bit of mingling everyone finds a seat, and the first sample gets poured. The idea is that you sip cautiously and comment in the appropriate manner, by which I mean that phrases like "this is some really good sh#t" are to be avoided. Think instead of words like "top note, leathery, peat, umami". You get it. The impression that you want to give is that you're a connoisseur, with appreciation for the finer things life has to offer, instead of a frantic boozer.

The second sample will be poured at this moment, and the first snacks arrive. Do not, I repeat, not - go for the salted peanuts. Do also not get into a discussion with Mr. Monitoring My Own Barrel about pretty much anything, since he will invariably want to be right and have the last word.

Now it's time for number 3, and while the first two whiskies have so far passed by unannounced, they will now playfully show up in your blood stream, where they will transform the 18 Year Old Laphroaigh Dr. Jeckyll into the "I'll have a paint remover on the rocks" Mr. Hyde. Fights may break out over the salted peanuts. Suggestions may fly about drowning someone in his own vat of whisky.

After the fourth sample it is essentially unimportant what gets poured, as you will have been transformed from a gourmand into a man singing "the Lobster Song" where every "s" and "f"provoke a soft rain of chewed peanut and spittle. We have by now transitioned into the realm of 50% alcohol, and we have at least one more to go.

At this strategic point in the evening, with willpower and common sense having fallen by the wayside, the organizer of the event will mention that he has a very limited number of bottles of whiskies you have tasted. At a modest price of at least 80 Euros a bottle, that is. And yes, he accepts debit cards. 

Weighed down by two bottles of GlenAmnesia, you finally call a cab to make the trip home. You plan to open these bottles on a very special occasion which will eventually present itself. Like, after getting out of the cab and spending 15 minutes trying to get your key in the front door lock.

Disclaimer: This is a recap of a similar column I wrote a few years back in Dutch - but there are many changes, although the general vibe is similar. Enjoy!