Lamy 2000, my pen of choice.

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The internet has slowed to a crawl here in Afghanistan due to foul weather interfering with our satellite reception. Because of this, the post I had intended to publish yesterday is still being researched and supplemented with photos at a snail’s pace. Maybe tomorrow… So in a desire to publish something, I’m taking the cheater’s way out and linking to some other fantastic reads instead.

I’ve mentioned writing longhand as a lost art and advocated for it recently. But part of what has made my rediscovery of cursive (or script) writing so pleasurable has been my Lamy 2000 fountain pen. I use a fine nib, and typically stick with Pelikan 4001 Royal Blue ink. On truly white paper, it just pops and looks really nice. (I’m also a proponent of using some really nice paper. My folio is stocked with Southworth 25% cotton fiber linen, and I have some A5 stationery tablets from G. Lalo and Original Crown Mill of classic laid and pure cotton. Remember to get matching envelopes for the full effect.) My pen should appear as the featured image above this post, actually.

My own quick thoughts about this pen can be summed up with a love for all the details. For such a simple, modern design, it’s very thoughtful. The 14k gold nib writes smoother and nicer than the cheaper stainless steel nibs I’ve dallied with in other pens. The makrolon barrel has a pleasant texture and appears to age well, but also hides fingerprints and smudges that would appear on glossy black plastic. The aluminum stainless steel section toward the nib allows ink from a bottle to wick right off after filling and clean easier. The pocket clip is inflexible steel, and is hinged and sprung. It’s heavy enough to feel like something of substance and importance without being burdensome. I love the windows built in for viewing the ink level. And it disassembles for cleaning easily.

In short, I began my interest in fountain pens wanting a Montblanc Meisterstuck 149. After being talked into trying the Lamy 2000, I want nothing else. Any other pen I collect is now just for whimsy. I’ve found the only pen I really need.

So without further ado, here are some more in-depth reasons you should try a Lamy 2000 fountain pen and enrich your own writing experience.

And they can be had for a good price from Amazon.com (though I recommend someone like Goulet Pens who specializes in the field). Now get writing!

Shooting the Boot

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There’s a hidden treasure on Eden Island, a man-made resort tucked neatly into one of the Mahé bays in the archipelago of the Seychelles. It’s not one of gold or financial gain- in truth, the average man or woman would spend quite a bit of their own personal wealth to discover it. It’s not a prize that will bring power. But in a roundabout way it just might bring some youth or wisdom the seeker’s way. It’s a tiny bar, in a tiny shack on this tiny island. And it’s chock full of people who like rugby.

IMG_2542Eish! Bar is one of those places that seems incomprehensible in the United States (except maybe small towns in the midwest) in that it doesn’t have a website; just a Facebook page, and even that won’t tell you anything about it, really. The only other mention I can even find about the place in a quick Google search turns up a cursory mention in this article which is more about rugby, and tweet. And that’s if “Eish Bar” is specifically entered into Google. Otherwise this is a place with no digital signature on the web (’til now, I suppose), no signs posted or advertisements of its existence, and the entrance is facing away from any possible foot traffic. The only way to find this joint is by word-of-mouth, or happening upon the shack during a match and deciding to investigate a creepy-looking structure in the dark because screams that may well be murder intrigue you. (And if you’re one of the latter type, have you never seen Texas Chainsaw Massacre?!?!)

IMG_2544One of the guys also deployed at the site, Wally, was the latter (don’t ask me, he was a Harley nut and claimed to know Sonny Barger) and a gregarious soul, so when he found this place that was only open one or two nights a week he went exploring and came back to our villa with the coolest and most disgusting tale of initiation ritual I could imagine trying at the time.

If it’s your first visit to Eish! Bar, you have to shoot the boot.

The tale, as it is told, is that years ago a U.S. Navy ship came through the area and during shore leave a couple sailors found out about the island’s rugby club. A friendly match ensued, and to everyone’s amazement the Americans won. Generally speaking, we don’t even know what rugby is, much less play it, much less play it enough to beat a bunch South Africans. One of the sailors was actually quite rugby savvy and knew about shooting the boot, so when they won he pulled off his cleat, filled it with beer, and drank it in one long guzzle. They all became fast friends and the boot was presented to the club, where it continues to live on a trophy shelf by the door, unwashed, and as grimy and disgusting as you might imagine to greet newcomers.

SEYBREW AD (STB)

Just say “no”. It works in most languages.

I’ve already mentioned in the past that SeyBrew is a terrible beer. The “distinctly Seychellois” lager is done no great favors when poured into a stinky and decaying shoe, either. But amidst cheering South African accents and a warm reception, what can you do? You hold your nose and gulp it all down in one attempt, that’s what. And it’s easier to chug an entire beer in this manner than you might think, because the knowledge that stopping for a reprieve just means having to go back to it a second time encourages you to finish quickly.

I never knew that an entire beer could fit in a shoe, or that a shoe would be quite such a good vessel. As I saw this terrible dare being assimilated in front of me, I was really hoping the dirty and tattered looking thing might be full of holes, or that liquid would spill out and spare me from having to drink the entire thing. If anything, the newly fluid contents of the cleat seemed to soak into the sole and soft interior to revive past years of stale beer from previous dares, and drag along a new infusion of what I can only imagine was foot, sweat, and sock. Mmm… Tasty.

I wanted to hold my nose, but I didn’t know how well I’d be able to swallow then and the tongue and upper of this disgusting idea would be up against my face as I supped from the heel anyway. There was no getting my hand in there. And with thirty smiling, welcoming, expectant faces around me there was no backing out (or insulting them or acting milquetoast in front of them). I flashed back to the enthusiasm I felt earlier in the day to have this crazy story and was reminded once again of the phrase I utter all too often: It seemed like a good idea at the time. I held my breath, and I drank.

Because I’m a lousy story-teller, I’ve presented the narrative a little out of order here and already described the flavor. I won’t describe the texture, because I think it’s gross enough to mention simply that there was one. Use your imagination and you likely won’t be far off. But the cheers that erupted in that tiny shed almost eradicated any revulsion that I felt from this deed. Almost. The two fingers of Jameson on the rocks I sipped for the next hour did a lot more to cleanse my palate and ease my soul. Surely nobody had died from drinking that, had they?

IMG_2543Wally and I hung out there a bit longer as the South Africans drank more and the game (pardon me, match) went on. I demonstrated my knowledge of the game, which consisted of it being played with a ball and only being allowed to pass laterally or behind oneself. And I was pretty sure there was something called a scrum. Turns out, scoring is called a “try” in rugby, which sounds goofy until you defend the term “touchdown” for American football and have pointed out that our game rarely involves kicking the thing and is named somewhat ironically. I thought it was funny to see sponsors names actually painted onto the grass, rather than the digital overlays that seem to happen so often now in televised American sports coverage. It was the Cape Town Storm vs. New Zealand Hurricane and I didn’t have a clue what was going on. But when surrounded by South Africans, I figured cheering for Cape Town was a safe bet. The cheers and shouts drowned out anything the tiny TV we gathered around could have told us, but that wasn’t the point, really. It was the fellowship that people had gathered for.

IMG_2541

All in all it was a pretty great night, spent with friendly people in high spirits. I’m not about to start advocating for the abandonment of basic hygiene, but I will say I was excited by the idea from the first time I heard about it. And there’s something key in that.

It seems like the older we get the more we say “no” or resign ourselves to opportunities. So few people I know have an adventurous spirit- I’d guess maybe five percent. So I tend to think that adventures and maybe even silly dares are, in themselves, the fountain of youth. Ponce de León’s most famous obsession isn’t a thing to be found, but a spirit to be fostered. And it doesn’t have to involve some hidden away island bar in the Indian Ocean. It could be something as simple as going hiking, trying Geocaching, or turning down an unfamiliar road. My point is simply this: be willing to abandon your comfort zone, just for a little while. Because that’s when discoveries are made and cool stories are gained to tell others. The power to make your life story more interesting is in your hands. Get out there.

Hours in the Day

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I finally had to take some time off from writing here simply because there’s so much else to do. I’ve written about this before- trying to consciously choose doing something constructive with my time and thoughts here on the blog rather than fritter away the hours I have on Facebook or browsing celebrity gossip. And even then, there’s so much to do it can’t all be crammed in to each and every day.

So for the past while, I’ve been reading every single chance I’ve had. A physical book may still be preferable to e-readers, but my kindle lets me slip a thousand books in the back pocket of my jeans. And considering weight and space limitations when deployed (as I currently am) to Afghanistan, this little thing has become my best friend over here. Well, my kindle and the cans of flavored Blue Diamond almonds my wife sends me to break up the chow hall monotony.

I’m guessing it took me a total of about three weeks to read all seven Harry Potter books, and I’m really glad I did. I enjoyed them immensely. This deployment has been really good for me in some ways, as my last one was spent mostly writing in this blog, then watching movies and playing video games. I feel more… Aware? Quicker thinking? The description for what I’m feeling is escaping me at the moment. I think I’m just happy to love reading again. I loved reading as a kid, and then television slowly took over… Some books by Ayn Rand and then The Art of Racing in the Rain rekindled my love for reading a scant few years ago, but is was quickly extinguished my American Gods. I had loved reading a novel that seemed to qualify as “literature” and actually finding it engaging, rather than boring and dry and relying on thrillers from Michael Crichton.

I thought for a brief moment I was going to get to be one of the literati, a high and mighty intellectual snob looking down my nose at those simpletons watch American Idol. Turns out, not so much. (Though I still shake my head sadly at the popularity of “reality” television.)

I’m guessing I don’t read as quickly as I used to. And certainly the chaos of my office mates raucously shouting at each other, launching aircraft (actually having to work), and letters home to my wife or messages on Facebook all conspired to interrupt my reading speed. Because of this, I sometimes wonder how educated on a topic some people can really be. There’s so much to be caught up on, and seemingly even peer pressure to be aware of everything in the news, Mad Men, Breaking Bad, Sons of Anarchy, The Walking Dead, the latest book or album, the movie sure to be nominated for an Academy Award… That’s before the quite possibly endless amount of distraction on the internet from YouTube, Facebook, and the list goes on… (Fun fact: more hours of video were uploaded to YouTube in the last year alone than ABC, CBS and NBC have ever broadcasted in their existence combined.)

Frankly, this makes me think a lot of those oh-so-learned folks are full of it. Everyone who claims to have been through The Chomsky Reader and Dharma Bums and also professes to speak from any position of authority when combating, say, the Tea Party or Ayn Rand’s views or Cato Institute… And then turn around and comment on the latest in pop culture… No, I think it’s far more likely that even those who preach from on high simply fill their heads with what they prefer and take summaries or allow their opinions to be dictated to them by others. There’s just no way (unless their profession is a think-tank) that they’ve actually read both sides or all sides of so many social arguments. I just can’t believe any men’s magazine like Esquire is staffed by people who are actually up on everything they publish (which is why they have so many different contributors to create an issue).

So I don’t feel that bad about skipping my blog for a few days in order to read more or write my wife more love letters. And I certainly don’t feel bad about not seeing this movie or that TV show. I still have my vices, and can’t wait for the last few episodes of Breaking Bad. And I don’t feel inadequate or “lesser” for reading what I assumed were kids’ books instead of the latest hoity-toity novel by some pompous author. (Right now I’m thinking of American Psycho by Bret Easton Ellis. The books becomes monotonous and excruciating to read, while the film made the same points much more succinctly.)

And even now, with all the noise from aircraft, phones ringing, and a certain coworker who I swear is the stupidest, loudest, and most boorish individual I’ve had to bite my tongue around in years… (I think I hate this guy and really wish he’d leave.) I’m still somehow strangely appreciative. Because as much as the interruptions frustrate and annoy me, or even fluster me when I’m under pressure or time constraints, it’s reminded to me to prioritize and maintain a clarity of focus. And if I have to ignore blog to prioritize writing to my wife (or reading books she loves so I can share that with her), then it’s worth it. And if it’s ignoring some inane “reality” tv shows or distracting website…? So much the better.

I know the “best” way for me to try and cram everything I want to accomplish in a matter of time is probably to block off certain hours of the day, or even dedicate certain days of the week to certain projects. But in the meanwhile, I’ll still wish I had 37 hours a day so I could accomplish even more.

Steel Frame

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I grew up loving to ride my bike. It’s probably one of my fondest childhood memories. From popping wheelies on my BMX-style bike as a kid in the ’80s to riding from our house in midtown Tucson out to Colossal Caves in the early ’90s in junior high. I loved it. It was freedom. It was speed. I’d ride around dreaming of laser guns and awesome adventures, and anxiously awaiting the day I could get a motorcycle and go even faster.

Somewhere along the way, the bicycle became a piece of exercise equipment instead of a toy or an object of pure fun. Cyclists became very serious, and it all became about training, hill climbs, nutrition, etc. It became work. Something I had to do for fitness instead of something fun I wanted to do. Ugh.

And recently, it all became fun again. Here’s how:

I grew up on a BMX-style and mountain bike almost exclusively. For a brief while I had my grandpa’s cruiser-like velocipede, but the story of that bike’s fate still irks me to this day. The point is this: I grew up on bikes I could ride aggressively. So back around 2010 when I decided to start cycling to work to try and drop some weight, it wasn’t long before I wanted to go faster than the gear ratios and wide tires of my mountain bike would let me travel. And when that bike got stolen, shopping commenced.

I was driven by technology- I read all the reviews about frame materials and had ridden aluminum since I was thirteen years old. Now I wanted a carbon fiber bike, since I wasn’t curb-hopping and riding off road anyway. I test rode some and they were lighter and sooooo much more comfortable than my old aluminum bikes! I got a great deal on a used one and rode it a lot while I lived in Tucson. (Tucson happens to be one of the best cities in America for cycling.)

Then I moved to Las Vegas. My commute took 40 minutes at 80 mph on the highway out of town, and I worked a fair amount of overtime. The bike didn’t get ridden for a year. Then I moved to Fargo, with stop lights every 1/10th of a mile and jarring seams where cement like sections of road meet each other. Skinny tires and clipping in and out of pedals didn’t seem like much fun… So I traded in my full carbon bike, and suddenly discovered how much pure fun bicycling could be again.

RA12_Back-Alley_steel-purpleI rode a Raleigh Back Alley and it was like being a kid again. Seriously! This thing was like a time machine to when riding a bike was fun. The combination of the steel frame (which flexes and softens the ride) and eliminating a gear train and derailleurs for a direct feel to the rear sprocket just made the bike come alive! I haven’t enjoyed riding a bike so much since my childhood. I didn’t test ride the bike and consider how harsh the frame was, or rolling resistance, or if I wanted to change the fit, braking, or anything. I didn’t consider any of the standard comparison aspects for other bikes. This bike was fun. That was it. That was all that mattered. When I ride this bike I’m ten years old again and not allowed to ride up and down the street further than certain houses, but between those houses as I turn out my energetic laps I’m daydreaming that I’m Robocop all over again and completely unstoppable. (I can’t do wheelies because I’m out-of-shape again and bent over too far from the seat to lower handlebars, but this can be fixed and I just might do so.)

The Back Alley has a flip-flop hub, so I experimented with making it a fixed gear (since I also picked up a 2012 Port Townsend when I traded my race bike). I don’t think I care for riding a fixie very much, though. I can’t get the knack of riding backwards, or power-sliding for my stops, etc. I’d rather just have a coaster brake like when I was a kid, just with the addition of a front brake that I never had growing up. I yanked the rear brake off (since it’s a fixie right now and I can just reverse pressure on the pedals), and put the front brake on upside-down on the opposite (right) handlebar so it’s in the “correct” position as if on a motorcycle. Much easier to maintain control and consistency between two modes of transport, that way.

The Port Townsend is okay, but I’ll likely sell it or trade it in on a bike for my wife if she wants one to ride with me during the summer months. I don’t care for the rattling noise of the fenders on harsh Fargo road joints, and while the steel frame is very comfortable I find I miss the direct feel of the Back Alley’s single sprocket when I’m slogging through the gears on the “more advanced” bike.

But both of them are light years more comfortable than aluminum.

I know speaking in absolutes can be dangerous, but this one I’m comfortable with: I will never ride an aluminum framed bicycle again. It’s horrible, sucks all the joy out of cycling and is what turns fun into work. It may be lighter, but it’s so much more harsh that long rides become unpleasant. Suspensions systems on bicycles didn’t finally appear because we became tech-savvy enough to do it; they became necessitated because aluminum frame bikes destroyed the fun of the experience all in the name of shaving weight. Aluminum frames are the worst thing you can do to your cycling experience.

Hate cycling? Don’t cycle? Think it will all be work, rather than fun? I promise you that can all be fixed by going to a real bicycle shop and buying a steel frame bike, instead of a Chinese-made aluminum torture rack from a big box sporting goods store. Find a local bicycle shop, and stay away from places like Big 5, Target, Scheels, REI, Costco, Sam’s Club, Walmart or any other place that sells bikes next to other departments or even other sporting goods. If you’re in a place with a grocery section or basketball shoes, you’re doing it wrong. Trust me. These places only carry aluminum and might be able to get a steel frame or two but they’ll be special order. I imagine you can buy boutique steel frames and pay a lot, but for the most part they’re not really that costly and it’s the most comfortable ride you can get.

Ignore sales talks about aluminum being lighter. Are you a racer? No, or you’d be on carbon fiber frames. So get something you’ll enjoy. Go old school. Buy something “real”. Ride a steel bike.

Here are some options:

http://www.solebicycles.com/

http://gunnarbikes.com/site/

http://surlybikes.com/

http://www.raleighusa.com/  You want a chromoly frame.

And an older list of recommended bikes:

http://urbanvelo.org/steel-road-bikes/

*This post is not a paid endorsement of anybody, I really do believe this. Some hardcore mountain bikers may actually benefit from lighter weight of aluminum and crazy suspensions. If you do, you know who you are and that my post wasn’t directed at you.

Hand writing

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Not sure if I’ve typed about this before, but I’ve recently developed a pretty strong love of writing longhand. And because my past few blog entries have taken so long with interruptions, editing, proofreading, inserting images, looking things up, creating appropriate hyperlinks… Today’s post should be pretty short. Because I’m basically taking going to take today off from the blog and write a love letter home to my wife and then break out my journal.

I’d like to see some studies done on this, but one thing I notice is that I’m more careful and deliberate when I write by hand. Putting ink to page removes the ease of correction that pixels on a screen give, so each sentence that I write for somebody else to read becomes that much more considered. It’s taken me a while to re-learn how to write in cursive after more than a decade of ignoring the practice and sometimes I start writing faster than I really can, leading to some unsightly corrections. But by and large I find the process to be much more fulfilling.

For one, handwriting is much more personal than helvetica on a screen. Who among us would really choose a simple email from a loved one over a handwritten missive that they took the time to craft themselves? There are a number of conveyances available to carry my words to another person, but only one with such a personal touch as my own handwriting. The different stresses and reliefs and indentations on the paper. Where ink flowed more vigorously from my Lamy 2000 fountain pen or was strained to wick out fast enough under a long and rapid stroke. Electrons do not capture this. An email can’t be spritzed was a hint of perfume or cologne for a loved one to smell. And when writing with a fountain pen, I have even more choices in colors of ink and types of paper (cotton vs. linen vs. laid, etc.).

The second thing I’ve noticed is that I enjoy the peace and quiet of crafting a letter this way. It’s really, REALLY nice to not have Facebook chiming in your ear with constant distractions, and I’m not looking things up on the internet. I simply observe, think, and write. The focus is much better and I feel more effective. I really believe the slower pace and permanence of the ink on the page encourages one to think and phrase things more clearly, and that will translate into day-to-day life simply because the brain is getting exercised in a beneficial way that can be applied elsewhere. I honestly feel longhand writing improves cognitive function. This essay mentions what I’m talking about.

My last observation before I stick in some links for your further reading is a simple one: appearances matter. And living in an age of typing and texting has contributed even further (I believe in my case, anyhow) to penmanship looking even worse than hurry and uncaring had already made it appear. My handwriting was atrocious and frankly, embarrassing. Writing as much as  possible longhand has helped me get back in the groove and improved my penmanship’s appearance. Because a professional man shouldn’t have handwriting that looks like that of a ten-year-old. I print capitol block letters most times for clarity, but even that can look nice or awful depending on one’s level of care. Writing in cursive (or script) again has improved my penmanship on all levels and made it look far more professional. Aaybe you work in an industry where you think penmanship doesn’t matter. All I’ll say is my handwriting looks like it belongs to a grown-up now so I can be taken seriously. Does yours/can you?

Write longhand. Write in cursive. There are actually good reasons to do so. Now if you’ll pardon me, I’m going to go write a letter to my wife.

4 benefits of writing by hand

8 Way Longhand Writing Frees Your Muse

How Handwriting Trains the Brain

Why you learn more effectively by writing than typing

A Defense of Writing Longhand

One last link, because I liked point #2 in the article

Feeling like New Coke*

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PAN03The first time I ever saw a Panerai, I was dumbstruck by it’s beauty. It was a billboard advertisement in the Forum Shoppes at Caesar’s Palace, Las Vegas and the simplicity and elegance stopped me cold. Being relatively new to high end watches, I’d never heard of the brand and snapped a photo with my phone for a reminder to Google more information when I got home. When the Panerai Boutique opened a month later, I had small pangs of regret that my expensive wristwatch was a “lowly” TAG Heuer and had so much brand awareness. The appeal of a watch that was lesser-known somehow made it seem that much more exclusive and prestigious.

As did the fact that the model I loved was about 50% more expensive than my TAG.

PAN02The Panerai Luminor 1950 3 Days GMT Automatic (PAM00320) just grabbed my imagination and wouldn’t let go. I love that little clasp over the crown. I always thought that was such a cool touch watching it close during the montage during the opening of Eraser. I wanted a watch like that and at the time had no clue what it was. After becoming obsessed with them and knowing that Sly Stallone is a big fan, spotting a Panerai on the wrist of Terry Crews in a fraction of a second during Expendables 2 was easy. And Hodinkee got me looking at other models like the PAM0233, further fueling my passion.

The little detail over the crown stood out to me even as a teenager.

The little detail over the crown stood out to me even as a teenager, though I though “Luminor Marina” was the brand name back then.

Unfortunately, not everything is rosy in the world of Officine Panerai and in the eyes of several horology aficionados the brand is considered somewhat gauche these days.

  • First are the accusations that the brand has never really contributed all the much in the way of new developments, or has much place of note in the annals of horological history.
  • Second, and perhaps worse, is that hardcore watch folks enjoy being a bit of an esoteric circle and celebrity attention like Stallone’s bring these brands to the public eye. The actual brand may become more valued as more people seek it out, but the feeling of knowing about something special gets taken away. Part of me wonders if Panerai’s acquisition by Richemont in 1997 had the watch otaku declaring Panerai’s best days were past. (Similar to Heuers from the pre-TAG era still being well regarded, and the ads featuring celebrities scorned.)
  • Third. Any Top Gear fan, Jalopnik reader or fan of F1 racing knows that Ferrari is a bit of a whore when it comes to licensing their logo and willing to slather it on anything for sales. General rule for a person of good taste is to run away from anything bearing a Ferrari logo short of a vehicle actually developed by Maranello. And guess who’s logo adorned a Panerai line for five years? Yup. They didn’t sell well and were often found deeply discounted. The license was not renewed.
  • Fourth, and probably worst offense was the 318 scandal. If you type “Panerai 318″ into Google, auto-complete offers “scandal” to finish you up. The one thing you should really be getting if you’re spending this kind of money on a boutique watch is an “in-house movement”. The watchmaker should actually be producing the motor of your timepiece. The 318 shipped with a closed back- no glass window to look through and see the pretty innards. It got even uglier when the truth about that watch’s movement got out into the open.

Reading about Panerai’s bad rap really bummed me out. I mean, there are some Rolex owners saying those guys are elitists! I was suddenly afraid these watches I loved were standard issue to tasteless knuckleheads like the cast of Jersey Shore, or those Russian guys that think velvet track suits and gold jewelry are acceptable formal wear. /shudder

But it's so pretty! How could it be so derided?!?!

But it’s so pretty! How could it be so derided?!?!

And then, what was probably said in jest or mocking of Panerai over the 318 made all the sense in the world to me (paraphrased):

If they’re not even going to do an in-house movement, why buy the real thing? What makes it any better than a replica?

My jaw hit the floor. For the past year I’ve been doing research on various brands, learning where to get the real deal and how to avoid knock offs and forgeries while still saving money. I learned about grey market dealers, and warranty support, and how to get a bargain but ensure the purchase is the genuine article. Never had it occurred to me, this wild and silly idea, to intentionally seek out a knock-off!

And why shouldn’t I? Aside from being one of Van Damme’s more eyebrow raising career choices (I really hope he doesn’t wonder how his career went straight-to-video), some of these knock offs are really close in their approximation. To the point that we call them “replicas” now. (Insert my bemused laughter here.) But it’s a really good point. Why pay $9,000 for a watch from a brand that isn’t thought of particularly well? I already have my genuine TAG for an heirloom watch, and these Chinese replicas are just as handsome and still a mechanical movement.

And then the deciding factor hit me. I’m going to buy a replica Panerai on purpose. I don’t care about owning the genuine article because really, I just want it as a fashion piece. And I’m going to buy this knock off PAM 320 (Heehee! Spaces instead of the double zeroes!) with the same confidence and for the same reasons I select my cigars, motorcycles, pens… or even write this blog. I’m going to buy it because I like it, and don’t care about anybody else’s opinion on the subject. I know what’s real and what’s not, and I’ve decided that this suits my taste and the price is appropriate for what it actually is.

It’s funny, because I loathe Japanese V-twin motorcycles as a false representation of what the bike is. I love the CB750 because it’s genuine. It’s not an American V-twin and doesn’t pretend to be. It’s true to the culture that created it**, and wonderful because it’s different. And now I want to buy the Honda Shadow of wristwatches. It’s an odd feeling, but then I tell myself: what if Harley had been busted using somebody else’s engine? Obviously Harley never pulled that kind of garbage. But Panerai did. And suddenly my guilt and fretting over wearing a copy simply melts away.

*Coca-Cola Classic advertised “Can’t Beat the Real Thing” from 1991-1993 in the US.

** I suppose my counter argument could be that the far east has a rich and storied culture of creating counterfeits and rip-offs. Haha!

Flyover Country

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While researching a brand of wristwatch yesterday I chanced upon an article where the term “flyover country” was levied most certainly as a pejorative.

I’ve been guilty of this myself a few times. It’s no secret that I don’t see eye-to-eye with the local culture/way of doing things in Fargo, ND where I currently reside at my employer’s pleasure. I only volunteered for the Fargo posting because nobody else wants to go there and I was sucking up to curry favor with management for my plan to request Italy, Germany, or England in another year or two. It became very apparent to me that I’m just not a midwest personality. I ache to be out west again, in mountain country and to have a city large enough to support a Cheesecake Factory within an hour’s drive. My wife heard an old man from Bismarck say they couldn’t live with the “hustle and bustle” of Fargo. We cracked up laughing, not derisively, but in amusement at our own culture shock. How two different people observe the same subject but see two different things. He sees “hustle and bustle” where we see a quaint, small town.

But as miserable as Fargo sometimes makes us (Arizona natives in a Fargo winter are a pretty bad match) and as firm as we are in our plans to leave when possible, one thought keeps shouting at me from the back of my mind.

These people that big-city folk like to call “hicks” grow and provide all our food.

Let that sink in a minute. I might really enjoy big city life, but you tell me what metropolis in America isn’t a net importer of everything that sustains living? Millions upon millions of people in America would starve if it wasn’t for those “hicks” or “bumpkins”. Think California or New York could feed their own state’s population if they had to? Not on your life. Texas could probably feed Dallas/Ft. Worth. The pacific northwest (where my wife and I dream of moving) would be fine. I don’t know how well Arizona could support Phoenix and Tucson.

My point is this: I don’t like living in the midwest (or northern plains country) and the way they do things, but I don’t grow my own food and wasn’t raised a hunter either. My food comes from the grocery store. But I know where it comes from before that, too. (Anti-Monsanto rants saved for a future post.) So I do my very best to keep my mouth shut and be grateful, because my well-paying job doesn’t actually make me self-sustaining.

The next time you want to talk about “flyover country” as if there’s nothing there worth consideration, consider what you eat for a month. Then consider being nice.