Hangout Review
Red Man, a Beer-Can Cuspidor and I
at My Desk in Chicago, IL
February 2, 2005
Red Man is America’s finest chewing tobacco. It looks like bark that a bear was gnawing on, and it tastes like a burning shoe, but rest assured, it is the crème de la crème. I was lucky enough to receive an opened pouch of the stuff in the mail last week. I’m not much of a tobacco-user, although a couple of years ago, I was frequently game for the occasional chew--or “dip,” to the Mayer-crowd.
I had a friend back then who had recently quit smoking, and was using Kodiak as a surrogate. I remembered how dudes in high school would deform the tops of soda cans so that their viscous brown spittle would disappear quickly during Algebra class, so when my friend started slamming his elbow into the tops of two of empty beer cans, I wasn’t too surprised.
“A cuspidor,” he said, handing me one of the spittoons. A cuspidor? Yes, a cuspidor, from the Portuguese word, cuspidouro, meaning: place for spitting. A cuspidor is a beauty place for chew spit, and a mangled beer can is one hell of a cuspidor.
Many nights we’d sit in his living room, watching movies, drinking cheap beer and stuffing our lower lips. It’s a pretty cool feeling, sitting on the couch with a can in each hand reabsorbing Matrix a twelfth time. One can full of frosty beer, the other, warm, nicotine-laced saliva. One can you drink from, the other you spit into. One you drink from, the other you spit into!
I can clearly remember the first time I drank from a cuspidor. Warm and wet, but also slightly mealy. It was my own spit that invaded every cranny of my mouth, but it made me gag immediately, and I gave up chewing without reservation.
Right now, I’m light-headed and queasy, and I look fucking ridiculous, so it looks like I’ve given it up chewing yet again.
Sorry, Red.
