From Facebook comes the reminder that in the South, evenings at this time of year are a slice of hell. Too hot. Too humid. Too many mosquitoes. Bugs. Nightmarish sleeping circumstances. Grits get everywhere. That ever-present ice-tea. Diabetes.
Plus kissing bugs (triatominae), commonly kept as pets.
Yes thank you, if you live there, do not expect a visit from me anytime soon.
Or even ever, actually. That ice-tea sounds rather unhealthy.
Don't need any Dapper Dan Hair Cream.
I am a fastidious man. Consequently I shall leave everything south of the civilized world to Jay Dot Dee and his trad wife. They stay out of our world, we won't comment on their peculiar lifestyle. Okay?
The deer, the elk, the alligators and pythons, two toed carnivores and moon-eyed people. Skinned Tom, people living under the floor boars, and entire families with syphilis.
And, to cap it off, oh horrors, the State of Texas.
They've got grits there too.
It's a plague.
Grits. Everywhere.
The evil.
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4 comments:
What do you think of the following:
INT. LECTURE HALL – DAY
The late August sun slants through high windows. The classroom hums with heat and newness. Students fan themselves with course packets. A few boys sneak glances at a pair of confident girls in short-shorts lighting cigars at the back of the room, exhaling in slow, practiced rings.
Meanwhile, two Orthodox girls sit toward the front in long skirts and sleeves, poised, observant. Their crisp modesty stands out against the summer haze. One of them takes notes with an intensity that makes her pencil squeak.
EMMA, the TA—mid-20s, unrepentantly addicted, still elegant in the way a former student of Martin must be—stands at the lectern. She holds a clipboard and a burning cigar.
SOPHOMORE BOY (eagerly):
So, Emma—do you think the class will ever expand to include pipes or, like, cigarettes?
EMMA
(smiling, nostalgic)
Ah, the eternal question. The syllabus remains cigar-centric—for now. Cigars, after all, are slow. They demand attention. Pipes are fussy, and cigarettes are... efficient. This course is about ritual, not speed.
STUDENT #2 (sarcastic):
So the curriculum won’t modernize?
EMMA
Modernize? Please. We age backward here. Tradition, darling. Tobacco is our text. Our method. Our atmosphere.
ORTHODOX GIRL (genuinely curious):
Is it true Professor Franklin still uses Martin’s “inhalation ladder” assignments?
EMMA
(with reverence)
Oh yes. Though they’re now “optional.” Technically. You’re not required to get addicted...
SOPHOMORE BOY
But you did?
EMMA
Of course. I took this class three years ago. It was my gateway drug to joy. Martin was a delight. A menace. A priest of smoke. I fell hard. Still smoke six a day, minimum. Inhale? Naturally. But you don’t have to. Unless you want to pass with flavor.
(beat)
Besides, addiction isn’t the point. This class is about savoring. Slowing down. Risking everything for pleasure. Which, yes, sometimes leads to... inconvenient dependencies.
ORTHODOX GIRL #2
(skeptically)
But it’s an appreciation course?
EMMA
Appreciation. Devotion. Sacrament. Pick your poison—or rather, your metaphor.
A rustle of laughter from the room. Someone coughs dramatically.
STUDENT #3 (genuine)
Did anyone not get addicted?
EMMA
(sighs, wistfully)
Maybe one guy. Vegan. Practiced meditation through his fingernails or something. But even he looked so cool holding it.
SOPHOMORE BOY (half-joking):
So... still no Marlboros?
EMMA
This is academia, not a gas station.
STUDENT #4 (squinting at packet):
Wait, this week’s assignment says: “Savor the smoke by inhaling it deep, deep in your lungs, hold it there for ten seconds, then fifteen, then twenty...” That’s... that’s literally how you die in spy movies.
EMMA
And yet here we are. Enlightened. Employed.
STUDENT #5
Is this still satire?
EMMA
That’s up to your final paper to determine.
And the next scene:
INT. LECTURE HALL – DAY
The air is thick with cigar smoke and the faint scent of expensive whiskey. Students lounge, some half-heartedly taking notes, others casually puffing cigars. EMMA is mid-explanation, holding a lit cigar like a sacred relic.
Suddenly, the classroom doors swing open with dramatic flair. DR. CARVER, sharp-eyed, determined, strides in, followed closely by DR. PATEL, equally serious but visibly trying not to cough from the smoke.
DR. CARVER
(cutting through the haze)
Alright, this has gone far enough.
The students snap to attention. A few smirk; others look nervous.
DR. PATEL
(eyes watering)
We’ve been reviewing the curriculum... and the daily schedules. Yes, those legendary “Smoke and Sip” rituals of Helen and Martin. The 30 cigars a day, the multiple whiskey flights...
He flips open a folder and pulls out a printed copy of the schedule.
DR. PATEL (reading, incredulous)
“06:00 – Wake and Ignite: Cigar 1 & 2 with Glenmorangie and weak coffee.
07:00 – Writing Warm-up with Dominican cigar for clarity.
10:00 – Whiskey Flight #1: Three drams paired with cigars 7, 8, 9...
15:30 – Nap/Recovery Smoke.
22:00 – Deep Night Pairings: Whiskey Flight #4 with cigars 21–25...”
(looks up, horrified)
Are you serious? This isn’t a curriculum; it’s a blueprint for self-destruction.
EMMA
(smirking)
It’s art, really.
DR. CARVER
(cutting to the point)
Dr. Franklin insists this is “scholarship and culture,” but when your students’ assignments include inhaling smoke deep into their lungs for ten, fifteen, twenty seconds, I have to ask: What exactly are we teaching here?
She steps closer, voice rising.
DR. CARVER (CONT'D)
Are we endorsing excess? Because Helen and Martin’s schedule is textbook excess. Thirty cigars a day, multiple bottles of whiskey... And your assignments demand that kind of engagement.
EMMA
(with a sly grin)
Optional, of course. Technically.
(continued in next comment)
A group of students exchange glances, revealing a mixture of reactions:
LAYLA, a Muslim student, quietly shifts uncomfortably.
“It feels wrong, you know? Smoking, drinking... against my beliefs. But I came to learn critical thinking, not bad habits.”
RACHEL, an Orthodox Jewish girl, adjusts her headscarf, looking conflicted.
“In my community, such indulgence is... taboo. I respect ritual, but this feels like celebration of addiction.”
SIÚR, an Irish student with a mischievous grin, pipes up from the back.
“Whiskey’s part of my heritage — but this? This is taking it way too far.”
GIULIA, an Italian girl, nods with a touch of cultural pride.
“In Italy, we savor wine with friends, not drown in smoke. This ‘curriculum’ feels like a caricature of culture.”
AKIKO, a Japanese student, folds her hands in a respectful bow but speaks softly.
“Discipline and ritual are important in my culture, but health and respect for the body matter too. This seems unbalanced.”
MARIAM, a Baha’i student, looks around thoughtfully.
“Our faith teaches moderation and care for one’s body as a temple. I admire the passion here, but this feels destructive, not uplifting.”
SOPHOMORE BOY
(shouting from the back)
We love the inhalation assignments! They’re legendary! Martin was a legend!
DR. PATEL
(to the students)
And how many of you are addicted now? How many are walking replicas of Helen and Martin?
A hush falls. A few sheepish looks.
DR. CARVER
(to Emma)
You say addiction isn’t the point, but what else is this if not a celebration of addiction?
EMMA
It’s ritual. Commitment. Defiance.
DR. CARVER
(scoffs)
Defiance of common sense and public health.
DR. PATEL
And what about the friends, the family, the students who watched Helen and Martin decline? The oxygen tanks disguised as designer bags? The midnight roof cigars?
DR. CARVER
People admired them, sure. But admiration doesn’t mean we should replicate their habits. They were brilliant, but also tragically wrecked.
DR. FRANKLIN (entering, calm but firm)
Ladies and gentlemen, the departments receive vital funding from both the tobacco and alcohol industries. Without their support, the university would be... less prosperous.
DR. CARVER
And their interests align perfectly with keeping students addicted.
DR. FRANKLIN
(calmly)
Scholarship, culture, ritual—and yes, some indulgence. But no university endorses excess.
DR. CARVER
(reading from the schedule again)
Do you not think thirty cigars a day, paired with multiple whiskey flights, is... excessive?
A beat. Everyone waits.
DR. FRANKLIN
(softly)
We call it dedication.
EMMA
(smiling)
And love. A defiant kind of love.
The students exchange glances—some inspired, some uneasy.
With a number of minor modifications this could describe my school years. Teachers still smoked cigars in class then.
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