#history intern blog

[thesecrethistori-an]

Thank you Miguel de Cervantes for providing the perfect excuse for me to purchase this beautiful edition of a book (also The Secret History is the inspiration for my username it was kinda a shame that I only had a shitty pdf) (still always in favour of stealing all the books from the bad bad publishing houses) :)

Happy international book day!!!

[inbetweencoffees]

mock exam preparation🗒️

I feel less anxious than yesterday and my neurobiology exam went a lot better than expected! Managed to do 7/8 tasks so I’m pretty confident about my grade :) Went home, had lunch and then worked through the 8 pages of history homework on the Cuba crisis and Korean War. (Yup, half the text is highlighted- people tend to make fun of me for it but it helps me remember things; that way I can remember exactly what information was stored on what part of the page)🌀

Today and tomorrow will be spent at my desk studying for my 4 hour long politics mock exam on Thursday. We got 84 (yes, 84- not 48) pages of material to go through. I’m already loosing my mind and all I did was download everything…

[justforclowns]

Cost of Recompense

Price of Forgiveness (The clown epic by @birchbow ) Ageswap Au.

~4,350 words.

Warnings: clowns, light knife play, mentions of torture, overall kinda horny and self hatey vibes.

This and all following chapters will be posted on Ao3 in time but I am on a waiting list and very impatient. Woe, clowns be upon ye.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Relax, little brother." He coos at you gentle.

Relax. Motherfucking relax, he says. 

Your name is Kurloz Makara and how are you supposed to relax with your lordship laid bare beneath you?  

He isn't fully bare. He has just shed the dark shall he usually wears amongst the faithful and removed the tight purple shirt beneath. You can see the dark, scar littered expanse of his chest rise and fall with his breaths. You can pick out the scars made by others and those most likely self inflicted. You linger on the damage self done. It serves as a reminder as to why you are here; in the Big Top, on the throne, straddling the king of colors lap with a short blade in hand held just above his stomach. 

You were not built correctly. Ever since you were small there has been something about hurting other trolls that got to you a little too strongly to just be a macabre interest. The way a troll in pain would writhe and how those beautiful short breaths would leave them all sharp through clenched fangs. It got to you something fierce. You learned the lesson young that you ain't right in the head. You were only a little less young when you learned to hide that fact. 

You hid it well all things considered. At 7 sweeps you made your way through conscription and onto the holy fleet no issue. Horns held high but not too high till you earned your place. And earn it you rightly fucking did. 

It wasn't easy by any means. You managed, though. Carved yourself a badass reputation and a good standing amongst the kin you do so cherish. You hold a passion for the family and a need to prove yourself unmatched by any troll you've met before. One comes close but you will not spare that heathen a single thought. 

Some said you had help. That your sign already held weight in the church which granted you special treatment. It wasn't exactly the biggest mystery that you and His High Holy Hilarity were cut from the same cloth. Put the two of you next to each other in front of someone with eyes and even they could get the idea in their head. As for the idea that he gave you any motherfucking boons, that you didn't earn, just by virtue of being built the same never had any frond to stand on as far as you were concerned. But people still thought it. 

You proved them wrong time and time again. Mission after mission and sweep after sweep you proved it was all 100% you that got you where you were today. Some of the rumor spreaders got brave with their claims and brought them right to you, displeased with your success and too stubborn to accept that they were wrong.

You got a skill in you to turn the brave away running. 

Through voodoo or club or just sharp wit you took every challenge worth taking as another chance to show you weren't fucking around. So if those that think you're riding your ancestors coattails are still out there they at least have the brains to keep their filthy mouths shut about it. 

You would never use your ancestors' status to your advantage. Even if it had nothing to do with pride you would just feel wrong using him that way. You admire him a good deal and not just because he is the head of your church. 

You admire him maybe too much. You have now, for a while. Which is why you can't fathom the situation you are currently in. 

Your eyes snap up to The Grand Highblood's face when he shifts closer to you. His hand, bigger than yours but not much colder, wraps carefully around your forearm. You are trembling. When did you start trembling? 

"Are you having second thoughts?" He asks. His voice is smooth and low, the slightest breathy hitch at the end that makes something possessive and stupid stir inside of you. Your eyes stay on his face, his pretty face, like the one you see in the mirror but aged and softer around the eyes. Kinder, the rumors say, when it gets to reprimanding kin who done what some could consider a shallow wrong. Soft fucking pusher for the family. So soft. 

You open your mouth to respond yet the words fail you. Of all times. Of all the times in your 12 sweeps of life, why now? Why? 

He is looking at you. The excitement his eyes held begins to fade to something more resigned. He smiles so sweetly at you. "I understand," he tells you, removing his hand from your arm. "Ain't no shame in backing out brother. Was a strange request to begin with. I understand if you can't get your chill on with- nngh!" He shudders as you drag the knife from his collarbone to just above the hem of his pants. "Oh fuck-"

You bite back a groan as you skillfully flip the knife in your fingers and drag it back up. You aren't pressing enough to cut him deep but you do begin to see thin purple lines appearing along his flesh. These cuts burn with the touch of air, sharp and precise, opening up just enough to let the nerve endings fire off in panic. You drove a man mad with a couple hundred of these one time. 

The muscles in his stomach flex and he shudders again. "A-aah~ ah c'mon motherfucker you can go harder than that c'mon I've seen you work." He encourages.

He has seen you work. Seen you pry answers from prisoners maws way too quickly for your liking. Much to the suspicious awe of your fellow churchmates. Your skill in inquisition got so well known that he came to see for himself one night. You didn't know he was watching when you raked deep gashes down a heretic’s arms and pinned them closed with those wicked stinging needles you've come to love. You didn't know that when you stepped out of that room and he was there, smiling and giving you praise, that he may have been feeling just as electrified as you were at the moment. 

He must have felt it. He must be feeling it if the way he lifts himself up against your blade is anything to go by. The high pitched noise in his throat you don't dare call a whine makes your insides twist and shiver. Shakes the words you've been searching for loose from your thinkpan.

 "You like this?" Your voice comes out a breathless whisper. You feel stupid for asking, he must like it if he is letting you, there's no way he would let you this close if he didn't. 

Unless that soft pusher of his is telling him you need it. Unless you slipped up somehow and he saw the aching need to cause hurt that you have inside you. Unless he is forcing himself to take it as he thinks no one else will- Unless- 

The shaky whimper that comes from him along with "Oh brother please-" snaps you from your thoughts. Back to reality you smell the slightest twinge of blood in the air. You look down and see that while you were having a miniature double damned crisis he had shifted close enough to you to have pierced himself ever so slightly with your knife. Just a few inches above the arch of his hip a pool of royal purple fills and finally drips down his side and disappears. Your throat feels too dry and your mouth too wet. 

You have drawn the blood of your holy king. You have cornered him on his throne and cut into him. He is shirtless beneath you, those kind round eyes watching you with fondness undeserved.

You don't feel the knife slip from your hand but you do feel his arm come up around your back. You do hear his soft, sing song praise at the edge of your conscious mind. 

"Good." He tells you. "You did good. We don't gotta do no more than that. Felt good brother, don't go getting harsh on yourself now. Ah shit you poor thing…" 

"Good?" you shoot back at him. Looking up to his face, bristling with the feelings this whole situation has brought up. What is this to him? Why is he doing this? He always looks at the family soft but does he let the family sit in his lap and take knife to his flesh? Does he rest his hand on their back and praise them for doing so? "I stabbed you and you tell me I did good?" 

He chuckles. "Well, yeah. Hardly call that a stab, little brother. It'll be gone in a night at worst." His hand moves along your back in a slow motion. Your claws twitch. "What'd you think of that? Tell me." 

You can't disobey him. 

"It felt like sin, but not. Felt too good to be right. I thought- I thought you were going to laugh at me." You say. His eyes widen a little and his hand gives a soft squeeze around your waist. "I thought this was some fucked up joke. Some, motherfucking- some prank or cruelty done on me to amuse you." 

"Aint nothing like that-" 

"I thought I was dreaming, for a second. It don't feel real. Having you here, having you so open to hurting. My Lord you asked me to-" the words trail off in a pathetic wheeze as they leave you again. 

He just stares at you for a bit. You know your face can be cold and unreadable like ice when you want it to be and fuck if you don't want that real hard right now. He sees through you clear as still water anyway. His hand on your back moves up to tangle into the roots of your hair, you try to resist but fail and end up pressing back against his hand. 

"I asked you to hurt me, didn't I?" He asks even though there's no need to clarify. You don't think you could forget what he said if you tried your damnedest. The way he came to you in the halls as you wandered without reason, asked you to walk with him, talked with you like normal then got real quiet. Got a favor to ask you, little one he had said. Don't have to be doing it if you find yourself unwilling but I got a curiosity in me I think you could help sate.

He took you to the Big Top and made brief yet rattling inquiry on your desire to cause pain. Rumor spreads even as you try to forget the words whispered that made every drone season harder than the last. You winced despite yourself when he simply asked You like causing pain, brother? He did not look at you with distaste. Or with plain curiosity as he claimed to hold. He was fascinated. 

Things moved fast after that. Patience was never a virtue your lordship took much pride in. After you had affirmed his claims he had gestured for you to come up to his throne. He invited you up onto said throne, into his lap, and set the knife cool against your palm. He had asked you to…

"-take the knife to me as you like, that's what I said, yeah?" Your Lord's tone is calm, even, as if he is just double checking the facts on an arbitrary mission report form. You nod at the words because that really is what he said and here you are all rattled right to the marrow at it. 

"Cool, and that's what you did. Did it real gentle like too." 

"I stabbed you-" 

"Hey, knock shit right the fuck off." He frowns at you for the first time today. Disapproving on your statement of fact. Your hands twitch and while you don't know where the knife went you still got claws and the urge to tear into him again. Make him get his understanding on good and true about what threat you pose. You would never. 

"I'm fine, little one." His hand rubs gently at the back of your skull. "Better than fine. That was… that was real motherfucking sweet what you did for me." 

For him. He asked, you delivered. He commanded, you obeyed. You did good.

Your face must do something ugly with how his hand briefly stills. The fins on his ears twitch as he looks you over. You're ready for the disgust to settle into his features but it never comes. 

His mouth opens a second just to close the next, tongue flicking over his lips as if he was nervous. You almost laugh. Nervous, The Grand Highblood? Impossible. 

He breathes in slow, you catch the movement of his chest with your peripherals. Messiahs you want to sink your teeth in and taste him. What he says next is like a slap in the face. "Did you like it..? Would you want to do it again?" 

You look at him, really look at him. Surely there would be something, anything, letting you know this was all in jest. You hate to think so low on your Lord's humor but if this ain't some bad joke you don't know how you'll deal. 

You find nothing but sincerity in his eyes. Round and dark and royal as they come while still walking on land. Maybe a little hope but you quickly disregard it as your own. 

"I…" the sound cracks out of your throat. He grants you time to get your shit together. Moves his hand from your head down to your back, heavy but gentle. You shiver at the feeling. The sheer size of him and everything else about him.

It wouldn't be wrong to say you thought he was fine as fuck. Everybody with a working set of ganderbulbs must. Tower of lean muscle that he is, got legs for nights that had you near running to keep up with him in the halls during your first few perigees on ship. You're only a little ashamed at the fact you snuck glances whenever that dark shall left his shoulders. 

You imagine what you may feel getting to cut such a pretty motherfucker again some night. Then imagine if that pretty motherfucker was your king. Getting to hear him say 'brother please' again in that whispy way. Wondering what sounds he would make if you pressed harder, how much he could take if a stab in the hip would heal in a night. 

It all makes your bulge do something down right shameful with how it twists and tries to slip out. Your legs attempt to close and are stopped both in part by you realizing how obvious that would make your predicament and by the body you're still straddling.

You glance down, glaring slightly at the obstacle between your knees, only to be met with the still bare lower abdomen of your Lord. You look back up, not too quickly, and look at his face instead. He is watching you, lips slightly parted and eyes curious again. 

"I… that sounds… are you fucking with me?" 

He seems a little taken aback by your words and you fear you fucked up before he starts to laugh. You let out a little wheeze of a chuckle as well, compelled by whatever joy he has found in this scenario. He smiles at you, clear and bright. 

It takes on a sly edge as he says "Shit, if you're offering. I ain't gonna take what you don't wanna give, little one. Fuck. Fucking does sound good though. Especially when you got those miraculous hurting hands." His eyes drop down to where your hands rest against your thighs. If you were a fool you'd say he looks enticed. 

You feel your face heat up under your paint. A cocktail of emotions are swirling around in your head. Arousal, shame, confusion, to name a few. 

You take a sharp breath- watch his hands twitch- and exhale it slowly. "My Lord, I- … A brother could get a real twisted idea of what all you're asking of him. Give me the grace of speaking plainly on it. If you please.” You say, keeping your voice even, not even letting a hint of begging come through. 

The Grand Highblood sighs softly at that. He shifts underneath you, sitting up straighter. You go to move but his hand clamps down on your thigh, keeping it in place. Fuck but he's real big- and he let you get a knife in him what a day- 

"Grace you ask for is grace I will give, little one." He looks at you, a little more serious. More familiar too how you see him on the night to night. He spares a glance over your being before he continues. “I want you to hurt me. Only in ways that you want. If how you want it is to just swing around every other scattering of nights when you get the itch I'll gladly take it.” 

-Before you can even start to reel at the idea of being your Lord's torture booty call he continues-

“If you want something more steady, like the beating of a pusher, fit with all its running blood and fluttery fits, then that I can also happily do.” He tells you, looking at you fond again. Not seeing through you straight out the back but like he can see inside you. He doesn't look disgusted by what he thinks he's finding. 

You blink at him. Your mouth is an unreadable line because you will it so. He blinks back at you like a delayed mirror. You think you gather what he is saying but it's so outlandish and wild you cannot ignore the doubt it stirs in you.

“Plainly, My Lord.” You remind him brazenly. 

He laughs his soft sing song laugh at you before saying “Wanna be matesprites?”

You die. You think. That's the only explanation for the rush of everything that fills you up and threatens to blind you over three simple Alternian words. Or you're already dead and this is some hall of illusions you must endure as punishment for your transgressions. 

When you come back to yourself he's looking at you softly, with slight concern, the same look he had when he told you it was okay to back out.

Before he can tell you the same again you manage to say “Yes.” without a waiver to your voice. “If it pleases you.” You add, because you’ve been more mannerless tonight than is truly smart. 

He smiles, but it's quirked at one end, following the tilt of his head. “Would please me just fine. Would it please you though, little brother? Talk plainly at me.” He chuckles, tossing your request back at you like it's all a hate-friendly game. 

“Abso-motherfucking-lutely it would, My Lord.” You say in a near whisper, watching his face. The more genuine turn of his smile and the crinkles at the edges of his eyes show he is well and truly pleased with you. 

“Bitchtits,” He says, and wraps the other of his long arms around you to pull you up against him. You manage not to make any embarrassing sounds of delight or startlement but it does take you a shameful few seconds to realize that he is hugging you. That's it, just a hug, a simple act of affection you've seen even hate-friends give to each other on the off nights. You return it half a moment too late but you do return it. 

He's broader than you by virtue of being your own body type scaled up several notches. Being pressed flat to the expanse of his chest lets you almost feel the beat of his pusher. You can smell so much of him, his hair, his skin, the faint lingering of his blood and you certainly smell how it took him to have you put knife to his flesh. Maybe there is a rumbling sound he is making that is too low for you to hear yet, or maybe there isn't.

It's nice. It tells you what you're too stupid to realize with just your eyes. He is alive and he is happy. You squeeze him slightly and he returns the favor. Delayed mirror. 

You're taking a risk, both of you. Him so high and important and you so closed in and quiet. To let another in could spell disaster. Specifically each other. You could be planning to take his place for all he knows. He could rule you unfunny and excommunicate you. 

When you pull back, maybe hoping to voice some of these concerns, he just smiles at you. His eyes are lazy and fond, his breathing is going steady again as he comes down from the excitement of the morning. You can't bring yourself to ruin this moment for him, so you take heed of one of the first lessons all laughsassins must learn: keep your motherfucking mouth shut, motherfucker. 

He keeps smiling even as you both get your shit together, settling down after the impromptu knife play and quadrant dealings. He finally lets you off the throne. You get your feet under you and feel less dizzy than you probably should. A quick mental check tells you that you did not die, your body is fine, and nothing is missing. With that out of the way, you spare a glance over to The Grand Highblood. 

He rises as well, towering over you once again. He quickly finds the knife and literally tosses it back into his sylladex; the blade flying over his shoulder and into the flashing colors before both promptly disappear. Fuck but his modus really is wild to see up close and he's so cool for knowing how to just go with it. Another way he's blessed you imagine. 

You get to see it flash again and barely make out the various things that come out get quickly tossed back in get flung out get juggled till he finds what he wants and it all goes away. All in a matter of seconds. The Grand Highblood stands there with a new shirt in his hand like it ain’t no thing. He catches you looking and looks all the more pleased for it. 

He re-dresses and you're mad about it. Which is wrigglerish and stupid, you remind yourself. You can't rightly ask he stay half naked for you. At least not yet. 

If he means this all to be for true maybe one night you will have the right to ask he stay naked. Fully naked. Just to let you look at him in all his hurting glory. Regal and holy and yours and fuck your bulge is in a Messiahs damned knot and your head ain't much better. 

“Off to ‘coon now, brother.” You hear him say. You only blink at him but he still finds the question in it quick enough. “Was late already when I pulled you out the halls, even later now. Both of us got shit to do come moonrise. Don’t we, little one?” He tilts his head at you, leading your thoughts with the question till you find the answer buried in the back of your pan. 

You do have shit to do. You were asked, at some time that is eluding your memory, to assist one of the laughsassination feeders with a ship wide lesson. Did she ask you herself? Given you can’t fully recall the interaction you would say she did. You can’t miss that.

You don’t curse or even sigh. You just lower your shoulders a bit in defeat. He chuckles all the same. You manage to give him a small smile that he returns to you bigger and brighter. 

“Suppose we do. Thank you for your time, My Lord.” You say, all formal. It gets a small snicker out of him and you feel like you’ve won something. 

He leads you to the giant double doors of the Big Top and wishes you luck on all your endeavours of the coming night. Before the doors open he bends down to press a quick kiss to your lips. It lingers only enough for you to return it and then a single beat longer. After that he pulls back and he is once again so much taller and older than you and you have to leave. You make sure to give at least a slight bow of respect before walking out into the halls. 

It is a walk, not a run, even as you get further from the throne room. Your strides are steady and quiet. For all the few passerbys know you were simply taking a stroll to clear your head in the late hours. Your mind is clear, actually. For a few seconds. 

With his sweet smiling face gone and only your lingering shame as company your thoughts get real nasty real quick. 

What is wrong with you? What is wrong with you? 

Did you really just do all that? Did he let you- ask you, you remind yourself- to do all that? Are you two something now? Something more than leader and follower? Perish the thought. Burn it. Destroy it. Leave nothing but ashes in place of a stupid wriggler’s dream. 

You hurt him and it was wonderful. You walk. You want to do it again. You walk. He wants you to do it again. 

You walk and walk and walk all the way back to your room and manage to get inside with no one knowing anything except you. No one knows what you’ve done except you. What horrible things you’ve done and will do again. Awful awful beautiful things. 

You are going to pay for this. You just don’t know how yet.

[vintagemanhattanskyline]

The 45-story Socony Mobil Building. 150 East 42nd Street, occupy the entire block between Lexington and Third avenues and 41st to 42nd streets. Harrison & Abramovitz, 1954-1956.

View looking southwest of Socony Mobil Building shorty after completion. View from the corner of 42nd Street and Third Avenue in Summer, 1956.

The Empire State Building can be seen at background, at left, and Chanin Building at right.

Photo: Wurts Brothers.

Source: Architectural Record, March 1957.

In 1956, the Socony-Mobil Building became the first skyscraper in the world to be fully clad in stainless steel. Designed by Harrison & Abramovitz, this 45-story tower not only redefined the skyline of Midtown Manhattan but also marked a turning point in postwar corporate architecture.

Explore its design, legacy, and historical context in our latest article -in Spanish- on the Historia de los Rascacielos de Nueva York blog: 🔗 https://historiadelosrascacielosdenuevayork.blogspot.com/2025/06/1956-el-socony-mobil-building-el-primer.html

[whereskatieandgrady]

Edinburgh, Scotland I Love You

[americanssweetheart]

Women in History Part Two

If you were to open a history book right now, you would not read about a woman's accomplishments during the founding of the New World until several chapters in, and even then, she would be in the shadow of a man. Women were very active in our history and made a significant change. It is not your fault you never knew this. Blame the journalists at the time and our education system! Here are a few women who made a significant impact on American history. 💐

Deborah Read Franklin was born to a British carpenter in 1708 in Birmingham, United Kingdom. She was most known for her marriage to the Founding Father Benjamin Franklin. However, many people don't know her essential role in founding the United States, which was taking on her family's businesses and managing them within the colonies. Deborah took over the postal system for her husband. Her duties were to map out the areas so they could form a post office system.

Elizabeth "Eliza" Lucas Pinckney was born on December 28, 1722, on the island of Antigua, a British colony in the Caribbean. Eliza was an American farmer who transformed agriculture in colonial South Carolina. Eliza faced many setbacks during her lifetime. Her mother had passed away, leaving Eliza with her brother and dad. Eliza was left to run their plantation independently while her brother and dad went to return to the island and travel. During this newfound alone time, Eliza began to experiment with new crops. She discovered dried dates, the color indigo, a way to create slik without killing silkworms, and plated oak trees so they could generate stronger boats. With her new profound knowledge, Eliza shared it with others so South Carolina could prosper in different aspects. She was able to enrich the colonies and provide for families.

Born on May 8, 1753, in West Africa, Phillis Wheatley Peters was the first African American to publish a poetry book. While enslaved in Boston, her owners saw her profound craving for knowledge and began teaching her the subject they were teaching their kids. Phillis was excellent at writing and began crafting poems that were mainly elegy (poems that showed respect for dead loved ones.) During this time, African Americans were prohibited from publishing any work, but this did not stop Phillis. She began publishing work in Europe, and she went mainstream. Phillis Wheatley was one of the first few women to be published and the first African American person to be published.

Known for printing the Declaration of Independence, Mary Katharine Goddard was born June 16, 1738, in New England. Mary was an American publisher like her younger brother, William Goddard. Mary Goddard was given the Declaration of Independence secretly and told to print it. She printed it after hours so every citizen could read it. Mary was given credit; at the bottom of the page, you can see her name written. Mary was the postmaster of the Baltimore Post Office from 1775 to 1789.

Former First Lady to the first president of the United States, Martha Washington, was born on June 2, 1731, in Chestnut Grove. She is known for helping manage her husband's estate and caring for her family. Many people do not understand that Martha visited the winter encampments during the Revolutionary War to motivate them to keep fighting. During this time, men quit because of the harsh conditions they were facing. Martha would knit for the soldiers, bring drinks, and dance. She helped America get through the Revolutionary War.

Thus, women have been in the shadow of men since the dawn of time. Women have made significant history, yet we have not made them a household name. Women's lasting impact on history should be a key factor in learning history.

credits to @dollywons for the border

[moda365]

Luh’De Gita ‘JSMN-FR (Dating in the 21st Century)’ 2022

Luh’De Gita is a contemporary Balinese artist. She grew up in Bali, and continued her studies at the Bandung Institute of Technology in Indonesia, where she earned her Bachelor of Fine Arts degree in 2020. She has since got her Master’s degree in painting at the Royal College of Arts in London, England.

Luh’De Gita is recognized for her bold use of colors and compositions that juxtapose elements from both the digital and natural worlds. Her creative process often begins with sourcing images from the internet, screenshots from online simulation games like The Sims, and personal photographs. These elements are then woven together to create surreal landscapes that reflect the dual realities experienced by Generation Z—navigating both virtual and physical realms.

Through her art, Luh’De Gita invites audiences to contemplate the complexities of memory, identity, and the interplay between digital simulations and tangible experiences, offering a unique perspective on contemporary life.

[lgbtq-history-museum-cfl-intern]

The Final Count Down

Sunday 11/26/2023

Technically I’m supposed to be on vacation until tomorrow, but I have some time on my hands and thoughts on my mind.

This is the last day of classes and I’m working on some final assignments: The last touches on a research paper for the capstone course for my Interdisciplinary Studies major, a PowerPoint for the Hands-on History Internship Showcase on Friday, and a reflection on my service-learning hours with the LGBTQ History Museum of Central Florida – again, for capstone.

All I can think about is graduation! I’m so close, I can feel the end nearing!

My nerves are finally dissolving, leaving me with anxious anticipation, and a bit of “senioritis” as I chug through these final tasks.

Once the semester ends, this internship will fulfill the last course credits that I need – pending the History Department’s substitution – to complete my history minor.

Even though UCF has an Interdisciplinary Studies Master’s Program, I’m looking forward to turning in my application for the Public History Master’s Program by the priority deadline (January 15th). I aim to start my degree in the Fall of 2024 and, after learning about another student’s experience from Rollins’ Archival staff, I plan to take one seminar course at a time.

The only exception would be if I’m accepted into the Summer Research Program at UCF, allowing me to earn 6 credits the summer before.

This plan to take things slow is to hopefully avoid burnout and allow me to work with plenty of thought, care, and attention to my master’s degree. I’d also like to have time and energy to dedicate to internships and other forms of hands-on learning experiences like volunteering – maybe even a job that provides opportunities to expand skills that are relevant to public history professions.

Thursday 11/30/2023

Tomorrow is presentation day and I’m first up on the schedule (thank goodness! I’ll get to just sit and listen to everyone else’s experiences for the rest of the time!)

I’m literally functioning on meeting and due dates:

Tomorrow is the Hands-On History Showcase.

Sunday, all of my Capstone Assignments are due.

The following Friday, my final is due.

Then the Friday after that is graduation.

After that, I have about a month until the priority deadline for applications for the Public History Master’s Program at UCF.

That’s as far out as I can think right now.

I’m full of excitement and anxiety, but I’m also hopeful and optimistic!

Most of all, I am grateful, and I plan to spend some time throughout the following weeks communicating that to the mentors who positively impacted my undergraduate journey – pretty much all of them. (I was wondering if I was going to get sentimental leading up to graduation and, finally, here I am typing through calm tears as I reminisce on how lucky I am to have so many wonderful people to reach out to with gratitude.)

I’m glad this is how I chose to spend my final semester. Earlier this year, I was thrown off my path and I was heartbroken trying to piece together a new plan that accommodated my limited capacities as a student living with disabilities.

Now, two weeks from graduation, I stand firmer and more confident in my plans, goals, and desires.

Thank you to the wonderful faculty, staff, and peers who taught me so much along the way! Without their support, I would not have accomplished all that I have throughout my undergraduate career.

See you next Fall as a master’s student! (fingers-crossed)

Friday 12/01/2023

The showcase just ended and that just about wraps up the semester for me!

Everyone else had some incredibly enriching experiences and it was cool to see someone else who participated in the HerStory: Women in History Internship at the Orange County Regional History Center.

It seems the structure of it has come a long way, allowing her to accomplish so much more hands-on work than I had during my time there!

There was a lot of diversity in the projects everyone worked on, so I also learned other ways of being a public historian and doing public history work.

Hopefully, when I enter the Public History Master’s Program at UCF I’ll get to work alongside some of these wonderfully talented individuals!

Thanks for following my journey!

- Marena

[i-am-theseeker]

Chevron ordered to pay more than $740 million to restore Louisiana coast in landmark trial

[tmarshconnors]

Today 2nd April marks the 42nd Anniversary of the Falklands War, a conflict fought over 8000 miles away from the United Kingdom.

"The people of the Falkland Islands...are few in number but they have the right to live in peace, to choose their own way of life and to determine their own allegiance." – Margaret Thatcher, 1982.

42 years on, we will still defend that right.

[reviiyu]

found out tumblr's allowing mid journey to train off of the site so I just deleted all of my art and likely wont reposting them unless they are glazed and nightshaded very disappointed that one of the few sites I thought I had left decided to go the same way as deviant art and art station. if your also an astist and wish to continue posting art here make sure to go into your blog setting (the viability section) and check the last option to opt out (because of course it's an opt out and not an opt in /s) and make sure to glaze and nightshade your art!

[arthistoryanimalia]

Now on the blog:

ANIMAL ART OF THE DAY for #InternationalTasmanianDevilDay: Early Natural History Art of the “Bear Opossum”

[curryvillain]

Oldies Sunday: Sister Carol - International Style (1983)

The month of March is recognized Internationally as “Women’s History Month“. In the Caribbean, many Women have made great strides, and they have contributed to shaping the future for generations to come. In Jamaica’s music scene, many Women stepped up and made a difference, and set the tone for other Artists to be inspired by. On today’s “Oldies Sunday“, we highlight a Woman who opened the doors…

[musiqjukebox]

Meet Jada, a Holistic Wellness Entrepreneur Expat Living in Jaipur, Rajasthan, India

Jada is a wellness entrepreneur and hatha yogini living in India. She leads workshops,  curates conscious spaces, manages social media of The B-12 Store Atlanta. Rooted in logical Yoga, Tantra & Ayurveda, her journey blends eastern wisdom, living practices & travel. Tell me a bit about yourself and what you do. My name is Jada “Anandapuri Mata Giri Yogini”, and I’m a wellness entrepreneur, a…

[lgbtq-history-museum-cfl-intern]

Wednesday, Nov. 15th, 23

This is the most eventful week of the semester in the BEST of way 😊

Sunday was the last Board meeting of the year and the second I attended, where I was elected to join! So, I’m now a staying team member and looking forward to continuing working with everyone.

Tomorrow is opening night for the exhibition, and I’ll be spending pretty much all day prepping and setting up 😊

I heard a lot of interest has been expressed by people in the community, which is super exciting! I hope we end up with a good turnout!

Before the Sunday meeting, I also had the opportunity to speak to one of my mentors from the LGBTQ History Museum of Central Florida who works in Rollins College’s history department.

I told her I was graduating soon and looking for work on a college campus. However, she had an internship opportunity working on an archiving project with a local foundation and she thought I’d be an excellent candidate for it!

She provided the contact information, and I reached out and sent my resume the next day. Now I have an interview this afternoon!!!

Finger-crossed that it’s mine for the taking 😊

Thursday, Nov. 16th, 23

It’s exhibit opening night!

I spent the morning and afternoon prepping and setting up with Rachel from the Museum Board.

Pinning the posters up was a challenge because they were heavy and the felt in the display cases was not sturdy but we managed to work them in there. They’re not perfect (well one of them is pretty flattened out. The other one is kind of bulgy because the felt was just not cooperating!) But it’s all legible and we really did our best.

I’m currently writing from my husband’s workplace as I kill time between setting up and the actual event tonight. I have to be back at The Center around 5:30 pm, and it’s 3:40 pm right now.

A little bit about The Center, their mission statement on their website reads:

“The mission of LGBT+ Center Orlando is to promote and empower the LGBT community and its allies through advocacy, education, information, and support.”

They have three locations, two of which are testing centers in Kissimmee and Orlando, and their main location is in Orlando as well. There they host community events, test for STI’s, provide free resources such as a pantry and some contraception options, carry exhibits – some larger held and some smaller like ours, and so much more.

Living on the other side of the county, I don’t run into resources like this a lot or spaces with this sort of dedication. It feels great to be more closely involved with this organization and the local LGBTQ community with which I identify as being part of but, due to proximity issues, cannot participate and connect as much as I’d like to.

Friday, Nov. 17th, 23

Today has been a day of relaxation and reflection.

Last night was amazing!

The rain unfortunately kept a lot of potential exhibit guests, but it was still a lovely turn out 😊

I had such a great time and even saw one of my mentors from my 2021 internship at the Orange County History Center. He said he enjoyed the exhibit, which was so encouraging because earlier this year the exhibit he had a substantial hand in designing and preparing was finally installed.

I also got to meet some of the staff and volunteers at The Center and learn a bit about their lives here in Florida and as members of the LGBTQ+ community.

This week, between the exhibit event, joining the Board of Directors, and the interview for the archival internship, I feel extremely validated.

The more I hang around these public history spaces, the more I feel a part of it, something I entered this semester feeling insecure about. 😊

Here are some pictures from the event:

The top 2 images are the exhibit panels and the bottom 3 are some of the banned books the archivist Rachel from the LGBTQ History Museum of Central Florida pulled from the Rollins College Library.

[fight-4-my-life]

Trans Day of Visibility: I see you!

Today and every day! While today is important for religious holiday reasons, it is important for another reason as well. Every March 31st since 2009 has been known as the International Trans Visibility Day. Which seeks to celebrate the living people in the Trans and nonbinary communities. NPR has a great article that talks about the history of the day and it’s founder which you can read…