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#I have watched this show in French with French closed captions they exist
tabslabs · 5 months
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Almost done with my Wakfu rewatch so I went to pull up Dofus since I plan on watching it next… they took down all the eps with subs and put them all back up without any subs… not English not French just no subs. AUGH
They have autogenerated captions but with all their little fantasy names that’s clearly not going to work well.
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Meta Monday
!MAJOR SPOILERS! for season 6 of Voltron: Legendary Defender. If you can’t watch yet, might I recommend some of my favorite Sheith AUs instead? For everyone else, here are six things I’m currently living for: 
1) “I love you;” 2) “You found me;” 3) Schrödinger's Shiro is finally over; 4) Keith is now 21, end of debate; 5) Space Wolf has two daddies; and, of course, 6) All this new Sheith meta on my dash! ...So much meta, in fact, that despite it only having been out for a couple of days, I might have gone overboard on today’s Meta Monday (and yes, it’s exclusively about Sheith in season 6). 
At this rate, I may even wind up doing a Part Two in the next week or two, or maybe a follow up with meta from previous seasons. Let me know if you’re interested in that! And, as always, let the original authors know you appreciate their work. 🦁 
Voltron: Legendary Defender - Keith/Shiro
Black didn’t pick Keith to be her paladin, Shiro did by @belovedsheith, You know what I just realized? We’ve been talking about how Shiro allowed Kuron to pilot Black, right? But that means…Black didn’t pick Keith to be her paladin. Shiro did. (Mirror Link)
Brother vs. ‘Brother’: A Sheith meta by @ea-stofnar​, [...] Still with me? Okay, so to lay the groundwork for this meta, I first need to address the elephant in the room; the word that a lot of people in this fandom seem to get stuck on. That word is ‘Brother.’ Now whether you’re an anti or a Sheith shipper, that word holds a lot of weight. For antis because they’ve stuffed, mounted and made it their grizzly rallying cry; claiming that it means Sheith is dead and we are fools who continue to ship it. And we shippers get caught in the trap. The majority of the fandom seems to either try and talk around it, or pretend it doesn’t exist within the context of Shiro and Keith’s relationship. I say, we don’t have to do either. (Mirror Link)
The DND episode was so important for Shiro/Kuron than we think and here’s why by @jaegereska, It showed Kuron was fucking human being, that it wasn’t an act, and that he is still Shiro, himself, despite it all. He wanted to spend his time off with the team, he was already playing with Coran Pidge and Hunk before Allura and Lance decided to join them. (Fun side note: Haggar probably watched the whole dnd session through Kuron). (Mirror Link) 
Sheith evidence from the French version (and other languages) by @spiftynifty, I’m tired of the totes desperate brogane/dadgane rhetoric going around about this season. So here’s the french version of the “raising him” scene, just in case anyone needed further clarification that Krolia wasn’t saying “thanks for adopting my son”. In dialogue she says, “He’s the man he is today because of you.” The captions offer a slightly less profound, “Thanks for making him the man he is today”. (Mirror Link)
Sheith isn’t dead by @saltyshiro, Here’s the thing, anon - I don’t at all feel that sheith is dead or anything like that bc of the “You’re my brother. I love you” line. In fact it just reaffirmed my love for sheith :’) @arahir made a great point about this before the season dropped - the whole brotherly or sisterly love thing is something that’s pretty common among queer ppl. (Mirror Link)
Shiro’s love for Keith by @arahir, Oh man, I’m really glad someone asked [if Shiro cares about Keith just as much]. I think the way Shiro acts toward/around Keith is one of the most well produced parts of vld. they do such an incredible job with Shiro’s character in general, but so much of his character depth is centered on Keith. No matter how you interpret their relationship, the fact that they love each other is never in question, and it’s done so well. (Mirror Link)
Keith and Shiro’s bond by @as-many-times-as-it-takes, It wasn’t a lack of time, but a lack of connection. He was able to appear just brief enough to Lance, as they still have a great bond, as Shiro does with the other Paladins. But not like Keith. (Mirror Link)
Krolia’s line on Shiro “raising” Keith is not literal by @quiznackingqueen, I’ve gotten a few asks about this, and I keep seeing antis harp on this line, so we’re gonna take a closer look at it. This is definition of raise I see the antis using: to care for a child or young animal until it is able to take care of itself. This doesn’t fit the situation. Shiro was not Keith’s guardian, he wasn’t a parental figure, he was not literally responsible for Keith’s well being. That fell to Keith’s actual guardians, be they the Garrison, the employees at the home, or Keith’s case worker. These were the people that kept Keith fed and clothed and safe. (Mirror Link)  
Kuron’s Reaction to Older Keith by @dent-de-leon, Yes!! I’m a bi guy myself and I wholeheartedly agree. So, let’s get to it–for one thing, Kuron is a bit flustered in this scene, it’s so sweet. As soon as Keith gets on the comms, you can hear in Kuron’s voice just how much this boy means to him. He literally stutters. One moment he was completely composed and in control, but then Keith is suddenly back and his whole world is off its axis. “Keith? I–are you okay?” He stumbles, stops. He just doesn’t know how to place his emotions, and he’s visibly affected by this. He’s also the only one who takes the time to ask if Keith’s alright. Because no matter what, that’s what matters to him most. He obviously cares a lot. (Mirror Link)
The part I can’t stop thinking about from this season is this by @arahir, [...] He has absolutely no hope for himself anymore. For all he knows, this is the last time he’s going to see Keith or talk to anyone, but still, all he cares about in that moment is Keith. He just wants to know Keith can believe in himself and be ok. (Mirror Link)
The purple glow by @kcgane, Okay so if Shiro’s soul was in Black all along and when Allura transferred his soul back to the clone body that purple glow showed up... when Keith was piloting Black and that purple glow was there could that have been Shiro’s presence there with him?!?! (Mirror Link)
Sacrifice and Keith’s Development by @begrudging-fudanshi, I just have to point this out. These two scenes have some very interesting parallels that really showcase Keith’s development. First and most obvious, it’s pretty clear in both that Keith thinks he’s going to die, and in both he closes his eyes in preparation for what’s to come. However, there’s a huge difference between them. (Mirror Link)
Shiro went out of his way just to be in Keith’s arms by @im-love-sheith, [...] This scene at the end where Shiro leans into Keith. At first i thought “aw thats sweet, he happened to lean into Keith” but thinking back on it, even though Shiro was exhausted and literally just came back from the dead, he chose to lean on Keith specifically. (Mirror Link)
There’s always one episode in each season in which Keith finds Shiro by @zoetekohana, I had a thought about the “you found me” + “how many times are you gonna have to save me before this is over? as many times as it takes” quotes for Shiro/Keith. (Mirror Link)
Why I still ship Sheith, and it’s not “dead” by @dent-de-leon, [...] So, let’s get started with the dreaded ages thing that always comes up, just get that out of the way. According to the guidebook, they were 18 and 25 respectively at the start of the series. Shiro hasnt aged in the astral plane. Since, you know he’s been dead. And it’s more or less implied that Shiro has been gone for months, and then they meet Lotor and there’s the whole time that conflict plays out, then we fast forward to after he lays low and Keith says “Lotor hasnt been seen for months.” we can infer that more or less a year has elapsed since Shiro’s death/disappearance. Adding in the two year time skip, that puts them at about 21 and 25 respectively. You know, a completely reasonable age difference. (Mirror Link)
“You’re my brother.” by @biscoote, I’m gonna be honest I’m not the best at articulating my thoughts into words but hear me out because I think it’s worth looking at just what the term brother, and what brotherhood means to two men. So I’ve been doing a lot of thinking over the last few days after watching this episode, thinking especially about this comment and all the different responses to it and Shiro and Keith’s relationship as a whole. I’ve also been especially attuned to male / male dynamics (platonic or romantic) and how they play out in media specifically. (Mirror Link)
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percyinpanties · 6 years
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25 Solgrace and 109 Solackson! THANK YOU! :D
okay first of all: this is an absolute and utter mess. it took a turn at some point i didn’t bargain for and im not sure its for the better lol.
second of all, I am so tempted to give the idea those prompts gave me what they deserve by actually writing a decent longer fic of a few chapters at least but… im not sure thats going to happen. i have a lot of feelings about the au i had in my head while writing this and I... want... to ... so badly....
Solgrace  - longdistance relationship kept alive through disgustingly cute snapchats au
Solackson – fell in love while backpacking acrossEurope together
Will had never seen a real castle before. Hiking upthe hill, spying the pale towers and high walls through the trees, Will findsit hard to breathe as awe fills him. As far as castles went it wasn’t that big,or that old, but before coming to Europe Will had considered a hundred years tobe an unimaginably long time, so this definitely didn’t fail to impress him.
He adjusts the straps of his backpack to stop themfrom digging into his shoulders and continues on his path. It’s still early,but Will doesn’t want to waste any time that he could spend exploring thisbeautiful place instead. The sun is just starting to filter through the clouds,bathing the view in a fairy tale light.
The road is empty, maybe because of the early hour orWill choosing to walk the path most people just take by car. It’s peaceful andWill could lose himself in it – almost does, when suddenly the noise of a bikeapproaching rips him out of his thoughts.
He half turns where he stands, unable to help hiscuriosity. The bike is coming racing up the hill, with a lot more ease thanWill’s slow hike, but instead of zinging by, the stranger stops his bike rightnext to where Will has stopped in his step.
 The motor shuts off, the quiet returning as Willwatches silently while the stranger removes their helmet – revealing a mop ofmussed black hair and a pair of bright green eyes. He’s gorgeous, Will catches himself thinking and only just stops himselffrom staring with his mouth half open.
 “You going up to the castle?” The guy asks him,English with a distinctive New York accent even though they are standing on aroad in France.
 Will blinks slowly, just processing for a second, butthen he nods slowly. The stranger grins at that, and Will ignores the way thatsight makes him feel. It’s bad news, in more ways than one.
 “Me too. You want a ride?” The offer is casual, nonchalant,and the smile on the stranger’s face is genuine enough that Will wants tobelieve he’d have offered this to anyone found hiking up the same trail. “Thename’s Percy, by the way.”
 ~*~
Somewhere along the way, Will actually picks up some French.It’s not a lot, and he keeps getting it mixed up with the Spanish he’d learnedin high school, but it comes in helpful more often than not. The people seem toappreciate Will trying more than anything – and if whispering some words toJason on the phone makes the other all flustered, that’s just a bonus.
 Will is in the empty hostel kitchen – up early to beable to chat to Jason before he goes to bed – taking a snap of himself with bedhair and sleepy eyes, dressed in only one of Jason’s jersey’s and a pair ofboxers. He knows exactly how much Jason loves seeing Will wear his clothes,especially when they’re apart, and there’s little else he can do to feelconnected when they’re on different sides of the world.
 It’s only when Will lowers the phone to type out amessage that he sees Percy in the background of the photo, walking by andsticking his tongue out – even more sparsely dressed than Will. It shouldn’tsend a rush through Will’s body, but he can’t help it either way. For a second,Will considers retaking the photo, then shakes his head and sends it as it is.
There is nothing to hide there, and Will doesn’t likethe implication that comes with keeping Percy and Jason oblivious to each other’sexistence.
 It’s not even a minute before he gets a snap return,although the photo is dark, Jason already curled up in their bed at home withglasses perched on the bridge of his nose.
 “Is that the guy you’re pretending not to moon over?”reads the caption and Will blushes darkly before quickly swiping the photo awayand with it all evidence of Jason catching on to Will’s unsubtle crush.
~*~
 After France, they cross through Belgium into theNetherlands. Will isn’t sure when or how they’d decided to travel together fromthere on out, but Will doesn’t find it in himself to protest or complain. He enjoysPercy’s company too much to walk away from it when there’s no need to – andthings have become a lot easier than they were when he was still all byhimself.
It’s still a while before he’s flying back home – backto Jason – but Will can squash any pesky feelings and attachments down untilthen. It’s not like Percy has shown any interest anyway and Will tells himselfthat it’s not just because he knows Will is already taken.
 When they decided to stay in Amsterdam for remainderof the month, in a tiny rented apartment in De Pijp that a friend of Percy’s gotthem into, Will hadn’t realised just how much harder ignoring his affectionwould become.
It was one thing to be out and exploring with Percy,to see the cities and cites and landscapes they travelled through, and to crashinto a shitty hostel bed at the end of the day amongst six or more other travellers.It was something entirely different to be living together in a place that wasessentially their own for the time being, with no one to disrupt and distractfrom whatever was or wasn’t going on between the two. The way things are going,Will isn’t sure he’ll make it to the end of the month.
 “Hey…”
Will looks up from the window he’d been standing by,brooding. Percy is close, one hand half reached out to Will’s arm buthesitating to touch without permission.
“Are you alright?” He asks, and now Percy’s concern showsclear on his face.
Will opens, then closes his mouth. He isn’t sure howto even begin answering this if he doesn’t want to lie, and most of the time,Percy can tell if he isn’t honest to begin with.
“Just thinking.” Will says, trying to avoid thequestion. It’s not quite like he can tell Percy that it’s killing him how muchhe wants to kiss his dumb face, or that despite Jason’s permission(encouragement even) Will can’t bring himself to because there is no way thatwouldn’t end in heart break.
 Will wouldn’t be flying home until Christmas, and heknows that Percy has no plans to return any earlier than that. Even before Willhad left North America, long before Percy stumbled into Will’s life, Jason andhe had decided to open up their relationship for whatever more they might find along the way. The problem now isn’t that Willcannot or should not give whatever he was feeling for Percy a try – the problemis that he isn’t sure that after once he’d had a taste of it, he’d ever be ableto let it go again.
Percy hands comes to rest on Will’s arm after all, andafter a second, pulls him close against his side. All Will can do is clench hisfists at his side so he doesn’t just melt into the embrace.
“Homesick?” Percy asks, and while that isn’t far off,it’s the entirely wrong conclusion.
“I guess so.” Will replies even so. He does missJason, and their friends, but that’s not what gnawing at him at the moment.
“You’ve always got me here.” Percy says gently andwhen Will looks up at him, there is a small, almost shy smile on Percy’s face. “Forwhat it’s worth.”
Will doesn’t answer, just studies Percy’s face foranother moment before finally giving in and allowing himself to lean into thehug.
“It’s worth more than you think.” He whispers, voicesmall. Will isn’t sure he even wants Percy to hear, and if Percy has, he doesn’tsay anything in response.
~*~
“New York isn’t that far.” Jason tries. His voicesounds distorted over the phone, but Will has gotten used to that by now.
He’s sitting on the balcony, looking down at theslowly emptying street of Amsterdam. It’s a warm evening, one of the last fewbefore fall will properly set in. Percy is out – Will isn’t entirely surewhere, but he’s grateful for the privacy of this conversation.
“It’s on the other side of the country, Jason.” Hereplies and even to his own ears, Will sounds like a kicked puppy. “And evenso, who says he’d even want to see me again once this is all over?”
This isn’t the first time the thought has crossed Will’smind, and it’s the one that’s holding him back the most. Even if Percy wouldwant him now, for the convenience or thrill of it, there is no guarantee he’llhave any interest in Will once they are both going back to their lives. Willcan’t get into this just for his heart to be broken.
“Why wouldn’t he?” Jason says, always the voice ofreason. “Baby, anyone would be lucky to have caught your attention like that.And you’ve stuck together this far, why should that change?”
Will huffs. Jason doesn’t get it, not quite, and Willisn’t sure he could explain it properly even if he tried.
“It’s convenient now, there is no one else.” Willsays. He doesn’t hear the apartment door unlock, despite the exit to thebalcony wide open behind him.
“We’re friends because it makes sense for now. Theclosest we’ve got to home over here and it’s easier than traveling alone. If youreally think that’s going to last further than that, you’re even more naïve thanI thought.” He doesn’t mean the words to come out as spiteful as they do, buthe is scared of getting hurt, and he’s scared of admitting how much it alreadymakes him ache to know he is right.
Jason sighs exasperated. Sometimes Will wonders wherehe takes the patience from to put up with Will’s whining.
“That’s not true.” He says simply. “Give him morecredit than that, give your friendship more credit than that.”
Will scoffs. He’s bitter now, and there’s no stoppingthe words coming out of his mouth no matter how much he loathes them: “Thiswill be over the second I step onto the plane to come back to you. It meansnothing, not in the big picture.”
“Will, I know you don’t mean that –” Jason starts, butWill doesn’t hear him – only the soft creak of the balcony door, then the stepsas they hurry away. Will only catches a glimpse of Percy’s hurt expression, butit’s enough to shatter his own heart into a thousand pieces.
“Percy, wait!” He calls, already scrambling to hisfeet, cursing himself and all this, hanging up on Jason without another – he canexplain later, this is more important. Out of context, his words will havesounded even worse than Will meant them to be.
The front door slams shut before Will even getsinside, and he rushes to find his shoes and grab a jacket (it’s one of Percy’s,but Will doesn’t notice now) to follow. He calls out again into the hallway,hearing Percy’s feet running down the stairs, and they don’t stop at the soundof Will’s voice.
He almost falls over himself trying to get down thestairs as far as possible, and when he finally stumbles out onto the street,Percy is already halfway down the block.
“Please!” Will shouts, and he doesn’t care that he’smaking a scene, making the few people still around stop and stare at the sourceof the noise. “Percy, come on!”
Will catches up with Percy at the end of the road,facing one of the canals running through the city. He must have slowed down, orelse Will never would have been able to outrun him, and that’s all Will needsfor now.
 “I’m sorry, Percy, I’m so sorry.” Will pants as soonas he is close enough, out of breath from the race down the street. “It’s notlike it sounded, I promise.”
Percy doesn’t reply right away, but he turns around toface Will, arms hugged around his middle and eyes brimming with not yet shedtears. It’s like a stab to Will’s chest, knowing he is the reason for them.When he opens his mouth to speak, to explain, Percy shakes his head slowly.
“Nothing.” Is all Percy says at first, and the word chillsWill to the core. “That’s all, hm? Just…nothing.”
Will wants to cry. He should have seen this coming,but of course he didn’t. Shaking his head slowly first, then feverishly, Willtries to reach out to Percy only to have him step out of reach.
“No, no you got it all wrong.” He pleads and his ownvoice sounds more pained than he has any right being now. It’s not Percy whohas hurt him like Will had feared all along – he is the bad guy now. “It isn’tnothing it’s – ”
Percy doesn’t let Will finish. He barks a laugh,bitter and hurt and Will feels a tear spill down his cheek after all.
“Don’t” Percy says and his voice is as cold as ice. “Idon’t want you to tell me any lies, I’ve heard enough. I’m convenient andnothing more – should have known better than to make myself believe this meanssomething to you.”
He tries to turn away, leave Will with nothing butthis dismissal but Will can’t bring himself to let Percy go, not like this. Hereaches out, ignoring the way it hurts when Percy flinches away from his touch –but it makes the other stop long enough for Will to speak again.
“This, no, you- you mean so much to me.” He tries, but his voice breaks. This was not howWill had seen his confession going down, not that he had believed it to happenat all. “So much that is scares the shit out of me. I want this to be nothingbecause I can’t stand the alternative, that there’s something there that I canhave for a month only to lose it when you go back to your life and forget allabout the stupid boy you picked up on the side of some road.”
Will’s crying now, in the middle of the street,feeling like the single most horrible person on earth.
“Jason kept saying that I’m being stupid, but I couldn’trisk it and ruin all the good memories just because I couldn’t be content withwhat you gave already. I wanted it to be nothing because if it was something,then it was something I would lose.”
Will finally stops and Percy – Percy just stares athim. There is a wet track down his cheek where a tear has gotten away, but therest of his face is a stony mask. Will is sure he has ruined it for good now,that maybe having Percy believe Will didn’t care about their friendship wouldhave been better than letting him know how much deeper his feelings truly run.
Percy doesn’t say a single word, but he steps closer,into Will’s reach, then into his space. It seems surreal, like Will is watchingit happen from the outside rather than living in this moment. Hands cup hischeek, green eyes lock onto his own. Will thinks his heart has stopped, but hedoesn’t care, not now.
“And people tell me I’m oblivious.” Percy says quietlyand Will doesn’t catch onto what he’s trying to say until there is a pair oflips against his own.
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dine-on-nervine · 3 years
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Describe the last (or current) object you sat on. I’m in my pleather desk chair.
What was your favourite toy when you were a kid? I don’t recall having a favorite.
What weird thing do you eat that most people dislike? Grapefruit and mushrooms comes to mind. I have no idea why so many people say they don’t like them.
Would you change your name if you got married? Probably not, but I’m not totally adverse because I hate my middle and last names.
Were you in any clubs in high school? Which ones? French and Science.
What time do you generally wake up? My eyes open around 7 due to the sunshine, but I usually actually start coming to life about 8:20am.
Do you share a bathroom with anyone? The one roomie. I am not a fan of this for various reasons.
Are there any songs you know every single lyric to? Yes.
How many amusement parks have you visited? Not sure I’ve ever been to one. Closest one I can think of was Bedrock USA in Arizona over a decade ago, and even then I didn’t pay to get into the park... the gift shop and a Bronto Burger at the cafe in it were quite close enough.
Who is your favourite character from the show Friends? Never watched it. So... Smelly Cat.
Do you have any leftovers in your fridge right now? I have three portions of mashed potatoes and one portion of barbecued chicken in my freezer, which will get me a ways into next week’s lunches at work.
What was the last job interview you attended? Late March of last year, for the job I have now.
Have you ever had a panic attack? Nope, through once or twice felt frantic like that was going to happen.
Where do you keep most of your clothes? In the dresser.
What’s your favourite kind of frosting? Any kind of chocolate frosting is good with me. << Also a fan of cream cheese frosting on spicecake or carrotcake.
Who is the most annoying celebrity in your opinion? Every single person who is directly or tangentally related to Kris Kardashian. There’s fucking NOTHING to say about these people, so it’s really the media giving them oxygen that bothers me. No one give a fuck about anyone they’ve fucked, either, especially when they have no innate comprehension of When To Shut The Fuck Up And Go Back To Their High-Paying Jobs to do something they actually are good at. And Caitlyn, bless you for what you bring to the trans* community, but you’re still on the wrong side politically for where your life is going and no one takes you seriously when it comes to this new bid to run California.
Do you prefer watching movies or TV shows? I prefer talking to someone with a silent background.
What decorations do you have in your bedroom? Over two dozen framed apple box labels, a few framed postcards, Disapproving Dana over my bed to keep me humble, and some mushroom art.
What was the last notification you got on your phone? Girlfriend telling me she’ll be going to bed in, uh, about ten minutes from now, because after she gets into bed she’ll call me to tell me about her day.
What career or study were you really interested in but didn’t pursue? Psychology.
Where do you buy most of your groceries? Winco.
Have you ever taken a painting class? Nope.
Is there a store or restaurant where you’re considered a regular? Red Barn fruitstand.
How far do you have to travel from home to get to school or work? Work is about ten miles away.
Did you use Vine back when it still existed? I didn’t.
Are you more creative or analytical? Analytical.
How do you like your eggs? On someone else’s plate. Scrambled if I have to have them.
How old were you when you started wearing a bra, if ever? I’ve never started wearing a bra. ;-)
What was the last video game you played? Circus Convoy for the Atari 2600.
Are there any recipes you really want to try? Probably, I can’t name any off the top of my head.
Has anyone asked how you feel today? I believe my girlfriend asked how I slept, but I haven’t been asked how I feel in a day or two (post-vaccination). Okay, wait, yesterday I had a dentist appointment and they’re obliged to ask how I feel, when it comes to healthiness.
Well, how do you feel today? It was my Friday so good. But less so after I left because a) I forgot to clock out, and b) I left my clipboard on a shelf when I meant to bring it home [and put what’s on it on the receiving desk].
On that note, how have you been feeling lately? Pretty okay, happy, a bit sore in places and attribute whatever headache I have to my physical labor and my not having any caffiene today.
Have you ever received a speeding fine? Yes, a few times.
Would you rather be incredibly smart or incredibly beautiful? Smart. So I already have this metric. :)
What’s your favourite cookie? Chocolate chip, though will never turn down a peanut butter cookie.
Do you have a doorbell at your house? What I know is there are two wires sticking out where a real doorbell had been, and a plastic one has been pasted on yet I don’t think I’ve ever heard it so I can’t prove it even has working batteries.
What percentage charge is your phone on right now? 100%, since it’s been plugged in since I got home.
What was the last app you had open on your phone? The messenger.
Do you use captions when you watch TV and movies? Not intentionally since while it does help with understanding I get so distracted by them I don’t see what’s going on, I only see the words.
What’s your skincare routine? Facial soap in the shower here, a very gentle face wash cream at my girlfriend’s house.
Have you ever visited someone in a psychiatric home or ward? Yes.
Do you spell it colour, or color? Color.
How tall are you? 5′11″.
What was the last movie you watched? In the theatre, it ws Star Wars: Episode 9 - Fuck Canon, We’re Ending This. On the computer, it might have been Star Wars: Rogue 1 (Episode 3.5). In front of the television, I have no idea but suspect it was a year ago when David Spade at 55 attempted to play the same 25-30 year old putz he always plays in movies.
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sweet-star-cookie · 6 years
Text
Stolen again aha
1. Describe and inside joke with little to no context
“Bean”, “Muffin”, “Noodle”, “Cinnamon Roll” and “Star-shaped Sugar Cookie” are all terms that have been used to describe me in any given situation. It’s like a bakery up in here.
2. Describe something that makes you happy
Finishing a piece of art and feeling really happy rather than doubtful about it after, or finding something new to completely lose myself in, like a new game or TV show. Both are really good feelings, especially if I can share with my friends.
3. What’s the funniest joke you know by heart?
Myself.
... Too soon?
I actually don’t consider myself that humorous so I have no idea what to put here, sadly. I wish I was funnier in a linguistic sense but outside of sarcasm and my reactions to things I’ve got nothing. My friends seem to find entertainment in it though. Entertainment in my emotional suffering while watching fictional content, that is. (love you guys)
4. What’s the craziest conversation you’ve overheard?
Not really a conversation I guess but outside my window some people walked by and all I hear is “I FUCKING LOVE PARADES” and no following response. You hear a lot of things from the surface when you live in a dragon’s lair basement.
5. What’s your favourite song at the moment?
I have several at any given moment based on what I find in my YouTube subscriptions, but if I were to pick one right now I guess it would be Flashin’ Like I’m Gatsby by Atom Smith, it’s an electroswing hop track. For a slower track right now I’d pick First Things First by Neon Trees. That and the entire Owlboy OST by Jonathan Geer. Quality content.
6. What languages do you wish you could speak?
Japanese and French probably. Japanese for anime/manga purposes and French because I’m in Canada and I used to love learning French in school.
7. Describe your idea of a ‘perfect day’
Oh boy time to crank out some radical, overly detailed hypotheticals. -cracks knuckles-
I wake up at a decent hour, well rested for the first time in forever, no anxiety or depression clawing at the walls of my brain. I had a dream that night that was either interesting enough to right down or gives me an idea for a character design. I get out of my bedroom in my own apartment, and greet my two cats who are likely named after my characters and have subsequent Warrior cat names as well. 
Sunlight comes in through the sliding doors, the cats watch the birds on the feeder outside on the balcony. I see some of my favourites there to meet us: cardinals, blue jays, maybe an oriole or a hummingbird depending on the season. If it’s winter, snow is gently falling, with no wind to whip it around. I live in a small enough town or city that the view out the window is of more organic scenery rather than concrete, maybe there’s a river or a body of water nearby and it’s at least relatively quiet. 
I stay in my comfortable clothes for a while as I mull over the idea I have in my head and make breakfast (or lunch, depending on the time), listening to music as I make it. Maybe pancakes with bacon, strawberries on the side. Or if I’m feeling like a sandwich I’ll have a BLT. I don’t feel sick after eating it so close to waking up like I usually do. 
Suddenly, the design I had clicks into a viable story. The ideas start flowing, and I’m completely taken into my imagination, reality doesn’t exist for a little while as I dive headfirst into this world of new if unclear possibilities. I write and draw things for it, likely pacing around the room and talking to myself to work things out. Much to the confusion of my cats, I’m sure.
I make something viable enough to post, and I feel excited enough to rant about it to my heart’s content, no fear. Feeling satisfied in my endeavours, I get to work on what I need to do that day, like making a comic page for the week and making a new design for Redbubble. If I have freelance work to do, that takes priority, knowing that I’ll need the evening to get together with my friends.
I wear my favourite colours, hat and scarf probably with a star on it somewhere, I feel cute but comfortable, no inhibitions about what I look like for once. We go out to eat (knowing my friends it’s probably sushi), maybe see a new animated movie that’s out and analyze the heck out of it. We laugh and talk for hours, a complete unit of solidarity in our combined friendship. I hear they’re all doing well in their endeavours, and I’m immensely proud of them.
I get back home in the evening, greeting my cats once again. The stars are out, and I stargaze for a little bit. I come back in and relax on the couch to watch TV or play a video game of some kind, probably scroll through my social feeds / check messages. I see pictures of the time out with my friends and I’m actually in them this time.
I get a message from whoever I consider to be my best friend, either from after the hangout if they were there or from earlier. We start chatting about art we’re making or ideas we have, bouncing them off left and right and encouraging each other the whole way. If we’re old friends, it’ll feel like it did back in grade school with our late night Facebook chats.
I go to bed feeling happy, and probably with at least one of my cats sleeping on me in a precarious spot. It doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep, aside from maybe the ideas still flowing. If so, I take some time to read or something down and then sleep, not too concerned about what’ll happen tomorrow.
8. What’s the worst movie trope in your opinion?
The first one that comes to mind for me is the “liar revealed” plot, overused and often a lazy source for conflict in the third act. I also hate forced romance in general but I’m not sure if that’s consider a trope or something broader. This applies to TV shows too.
9. What made you laugh the hardest ever in your life?
Hysterical laughter at reckless hours of the morning is what allowed me to survive college and the apocalypse that was 2016, so there are quite a few moments. One of them happened during a particularly bad bout of depression while I was alone in Toronto for the summer. Out of morbid curiosity I watched a shitty theatre rip of the Emoji Movie online to kill time while I couldn’t sleep (don’t ever do that, not recommended). Then my friend sends me her drawing of Spyro to make me feel better (important note: she doesn’t draw dragons) with a funny caption and I lose my fucking mind. Just... gone, immediately. After the soul-sucking depravity of that movie and my depression combined I’ll bet anything was funny. At that point I didn’t even care if I was being loud at whatever time it was at night I was WHEEZING. Bless my friend.
10. What animal is the most majestic?
All.
(though I am partial to dragons, cats and birds)
11. If you could afford everything, what kind of clothes would you wear?
I’ve noticed I often dress myself like a character designer would when it comes to colour coordination (hard to turn that part of my brain off lol), so I guess I would continue doing that but tailor it even more to that idea. That and fandom shirts all the time. And custom cosplay outfits that I could commission from other people, of both my fave characters and my own OCs. I make armour designs a lot so that would be so much fun. If I were a bolder personality I would probably wear the cosplays in public and see how many people notice, or see if it makes a kid excitedly point at me. If I could act I would recite a quote or two for them. It would be quite the game with something more subtle, and you get that one fan on the subway coming out of the woodwork like “...are you dressed like _____ from ______?”.
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The Lack of Flavor in ‘Emily in Paris’ Is Only Emphasized by Its Meals
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Courtesy of Netflix
Among the Netflix series’s set pieces are a boulangerie, a brasserie, and a bistro, which represent Paris as artlessly as the show’s American protagonist
Democracy in the United States is either in its death throes or just a very painful midlife crisis. We’re a country led by a very sick, very silly old man. Meanwhile, a non-ideological virus is metastasizing thanks to ideological idiocy, and a fly is the star of the vice presidential debates since it is slightly more meme-able than systemic racism. Meanwhile, I’m trying to decide whether to pay for COBRA or child care. Recession turns deeper, expressions turn dire. Sartre looks like a Hallmark card. And amid all this chaos, more chaos: Netflix releases Emily in Paris.
What could have been, and should have been, a blissful escapist confection, the Darren Star — he of Sex in the City and Younger — production is instead a croissant of poop and pee that proves, as Sartre entitled his play, there is no exit. The remit of this review, like all Eater at the Movies, is how food plays into the show. In this case, all of Emily in Paris’s ineptitude can be refracted through the show’s boulangerie, brasserie, and bistro, which, like every other aspect of the city, is simplified into inane simulacra, a fetishized form whose richness and texture has been stripped away through Instagram filters and the willful trite presuppositions, not to mention arrogance and cupidity, of the titular character, Emily.
Though the series bursts with an admixture of Parisian errata and cliche, the first true food moment doesn’t pertain to Paris at all but to Chicago, the former home of Emily Cooper, the social media manager hero (with fewer than 50 Instagram followers?) who has left the Windy City for the City of Light. Upon meeting her boss’s boss at the Parisian marketing firm to which she has been assigned, the man says, apropos her home city, “I know Chicago. I’ve had the deep-dish pizza there.” Emily begins to say how proud Chicagoans are of it when he interrupts, “It was like a quiche made of cement.” To which Ms. Cooper replies, “You must have eaten at Lou Malnati’s.” There are literally endless fictional pizzerie to slag off. Combine any vowel-heavy chain of syllables and you have a mediocre joke that would land almost exactly the same. And yet, no, Emily in Paris chose Lou Malnati’s, a deep-dish institution in Chicago since 1971. Sure, it’s a chain, but a small one, and there might be (certainly is) better deep-dish pizza out there, but why pick on Lou? This isn’t David versus Goliath as much as Goliath flicking boogers on David, and to what end? In a bid for insider specificity, the series shat on a small business. And if the argument is made that any publicity is good publicity, that simply proves that the inherent ickiness of the character is, sad to say, true to life: that all we have is spectacle.
We are, I think, quite rightly in need of some sort of frothy fantasy. I mean, how many times can you refresh the New York Times or rewatch The Social Dilemma or listen to the next NPR Politics Podcast? But it is equally true that in times as trying as these, which are — and here is a truth out of which we can not wriggle — a consequence of our dysfunction, the hitherto benign escape routes we previously took reveal themselves as not quite as benign as we thought. Would Emily in Paris hit differently if it weren’t also true that we are watching in real time how social media has rendered reality subservient to our easily shared interpretations of it? I dunno, does smoking look so cool on film when your grandfather died of lung cancer? I think not. Despite the beauty Paris has to offer, the show is built on an ugly and insidious premise. Everything is content. Nothing is real unless extruded into a social media algorithm, ratified in its existence by the likes of others. There is no present. There is only post, and posting.
Almost countless times through the first three episodes, Emily and the other characters demonstrate a complete disregard for reality in preference for the platforms of social media (in the show, these posts float on screen, complete with followers and hashtags, like ethereal projections.) Paris isn’t Paris but, as Emily tells her Chicagoan boyfriend while Facetiming as she walks, “The entire city looks like Ratatouille.” Meaning that the character’s entire frame of reference is itself a cartoonish recreation, a copy of a copy of a copy.
In another instance Emily’s friend Mindy Chen, one of the very few people of color to make an appearance in this unrelentingly white show, says, “Have you ever had ris de veau?” to which Emily replies, “Why? What is that, rice with veal?” to which Mindy replies, “That’s what I thought too. I think it’s brains or balls, but it tastes like ass.” As a frequent and fervent eater of ass, I can say affirmatively this is not the case. Ris de veau, which are sweetbreads, are not brains, balls, nor ass, but the thymus. This isn’t Chef’s Table and we don’t need a slow-motion disquisition on it but, for the love of God, would it hurt to close the loop on that in some way so that the error, and yes, defamation of a protein doesn’t stand uncorrected? No, and the reason is that reality doesn’t matter.
Now, it should be mentioned that Emily’s paramour, Gabriel (Lucas Bravo), is a chef; in fact, he is the chef at the bistro at which the ris de veau conversation takes place. He is incredibly handsome. So handsome. Like if Armie Hammer procreated with one of the sturdier barricades in Les Mis — Gabriel would be the gorgeous offspring. I mean, even though I’m quite upset about this true excrescence while contemplating his torso and face, I’m filled with jouissance, with all its Barthesian overtones of orgasmic joy. And I guess the contemplation of his beauty has put me in a good mood too, because honestly the acting throughout the series is really strong and Paris’s beauty does emerge from the shitshow unscathed and even if the boulangerie are nothing but blank parodies of themselves and the scenes within them are riddled with continuity errors, to see such vast array of batards, baguettes, pains au chocolat, croissants, and brioche is enormously pleasurable. But anyway, as angelic as he is, Gabriel can’t save this carnival of fart smell.
Look, there is smart-dumb and dumb-dumb and the archetype of an ingenue American in Paris is well-trod territory both in the hands of Star himself (viz. the “An American Girl in Paris” episodes of Sex in the City) as well as by luminaries such as Godard in A Bout de Souffle. Sometimes a naif from the Midwest is a divine fool, recognizing truths unseen by those accustomed to them. But Emily in Paris is dumb-dumb. That is to say, the show is silly in ways that I can’t imagine they meant to be. Consider the croissant. At one point, as an indicator of Emily’s rapier wit, she takes a picture of a gaggle of French women, fresh from spinning, enjoying a post-workout smoke. “#Frenchworkout #Smokin’bodies” she writes in a judge-y Instagram caption. Unremarked upon is the fact that Emily, still clad in her running outfit (which reveals, it might be noted, a totes shredded six pack), is holding a croissant — which is totally fine, but an indulgence all the same. This falls into a pattern that presents paradoxes without comment and which seem sloppy rather than provocative. The most egregious example, I think, takes place at the bistro where, unbeknownst to Emily, her potential new boyfriend Gabriel works as head chef. In a trope as well done as a Shake Shack patty, she sends her steak back, complaining it is undercooked. This is then followed by a brief very American diatribe about how, in America, the customer is always right. Is she supposed to be ridiculous or relatable? At any rate, the steak is sent back to the kitchen and then presented almost immediately with the predictable reply that the meat is cooked as the meat should be cooked. Emily is on the edge of advocating for herself when she catches sight of Angel Gabriel and, in an act again of unremarked-upon deflation, quickly backtracks to say the steak is perfect as it is. What are we left with but an increasingly futile hope that this is all pretext for a massive late-season volta in which Emily, like Oedipus or Creon, realizes her shortcomings, gouges out her eyes, and exiles herself to the periphery? No, this fantasy holds as little promise in Emily in Paris as it does in Washington, D.C.
There’s an early scene when Emily first meets her new best friend, Mindy, who is working as an au pair despite (or in spite of) her familial wealth. In this scene, the pair are sitting in a Parisian park and Mindy’s charges, two towheaded French children, are playing by a fountain. Without asking, Emily snaps and shares a picture of the kid to her account @emilyinparis, demonstrating her growing habit of photographing and Instagramming people without their consent. In this instance, I got so mad I had to get up and do a lap around my living room. What irked me so much was that taking a picture, let alone sharing it, of minors is so fucked up and, as it happens, illegal according to France’s Penal Code (Sec 226.1) and yet here passes without mention as if it were de rigueur. The gesture takes something beautiful and alive and, with an unthinking sense of entitlement, pins it like a dead monarch for the display and edification of others, imprisoning it behind hashtag bars and digested in the maw of a rapacious feed. And this gesture, which is essentially one of disrespect, is at the heart of every line, in every bite of every morsel of every meal that is served in Emily in Paris. To see something you know is beautiful made to bow in order to enter through the narrow aperture of idiocy makes one lose one’s appetite. Sure, Paris is a city of lights, of beauty, of love and, yes, croissants. But the more you love Paris, which is to say, the more you love life, with all its complexity, nuance and agenda- and metric-defying splendour, the more you’ll find Emily in Paris unpalatable, if not downright degueulasse.
Joshua David Stein is the co-author of the forthcoming Nom Wah Tea Parlor and Il Buco Essentials: Stories & Recipes cookbooks and the memoir Notes from a Young Black Chef with Kwame Onwuachi. He is the author of the six children’s books, most recently The Invisible Alphabet, with illustrations by Ron Barrett. Follow him on Instagram at @joshuadavidstein.
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Tumblr media
Courtesy of Netflix
Among the Netflix series’s set pieces are a boulangerie, a brasserie, and a bistro, which represent Paris as artlessly as the show’s American protagonist
Democracy in the United States is either in its death throes or just a very painful midlife crisis. We’re a country led by a very sick, very silly old man. Meanwhile, a non-ideological virus is metastasizing thanks to ideological idiocy, and a fly is the star of the vice presidential debates since it is slightly more meme-able than systemic racism. Meanwhile, I’m trying to decide whether to pay for COBRA or child care. Recession turns deeper, expressions turn dire. Sartre looks like a Hallmark card. And amid all this chaos, more chaos: Netflix releases Emily in Paris.
What could have been, and should have been, a blissful escapist confection, the Darren Star — he of Sex in the City and Younger — production is instead a croissant of poop and pee that proves, as Sartre entitled his play, there is no exit. The remit of this review, like all Eater at the Movies, is how food plays into the show. In this case, all of Emily in Paris’s ineptitude can be refracted through the show’s boulangerie, brasserie, and bistro, which, like every other aspect of the city, is simplified into inane simulacra, a fetishized form whose richness and texture has been stripped away through Instagram filters and the willful trite presuppositions, not to mention arrogance and cupidity, of the titular character, Emily.
Though the series bursts with an admixture of Parisian errata and cliche, the first true food moment doesn’t pertain to Paris at all but to Chicago, the former home of Emily Cooper, the social media manager hero (with fewer than 50 Instagram followers?) who has left the Windy City for the City of Light. Upon meeting her boss’s boss at the Parisian marketing firm to which she has been assigned, the man says, apropos her home city, “I know Chicago. I’ve had the deep-dish pizza there.” Emily begins to say how proud Chicagoans are of it when he interrupts, “It was like a quiche made of cement.” To which Ms. Cooper replies, “You must have eaten at Lou Malnati’s.” There are literally endless fictional pizzerie to slag off. Combine any vowel-heavy chain of syllables and you have a mediocre joke that would land almost exactly the same. And yet, no, Emily in Paris chose Lou Malnati’s, a deep-dish institution in Chicago since 1971. Sure, it’s a chain, but a small one, and there might be (certainly is) better deep-dish pizza out there, but why pick on Lou? This isn’t David versus Goliath as much as Goliath flicking boogers on David, and to what end? In a bid for insider specificity, the series shat on a small business. And if the argument is made that any publicity is good publicity, that simply proves that the inherent ickiness of the character is, sad to say, true to life: that all we have is spectacle.
We are, I think, quite rightly in need of some sort of frothy fantasy. I mean, how many times can you refresh the New York Times or rewatch The Social Dilemma or listen to the next NPR Politics Podcast? But it is equally true that in times as trying as these, which are — and here is a truth out of which we can not wriggle — a consequence of our dysfunction, the hitherto benign escape routes we previously took reveal themselves as not quite as benign as we thought. Would Emily in Paris hit differently if it weren’t also true that we are watching in real time how social media has rendered reality subservient to our easily shared interpretations of it? I dunno, does smoking look so cool on film when your grandfather died of lung cancer? I think not. Despite the beauty Paris has to offer, the show is built on an ugly and insidious premise. Everything is content. Nothing is real unless extruded into a social media algorithm, ratified in its existence by the likes of others. There is no present. There is only post, and posting.
Almost countless times through the first three episodes, Emily and the other characters demonstrate a complete disregard for reality in preference for the platforms of social media (in the show, these posts float on screen, complete with followers and hashtags, like ethereal projections.) Paris isn’t Paris but, as Emily tells her Chicagoan boyfriend while Facetiming as she walks, “The entire city looks like Ratatouille.” Meaning that the character’s entire frame of reference is itself a cartoonish recreation, a copy of a copy of a copy.
In another instance Emily’s friend Mindy Chen, one of the very few people of color to make an appearance in this unrelentingly white show, says, “Have you ever had ris de veau?” to which Emily replies, “Why? What is that, rice with veal?” to which Mindy replies, “That’s what I thought too. I think it’s brains or balls, but it tastes like ass.” As a frequent and fervent eater of ass, I can say affirmatively this is not the case. Ris de veau, which are sweetbreads, are not brains, balls, nor ass, but the thymus. This isn’t Chef’s Table and we don’t need a slow-motion disquisition on it but, for the love of God, would it hurt to close the loop on that in some way so that the error, and yes, defamation of a protein doesn’t stand uncorrected? No, and the reason is that reality doesn’t matter.
Now, it should be mentioned that Emily’s paramour, Gabriel (Lucas Bravo), is a chef; in fact, he is the chef at the bistro at which the ris de veau conversation takes place. He is incredibly handsome. So handsome. Like if Armie Hammer procreated with one of the sturdier barricades in Les Mis — Gabriel would be the gorgeous offspring. I mean, even though I’m quite upset about this true excrescence while contemplating his torso and face, I’m filled with jouissance, with all its Barthesian overtones of orgasmic joy. And I guess the contemplation of his beauty has put me in a good mood too, because honestly the acting throughout the series is really strong and Paris’s beauty does emerge from the shitshow unscathed and even if the boulangerie are nothing but blank parodies of themselves and the scenes within them are riddled with continuity errors, to see such vast array of batards, baguettes, pains au chocolat, croissants, and brioche is enormously pleasurable. But anyway, as angelic as he is, Gabriel can’t save this carnival of fart smell.
Look, there is smart-dumb and dumb-dumb and the archetype of an ingenue American in Paris is well-trod territory both in the hands of Star himself (viz. the “An American Girl in Paris” episodes of Sex in the City) as well as by luminaries such as Godard in A Bout de Souffle. Sometimes a naif from the Midwest is a divine fool, recognizing truths unseen by those accustomed to them. But Emily in Paris is dumb-dumb. That is to say, the show is silly in ways that I can’t imagine they meant to be. Consider the croissant. At one point, as an indicator of Emily’s rapier wit, she takes a picture of a gaggle of French women, fresh from spinning, enjoying a post-workout smoke. “#Frenchworkout #Smokin’bodies” she writes in a judge-y Instagram caption. Unremarked upon is the fact that Emily, still clad in her running outfit (which reveals, it might be noted, a totes shredded six pack), is holding a croissant — which is totally fine, but an indulgence all the same. This falls into a pattern that presents paradoxes without comment and which seem sloppy rather than provocative. The most egregious example, I think, takes place at the bistro where, unbeknownst to Emily, her potential new boyfriend Gabriel works as head chef. In a trope as well done as a Shake Shack patty, she sends her steak back, complaining it is undercooked. This is then followed by a brief very American diatribe about how, in America, the customer is always right. Is she supposed to be ridiculous or relatable? At any rate, the steak is sent back to the kitchen and then presented almost immediately with the predictable reply that the meat is cooked as the meat should be cooked. Emily is on the edge of advocating for herself when she catches sight of Angel Gabriel and, in an act again of unremarked-upon deflation, quickly backtracks to say the steak is perfect as it is. What are we left with but an increasingly futile hope that this is all pretext for a massive late-season volta in which Emily, like Oedipus or Creon, realizes her shortcomings, gouges out her eyes, and exiles herself to the periphery? No, this fantasy holds as little promise in Emily in Paris as it does in Washington, D.C.
There’s an early scene when Emily first meets her new best friend, Mindy, who is working as an au pair despite (or in spite of) her familial wealth. In this scene, the pair are sitting in a Parisian park and Mindy’s charges, two towheaded French children, are playing by a fountain. Without asking, Emily snaps and shares a picture of the kid to her account @emilyinparis, demonstrating her growing habit of photographing and Instagramming people without their consent. In this instance, I got so mad I had to get up and do a lap around my living room. What irked me so much was that taking a picture, let alone sharing it, of minors is so fucked up and, as it happens, illegal according to France’s Penal Code (Sec 226.1) and yet here passes without mention as if it were de rigueur. The gesture takes something beautiful and alive and, with an unthinking sense of entitlement, pins it like a dead monarch for the display and edification of others, imprisoning it behind hashtag bars and digested in the maw of a rapacious feed. And this gesture, which is essentially one of disrespect, is at the heart of every line, in every bite of every morsel of every meal that is served in Emily in Paris. To see something you know is beautiful made to bow in order to enter through the narrow aperture of idiocy makes one lose one’s appetite. Sure, Paris is a city of lights, of beauty, of love and, yes, croissants. But the more you love Paris, which is to say, the more you love life, with all its complexity, nuance and agenda- and metric-defying splendour, the more you’ll find Emily in Paris unpalatable, if not downright degueulasse.
Joshua David Stein is the co-author of the forthcoming Nom Wah Tea Parlor and Il Buco Essentials: Stories & Recipes cookbooks and the memoir Notes from a Young Black Chef with Kwame Onwuachi. He is the author of the six children’s books, most recently The Invisible Alphabet, with illustrations by Ron Barrett. Follow him on Instagram at @joshuadavidstein.
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Duck face and other new words added to
 Duck face and other new words added to
Duck face and other new words added to OxfordDictionaries.com
Try not to be jel, but some xlnt new words have gone into OxfordDictionaries.com in December’s mahoosive update. Whether you’re a shiny bum reading this while eating al desko or taking a break while you respawn, don’t be a keyboard warrior or say IDC – just sit back and enjoy the new words. Simples.
Slang and abbreviations
As usual, popular culture and slang have seen plenty of new additions in the Oxford Dictionaries update, including duck face, simples, choon, fone, handsy, xlnt, and Canadian tuxedo.
Want to describe how attractive you think someone is? This update sees the inclusion of the antonyms hawt (an informal respelling of hot). That person may even be your man crush (a ‘typically non-sexual liking or admiration felt by one man for another’) or someone who is your catnip; the word has long been another name for the catmint, but its effect on cats has led to the figurative sense ‘someone or something that is very attractive or appealing to a particular person or group’.
Several abbreviations have also been added, with their popularity growing partly due to the space-saving demands of social media. These include tomoz (‘tomorrow’), jel (‘jealous’), IDC (I don’t care), PMSL (p–ing myself laughing), WRT (with reference to), PMQs (Prime Minister’s Questions), and MAMIL (middle-aged man in Lycra, said of certain keen road cyclists). On the other hand, the term mahoosive offers an aptly longer version of the existing word massive, perhaps blended with a phonetic respelling of the first letters of huge.
The language of food is always a fruitful area for vocabulary, and additions include arancini, cavatelli, cappellacci, trofie, parm, queso, guanciale, izakaya, and food diary.
Of more interest to students everywhere, there is now an entry in OxfordDictionaries.com for the five-second rule: ‘a notional rule stating that food which has been dropped on the ground will still be uncontaminated with bacteria and therefore safe to eat if it is retrieved within five seconds’. Sadly the operative word in that definition is notional (‘existing as or based on a suggestion, estimate, or theory; not existing in reality’). A caution worth heeding is demonstrated by another addition: food-borne. The adjective is used of a disease, meaning ‘carried by or transmitted through contaminated food’.
More pleasantly, the term al desko has also been added – a play on al fresco (for food eaten outside, literally ‘in the fresh (air)’ in Italian), it is an adjective and adverb denoting food eaten ‘while working at one’s desk in an office’.
Games and technology
The world of technology has, unsurprisingly, provided new vocabulary for this quarter’s update – including camel case, SD card, soft key, digital footprint, keyboard warrior, and a new sense of fire hose (or firehose): no longer simply a hosepipe used to extinguish fires, this word also refers (in computing) to ‘an unfiltered, real-time stream of data produced by a social media website or other online service’.
Outdoor, indoor, and virtual games have all contributed terms to this update. Tiki-taka, total football, and pickleball have taken their place in OxfordDictionaries.com, as have respawn (of a character in a video game, ‘reappear after having been killed’), and permadeath (‘a situation in which a character in a video game cannot reappear after having been killed’). Then there’s park the bus in football (that is, soccer), meaning to ‘play in a very defensive way’. It is typically said of an away team, and comes from the metaphor of parking the team bus in front of the goal.
Perhaps the most amusing addition, and one indicative of the spirit of certain parts of the Internet, is lolcat (or LOLcat): ‘a photograph of a cat accompanied by a humorous caption written typically in a misspelled and grammatically incorrect version of English’ – from a combination of lol (‘laugh out loud’ or ‘laughing out loud’) and cat.
The opinions and other information contained in OxfordWords blog posts and comments do not necessarily reflect the opinions or positions of Oxford University Press.
December 3 / 2014
What do we love about new words?
The lexicographers at Oxford Dictionaries keep watch on our collective .
The Oxford Dictionaries Word of the Year 2014 is ‘vape’
As 2014 draws to a close, it’s time to announce the Oxford .
You are far to quick to include words that you consider to be the latest ‘buzzwords’.
These will come and go and when they have gone you will look foolish.
The man on the ‘Clapham omnibus’ isn’t using them and hasn’t even heard of them.
You are simply clogging up the language with rubbish.
We can all get along by using basic simple English.
It’s time that we had an Academy like the French and Spanish to protect our language and prevent dross creeping in.
I agree; we really need to get back to basics. Let’s start with learning the difference between to, too and two.
All I can say is how thankful I am that Oxford Dictionaries waited until we had a mature, responsible, disciplined, perceptive, open-minded, and understanding population before what would otherwise be a cheap attempt to gain relevance among young, naive, reckless, irresponsible, self-absorbed and arrogant young people who may not grow to adulthood until well into their thirties (sadly, they think this is automatic at age 18, but this only has legal significance regarding what is expected; a well-known expression with a slight tweak does a good job showing the difference: if you call a child an adult, does that make him so? I’ll mention the chair, too: A chair has four legs. A dog has four legs. If I call a chair a dog, does that make it a dog? Similarly, if nation chooses a person to be president, but this person chooses to symbolically urinate on the document that defines this country, its government, and is the sole source of a president’s authority, thereby choosing to NOT fulfill the role of president, which is well-defined should any of this country’s “as long as I get what I want, who cares how” believers learn to read – and hopefully NOT using a dictionary from Oxford Dictionaries that has been amended with non-sensical words that, should these people use them in, say, a rational debate as opposed to an hysterical frenzy of insecurity, would be cause to postpone the debate until the group that cannot effectively communicate can find a representative who would likely teach this group new words like specious, spurious, and self-centered before telling the group that what it’s feeling is called humiliation, which can be avoided by the process named by another new word, thinking (specifically, of others, of one’s nation, of why a nation, a government should be made weaker or irrelevant and almost half of its population sentenced to 8 years of being ignored, insulted, and taunted by the person who was elected to be president but, since a president does not do the things this person does and – more importantly, this person deliberately or carelessly does not do the things that are defined as the duties and responsibilities of any person who is president
That’s just some brilliant satire right there.
Way to assist in the dumbing down of America. I weep for the future.
I wonder if Oxford Dictionaries has an entry for “drama queen.”
To stellabystarlite. It was just a hasty typo.(too hasty)
Looking at the other two posts, it would appear that the opinion was well received.
What a bag of weirdness. I read and use the Internet a lot and I’ve never even run across 2/3rds of these. I’m guessing that many of these are ephemera used in tweeting or similar special, informal use. And shabby chic is a trademark.
Scientists have asserted that there is some actual truth to the five-second rule that Oxford calls “notional”: Wikipedia mentions a 2006 study that showed that minute-long contact between food and floor increased contamination over a five-scond contact, about tenfold with tile and carpet surfaces (only).
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mozgoderina · 7 years
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MARTIN PURYEAR: Multiple Dimensions
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Internationally recognized, well exhibited, and critically acclaimed sculptor Martin Puryear currently has a fantastic show of drawings and prints on view at the Art Institute of Chicago. (An iteration of this show was at the Morgan Library through January 10, 2016.) The works included in this tightly curated exhibition span the artist’s career, from his time in Sierra Leone in the early-mid ’60s to a recent batch of etchings.
In laying out the show roughly chronologically, the curators create a fluidity that the Morgan version lacked, allowing the viewer to track Puryear’s progress from a fine draftsman to a respected sculptor. Multiple Dimensions succeeds because it presents these works, many of which have not previously made it out of Puryear’s studio, as more than sketches that simply register the development of a sculpture realizing its final form. Rather, the exhibition gives the works on paper critical attention, links the concerns embedded in them to those of his sculptures, and demonstrates the breadth and depth of Puryear’s inquiry into how organic, abstract forms can resonate politically.
On the first wall of the show hangs a cluster of drawings, mostly in ink and mostly with line, that demonstrate Puryear’s early dedication to close looking. After college, Puryear joined the Peace Corps to teach French, English, and biology in Sierra Leone, one of two countries in West Africa where American slaves had been repatriated. Puryear refused to take a camera because he didn’t want what he was seeing to be filtered through its lens.[1] Instead, he drew what he saw—houses, figures, animals, foliage—with a confident thin line, hatched shadows and delicate ink washes, sometimes adding brief, written captions like “grass roofed house in area across from our house.” These are drawings Puryear has kept in his various studios (in Williamsburg in the ’70s, Chicago in the ’80s, and the Hudson Valley currently) for decades, drawings he made before he realized he was a sculptor.
They are interesting not only in that they are beautiful, delicate and well-composed, but also because they anticipate the formal interests that crop up repeatedly throughout his career: how things are constructed, how texture and surface—of skin, grass, thatch, and cloth—vary. The tight grip of Joseph Momoh’s hands (Untitled (Joseph Momoh), 1965) foreshadows the attention Puryear would give to his joinery. In the oval forms that comprise Gbago’s neck and the cactus (Gbago, 1966, and Cacti, 1965), we see Puryear looking both to document his surroundings and to understand how parts fit together. The drawings reveal how the Adam’s apple meets the neck skin, how the plant’s tubercles protrude from its spine, how the beetle’s legs attach to the stomach (Rhinoceros-Beetle—Female, 1965). In his sitters’ casual poses and frank gazes, these drawings expose the familiarity that Puryear cultivated with the community he was teaching and living, the Mende. These drawings are rooted in that time and in that place, which Puryear has called, in a 2016 conversation with Theaster Gates,“one of the most important experiences I could have had […] to finish college, go into the Peace Corps, and live among people who lived in the place, the part of the world that stamped me, as a black American.”[2]
Indeed, after leaving Sierra Leone to study at the Royal Academy in Sweden, Puryear made a number of prints that reworked the drawings he made in Africa. Modifying these images to make Gbow’s Gard (1966) and Gbago, Puryear added further compositional complexity and subtle tonal gradation. As a result, these prints—which resemble beautiful postcards—have a higher level of finish than the drawings. Alongside the prints that register his memory of Sierra Leone, Puryear made etchings of different architectural structures that are rooted in reality—in actual, monumental forms that Puryear transposed onto copper and then onto paper: Belltower, Stonehenge I, Stonehenge II, and Gate (all 1966).
In 1967, something new happened in Puryear’s work. The monumental became the archetypal. Puryear subsumed the real, architectural forms he had transposed into rounded mounds: Zig (1966 – 67) and Klot (1967). The thatched roof of the Mende huts was incorporated as a zigzag pattern; it lost its site specificity but kept its textural sensuality. Both Zig and Klot required multiple steps to achieve the final image and demonstrate Puryear’s dedication to craft, to the precise execution of the technical, and often finicky, process of printmaking. In using two plates for Zig and four plates for Quadroon (1966 – 67), Puryear broke away from the rectangular format that drawing and etching expect. Image and form converged; abstraction became Puryear’s language.
In titling this evocative piece Quadroon, Puryear acknowledged the social connotations of the image he made. He arranged three blush colored plates and a black plate around a diamond of blank paper, at once evocative of an orifice and an acknowledgement of the complexity of racial categorization. After all, “quadroon” was a widely popular term used to refer to an individual who had one black grandparent and three white ones. It is interesting that this piece came after his time in Sierra Leone, a time when a shift in context might have allowed him to recognize how deeply, yet how falsely, the binary of black and white exists in the American conception of race, how society has developed terminology dedicated to the classification that helps keep that hierarchy entrenched.[3] Throughout his career, Puryear has often used titles like this to hint, subtly or overtly, at the so-called “content” of the work; yet his art never feels illustrative of an idea. Rather, it is suggestive and deeply personal; the title functions as an ex post facto name in which Puryear makes textual a feeling or idea he sees in the piece.
In its selection of drawings, Multiple Dimensions suggests that Puryear’s drawing practice anticipates his sculpture not only in that it often provides a carpenter’s guide for what he must execute, but as a way for him to find his forms. In preparatory drawings, Puryear works in two dimensions, looking to the third. His drawings speak to a future thing that will exist beyond the paper, in our space. But, in some drawings, we see Puryear repeating himself to find the forms that will reappear in his sculpture. These drawings register discovery. In a charcoal drawing from 1990, “Drawing for Untitled,” he makes an elongated head and neck form, reminiscent of a Fang Mask, a Brancusi sculpture, and a drinking vessel. This elegant, evocative form informs many of his later sculptures, such as Bearing Witness (installed 1997), which stands outside the Ronald Reagan Building in Washington DC, and Guardian Stone (2002), which was commissioned to sit outside TV Asahi’s headquarters in Tokyo. Many of Puryear’s commissioned sculptures use large formats so that the piece’s scale is divorced from its source, abstracting the thing and making it just unrecognizable enough to surprise. Puryear’s drawings, too, often feel bigger than their actual size. And here, Puryear demonstrates his accomplished sense of how to manipulate space, whether that is the plane of the paper or the places where he installs his public sculpture.
The final selection of works is perhaps the most exciting and illuminating in demonstrating the sustained process by which Puryear makes drawings and etchings to discover his forms and then uses drawing to plan their construction. In 2003, Puryear made two graphite drawings, both titled Drawing for Untitled. The smaller one renders a shaded, three-dimensional form—shaped almost like an elephant’s seated body—that curves to leave a key-shape opening. The larger flattens this form to reveal a cross-sectional slice, which looks to be made of stacked wood or stone. In two other Drawing from Untitled also from 2003, Puryear adds two more holes and softens any sharp edges. He elaborates on these forms in a more complex drawing, Untitled (2003), made with charcoal and conté crayon, so that the textures of the drawing suggest the material of the sculpture he seems to be planning. In 2012, Puryear made an etching of this more complicated form, suggesting cogs in some kind of machine. On view are two maquettes, Untitled, Maquette for Deichman Library, Oslo (2013), and Shackled (2014). The latter’s title, along with its prominent cuff, presages the forty-foot wooden sculpture Puryear plans to install in Madison Square Park in May 2016. More than a decade in development, this sculpture, crowned with an oversized gold shackle, will function as a temporary and hugely visible memorial to the slave trade so important to the growth of New York City.
Endnotes. [1] Mark Pascale and Ruth Fine, Martin Puryear: Multiple Dimensions. (Yale University Press, 2015): 33. [2] “Artist Conversation: Martin Puryear and Theaster Gates.” The Art Institute of Chicago (February 4, 2016) 30’27’’ https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_LVmdOrC91c [3] Ibid. 37’50’’
  Source: The Brooklyn Rail / Kate Liebman. Link: MARTIN PURYEAR: Multiple Dimensions Illustration: Martin Puryear [USA] (b 1941). 'Untitled (State 1)', 2016. Intaglio in 3 colors on Hahnemuhle Bright White paper with deckled edge (104 x 101.5 cm). Moderator: ART HuNTER.
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memozing · 4 years
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rou5a-blog · 5 years
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Djerba was a curious start of a road trip around Tunisia, it turned out it is a rich little island with a lot of tradition, it was also pretty raw. And it was puzzling how intact it remained despite the flood of tourists who come in the summer to relax.
Accessing Djerba
While planning the itinerary the goal was to minimize driving time and win a day.  The trip theoretically  would take 7 hours on GPS which meant 12 in reality. That’s mainly because of the lack of real highways, most of the roads connecting the cities are bidirectional roads with only two lanes with no separators, means you are subject to rush hours, dangers like people or animals crossing the street or other drivers trying to pass the traffic ahead, the roads are not straight either, there are many curves except on Douz-Tozeur road which also meant we had to avoid night driving.
Anyhow, we decided to book a local flight, it was not fun to drive in the capital and my rental car (check my recommendation here) was waiting for in Djerba’s airport. The rental cost, fuel, a lost day and my spinal health seemed more expensive than a “less than one hour” flight. And actually it was cheaper if I we were two…You could also directly fly to Djerba from Europe. Look for great offers in those sites: Flyin ,Expedia,Trip
Tip: Use these sites for information on best deals and timings but book directly from the airline official site as it gives you more flexibility and you don’t pay a commission.
The car matters because Djerba is small, you can tour it in a day but it has many points of interest, it offers you a lot more in terms of what you see and when to stop. I am a car rental addict, I used to reject the responsibility but a few years back by pure luck in Jordan I got hooked.
The majestic island of traditions
In case you’d like to do it differently, there are points of access to the island one through the ferry from Jorf that drops you in Ajim which is around 20 kms from houmt souq in the north which is where I recommend you to stay. And looking at the map that gives you an idea on the size of the island.
The other access point is through the historical “Chaussee romaine” that extends along 12 kilometers between El Kantara and the road to Zarzis. Djerba is a special island as the water is shallow all around it, so the Romans strategically placed an amount of stones to form a pathway linking the island to the mainland built mainly for commercial purposes. The road lasted from the 2nd century till today. So you should at least pass by there once, it feels like you have become part of the story.
A decent 12 KM 2 way road, if only Tunisians were patient drivers…!
  Accomodation
Now I’ve mentioned that it’s recommended to stay in Houmt Souq, cause this is where you can easily find accommodation, restaurants and above all it has the souk (market) for local crafts, food, also the traditional fish market. There is also a huge tradition museum that is very informative and explains a lot of what you see, architectures, beaches, port and a roman castle.
One of Houmt Souq mosques in the old medina…Sidi Ibrahim
It’s also easy to stay in a hyped tourist area on the eastern part of the Island because this is where you’ll find the beaches. . I personally stayed in a traditional Djerbi house owned by a french guy who’s married and settled in Tunisia, it’s called Dar Sema and all rooms were equipped with a kitchenette not to mentioned the quality of the furniture, bedding and service. You can find similar experiences in Booking and Expedia.
We had to keep the memory of the place, it was one of the best we had in Tunisia…
Djerbi  Attractions
Cultural experiences (Live the Djerbi tradition):
There’s a lovely feeling of diversity cause despite the strict tradition and raw nature of the place, people accept differences. In terms of religion, there are plenty of mosques built in a simple and attractive architectural style. There is a couple of churches for foreigners that are only open during service as well as a major Jewish community, the largest one of the most vibrant in North Africa.
Saint Joseph Catholic church in Houmt Souq
Djerba is the home of one of the largest and msot vibrant jewish communities in North Africa..
Djemaa in Djerba
El Ghriba synagogue hosts hundreds of pilgrims gather for the Lag B’Omer festival in spring time, and they are not the only one to celebrate…
The oldest synagogue in North Africa…
The evidence of diversity is how well people from different cultures and background feel living there, despite the attack on the synagogue 10 years ago (the locals refused to talk about it) but they all live in Harmony now. And I quote uncle Mohamed (the palm leaves weaver): ” Alla created us with a beautiful diversity, how do we expect people to think the same way of everything?”
The experienced craftsman is illustrating the steps to make palm leaves articles…
Like I mentioned Djerba sticks to its traditions to a great extent, everything from crafts to food to outfits is explained. Here are the key museums:
Musee de Guellela in Guellela
An extensive museum of social and commercial traditions…
Musee du patrimoine traditionel Djerbien in Houmt Souq
Mainly focused on different professions and locals everyday life…
Local crafts workshop in Houmt Souq
A local hub for traditional crafts …
Biological diversity is also a thing, you’ll find goats, sheep, olive trees wherever you go, you’ll enjoy the diversity of sea life, there is also a zoo that unfortunately was closed during my stay but it’s also an interesting natural reserve on the island.
Fact: the island was not all olive and palm trees, there were apple orchards but somehow the locals lost interest in apples and preserved vegetation to different crops. This you learn at the entrance of the castle of Djerba, it has a great view in addition to some Roman and Islamic relics as the island had a key role strategically and economically in the old days.
Inside view
View from the outside
Ultimately it doesn’t have to be all running around, checking out museums, religious and historical relics. The best you can do is to relax by the sea at sunset or sunrise with or without your favorite drink.
A classic winter sunset in the northern shallow side of Djerba
A foodie’s heaven
Another tradition you gotta observe; the fish auction. All fishermen gather in “souq el hout” (fish market) and offer lines of their fresh catch: what typically happens is that they thread a variety of fish on a thin rope and everyone offers their bid and so on…
He was very proud showing off his line to my lens…
I’ve asked for a few fish only as we wouldn’t be able to eat a full line or store it and they were very generous to give me exactly what I wanted at an excellent rate. Outside the market there are restaurants that would cook your fish and prepare the classical fish sides, like the “harissa” “eggs with peppers salad” and so on…I recommend Chez Hanini.
Spicy green chili
The delicious fresh fish right off the hook
The fish market
Then you need to try the original Djerbi specialties like the Djerbi Rice (the spices and different aromas make it heavenly) or Couscous, the Ojja with Merguez (eggs with merguez sliced and dipped in a red sauce)…
Rouz Jerbi
Egg salad
Harissa (chili paste)
Ojja Merguez
Couscous with Lamb
Egg plant and harissa salad
You can eat the “Rouz Jerbi” in el Medina restaurant, it had the most enticing flavors, you can also check le Berbere for a fast meal. Do not miss out on breakfast at cafe Ben Yedder in the heart of Houmt Souq medina and right in front of the covered market entrance. The location is optimum for relaxing, contemplating, people watching and writing diaries while sipping your coffee and nibbling on your breakfast pastry.
Fresh pastry filled with eggs and tuna, seems weird but it was super delicious with a cafe au lait under the sun…
View From Ben Yedder’s
There is a place for men only in the park right off of el medina, where we used to sit in the afternoon for some tea and more people watching, mostly elder men activities this time and jobless guys. We were three girls but they were enjoying our co-existence in a friendly manner. One of the waiters though cheated on us as the tea was so cheap but his colleague apologized on his behalf and served us for free the day after, so in case you go one cup of green Tunisian tea there costs 0.5 TND.
The sweet strange looking traditional green tea of Tunisia…
Shopping and Local crafts
We regretted not buying local crafts from the market there, we thought everything would be available in Tunis Medina which was true to an extent but they didn’t have same quality or variety in terms of traditional clothes, Pottery, palm leave crafts or leather. Mostly traditional clothes and pottery…There are few spice specialties also like dried fish that you reduce into powder while making soup as well dried red chilis.
Dried anchovies/ sardines
red chili
covered souq
Local crafts workshop
There is a space that used to be the “Medina hotel” where traders used to stay during their commercial travels that is now a local crafts and artisans workshop.
if you’d like to book your itinerary through a tour operator, Adventoro and Trip Guru seem to offer good deals.
The sea side in Houmt Souq…
    Djerba: The island of tradition… Djerba was a curious start of a road trip around Tunisia, it turned out it is a rich little island with a lot of tradition, it was also pretty raw.
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morapandora · 6 years
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Happy new year everyone! 🌟 Today’s post rings in the new year with my monthly news round-up, with all the details on what’s coming up for January 2018 – we have the Valentine’s  Day and Chinese New Year 2018 collection launches, some Disney Parks updates, info on the next Pandora Disney UK release, and more! 🌈
I hope you all had a lovely time celebrating (or not celebrating) the new year! We cooked a nice dinner with family, and then spent the evening playing Pictionary, learning how to play poker and watching The IT Crowd. 😊
I apologise again to anyone who was disappointed by the Pandora SS18 sneak peeks being removed. I hope to be in discussion with Pandora about this soon, and will provide an update when I can. I’ve read through and appreciate, as always, all your interesting and thoughtful comments, but will hold off my responses for the time being.
In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this round-up!
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Pandora Valentine’s 2018 collection release
The main event for this month is the launch of the Pandora Valentine’s 2018 collection. The collection has had mixed reviews from collectors, and features a set of lip-themed jewellery alongside the usual hearts and pinks. It’s due to launch on 11 January – and you can see a full preview if you look through the Pandora Valentine’s Day 2018 tag.
In the meantime, I have some live images to show you! The first comes from Pandora’s official Instagram, offering a rather pretty look at the new charm bracelet coming out:
#DOCelebrate love this year with this new padlock-inspired bracelet, available in stores and online soon. Its eye-catching, detachable heart clasp makes a foolproof combo with love-inspired charms and dangles. #PANDORABracelet #DOPANDORA
A post shared by PANDORA (@theofficialpandora) on Jan 1, 2018 at 1:09am PST
These next are courtesy of tiedyedeb – I’ve picked a selection out here, but there are more if you follow the link. 🙂
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
Image by tiedyedeb
The Pandora Club charm for 2018 is also making its debut alongside the Valentine’s 2018 collection. We have a great collection of live shots of the charm from all angles, courtesy of Lady G Forty. As usual, it comes in a heart-shaped box, stamped with the year.
Image by Lady G Forty
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Pandora Chinese New Year 2018 release
As is tradition, Pandora are also putting out a special release in honour of the lunar new year. This year, we’re being treated to two new dangle charms – you can see a full preview here.
We have this cute live shot of the two charms, thanks to Sha! The charms strike me as being quite representative of ‘old’ and ‘new’ Pandora: the figure, with its two-tone and red enamel, being more in keeping with existing CNY charms; and the heart, with its sparkly pink CZs, more in line with newer Pandora collections.
I’m told that these will be available in North America and Australia/New Zealand, but not the UK. 😦 I am in love with the little God of Fortune and so I’ll definitely be getting him to go on my red Asian-themed bracelet:
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Pandora Disney Cruise gift set
There’s a new Disney cruise exclusive Pandora gift set available, including an engraved version of the Frosty Mint shimmer murano, the Cruise ship dangle charm and a Disney version of the usual engravable pavé button charm. This features a sailor Mickey Mouse on one side, and the Disney cruise logo on the other.
We have a couple of beautiful close-up images of the charms included in the set, thanks to Mark Scott.
Image by Mark Scott
The set is available for $225 USD. The murano even has the copyright symbol next to Disney, which tickles me for some reason!
Image by Mark Scott
The only stock image I’ve seen so far is this one by @dpantry:
In other news, the 2018 Disney Parks Pandora charm is now available for $75 USD. (I previously previewed this with the Pandora Disney Parks AW17 collection.)
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Pandora Disney UK February 2018 Release
The next Pandora Disney drop for the UK will be in February – there won’t be brand new beads included, but we’ll be catching up on some of the charms that have already made it out in other countries. The new Disney beads will be out on 15 February. 
I don’t have specific details of what charms exactly will be coming out, but I can confirm the characters that will be making an appearance:
Tinker Bell
Winnie the Pooh & friends
Donald & Daisy Duck
Ariel
Snow White (including the Anniversary charm)
Rapunzel’s Dress (but not Maximus! :()
Other princess pieces
I’m told that, once this launch has dropped, our Disney offering in the UK will be pretty much on a par with what’s offered in Australia currently.
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Pandora hallmarking changes
I’m sure every collector is familiar with Pandora’s hallmark: 925 ALE if the charm is 2011 or before, and S925 ALE if the charm originates after that point. However, charms have been cropping up over the past few months with new, unfamiliar hallmarks, and I’ve had a few questions about this. After a little research, I found the following info, courtesy of Dora Melinte. 🙂
This text from a French Pandora brochure explains that additional hallmarks have been added to certain Pandora products to help them pinpoint any quality control issues. The new hallmarks include a range of different symbols:
The text translates as follows:-
As part of our quality control process, we have added different symbols & hallmarks to our products to help us identify manufacturing locations. You will see the following symbols on our products.
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Pandora Winter 2017 sales continue
Winding up the round-up, I wanted to note that many of Pandora’s regional winter sales are still running and will do so for the first week of January in many cases. I’ve listed the details for most of the sales in my previous sales alert post. Pandora US has extended their sale until 7 January, too.
I’m aware that I don’t want much from Valentine’s (if anything) apart from the CNY bead and the Club charm, and so I’ve gone a little bigger on my sales purchases than I might have done otherwise. 😂 After all, I have a little window to absorb my sales spending before March, lol.
I got the red Twinkle murano, the Club charm 2017 and the Koinobori in the US sale. Yes, I finally cracked and got the lovely Koinobori! I’m wanting to put the muranos on my red leather as a complementary design to my main CNY red bracelet.
Then, as my brother is over in Australia again and can be my Pandora mule, I hit that sale too… two Rapunzel muranos for me, and the Lock of Longevity too, neither of which have made it out in the UK thus far.
Finally, in the UK sale, I got the lovely little Wise Owl. I’ve wanted this for such a long time! He’s on my Halloween bracelet. 😀
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Pandora, as told by SNL
Finally, we have a little oddball contribution to this month’s round-up 😶 This SNL skit did the rounds just before Christmas, and I thought it was absolutely hilarious:
(The embarrassing thing is that I think the little coffee cup would be a pretty cute charm 😂)
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My Comment
It’s going to be a bit of a quiet month for me, as I need to hunker down after indulging so much in the sales. ^^ I’m looking forward to seeing all the Valentine’s 2018 pieces in person – I don’t intend on buying anything, but I’m open to being pleasantly surprised by something when I see it in store. The Lock your Promise bracelet is a possibility, although I don’t really need to start a new design.
Have you been sales shopping at all? Are you planning on getting any of this month’s new launches?
Happy new year everyone! Today's post rings in the new year with my Pandora news round-up for January 2018 :) Happy new year everyone! 🌟 Today’s post rings in the new year with my monthly news round-up, with all the details on what’s coming up for January 2018 - we have the Valentine's  Day and Chinese New Year 2018 collection launches, some Disney Parks updates, info on the next Pandora Disney UK release, and more!
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trekaroo · 6 years
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I have always been a fan of the great outdoors. Hiking to magnificent vistas, discovering natural flora and fauna, finding a refreshing stream or lake, and breathing in the fresh air of every season are all magical experiences we have also taught our children to seek. The best way to position yourself to discover all of these nuances of the outdoors is to experience camping.
This is where my love for the outdoors finds a snag. While I really do love camping: the campfires, chilly nights, communing with nature, and cooking on a camp stove, there is one thing I truly hate about camping. Preparation and packing are overwhelming. You need EVERYTHING and there is so much gear! Compounded with the ‘stuff’ of 3 kids and honestly our minivan looks like it belongs on an episode of Hoarders. Once it is all packed then of course we have to find places for it at the site and this is especially cumbersome when we are only going camping for the weekend. Enter Glamping.
I have casually read materials about glamping before but never really understood the significance until recently. In my mind I imagined it to be “glamourous” like those wispy well-appointed safari tents you may have seen pictures of while searching travel options. We recently spent the weekend in the newly opened Huttopia facility in the White Mountains of New Hampshire and learned about a style of glamping that has my attention.
Huttopia: Glamping in the White Mountains of New Hampshire
Huttopia is a French company with many well-loved and well-used campgrounds sprinkled around France and parts of Europe. Recently they have moved their brand of camping into Canada and this June migrated into the US into New Hampshire. Here, I discovered a brand of camping that matches my idea of what glamping should be.
The Campground at Huttopia    
Huttopia has refurbished an existing campground on a lake in Albany, New Hampshire on the eastern end of the White Mountains nearby Conway, New Hampshire. The campground is close enough to the hustle and bustle of the happening towns of Conway and North Conway for those looking for a slice of cosmopolitan New Hampshire, but far enough away to feel a bit remote. Huttopia is set up for tent site campers, cabin lovers, and glamping tenters.
On site there is a brand new heated pool with comfy loungers, a reception area stocked with natural and organic camping necessities along with a few bags of chips and soda, brochures about the area, campfire wood, and some excellent adult beverages including French wine.
From the reception area and its accompanying French music you enter onto the patio which overlooks the pool and a great kids playground with direct access to the food truck that serves quick French style croissants and crepes for breakfast and made to order gourmet pizzas for dinner, just in case you don’t feel like cooking. On the patio there may be entertainment at night. We saw a kid-friendly magic show and listened to a local Irish inspired three-piece-band play some toe-tapping tunes.
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Activities at Huttopia
In addition to evening shows, Huttopia holds kid’s activities in the morning for the 5-12 year-old groups. Kids were invited to go on a scavenger hunt or make crafts. While our children had aged out of these activities we made use of others at the camp and took a ride to nearby activities. Canoes and stand-up paddleboards are located on the beach of the lake and are rented by the hour. At first I thought an hour in the canoe would not be enough time but it was plenty to get across the lake, check out the beaver dams, watch the loons, and soak up the sun a clear New Hampshire morning. There are also several hiking trails on the property.
Off property we got refreshed with a cooling visit to nearby Diana’s Baths. This is a local hotspot with plenty of watering holes with weather eroded rocks, rushing streams, and natural slides. We had been there more than 10 years ago and were surprised by the crowds. My teens had fun getting wet and found the ‘bottomless hole.’
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Our Tent at Huttopia
We stayed in a Trappeur Tent situated on the lake so the first thing we saw in the morning was the sun reflecting off the lake; at night the last thing we saw was steam rising from the warm waters on a chilly evening. The kids had fun looking for critters, fishing, and skimming rocks right from the site. The tent itself was located a two-minute walk from the pool and reception building and in an area where no cars are allowed (a bonus for those with small children and bikes). Other similarly styled tents are located near brooks or in the woods.
Glamping in the Trappeur tent was the best of both worlds. We were camping in a tent, albeit a large one on a platform, with a kitchenette, bathroom and shower, towels, a table with enough room for 5, a rack to hang our clothing, 2 sleeping areas with cozy bedding (a double on one side, a bunk with a double on the other separated by the bath), outlets for lighting and charging, all cookware, glassware and dishes, as well as a French press to make coffee. Outside the tent were a propane stove, lanterns, a picnic table, campfire ring, and chairs. It was heaven. We didn’t have to pack a THING! 
The kitchenette holds a small refrigerator (no need for that cooler) and a basin to wash your dishes. The bathroom, while not at all glamorous, is a tiny room with a toilet, ever-so-tiny shower, and even tinier wash basin. Brushing teeth requires a bit of contortion but no need to leave the tent to find a bathroom or shower in the middle of the night. It was so convenient.
The next time we go I will not pack anything except clothing and toiletries, with the exception of the few extra blankets. Our mini-van will be so roomy!
Know before you go:
You cannot park your car near your Trappeur tent. Parking for the Trappeur tents is a bit of a walk. Carrying your gear can be a bit of a chore but Huttopia does provide wagons to tote the “stuff.” My tip: don’t bring it!
When it is busy there can be a bit of a wait for food at the food truck. Take turns waiting or go early.
There are baby wash areas in the tent only areas.
Trappeur tents are located near the water. It is a good idea to keep this in mind if you have toddlers.
Trappeur tents are very close to each other. This was very difficult for my loud teenagers to understand, especially at night.
Glamping in the Trappeur tent is not for those looking to save money by camping. You are paying for the convenience and experience. The price of our tent during our stay was $195/night.
There is a drying rack available to dry wet articles but not many hooks inside the tent. I am a hook snob.
Thankfully it did not rain on our excursion. I do not know how these tents respond to getting wet.
You should definitely try glamping at Huttopia!
Disclosure: We were hosted as guests of Huttopia USA, however all opinions are my own and I was not required to provide any particular view. All opinions are my own.
Images by Michelle Brennan.
Huttopia: Glamping in the White Mountains of New Hampshire I have always been a fan of the great outdoors. Hiking to magnificent vistas, discovering natural flora and fauna, finding a refreshing stream or lake, and breathing in the fresh air of every season are all magical experiences we have also taught our children to seek.
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INSTASNAP’s Finest User
By Max Barrett.
I wake, but not as eagerly as my alarm. I pull on my pants, hesitating over the open drawer of fresh shirts. I slide the drawer closed after a moment, its inventory undisturbed, and simply throw the jacket over my shoulders. I will return within minutes. My Peugeot 12-speed feels heavier today. I skip every other the step down to the ground floor. The wheels turn smoothly while sleepiness coalesces my own moving parts. Watch says 5:02 AM. I turn over the tasks of my morning in my semiconscious mind: two photos of the Passerelle Debilly Bridge from the East bank and one of the Pont de L'Alma Bridge. I shoot the first from the East bank, and begin uploading it with a caption from my notebook: “Morning run!” I take the other with my second cellphone, and retire to a bench in the 90 seconds that INSTASNAP allows a user to post a photo after it is taken. I watch each upload, and double check the location tag.
I add the first photo to the profile of a regular customer by the name of Buchanan. Buchanan makes travels to Paris on behalf of his knee replacement manufacturing enterprise back in the states. Every few months I receive a letter with the username and a new password to his INSTASNAP account, and an itinerary for his week long business trip. I find time for his several morning runs on the banks of the Seine. Occasionally during these week long stays I receive a call, and in a rough voice I am instructed to come to the L'Hotel du Collectionneur Arc de Triomphe, or the Hotel d'Aubusson. The bellhop wheels my bicycle through lobby as if walking a lion through a dog show. His eyes flick from rug to bike to door to bike to elevator. A stern chofer presses the buttons in the elevator with an elephantine peach thumb, and escorts me to Mr. Buchanan’s room, which is always empty. The chofer directs me to Buchanan’s handwritten instructions to send a direct message to Mrs. Buchanan hinting at a restful night in his own hotel room. I carry out the painfully personal deed with a clouded mind. The smiles of the women of Paris whom Mr. Buchanan is likely in the company of do not leave my mind as I reclaim my bicycle. The direct messages pay well.
The second photo, also a ‘morning run’ service, is for Butch Burter. Butch is the only one of my clients whom I have ever met in person. Standing hardly a meter and half, Butch’s tendency to stand very close in conversation necessitates his rabbit eyes to remain at a cloud gazing angle. He has given me a pair of running sneakers identical to his own, and requires that I feature them in several of the shots. His payments are made in US dollars, exclusively at the back door of his bowling alley. Meeting at the back door seems unnecessary, as he almost always invites me in for a “round on the house.” As soon as he rolls a ball down the alley, (often knocking down every pin) Butch sheds his nervousness and parades around, introducing me to his circle of American expats through friendly back slaps and rib jabs. We speak in English, and he peppers me with “bud” and “my man,” terms weighted with obligation of my continued allegiance. I do not consider Butch a friend, but I believe he has a good soul unlike Buchanan. The last photograph is for a new customer. With the photographs uploaded I return home. The bike feels just as heavy as before. The top frame presses into my shoulder blade. I step through the familiar door. I ignore the old floor’s creaky protests of my movement, while I hang my coat and return to bed. The blankets have cooled. Watch says 5:34 AM. I have made good time, but the relentless second hand catches hold on my gaze and uneasy mind. I avert my eyes, and let the hand sweep off into coming morning as I doze into a dream.
I am drifting through the fog. I cannot tell if the sun is rising or setting. My legs are stiff, but I creep forward like one of Butch’s bowling balls. The waitress from the Café de Flore stands still. I try to warn her of something that creeps along behind me, but I cannot break the iron trance.
The second time I wake to the birds of early spring, the cacophony of the city, and the shouts of Lord Edmund the Ugly.
“Lourdaud paresseux!” he yells, banging on the door. I open the door so he can openly demonstrate his impatience as I search for my wallet, sleepily distracted. I hand him the money. I have enough, and I apologize for my forgetfulness. The more peaceful noises return. I believe the birds find Lord Ed off putting. I open up my notebook. Yesterday's baguette softens in a bowl of café au lait. Notebook says several posts before 12:00 PM.
I ride down the familiar streets of the my beloved city. The warm sun burns away the reminisce of the unsettling dream. The wheels spin light footed with a resonant hum. At this moment I feel sorry for my clients. I am paid to live their notable or simply pleasing moments and leave them with the crumbs! Even worse is that I live them for all the wrong reasons– the photos with meaningless captions. But pity is outside my area of business. I stop at a market to update the profile of Eleanor Montague. Ms. Montague is woman of wealth, somber beauty and loneliness. Her artificial personality is worth 115 Euros a month. Her image is cultivated to allure the digital eyes of young bachelors with daily updates in libraries, book stores, open air markets, and public gardens. It does so with great success, (I must add proudly) yet she winds herself down an eternal spiral of first dates, frustrated and unimpressed. At the Café de Flore I order a croissant and an espresso. At the counter is the waitress whom I have seen walking down my street early in the morning. I sometimes hope that I will run into her on my own morning travels. I pause after thanking her but I am unsure what to say, as always. She smiles and turns away.  
The excellence of this late breakfast will soon be proclaimed by two people whom I doubt have set foot in this café. This same breakfast will also be enjoyed by a few others on the steps of the Fontaine Saint Sulpice in a few minutes.
Next I visit Ms. Montague’s favorite bookstore. I first visited the store for Ms. Montague’s account, however I have become very fond of it myself. I now visit it often in simply search of books. At first I was very determined to keep my visits for books and my visits for photographs separate. I gave up after I found myself leave the store to pedal around a few blocks and return twice in one week. Regardless I am a regular. I believe the salesclerks attribute my frequent empty handed visits to a taste in rare literature. As I enter today I hold the door for a tall woman. I am focused on of book under her arm, the cover looks to be some artwork of Duchamp. She meets my eyes. It is Ms. Montague! I am startled but I cannot help but stare for a moment, she too pauses, taking in my rough appearance.
“Pardon... excusez-moi.”
I have made a fool of myself. The two of us in all the two million. I impossibly well acquainted, I am a  stranger nonetheless. I wander the aisles aimlessly, unsure what to of make of her non-virtual existence. I imagine our absurd meeting becoming one of her disappointing first dates and the idea makes me terribly confused. I recognize a copy of the book she had, which turns out to be on the life of Francis Picabia. Apparently Ms. Montague’s tastes for Dadaism are less trite than my own. I leave the store without purchasing any book. I am deeply concerned by such a collision of space and time in the City of Lights.
I am drifting throught the fog again. There is no sun at all. There is silence. A few boys wade in the shallows at the shore of the Seine. They tie blindfolds over their eyes in torpid disjointed motions. I stand waist deep, a voiceless orator, with no audience but the river.
I am awake, but I do not remember waking. I have realized that of the twenty two lives I live, I own only one. Now that Ms. Montague has entered world digital world, I can no longer live her life as my own. I must end our contract right away. It seems that my distance from each client (aside from Butch) has allowed me to pretend the things I do for them are my own, just as they pretend my photographs are their’s and accept the praise of the ignorant.
I glide down the Quai de Conti, my wheels buzzing. Watch says 3:22 AM. The bakeries and cafes are fast asleep with their owners. The world is still, apart from myself. The sprouting leaves only rustle when I rush past them. I carry my own pressure pushing wind only a few feet to my right and left. I am an Egyptian god touring the fertile banks of the Nile. Will I weigh the hearts of the obsessive liars against a feather? No, for the Nile flows north, and the Seine flows west.
I think about my breath, cold as it comes in, warm as it comes out. Do I wear a face of twenty one, now twenty strangers? Yet none can recognize it. My lungs are real. They must be my own, but strangers use them. I pull both brakes, skidding and squeaking to a stop. Here I am, alone before the Institut de France. I move to the backside where I can scale the neoclassical walls (those erected in 1795 with the purpose of preserving the purity of the French language). I wonder whether they keep bad words out, or good ones in. I run across the roof towards the huge dome. I make my way up it quickly. I have been here before, but this does not stop the adrenaline from rushing to my hands and feet. I grip the cold ledges pulling myself higher and higher. The cobblestone street grumbles up to me from 100 meters below. It reminds me that if I fell my own life is the only that would cease entirely. The other twenty would carry on, and who would notice? I don’t answer. I pull myself over the last ledge, and roll onto my side. I truly wish I had come here only for the view. I wish I came to absorb everything the night offers, but I must flee a petty thief of light and beauty. In the dark I scramble for some miniscule shard of the truth. Very little makes it through the camera of my cellphone.
Some tiny shard that will find its place as the bragging rights of some twelve year old  boy who has never lived. I would like to bring him up here and throw his cellphone out over the Seine. He would gasp for air as his phone sunk to the bottom, but to his surprise he would find it and feel it in his lungs for the first time in his life.
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memozing · 4 years
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memozing · 4 years
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memozing · 4 years
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