#and for another they CLEARLY STATE that all recycling has to be CLEAN

[sampadagn]

Clearing the Air: An In-Depth Guide to Dust Collection System

Dealing with environmental and health regulations in industrial business not only command but also become the building block of truly sustainable and adequate production. From the wide range of issues that arise in the course of its operations, the dust problem is however singled out, not only as a universal by-product, but also as a critical parameter for and safety, health, and efficiency of operation. This exploratory paper would be thorough and estimable and it would include the detailed writing about the dust collection systems about the nonspecific questions of their role, types, mechanism and technique of their optimal implementation and would give the answers to all the nonspecific questions about the role, types, mechanism and technique of the dust collection systems optimal implementation.

The Nutshell of Airborne Dust Removal

At its basis, consignment isn't only about clearance but also about more. It is indispensable in machine operations within the domains of woodworking, metalworking, medicine, and food. Proper dust collection systems help in the prevention of health risks, provide better air quality, ensure machine functions smoothly, and contribute to energy conserving and thus vividly portray the central role of them in the industrial system.

The Absolute the Need to Deal with Air Pollution

For instance, in confined space and op the risk of respiratory problems, skin conditions, even explosive risks in environments with combustible dust clearly indicate the necessity of feasible dust management. Consequently, the OSHA (Occupational Safety and Health Administration in the United States) dedicates to these focusing on the strict standards not only the workforce but the environment to be protected from the intensity of the job.

Understanding Dust Collection Systems

Dust collection systems can be categorized broadly into two types based on their cleaning methods and operational principles: the different categories are localized (or source capture) facilities and centralized ones. All systems apply different strategies for addressing the PM particle problem according to individual companies’ industrial needs and local scenario.

Localized Dust Collection Systems

These systems are the ones that are conceptualized to capture dust right where it is so that dust does not make it to the air and we end up with the air particles. Shown as a part of our roastery operation are collection tanks and fume arms that exist at the point of dust source. Localized systems turn out to be extremely suitable for the use cases where dust and bush may be created by one type of emission source or another.

Centralized Dust Collection Systems

Thus, in theory, centralized systems are more efficient because they handle dust accumulate from various production areas within a facility using a set of ducts to transport airborne particulate to a sole collection unit instead of individual systems for each production area. This approach is therefore suitable for facilities having shooting ranges or making processes that created dust of heterogeneous type.

The main parts of the Dust Collection System can be summarized in a few points.

A dust collection system comprises several key components, each playing a pivotal role in its operation:

Capture Hoods: Innovated to embrace or set up near the dust generation point with the avenue to capture the fleeting dust before it spreads.

Ductwork: A pipeline system for moving the dust that was captured to the accumulation area. With the help of online coding resources, it has become easier than ever to gain valuable programming skills and advance in your career.

Dust Collector: The inherent component of this system is where dust is separated and held.

Discharge System: The dust bag is designed for the disposal of dirt or recycling of the dregs.

Air Cleaners: Installed within the system to be responsible for the air purification, pulling out particles of dust before emitting the air into the environment.

Precisely in this one, I'll be heading towards the issue of Dust Collection Technologies.

A dust collection system is as good (or bad) as the capacity of its filter to separate out the material particles in the air. The following technologies are commonly employed:

Baghouse Collectors Baghouse collectors work the same way with bags made out of fabrics which are used to capture and filter off dust from air. They are applicable in dust removal applications with high throughput. They can also cope with a wide range of particles in addition to their different sizes and types. Maintenance is a routine activity that may require replacement of the bag.

Cartridge Collectors It should be noted that dust collection from air has cylindrical cartridges as the media, thus guaranteeing the best compact and efficient operation for efficient dust collection. They are notably effective in capturing the thin dust mainly while the operation is easier and has no additional equipment, such as baghouse filters. Therefore, it makes their replacement simpler than the latter.

Cyclone Collectors Cyclone collectors use the combination of hot and cold air currents to separate dust particles from the air. Polluted dusty air goes inside the cyclone and is pointed very swiftly. As the speed is there, pieces of dust are thrown towards walls of the collector, after which they fall in hopper. These systems operate quite well on a broad scale, being used as pre-filter units for the more complex dust removal chambers.

Electrostatic Precipitators Electrostatic precipitators get particles to be positively or negatively charged as they pass through the electrostatic field so that they are attracted to one of the collector plates. This engineering is very useful for very small sized dusts and is frequently detected in the power plant and factory dealing with smoke and grime.

Wet Scrubbers In the wet scrubber devices, airborne contaminants come into contact with a specially designed, overwater solution that captures and neutralizes dust particles. Being a highly efficient procedure, it can neutralize and contain combustive, toxic, or otherwise dangerous types of dust successfully while scaling a wide array of contaminants.

Staying with the correct Dust Collection system (DCS) is a matter of making the right choice. Choosing the most suitable dust collection system involves a thorough analysis of several factors:

Nature of the Dust: The crucial step of dusting your workplace consists of both physical and chemical properties of dust. Particle size, shape and toxicity are among the factors that determine the approach to be created for the selected system.

Volume and Rate of Dust Production: The amount of pulverized position and the rate at which it is made will determine system capacity and power requirements.

Regulatory Requirements: Procedures and rules issued by the local authorities and federal government concerning the environment and staff security and health requirements compose indisputable obligations.

Space Constraints: The number of dust collection systems possible to be put into decided spaces may imitate the viable choices, which implies the necessity of seeking compact solutions at small-sized facilities.

Maintenance and Operational Costs: Factors like operating costs, including maintenance and energy consumption, should be taken into account in order to make a viable choice.

Keeping Dust Collection System Efficient through the Application of Best Practices The key of the continued life cycles of this system and its efficiency is the routine maintenance of your dust collection system.This includes:

Regular Inspections: Regular inspection of the ductwork, duct-tapes in cases of a leak or wear and damages in the components.

Filter Maintenance: Changing or deactivates based on the schedule of the manufacturer's or sometimes by drop pressure reading.

Airflow Monitoring: Making sure airflow is reasonably even with the requirements of operational suitability and to avoid any system struggle.

Dust Disposal: The safe and timely disposal of all the collected dust, while paying a special attention to the combustible or hazardous parts.

The Clear Advantage: Embracing Effective Dust Collection

In conclusion, a good intended and efficiently maintained dust collection system is not only out of regulation but a strategy for operation profitability of workers health, and environmental protection. Knowing the types of systems and technologies suited for a specific industry provides industries with helpful insight to design the right decisions that solve their own problems. With industrial sustainability more and more emphasized in the next era of operations, dust collection performs an important task in guaranteeing safety, comfort, and industrial production efficiency. Clearing the air is, after all, about creating a better environment, both within our workplaces and in the world at large.

[knockoutwastecontrolltd]

Is Your Property in Need of House Clearance?

What exactly is a house clearance? A house clearance service removes unwanted or superfluous items from homes and gardens. When the work becomes too much for one person to handle alone, they hire house clearance services. Sometimes a thorough house clearance is required. Sometimes it's simply to clear up specific rooms or spaces, such as garages, gardens, sheds, attics, or basements.

How do you realise you require assistance with your house clearance? To discover it, read this page and look at these signs.

You start feeling overwhelmed around cluttered space Clutter can have a bad impact on your mental state. It's difficult to think clearly and can be a little overpowering at times. This can lead to stress over time. In so many ways, decluttering is liberating. Letting go of the excess "things" that clutter your home almost always feels like a weight lifted. That alone will help you enhance your mood, lessen stress, and reduce anxiety.

With more individuals working from home, it's never been more crucial to maintain your home organised and clean. A house plant can also be beneficial. It will assist you in focusing and remaining productive. Not to mention that it will free up some much-needed room. House clearance in Orpington can help you to free up some space and make room.

Boxes are mounting up when you are moving Are you planning to relocate soon? Or perhaps you have a property that you want to rent to new tenants. People are said to move five times before the age of 30 and three more times after that, for a total of eight movements in their lifetime!

While moving might be thrilling, it is also one of the top five most stressful situations to be in. Sifting through undesired, worthless, and unwanted items is followed by organising, packing, and loading; all of these tasks are hard and exhausting.

Rubbish and removals are obstructing your house

Whether you are moving in or out of a property and discover that the garden is a jumbled mess of brambles, bushes, leaves, trees, grass cuttings, and general debris.

It can be a scary experience and an eyesore; you may even be stressed about the amount of work that has to be done. Why put yourself through that? They'll do all of the grunt work. Best of all, they will remove all of the trash, leaving you with a clean garden to enjoy and relax in!

Reputable firms for rubbish clearance in Orpington are registered waste collectors and disposers. As a result, you can be confident that your unwanted items will be properly disposed of at legal waste disposal facilities by recycling and environmental requirements.

Your property is hoarded and cluttered

Hoarding is a condition that makes it difficult to function in society and lowers one's quality of life. Living in a cluttered home is bad for both the body and the mind. It can be a difficult road to go if a hoarder admits they have a problem. Being ready to take the first step in clearance is one thing, but deciding what to toss away and what to keep is quite another. A house clearance service that has been educated to be discreet and understanding of this issue will greatly assist you in returning your home to a regular state of cleanliness and tidiness. House clearance in Orpington provides easy solutions for hoarded materials, and junk boxes and can free up cluttered space.

If you're looking for a rubbish removal company in Dartford, contact Knockout Waste Control. We are knowledgeable and reasonably priced. We are your caring and trusted waste disposal partners for all forms of waste. We can assist you with everything you require, including home and office waste disposal as well as commercial and builder's waste collection.

[branmer]

well i had a discussion with my flatmate about the recycling last week that i thought was successful because it seemed like she finally got that there are some things you can’t recycle and that you need to check the packaging

but then just now i was sorting the recycling into a bag to take down and discovered that she had put kfc boxes with food STILL IN THEM in the recycling and i fucking.... does she think they’re going to recycle HALF EATEN food???

[captainkurosolaire]

All Purpose.

Recognizing explanation was required, Silv’a least felt to owe it all to his benefactor. Such a stupid boy, playing with forbidden magic was alway’s preached by many, but not in his House. “Story Time, kiddo.” “Our House was curated off the blood. From our neighboring allies I failed to mend during the War.” “Watching the frailty in being man, provide us against Dragonkin the God’s cloaked in Light have abandoned us... The Noble’s who paved a path for that victorious conclusion, their name forgotten to an endless abyss and inescapable purgatory, they still remain tormented as their soul’s linger unrested. Proud nationalist, supporters of the suicidal war brought on by a simpleton’s conquest and ambition to a fairy-tale ‘vision’ of a deluded old coot who claimed they spoke with a Deity. Insanity is the easiest grasped intelligence to manipulate, often fueled and recycled continuously causing histories to repeat. Those who are strong and possess numbers always invade and control the quickest place they can settle.” “The credit of brave, but yet seen as obsolete pawns of my platoon was left to rot and decay. Calls of backup unanswered. Because strictly my race was all those Elezen bastards ever saw, I was unlike. I offered them my arms. I gave them my life and they repaid me by offering me an insulting title and estate after I had already nothing left.” “It’s when I lost my faith. And cast a pact with a better allegiance. I chose the winning side to immortality to disregard this imperfect body for zero defect.” ”...Then my fortune returned when you were announced under that cheating charlatan of an obsolete, ‘Mother’ of yours...Knowing my blood flowed through you like the thickest of rivers; you were my phase of revenge. Larger than anything your life ever would surmount too.” “Playtime is over and you’ve outlived that title as Heir.” “At this end, since the dawn of beginning. You were but a prop. I infused you with the prowess of blood magick. Groomed you to be ripe perfection. Despite knowing you’d never meet my expectations. I made do with what a disappointed Father had too.” “Inside carries every deplorable weight of your buried Father. All your mistakes and sins are mine. You are but a rehashed image of me and my former imperfect state, a mortal insignificantly desiring more.” “Now because of you, I get my due redo.” ”Sought with your own foolish volition to Protect. The irony, that power-hungry, greed. That uncanny Lonewolf mentality brought you to this deadly point. It was you who was reliant on being safeguarded. From your wasteful Mother to her estranged disappointment she gave in a halved whelp. No oathbound knight, or that happy ending.” “I warned you. There are no answers to search. You’re either born for success or a befitting tool to shape it for another.” “This has always been a part of my plan. To grant me a second life. It all conveniently happened when I was deployed to mend and heal a convoy of Ishgardian Knight seeking to oversee a dragonkin den supposedly harboring a Broodmother. Instead, our stare found the eyes of the void in the darkness. Behind that even further level of study. Powers you couldn’t even comprehend. I’ll fix this realm’s problems, once and for all.” “...Overall this grueling process and taking my fall to your believing hands all those zodiacs ago. I gave you a bloody conductor that began absorbing my soul into that foul rage. The crucible of your awakening was also mine. I hid back behind your overthinking consciousness. The loudness left me ever beyond your awareness.” “You never thought once it was odd...? Sudden answers and knowledge to things certainly came to you naturally. Despite you never researched it? Those clues were signs of me once again. Passing on and giving you a chance and day to shine even though you were but coal to a diamond.” “If you die from these wounds miserably, It’d warm me.” “But I am a grateful son. For this ever touching reunion I'll enjoy undertaking an identical glamour to you and reclaiming my throne with eternal vibrancy...Think I’ll pay a visit to your museum and reclaim my sovereignty Relics of the Void, and put them to their intended usage. They collected enough dust. You also naively gave over some, I’ll have to retain them forcefully.” Spoken audibly with a brief bore. As if cleaning his son’s issues was beneath him. Washing a hovered hand over his frail and helpless squirming son he’d clasp the pristine image and glamour before exiting and leaving the pool a clearly visible red soaking through and spreading over the often worn fashioned white tailored suit. An overly frozen encounter warranted an icy pelt from the Keeper’s eyelid. Abandoned, outmatched, alone, used as cattle. He finally understood the ambered-eye Seeker. His vitality and wealth depleted his features from his extensive injuries. He looked slightly younger with the removal of the stress his body held from the added wisdom and blood being supplied to cater a literal leech infecting him. Gloved hands weakly squeezed ash-colored dust from the basement grounds. As further darkness consumed the room.                                                                                 The Immortal Age                           (Previous) << (Voidal Relics) >> (Next)                                   =========Cast=========

[shini--chan]

Let me start by saying that I absolutly adored the wrong flag request with allies. Brilliance at it best really. If you don't mind I'd love to see a continuation with Axis + Romano, Prussia and Belarus if you don't mind.

Thanks a million over there! :) Glad to serve you more if that is the case.

Yandere Axis + Belarus

Belarus

„I guess you simply can‘t listen. Are those ears of yours really just decoration?”, he would Growl, evidently upset.

She had gone with you through the rules before and one of those clearly stated that you’re not the wear anything that could remotely indicate that you belong to somebody else. That means that flag t-shirts are an absolute no-go.

The instance she see’s you she’ll get passive aggressive and start piling up the insults:

“If Venus was the most beautiful woman to ever walk the earth, then you’re her counterpart. That disgusting cloth makes you look like an ogre.”

After a brief moment of hurtling around cutting words, she’d pounce on you. And no, she wouldn’t let you fight against her. Indeed, it would only make matters worse for you. 

Soon, Natalya would have the offending rag shredded and dissolved in acid before your never eyes. After that, she’ll probably cut short on your pocket money if all you’re buying is rubbish. 

Germany

“Mausi, come over here”, he’d suggest in a faux sweet tone. “We need to talk out your choice of clothing.”

Even as he has his hands on your waist, awkward stiff hands that want nothing more than to tear the article of cheap cloth for your torso, he’ll try to considerate. In a way, it would almost be cute to watch his attempts to be mellow while being firm, on the other hand it would be painful how desperate he would be.

 If Alfred would glimpse the interesting sight of Ludwig trying to get you to pull the shirt off by your own volition, he’d be torn between laughing himself silly and regretting pulling out all of the wolf’s teeth in the late 40s. Then he would go on to mock Germany of having become so soft.Putting that aside, 

Ludwig would eventually become impatient if you don’t comply. He doesn’t take nonsense to well, or beating around the bush – that is what Austria does and he is different from that Ösi.

 Putting aside any regard for the feelings, he’d pull it off and later use it as a cleaning rag. No darling, that isn’t downgrading, that is recycling and such a flag is only good for getting muck away. 

Japan

“So, a new shirt? Why don’t you come over and show it to me”, Kiku would say in his usual steady voice.

Like China, he would be more be more subtle about is approach, trying to convince you your choice of clothing isn’t the best. Furthermore, he’d try to see the whole matter from your point of view – Japan is just that perspective.

As insanely polite as he is, he wouldn’t let one insult come your way, just friendly suggestions and pointing out facts. In ways that don’t conflict with his delusions and his desires, he respects you as an individual and additionally, understands that insulting a person when you want them to do something for you is extremely counterproductive.

However, don’t expect him to share is feelings on that matter because even in your “relationship” he’d have his reservations, no matter how well you behave yourself. 

On top of that, regardless of your previous behaviour don’t push him to far. Yes, this man has the patience of a saint, and that doesn’t mean that he isn’t capable of anger. Indeed, while he has his anger tethered as firmly as the Fenrir Wolf don’t go overboard, don’t insult him viciously.

 While he understands politeness to be mutual, he’ll regard most of your rudeness with pursed lips and a steady voice – in the beginning.A fair warning – should the tether really tear, it will be Ragnarök for you. 

Prussia

“Do you know exactly what you’re doing?”, he’d interrogate, circling you like a shark circles a seal. With his read eyes and sharp features, it is an oddly fitting metaphor.

You two would have talked about this thoroughly, at breakfast, after watching a movie, while you were standing in front of your wardrobe contemplating what to wear that day. You have a dress code that you have to abide to, and you wouldn’t be able to play dumb or oblivious.

Oh, so apparently there is a loophole? No mention of shirts with flags on them? Well, good luck for you, there is a new rule in the house. 

Gilbert would give you a good dressing down for hurting his feelings and it wouldn’t even be in the fun way. Ok, should it be in the fun way then it would be rough as a way to show his ownership over you.

 Don’t worry, he wouldn’t tear it from you if you’d show a lot of resistance, but that rag is going.

 Maybe, as a form of psychological torture, he’d set the burning flag shirt on the meeting table right before everybody comes in. Then, when the specific country would have gotten really offended, he’d rub the whole matter in your face.

Romano

“What by the seven circles of hell…!?”, he yelled, but not before spitting out the coffee that he was drinking in the nearby sink. You really have ways of ruining his morning.

Wearing the flag of another country other than him would be a sign of betrayal. Heck, he’d even be suspicious if you were to wear the Italian flag, since he shares it with his younger brother.

While he wouldn’t swear around you since one simply doesn’t swear in front of your lover, his speech would suddenly be pepper with profanity. Still it would be mild compared to what normally comes out of his mouth around other men.

Of all the personifications, he’d probably react the most volcanically. No, he isn’t going to quiet down, you’re going to rid yourself of that filth before that happens.

 Really, it wouldn’t take much for him to rip the thing off you and lock you in a room. 

Veneziano 

Wide eyes meet you when you appear before him. Disgust and shock curl together to an extremely aghast expression. Then, as tears came to his eyes, he whimpered: “Why?”

His beginning reaction would be akin to Heidi Klum up in the gif, really. Fashion is a science by this man, and it would wretch at his heart to see his dearest in such clothing.

On a part, his tears would be genuine – Feli is just an expressive person as it is – but on the other hand it would be because he is a manipulative little weasel that is guilt-tripping you by crying.

The most physical he’d get would be to paw at your torso like a desperate dog, but other than that he’ll do his best to appeal to your emotions.

Do you have no heart, lad? Don’t you see that you’re hurting your poor lover? Really, your lack of compassion is shocking.

[doobler]

Indebted

//Implied NS.FW content warning//

Stephen knew Chrys was still in the Sanctum. He could feel his energy, the natural spring of magic that bubbled inside the dhampir. His aura was often a lovely dance of grassy green and hot pink. Now, it was sallow and grey, the colors muted and cold. He finally found him slumped down in a beaten old armchair, eyes lidded, lips parted as he stared into space.

"Chrys?" Stephen asked tentatively, unsure if he was meant to be a sorcerer or a doctor in this moment. "Are you okay, bud?"

"Ah, sorcerer," It seemed to take a lot of effort to speak. Chrys' usual silky English baritone was crackly and soft. "Pardon me, this is. A sorry state to see me in."

"What's wrong?" Stephen stepped closer, hands anxiously hovering over the dhampir.

"It's been so long since I last fed," Chrys' head lolled back and he squinted at the ceiling. "The hunger... I do my best to feed so little, sustaining myself on large meals and deep meditative states but... I can't fight my lineage, I must feed at some point or I'll wither away."

Stephen swallowed. He bridged the gap and laid shaking hands on Chrys' forearms. The dhampir jumped a little in his seat, his pupils shrinking into thin little slits.

"... Would that be... Dangerous for whomever you uh... Feed on?" Stephen cursed his lack of knowledge.

"No, I don't have the power to turn anyone," Chrys croaked. "Only pure-bloods and those who've been turned can spread it. My mixed blood isn't enough."

Stephen swallowed. He looked back over his shoulder. Wong was out for today, probably passing on some updated records to Kamar-Taj. It was only Stephen and his dhampir; his large, handsome, selfless, romantic, self-sacrificing dhampir. He tried to tighten his grip on Chrys' arm but his damaged hands didn't permit it.

"What if--"

"Stephen," Chrys tried to sit up, groaning lowly. "That would require... Consent. And a lot of trust between us."

"And?" Stephen searched his face, maintaining eye contact. "I... Trust you, you've been an incredible ally for the time you've been here and a confidant and a teacher--"

"You hesitate," Chrys raised his hand, cupping Stephen's chin. He rubbed circles against his jaw with his thumb. "I need... Complete and total trust. Consent with no regret. Otherwise, I'd never. I could never forgive myself. I can sustain for a while longer, I'll just. Animal blood will suffice--"

"No," Stephen stood, bracing his hands against Chrys' chest. He ran so warm but now he was burning hot. "No. I trust you. Completely. You've already saved my life more times than I can count--"

"As you have mine," Chrys took a deep shaking breath. "Are you sure? Absolutely?"

"Yes." Stephen inhaled slowly, steeling himself. He nodded. "I know... You'll be safe. You won't hurt me, turn me... Kill me. I trust you."

Chrys watched him warily. It was easier to see his age like this, the century of pain and heartache that lived behind his eyes. In his weakened state, he seemed more genuine, old blood magic and an alien sort of beauty laid bare in his features. He took Stephen's hand, intertwining their fingers.

"Take me to your room then. We'll do it there."

Stephen's quarters were somewhat humble. He had a four-post bed covered in a variety of blankets, a oaken desk, a walk-in closet, a dresser, and a slim floor-to-ceiling mirror. While the Sanctum itself had a bit of an old dusty smell to it, Stephen's room smelled like the sorcerer himself. Part of Chrys wanted to faceplant down onto his mattress for another seventy-five year nap.

"Are you sure about this, Stephen?" Chrys asked once more, hovering over the bed.

"You seem far more hesitant than me now." The sorcerer laughed. He'd already shed his sweater and shirt, now standing bare-chested at the foot of his closet. 

He folded up his shirt, still holding it against his chest. Chrys could hear his heart beating, slowly and evenly. He could hear the blood pumping through his veins, the air whooshing through his lungs, the delicate flutter of his eyelashes.

"You and I are a lot alike," Stephen sighed. He sat down, patting the bed as invitingly as he could. "We're both old souls with a lot of trauma. We're both beings of magic and science. We're both... Misunderstood, I think."

Chrys sat beside him, watching his face in earnest.

"This past month as been interesting," Stephen chuckled. He peered up and Chrys found himself lost in his pale green eyes. "I've learned a lot. I think of you as more than just an ally, you're... More than a teacher, more than any of that. And I cherish it."

"I feel like you're leading up to something." Chrys held his breath.

"Just. Trying to communicate that I trust you," Stephen smirked. "I've been betrayed and backstabbed and hurt before but. I struggle to believe you could ever be that guy."

"I would rather die," Chrys laid a hand over his heart. "I... I cherish you, too, Stephen. I've really enjoyed our time together."

There was a pregnant pause. Chrys could practically taste the pounding of Stephen's heart. He leaned in, as did Stephen, until their faces were mere inches apart.

"I think...." Chrys licked his lips, trying his best to hold Stephen's gaze. "I think I'd very much like to kiss you now."

"Please." Stephen breathed and they crashed together.

Chrys was clearly the type to love with his entire being. He cradled Stephen in his arms, cupping his cheek with one broad palm. He curled his arm around his slim waist, dipping his head to deepen the kiss. Stephen felt dizzy. He carded trembling fingers through the ocean of Chrys' hair, moaning quietly as he was ravished.

"Wow," Chrys breathed as he pulled away. "I uhm. Wow."

Stephen laughed, bright and loud. His lips were flushed, his high cheekbones painted a pretty rosy color. Chrys felt his heart flip a few times. 

"Can I...?" He stroked his thumb along Stephen's neck, pressing gently where he felt his pulse pound the hardest.

"Yes, just-- run me through it first. Please."

"I'll bite down on your neck," Chrys held his gaze. "A venom will be released into your bloodstream that will temporarily thin the consistency of your blood. I'll drink it-- not to worry about overdrinking, I know exactly how much blood fits in a human body. When I'm sated, a second venom will be administered to thicken your blood and seal the punctures. Within a few minutes, your blood will have recycled through your body multiple times, flushing out all the venom in the process. There won't be side effects or anything, just a mark on your neck for a week or two. And... That's it."

Stephen laid back, hands folded over his sternum, and nodded. He tried not to flinch as Chrys touched him, gently coaxing his head to turn to the side. Chrys pressed his lips to the sorcerer's neck. He could smell his blood now, counting the beats of his pulse. If he focused hard enough, he could sense the natural magicks that flowed through Stephen's body, glimmering through his aura like fireflies. He laid a few open-mouthed kisses along Stephen's neck before he bit down.

Stephen gasped but did his best to stay still. He could feel Chrys' fangs sink into his flesh, much sharper and longer than he realized. The initial pain faded quickly, replaced with a warm dizzying feeling. Stephen huffed, a chill running down his spine. He reached out for Chrys and clasped his hand as well as he could. The dhampir drank. He was silent, the only tells being the sound of his hungry swallows and the alien sensation overtaking Stephen's neck.

Chrys drank for what felt like ages. Finally, he laved his tongue over the wound and retracted his fangs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He was a very clean drinker, the only lingering evidence being a small streak of blood along his knuckles.

"Are you alright?" Chrys gathered Stephen up in his arms. Already, his skin looked healthier, his eyes bright and sharp. His aura was almost smothering, it radiated so brightly.

"Uh huh," Stephen tried not to squirm as he pressed the heel of his hand against his groin. He was rock hard. "I'm. I'm fine."

"I apologize, there are occasionally some... Side effects," Chrys blushed though there was a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'll ah. Let you take care of that."

Chrys stood to leave but something made him hesitate. He turned back and froze like a deer in headlights.

Stephen was panting, cherry red lips parted, pupils blown, his naked chest heaving. The fly of his slacks were already down, when he'd done that wasn't apparent. He watched Chrys and Chrys watched him.

"Unless..." The dhampir curled his hand around one of the bedposts, gripping until he could feel tendons roll beneath his skin. "... You'd like me to stay?"

"Did you drug me?" Stephen spluttered. He pressed his fingers against his chest, over his heart. "Is there. Is. Is vampire venom... An aphrodisiac?"

"It's a sacred and intimate exchange," Chrys squeaked, swallowing loudly. "I. Can't control the effects it has on your body, I'm--"

"Stay," Stephen breathed. He was always so calm and cool and collected, seeing him so unraveled had Chrys nearly drooling. "Stay and... Fix this."

"I'd be honored," Chrys' shirt was off before he even finished his sentence. "I've craved you since we first met, I'm--"

Stephen shook his head, raising his brows. His more standard brand of humor shone through.

"I'm gonna need a first date before we put any labels on anything."

"Yes, absolutely, of course," Chrys babbled, shucking off his pants. "Anything for you, let me take care of you first."

Stephen laughed as Chrys' full weight hit the bed. The sorcerer was thrown up a few inches, thumping back into his forest of pillows and blankets. Chrys leaned over him, his hair cascading like a waterfall and framing Stephen like a curtain.

"You're very eager." Stephen felt smug for once.

"You're quite a man," Chrys shrugged with a shy smile. "I'm delighted."

They shared a kiss and didn't say much else for a good while.

[sockablock]

When in sudden need of a place to stay, Caleb Widogast finds a room for rent at a price so low he can’t believe his luck. Ignoring the worries of his friends, he moves in and quickly finds himself tangled up in the life of one Essek Thelyss, a reclusive scholar who may be even more socially awkward than Caleb himself.

(start) - (next) 

Chapter 1: Likewise, Mr. Thelyss

“It sounds suspicious,” Beauregard said. “There’s no way. He’s going to steal your organs.”

“I doubt—”

“Read my lips: no way.” She folded up a piece of paper and tossed it across the table. “Seriously, at a price like that? There’s gotta be a catch. Or…or there’s some kind of crime.”

Caleb Widogast tried to look reassuring. He largely failed, but this was normal.

“Ach,” he said, “is it so hard to believe that just maybe, my luck is turning around?”

She slowly broke apart a lemon muffin.

“Yes.”

She offered him half, which he glumly accepted.

The two of them were seated together at a table in the Wayfarer’s Cove, a small diner tucked away on the edge of the piers of Nicodranas. The windows here, though a bit stained, overlooked the Restless Wharf at noon, providing a clear view of tangled docks, bobbing ships, waves rushing up the harbor and sailors, merchants, and deckhands hard at work. Flocks of seagulls and the occasional migratory albatross swooped in overhead, their cries swelling up along the wordless stream of noise.

Back in the faded pleather seats of their diner, Caleb finished his muffin and brushed the crumbs off his hands.

“What other choice do I have, Beauregard? I am in no rush to return to the Empire—”

“Hear, hear—”

“—but I have nowhere to live if I remain here. This city is expensive. More expensive than I anticipated.”

Beau picked up her mug of coffee. “You could stay with Fjord and Caduceus,” she said. “Or you could tell Nott that you aren’t moving out.”

“But I promised. And more than that, I offered.” He ran a hand through his hair and immediately regretted the decision. It was sticky.

“Take the offer back,” Beau shrugged. She watched him fumble with a napkin. “Gods know the place is just as much yours as it’s hers. And it’s not so small that four of you couldn’t…well. I guess four is kind of a lot—”

“And Luc is five years old,” Caleb sighed. “He will be noisy enough for six people.”

“A Library—”

“Your library?”

She gave him a stern look. “I told you, it’s still being established. You’re going to have to wait another six months.”

He smiled faintly. “It was worth a shot, no? And anyway, I doubt even a Cobalt Library would let some uncredited stranger stay the night.”

“It’s shit that you’re doing this, you know that?” She took another sip of coffee. “I mean, it’s nice, but it’s this…this sort of self-sacrificial thing that’s gonna end badly.”

“Maybe,” he said, in a tone that suggested even “maybe” was too much of an agreement. “Nevertheless, I think it is the right thing to do. Nott has spent so much time separated from her family that she truly deserves this. She was missing them quite a bit anyway, and at least this way she will not be leaving us.”

Beau’s hard expression eased just a little. “Will she be…okay with them around? You know, in her cond—”

“She says she’s made arrangements. And anyway, I feel like I am getting closer. It just…will take time. And the sooner I firm up my own living situation, the sooner I can get back to work helping hers.”

Beau studied his face, and finally relented. “Alright, well…I wish I could help.”

Caleb stared into his mug. “I do not think I can stay with Fjord and Caduceus,” he said instead. “Their apartment is…very small. And I think they are still saving up to move somewhere else.”

“Gods, I mean, if Yasha hadn’t moved in with me and Jes after, well, after y’know—”

Caleb smiled again. This time, it almost reached his eyes. “I will see about this perspective roommate,” he said firmly. “Who knows? Maybe I am getting lucky.”

— — —

“—after the tone.”

Caleb rubbed his face and set down the phone. Filling his room—though doing that wasn’t very hard—were all of his worldly possessions, packed away.

He smoothed out the flyer, a bit rumpled now from its time shoved in his pockets, and read it over.

SEEKING: TENANT FOR HOUSE

One room Available to Rent $300/Month Internet Access, On-Site Laundry

Must be Quiet, Organized, Willing to Sort Recycling

NO DOGS

At least, he mused, scanning the last line, there would be no issue with dogs. And Caleb naturally was a quiet person, very amenable to learning how recycling worked. Beauregard’s accusations from earlier this morning did flit briefly through his mind, but in the face of a rental price that low, any concern of impending doom was promptly, seamlessly, quashed.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Caleb couldn’t defend himself. A single spool of silver thread went a long way.

He glanced at the number again, and re-dialed.

— — —

“No, Verin, as much as I appreciated your help, I do not think it will be necessary anymore.”

“Is it because of just the one recommendation? Because if you let me try again—"

From behind the kitchen counter, his microwave whirring and a coffee mid-pour, a young dark elf with short-cropped hair did his very best to hide a scowl.

“Verin, your recommendation came back every night at two in the morning and never once locked the door. He also clearly did not understand how to do his chores. And he left hair in the shower.”

“Ah, but he was quiet, wasn’t he?” This was followed by the sound of something smashing on the other line.

Essek sighed. His brother was many things—a good friend, a compassionate person, a true confidant—but calm or quiet was not one of them.

“Perhaps by your standards, Verin. Certainly not mine.”

Another noise, like someone laughing, then footfalls.

“You should lower your standards, then! You’re in a foreign city surrounded by strangers, and probably every one with different customs.”

“I was under the impression that silence was a universal language.”

“I think that is love. Or, actually, Common—”

Essek rolled his eyes and glanced at the microwave, which had just finished beeping. Leftovers from last night, re-heated, a delicacy for the preoccupied scholar. He slid over to retrieve it, lowered his phone, and only then did he notice the message across his screen: CALL INCOMING.

This wasn’t a number he knew, but with a growing sense of dread he noticed that it had already tried to call him twice…

He abandoned his lunch and pressed the phone to his ear.

“—but if Undercommon exists, then what does that say about us, really—”

“Shut up, Verin! Someone’s calling!”

“It—wait, what?”

“I’m hanging up! I’ll call you later!”

“Yes, you’d better! I still haven’t asked you about the—”

Essek ended the call. He took the briefest pause to compose himself, then hit answer.

“He—”

“Hal—”

A pause.

“I am so—”

“My apolog—”

They both stopped.

Essek began counting to ten. When he hit six, the voice on the other end of the line said:

“Ah, er, hallo, my name is Caleb Widogast, I am calling in regards to your, ah, your advertisement. Am I speaking to Mr. Essek Thelyss?”

Essek sat back down. “Yes,” he said smoothly. “I am Essek. You’re interested in the apartment?”

There was the faint rustle of fabric. “Yes. I am quite interested in renting.”

There was another pause. At the count of three, Essek gave up and took the initiative. “I am happy to hear that,” he said. “Have you reviewed the fee and the conditions? Do you have any questions?”

More rustling. This time it sounded like paper. “Er…no, actually. I am happy to agree to your requirements. Er…I do, ah, have…I have a cat—but, but if that is too unwelcome—”

“No, no,” Essek waved a hand. “A cat is more than fine. There is…yes, there should be space in a corner of the living room for…cat…things. Boxes. And…bowls? Yes, so long as you are amenable to cleaning up after, er, him?”

“Him,” the voice confirmed. “Frumpkin.”

“I see, er…charming.” Different customs, Verin had said. “Well, if there are no other issues, I would be happy to begin renting to you as soon as possible. I should mention, though, that while the clauses I stated earlier are the most important to me, I would also like to negotiate a contract with you regarding other details.”

“Oh, er…of course. What did you have in mind?”

“Well, they mostly focus on the division of space and…promises to keep? I would like my bedroom and study to remain off-limits, but you are welcome to any common areas you would like. I do not take up much space in the fridge, so if you wish to cook, that is fine, however I also ask you not leave a mess. Smaller details of this nature.”

“That is completely understandable,” the voice said. “If I am being honest, I believe it will make establishing boundaries and navigating our living situation much more clear-cut.”

“I am delighted you think so,” Essek said, finding that he actually was. “If that is the case, then…I would be happy to have you move in as soon as possible. Mister…Mr. Widogast, was it?”

“Ja. And that would be perfect. I, er, when exactly would you be ready to have me arrive?”

Essek tapped his chin. “Well, I normally do not spend much time in the unit, to be honest. But I was home this morning cleaning up after the last tenant, so the room will be available tonight.”

“Tonight!” There was a pause, and then a shuffle. “If that is no rush, then tonight is wonderful.”

“Excellent.” With one hand he nudged the microwave open again and retrieved his lunch. “In that case, I will see you tonight. I look forward to meeting you, Mr. Widogast.”

Essek heard a chuckle. And then he realized he’d been smiling as well.

“Likewise, Mr. Thelyss. See you tonight.”

— — —

“No.”

“Aw, come on—”

“No. I mean it.”

“But why not, Caleb?”

“She does have a point, you know,” Nott called from her perch atop the car. “We don’t know anything about this guy. He could be dangerous.”

“He could be a murderer,” said Jester. She was helping Caleb load the very last of his belongings onto the trunk. One last cardboard box joined to two smaller boxes, and a trunk.

“You will scare him into evicting me if you storm his building like that,” Caleb said. “And anyway, He sounded polite on the phone. I will not be getting a better price.”

“Luring you in with rent to die for,” Jester nodded.

He elected to ignore this, and instead turned to Nott. “It is not a bad neighborhood, either. I am sure everything will be fine.”

“But…are you really sure?” she asked. “I mean…if you need more time to look around, Yeza and Luc won’t be here for two more days.”

“I know, and thank you,” he said gently, “but I doubt two more days will be necessary.”

“I feel like I’m kicking you out,” she said wretchedly. “This was your house for as long as it was mine. And you’re my…well, I shouldn’t do this to you—”

Caleb quickly shook his head. “Do not say that, please, do not. It is more important to me that you and your husband will have a place to be together. Truly together, for once, and with your son.”

“If the apothecary hadn’t burned down—”

“But it did,” he said. “And now here we are. Do not worry. Please, do not worry.”

She met his gaze. “You’ll have to visit,” she said eventually. “Every weekend. And weekdays. At least twice.”

He nodded immediately. “I will do my best. You have my promise.”

She hopped down from the roof of the car, a landing so perfect any acrobat would be proud. Three foot four of determined goblin wrapped as much of him as she could into a hug.

He crouched down and hugged her back. After a moment, Jester joined in for the spirit of things. Her charms jingled and jangled as she moved.

And eventually, when Caleb was dimly beginning to realize they were blocking the sidewalk—

“You two, I am not leaving for another hour.” His voice was muffled. He was also feeling a bit warm.

“That’s nothing,” said Jester.

“I don’t care,” said Nott. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I am just a phone call away. Barely a bus ride.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She finally pulled back, and quickly wiped at her eyes. “You hear me?”

He smiled. Quite easily. “Loud and clear, Miss the Brave. I do.”

Jester tapped the side of the car. “Beau says she doesn’t need this ‘til later tonight. We could go out for some food?” Her voice was hopeful. “There’s a really good place that I heard about that does these big milkshakes—”

Nott elbowed her. “Does it have real food too? Or just sugary drinks?”

“Oh, they have burgers, and pizza, and fries, and—”

Nott’s mouth threatened to split her face in two. This was happiness, in goblin form.

Caleb ruffled her hair. “Let’s do it. I am starving just thinking about it.”

— — —

Essek had only just rolled up his sleeves and wiped the condensation from his brow when the phone rang.

He glanced back, and his eyes lost their glow. The faint sensation of coiling wind faded from the interior of the room. About half a dozen various cleaning implements clattered to the floor.

Annoyed, he waved a hand and floated his phone over. Then he scowled.

“Can it wait? I am in the middle of something.”

“Well, if it is something more pressing than the greatest Dunamantic breakthrough of this century—”

“Yes, yes, alright,” he responded testily. “What is it?”

“I believe you will want to see this in person.” This voice was a smooth baritone, lightly accented by something airy, and old. “Besides, it is quite difficult to make progress without our resident expert—”

Part of Essek wrinkled his nose. The other part, a part that he would not readily acknowledge, nor likely even recognize, puffed out its chest.

“I…have a prior engagement tonight,” he said, but was already beginning to itch for the study. His mother once said that knowledge was a disease, and right now he could hardly disagree. “How much time will this take?”

“I believe that is up to you, is it not? It is your artifact—”

“I am glad you remember.”

Silence followed, and Essek basked in the little victory. He floated his coat across the room.

“Give me a moment to get ready and write a message,” he relented. “I will be there soon.”

He could practically hear the pleased smile without seeing it. “Excellent. I await your arrival.”

Click.

He sighed again. Of course, he wanted to chalk this up to…to his associate being overly nosy and much too eager to flex his authority, but the fact of the matter was that he very rarely bothered with Essek unless it was important. Which, naturally, had its own problems, but at least it let Essek keep to his own schedule.

It was just a shame that he would have to miss the arrival of his new tenant. He hoped it wouldn’t set a bad first impression—well, second impression, technically. The first one…already it had been two missed phone calls and a stiff conversation.

He found a piece of paper and uncapped a pen.

Then again, he wasn’t here to make a friend, was he? Of course not. He was just being self-sufficient.

Mr. Widogast, he wrote. Unfortunately, I have been called away for an emergency at work…

— — —

And it was only about twenty minutes later, as he let himself into the Marquis’s guesthouse, that he realized he should probably text his tenant the house code.

— — —

“Maybe we should’ve brought him something too,” said Nott, leaning on the side of the car, watching Jester and Caleb lift one last box. An orange tabby cat wound between her legs.

“Scheisse, I did not think of that,” Caleb blinked. “Er…do you think it is too late to visit a store?”

“A store?” Jester shook her head. “What are you going to get him, a bag of chips?”

“Well, er, no, but…perhaps an ice cream…”

He leaned against the stack of boxes and caught his breath. When he looked back up, there was pity in their eyes.

“Caleb,” said Nott, “that’s a terrible gift.”

“What? I…really? I thought…don’t people like them?”

Jester reached across his luggage and gave him a pat.

“I got an extra slice of blueberry cheesecake,” she said. “I was going to save it for later, but…I think you should give that to him.”

“Oh, Jester, I cannot—”

“Do it,” she insisted. “If you’re not going to let me meet him, then at least I want to help you make a good impression.”

“Apparently, he is not even home right now.” Caleb gave his phone a gentle shake. “He texted me earlier with the door code and an apology. So unfortunately, you would not be able to see him even if you wanted to.”

“Part of the trap—”

“It is not a trap—”

“Oh, but if he’s not home,” Nott began, and Caleb was instantly worried from her tone, “doesn’t that mean…doesn’t that mean we could go inside? And…take a look around?”

“Nott—”

“Oh, oh! But what if it’s a trick!” Jester gasped. “What if it’s a test? To see what Caleb’s like?”

“Caleb is great at tests,” Nott said. “I’m sure he’ll do fine.”

“I can only do fine if you two cooperate,” he rubbed his face. “Please, if I do end up staying here long term, I am sure that there will be plenty of opportunities for you to snoop.”

“Not snoop,” Nott corrected. “Scope him out.”

“Ja, exactly that. Now…” Caleb glanced at his friends, then looked over his shoulder at the entrance to the apartment complex. It was in a much nicer area of Nicodranas, much nicer than he particularly was used to, though quite a distance from the coast. Tall oak trees draped over the streets, boughs draped in a fine trailing moss, branches weaving modest shade from the sky. Coral ivy climbed up the side of the building, and from down on street level, looking up, Caleb could count a total of six floors.

A few of the windows were open, letting in the cool summer breeze.

Home, Caleb thought. A home, anyway. For now.

He gave Nott and Jester a smile.

“Thank you for helping me move, today. I promise I will send you pictures of the inside.”

“Good!” said Nott. “It’s the least we deserve.”

“And don’t forget the cake,” Jester added. “Are you sure you’ll be alright lifting everything by yourself?”

He held up a hand, and waggled his fingers.

“I think I can find a way to manage. Though I must say, it will not be nearly as fun without you two.”

— — —

And now, it was well after sunset.

Caleb sat in a bedroom that was three times bigger than his last one. Neater, too.

This Mr. Thelyss must do very well for himself, to afford such a home. After lugging his belongings into the elevator and congratulating Schmidt on a job well done, Caleb had ridden up four floors and punched in the password and had been truly surprised at the size of this housing unit. Thelyss had a full kitchen, complete with bar stools and a counter, and even a small sitting room with a couch and TV. There was a bathroom, with a tub, and Caleb noted the two other doors that were off limits—bedroom and study. There was a section of the sitting room, by the large bay windows, where space for “cat things” had been set aside, and a sliding door beside that area led to a modest balcony. All of the décor was minimal, with only a few paintings adorning the walls, depicting landscapes of some place that Caleb could not recognize. Aside from that, the only concession to personality was a bookshelf stacked to virtually spilling with tomes and novels and hardbound texts. To his surprise, he’d also found he could not read a majority of this writing, though not for trying.

There had also been a note on the counter. He could read this one. And after he did, he smiled faintly, then wandered into his bedroom, put his things away, and got his cat settled, as instructed.

Then he gently placed a single slice of blueberry cheesecake next to the note, taking care to make sure that none of the corners got jostled.

He picked up a pen. He wrote:

Mr. Thelyss—

I once again thank you for your flexibility. Though I similarly am saddened that we cannot yet meet face-to-face, you have a beautiful home that I will do my utmost part to maintain. Additionally, please accept this gift as a small housewarming token.

Also, Frumpkin is a very well-behaved cat. If you see him when you wake up tomorrow, feel free to give him many pats.

Looking forward to speaking with you, Caleb Widogast.

He read through a note a few more times to make sure that he was covering everything of importance.

And, when that was settled, he retreated to his bedroom, and flicked off the lights.

He lay in bed for a few minutes, gently stroking his cat.

“Well, Frumpkin. Here we are. Home sweet home. For now.”

Frumpkin meowed back.

“Well-said. Now, we should probably get some rest, eh?”

He shifted around, getting comfortable, and eventually closing his eyes. How lucky he was to find a place like this, he marveled as he began drifting off to sleep. With such comfortable sheets, as well.

And all that was left was to finally meet this Essek Thelyss.

On his chest, Frumpkin began to purr.

And to hope that they’d both get along.

— — —

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[everydayanth]

Academic Elitism: an institutional issue

Sorry for being so rant-y lately, but the elitism of university has been a problem for me from the exact moment I accepted my scholarship with a signature and a handshake in high school. (The scholarship was later revoked due to state up-fuckery, but that’s another story, and I was already in too deep by the time they told me).

My parent’s house was only an hour north, my younger sister had already claimed my room, but I was excited. I was in the furthest dorm building, because that’s where the scholarship kids went, it was like a poor kid diversity hall, every few doors was someone from a completely different background, but we were all poor except our Swedish RA, and there was an odd pride in that. We all had various scholarships: robotics, dance team, nerds like me, etc. (not the football or hockey athletes though, they had their own dorm next to the library for... reasons, lol).

But being the last hall, it wasn’t actually full, most of us had entire rooms to ourselves, often whole suites; our hall was co-ed, but rooms were only occupied at every-other, staggered down the corridor. Only the front two halls were used, the back two closed off for construction or codes or something. We had to hike up the hill for dining halls, which was fine until snowdays that shut the whole campus down (and I mean west Michigan ones, with 4+ feet of powder and ice underneath). I had an old computer my dad got me for graduation and I didn’t know it was old until my peers started calling it a dinosaur. I had to use the library computers to write and print papers, and most places I went, I ran into the other scholarship kids. We didn’t talk much, just a head bob here and there, awareness at our similarities and an annoyed spite at being thrown together this way. It was lonely for everyone.

I had a purple flip phone I’d gotten only that calendar year (2009) and was still learning to text with (abbreviations? instant messaging? what?). My roommate had come down from Alaska to live near her dad, we’d talked in the summer, but I never saw her. I moved my things in and her stuff was on her side, I texted her about going to turn in paperwork and when I came back, there was a note on my bed and all her things were gone, she couldn’t do it, had never been away from home for even a night. She left a few mismatched socks and a bag of junk pens that I resented for years. 

Social media was mostly a way to talk to people across campus and exchange homework and party times/locations. We posted over-edited photos of our food and still jogged with our mp3 players and ipods. But within two years, I had to trade in my computer three times and upgrade to a smartphone to keep up with the expectations of communication. Professors would cancel classes by emails an hour out, and if I was on campus, I simply didn’t get the message, running between classes with 19 credit hours and three jobs. Work would call in or cancel my appointments (tutoring) and I needed to be able to communicate at the rate of my peers, so though it wasn’t something we could easily afford, my parents let me get the smartphone and my dad helped me find computers that could keep up with writing papers and researching without having to go to the lab, which saved so much time. 

There was little understanding for my suffering. I didn’t have a car, I had to call my parents and organize a time to get home or take the train which was more expensive than waiting around on an empty campus. They were often things that even the wealthiest students had to deal with, but there were so much more of them for us, more stress, more problems, more solutions, more consequences, and in some ways, more determination.

I spent plenty of breaks holed up in my room, but when the swine flu/H1N1 outbreak happened, guess where they quarantined students?

In our hall. 

Not the back one that was closed. In the room attached to my suite. 

After half a semester alone, suddenly strangers shared my bathroom. I never saw them, I would just hear the formidable click of the bathroom lock followed by the shower. A week later I got a blue half-sheet note in my mailbox about quarantines. The other kids were as pissed off, as we watched kids escorted in with blue masks and were told to just get cleaning wipes from the front desk –they ran out in a week. 

We were the recyclable students, brought in to trade scholarships for university grade averages. Many of my friends were struggling with scholarship qualifications and gpas (which only encouraged my continual obsessive perfectionism and involvement). 

We were expendable. 

I didn’t understand the elitism then, or I did, but I’d twisted it in my head from years tossed between private and public schools. I was an invader, I wasn’t supposed to be there, but I wanted to be. I understood that I didn’t deserve it, that I had to work harder to stay. I completed Master’s coursework for my Bachelor’s degree, finishing two BA programs (anthropology and English: creative writing) and 2 minor programs in philosophy and world lit, lead several campus groups and volunteered with honor’s societies. I spent hours on campus every day, running home just to go to one job or the other. I slept about four hours a night and I still romanticize it because I loved it. And I was good at it. It was a closed system, easy to infiltrate, easy to watch and observe and follow, to feel protected from the world, but there were always ways that I came up short. 

I didn’t have leggings or Northface fleeces or Ugg boots or name brand anything (except a pair of converse I got in 8th grade from my Babcia). I had old high school sweats and soccer shirts, hand-me-down clothes from sisters and cousins that mix-matched a style I thought was unique but I now understand screamed I don’t really belong here. Example: I went to propose an independent study to a professor I really admired and I panicked about what to wear. I still cringe at the memory, gahhhhhh, but I pulled on what I thought was a decent dress because it had no rips or stains or tears and though I’d picked it up from a clearance rack, it was the newest thing and therefore the best. But in retrospect, it was definitely a “party” dress, I grabbed a sweater, hoop earrings that had always been beautiful in my neighborhood, and heels I never wore otherwise, and presented my idea. This old professor was just like “um...did you dress up for me?” Clearly spooked by red flags and I realized my mistake. Saved by quick thinking I clarified “no, I have a presentation later,” and being a familiar face in the social sciences department, I let him assume I was dressed up as something. I just went in my sweats and t-shirts after that, got a haircut that tamed the wavy frizz and learned the importance of muted tones, cardigans, and flats.

I made a lot of interesting friends in the process, people who also stuck out from the American Academic culture: exchange students, older (non-traditional) students, rebels, and other poor kids. But that also meant that we all evolved during our time there, so friendship was quick and fleeting as we adapted or dropped out or remained oblivious, lost in our studies and dreams of changing the world or our lives. 

I had no idea how to approach the dining halls because I could only afford the bronze plan that was included with my room+board scholarship. I could enter the hall ten times per week, with four included passes to the after-hours carry-out (this was an upgrade from the free high school lunch I was coming from). I met other kids on this plan and their dorm rooms had fridges and microwaves and shelves of ramen and mac’n’cheese. Mine was sparse, my fridge had jugs of water from the filtered tap in the common room, and though it had a shared kitchenette, it always smelled bad or was being used and the nearest grocery store was Meijers which was a 15-20 minute drive from campus. I used so much energy dividing up my meals and figuring out how to sneak food from the hall for later or just learn to not eat, which is another story involving malnutrition, broken bones, and the American Healthcare System.

We like to summarize the college experience with fond struggles. I went back to my old high school to watch my younger sisters’ marching band competition that first year (it’s MI, and they were good). My old art teacher (not much older than we were but she felt so much older at the time, also her maiden name was Erickson and so was her fiance’s so she didn’t “change” her name and that blows my mind to this day), anyway, she stopped me to ask how school was going, and I was not prepared to be recognized in anyway and stammered out something like “oh, yeah, stressful. Fun, cool, yeah,” like the eloquent well-educated student I was. And she said, “oh, I loved it, don’t you love it? Everything’s so charming, and being poor? Oh man, it’s hard for a while, but it’s so good to go through.” 

I was dumbfounded at her reference to poverty as a thing to go through when you’re a student. I again had to remember that I was infiltrating places where people weren’t just marginally more well-off than I was, but far beyond, in a place where they couldn’t comprehend an alternative, couldn’t conceive of surviving poverty, of not having a reliable place to fall if you mess up, parents who couldn’t support you if things went wrong, who couldn’t save you from having to drop out if scholarships were canceled because the money just wasn’t there.

Talking with my parents never worked, and I recently found this video by The Financial Diet about Boomer shame in being poor, where many Millennials were united by it and it was #relatable. But all this is to say that there are so many layers and ways we develop in higher education that are often overlooked by the romantic nostalgia of the elite expectation. What we demand from education vs. what it offers us in return is rarely equal for students coming from poverty, and it starts with that first sacrifice of looking at money and deciding it has to be worth it to do something bigger, and that education is a necessary piece of that goal.

Now I live near Brown University, I’ve been to Harvard when we lived in Boston and recently took a trip to Yale with bold expectations. I am friends with several people who work at these places and I hear the same things: so many students are in a place where their obsessions are considered more important than the larger world, an argument that Shakespeare is a woman is more important to prove than the greater issues of sexism in society as a whole, while others are trained to look at data and the world as a pocketable fact-book, going to conferences and  week-long summits and then off to D.C. to make important decisions about places they’ve never been to, for people they’ve never met, about problems they’ve never experienced.  

It’s not new. It’s not romantic. It’s not nostalgic. It’s just sick. 

I was horrified at New Haven. I have read so many social science reports and papers and experiments and academic bullshit that has come from professors at Yale with a big badge of ivy-league validation. So much of this research was focused on homelessness and culture clash and socio-economics in America, as that was my “dissertation” that got me discounted master’s classes for my BA in Anthropology. Anyway, my point was that I thought this noble, proud university that put out so much research was going to be situated in something of a utopia, where their research is put into practice. Obviously, I was wrong, but I didn’t expect how wrong. (I had also started reading Leigh Bardugo’s Ninth House, so... there’s another thing).

My observations were validated by employees of ivy-league schools, who have watched over the past 2 decades as they grow more and more reclusive, hiding away from the public except through a few, probably well-intentioned, outstretched hands that do little to contribute to the world outside the university itself. These ivory towers are built by poaching: environments, observations, resources, research, and yeah, even students.

I love academia. I will sit in a library for hours just pulling down tomes (and putting them back in their proper locations like a dork) and drawing connections just for fun. But right now, I’m a bit bitter and spiteful and angry. 

When something like Coronavirus sneaks up on us, we have a tendency to throw the most expendable people under the bus as quickly as we can, and all I can think about is my shadow of a suite-mate sneezing and coughing with swine flu for two weeks, at how I refused to use my own bathroom and listened to my hall-mates’ advice about showering at the rec center a mile away as we all collectively locked our bathroom doors and were left there by the university to get sick without insurance to help with any foreseeable costs.

It’s not the same now, they’ve rebuilt the entire section of the campus, it’s odd to see it, I wonder where they put the expendable kids. Or maybe they don’t accept them anymore. I’ve worked in college admissions since then, and it is a scary industry of politics and preference and hidden quotas and image-agendas. Not all schools are industry monsters, but when you’re expendable, they sure do feel like it, whether you graduate summa cum laude with two degrees, six awards, and five tasseled ropes around your neck or not. 

I wish I had a positive message. I wish I was in a place to help people who feel expendable or like they can’t keep up with communications because of technology or language or network or environment. But I don’t have much right now. For all its posturing and linear progression, academia needs to create profit. All I can do is yell about this existing.

If you are feeling expandable in university, I can tell you you’re not alone. I can let you rant about all the small ways your peers don’t get it, whether its an accent they shit on or ceremonies you don’t have the right clothes for or textbooks you share with a friend to cut costs but then they hoard them. I can relate to you about guilt and that sneaking panic that fills you with anxiety at night as you question yourself and wonder if it’s worth it at all, if it’s necessary, if it’s okay to be expendable to follow something that feels bigger. I can validate your doubt and tell you that you’re not actually expendable, you’re a bridge. 

I’m sorry it still works like this. I wish we figured out how to change it by now, I wish I had secret shortcuts to tell you about, that there was more accountability or hope, but I’m not seeing it lately. I hope you do. <3

[bopinion]

2021 / 27

Aperçu of the Week:

He who goes his own way grows wings (Zen wisdom).

Bad News of the Week:

"Small measures, big impact" is the headline of an article on the Tagesschau website about a study by the German Institute of Economic Affairs (Institut der Wirtschaft / IW) that shows four ways Joe Sixpack could reduce his personal carbon footprint. And the numbers are impressive. If German households threw away only half the food they do now, that would save 6 million tons of CO2. A fifth less meat consumption would save almost 10 million tons. Buying one-fifth less new clothing per year would save as much as 12 million. And eliminating domestic flights in favor of rail would save another 2 million tons.

Wow! So why am I telling you about this under "Bad News"? Because these numbers are far less impressive in a different context. Because they would only reduce the CO2 footprint per capita and year by 0.6 tons from the current level of about 11 tons. But to limit global warming to the generally accepted minimum target of 1.5 degrees Celsius, a reduction to less than one ton would be necessary. And not even a complete renunciation of meat, throwaways, fashion and air travel would be enough to achieve this.

In order to spare future generations this enormous sword of Damocles, not only are many radical cuts in our accustomed everyday comforts necessary, but also a fundamental paradigm shift in practically every area of life - from consumption to mobility to the world of work. Driving to the organic market in an electric car and taking the old glass to the recycling center won't be enough. And not even Bill Gates will surprise us next week with an invention that converts greenhouse gases into a clean energy source at the push of a button. Likewise, Elon Musk's Mars colonies will be a little while in coming.

So what it would take first is radical honesty. The admission that all these small, well-intentioned symbolic measures, such as abolishing plastic cups for coffee-to-go, are simply by far not enough to maintain a planet worth living on. But there is no alternative. It's a shame that humanity's change management has failed in almost every significant task in history. The problem is quite simply the prioritization. For example, the military budget of the USA alone would be sufficient to sustainably abolish hunger worldwide - three times over. Or a single month's profit on Wall Street to end child labor and give all children access to education. Who knows, maybe if one of those children from Uganda had attended a school instead of slaving in a mine and had been given a hot lunch instead of malaria, he or she would become the genius who has the crucial idea for the miracle at the push of a button. But we idiots will reliably know how to prevent that. Congratulations!

Good News of the Week:

The pandemic has once again proven how important the so-called "state capable of acting" is for the well-being of its citizens. Especially in contrast to failed states such as Mali, Afghanistan or increasingly Haiti. An essential basis of a such capable state is its financial strength, in order to be able to cope with crises of any kind or, ideally, to prevent them from arising in the first place (social peace etc.). These crises must increasingly be seen in an international context - from Corona to climate.

The financial scope, in turn, is determined by the balance of expenditures and revenues - and the latter are fed almost exclusively by the taxes levied by the states. And this issue, too, must increasingly be seen in an international context, since companies, unlike citizens, are literally boundless in their tax-relevant actions. Which, to put it mildly, gives them room to maneuver - or more clearly: to avoid taxes. As a result, the well-known representatives of Economy 2.0 such as Amazon, Google, Apple and Facebook have come in for criticism.

Therefore, the news from the summit meeting of the G20 finance ministers in Venice yesterday can be absolutely welcomed: after a long struggle, an agreement had been reached on a global minimum tax for large corporations. An agreement providing for a 15% minimum tax is to be implemented as early as 2023. Under the umbrella of the OECD, 131 countries have already agreed to this - including the key heavyweights in this respect, above all the USA.

One aspect in particular is worth mentioning: companies are to pay taxes not only in their home country, but above all where the profits are generated. This benefits emerging countries in particular. On the other hand, companies will no longer benefit fully from doing business in low-tax countries, as the difference will then be levied at the company's legal domicile. Sounds good. And fair.

Personal happy moment of the week:

The day before yesterday was my daughter's high school graduation. After her 18th birthday, the second big step into the adult world. And the proud dad wavered between melancholic and tears of joy. There she is on stage getting her "certificate of maturity" - the world is open to her. I was also particularly pleased with her confident demeanor from organizing the event behind the scenes to making speeches to the audience up front. And the respect she received: from classmates, but also from teachers and even from other parents. Yes, the world really is open to her. You go, girl!

I couldn't care less...

...that England will lose to Italy tonight. After all, the final of UEFA Euro 2020 will be played in London - and the famous "Wembley goal" still has an effect... ;-)

As I write this...

...we are waiting for the next storm and hailstorm. And we know that we are much better off here than for example in the northwest of North America. Who still doubts the man-made climate change: look out of the damn window!

[restlessmaknae]

still disastrous

Gu Dasom thought that nothing was more disastrous than going on a holiday with her best friend - Namjoon. She was wrong. Living with him - now best friend turned boyfriend - was way more disastrous.

♦ Characters: boyfriend!Namjoon x girlfriend!OC (Gu Dasom)

♦ Genre: comedy, fluff, slice of life, established relationship (it’s all sfw)

♦ Words: 4.5k

♦ Warning: -

♦ A/N: This is a sequel to my story called Disastrous which is about the first holiday Namjoon and Dasom spend together on their own (and it turns out to be disastrous, needless to say), but the two stories can be read separately, so don’t worry if you haven’t read it! 💖💖💖

Gu Dasom learned to appreciate the differences they shared with Namjoon, and actually, if she thought about it, there was some beauty about having so many unexpected events to happen in her life. Beside Namjoon, she could never get bored.

On the other hand, she always needed to be alert because from one moment to another, something could happen and Namjoon ended up breaking a bone or walking into a door frame or such mishaps. He was so (cutely) clumsy, but it resulted in her always worrying about him because she could never know when the next disaster would take place.

Growing up beside each other and spending enough time together as best friends had taught her a lot about him and about the ways one could handle such situations, but after they had officially become a couple, she had learned even more about him. Not to mention when they had moved together after graduating university and finding jobs for themselves because that had been when things had started going even more off track than usual.

The first little bits about living together came when she realized that they had a very different definition about placing things, and if she put something on the glass table in the living room, it would be somewhere on a shelf in their bedroom. Namjoon kept putting things in different places, and she needed to remind him so many times that the objects had certain places if they wanted to find them in a hurry, and even though it took some time, he actually listened to her, and took her words seriously.

Then, the next one was anything regarding grocery shopping and just running out of basic necessities such as toilet paper and not realizing that those were the last ones they were using, ending up in not only just one uncomfortable situation. Not to mention food and leftovers going bad because they didn’t remember when they had left them in the fridge in the first place or who had actually left it there. Or Namjoon not letting her know when he had used up something and didn’t buy another one instead.

So these were the first obvious difficulties they faced in the first few weeks, then came - of course - the things that neither of them could do or figure out on their own or with the help of articles online such as changing light bulbs. Maybe it wasn’t rocket science, but Namjoon almost fell off the chair while trying to reach the light bulb in question, and she couldn’t get it out of its frame either.

As talkative as she was, when a new neighbour moved in next door and they started chattering about life, the light bulb incident came up, and this was how their handsome brand new neighbour - Kim Seokjin - ended up in their living room, helping with the light bulb because he insisted that he would do so in exchange for the warm welcome (basically just the two of them introducing themselves with a box of cookies, nothing more).

However, there was one person who didn’t appreciate his presence as much as Dasom did so.

“I still don’t get why we couldn’t just call someone else,” Namjoon whispered into her ears as they were watching over Jin getting on the chair.

“Should I remind you that you weren’t willing to call someone else?” Dasom raised an eyebrow challengingly, exchanging a glance with her boyfriend who looked as defeated as one could be in such a situation. “Besides, he offered his help. It would have been rude if we declined him,” she pointed out, not getting why her boyfriend was so worked up. She might have been referring to Jin as the cute neighbour with an even cuter dog, but it was true, and he shouldn’t have been too hung up on it.

“Okay. I’ll show you how to do it, just watch!” Jin prompted them to walk closer to him as he carefully twisted the bulb counter clockwise because he explained that it was the safer way since the socket had a screw fitting. It seemed so easy when he did so, so Dasom asked about little tricks, and he was willing to answer her questions patiently and all with a kind smile.

Her whole face lit up when the new bulb was implemented and when they turned it on, the light indeed filled the room.

“Thank god! We’ll remember how to do it next time, thank you, really!” Dasom explained joyfully as she directed a beaming smile at their neighbour who just shrugged his shoulders, insisting that he didn’t do anything much, just what a good neighbour would do. Besides, he had had similar struggles in the past, so it was all good.

“Thanks, man. We really won’t keep you up any longer,” Namjoon added in a friendly manner, yet she could feel the impatient edge to his words, and even if she wanted to hide her disappointment, she merely gave her boyfriend a slight smack in the chest.

“Oh, you aren’t keeping me up.” Jin dismissed such assumptions, smiling from ear to ear which reassured Dasom that he didn’t detect or didn’t want to detect the jealousy behind her boyfriend’s words.

So she offered him a glass from the jug of tropical lemonade she had made beforehand, and the young man took it gladly, complimenting the taste for its balanced combination of sweet and savory.

“He doesn’t know when to go, I see,” Namjoon mumbled under his nose so that only she could hear it, but she heard it nevertheless, so she lightly stepped on his left foot, giving him a glare and turning back to Jin with a brighter version of her smile.

Their neighbour chuckled to himself, drinking the glass of lemonade gulp by gulp while keeping his eyes on the couple much to Namjoon’s dismay who impatiently tapped on his chin, a habit that he always displayed whenever he was nervous. Dasom had no idea what to do about his jealous boyfriend when he shouldn’t have been jealous in the first place, but it seemed like Jin caught on their little act, and excused himself to go back to his flat after drinking down the whole glass.

As soon as he left, she was quick to turn around and face her boyfriend.

“What was that about? Are you really going to keep on acting like this around Jin?” She furrowed her eyebrows, hands on her hips. She didn’t want to look intimidating, but she really didn’t know why Namjoon had made such a fuss over literally nothing.

“Well, he seems like a better boyfriend than I am, and yeah, I got a bit jealous, you know. He even has a dog!” Namjoon stated a bit ashamedly, but he also seemed a bit dramatic that usually didn’t work on her given his clumsy self, but she couldn’t help but pout hearing his words.

“Yah! You should never think that I would choose anyone over you! You are my boyfriend, and you have your own strengths and weaknesses, but you are Kim Namjoon, and that’s exactly why you are the perfect boyfriend to me!” Dasom confessed straightforwardly, a bit of frustration lacing her words.

Yet, at least her boyfriend seemed to realize that she was indeed being honest, and that she didn’t think that Jin was anything more than a cute neighbour.

“O-okay,” Namjoon stuttered a bit, his cheeks tinted burgundy by the nervousness that was going through him. He was clearly ashamed that he had ever thought about something else, but Dasom merely shook her head with a knowing smile and smacked him in the chest when she passed by him.

Gosh, what a way to see Namjoon jealous! Thank god communication worked well between the two of them.

Usually, household chores were divided up between the two of them, so that either of them could have their own responsibilities and duties, and the workload wouldn’t be unbalanced. That meant cooking for Dasom while washing the dishes for Namjoon (because he was usually a disaster in the kitchen, and she didn’t want him to cut his hands either with a knife or the edge of a mere can because he had already done so, and it hadn’t been a nice sight), cleaning the rooms including the bathroom and the toilet for her while taking out the rubbish, checking the mailbox and taking care of the recycling for Namjoon. Once he had been very eager to take on ironing the clothes, but after burning a hole into one of her favourite blouses, she had been quick to tell him to take up another task instead of ironing.

It was also her who did the washing up, and it had seemed to work just fine until she once asked her boyfriend to take care of laundry instead of her while she would be helping out her mother at her workplace.

Needless to say, when she got home and looked at the pile of clothes, she didn’t expect to see her plain white shirt in a stronger shade of pink.

“Oh my god, Namjoon! Have you washed all of the clothes together?” Dasom shrieked with her mouth slightly agape, her eyes widening the more clothes she looked at. Her grey sweatpants now tinted a bit blue, her black and white socks in yellow, her otherwise orange shirt in a burgundy shade… Everything but the black clothes had seemed to be reborn in whole new colours.

“Well…” Namjoon gulped, looking from one shirt to another, scratching the back of his neck. “You didn’t tell me to separate them, so I’ve thought that I could put them into the laundry machine together,” he reasoned, letting out a nervous laughter seeing her disapproving glance.

Dasom needed a moment to gather her patience, counting up to a few seconds before she was ready to ask him another question. He was right about not telling him beforehand, but it was because she had been sure that it was common sense to wash the lighter and darker colours with two different programmes. Not to mention the fact that they were always separated before doing the laundry, so all he had needed to do was to put the content of one basket into the machine, and then the other. One after another.

“Then why do you think we put our clothes into two different laundry baskets in the first place?” Dasom inquired with a raise of her eyebrows, eyeing the boy for his answer. He was usually a very intelligent and sensible guy, so she had assumed that he would be smart enough to figure it out. Or to ask or look things up on the internet if he hadn’t even seen his mother doing the laundry, not even once.

Namjoon looked back at her with a bit of an ‘oops’ leaving his ever so tender lips, then he let out a nervous chuckle.

“Actually, I have never thought about it. I’ve just thought it was a way to tell how many dark and light coloured clothes we wore during the week,” he admitted semi-guilty and hearing that, she felt like all her frustration was replaced by second-hand embarrassment.

“You really thought so?” Dasom asked back, amusement lacing her voice, and when he nodded, she bursted into laughter, giggling to herself for a solid minute while Namjoon tried to tell her that it wasn’t that funny, he really didn’t think that much of it, but she merely threw a now green-turned-pink shirt at him and continued laughing.

Gosh, what a way to make it seem like she had a whole new wardrobe of clothes!

Namjoon was really bad in the kitchen, and both of them knew that perfectly well. It had always been that way, and even his mother had tried to keep him away from the kitchen for obvious reasons.

However, he still made an attempt to cook for Dasom when their fourth anniversary as a couple arrived and the first one they could share in their new home, so he really wanted to try his best. 

He followed the recipes as much as he could, though expressions like a pinch of salt or ‘add pepper to your liking’ and a handful of veggies confused the hell out of him because weren’t recipes supposed to apply to everyone? Then, why did they say such things? A handful was different for everyone, a pinch could be a bigger portion or a smaller one, so it really did confuse him a lot. Not to mention when he tossed the veggies into the pan, and the recipe called for caramelized ones by the end, but he couldn’t tell the difference between caramelized ones and burnt ones, so he ended up with either too raw or too burnt pieces.

The rice was thankfully edible and his mother’s homemade kimchi could save the day because it had been previously prepared, he only needed to put it into a bowl and present it, but even his attempt at a brownie turned into a stone-hard and dry mass of chocolate and flour, not properly mixed well. Though at least his homemade cocktail turned out to be good, or at least she said so.

“I mean, I really appreciate your efforts, you know,” Dasom spoke up after having a taste from the veggie stir fry, trying to keep her laughter to herself.

“I’ve really tried my best. The recipe said it was supposed to be quick and easy, but I already got stuck peeling the carrots,” Namjoon huffed as he looked at the mess on his plate. Even he had to admit that this wasn’t supposed to look like that. He couldn’t even call it a meal, how could she still put it into her mouth, munching on it still?

“I can see your efforts, really. Besides, it’s not that bad. There are parts that aren’t burnt, and raw veggies are just as good as cooked ones. They are actually said to be healthier than cooked ones,” she blurted out matter-of-factly, hoping that she could soothe her boyfriend’s nerves a bit, but he looked as under the weather as one could be after they had failed a big test or they had been told horrible news.

She pouted, her heart breaking at the sight of his expression, reaching out for his hands, holding it tight and squeezing it once and then twice, waiting for him to look her in the eye. When he did so, she gifted him with a soft smile, one that was genuine and bright, a ray of sunshine lightening up the meadow of hopelessness. He slowly - like the sunflower turning to the sun - reciprocated her smile, feeling her sincerity.

“Look, it’s already big enough of a gift to me that you are in my life. Not to mention the fact that you’ve really tried your best to step out of your comfort zone and do something for our anniversary that you normally wouldn’t do. So please, don’t feel bad! I really, really appreciate that you’ve decided to cook for me, and it’s really not as inedible as you think so,” she reasoned gently, pinching his cheeks with her free hand that wasn’t holding onto his much larger hands that still fitted to hers like a missing puzzle piece.

“What did I do to get a girlfriend like you?” he mused out loud with a much more reassured tone and a light chuckle.

“Well, you’ve been there for me ever since we were 6 years old, and technically, you needed to sprain your right wrist for me to get mad at you, so that you can shut me up with a kiss, and so that I would confess to you,” she responded with a playful glint in her eyes, though thinking back to their first holiday together - just the two of them, still as best friends - was pretty funny. Such a disastrous holiday, but they might not have been here today if it hadn’t been for that disastrous holiday.

“We can say so,” Namjoon agreed nostalgically, and placed a soft kiss on her forehead before turning back to his own plate of food. Well, if Dasom could eat it, he had to do so.

What people can do when it comes to love...

Luckily, both of them were quite healthy, so apart from runny noses or a few worse winter days, there weren’t a lot of times they needed to ask for a sick leave or pack up on medication to cure themselves from something. So when it came to Dasom’s first sickness that was more than a runny nose, Namjoon was all over the place as expected.

It started with her having a horrible night, tossing and turning in bed while having a stomach ache that she thought would signal the beginning of her period. However, that stomach ache didn’t go away in the morning either, and it was accompanied by diarrhea, cold shivers frequently going through her body and a very unpleasant fever later on. Needless to say, she didn’t have an appetite either even though she knew she would need the energy, but she didn’t feel like she could force down anything.

Namjoon was all panicky in the morning, checking her symptoms on the internet, his mind spinning with more and more horrible scenarios, the online articles referring to life-threatening diseases and serious conditions, making him wonder if something more could be behind her being sick.

Even when they were waiting outside of the GP’s ward, Namjoon couldn’t stop biting his lower lip, his legs shaking just as restlessly as his eyes were darting between the different parts of the room as if something could jump on them.

“Namjoon, don’t worry that much! It’s probably nothing serious,” Dasom tried to reassure him with a faint smile, hoping that her voice and words could bring him back to reality. He did look at her, breaking into a somewhat ashamed smile, but the seed of uncertainty had been planted in his jet-black orbs and it hadn’t yet left. It didn’t help either that she wasn’t feeling all too well, but she was far from being on her deathbed, that was for sure.

As empathetic as her boyfriend could be, he really looked like he was the one who was suffering, and he wouldn’t have let her go to the doctor alone either. He just felt like he needed to be there with her, no matter what they say, and even though Dasom had tried to talk him out of it, he wouldn’t budge. Him and his persistence… Just another reason she loved him so much.

“It’s because of all those articles online. I shouldn’t have searched for them in the first place,” he blurted out honestly, his regret evident in his slumped shoulders and hesitant expression.

“They always state the worst online,” Dasom pointed out knowing all too well that she had fallen into this trap a few times before. “The doctor will be able to say something more anyway,” she reasoned gently, exchanging a knowing glance with him. He must have known the same, but his worryful personality got the worst out of him.

Thankfully, there was really nothing serious going on with her, she had just come down with something, but Namjoon took it upon himself to watch over her for the rest of the day, making her the kind of soup the doctor had recommended, buying her some herbal tea that was also stated to help with her condition, making sure she took her medication and sitting by her side, looking at her as if she could break down in any minute.

“Don’t stare at me like that! I’m doing better,” Dasom called him out when they were watching a movie together, her sipping on her herbal tea and Namjoon glancing in her direction instead of focusing on the movie.

When her words reached him, he looked away, ashamed. He really felt like he had been caught even though he didn’t even realize what he was doing. It felt like an instinct to watch out for anything that might signal her condition worsening.

“I’m just worried,” he admitted, scratching his nape out of uneasiness.

“I can see that,” Dasom agreed with a knowing smile, taking another sip from her tea before continuing. “I would give you a kiss to reassure you, but that wouldn’t be ideal right now,” she added, letting out a giggle.

Even though she didn’t intend to make him laugh with such a statement, Namjoon’s shoulders immediately easened, and he let out a wholehearted laughter. It seemed like her remark helped him to let go of his anxiety a bit.

“I’ll take your word for it when you get better,” he warned playfully, but it didn’t really feel like a warning. If anything, it was the best kind of warning.

So she merely shrugged her shoulders, a lopsided smile hiding in the corner of her lips. She turned back to the laptop, Namjoon following her example, and finally, it seemed like he believed her. Though it couldn’t stop him from checking on her every 10 minutes once she drifted off to sleep and to ask her every now and then if she was really okay after she had recovered and went back to work. She had never doubted, but she could always see it for herself time and time again that Namjoon really did care for her and loved her despite everything.

Christmas had always been an interesting time together. Not to say that it hadn’t been fun. It had been just that… Interesting. Beside someone like Namjoon, things had sometimes gotten out of control, not to mention when they were spending this time with friends or family.

Namjoon’s friends were characteristic one by one and his family was lovely, but Dasom also had her best friend - Hyerim - who couldn’t shut up around anyone really, and she liked to have the time to herself to be as much of a storyteller as one could be. It usually meant that the time with her turned out to be an hour-long session of her reminiscing about funny and awkward stories about her high school and childhood days. They had already heard most of them, but it was almost impossible to make her stop while she was so enthusiastically talking about something, so they just let her be.

Of course, each one of their friends were amazing and supportive and understanding in their own ways, but when they got to meet all of them during Christmas and New Year, it seemed like some kind of a comedy skit. Not to mention the gifts they had usually received from them ranging from best boyfriend and best girlfriend mugs from Hyerim to handmade candles from Jungkook and pillows printed with each other’s faces from Taehyung. Their parents had usually gifted them with coupons for concerts or some kind of classes - needless to say, the pottery one hadn’t turned out to be very successful in the end and even though the Lotte World tickets had been used, to save themselves from further inconveniences, they had rather not sat on anything too scary or high or fast, so they had stuck with entertainment opportunities for little kids and live fairytale performances -, but at least they had chosen something that would mean that they could spend more time together.

This year, Christmas started with their brand new neighbour - Jin - coming over with the special festive season meals he had made (and he had made a lot even though he was living on his own) much to Namjoon’s dismay, but it was really kind of the young man to do so, and it was free food, so Namjoon didn’t want to protest either. Not to mention that the more he got to know their new neighbour, the less hostile he seemed, thus they actually got out of this time better than they would have expected.

Then, the time to themselves meant decorating the Christmas tree that looked like something out of a child’s drawing yet again, wrapping gifts that yet again resulted in Namjoon cutting his fingers with the scissors and having glue stuck on his hands, trying to wash it off fervently. Dasom made less fancy but still delicious treats for them and she even prepared the cake with colourful candles, but they almost managed to burn down the Christmas tree with its candles, so it was better to just eat them on their own without having to decorate the dessert even further.

“Gosh, it wouldn’t have been us if we hadn’t had such calamities,” Dasom mused out loud while she was digging into the chocolate sponge cake, smiling in a childish way, thinking back to all those Christmases they had spent together. Not only as a couple but also as best friends back in the days. With braces and questionable fashion choices. With wishes for their first very own laptop or a kpop album by a beloved boy band crush of theirs. With stuffing their mouths with food until they had gotten sick of the meals. With carefree laughter, eye smiles and bittersweet nostalgia.

Namjoon displayed the same kind of smile she did so, his eyes telling hundreds of tales of the past and sparkling with hopes for the future. 

“At least, you can’t say that you are getting bored of me. Something always happens when we are together,” he pointed out with a lopsided grin, making her chuckle. Gosh, she really couldn’t disagree with him!

“If I were cheesy, I would say that I wouldn’t be able to get bored of you…”

“But?” Namjoon raised an expectant eyebrow in question, stopping the fork in his hands halfway between his plate and his mouth. Sometimes he was so innocently oblivious. As if she could ever doubt his love or care or regret the time they had spent together.

This time was no different, and Dasom didn’t have the heart to tease him when he looked at her with such wide puppy eyes.

“Even if I weren’t cheesy, I would say the same,” she admitted as she pinched his cheeks, earning a smile from him that was like the sun rising on the horizon; just as beaming, bright and hopeful.

She hoped that them and those precious smiles and exchanged glances would stay the same no matter how many more mishaps they would share and no matter how disastrous life would be beside the love of her life.

[newstfionline]

Friday, June 25, 2021

The United States ranks last among 46 countries for trust in news (Reuters Institute) Trust in news worldwide grew slightly in the wake of the pandemic, according to the Reuters Institute’s annual Digital News Report. But not in the United States—it was one of the few countries that did not see an increase in trust from 2020 to 2021, and the percentage of Americans who trust news overall—29%—was the lowest among the 46 markets surveyed. The long-predicted end of the “Trump Bump” showed up clearly in the research, with Americans’ interest in news declining by 11%. National news outlets like The Washington Post, The New York Times, CNN and MSNBC have all seen significant dips in their audience numbers.

Western drought brings another woe: voracious grasshoppers (AP) A punishing drought in the U.S. West is drying up waterways, sparking wildfires and leaving farmers scrambling for water. Next up: a plague of voracious grasshoppers. Federal agriculture officials are launching what could become their largest grasshopper-killing campaign since the 1980s amid an outbreak of the drought-loving insects that cattle ranchers fear will strip bare public and private rangelands. In central Montana’s Phillips County, more than 50 miles (80 kilometers) from the nearest town, Frank Wiederrick said large numbers of grasshoppers started showing up on prairie surrounding his ranch in recent days. Already they’re beginning to denude trees around his house. “They’re everywhere,” Wiederrick said. “Drought and grasshoppers go together and they are cleaning us out.”

Condo building partially collapses in Miami-Dade (Washington Post) A large oceanfront condo building near Miami Beach partially collapsed early Thursday morning, killing at least one person, injuring another 10 or more and prompting a mass search-and-rescue response as 51 people remain unaccounted for. Dozens of units from police and fire agencies rushed to Champlain Towers South in Surfside, Fla., at 1:30 a.m. after the northeast corridor of the building collapsed, assistant fire chief Ray Jadallah said. Rescuers evacuated 35 people from the 12-story building, including two recovered from the rubble. Fifty-five of the more than 130 units were destroyed. The partial collapse came one day after the building had passed inspection.

Calls grow to evacuate Afghans to Guam as US troops leave (AP) In the chaotic, final hours of the Vietnam War, the U.S. evacuated thousands of South Vietnamese who supported the American mission and were at risk under the communist government. With U.S. and NATO forces facing a Sept. 11 deadline to leave Afghanistan, many are recalling that desperate, hasty exodus as they urge the Biden administration to evacuate thousands of Afghans who worked as interpreters or otherwise helped U.S. military operations there in the past two decades. Despite unusual bipartisan support in Congress, the administration hasn’t agreed to such a move, declining to publicly support something that could undermine security in the country as it unwinds a war that started after the 9/11 attacks. The Biden administration for now is focusing on accelerating a special visa program for Afghans who helped U.S. operations. Even if the legislation passed immediately, the number of visas would fall far short of the estimated 18,000 Afghans waiting to be processed. And the average wait is more than three years. The process also has been hampered by the coronavirus pandemic, which led the U.S. embassy in Afghanistan to suspend visa interviews.

Footage of Amazon destroying thousands of unsold items in Britain prompts calls for official investigation (Washington Post) British lawmakers are demanding a meeting with tech giant Amazon’s country manager after an investigation at a warehouse in Scotland revealed that thousands of unsold or returned items—including televisions, books, sealed face masks and laptops—were being destroyed by the company. Footage from the undercover investigation by ITV News at a warehouse in the Scottish town of Dunfermline, also showed drones, headphones, jewelry and countless other high-value products being placed into boxes labeled “destroy,” before huge trucks were followed carrying the stock to landfill sites and recycling centers. One ex-employee told ITV News that workers were expected to get rid of an estimated 130,000 items a week. The broadcaster described the practice as “waste on an astonishing level.” Amazon operates 175 centers worldwide, spanning more than 150 million square feet of space where employees prepare items to be shipped and delivered to customers around-the-clock. ITV News noted that the reason for the destruction of the goods may be attributable to Amazon’s business model. Companies worldwide store items in warehouses owned by the online shopping giant. However, if the items fail to sell, they are charged rising fees that some may struggle to pay, leading to piles of goods that need to be stored—or dumped—elsewhere. Many Britons, also concerned by the investigation, demanded to know why items that appeared to be in good condition were being dumped when vulnerable people or charities could have used the goods.

Black Sea tensions (Foreign Policy) Russia complained on Wednesday of a “blatant British provocation” in the Black Sea, as a British Navy vessel sailed near the Crimean peninsula on its way to port in Georgia. Both sides contest the facts of the incident: The Russian Defense Ministry said it fired warning shots near the British ship and dropped four bombs in its way, while the British Defense Ministry said no such obstruction occurred. A BBC journalist on board the British ship said he heard shots “out of range,” and that Russian military planes shadowed the vessel. Tensions in the area are expected to remain high as NATO conducts military exercises in the Black Sea starting on Monday.

It’s 118 Degrees in Siberia (Vice) The Arctic Circle is known for viciously cold winter temperatures that can cause frostbite within minutes—but this summer, parts of the area are so hot that touching the ground could burn your skin. The Siberian town of Verkhojansk recorded ground temperatures of 118 degrees on Monday, according to the European Union’s Earth Observation Programme. The agency’s satellites captured images of the record-breaking heat wave gripping the Russian north. The Siberian town of Saskylah saw an all-time peak ground temperature of 90 degrees, and other towns recorded temperatures near 110 degrees, according to the EU’s space agency. The World Meteorology Organization highlighted how dire the situation is in the Arctic, which is warming more than two times quicker than the global average. The fast rate is caused by a phenomenon called “Arctic amplification,” or the domino effect of the region’s highly reflective snow, large water volume, and fragile ecosystem. The high temperatures are causing wildfires in the Arctic too. As early as April, wildfires began to spark across Siberia, and got so bad the smoke could be seen from space, according to NASA imagery. In 2020, Siberia was also hit by record-breaking hot temperatures, dating back to 1885, according to National Geographic. “For a long time, we’ve been saying we’re going to get more extremes like strong heat waves,” Ruth Mottram, a climate scientist at the Danish Meteorological Institute, told National Geographic in 2020. “It’s a little like the projections are coming true, and sooner than we might have thought.”

Afghan government could collapse six months after US troops withdraw (The Hill) Afghanistan’s government could collapse as quickly as six months after all U.S. troops withdraw from the country, according to new analysis from the U.S. intelligence community. The latest intelligence assessment, reported by The Wall Street Journal, said that the Afghan government, led by President Ashraf Ghani, could collapse between six to 12 months after all American forces are pulled from the country. Some other officials, however, said that the government could fall as soon as three months after the U.S.’s withdrawal from Afghanistan is finished, the Journal reported. Previous analysis, the newspaper noted, said that Afghanistan’s government could stand for as long as two years after the American troops leave.

China’s borders (Foreign Policy) China’s borders will remain closed to most visitors until at least the second half of 2022 over concerns of further COVID-19 outbreaks imported from abroad. Chinese officials are reportedly worried about two sensitive events: the Beijing Winter Olympics and the formal conferral of an unprecedented third term for Chinese President Xi Jinping near the end of 2022. It’s possible some restrictions will remain until after the annual Two Sessions in early 2023. But the move may also reflect China’s lack of confidence in its own vaccines. Although its domestic vaccination program has been highly successful, with more than 1 billion doses administered, case data from other countries shows the Chinese vaccines aren’t doing a good job at preventing the spread of the virus, particularly the spread of new variants.

China says after massed drills that Taiwan’s future lies in ‘reunification’ (Reuters) Taiwan needs to be clearly aware that its future lies in “reunification” with China and that it cannot rely on the United States, China’s military said on Thursday, responding to questions on a massed incursion by Chinese warplanes last week. Twenty-eight Chinese air force aircraft, including fighters and nuclear-capable bombers, entered Taiwan’s air defence identification zone (ADIZ) last Tuesday, the largest number to date reported by the Chinese-claimed island’s government. The incident came shortly after Group of Seven leaders issued a joint statement scolding China for a series of issues and underscoring the importance of peace and stability across the Taiwan Strait, comments China condemned as “slander”.

Japan proposes four-day working week to improve work-life balance (DW) Japan is attempting to buck its “salaryman” stereotype and improve the work-life balance of its citizens in new economic policy guidelines that recommend a move to a four-day workweek. The Japanese government cited increased employee retention, especially for those caring for children or older relatives, as an incentive for employers to adopt the policy. Japanese authorities are hoping an extra day off per week will lead its citizens to solve even more societal problems: By using the time to do more shopping to boost the economy and by giving young people more time to socialize, which may, eventually, boost the country’s sluggish birth rate. However, there is concern that management will be reluctant to do away with some of the attitudes towards business that have served Japan Inc. so well for generations—even if there is clear evidence that traditional approaches are less effective than they were in the past. Employees, on the other hand, find the idea of a shorter working week appealing, but they do worry about reduced wages and accusations that they are not fully committed to their company.

Settlement Is Reached Over Stuck Ship That Blocked Suez Canal in Egypt (NYT) The owner and insurers of the enormous container ship that blocked the Suez Canal for six days in March and disrupted global shipping have reached a settlement with the Egyptian authorities, one of the insurers said on Wednesday. The insurer’s statement did not specify the amount, but said that once the settlement was formalized, the ship—after nearly three months of haggling, finger-pointing and court hearings—would finally complete its journey through the canal. Since the ship was freed in a huge salvage effort in March, about six days after running aground across the Suez, the canal authority had been locked in an often acrimonious standoff with the ship’s owner and operators over what the authority said it was owed for the incident. The authority had sought up to $1 billion in compensation.

[group1red]

What Is Causing the Ozone Layer Depletion by Last Years?

By: Alejandro Afanador, Angelo Fernandez, Felipe Naranjo and Jose Alejandro Bedoya 8-A

The last years, pollution has become one of the main issues as it creates global warming and damages the earth's shield called the ozone layer.  The extreme consumption has taken us to depletion of the oxygen factories forests; besides, many pollutants like all the type of transport are contributing to greenhouse gases phenomenon. The consequences of those are visible everywhere on the planet, harming animals, humans, plants, and trees and they are constantly warming the planet, melting poles, and affecting the ozone layer.

The transport industry is one of the greatest pollutants on the planet as most of its vehicles are still using fossil fuels. Car pollution has been one of the biggest problems in air contamination, Linda, C Brinson stated: “car pollution is one of the major causes of global warming. Cars and trucks emit carbon dioxide and other greenhouse gases, which contribute one-fifth of the United States' total global warming pollution. Greenhouse gases trap heat in the atmosphere, which causes worldwide temperatures to rise.” This a very good evidence that the cars are really affecting the ozone layer, by emitting dangerous gasses into the atmosphere and contributing to the greenhouse effect which at the same time is damaging the ozone layer. Besides, greenhouse gasses are responsible for trapping heat which is melting poles and producing extreme weather like floods and wildfires.  The accuracy of this data is also proofed by the number of cars that are circulating every day which means that millions of tons of dangerous gasses are produced daily.  

As we know, cars produce different toxic gasses and compounds that damage the ozone layer. E. Uherek leave this absolutely clearly by saying that “the emissions of No2, which are very deadly for the ozone layer, are mainly produced by transport pollution, the US transportation sector, produces nearly thirty percent of all US global warming emissions. And this happens with many other countries, with more consumerism, more pollution. Many short-lived gases and particles are emitted by land transport, which have an impact on atmospheric composition and air quality.” (E. Uherek 2010) We can notice it with the naked eye, some parts of the atmosphere are in critical state due to these emissions. And these can also affect people's skin and even be responsible for skin cancer. These emissions are so powerful that they reduce the ozone layer causing more heat to enter the planet and as a consequence we have poles melting causing the sea level to rise considerably. Transport pollution not only emits gases that can damage the ozone layer, it also emits gases that are deadly to people. 

Logging, and as we all know deforestation is another environmental issue caused mostly by human activities, such as; Farming, urbanization and mining. What we are causing is the depletion of the forests that are our main producers of oxygen, has been going on for centuries to create more farming lands, space for the cities' infrastructures, and mining different resources to satisfy human beings' demands of consumption. For example, mining in general uses mercury and other toxic chemicals to do their procedures, and no in all cases the people who are in charge of cleaning the area after mining, do the accurate procedures to get rid of the chemical; therefore, many dangerous substances go to rivers killing and contaminating aquatic wildlife. More over urbanization and farming have the same effect, they just get rid of the wildlife to plant crops or to put houses and they displace the animals from their habitat. However, deforestation is not only caused by human activities, but also by “natural factors like wildfires and overgrazing, which may prevent the growth of young trees” As Christina Nunes (2007) explains. All the causing mentioned above are responsible for increasing global warming and many disbalance in nature are the consequence of those.

Also, deforestation causes, many health problems, because it is increasing the co2 levels and lowering the o2 levels, and it is not only affecting us old humans or the ones with respiratory problems, it is killing animals. Not all the animals adapt to low levels of oxygen; according to Samuel J. and Franklin C. (2008) “these low levels of oxygen may cause hypoxemia, in other words low levels of oxygen in the blood, which causes some symptoms that can be mortal Trought time and cause dead”.

Concluding this text, we have 2 main problems, the car pollution that produce greenhouse and chemicals gases, and the deforestation, all this is affecting to much our planet and the ozone layer. And this is mainly produced by humans, our emissions of chemical gases and pollution affects the whole world and the ozone layer. But all these problems have a solution, what we can do is to, first, don’t contaminated, recycle the things, the plastics that we use, cause then it will cause a lot of pollution and chemicals gases, organize the things we throw in the garbage, try to use the public transport, or electric cars, save water and energy.  

[bookandcover]

Haunting, complex, raising many questions and intentionally giving no easy answers--this is a beautiful novel, compressed into a glittering, sharp gem. I was really pleased to receive this novel as a gift and as a recommendation from my literary friend. I hadn’t heard of Alexander Chee before this book, but he’s clearly someone I should know. The space his work inhabits--between fiction and nonfiction--is a lovely, poignant suspension, dream-like, that asks us to consider others’ lives and to look critically at our own. 

It seems an oversimplification to compare Edinburgh to Lolita--both beautiful novels dealing with the fringe topic of pedophilia--because this book is its own thing, its own life. Yet, I did think of Lolita while reading this because of the beauty of the prose and the awareness of beauty on the part of the author. The sense of beauty that permeates these pages, that takes on a life of its own and transcends above any subject matter, reminded me of Nabokov. Chee’s prose is stunning, direct, effervescent--like sinking into a crystal, still lake. Chee writes, as Fee contemplates and then attempts suicide for the first time: “The new year is underway, and the snow makes everything seem perfected, cleaned off and put away until the spring. The evergreens are the suggestion or the idea of a tree, a green shadow helmeted in white. And the bare trees, arterial, reach out as if they give up something of the earth to the air above.” The novel’s characters, like Chee through his prose and his literary craft, experience a love of beauty, and a longing for it, which creates both a contrast and a resonance with the darkest moments in the novel. Chee’s characters struggle with depression, violence, self-harm, sexual assault, and the erasure of their identities. But, at the same time, they leap toward beauty--elegant lines of others’ bodies captured in art, mythology and history studied and retold, repeated motifs of fire and foxes burning brightly against a dark landscape, and the ever-present sublimity of nature. 

I, personally, was very aware of the setting of this novel as part of its beauty. The landscape of Maine--the weather, the flowers, the ocean, the outdoors--is woven throughout the book. This landscape seems to exist in relationship to the emotional state of the narrator (whether Fee or Warden). The natural objects are not symbols, as they too often are in literature. Stones and butterflies don’t represent something that they’re not. Instead, they appear at the right moments, as if summoned into being by the emotional state of each narrator. Or, perhaps, each narrator is able to see them, suddenly, because of a familiarity, a recognition between his inner life and the outer life of the world. We, the readers, notice these connections. Warden sees the glacial erratics, in the oceans and fields, and asks Fee about them just when he feels out of place, just when he feels shattered against a larger, impossible stone. Fee works for Speck and sees his painted fresco of Edinburgh, encounters the letter from the trapped man, right when he feels buried, assumed “dead” by those around him. But we’re not asked to overanalyze these objects, to cheapen them through assignment of meeting. Their role, instead, is to create affinity--a common feeling, an intimacy--between a vulnerable human and a, somehow, sympathetic world. 

It was certainly an odd experience to read a prominent book set in a place I’m so familiar with; I swam in the Cape Elizabeth pool for swim meets in middle school and high school, I camped throughout Maine, I drove through the streets of South Portland that Chee mentions, my guy friends growing up were in Boy Singers of Maine (which Chee calls the Pine State Boys Choir in the novel). Especially in the first section of the book, this familiarity took some getting used to. But it also added to the experience of reading for me. It felt like this story was being told to me by a friend, someone close to me and talking about things I was familiar with. Fee’s experiences, therefore, took on the added horrifying level of proximity, a kind of “this could be me” or “this could be my close friend” feeling. I felt, acutely, the privilege of this not being me, of having been able to grow up slowly and at my pace. Of having been able to ask questions about myself and my identity when I was ready to and not on someone else’s schedule or with someone else’s cold, self-serving interference. 

One of the values of this book, I think, is the way that it does not provide easy answers about pedophilia, sexuality, queerness, and identity. I love the fact that, in the second half of the novel, Warden shows us the experiences of a teenager wildly attracted to an adult, crossing the stigmatized border between adult and child in a very different way than it is crossed by his father Eric Gorendt. At the same time, the novel’s awareness that the line between adult/child is not simple, and that love and attraction can move across it, does not lessen nor excuse Big Eric’s crimes. Big Eric’s crimes are never treated as anything less than horrifying and reprehensible; we see the terrible impact on the boys he assaulted--from Peter’s suicide to Zach’s suicide. Yet, at the same time, we’re privy to Fee’s guilt, his confusion over whether his sexuality played some strange role in these crimes. Fee seems to repeatedly wonder whether Big Eric sensed in him some affinity, some willingness to be complicit? Fee’s misguided guilt, his confusion, his ongoing obsession with Peter and boys who look like him allows us readers to view all these issues and questions around attraction as ones that are deeply complex. We can, and we are asked to, condemn Big Eric. But we are not asked to condemn attraction beyond the barriers that are normally established by society. And we are asked to question our own assumptions, about anything. 

At the heart of this novel, there is love. It’s a novel, fundamentally, about love. Love that is not to be confused with attraction, with obsession, with selfishness--although the characters question themselves, repeatedly, on the reasons they experience all of these feelings. I’m not sure I understand the ending of this novel--a lot seems unresolved--as it spirals into a rather shocking resolution with Warden’s attack on his father (the kind of decisive action Fee never seemed to be able to bring himself to?), the sudden affair between Fee and Warden, and Fee’s choice (is it final?) to abandon Warden and return to Bridey. After thinking about this a lot, my interpretation is that the ending works as a reminder of the central, essential role of love. Love is healing. Fee is the main character and he moves through the novel from a place of trauma to a resolution in healing. The novel, while feeling unfinished around certain plot points, is finished when its narrative arc is understood to be Fee’s journey toward healing. His brief, passionate relationship with Warden allows him to directly address the long-term trauma that he carries, which has solidified in an obsession with Peter and Peter’s death. At the same time, his choice to let Warden go, to go back to Bridey, shows real growth and healing. Fee chooses the relationship that means “moving on.” He chooses the adult relationship and the life he built for himself, and not the relationship that is about processing and recycling his past. Fee’s choice is an act of self-love, an act of healing, an act of freedom. 

It’s a bit troubling(?) that this act of self-love, this choice, might come at expense of other characters. The jury’s still out on whether “troubling” is the way I feel about this... The novel does a good job setting up Bridey’s character and liberating him from this; he loves Fee wholly and this love comes with understanding. He understands that Fee needs to process his past and he is not irrevocably hurt by this (in fact, he almost seems to see Fee’s affair coming, with his comments on “needing to keep in practice in case I get dumped.”) Bridey finds Fee at the end of the novel. He knows him. He waits for him. And this is the love that changes Fee, that allows him to choose a life free from his past. The Lady Tammamo myth circles around again at the end of the book, as Fee reflects that “love ruins monsters.” All Lady Tammamo needed to do to become human was to love one man. Fee, too, seems to become human, in his own eyes, faced with Bridey’s unconditional love. There is hope for them, going forward, awareness of a new version of Fee that is better to be in love with. 

But what of Warden? We don’t get Warden’s resolution, his reaction to Fee’s departure, and I wondered about this. Warden’s descriptions of his love for Fee always got to me, always took hold of my heart and squeezed, transfixed me--like the butterflies he preserves on pins. These are the kinds of lines you’d want to write and rewrite, on journals, on skin, in places you’d see them everyday. 

“And so it is that the faint, caused by my thinking of the theft of the picture, is the first reason he takes me in his arms.” 

“I love him, I say, surprising myself. When he’s around, it feels like he’s in charge of everything in me. I don’t know what to do with that. Do you kiss it? I don’t know.” 

“So let me get this straight. You throw up so much that you are fainting, and now you have been prescribed drugs, because you want this man so much, but, you aren’t gay.” 

“How tear, as in to cry, and tear, as in to rip or pull, how they’re spelled the same? You could write them and someone reading would not know if you were crying or separating.” [Outro: Tear, anyone?]

I wanted happiness and healing for Warden, as well. But the bird inside him scares me. Perhaps his story is another story--Warden’s story, he was part of Fee’s only briefly. Is Warden’s story a tragedy or one in which he comes to know himself, though this experience of young love, and moves on--also looking to the future, and not the past? I hope so. If Fee has left Warden behind, another hurt child, that ending for this novel is, certainly, troubling. 

I don’t have an easy answer here (or anywhere). But the novel’s resistance to resolution/finality is realistic, and one of the most powerful moves of this story, as it inhabits that uncanny valley between fiction and non-fiction. 

[thelostcatpodcast]

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 5: EPISODE 1: ROCKS IN HIS POCKETS

THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 5: EPISODE 1: ROCKS IN HIS POCKETS Released on : 28th March 2020 https://thelostcat.libsyn.com/season-5-episode-1-rocks-in-his-pockets

I have spent a lot of time recounting the adventures i have had trying to find my cat, but not nearly enough recounting the adventures my cat has had while it has been lost.

If you listen to the Special Episode called ‘Pet Detective’ ( https://thelostcat.libsyn.com/special-episode-the-lost-cat-pet-detective ), you can hear about a dark time my cat had while in the city.

Well now I will tell you about an even darker time he had while taking a trip to the country

THE LOST CAT PODCAST BY AP CLARKE SEASON 5, EPISODE 1: ROCKS IN HIS POCKETS

The woods were beautiful, full and green. Gentle winds moved waves through the canopy, and the air was filled with the calming sussurration of life. Healthy forest, rare these days, and quite gorgeous.

And my cat cared for not a bit of it. Walking grumpily through the undergrowth after a long andl eventful journey from the city, my cat only cared for its next meal. It had been far too long. There was a meal on every corner in the city, if you looked in the right bins. But here there were mouldy berries and aggressive squirrels, and, as far as my cat was concerned, squirrels were the worst.

So my cat trudged on, grumpy and hungry, and hungry and grumpy, and increasingly so of all of them.

But... then... my cat felt a ripple in the air, and a rhythm in the earth. A clean, lapping motion. My cat’s ears pricked up. There was water nearby, lots of it and in it, yes, fish.

So he walked a little faster, the undergrowth cleared, and the forest opened out in to a huge lake, beautiful, fresh, clear, calm, with the verdant forests all around reflecting upon its mirrored surface.

My cat walked up to the dulcitly lapping shore, sniffing at it.

He considered going in the water, he did. But it was cold.

He would, if he had to.

He totally would.

But he saw a boat, bobbling about, making its way back to shore, and reeking of very recently caught fish. The boat was full of younger human adults, My cat could tell this from the smell of beer, weed, and unwashed genitals accompanied by a constant barrage of territorial noises. They seemed friendly enough, but my cat knew to keep back, and he quietly watched them land.

They got out, pushing and pulling at each other, hitting each other, wriggling their hips, and generally making a lot of noise, throwing their empty cans away into the grass.

They wore bright, small clothes.

But they took the fish with them, a huge shiny gloriously fresh fish that my cat could eat for a week. They hung it from a pole and it dangled as they walked up the hill towards the buildings.

So my cat picked up the pace through the long grass to keep up with the fish. As my cat passed one of the cans the humans had thrown, his foot flipped a twig that pushed the can in to another and they both clattered down the hill back towards the water, dislodging a few rocks as they went.

One of the humans, a woman with dark hair, glasses, and a jumper on, spun round, checking the treeline.

My cat froze in the long grass.

“Hey guys, did you hear anything?” she said.

The others just laughed. “No, what?”

“I think someone’s following us.”

“Don’t be crazy Maisie, come on!”

The woman called Maisie hesitated, looking out over where my cat was standing. “Well...ok.” she said, and then she turned back to the path and carried on with the others, accepting a can of drink from one of the men.

And my cat followed.

When they got to the buildings they split up.

“Hey, Deeber, put that thing in the store-house, yeah?” said one of the men. “It’ll stink up the house!”

“Yeah OK. I can salt it up a little, too. Make it taste gorgeous.”

“Whatever, you’re still gonna burn it on the fire tonight!”

And they made a bunch more territorial noises and went inside the house. Deeber went in to the store-house off to the other side of the path, a large wooden building full of shelves, tools, and other equipment for the upkeep of the camp, along with endless cans, bottles of wine and packets of snacks and trash strewn all around.

Deeber took the fish inside, so my cat followed him in.

Deeber hung the huge fish on one of the large hooks that hung on a rail from the ceiling, then opened some jars with salt and other herbs.

My cat watched him, with some disdain, rub these things in to the fish.

Then Deeber, satisfied with his work, picked up a can, left to join his friends, whooping loudly, and leaving the fish to hang until that evening.

My cat went and looked at the fish, hanging from the large hook in the centre of the room, high above the floor.

He leapt up to grab at the fish but could not reach.

He leapt up onto one of the counters, avoiding piles of heavy, rusted tools and empty packets of crisps. He tried to reach the fish, but fell to the floor, scattering many of the empty bottles of wine and spirits that lay around.

My cat froze at the sudden noise, checking all around him.

“Hey!” came a voice from outside. It was Maisie, the dark, haired lady. “Is anybody in there?”

My cat, leapt up and hid in a cupboard. He did not want to be found. He kept very low and very still in the shadows.

The front door creaked open and a spatula was pushed through, hesitantly followed by Maisie’s head, looking about.

“I’m armed.” she said, wielding the spatula. “I’m serious!”

She was making loud aggressive sounds, but from her smell my cat could tell she was not used to this sort of anger, and was more than a little scared right now. She seemed like a nice one.

My cat kept low so as not to startle this clearly rattled woman.

My cat watched as Maisie walked all around the massive store-house. “If you’re messing with me, I swear!” she said.

She found the fish, and the scattered bottles of wine and tutted.

Then she leant down and picked up the bottles.

“I keeping saying to take them to the recycling…” she sighed, and arranged them neatly to one side, near the door.

She took one last look around, then grabbed some snacks and left, closing the door quietly.

My cat, for his part, waited patiently, staring at the fish.

The sun slowly set, the humans lit a bonfire down the hill, next to the lake, and singing and shouting could be heard all around.

My cat decided now was a good time to try a different approach with the fish.

He stood up... but then the doors to the shed smashed open and a clearly intoxicated Deeber another friend came in, picked up the fish from the hook, and started carrying it out.

My cat hunkered down, but the wood of the cupbaord creaked, and Deeber looked back in to the darkness of the large shed.

“Did you hear that, Gus?”

“No, I didn’t hear anything,” said Gus. “Come on.”

“Wait no, maybe she was right?”

“Crazy Maisie? Come on, let’s cook!”

“Hey, don’t call her that.”

“Uh-huh,” said his friend. “OK.”

“You go on, start it without me. I’m just going to check.”

“Fine, bro.”

“Oh, get out of here.” Deeber replied, brightly, but he was twitching and shaking. He was a lot more nervous than he was acting. A cigarette trembled as he held it.

“Well come back with some wine, will ya?”

“Ha! Sure thing!”

Deeber checked all around the huge, empty store-house. He checked in the other rooms, checked around the shelves, all the while smoking nervously from his cigarette.

My cat watched him search the space all the while the smell of the fish fading as it was taken down the hill.

The man was twitchy, constantly checking behind him. My cat wanted to follow the fish, but was worried about how this Deeber could react. My cat was worried this man’s state could lead to dangerous, uncontrolled reactions. My cat did not move.

Deeber checked all around the storage area, walking right past the cupboard my cat was hiding in. But then he paused, took another drag of his cigarette, then yanked the cupboard door right open. He saw my cat and screamed.

My cat leapt straight past him to get away.

The man panicked, flailed about, trying to escape. He made grunting noises. He lost his footing, tripped backwards and impaled himself on the hook he had hung the fish from, and the momentum of his fall pushed the hook along its rail towards the far wall.

He banged against the wall, his feet not touching the floor, and his arms trying to gain any leverage.

My cat watched him, from a safe distance. What could a cat do?

And then Deeber’s body slumped, his limbs started twitching, and blood slowly started dripping from his body.

And, as my cat observed, it dripped directly in to the bottles that Maisie had organised against that wall. The blood filled the bottles until they looked, for all the world, like bottles of dark red wine.

My cat hopped down to look at Deeber, but Deeber was not moving. My cat was able to hop onto the body and climb all the way up it. Deeber did not react at all to his claws.

“Hey come on Deeber, the fish is almost ready - you got the wine yet?”

The front door slammed open once again just to their left.

A couple of his friends stood by the door, stinking of bonfire, alcohol and hormonal sweat, shouting in.

Deeber, literally just to their side, did not answer

My cat crouched down around Deeber’s shoulders.

The two friends looked down and saw the bottles.

“Oh hey! he left them by the door! Cool!”

They took the bottles, then walked away. They never even looked up.

“Hey Deeber!” they said, calling back. “Once you’re done jerking off, come down to the lake!”

When they were safely gone, my cat sniffed Deeber again to see how he was.

His body made some deep gurgling sounds, some more blood dripped from him, and he slumped a little further down on the hook.

His foot knocked one of the empty bottles beneath him, and it rolled away, out of the door and down the hill towards the bonfire.

My cat stuck his head around the door, and watched it roll, checking for the reaction of the partying people.

It rolled faster and faster, heading right for the group. The huge fish was cooking beautifully on a spit over the fire pit. The flames cast huge flickering shapes out in to the deep darkness all around them.

The bottle got closer and closer.

And… It bonked against one of the logs they were sat around and absolutely no-one noticed at all as they were all being very, very loud.

They drank wine straight from bottles, danced around the fire, and shouted jokes at each other.

Up in the shed, my cat went back to the Deeber situation

Down at the fire, one was talking:

“So I heard, right, a man was murdered in these woods, he was thrown into the lake with rocks in his pockets to weigh him down.”

“This isn’t funny, Brendan.” said Maisie.

But Brendan continued: “I heard they killed him because he was a peeping tom, so a whole mob ganged up to ‘kill the perv’.”

“Guys, come on, don’t be mean,” said Sophie, trying to take Maisie’s side.

“And some say, he comes back, and you can hear him sneaking around.”

“Oh god, whatever” said Sophie, giving up, and drinking more.

“And the last thing you hear before he gets you is the sound of the rocks in his pockets.”

“Stop iit!”

“And they killed him fifty years ago… TONIGHT!”

“Dammit, I heard something. I did!”

“Sure Maisie!”

“You’re all being horrible.”

“He’s watching you Maisie!”

“Shut up!”

“OK, OK, enough,” said one of the guys who had just returned from the shed with the bottles. “We brought the wine!”

“Thank you, Topher.” said Maisie, but refrained from the bottles. “I’m good for just now.”

“And i’m thirsty!” said Gus, took a bottle from Topher and drank a huge swig.

“It’s...really thick,” he said.

“I think they make it locally.”

And they all started drinking from the new bottles.

Back in the shed, my cat froze, as Deeber shifted and the hook holding him groaned. The mechanism was not holding his weight.

My cat jumped off, the mechanism gave way, Deeber fell down, pitched forwards, through the door, and, as my cat watched from safely inside, Deeber began rolling down the hill too.

His body dislodged rocks as it went, which tumbled down with him.

“Can you hear, like, rocks moving?”

“You mean like...rocks in pockets?” said Gus, waving his arms around.

“I’m serious!”

She pointed her flashlight at Gus, accusingly, but then stopped short.

“G-Gus,” said Maisie, “I...I don’t think that’s wine.”

And everyone looked at Gus, and at the thick, opaque red liquid all over his mouth. He was smiling gormlessly through it.

“What?”

“That’s BLOOD!”

And everyone saw it.

“Oh my god!” they all screamed, and threw their own bottles away. They spit the blood out of their mouths.

And then Deeber’s body barrelled in to the camp, rolled into the fire pit and caught fire

Up in the shed, my cat watched the people down below run about.

Down below, there was panic.

“He’s coming for us!” They yelled.

“Get out of here!”

“What about Deeber?”

“No! Get out of here!!!”

Brendan tried to pull Deeber out, another two lit off towards the far road, and the group’s car, but bumped in to Brendan who toppled head first into the fire, getting tangled in Deeber and the fish.

Maisie, Gus and Topher ran away from the carnage, up the hill, towards the house, screaming “He’s here! He’s here!”

Brendan, finally untangled himself from the spit and from Deeber, and ran, on fire, towards the water.

My cat kept an eye on him, as he was covered in lumps of the fish.

My cat left the shed and followed him as he stumbled along towards the shore. Though he became obscured by the treeline, he was still visible due to the flames.

He tumbled, once, then twice, and, just as he reached the shoreline he lost all strength and collapsed like sacks into the water. My cat was watching him from the long grass as he slowly floated out and then sunk.

Behind him, Maisy Gus and Topher reached the store-house and locked themselves in.

My cat trotted down the hill to see if there was anything left of the fish, now that the bonfire had been deserted.

Inside the store-house, they split up in the darkness and searched the place, just to make sure it was safe, they picked up the big rusted tools to use as weapons.

The fish… was destroyed, sadly, mulched up into the wood and burnt to a crisp, there was nothing for my cat there.

Inside the store-house, things were tense.

“It’s OK,” said Gus. “Everything is going to be OK. Wait what’s this?”

“Gus? Gus? where are you?”

There was a massive smash from the darkness and Maisie let out a scream.

“It’s alright! It’s alright,” said Gus, emerging from the darkness behind the shelves with a sheepish grin on his face. “I just tripped.”

“Well don’t. Come on!”

My cat, from the bonfire, looked out towards the far road, where a couple of of the humans had run off to find their car, as shouts of panic and the screech of wheels could be heard, but he had no idea of what was happening.

This night was not going too well for him at a;;. He was starving.

But right then, the smell of the fish, cooked but still very edible filled my cat’s nose again.

Brendan emerged from the water, burnt up and moaning dreadfully, shambling up the hill.

“Heeelp me. Heeelp me,” he moaned hoarsely through a burnt throat.

My cat followed him up the hill.

Inside the store-house, they explored in the darkness, scared, holding their weapons out in front of them, and starting at any strange noise they heard.

Brendan reached the door, and banged on it.

“Heeeeelp meeeee” Brendan moaned.

Topher got brave, wielded his machete, and walked towards the door. What he did not know was that Gus was approaching the door from the other side, blade up and terrified.

And, just as they approached to the door, the car, covered in blood, with a door missing and occupied by only one person, smashed into a tree hear the house and exploded.

The boom shocked everyone and the flash lit up the store-room for a shining moment.

And in that moment, Topher saw Gus and Gus saw Topher and they both slammed their blades in to the other’s chests.

“Noooo!” screamed Maisie as she ran towards the door carrying her axe.

She got there in time to see Topher and Gus tumbling forwards into the door, collapsing against it, and smashing it down to reveal Brendan, unrecognisable, burnt red-black, dripping wet and horrifying. He raised his arms and strode towards Maisie, moaning loudly.

She bared her, teeth, screamed one last time, and hurled her axe at him.

The blade of the axe hit him square in the face and lodged there.

He went down, moaning no more.

My cat watched all this from the long grass.

Maisie, sobbing from stress, went to check her friends, but they were dead and bleeding out.

She, stumbling and weeping, she went up to the body of Brendan, yanked the axe out of his head, and slammed it back into his face three more times.

Burnt up, water-logged, and with his face destroyed, there was no way Maisie could have recognised her friend.

Then she dropped the axe, walked blankly over to the house and sat on the stoop staring out at the water beneath the moon.

She said, quietly to herself: “Rocks in his pockets.”

My cat gingerly sniffed Gus and Topher, then went over to Brendan and, ignoring his missing head, ate up all the fish that was spread all over his body.

It was really good fish.

And, having finally eaten, everything was good with my cat, and he looked for a place to sleep.

He padded over to Maisie, who still sat, dazed, over on the stoop.

He gently rubbed against her arm, but it made her startle. My cat realised she was still very tense, and would have to do more to calm her down enough. He purred and rubbed himself against her.

She sniffed, and then laughed - the shock broken.

“Come on, kitty, up you get.”

And my cat sat on her lap, and curled up.

Maisie started stroking him, the tension leaving her system.

“I did it,” she said. “I did it.”

She scritched behind his years, as he slowed his breath and purred deeply.

“No more rocks in his pockets. Not anymore,” she said, and sighed, staring contentedly up at the moon.

And my cat, in her lap, fell asleep.

THIS HAS BEEN EPISODE 1 OF SEASON 5 OF THE LOST CAT PODCAST, CALLED ‘ROCKS IN HIS POCKETS’, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY A P CLARKE

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING

Links

https://apclarke.bandcamp.com/album/the-lost-cat-podcast

thelostcat.libsyn.com

twitter.com/LostCatPod

thelostcatpodcast.tumblr.com

facebook.com/lostcatpodcast

soundcloud.com/a-p-clarke/sets/the-lost-cat-podcast

[thanksjro]

The Prequel

Eugenesis has a prequel, in the form of a 13-page comic called Liars, A-to-D, laying out the groundwork for what’s to come. If the title sounds familiar, it’s probably because it was reused in the first MTMTE storyline, covering issues #1-3. Roberts likes a little recycling, he does. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

The art is more or less on-par for what one might have seen in the original cartoon, only it’s black and white. There’s a few points where the posing gets a little funky, but I can still tell who’s supposed to be who for the most part, and that’s pretty impressive for a colorless Transformers comic. Quality isn’t the crispest, but that’s most likely due to the scan I have.

This comic starts with a cold open, stating that 56 million years ago, the first Cybertronians sprung from the metal of the planet- the narration calls it “spontaneous evolution” and that it “just happened.” The narration seems to have trouble grappling with the vast number of chance events that go on, covering the “spontaneous" eruption of Mt. Hilary that lead to the Autobots being repaired and restored after four million years on Earth.

Oh, hey, Prowl.

Then we contrast these things that “just happened”, with something that, in the narrator’s opinion, didn’t “just happen”; at the signing of a treaty in the far-flung year of 2302, Rodimus, Ultra Magnus, Springer, and Soundwave are all at the pulpit, with millions of spectators looking on. Suddenly, a whole city street just shows up out of nowhere, and full of ‘bots who are scared out of their wits. The event is brushed off as “spontaneous materialization”, but our narrator- who’s been revealed at this point to be Ultra Magnus, if the art is anything to go by- doesn’t agree. He certainly hopes that this isn’t what this is.

BOOM. 12/21/12, just like I said it would happen. And hey! It’s James Roberts! That guy this blog is following through these writings. Good to know he’s actually here now.

I tried looking up Matt Dallas and Graham Thomson, but didn’t get much on either of them. I’m guessing they didn’t do a whole lot in this vein after this publication.

Star Saber is in this, apparently. Can’t wait to see him, and what he’s bringing to the table. I, truthfully, don’t know a whole lot about Star Saber, outside of the IDW comics, so I’m genuinely interested to see what he’s like.

Our first shot within the prequel proper is of space debris floating over the planet Cybertron, with a weather report. That tells me something’s going to fall out of the sky at some point. Call it a hunch.

I’d call it “understanding foreshadowing as a concept”, but that doesn’t roll off the tongue quite as well.

We cut to a television broadcast of Galvatron, who’s encouraging ‘bots to join the Decepticons. It’s a hell of a recruitment video, being broadcasted everywhere, even underground, where the Autobots are hiding. There’s even a call number. Chromedome asks Prowl if he should give it a ring, but Prowl doesn’t seem to think that’s such a great idea.

For some reason, Prowl has this little ring floating above his head in these panels, and I keep reading it as a halo. As far as I know, he’s not dead, so I don’t know why this is happening. Unfortunate framing against the background, perhaps, but the backgrounds in this scene are all pretty blocky, so that doesn’t make a ton of sense either.

Oh, hey, Chromedome. How’s the hubby? You’re looking very Headmaster-y today.

Meanwhile, at the recording studio, it’s revealed that Galvatron wasn’t making that call to action at all- it was a puppet, all part of a rig set up by Soundwave, in the light of Galvatron not having spoken to anyone in ages, presumably in some sort of comatose state.

Now, surely I mean an actor when I say puppet, right?

No. No, I don’t.

I love how awkward everyone looks here. You have the guy with the clap board, who’s obviously never used one in his life, just standing off to the side waiting for some direction, the guy working the puppet who looks like he’s about to drop their great leader’s torso on national television, and Gun Guy. Soundwave really knows how to pick ‘em. I know it isn’t an ideal situation, but a little more upper body strength on the puppeteer would make things go a lot smoother.

Also, hot tip: if you have to use the word “subjugate” when talking about your cause, that means you’re on the wrong side of history, my dude. No non-evil group would ever use that terminology. I know the Decepticons are still cartoonishly evil at this point, but geezum crow, that’s a bit on the nose.

We get another weather report, then check in on our dear Prime, Rodimus, who’s in the middle of an exorcism- his own, to be precise. It doesn’t go anywhere, and Kup interrupts him having what looks like a seizure as he tries fruitlessly to get Unicron out of his body.

Meanwhile, in Helex, what was supposed to be a routine surveillance mission isn’t turning out so hot. The Autobots and Decepticons are at a standoff on a bridge. It ends poorly for just about everyone- some guy gets his head blown clean off! Sixshot is about to make a killing blow, when he’s crushed under a massive chunk of space metal.

Up in the skies, an Autobot ship is being chased by everyone’s favorite time-traveling pals, Cyclonus and Scourge. Scourge is looking extra boaty today.

…Cyclonus, you’re also a fly-boy. You’re arguably more of a fly-boy than Scourge is right now, because you actually look like something that can fly. This is after Headmasters, so I suppose we can forgive him being a little stupid.

While they’re being attacked, the Autobot ship picks up the signatures of thousands of unidentified objects, and then is immediately pelted with tons of metal falling out of the sky.

Foreshadowing! It’s never let me down. And hey, it’s that space metal that squashed Sixshot.

The Autobot ship abandoned, Cyclonus and Scourge head of the surface of the planet to regroup. Scourge asks who was aboard the ship, and when he’s told it was Nightbeat, Fastlane, and Cloudraker, he gets spooked.

And then he explodes.

I’m right there with you, Cyclonus. I don’t know why that happened, either.

The following day, Rodimus is in the lab with Perceptor, taking a gander at one of the larger pieces of space metal- they’ve sussed out that it’s the core of Moonbase 2, which was lost eons ago. The odd thing is, it’s covered in writing that isn’t Cybertronian. Something fishy’s going on. Rodimus tells Perceptor to store the moon core at Eocra for now, and not to tell the high council anything just yet.

All pieces in place, I suppose, we head back to the odd scene we left at the treaty signing, where the city street popped into existence without warning. The pedestrians on said street are taken into custody, where they’re questioned by way of police brutality. They claim to be from 2013, and then the sci-fi jargon hits hard and I couldn’t really tell you what it means.

What I can glean from this, however, is that maybe storing the moon base core in Eocra wasn’t such a hot idea.

The 2013-era ‘bots are thrilled to not be in their current year, seeing as they were witnessing the end of the world when they were transported. Now, remember, this comic takes place in 2302, so something’s clearly going on here. Are they lying? Suffering from time-sickness? From a parallel universe? We’ll have to read the novel to figure that one out. Still, our narrator has a bad feeling about all this, and Ultra Magnus goes down to visit Primus, where they store the memory banks of all the survivors of the war, lamenting that there are so few “true” ones left. True survivors include, but aren’t limited to: Rodimus, Perceptor, Soundwave, Sludge- a dinobot- Galvatron, Ultra Magnus himself, and Wheelie, whose canister seems to have some sort of caveat.

Well, that can surely only mean good things.

In the postscript- yes, not an epilogue, but a postscript- we summarize what’s just happened: the accounts of multiple spontaneous events, and the promise that the past will come back to haunt us. Fun stuff. We’re left with a final look at the symbol that was left on the moon core, which will surely play into the story to come.

I also have, at my disposal, the script that Roberts wrote for Liars, A-to-D, which, as far as I know, is the first comic script he’d ever written.

Because I have access to the script, some of the more interesting details are made known. Hey, guys I found Star Saber- he was the guy I thought was Ultra Magnus, and is actually the narrator. Whoops. I suppose that would explain why he was presented in this comic on the title page. In my defense, there’s only one good shot of his face in the whole comic, and they have very similar heights and shoulders.

Star Saber, I am so sorry. That one’s completely on me.

The script allows us to figure out who some of the lesser known characters are- for example, the ‘bot holding the Galvatron puppet up is named Pounce. Get some more bicep curls into your workout routine, Pounce.

We can also get a little insight into scenes that we otherwise wouldn’t.

He’s reciting the Primal Pentechurch here, for his exorcism. This can probably be decoded. Neat!

I can also put some names to the Autobots that are featured in the Helex standoff, including Quark. No, not that one. Different guy- this one turns into a hover-car.

His character description is actually in the script, addressing the artist, Matt Dallas. It’s pretty in-depth, like the sort of direction one would give for an art commission of their OC, which I suppose it is in a way.

Little fact about myself: I went to college for film production, specifically in script and screenplay writing. I know a thing or two about scripts. You typically don’t do this within the script itself, but rather in the character bio, because it can mess up the pacing of the script-to-screen ratio; one page of script amounts to roughly one minute of screen time. Now, this obviously isn’t the exact same thing, seeing as it’s a comic script, but it stuck out to me.

Still, for a cherry script, it’s not bad. And, after all, I didn’t study for comic scripting, so what do I know? I’m just some asshole on the internet, I don’t get paid for this.

Oh right, I can figure out what the hell happened to Scourge; there was apparently a bomb inside of his chest, that he decided to set off right in front of his buddy Cyclonus. No mention as to WHY this happened, though. We’ll have to save that question for the novel proper.

Right, that happened. There’s a lot of unintentional vore in the UK Transformers comics.

In the script, the names on the cabinets don’t exactly match up with what’s seen in the comic. Wheelie isn’t mentioned at all- one has to assume the comic’s inclusion of him is a little jab at the character for being what some might call “annoying”. Sludge also isn’t listed, but Prowl and Nightbeat are. Their cabinets might be hidden behind Star Saber, and therefore out of shot.

So, final thoughts: this script was… okay. Roberts clearly knows what he wants included, and makes his vision known, perhaps a bit too strictly in places. All in all, completely serviceable, did everything a script is supposed to do, but nothing amazing. And that’s fine! I’d honestly be worried if the script here was on par with what we got seven years later. Writers are supposed to grow and improve.

But now it’s time to prepare ourselves for the prose writing. Up next- Eugenesis!

[tomeandflickcorner]

Episode Review- The Real Ghostbusters: Venkman’s Ghost Repellers

Well.  That was certainly different.

It starts off with a prologue scene, with a tanker ship of some kind sailing through the open ocean. A member of the crew nervously informs the ship’s captain that they’re starting to get dangerously close to the New Jersey Parallelogram.  Which, the show explains, is like a smaller version of the Bermuda Triangle.  If you’ve never heard of the New Jersey Parallelogram, don’t worry; it appears to have been something they made up exclusively for this episode, considering I can’t seem to find any information beyond its appearance here.  Anyway, mere seconds after they mention the New Jersey Parallelogram, a strange grid-like pattern in the shape of a dome appears before them, and the tanker vanishes into thin air upon colliding with the grid dome.

We then cut to the Firehouse, where Egon is tinkering with his PKE Meter and Ray is doing some stretch exercises.  They’re both currently listening to a report on the radio, which is discussing the missing tanker.  As the news report winds up, Peter begins to walk down the stairs.  Judging by the fact that Peter is only wearing sweatpants and has a towel draped over his shoulders, I can only guess he just got out of the shower.  That or they have a weight machine upstairs and Peter was working out.  Though it really doesn’t matter either way.  Ray begins to tell Peter about how another ship disappeared in the New Jersey Parallelogram and suggests that perhaps they should head out to try and investigate the strange location, in the hopes of cleaning it up.  But Peter is quick to reject the idea, since the New Jersey Parallelogram is out in the middle of the ocean, so there would be nobody to pay them for the work.  While this does fit in with Peter’s character, considering we’ve already established that his favorite part of Ghostbusting is writing out the bill for their services, does he really not think there wouldn’t be some monetary reward involved should they find and manage to return the ships that had gone missing?

Anyway, Janine walks in at this point, sporting a pretty sweet looking red poncho.  And Peter, for some reason, decides to be a bit snooty in greeting her.  Though I suppose his over-the-top sarcasm was because she was showing up late, as Janine apologizes for such.  She explains that she couldn’t resist buying the poncho she’s currently wearing.  Of course, right when you start to think the show is making some sexist joke about women and their shopping habits, it’s subtly revealed that Janine was actually informing the Ghostbusters about something in a roundabout manner when she tosses Peter the poncho and tells him to read the label.  Upon doing so, Peter sees the poncho is being marketed as ‘Venkman’s Ghost Repellers.’  It turns out that Peter’s father, who was previously mentioned in X-Mas Marks the Spot, is trying to cash in on his son’s success as a Ghostbuster and is selling these ‘ghost repellers.’  Peter, upon learning about his father’s latest business venture, is nothing short of horrified and frustrated, as this is apparently not the first time Jim Venkman did something like this.  Egon voices his concern that Jim selling these ponchos and claiming they can repel ghosts would be considered fraud.  Especially when Peter, in order to determine their effectiveness, gets Slimer to assist him in putting the poncho to the test.  In doing so, it’s proven that the so-called ‘ghost repellers’ are completely useless.

Out of nowhere, Jim Venkman appears at the entrance of the Firehouse.  (Talk about impeccable timing.)  Peter immediately begins to reprimand his father for the ponchos, but Jim doesn’t see what the problem is, considering he doesn’t think he’s hurting anyone by distributing the ponchos under false advertising.  Strange thing is, there’s apparently some serious concern that Jim’s dishonesty could come back around and land the Ghostbusters into major legal trouble.  Especially when Peter begins yelling at Jim about having lawyers hounding him for the rest of his life.  Admittedly, I’m not a lawyer and have little knowledge in regards to the legal technicalities that would probably be at play here.  But why exactly would anyone be held responsible for the actions of their parent?  Of course, perhaps the problem is that Jim actually stated that he was the father of one of the Ghostbusters on the labels of his ‘ghost repellers’  Which I guess would give people the impression that the Ghostbusters themselves are endorsing the product.  But if that’s the case, couldn’t the Ghostbusters sue Jim for copyright infringement or something?  Again, I’m no lawyer, so I don’t have the legal know-how to properly judge this situation.  In any event, Jim does agree to stop selling his ‘ghost repeller’ ponchos, if that’s what Peter wants him to do, and he makes his leave.  After Jim leaves, Peter kinda sighs, stating his father isn’t a bad guy, but is still a con man who can’t make an honest buck.  Ray replies by commenting that it’s not surprising, since that sort of behavior is clearly in Peter’s blood.  Which is possibly a callback to how the movie clearly illustrated that Peter wasn’t a completely honest person in regards to the experiments he conducted.  Peter responds to the jab by blowing a raspberry at Ray, but in a good-natured way.

Of course, it’s then shown that Jim didn’t honor his word and is still distributing the fake ‘ghost repeller’ ponchos.  After the Ghostbusters wrap up a nighttime bust down at the pier, they notice a ship is preparing to depart to the location of the New Jersey Parallelogram in order to study it or something.  And we see that, unbeknownst to the Ghostbusters, Jim has ended up giving the crew of this ship some of the phony ponchos, which leads to the crew of this ship believing that they’ll be protected from whatever is causing the ships to disappear within the New Jersey Parallelogram.  Of course, because the ponchos don’t work, this ship ends up disappearing as well.

Three days later, Peter receives a visit from a Coast Guard official, who informs him that the ship they’d seen leaving for the Parallelogram, the MS Applegon, has vanished, and that he’s expecting the Ghostbusters to help locate it and rescue the missing crew.  Even though the official offers to pay them for their assistance, Peter tries to come up with an excuse by claiming they were booked up.  Until the Coast Guard Official mentions the ‘ghost repellers.’  Upon realizing his father was involved, Peter quickly changes his tune and pretends to be very eager to head out.

Meanwhile, elsewhere in town, Jim is watching TV from his hotel room.  When he learns the MS Applegon went missing, he seems to be filled by guilt, realizing that he’s to blame for this.  (Seriously though, guy.  What did you THINK was going to happen when you gave fake ghost repellers to a group of people you knew were going into a place noted for paranormal disturbances?) To try and make up for his mistake, he heads down to the docks and rents a speedboat in order to go off and find the missing MS Applegon himself.

Eventually, the Ghostbusters make it out to the site where the Coast Guard lost contact with the MS Applegon.  Like all the other ships that have appeared in the episode so far, they witness the dome-shaped grid appearing before them.  The Coast Guard tries to avoid colliding with the lines in the grid, as per Egon’s instructions, but to no avail.  And they end up vanishing as well.  Though we do get a rather funny moment here:

Peter: Egon, what now?

Egon: As long as we don’t disappear, we’ll be alright!

(They disappear)

Egon: Aw, nuts.

What follows is a rather trippy sequence when the ship they’re on seems to fly through the Tron version of light speed.  When they come out on the other side, they find themselves in a surreal dimension where the ship they’re on seems to be floating through mid-air.  Of course, now that they’ve made it inside the New Jersey Parallelogram, there’s still the question of how they’re supposed to locate the MS Applegon. Fortunately, Egon is already way ahead of everyone.  He managed to rewire the PKE Meter somewhat, so instead of it detecting paranormal entities, it will go off around people and objects from the physical plane. Such as the missing ship.  (Huh, the PKE Meter can do that?)

They begin to try to locate the missing ship with the altered PKE Meter.  Briefly, Ray notes that they’re detecting a signal, but it’s only at a strength of 0.04. Egon announces the signal they’re picking up is too small to be coming from the MS Applegon, and that they should focus on finding a signal that’s at least 6 or 7.  Winston points out that the weak signal could be a lifeboat, but Egon is rather quick to dismiss this possibility, insisting it’s probably just a malfunction.  Okay, no offense to Egon, of course, but it is a bit thoughtless of him to not even bother checking on this before dismissing it as a malfuntion.  Because Winston does have a legit point.  After all, the start of the episode stated clearly that 7 ships had disappeared around the New Jersey Parallelogram.  So seeing Egon’s sudden hubris here is a bit bothersome.  Particularly when it’s then revealed to the audience that the weak signal is coming from the speedboat Jim rented.  Because he ended up here, too.  Though he’s not having much luck in finding the MS Applegon, either.  He’s currently being chased by a pair of ghosts that almost remind me of those geometric shape puzzles.  And while I can’t be sure, I’m fairly certain they recycled the audio sound file of the Banshee from Darby O’Gill and the Little People, because the ghostly wails of these geometric ghosts bear a strong resemblance to the wails of the Banshee.  Anyway, Jim does soon find the MS Applegon, but because he’s still being chased after by ghosts, he can’t really do anything.

As this is going on, The Ghostbusters run into a bit of trouble themselves, as a torpedo appears out of nowhere.  Fortunately for them, the torpedo misses them, but they’re a bit confused by the fact that the torpedo actually changed course before it could collide with them.  Egon once again is able to explain things by stating that, in this dimension, reality is all crumpled up, and no two lines can intersect with each other.  Which explains why everything is so topsy-turvy.

It’s at this point that they locate the MS Applegon. Because of what was just established, it’s determined that they have to physically tether the MS Applegon to the Coast Guard’s ship, to ensure that they’ll stay together.  Once the two ships are secured to one another, they use the altered PKE Meter in order to locate the entrance to this dimension within the New Jersey Parallelogram.  Which they manage to do relatively easily.  

Of course, things aren’t quite wrapped up yet.  Especially since there’s still 5 minutes left.  They end up noticing the speedboat that Jim had rented floating nearby.  Except now, it’s empty.  Which means that Jim is still inside that other dimension somewhere.  So Peter and the others have little choice other than to go back inside and locate the man, even though Peter states that Jim probably deserves to be left where he is.  After returning to the warped dimension inside the New Jersey Parallelogram, the Ghostbusters end up entering this weird area that was covered by a dome. Inside the dome, they manage to locate Jim, who is trying to ward off the ghosts swarming around him with an oar. The Ghostbusters come to his aid, driving the ghosts away with their Proton Packs.  

But it turns out the Ghostbusters firing off their Proton Packs weakened the structure of the dome they were in.  Which apparently results in the New Jersey Parallelogram getting destroyed as well.  I’m not exactly sure how this was achieved, but there we are.  And at least, with the dimension inside the New Jersey Parallelogram closed off, they’re all able to make it back in one piece.  Though Egon laments that he never got the opportunity to study it. So Ray tries to put a silver lining on things by stating that they’re probably the first guys to successfully destroy a wonder of the unnatural world.

As the Ghostbusters make their way back to shore, Jim gives Peter his word that he now intends to go straight.  But that promise apparently didn’t last long, as the next scene shows Peter receiving a postcard from his father.  The postcard states that Jim got a job in northern Alaska- selling iceboxes to Eskimos.  (A statement I find slightly problematic, since not only is the term Eskimo considered offensive by some, but also because iceboxes actually CAN be useful to people living in arctic areas, as the alternative is storing food outside in the natural artic freeze, which could often lead to the food getting severely damaged by the subzero temperatures.  So iceboxes can help keep that food cold enough to prevent spoilage and warm enough to avoid the damaging freeze.  But still, I get what they were trying to say here.)  Ray jokingly states that perhaps they should ask Jim to come work with them, seeing as how persistent he is.  In response to this joke, Peter apparently threatens to throw something at Ray (we have to guess as to what, since we can only hear Ray’s voice over an exterior shot of the Firehouse), but Ray soon realizes he’s only teasing.

While the overall premise of this episode was certainly interesting, and the dimension they wound up in was pretty cool, I still think the ending was a bit weak.  Not only am I still not sure how the warped dimension got destroyed, they never actually indicate what happened to the other ships that were lost within the New Jersey Parallelogram.  Although, seeing as how the mentioned disappearances began in 1980 and this episode supposedly takes place around 1987, the crews of the other missing ships may have ended up starving to death, since I’m sure their food stores could only last them so long.  But what about that tanker from the start of the episode?  I suppose it’s possible they were also freed when the dimension got destroyed, but some confirmation would have been appreciated.  It’s also interesting to meet Peter’s father, Jim. We’d already established that he was always working when Peter was a boy.  Now we got an idea of exactly what kind of work he was involved in.  Still, it’s clear that, while Peter still has major issues with his father (and for good reason), he still cares about him. Which is arguably a good character trait for Peter, as it suggests that he doesn’t give up on people easily.

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