#avuncular apparently means 'like an uncle'

[mxcottonsocks]

A collection: times Mortimer Lightwood is described as being 'founded on' Eugene Wrayburn:

Despite that pernicious assumption of lassitude and indifference, which had become his second nature, [Mortimer] was strongly attached to his friend. He had founded himself upon Eugene when they were yet boys at school; and at this hour imitated him no less, admired him no less, loved him no less, than in those departed days.

Mortimer parries thus, with a sense upon him that elsewhere it is Eugene and not he who is the jester, and that in these circles where Eugene persists in being speechless, he, Mortimer, is but the double of the friend on whom he has founded himself.

‘You wanted to tell me something, Eugene. My poor dear fellow, you wanted to say something to your old friend—to the friend who has always loved you, admired you, imitated you, founded himself upon you, been nothing without you, and who, God knows, would be here in your place if he could!’

To whom, add Mortimer Lightwood, coming in among them with a reassumption of his old languid air, founded on Eugene, and belonging to the days when he told the story of the man from Somewhere.

[maggotsandcream]

Wild Words part 2

I've decided to keep transcribing the newly learned or relearned words I encounter since it helps retain them. You can tell which day I read/listened to what from this, lol.

TW for words relating to sex, Christianity, body horror, death, food, and warfare/violence

9/14/19

ethology- the study of animal behavior; study of human's behavior from biological/evolutionary pov

osteocalcin- a hormone involved in fixing calcium into bones and insulin production

9/15/19

hermeneutics-the study and interpretation of scripture

adiaphora- anything non-essential to Christian faith, ex. many rules like no fake flowers on the alter or traditions/frameworks like the existence of the liturgical year; apparently in secular philosophy it can also refer to anything that is neither commanded nor forbidden (note, I'm like 90% sure I'd heard this before but this was the first formal definition I got)

ceilidh- Irish dance party

klaxon- loud horn on vehicles

9/16/19

neuroethology- study of animal behavior with focus on nervous system's role in response to stimuli

lordosis- the inward curving of the spine

sauce bernaise syndrome- another name for acquired taste aversion

cryptogram- a puzzle you use a cipher to solve

avuncular- about, relating to, or in the manner of an uncle; often used to mean genial

9/17/19

testator- a person who's written a will

trustor- creator of a trust

intestate-without having made a will

hillock- mini hill

spatiotopic- in reference to or mapped onto a 3D space

9/18/19

numpty- British slang for idiot

sneezeweed- a yellow flower native to North America; despite name not actually an allergen

vicuña- animal closely related to alpacas and llamas, has very fine wool

verkakte- very bleh

Odine's curse- condition where you lose the ability to automatically breath

proception- sexual activity that leads to conception

dactyl- metrical foot, triplet with first syllable stressed and other two unstressed

gesamtkunstwerk- a total/complete artwork; multi artform combo piece

elide- omit

9/19/19

strafe- to attack someone or something from a plane using a machine gun

estrus- a state of sexual receptiveness from a female mammal when it is in heat

supraphysiological- above the natural bodily limits (often refers to hormones)

9/20/19

fusiform- spindle shaped, tapering on both ends

9/21/19

skeuomorph- a design that has elements that point to former manufacturing techniques/uses, but are left there now even though they don't serve a practical purpose

trapunto- a quilting technique that produces a ridged bubbly tecture; done by inserting a layer of padding between two cloth layers

[impracticaldemon]

Chaos Theory: Sasuke Ch. 2

by impracticaldemon

Chapter 2: The Oda Strike Back  

Author's Note: The sequel to my first Ikesen Sasuke story (Do You Have a Fever?). Welcome to chapter 2. Chapter 2 still isn't ns/fw. Sorry. On the bright side: Mitsuhide.  Also, Chapter 3 is also done and much steamier.

Thank you to all for your support, kind notes, reviews, fun tags and so on!

~ Impracticaldemon  [Read on FFN HERE]

The Oda Strike Back

I didn't see Sasuke for over a week after The Episode of the Wardrobe Malfunction (also playing in my embarrassing moments highlight reel as The Day I Got High and Snuggled Sasuke). A week wasn't actually very long, but I harboured deep suspicions that his buddy Yukimura was keeping him away with comments like, "You can't trust those wild boar women, Sasuke—show even a moment's weakness, and they're all over you."

Of course, that was probably unfair to both guys. Sasuke wouldn't tell even his BFF—Sasuke's term, employed with his customary lack of expression—about what had happened. Probably. And Yukimura and I got along pretty well now, except when his tactlessness got the better of my patience. He just doesn't have my appreciation for your charming naiveté, noted my inner Mitsuhide, before I slammed the (mental) door on his comments.

In any event, whether it was Sasuke's gift of ibuprofen that helped me, or the unintentional snuggling, I got over my cold in record time, and then spent a week hoping to see my fellow time-traveler so that I could apologize for my behaviour. Inevitably, certain people made a point of commenting on my occasional lapses of attention.

"How are you feeling today, Chieko?" asked Mitsuhide, his lips curving into what the naïve might call a smile. Apparently, he was spending some quality spymaster-conqueror time with Nobunaga this morning.

"Fine, thanks. Why do you ask?" I paused, politely handed Nobunaga his morning correspondence, and then added, "It was just a cold, and I recovered six days ago." I gave him my haughtiest don't-mess-with-me-this-morning look. A pointless effort, but he'd asked every day since I'd—completely accidentally, and while under the influence of opium—pressed my aching head into Sasuke's surprisingly well-defined chest. For the record, Sasuke had done a fine job of holding on to me once I was there, so—

A soft huff of amusement from the white-haired Machiavelli of the Oda forces suggested that I might have inadvertently lost focus at a bad time. I glanced up at Nobunaga to see whether he'd noticed anything, but he appeared to be skimming through the letters I'd brought. I resumed my attempt at a withering glare, and tried to will away the ridiculous—and entirely uncalled for—blush that was creeping across my cheeks.

"I am merely concerned about the health of our dear chatelaine, after her recent illness." Mitsuhide's long, white lashes concealed the predatory gleam that no doubt lurked in his snaky golden eyes, but nobody was fooled.

"Perhaps; however, you do keep asking." Nobunaga's incisive tones were curious, rather than annoyed, but they demanded a response. So much for my small hope that Azuchi's premier candy thief wasn't paying attention. "She doesn't look ill, Mitsuhide, she looks infatuated. Does it involve you in some way?"

What?!

"I am not infatuated with—with anyone!"

Mitsuhide ignored me. "Alas, I do not believe that I am the object of her desire," he lamented, with patently false regret. Nobunaga shot him an oddly appraising look, but his so-called left-hand man merely returned his usual slithery smile.

"Well, Chieko? If it's not an entanglement with Mitsuhide, then what is it?"

I kept my eyes on Nobunaga, unwilling to risk looking at The Bane of My Existence. A sudden idea skittered through my brain.

"I'm not entangled with anyone, Nobunaga. However, I must admit that my thoughts have turned to Mitsuhide quite often of late."

For once, if only for a fraction of a second, both men looked surprised.

"Really now?" Mitsuhide was suddenly beside me. "Do tell!" Now that he was looking down at me—and so close!—I felt just the tiniest bit apprehensive. He was a snake who preferred to play with his food before finishing it off. Sometimes I curse my powers of imagination.

I took a calming breath, and resisted the compulsion to look up into Mitsuhide's eyes. I addressed my reply to Nobunaga.

"You see, Mitsuhide has been like an uncle to me"—I thought I saw a look of appreciation cross Nobunaga's face—"and recently I've found that he comes to mind when I am faced with a difficult decision."

"I see." Nobunaga managed to imply enjoyment without actually changing expression. Then his attention returned to his desk. "Mitsuhide, we have work to do."

"Of course, my lord." Mitsuhide's eyes were gleaming with mischief, and I suddenly felt a qualm or ten about my decision to poke back a little. A slender finger caressed my cheek in a way that was not at all avuncular; I was unable to fully suppress a shiver—of apprehension, mostly. Only mostly? Good grief! "Good morning then, my dear Chieko. Rest assured that I will keep an even closer eye on you, now that I know how much you look up to me."

I managed a rather sickly smile as I left. Baka! Idiot! What the hell were you thinking? Mitsuhide Rule Number One: Do not, under any circumstances, try to play his game—any of his games. You will lose, and not even the occasional, fleeting victory is worth it.

When I got back to my room, I decided to go down into the market instead of returning to work with the seamstresses as originally intended. Maybe I could find Yukimura, and warn him that Mitsuhide seemed to be uncomfortably aware of Sasuke's activities in and around the castle. When Inner Mitsuhide snickered at the word 'activities', I may have snarled aloud.

Unfortunately, Yukimura wasn't in his usual spot. My heart sank, although I tried to keep the disappointment off my face as I pretended to browse the wares in nearby shops and stalls. After half an hour of searching—and a rather convoluted walk around the market area—I was forced to admit how much I'd been hoping to see Sasuke again, and how worried I was that I might not see him again for a long time.

"Hsst, ojō-san! A moment of your time!" The words were pretty standard for both beggars and merchants, but the hushed tones made no sense. Plus, who used words like 'psst' and 'hsst' outside of old novels?

I was about to take a quick step back—strangers trying to kidnap me had been an issue in the past—when I realized that the stooped, oddly-dressed figure was the man I most wanted to see. He was wearing the traveler's traditional flat straw hat, and strange clothing, but it was Sasuke. My heart started to beat a little faster, and my attempt to play it cool failed miserably as I rushed headlong into the narrow, shadowed lane.

"Sasuke! I've"—one hand gripped my shoulder, and another pressed against my mouth, preventing further speech.

"Sorry Chieko, we need to get out of here. Okay?" Sasuke sounded apologetic, but didn't remove his hand until I nodded. His fingers seemed to linger on my face for a moment longer than necessary. A weird part of my brain replayed the sensation of Mitsuhide's mocking caress earlier, cataloguing similarities and differences. Then the hand on my shoulder slid down to close firmly over mine, and a giddy, swooping feeling in my stomach made me a little light-headed. I winced internally as I felt the goofy smile hit my face. You are an independent, adult woman, not a fourteen-year-old with a crush! Despite my best efforts, Mitsuhide's smirk flashed across my mind, followed by Nobunaga's irritatingly knowing expression.

Sasuke was already moving by the time I got my head together, and I had to hurry to keep up with him. Despite his obvious anxiety to leave town quickly, his grip never tightened too far, nor did his pace increase beyond what I could handle in my kimono and sandals. For some reason, I could feel myself smiling again. Pull it together, Chieko! He's just a considerate guy, not some kind of hero. I mean, you didn't see him for a week, and now he's dragging you off somewhere without an explanation! And you're happy about it! (Mental eye-roll.)

Out of nowhere, my usually quiescent—more like comatose—romantic self downed a few shots of espresso, sat up, and took umbrage. And how many considerate guys have you actually met in the last couple of years? Right? So shut up! I had a point, I conceded, blithely going where I was tugged.

Actually, Mitsunari was often considerate, if not always helpful. And Hideyoshi could be very considerate, once you got past his—let's be honest—obsession with Nobunaga, and if you didn't mind Extreme Fussing™. Masamune was a good guy—and a great cook—despite living life at twice normal speed. In fact, they all had their own ways of being kind, even Mitsuhide, although his version was subtle, and usually involved him entertaining himself at your expense while helping you. Fine, noted my romantic self, now sipping gently at a mild green tea with lemon, but you're not holding hands with any of them.

We traversed several of Azuchi's less pleasant lanes and back-streets, before emerging onto a footpath leading across a meadow toward a not-too-distant wood. It was a beautiful day, and bright flowers were scattered throughout the waving grasses. Sasuke came to an abrupt halt at the edge of the meadow, and I careened into his back. He automatically helped me to regain my footing, but his eyes remained fixed on some point ahead of us—at least, the glint of sunlight off his half-concealed glasses suggested that he was staring at something.

"Um—Sasuke?"

"I'm fine. Just don't move."

I still couldn't understand what was wrong, but I did my best to obey, a little relieved to get a break from trying to hurry in geta. I continued to peer around Sasuke's side—though without moving too much. The grip on my hand tightened a little, and my companion looked down at me and then away.

"We'll have to go around. I'm sorry about this—it will be slightly harder for you underfoot."

"Sasuke, what are we going around?"

His expression didn't change, but his cheeks and neck reddened a little. Was he embarrassed? His expression was as difficult to read as ever, especially since his upper face was in shadow under his straw hat.

"…Could we discuss that later? Right now we have to get under cover. Though it was clever of you to lose them back in the market."

"Lose who?" I demanded, starting forward a little reluctantly this time.

"Lord Mitsuhide's agents. I thought that was why you travelled so randomly around the market area."

I was stuck on the first part.

"Agents? Mitsuhide's agents?"

"My hypothesis was erroneous, it seems."

We were moving again, but a little more slowly than before. The grasses in this area had been regularly scythed, and there were no flowers. There wasn't so much a path as a wide, rather barren field that appeared to go on all the way to the trees in the middle distance.

"I guess so—that you were mistaken. I have no idea what's going on." I was momentarily distracted by a different question. Or maybe I just had too many things to think about at once and fixed on something irrelevant. "I wonder why this area is all grass? I hadn't thought about it before, but it's like this all the way around the town, pretty much. Not short and hard-packed like this, but you know what I mean." You're babbling, dear. Yeah, I'd noticed, thanks.

Sasuke's grip loosened a little, as though he appreciated the break from more difficult subjects (whatever they were). Naturally, he knew the answer to my not-quite-question.

"Most castle towns are like this—in Europe as well as Japan, from what I've read. You don't want an army to be able to creep up on your castle or castle town. So you cut down the forest around the town. The area we're crossing now is where the Oda forces drill. That's why it's so hard underfoot, and the grass has bare patches."

"They've been at war for a long time, haven't they? All of them, I mean." After two months, I'd finally gotten my head around it, but sometimes the whole Warring States thing really hit me.

"Yes. Over a hundred years already—so not just the existing warlords, but their fathers and grandfathers and so on. It was a terrible time, but…" Sasuke slowed, and I knew without looking up that his expression had become both more animated and a little distant.

"But there were some brilliant and wonderful people?" I asked softly, not wanting to break this brief sense of being outside all of the bloodshed and disaster. I could pretend to be out on a summer walk with a friend, just chatting—for no apparent reason—about historical Japan. Do you always hold hands with your friends? No—now go away, you're interrupting my fantasy. …Which involves holding hands with a Sengoku fanboy named after a famous, but probably fictional ninja?

"Yes, exactly," said the fanboy in question. For a moment, I couldn't recall which question he was answering, and just stared at him blankly. "…Chieko?"

We were almost at the edge of the wooded area, but Sasuke stopped and peered at me as though trying to figure out why I'd stopped working. I found myself holding my breath, keenly aware of just how close he was now that we were facing each other. He still had my hand, and my imagination was starting to get the better of me.

"I was just thinking things over," I said hastily, trying to ignore the fact that he looked adorable, even in the ridiculous straw hat. Wait—seriously? Adorable?

"I see. It's true that there's a great deal to consider. For my part, although I can't condone the way in which violence is used as the first—and often only—approach to dispute resolution, I have come to greatly respect the warlords with whom I've served, even beyond my pre-existing, quite considerable admiration. I suspect that they are all suffering from various mental health issues, but despite this, they seem more alive, more vibrant, than most of the people I know back home."

I found myself nodding at his words, and saw his lips curve into his rare, rather shy smile. My heartbeat sped up further. "I'm glad we can talk about things like this, Chieko," he told me earnestly. "I mean, I realize that you are the only other time traveller here—that I know of—but, just for the record, I consider myself fortunate that you were the person who was inadvertently trapped here with me."

"Oh…" I managed feebly. Was that some kind of confession, or was Sasuke just that oblivious?

There was a short, possibly awkward silence. Then Sasuke's eyes went very wide behind his glasses, and he quickly took a half-step backward, letting go of my hand. This time the blush was unmistakeable.

"I'm sorry—I didn't mean—that is, we should keep going. This is all because of the—of them—being in the way when you were sick. Chaos rides on their fluttering wings. I should have known that something like this would happen."

Sasuke's last two or three sentences were muttered under his breath and largely incomprehensible to me. I had the impression that I wouldn't have understood even if I'd heard him properly.

We slipped under the shade of the trees just a few minutes later, and Sasuke took off the hat and peasant's kimono he'd used as a disguise—principally for changing his outline, he explained, although the hat was also useful for concealing his glasses (less reflected light off the lenses). Before I could ask any questions, he told me that we were "almost there," and moved silently away. His cheeks were no longer red, but he still wouldn't meet my eyes.

Despite Sasuke's assurances, it took another twenty minutes to reach our destination. Yukimura was waiting at the door of a small wooden hut, looking just about as twitchy and irritable as I was starting to feel. My sandals were pretty, but not appropriate attire for hurrying over rough ground, or through the woods. And my sore feet were the least of my worries.

"Sasuke! Where the hells have you been, moron?! You were supposed to be back here an hour ago—at least!"

"I'm sorry I'm late," Sasuke replied calmly, pausing to exchange a complicated fist bump that looked distinctly out-of-place in Sengoku Japan. "Things came up."

"What's that supposed to mean? You said you needed to tell Chieko about some stuff and then we could go. Have you even told her anything yet?"

"Hi Yukimura, nice to see you again," I said politely.

"Right—hi. I'm afraid we've got go now. Akechi's really turned up the heat in the last few days, since Sasuke's last mission went wrong somehow."

They were returning to Kasugayama? For good? I brushed away a sudden—and totally excessive—sense of disappointment. And something went wrong with Sasuke's last mission? Anything involving Mitsuhide was potentially dangerous.

"Sorry, I really don't know what's going on. Sasuke kind of grabbed me from the market and now we're here." I gave Yukimura my best innocent bystander look. He frowned, but it wasn't the scowl that I used to get. His eyes flicked over to Sasuke, and I sensed something like concern. I was impressed with the lack of eye-roll.

"Well? Do you need a bit more time? As long as you didn't accidentally lead anybody here—"

"I didn't." Sasuke's reply was unusually terse.

"Okay, fine. Just remember that everyone makes mistakes, even you, so—"

"I have never assumed that I am infallible, Yukimura. However—"

"Then stop beating yourself up for making one mistake, okay? It's annoying. Besides, we had to leave now anyway, as it turns out."

"…I understand."

This time, Yukimura did roll his eyes, but I couldn't blame him. What was going on with Sasuke?

"Alright, I'm heading out. You, uh, explain things to Chieko, then catch up to me." He gave me a quick nod, and a wry smile. "See you 'round, Chieko. Don't run off any cliffs after we've gone, okay?"

"Sure thing, Yukimura." My return smile wasn't feigned—it was an old jibe, and the guy had saved my life. "Look after yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Although—" Yukimura hesitated, then shook his head. "It's just weird, you know? The people I need to watch out for most are your buddies on the Oda forces. And vice versa." The last was said with chilling sincerity.

"As I explained before," interposed Sasuke, "Chieko values personal friendships above the feudal ties of lord and vassal. She wants everyone to be safe."

Yukimura just shook his head again—at me, at Sasuke, at life in general. "That's not how it works. But—hope you can stay out of the worst of it, Chieko. See you soon, Sasuke. No offence to Chieko, but we've got some feudal ties to honour. And Lord Kenshin won't go easy on you if you're late."

"I am aware of the value that Lord Kenshin places on loyal service. I will rendezvous with you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?! You're using weird words again, but tomorrow? We're due back—"

"ASAP. I know. But I have a few more loose ends to tie up."

There was a brief stare-off, then Yukimura shrugged. "It's your neck. Literally."

On that valedictory—and ominous—note, Yukimura turned and strode off. He navigated the undergrowth without difficulty, the sword on his hip and spear on his back as comfortable and familiar as his tunic and trousers. All at once I felt like I was seeing Sanada Yukimura the warlord, rather than Yukimura, Sasuke's merchant friend.

[END]

A/Note: 

Stay tuned for chapter 3, where things get decidedly more risqué! Okay, but Sasuke is just an overachieving cinnamon-roll and I ♥ him.

Tags:   @cherryb0mb79 @shell-senji @nalufever @hidetheremote @eliz1369 @iamaikotachibana @flower-dragon @canadiangaap @yum-chan  @llama-in-socks (thank you for wanting more!)

Thank you to @acrispyapple for your kindness. ♥ (also, Byron - nuff said)

[diaspora9ja]

Port: Please talk about politics this Thanksgiving

The proverbial “loopy uncle” has turn out to be a inventory character in these annual tip-sheets, and the recommendation on supply can often be summed up with “do not trouble.”

Besides, we do have to trouble. The cultural and political divisions that are on the coronary heart of so lots of our nation’s issues stem from a rising assumption that the “different facet” is not value partaking.

That they are too loopy.

Too dug-in.

The angle is in all places. Earlier than I started typing this column I used to be studying one other column, in The New York Times, by Wajahat Ali who describes his forays out into fly-over nation to have interaction with Trump supporters.

After describing quite a few apparently well mannered encounters throughout which he failed to alter anybody’s thoughts he offers us this recommendation: “Don’t waste your time reaching out to Trump voters like I did.”

This form of whining, why-won’t-they-just-agree-with-me petulance is typical of recent politics.

We have to recover from it.

A part of dwelling in a society like ours, which is based on the consent of a ruled individuals who have the constitutional proper to consider and say what they like, is that you just’re all the time going to be confronted with individuals you do not agree with.

All the time.

Generally it can even be members of your personal household on the Thanksgiving dinner desk.

Take care of it. Be an grownup and discuss to these individuals anyway, even about politics.

I may even offer you a tip, talking as somebody who makes a dwelling speaking about politics: Cease attempting to win.

That is it.

That is all it is advisable to know. There isn’t any successful in American politics. I imply, positive, there’s successful in that Joe Biden simply gained the nationwide election and Republicans simply gained a bigger share of U.S. Home seats. However that is simply the right here and now. In two years, there’s one other election that may award new short-term victories.

Politics makes us all each winners and losers.

As for Thanksgiving dinner, the destiny of our society would not not hinge on successful over avuncular cranks in the lounge. If you wish to discuss politics, that is nice! It’s best to. I would argue that these conversations are an obligation of citizenship.

Simply do not go into them pondering you are going to change a thoughts. You nearly actually won’t, although it is extra more likely to occur in the event you aren’t attempting.

Simply discuss. Clarify your self, positive, however extra importantly, pay attention. Make it clear that you just love them and respect them, even in the event you disagree.

And bear in mind the phrases of Loudon Wainwright III: “‘I am going to by no means win, neither will you, so what on this world are we gonna do?”

Speaking like grownups, whereas selecting to respect disagreement, is what we might do.

To touch upon this text, go to www.sayanythingblog.com

Rob Port, founding father of SayAnythingBlog.com, is a Discussion board Communications commentator. Attain him on Twitter at @robport or through electronic mail at rport@forumcomm.com.

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[gplusbfics]

ASIT: Deceptions

From A Stitch in Time by Andrew Robinson.

Set-up: Garak is a very young man, essentially a military cadet, and has just come to end of his third year. He arrives for an important review hearing that will determine his future and is stunned when his "Uncle" Enabran is there, apparently to lead the interview.

“Sit down,” he instructed. I obeyed. Tain passed an information chip to the Prefect, who consulted it. During the ensuing silence I stole a glance to Tain, who was wearing his avuncular smile. What do I call him, I wondered. Certainly not Uncle Enabran.

“What do you think you’ve learned here?” the Prefect finally asked. It wasn’t so much his question as his attitude that threw me off balance. The question I had expected; his air of boredom, as if the day was one student too long, I hadn’t.

“I…” He wasn’t even looking at me. Tain, however, continued to smile and wait patiently for my answer. Somehow his presence, disorienting as it was, encouraged me, and I found myself directing my answers to him.

“I’ve learned that appearances deceive and that the purity of my thinking creates a sure path to the truth,” I replied.

“So,” Tain began, “you believe all this to be a lie?” He gestured to the room.

“It’s deceptive.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because our thinking is impure….” I still didn’t know how to address him.

“Is that all? The purity of one’s thinking?” he pursued.

“There are the hidden intentions of others.”

“How are they hidden?”

“By what they say they are. How they present themselves. But pure thinking is trained to penetrate these guiles and come into direct contact with the true intention.” My confidence was returning, and I was able to maintain a strong contact with Tain. Ordinarily it would be considered extremely disrespectful to look at an elder like this, but behind his genial demeanor was a serious challenge. It was like the game we had played when he’d tested the keenness of my observation on the street.

“How is pure thinking able to penetrate the appearance?” Tain’s smile was now gone. I hesitated.

“How, Elim?” The questions became sharper.

“Initially by watching the direction of the eye movement when the interrogee answers, the frequency or absence of blinking; the intonation of the voice, the inflection—was it flat? Overstated? Were the answers glib, prepared? The breathing….”

“Yes yes,” Tain pushed me beyond the basics. “What else?”

“If the person can’t hold his space.”

“Space? Explain.”

“If the energy field around him loses its shape and dissipates, then he has no defense against my probe and I can penetrate to his essential core.” As I held Tain’s look, I realized that I was locked into his energy field. We were two Pit warriors engaged in a strategem.

“Who am I, Elim?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Someone I must never let out of my awareness.” This was the first time I was not terrified by his steady and unblinking eyes, which revealed nothing but my own reflection. After a moment he nodded and broke eye contact.

I keep meaning to post more quotes and today I remembered.

[jeremybondfilm]

The Dapper Host Who Guided Us to the Stars, and Became One

One recent year of the Academy Awards, when George Clooney appeared on the red carpet, my young daughter asked if that was the guy from my favorite channel who introduced the old movies.

I was tickled that she saw a man nearly 30 years younger than Robert Osborne and thought it could be the same person. I mean, Clooney had been twice voted Sexiest Man Alive! Was the Turner Classic Movies host really on that same level of movie-star handsome?

The tributes to Robert Osborne, following his death in March at 84, certainly suggested so. He was remembered as debonair and gentlemanly—attributes that could describe George Clooney, and my daughter must have picked up on the connection. But to many, Robert Osborne more closely embodied the style of old-Hollywood with which he and TCM had aligned themselves since its founding in 1994.

In Osborne’s prime time appearances, my fashion-unconscious self would notice his suit and tie of the day. It felt like he used impeccable attire to encourage us to hitch a ride into Hollywood history, a throwback to when everybody dressed up every day, when Cary Grant dove onto the ground in a dusty Indiana field and descended Mount Rushmore and still kept his damn suit on. Like most everyone, I knew of Robert Osborne only in his later, TCM years, but he aged as well as Cary Grant, as suave in his 60s and 70s as he apparently was in his 30s.

Despite his polished demeanor, I was expecting the tributes to Osborne would use the word “avuncular.” He was the refined uncle who taught me stuff about the movies he’d grown up with. His intros and outros to the films shown in prime time were such a highlight that I’d often record them and not the movie. I loved how he guided me into a film, whether I was familiar with it or not; the trivia and tidbits; the way he’d pause and pretend he had to think about what the other four Best Supporting Actress nominees were that year. 

But mostly, I loved that he welcomed me—always introducing himself by name, a practice carried on by his predecessor and guest hosts (and to be fair, previously used by American Movie Classics, not to mention David Letterman), but with unmatched sophistication. The feeling of personal connection would have even greater resonance when I learned of Osborne’s background and associations with old Hollywood royalty.

I knew this death, unlike the majority of celebrity deaths, was going to feel huge. With Osborne’s long absence from TCM, I thought all the time about when we would lose him. I’d pictured the moment: a breaking-news headline would reveal Osborne was critically ill, and then that he had died; I would commiserate with my wife, and then on Twitter, where my entire classic-movie feed would be changed to Robert Osborne avatars; NPR would do a story on “classic movie fans in mourning.” This was on my mind as late as March 5, 2017, when I took my daughter to see the TCM big-screen presentation of “All About Eve.”

But on March 6, I hadn’t checked the news and was off Twitter all day. I almost logged on in the evening, but I’d neglected TCM for a while and decided it was a good night to finally begin clearing my full DVR of TCM films. So I watched part of “Caged!” with Eleanor Parker—who, Robert Osborne would tell me (if he were still hosting), got a Best Actress nomination in perhaps the most competitive year in that category, ever. 

I was thinking these Robert Osborne-type thoughts and not Robert Osborne himself when I went upstairs and saw my wife had texted me from bed with a link to the news of his death. I assumed it was breaking news, but would learn it had been announced a good nine hours earlier. If the initial news of his death was anything like I’d imagined, I’d missed it all.

But it was only the beginning. If the classic film community moved on quickly to the next thing, it wouldn’t be so devoted to classic film. And so the tributes to the legacy of Robert Osborne have continued, up to and beyond TCM’s annual Classic Film Festival. 

When Osborne shared his passion with those of us who already enjoyed classic film, we found ourselves becoming as passionate as he. Some of these passionate fans were barely older than TCM. Being a movie snob with your grandfather was becoming cool.

Robert Osborne was celebrity enough to have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame, so even if he was most of all a “film historian,” I can call him my all-time favorite celebrity. He never sought it, but he deserved the red carpet treatment.

By keeping the film legends of the past alive, this classic-film celebrity achieved his own form of cross-generational immortality. My daughter didn’t see Robert Osborne and think of a celebrity. She saw George Clooney, one of Hollywood’s biggest celebrities today, and thought first of Robert Osborne.