#except for the fact that he has not pursued actual closure for like. hundreds of years

[fauvester]

@antebellumite shhhh he’s firing his single neuron

[yuexuan]

[Horikawa]Manifestation

Character: Horikawa-centric with mentions of other swords

Rating: G

Summary:  Tsukumogamis manifests with different characters, but all of them had to go through the phase of getting used to a human body, Horikawa Kunihiro no less.

Folklore had it that tsukumogamis were tools which contained a spirit.

To attain a spirit was to acquire consciousness and awareness, the capability to feel, to think and at the most extreme: to arbitrate. This was not a quick process, however. Perhaps because tools were forged with materials made to last, time passed slightly different for them. They gained their self-awareness at a more gradual pace, picking up bits and pieces of knowledge and values along the way, sometimes at the span of hundreds - if not thousands of years.

At the very beginning, a tool simply remained what it was: a tool. Even with this newfound spirit, they simply exist. It was hard to explain, the circumstance of which was so unlike the human experience that it befuddles one to say that tsukumogamis exist not in the physical sense, but in some higher-up consciousness. Inasmuch as we don’t ponder whether the plants around us share the same experience given our inherent differences, so too tsukumogamis were different by their very being a lump of element.

Yet even plants respond to external stimuli, but an individual tsukumogami at the very start of being was incapable of responding at all. Nevertheless, they knew things by means inexplicable. They were quite aware of the happenings surrounding them, of the names gifted unto them, of their master’s purpose, and of their allies and enemies. Silently they participated in forging history and in turn, became part of the flow of history.

Horikawa Kunihiro, a mysterious sword whose history remained much debated, awoke again.

He had closed himself from the rest of the world for years, slowly fading away with the undercurrents at the bottom of the ocean. It was the best option, really. After all, the end of the sword era was drawing upon them and sinking to the fathomless depth was somehow less terrifying of a closure than the smith’s furnace or broken halves.

Do they even exist anymore when their steel body ceased to be?

Kunihiro didn’t know how long he had slept – if that was the right word for simply shutting oneself off – because time was meaningless in the whole scheme of things for a sword. All he knew was that something forcefully tugged him out of his slumber and he found himself tittering on solid ground.

Everything was spinning around him: color, light, shapes and forms, shifting and gyrating, jostling and pushing, all of them clamouring to gain his attention. Nothing remained in focus until he shut out the world again by closing his eyes.

One of the things that tool spirits lacked were the senses. To be suddenly confronted by the visual onslaught was overwhelming to say the least. Kunihiro reacted far better than most of the other swords when they first arrived, a notable example being one particular crane who’d surprise everyone by pretending dead.

Suffice to say the poor smith had the living daylights scared out of him and things almost ended badly. Almost. But that is a story for another day.

“There, there, all of us had to go through this stage.”

“Let him rest, he has come a long way.”

For the first time Kunihiro heard, and in the strange manner by which the spirits obtained their knowledge, he knew instinctively that this was sound and made sense of the words.

Someone picked him up, which only added to his dizziness as he swayed back and forth with the pace of whoever that was carrying him. He didn’t know where they were going, but instinctively trusted the friendly voices. Voices which came from spirits just like him – that much he could sense – so he trusted that they understood his circumstance and knew what best to do with him. And with that he lapsed back to the passive nature of swords when not wielded by a hand.

They passed by many winding hallways judging by the number of turns taken. The place was far bigger than any Shinsengumi abode that he knew of.

They also passed by many people, based on the greetings of delight at a newcomer.

Kunihiro kept his eyes shut tight throughout the whole journey. Not that he was trying to be rude by ignoring the greetings, but his mind was whirling to put two and two together. Only one thing was immediately discernible: this was neither the bottom of the ocean nor was he within his steel vessel. Instead, he had a human form: head, limbs, torso, the whole package. For all intents and purposes, he was a human…at least on the outside. He wasn’t quite sure about the inside. Humans were awfully complex on the inside. For one, they have their messy organs and blood which seemed to have a tendency to leave the body at whatever opening he made on the person.

But they were also more complex deep inside. Specifically, he was referring to the human emotions that rise and fall, that make a person, but also drive them to do insane feats that may very well end in their demise.

Up till now he had no idea why Hijikata went off to battle with nothing more than a wakizashi in hand. Kunihiro was fast, but clearly no match against rifle guns.

~oOo~

By and by Kunihiro was left in a room with his original body.

“Just rest until you’re feeling better, okay?” The voice disappeared, followed by the sound of shoji sliding close.

It took a while for Kunihiro to gather himself from dark thoughts, but eventually he managed to open his eyes. He laid on the ground after the fashion of swords, unmoving, and that was fine.

Or at least it was fine when he was merely a sword.

A sense of unease crept over him. Something was tingling, similar to when the fishes take little bites at him while he rested. Not that he had actually felt fish nips, but he imagined that that was what it felt like.

Kunihiro shifted onto his side in discomfort.

Then realized that he had moved on his own accord. And so he tried flipping over onto his other side.

To his delight, he moved again, except this time his hand slapped against his original body, sending sharp pains shooting down his current body.

The whole original and current body thing was downright confusing. Were they detached? Or one and the same? Surely, they were still connected somehow because he sensed the familiarity between the two bodies. Or maybe everything was a figment of his imagination and he was still down at the bottom of the ocean…but can sword spirits imagine something far beyond the realm of their own experience?

Kunihiro decided some thoughts were better left for a later time. For now, he could just focus on handling the current body.

It was harder said than done. Not too long ago he had literally only one body, no strange limbs sticking out, each demanding their own dominance. They were like the mischievous Okita swords, always bickering, each trying to outdo the other. Thank goodness humans weren’t privy to spirit talk, or else Hijikata would have a thing or two to say about keeping order.

Once again Kunihiro’s thoughts wander down memory lane, evoking pain inside of him. Not the physical type of pain he felt when he slapped his original body, but the emotional inside-human type of pain. This was the pain associated with losing those close to him.

But perhaps, just perhaps, if he was given a second chance, the other Shinsengumi swords were given one as well?

Then and there Kunihiro found a new agenda: to seek out whether the other Shinsengumi swords were here, wherever here was. That was another thing he had to figure out, along with a multitude of other questions regarding the system of the place, why they were brought here and so, so much more.

How curious that before he attained a human body there was no such thing as a desire to accomplish something of his own accord. Rather, he - no, they, the tsukumogamis - were all content with carrying out their owners’ wishes. But now, he had a new goal.

And for the rest of the night, Kunihiro pondered what other agenda he should pursue with his newfound mobility.

~oOo~

Kunihiro tugged at his bangs.

There were a lot of mechanics involved in bringing swords back from the flow of history, but physical appearance was probably the hardest to comprehend. It wasn’t just about retaining certain aspects of their original design (mind you, he didn’t retain anything in particular from his sword form), but also creating new features and filling in gaps when certain swords were more legendary objects than referenced reality.

As for him, his looks were decidedly boyish if not leaning a bit too much on the childish side. Despite not having seen before, Kunihiro nonetheless felt that his appearance didn’t quite match his age. Instinctively he knew the concept of age and its effects on human appearances, therefore it came as a surprise to him when he noticed that some of the youngest-looking swords in the Citadel were in fact, the oldest ones.

It was later explained to him that the manifested spirits reflect their actual sword length rather than their forging age. He guessed that made sense, considering that his smaller stature also brought about more flexibility, which was what he was originally created for.

Compared to the other swords, Kunihiro’s looks weren’t too flamboyant. He didn’t have hair one of the color of the rainbow or ridiculously long limbs. If anything, he was decidedly normal. Perhaps all the more reason for people to take note of his side-swiping bangs and big blue eyes.

As a sword equipped for night excursions, his eyes were his pride. He had better eyesight than most of the other swords, not to mention that his night vision was one of the best in the Citadel. The bangs were a bit of a nuisance as they tend to fall into his eyes during rapid movements, but they were also his unique feature, so he left them to their own device.

“Although I am familiar to blue eyes, Horikawa’s is too bright, waaaay too bright and big.” Kiyomitsu once said passingly.

Others may have taken the comment as an insult, but with Kiyomitsu, it was sometimes hard to distinguish between actual jabs and casual comments. Thankfully Kunihiro was one of the few that could read between the lines.

But sometimes even the most familiar can be obtuse.

“He’s just jealous that his eyes are not as cute. Like yours and mine,” Yamatonokami grinned.

“You would’ve looked more like Okita if you had narrower eyes.”

That was definitely a jab. Kunihiro winced.

True enough, the duo was off as one chased after the other in mock anger. It seemed that Okita’s liveliness rubbed off of them.

Naturally he didn’t think much about his own eye color, simply by virtue of the fact that he wasn’t faced with them 24-7. Perhaps it was best that his bangs partially covered the eyes if others found it disconcerting.

Something that did bother him, however, was his garment. It was odd that his battle garment lacked the red that was characteristic of his scabbard. Instead, all the red went into his internal affairs uniform, which had more to do with the design for each sword school rather than their inherent appearance.

His ‘brothers’ also shared the same red uniforms and the only way to distinguish them during laundry were by their size and…level of tatter, something that no amount of washing could remove. He really needs to have a good sit-down talk with his secluded brother. Allegedly neither of them was the real deal, which should be a good starting point for conversation.

Kunihiro sighed as he hung his brother’s tattered shirt on the line.

Then again…red wasn’t the best color choice for assassination deeds.

~oOo~

Lately Kunihiro was fascinated with sounds. Volume, rhythm, repetition, intonation and words surround him and was reiterated by him. He came to recognize the residents of the Citadel not only by their voices, but also by their footsteps. The tantous were always in a hurry, pattering feet announcing themselves well before the boys came into view. There were the yaris and naginatas, who, with their larger stature, can lumber quite a bit. There was the swish swish swish of fabric as the older swords who wore traditional dresses moved about, the ends of their hakama and sleeves brushing against one another in tandem with their strides.

By far the hardest to hear were his own type - the wakizashis - who excelled in stealth, some of whom also had a penchant for deep night ventures. Had it not been for the fact that they were natural scouters, Kunihiro doubted he could have spotted them when they passed by.

“Good night.” Kunihiro greeted quietly as Honebami and Namazuo walked by. They nodded in return before disappearing down the hallway.

Kunihiro tested his own vocals a few times, wincing when it came out slightly higher pitched than he’d imagine. Others said it sounded bright and Kunihiro. He wasn’t quite sure how his name could be used as an adjective, but he supposed his voice was better than Yagen’s, which for some reason was far too low a register for someone of his stature.

“Ka-n-ne-sa-ngh.” Kunihiro tested out the name in his mouth, swishing it around like it was a piece of chocolate. The ‘ne’ syllable was hard to pronounce, probably to do with its softer intonation, but after a few practices, it came out sounding much better. That was the nickname he had given to the other sword forged in the likeness of his image. ‘Izumi no Kami Kanesada’ was too long to say in one breath, he figured he could take the liberty to shorten it.

Given that Kanesada hadn’t fully manifested as a spirit during their time with Hijikata, Kunihiro hadn’t actually communicated with the other sword. At that time, he could only feel the familiar vibe of an awakening spirit. But what a lively young spirit it was! There was a lot of energy emanating off of the spirit well before it was fully formed. Needless to say it will become a strong sword befitting of Hijikata’s name.

Hijikata himself was immensely proud of this blade, supposedly it was crafted under the famous Kanesada. It was a different type of sword, longer and stronger, suited for battle in full daylight under the auspicious gaze of their master. That knowledge meant that Kunihiro was somehow delegated to the secondary role, even though by chronological order he was older. But he was happy to become the assistant, Kane-san could be the first. As his superior, Kunihiro will make certain that Kane-san’s growth came to pass and that he fledged into a noble sword. This was a secret delight only older people nurse when they were able to guide a younger one forward.

As of now, Kane-san hadn’t arrived at the Citadel yet. The Saniwa claimed that it wouldn’t be long before they find Kane-san because unlike some of the other swords, his original body didn’t disappear entirely. (Kunihiro wondered if the difficulty was with summoning the existing swords from the museums where they were kept, as that would construe some sort of historical alteration.)

No worries because he was not in a hurry. Kunihiro wanted to make sure that he had fully mastered his body before meeting the younger sword.

After all, how could he possibly be a good assistant if he had no agency over himself?

~oOo~

“One egg, half a cup of sugar…” Kunihiro scrunched his nose slightly in concentration.

It was his turn to perform the kitchen duties. For whatever reason, their daily duties included serving dishes to the mass, tending to the farms and maintaining the overall hygiene of the Citadel. It made absolutely no sense. Sure, they had human bodies, and maybe some human tendencies, but they were swords by nature. And… swords don’t eat.

When Kunihiro inquired, he got varying responses. Mutsunokami, for one, was bent on savoring the pleasures of food. Ichigo spewed something about health and making young swords grow fine, whatever that meant. Their looks were already set in stone, including their physical built and no amount of eating could change that. Alternatively, Ishikirimaru said food was the aura of the universe encapsulated in a material that could be internalized, which only added to the confusion.

In the end Kunihiro decided that eating was just a pleasurable ritualistic act that life participate in, and given that they were alive, they should do so as well.

Kunihiro’s brows furrowed as he focused on beating the eggs into the flour till solid and liquid merge into one. Mitsutada mentioned that he could start with baking first, which was easier because unlike cooking, it was less of an art and require more measured precision.

The one-eyed sword said that he was a natural at baking, but Kunihiro wondered if it had more to do with the fact that his body was small enough to fit snugly within the kitchen or that his temperament was mild enough to keep the ingredients within the bowl. When kitchen duty fell into the hands of many of the other swords, it inevitably became more cleaning up rather than making food.

Most of the tantous couldn’t be trusted with food unless Ichigo was standing watch over them. The poor yaris, naginatas and ootachis could barely move within the confines of the kitchen. And the Sanjous……well, they were a class of their own. Add Tsurumaru into the mix and the kitchen was a goner.

Thankfully the Saniwa had the mercy to assign only a few of the regulars to the kitchen.

Gradually the fragrant aroma of baked goods filled the kitchen as the cookies finished. Kunihiro took a bite and winced at the explosion of sweetness in his mouth. It was not his thing – he preferred sour and bitter, they somehow reminded him of the loss of his former master. He disliked salt, simply because he heard that that was the taste of ocean water, something that he did not sorely miss.

Mitsutada noticed his wince and laughed. “The tantous love the sugar, especially Houchou. I suspect that’s how they stay so energetic all the time.” He packed all the cookies unto a plate for dinner.

Kunihiro noticed that he had left out a few.

“There’s a saying that the baker should leave the first few cookies for their dearest,” Mitsutada winked and left.

…for their dearest…

Kunihiro mulled over whom he would consider ‘dearest’. He didn’t think his relationship with Hijikata counted as one – most swords weren’t close to their masters, and that was assuming their relationship was a benign one. Nay, it was more of a servile exchange: their master wielded them, they followed without thought.

The other Shinsengumi swords were close contenders, they were comrades in battle and extended family of sorts, but there were three of them, and Mitsutada only left enough cookies for one. It was not in Kunihiro’s nature to favour one above the other.

There were also his brothers-by-creator, but Yamabushi was off to training and Yamanbagiri was…hiding somewhere again.

If only Kane-san was here, that would solve his dilemma.

Kunihiro sighed again and left the cookies by the Saniwa’s door as a token of appreciation for bringing him and everyone else to the Citadel.

~oOo~

Some say that the longer a sword was used in the battlefield, the more bloodlust they harbor.  

Kunihiro realized that killing the Time Retrograde Army was an exhilarating experience as his original body tore through enemy flesh. It was what he was made for, he thrived in the frenzy. It - this killing - gave him renewed purpose. The best part? He had control over how he wanted to end another life.

For the moment, his two bodies connected at a level never felt before. He saw through the blade, he felt what the blade felt, he was, and will always be, the blade which slice through the night.

In his previous life, the target of his blade was entirely dependent on whoever was holding the hilt. Sometimes the killing was smooth, clean slices through the weakest part of the human body. But sometimes it was awfully messy. Even though he had no senses back then, he was somehow aware of when an attack was good, or when it was a poor hit that left the victim gurgling and struggling for life.

Now it was different. With senses tingling, Kunihiro could direct where his blows land. The impact of his attack, the whistling of the wind as his blade swept through the air and the acrid taste on his tongue as the Time Retrograde Army disintegrated before him sent his heart racing.

From the corner of his eyes he saw that Okita’s swords were enjoying the killing spree as well. Kiyomitsu deftly weaved himself between the enemy ranks, parting the crowd every which way with wide arcs of steel. Yamatonokami grinned wildly as enemy blood adorned his blue robe.

At least Kunihiro need not worry about washing out the stains later: the enemy’s blood faded quickly, just as quickly as the enemy body disintegrating into the wind.

So it came as a surprise when he was damaged by a stray ootachi. Red began pooling from the wound, warm and sticky, the sight of which sent nauseating tremors throughout his whole frame. He thought they were similar in some respect to the enemy, because they were first and foremost swords, and swords don’t bleed, but he guessed they were very much like humans on the inside as well.

Pain erupted from his wound and Kunihiro went down. Panic bubbled up within him as he lost control of his body. Luckily the Okita swords were beside him in a moment, fighting off the enemies who had taken the opening.

Kunihiro watched in a daze as the last of the Time Retrograde Army was brought down. Kiyomitsu said something to him, but when he couldn’t respond, they’d just hauled him unto Yamatonokami’s back before teleporting back to the Citadel.

Then slowly, the pain dwindled as he was taken away, just like the last time he sank to the bottom of the ocean. His vision closed in while his soul awaited the sweet bliss of darkness.

He was dimly aware of the tantous crying as they trailed behind him while he was being transported to the healing room. His blade which laid beside him was cracked across the body. How odd it was that the injuries on his body were reflected onto the blade, Kunihiro thought to himself. Would he disappear? He didn’t want to leave yet, not when he was coming to like the residents in the Citadel. And definitely not before Kane-san arrive.

Kunihiro tried to fight off the darkness, but it was to no avail.

He went out of consciousness.

~oOo~

By and by Kunihiro regained consciousness again. At least this time it was a gradual awakening rather than the confusing explosion that he had to contend with when he first arrived at the Citadel.

Things were different: there was a renewed vigor in him. His blue eyes sparkled with life. Another narrow escape from death had grounded him in the reality that life was truly him now.

Seeing the tantous cry in joy about his return, being stuffed with food from the kitchen, being excused from internal affairs while he recuperated, all the care and love he received from everyone was overwhelming…….but also so filling.

Kunihiro felt himself teared up for the first time.

He was back at the Citadel, where he belonged.

[racingtoaredlight]

Opening Bell: July 12, 2019

Two weeks ago, the Supreme Court, in a decision authored by Chief Justice John Roberts, blocked the attempt by the Trump administration to add a citizenship question to the 2020 Census. In his opinion, Roberts explicitly stated that a citizenship question is Constitutional, and in fact dozens of previous censuses included such a question, but rather it was the reasoning given by the Trump administration in support of the citizenship question that, according to Roberts, “appeared contrived.” While a citizenship question has indeed been included several previous census questionnaires, the argument against including one in the 2020 Census is that, in the context of this administration’s approach to immigration and current migrants who have overstayed their status, such a question is an attempt to weaponized the census as a means to suppress minority responses. The significance of this is that the census was not, and never has been, meant to be used as a means to measure “citizens,” but rather of the total number of people residing in the United States. Regardless, within 24 hours of the Court’s decision, lawyers with the Justice Department appeared to announce that they would not pursue a citizenship question any further, only to be directly contradicted by the president the very next day. In addition to conjecturing that a citizenship question could be added on a supplement—the primary questionnaires began printing almost immediately after the Supreme Court’s decision—Trump even floated the possibility of delaying the census. This was never a realistic possibility as federal law mandates that the census begin no later than April 2020. Even so, yesterday morning the White House announced that the president may attempt to force a citizenship question into the census by means of an executive order. When it became clear that this would likely be thwarted by judicial action, the White House finally relented and by yesterday afternoon it was officially acknowledged that the president would no longer seek to add the question.

 Yesterday, the House of Representatives, following through on its attempts to aggressively probe the Trump administration, authorized up to a dozen subpoenas to current and former administration officials in order to question whether the president ever engaged in any activities that could be construed as obstruction of justice—the report by Special Counsel Robert Mueller now, famously, having said that if the OSC thought that the president did not obstruct justice, they would have said so. The most prominent names on this list of subpoenas includes former Attorney General Jeff Sessions, and current White House advisor, and presidential son-in-law, Jared Kushner. The White House has already pushed back on numerous other subpoenas, and it would not be surprising at all if they seek to block both Kushner and Sessions from testifying, or invoking privilege to limit what they can speak to. Neither will likely need much convincing.

The number of four-year, bachelor’s degree granting colleges and universities peaked in 2013-2014. Since then it has entered into a decline, as small, largely private liberal arts schools with relatively open admissions standards, are experiencing financial collapse. Even though the number of college applicants is the highest ever, the population downturn in certain parts of the country, notably New England, has led to fewer high school graduates, while the selectivity of students has led them to focus their applications on more selective schools. This is the story of Newbury College in Massachusetts, which closed its doors after graduating its last class of students in May 2019. But, as the article points out, it could be the story of numerous other schools around the country and particularly on the east coast, which already boasts a plethora of elite and Ivy League level institutions. And as population shifts changed—first having moved westward and then southeastern—it is possible that over the next decade, we will see this swathe of school closures follow, across the country mimicking Manifest Destiny.

In June 2009, a man calling himself Peter Bergmann, arrived in Sligo, on the north coast of the Republic of Ireland and asked to be driven by a taxi to an inexpensive hotel. Upon arriving, he paid for three nights in advance with cash, gave his aforementioned name which was not checked by front desk staff against any ID, and promptly moved into his room. Over the next three days, Bergmann left his room, according to CC television cameras, 13 times. Each time, he appeared to be carrying a purple plastic bag filled with…something. Each time he returned, he was no longer carrying the bag—which was likely folded up in a pocket—and there is no indication of where he deposited the contents of the bag. After three nights, Bergmann checked out of his hotel room and sought a bus to a nearby beach popular for bathers. At each stop along the way, Bermann spoke to no one except in transactional terms, never showed an ID, and never revealed anything about himself other than his name, later proven to be a fabrication, and that he was from Austria. The morning of what would have been his fourth day in Sligo, Bergmann’s body was found on the beach at Rosses Point. Some of the clothing he had been spotted wearing the day before was found folded neatly atop a rock nearby, but no purple plastic bag was found. The autopsy later revealed that Bergmann, or ‘Bergmann’ since police do not regard that as his real name, had not died of drowning, but instead of a heart attack and, perhaps notably, his body was riven with cancer and, according to the medical examiner, he had only weeks to live. The rest of Peter Bergmann’s life, his intentions in Sligo, his actual name, and what he did over the last week of his life, remain a mystery.

On June 1, 2008, a series of shingles on the roof of a building on the Universal Studios backlot had been repaired by maintenance workers, using a blowtorch. They finished their work at 3am and stuck around for an hour to make sure that the shingles were not still warm, and then departed.  At least one shingle was still too hot, and ignited the rest of the roof, starting a fire which ripped through much of the famed backlot and by 5:45am, threatened, a large but otherwise non-descript building nearby. This climate-controlled warehouse consistently mostly of hundreds of thousands of old movie film reels, but 2,400 sq. ft. was cordoned off from the rest and held the entire West Coast vault of masters belonging the Universal Music Group. UMG is the largest music label in the world—recently valued at around $33 billion—and through a series of conglomerations and corporate takeovers, has come to own hundreds of thousands of master tapes of some of the most significant recording studios of the mid-to-late 20th century. This vault contained the recording history of entire studios, including famed smaller studios like AVI and Chess, but also significant labels like A&M; estimates are that anywhere between 120,000 and 175,000 masters in the form of everything from magnetic tapes to digital drives were housed in the vault and the fire consumed almost all of them. Masters from Buddy Holly, John Coltrane, Etta James, The Mamas the Papas, Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, and even perhaps Guns N’ Roses, among many, many others were lost in the conflagration. This essay is about more than the events of June 1, 2008 or even the corporate response from UMG which played down the loss, it is instead about the philosophy behind preserving art, especially from obscure artists, the financial toll of preservation, and the lack of will that apparently exists to preserve a gigantic swathe of American history.

If you have ever traveled through southern Louisiana, one thing you may have noticed is that every single town, large or small, apparently has a Daiquiri stand with a drive-thru lane. Though the word ‘Daiquiri’ is Cuban in origin and was spread to the American lexicon after the Spanish-American War, during which time the U.S. invaded and occupied Cuba, it gained widespread use in the American South starting in the 1980s. In 1982, David Ervin was a college student in Lafayette, Louisiana, which was then situated in a dry parish. Ervin would drive to the neighboring parish to buy alcohol at a store just over the parish line. It was at this store, that Ervin witnessed how the store’s general manager had used a shipment of otherwise unpopular canned cocktails to make alcoholic fruit slushees, which were enormously popular and required virtually no bartending skills to create and serve. Ervin had a vision where this drink could be married to more efficient delivery and decide that a small store with no seating, but only a drive-thru to serve customers in their cars. This is the delightful story of how Ervin, who still owns a drive-thru daiquiri shop today, turned a small investment into a $100,000 per week business.

Finally, Kyle Kondik and Larry Sabato of the Center for Politics, discuss the death of political oddity and Texas billionaire H. Ross Perot, the current state of the 2020 Senate elections, and what the departure of Rep. Justin Amash from the GOP means for his congressional seat. It remains very early in the 2020 cycle, but events have already occurred which will have an outsized influence on the outcomes of the 2020 election.

  Welcome to the weekend.