#independent local radio

[badolmen]

My toxic trait is unironically liking 2000s-2010s country music 😔

[insignem]

I'm definitely not the first and I won't be the last to say this but something about spending every single one of your formative years in small-town New England makes Noah Kahan just really hit hard.

[lesocavon]

LSVFM photo by avotrigo

[loveindefinitely]

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ PRINCESS TREATMENT — price + gaz x reader

01 — THE BUTTERFLY EFFECT

featuring. kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price

warnings. fem!reader, fmm, friends to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence, frequent mentions of drug and alcohol abuse, discussions of mental health

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

If you had to say when, exactly, everything changed, you’d put it down to a single monarch butterfly.

Walking down the tight alleyways of Las Almas, the sky a four o’clock black, a lone street light casts a gentle yellow over your frame. The air is stagnant, the warmth of late spring mixed with the type of humidity that only comes before a storm, your boots clicking against the stone beneath your feet.

With a leather jacket wrapped tight around you, you fall into the rhythm of it all. It’s just before five in the morning, and you know that you should be heading home any minute, but you find yourself rejecting the idea.

Everytime you leave for the night, just to breathe, to live for no one but yourself, it gets harder and harder to make your way back through your bedroom window. You know the guards are getting antsy, too, your payoffs for their silence on the issue becoming less and less worth it. Not when it’s becoming an ultimatum between some quick cash and a slow death.

You wish you were given that choice. Mightn’t even care which option you happened to receive.

It’s quiet, in these parts. No sign of the city that had been ruined by mercs, no sign of the destruction that had once lay beneath one man’s boots. 

Instead, this city now sits in the firm grip of El Sin Nombre – the way it had once been, and if your family has it how they want it, the way it shall forever be. 

Underneath your breath, you hum, a tune you’d picked up from the local radio. Every morning, you listen to the daily news reports, the weather, the latest celebrity gossip. Without fail, El Sin Nombre is never mentioned. Neither are the missing persons, the families torn apart by the woman you call boss.

The end of the alleyway is coming up, the main street ahead barren of people, except the odd homeless person or fitness nut getting their morning fix.

Just as you’re about to turn around and manually move your feet back to your home, the smallest of movements catches your eye, right by a potted plant sitting at the street corner. You’re not sure how, or why, it catches your attention – but it snags it, hook line and sinker.

Quickly looking both ways, you take a cautious step towards what appears to be a small aloe vera plant, stopping in your tracks when you realise what’s perched upon the tallest of the stems, its burnt orange wings fluttering with the small breeze.

A butterfly.

It hasn’t spooked – not yet, not with your careful movements – and it seems so insignificant. So small, with the family homes lining the streets, the independent stores setting up for the day.

With you, your massive life, your massive boots to fill.

And it just sits.

Flaps its wings.

A shot sounds.

Jumping back, your eyes catch the butterfly taking off into the sky, its sun-kissed wings taking it as far away from the horror as possible. Exactly as you should be doing.

Screams echo around you, another bullet sounding, and then another, and another – 

Hand resting at the gun sitting in your thigh hollister, you whip your head towards the sound, the yelling, the rushed Spanish leaving people’s mouths. Gringos. El Sin Nombre. Death. Stay down.

Taking a sharp right turn onto the main street’s footpath, another shot fires, this time much closer. Much more real, tangible. Hand fully fisting around the handle of your pistol, you take the corner to the sidestreet – the source of it all – with quiet ease.

Multiple cartel members – expendable pendejos, Valeria would say – have guns not unlike your own, aimed at two separate men hidden behind a parked car. They’re crouched behind it, peaking and launching their own retaliating shots, hitting either shoulders or necks. 

They fire off quick, dirty shots, one bursting through the car’s windows, shattering the glass, before lodging in one of the mens’ head. He falls, blood and brain matter splattering on the brick wall behind him. None of the others even spare him a look.

“Get ‘im!” A deep, rough voice calls – British, assertive, mature – the one furthest from you. He’s adorning a boonie hat, pulled down to cover the tops of his ears, facial hair decorating his jawline and upper lip.

They both seem to be exerting themselves, clearly having done a lot of activity and planning before the current scene. Nearly all of the civilians are out of the area, the two foreigners taking care to not harm any of the innocents.

Certainly a step up from the cartel.

There’s four left, all taking shots at the car, some bullets ricocheting off of the flat metal. Back to the opposite wall, you take out your pistol, switching off the safety with a single brush of your thumb. Keeping it extended in front of you, both hands holding it, you make your way silently closer to the confrontation, keeping behind them all.

The second foreigner – tall, all slim muscle, radiating warmth and self-assurance – takes a sweeping step away from the car, delivering final head shots to all but one.

Clawing against the ground, trying to gain his footing, pistol flung metres away from him, he lets out groans of agony. He’s been shot in the knee, it seems like – yeah, definitely been shot in the knee, by the way he screams when he tries to rise on it.

Doing quick head checks, the younger foreigner keeps his gun raised at a safe level, before walking over to the wounded member.

The lone soldier grunts when the lithe man smacks the butt of his gun against his temple, his head twisting with the force of it. You can tell he’s being kept alive.

“Fuck, Cap,” the younger man hisses, hooking his thumb in his vest, throwing his head back slightly. In the streetlight, from your close distance, you can see a droplet trail down his Adam’s apple. Collect at the hollow of his throat, glisten in the dim light.

The other, ‘Cap’, presses his hands against his knees, using the momentum to stand, wiping the back of his glove against his mouth. Quickly scanning his surroundings, you dart behind a small, abandoned street stall, crouching as you do so.

No shots are fired – you consider it a win.

“C’mon, we gotta get ‘im to exfil,” he grunts, and when you move back to watch them in full view, you see him jog over to stand next to his partner. Leaning down, he pulls his arm around the unconscious man, lifting him up with the younger’s help. They swing his arms around the necks of them both, their hands keeping him upright between the two.

“Ale and Rudy are gonna have our asses for the stray shots,” the black-haired one groans, but there’s a relieved smile stretching over his face. “Hopefully this guy has the intel they want.”

“If he doesn’t,” ‘Cap’ returns, a humoured look written all over his face, “We’ll have their asses.”

Intel. They want… intel. On the cartel, on El Sin Nombre. Something you have in spades. In fact, you were probably the closest thing to a gold mine when it came to information of the Las Almas cartel. Wouldn’t even need torture to get you to speak.

You’d heard of Alejandro and Rodolfo. They were considered legends by the townspeople, the men who nearly took down the cartel. The true face of the Mexican Military – not the paid off army. 

It was a shame, really, how much of their story wasn’t told.

Being shot if either name left anyone’s mouth made it a difficult one to retell. Especially to you – the Cartel’s Princess – a woman hated for nothing more than her last name.

Your step-father and ‘boss’ refused to speak of them, either. Your limited knowledge pertained to the fact that they were direct enemies of El Sin Nombre, and shared a complicated past with Valeria. You’d asked, once, what happened.

You’d never asked again.

The sun is rising, the hints of morning brushing over the deserted side street. They seem… ethereal, in this light, exhausted from work but cheerful from a job well done. At ease with each other, even with blood decorating their skin, boots covered in red.

You remember when you’d first tried to run away, fourteen and too naive to plan it beforehand,  before you knew to slide cash into the guards’ belt. It had been seven minutes and twenty-nine seconds before a bullet had grazed your thigh, and you were brought back to your house. You still have the scar – both physically, and mentally.

Having to learn that running away was never a truly feasible option was a hard reality at such a young age. Sheltered, too – you didn’t understand the true way of the world. What life was like without a bounty on your head and blood money decorating your neck in the form of a pearl necklace. Hands chained with bracelets of pure gold.

The cool metal grows clammy with your own distraught, your index finger hooking around the trigger.

When you were younger, you wanted to become a journalist. You dreamt of the ability to make things known – uncover the dark secrets your family loved to hide. A servant to the public – in the most damning of ways, a true way of protecting without the need for blood on your hands. The only black metal in your hands would be that of a pen; considerably more deadly than a weapon could ever be.

You aim your pistol.

Oh, to be free. To not have to wake up every day, dreading, hating yourself for the sins of your family. Your livelihood. Freedom in not having to choose between being a bystander, or meeting the death of a traitor.

That butterfly, gods, that butterfly. It took itself wherever it wanted – got to experience the world at its own pace. Live for the sake of it, gifting the Earth for the pleasure of it all.

Grateful for just a week of substance. A week of survival.

What you’d do for just a week.

A shot fires, and you don’t move an inch from the drawback. You just stand, watching, as a body falls, and two guns are instantly aimed at you in turn.

Just a week.

Letting the gun slide from your hand and hit the floor, you raise your hands, palms facing the two. They don’t shoot – that’s all you could’ve hoped for. Being reckless was part of being in the cartel, and your very blood ran because of it.

“You want intel?” You ask, loud enough to carry to them, taking a bold step forward. With the sun not having risen, a chill settles into your bones, the tight, silk nightdress you adorn during sleep the only thing protecting you as the breeze brushes open your jacket. “I have it.”

The youngest moves to lower his gun, but a side eye from ‘Cap’ has him raising it again. The way they stare you down has your chest rising and falling in dramatic movements, and for the first time this night, you second guess yourself.

It’s the only chance you’ve ever gotten – you think, reminding yourself – and you will accept it with open arms. Just a week.

Taking careful, precise steps closer, you keep your palms facing them and face a stubborn neutral. You’d been trained in a lot of areas, sparsely, but there was no doubt in your mind that you wouldn’t be able to take either of them in a real fight. Diego had spoiled you with riches and luxury, not sparring and gunslinging.

“Wait –” the younger stretches out his hand, looking to the other with an expression. Like he’d seen a ghost. “She’s…”

“I know,” the other breathes out, his tense stance easing slightly. 

As you stand, just a metre or two away from them, you look between them both. Calculating, watching, you slide off your leather jacket and drop it to the ground – showing that you have no other weapons, no bombs strapped to you. 

Just a silk, blood red nightdress, an empty hollister, and black leather boots.

“You guys were pretty loud when you said you needed intel,” you narrow your eyes, flitting between them both. They shroud you in their shadows; tall, muscular – military. But not… regiment. Different, more sinister, maybe, more important. “And I saw you kill my auntie’s men.”

They both lower their weapons. Partly stupid, partly an insult.  “You’re the Cartel Princess, aye?” The younger raises his brows, looking over you with studious brown. 

“I left my tiara at home,” you snark. The younger smirks, approving of your response. Maybe you wouldn’t have to be stepped all over, to be taken in by them.

Jerking his head to the dead body laying between the both of them, the older levels an unimpressed gaze your way. “Was that necessary?” He asks, folding his arms over his chest and righting his posture, looking down at you.

“He was a dick anyways,” you roll your eyes, finally lowering your own hands to rest at your hips. “He tried to offer up his daughter ‘cause he was in debt.”

Both of their jaws go slack.

You shrug.

“Where are you guys going anyways?” You ask, bouncing on the heels of your feet, hands held together behind your back. Looking around, your mouth pulls into a small frown at the shattered store windows. You’d try and leave some money for them when you got back.

The smaller one lets out an almost shocked chuckle. “This isn’t – you’re not hitchhiking.”

Rubbing at the roof of his nose, the one with the boonie hat looses a thick sigh, before giving you an exhausted look. “You’re lucky Alejandro has been after your arse for years. Gaz, get ‘er gun.”

“Yes, Sir,” he jokes, roughly saluting the man before grabbing your weapon. Sliding it into his own holster, he loops his elbow through yours, and starts dragging you down the street, the other walking a bit ahead of you both.

“This went way easier than I thought,” you mutter, realising just how… simple it had been to get them to take you. No cuffs, surprisingly, and no sedatives.

Gaz, as the other referred to him as, looks down to you with a friendly smile. “Most of us know your face. Alejandro and Rodolfo have been looking for you – something about you being ‘one of the good ones’.”

“I’ve never met them,” you admit, a small crease forming between your brows. “I’ve heard of them, but… why do they care about me?”

“Apparently,” the one up ahead darts his blue eyes back to you, “You do, in fact, have ‘intel’. And…” He trails off, before shaking his head. “You’ll see when we get back to base. I think he’ll be quite happy.”

Gaz groans with a laugh. “Hate when he’s giddy. They’re so loud.”

Falling back a little, ‘Cap’ hits his subordinate lightly up the back of his head. “You’re gross. Exfil’s just off to the right.”

“Reminds me of Amsterdam,” Gaz says wistfully, his elbow still linked around yours. This might just be the oddest way to be taken in by a supposed ‘enemy’ ever. Definitely up there.

Turning, you see a black SUV parked off to the side, the windows tinted to the nth degree. You can’t see anything within them except your own reflections, the winding streets behind you three. Looking to Gaz, you ask, “Where’s my carriage?”

He gives an incredulous look. “You’re serious?”

You and his partner answer at the exact same time, the same tone, “No.”

Opening the door to the back, Cap urges the two of you in, before getting into the passenger seat. The cushions are black, too, and comfortable as you situate yourself by the window, Gaz taking the middle seat. So much for space.

“John –” 

“Kate, they’ve been after her for years. We owe ‘em.”

A woman, dirty blonde hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, looks at you through her rearview mirror. She seems… displeased about your presence.

“You’re making us a bigger target,” she hisses, shooting him an annoyed look. “If they aren’t already trying to gun us down, they’re about to go nuclear!”

“Auntie and daddy don’t like missiles. Said it’s cheap,” you chip in, folding your knee so your ankle rests on your opposite knee, folding your hands in your lap. Damn, you think, You chipped your nail polish. Only lasted a day.

Silence fills the vehicle.

You hum that radio’s tune once more, and Kate exhales a deep, calming breath. Like she’s one step away from whipping out her own gun and shooting you all dead. And then herself.

“Can you turn on the heater? It’s kinda cold,” you ask, hands rubbing at your bare arms. Should’ve put your leather jacket back on before they took you.

“John,” Kate grits out, “I am two seconds away from –”

A shot fires, then two, then three. In one movement, you grab a hold of your pistol from Gaz’s hollister, switching off the safety once more and holding it to your chest. Kate instantly switches on the ignition, accelerating hard enough to have your head hitting the back of your chair with a squeak.

Gaz unwinds the window to his left, furthest away from you, and starts firing at where a dozen or so members stand at the main street, firing off shots at the car. Bracing yourself against the back of the driver’s seat, you take aim.

True as the way the sun is set to rise, you land multiple shots through vital organs, some lucky ones blasting right through their heads. Your wrist aches from the strength of your hold around your weapon, a break from childhood coming back to haunt you. You don’t stop, however, not when you’re nowhere near your breaking point.

Within seconds, Kate drives the car out of their view, dodging potholes like a professional. 

It’s five minutes later, when you’re out of the main business streets of Las Almas, that your back hits your seat once more, eyes fluttering shut as you flick the safety back on.

Gaz does the same, his shoulder bumping yours with the width and sheer height of him. You feel small, between him and the door, but not unsafe. Quite the opposite, actually, with the way he sliced through those men with buttery gunmanship.

The silence, this time, is electric. A buzzing in the air, an excitement flowing through your veins.

And then, it hits you.

“Oh, shit,” you whine, dragging your hands over your face and sloping in your seat, lips forming a disgruntled pout.

“What – what happened? You good?” Gaz asks, leaning forward, placing his hand on the back of Kate’s headrest to look over you. His arm is corded with muscle, the sleeves of his shirt pulled up to his elbows, allowing a decent view of his military-grade skin. 

You sit your head against the window. 

“I left my favourite nail polish at home. And my favourite earrings,” you mumble, upset.

Gaz coughs, then sits back in his seat awkwardly. “...Right. Can’t you just. …Get more? If you’re cooperative, Ale–”

You punch him in his throat, and he wheezes, tears sprouting in his eyes as he coughs. “You don’t get it,” you glare at him, before patting his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to hit so hard.”

It’s only then that you realise John and Kate are speaking quietly up the front, low enough to not be heard by the two of you. 

“Who do you guys work for, anyway?” You ask, when Gaz stops coughing, instead swallowing mouthfuls of water from the skin in his pack. He stops to stare at you.

“You ask this… now?” He questions, looking at you like you’ve lost your mind.

You shrug. “Even if you guys were mercs or something, I probably would’ve asked to be taken. Wait –” You pause, eyes going wide, mouth going slack, “You aren’t mercs, are you? Please say you aren’t.”

“We’re Special Ops. Dunno how much the old man wants me to say, so, there you go,” Gaz shrugs, pulling on his gloves. His gaze remains on yours as he does so – pulling them off by the tips of his fingers, revealing slender hands. They look oddly graceful, for a seasoned operator, and you can see the tendons pull when he takes off the other.

The sun is high enough to paint the sky in streaks of yellow and orange, swirling with the night’s dark blue. Clouds decorate the canvas like swipes of cotton, the beginnings of what looks to be a perfect Spring day. As you look out the window, watching as you pass the streets of your city, you feel an odd seed of doubt.

Not for what you’re doing – but for what you’re leaving. All of the bodies lining the streets under cartel cloths, never getting to do the very thing you’re experiencing. So many families torn apart without the option of freedom.

The glass is cool against your cheek as you drum your fingers over your lap, the tap tap tap of that song in your head looped.

“You don’t look like your pictures,” Gaz says, then, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you studiously. He appears so relax, seated beside you, tall enough to have his head nearly hitting the roof of the car.

You raise a brow. “Didn’t realise this was a Tinder date.”

He laughs, the sound melting down your spine like the cocoa body butter you favourite. Maybe he was right about the cooperation thing – you could play nice if it meant you got to have your routine.

“I just mean,” he starts, before rolling over the words in his mouth, looking out the window before making eye contact once more. His eyes are so brown. “You’re a lot less… snobby-looking.”

You bite out a sharp laugh in shock. “Excuse me?”

He raises his hands, now, a direct copy of how you’d appeared when you first made eye contact. His smile is devastating as he says, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just meant you have a lot more personality than expected.”

“Thought I was the type to be docile and pretty?” You quip, pulling your hair to rest over your shoulder. “How typically… male of you.”

Placing a hand over his heart, he pretends like he’s been wounded, expression twisting into one of pain. “Ouch, Princess. Way to hit a man where it hurts.”

“I know of many other places that’ll hurt,” you mutter, side-eying him. “Don’t test me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty,” he returns.

The car starts increasing in speed, then, at a harshly quick rate – enough to have both you and Gaz sitting up straighter, checking out your windows and tightening your grips on your guns.

Price turns, twisting where he sits in the passenger seat, looking out the back window. He curses under his breath, before looking between the both of you.

“We have company.”

author's note. please leave a comment or quote reblog if you enjoyed!! i hope you all enjoy this journey with me :) xx

taglist. nothing to see here.

[libraford]

Okay so here's the rundown of everything that happened with the radio station because omg is it some drama.

In the 90's, there were a lot more independently-run radio stations. There wasn't IHeartRadio and there wasn't SiriusFM or JackFM. A dude could just have a radio station frequency and start a radio station as long as they complied with FCC regulations. And one of these radio stations in Columbus was an alternative station called CD101.

That frequency was sold to a classical station, which is fine because the exchange was friendly. And then the station moved to a different frequency, CD102.5.

So I know it may seem like radio DJ's are just weirdos with microphones and that's just not true- they are TALENTED weirdos with a microphone. You have to be personable, you have to know about the music you're playing, you have to be enthusiastic. And this station was pretty good about programming- they played local music, they played deep cuts, they played weird shit. There were programs for oddball and punk and goth music. They ran charities, they were at local festivals, they were in parades. Their radio station even had a small concert venue attached to it and they would invite visiting musicians to play. Like it really was about community.

But.

Radio stations are expensive, and they get more expensive every year, and in 2020 they were unable to renew their FCC license.

And then a couple months later, they were back again under CD 92.9. A radio station rented out the frequency to them and they were able to get back on the air. It was like nothing ever happened.

I'm not going to know what happened between the owner the frequency (Mark) and the owner of the station (Randy) because there's a lot of people talking about Mark overcharging on rent and Randy being late or short on payments.

An agreement was drawn up to have Randy buy the frequency over a period of (I think) 5 years. But the price was high and the terms of termination were brutal (if he was even one day late on a payment, it constituted termination of the contract). And Randy found those terms to be unreasonable.

So, they announced that the radio station would be going off the air February 1, 2024. And we're all pretty upset! Like, not to be like 'this station saved my life,' but this was a pretty consistent source of event news for me and its how I learned about a lot of concerts and artists. They played one of my friend's bands pretty often and its like 'hell yeah, I know that flutist!'

The DJs of CD92.9 said their good-byes on Facebook.

Meanwhile...

The new DJ of the new station announced that it was always his destiny run the station, and that the new station would be More local music, More deep cuts, More weird shit- and No Billie Eilish. "Out with the old, in with the new."

On one of the old DJ's good-bye posts, the new DJ tried to recruit him to the new station.

"Really? You're trying to poach me on my good-bye post?"

Mark makes a statement that the station will be committed to 'continuing the legacy of CD92.9' and will be using the same programming, the same music, the same DJ's.

Randy says 'the fuck it will, that wasn't the deal' and files a C&D. The DJ's are allowed to work for the new station if they so please, but the new station is not going to inherit shit. They cannot use the same programming, their staff, or any of the thousands of recordings they've use in the past 30 years. Any branding or attempt to brand as similar to CD92.9 is a breach of contract.

A facebook group formed around the support of CD 92.9. How to help, how to get their online stream onto your phone, upcoming events, sponsors to support, and a healthy amount of bitching. Admittedly, some of the posts were REAL stretches- like... I'm sorry darling, I know you want it to happen, but you are NOT going to get them on copyright infringement because their red X logo looks kind of like a similar red X logo from a radio station in Milwaukee.

CD92.9 goes down, 93X goes up.

He does play some more uncommon music, sure. But he doesn't announce who the artist is so its kind of like... what's the point in that? If you just play a local band, but we don't know who the local band is, how are we going to go to their concerts? He'd also talk smack about some bands and its like... don't? You're a public face now.

And then there's the radio edits, which he chose not to play on occasion, so the radio was full of f-bombs. FCC violation.

And as a DJ, simply not charismatic. Like I realize he's not Blorbo from my radio, but like I said- DJing is a skill.

So I just didn't listen. It wasn't worth my time to try. I found a different, less cool station to listen to in the car and I listened to the stream at home.

The mood of the facebook group shifted more towards support for the sponsors, events planned around 92.9, news about who is leaving and who is staying and we just kind of let 93X exist.

The promise of 'no Billie Eilish' fell through pretty quickly. Their music selection dropped to the usual 'alternative music' packet of Imagine Dragons and Twenty-One Pilots. And eventually...

They went off the air. After one month of airtime, it is now an oldies station.

93X DJ said 'well, congratulations you got what you wanted.' Which is half right. We wanted them to tank and our old station to succeed. We're still hopeful about the second part.

The Dispatch ran an article about the short-lived station. Ends with:

So just for like... summary-

Ya'll took over the station with a committed listener base, claimed that you'd be just continuing business as usual, tried to poach their talent, hired someone with no problem talking shit, and when your station failed...

... you want to blame a Facebook Group?

Are you a child?

Anyways, if you'd like to hear an alternative rock station in Columbus that's just doing their best, here's a link to the stream!

[jo-harrington]

Sales Pitch (Eddie Munson x Store Manager!Reader)

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: Reader has a new customer.

Warnings/Themes: Silly. Fluffy. Tiny bit of implied mutual pining. Reader works at the Claire's at StarCourt. Eddie works at TapeWorld. They're both kind of romantic and in need of some affection. Eddie is also a big loser and afraid to just ask someone out, luckily the reader is also hopeless and thinks he's kind of cute.

Note: Wrote this after posting Closing Time. After I wrote that, my brain just took me away. Because if I know anything at all, it's Shopping Mall romance (unfortunately the bad part of it, but still. Let me project and be self indulgent.)

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

---

"Ok, I'm going," your closing lead hustled towards you from the stockroom door, pulling her purse open for a bag check. "Did you want me to bring you anything back?"

"Nah, I'll grab some dinner after I leave. Thanks," you smiled and quickly glanced over her wallet, chewing gum, and walkman. "Have a good break."

You allowed yourself a moment of peace once she left--the store finally empty after a busy afternoon--before working on the mindless task of restocking the scrunchie wall.

Everything felt like it moved at light speed the past few months. First you had received your diploma from the local community college. Then you were offered the store manager promotion you had been working toward for years. You were in a new town--a new state--with an apartment of your own and actual neighbors; there were no pesky family members to drop by unexpectedly and pester you about your life choices like they had for your entire life.

You had a store and team of your own that you adored, through all of the ups and downs--although it had been mostly ups so far. The sparkly new StarCourt mall was a hit with the residents of Hawkins and the rest of Roane County. With the Grand Opening overlapping with the arrival of summer, the mall had been bustling with activity and people eager to shop.

After a lifetime of people pleasing tendencies, it was nice to bask in the praises of your district manager and all of the suits from corporate who had made the trek out to visit one of the youngest SMs in the company running what was quickly becoming one of the highest earning stores.

But Mall Life was still Mall Life, and with this new adventure away from everything you had ever known, it was nice to find comfort in your typical routines. Writing schedules, treating yourself to an Orange Julius on breaks, counting dollar bills crumpled from the hands of sweaty kids. Cracking jokes with your team members, listening to the gossip of whose-boyfriend-was-flirting-with-who from the one part-timer who was also a life guard at the community pool, walking around the empty mall after store hours, and piercing ears for 8 hours a day.

It was a whole lot of...nothing, sure. But you could do it for as long as you needed to. The independence was too good to give up for now. You could wait until the next big thing came into your life.

Right?

The bell rang, alerting you to your new customer, and as a reflex, you looked up and greeted.

"Welcome in, be right with you."

"Take your time, I’m just having a look around,” he responded with a shrug. You were sure he was feeling as out of place as he looked--with his band tee, flannel, and ripped black jeans--amongst the pastel jewelry and neon scrunchies.

You knew him...sort of. As much as anyone really knows anyone else who worked in a mall.

The tall, wide-eyed, and--quite frankly--cute metalhead with fluffy hair from Tape World.

He had been on duty when you barged in during opening week. Your shop radio had stopped working and you had driven home in a panic to grab your old portable stereo but you had unfortunately forgotten your tapes. He had easily navigated the crowded aisles to pluck a selection of them for you to bring back upstairs. He cracked some kind of joke, but in your rush to get back to the store, you totally ignored it. And you vaguely remember being kind of rude.

You felt really bad about it later in the day--no one deserved attitude from a shitty customer--and you had brought down a bag of cookies from the food court for him at the end of your shift as a thank-you-slash-apology. Unfortunately he had left for the day, according to the closing manager.

You had seen him around a few other times, crossing paths as you headed to the employee parking lot after hours or during breaks in the food court. You'd tried smiling or saying hi--your old store manager had taught you it was good practice to be nice to your neighbors at the mall. At first he had scowled, then eventually simply avoided you, turning his eyes away at first glimpse of you. Letting his long legs carry him faster to get further away.

You didn't know what you were hoping to gain from making amends with this guy specifically...

Actually, you did know. You wanted to make a friend.

You didn't really know anyone outside of your team and your landlord. You could just go and strike up a conversation with the staff at another store during your breaks, but given how crowded the mall was, you didn't want to be the type of person who bothered them while they were busy. You at least could say, in some capacity, that you had an excuse to start some kind of conversation with Tape World Guy.

Even if it was just to finally apologize.

The well-practiced customer service character that you had played for years was getting tiring to constantly wear in this new environment, especially after hours. You even found yourself doing it at the grocery store, hoping it would get you some sort of human interaction.

And did you forget that he was cute?

All of your old coworkers had their little mall romances that you had always been a little jealous of. Regular customers who would come in just to flirt, and then buy some random little trinket before they left. Or employees from other stores who would take an extra 5 minutes on their break so they could walk around the mall together. Sweet little notes that had been thrown through the gates for their partners to find when they came to open for the day.

Deep down you could admit that while friendship was your main goal...it would have maybe, sort of, been a little nice if Tape World Guy thought you were cute too.

God, it was such a stupid idea.

You had put all of those thoughts to rest since he seemed to want to avoid you at all costs. But here he was now, crouching in front of a tower full of jelly bracelets. This could be your chance to salvage things, even if it was just to find a friend.

You put down the box you were holding and dusted off your hands as you approached him.

"Was there something specific that you were looking for?" you began with your typical spiel. The hand that was rifling through the bracelets immediately retracted and he stood to his full height.

There was a brief deer-in-the-headlights look in his eye before it shifted into something more nonchalant.

"Just killing some time on break." He stuck his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels a bit. "I, uh...I work downstairs. At Tape World."

"I know," you nodded.

"You do?"

Ok so that explained the scowling: he just didn't remember you. You were just some random person smiling at him whenever you saw him. That was...

Embarrassing.

...a relief.

"You helped me out one time. I was in a panic and you kind of saved my ass," you explained with a laugh. You looked down slightly. "You're also still wearing your lanyard."

His hands immediately came up to grab at the lanyard around his neck with his name tag and keys. Not Tape World Guy. Eddie.

He looked like an Eddie.

"Right," he chuckled. "I keep forgetting I have this thing."

"At least you're forgetting that you're wearing it and not forgetting it at home," you offered. "That's happened to the best of us."

"Well that's a jinx if I've ever heard one, sweetheart," he grinned. It was a nice smile, one that lit up his entire face and brightened his eyes.

There was a short pause and you felt stupid just standing there staring at him.

"Well, if you need anything, I'll just be--"

"The sign in the window!" He interrupted you, voice breaking slightly. "It, uh, said free ear piercings."

"Oh, um, yeah," you nodded.

"Great, I'll do that then."

"Well actually," you elaborated as he approached your piercing station. "The whole piercing process is free, you just need to buy the earrings."

"Oh. That's fine." he settled into the chair, pulling the little teddy bear, the one that brought the kids some comfort as they were getting their piercings, onto his lap. "Any employee discounts?"

"Unfortunately not, sorry. Not for mall employees; just store employees."

“That sounds like you’re offering me a job. How tempting," he hummed.

"Uhhh--"

"But I'll have to pass," he made the bear wave its hand dismissively. "I don't have enough neon pink in my wardrobe to match the dress code."

You looked down at your own outfit for a second; yeah you looked like something out of the Seventeen Magazine Back to School issue. It was a little ridiculous but you always tried to look the part of cool mall girl.

"That's a shame; one of the unspoken rules is Dress to Impress the customer," you laughed. "Although, your hair would look great with scrunchies."

It really would. You could see it in your mind's eye. His curly mane pulled back messily, a few of the shorter pieces framing his face.

"We would meet our sales goal every day."

"I would be the number one scrunchies salesman. Hands down." His voice took on a richer quality as he sat a little taller and placed a hand across his chest. "Alas, I am a purveyor of cassettes. The best in all of Indiana."

"Really?" You laughed.

"My talents would be wasted here," Eddie concluded.

"Alright," you held your hands up. "You can't say I didn't try."

You got him set up with a clipboard and pen to fill out the piercing form as you got the station sanitized and ready. He would scribble some, then stop a few times, along with an intake of breath. You waited for him to ask whatever question he had, but he would then just ask the bear.

"Do you know the number to the plant? Yeah didn't think so."

"I don't know, do you think I should sign the liability? What if my ear falls off."

He got really quiet though once he was done filling the form out and you started marking his earlobes. He watched you with those big, wet, brown eyes and occasionally worried his bottom lip with his teeth before his tongue darted out to soothe it.

It was really distracting.

"Can I ask you something?" he broke the silence and you backed away from him slightly.

"Yeah?" He just stared at you silently and you wondered if he was just nervous. "Everything ok?"

He clutched the teddy bear and then relaxed his grip slightly.

"Broken Hearts or Gummy Bears?" he finally asked, avoiding eye contact for a moment. You frowned and opened your mouth to reply but he beat you to it. "For the earrings. I saw them over there and...I couldn't choose."

As he rambled about the pros and cons of each, you took a breath and put your hand on his shoulder.

"Are you afraid of needles?" you asked, interrupting him.

"What?"

"Needles," you repeated. "You just...seem nervous and I'm not going to blame you if you change your mind. It happens all the time."

"Well--"

"And I'm probably not supposed to say this to a customer but the piercing gun is...not the best experience." On your first anniversary as a sales associate, your old boss had taken you to get your cartilage pierced and she told you to never trust the piercing gun. "So if you don't want to do this, I won't make you."

He took a breath and then began rambling.

"It isn't that I don't want to." His voice sounded a little strained. "And I'm not afraid of needles; I have a couple of tattoos, actually. They’re not anything professional really. But I'm in a band. I'm, um, lead guitarist. Frontman most of the time but my buddy Jeff...well he's gotta work on his confidence."

For a second you wondered if Jeff wasn't the only one who needed to work on confidence. Tattoos or not, maybe he was just...afraid...

Maybe that cool exterior earlier was just...an act. You'd been there before, plenty of times. Play it cool until you could convince yourself to go through with something. Or until you chickened out.

Ok, you could work with this. You could help him get through this.

"That's pretty cool," you told him truthfully, trying to hype him up. It was cool. "The tattoos and the band."

"Really?" You nodded. "And new hardware would, uh, be really metal. If I did get it."

"Absolutely," you agreed. "You'd be a local trendsetter; all of your fans would be lining up outside so they could look like you."

"Fans," he chuckled dryly. "Right. Well, anyway, it's just...I'm on break and I only had a small window of opportunity to come up--"

"I get it."

"--and see if you wanted to hang out sometime."

Sure.

Wait.

You froze and had to collect yourself for a second as your brain broke.

Hang out? Was he asking...just to hang out or to hang out? Wait...he wanted to hang out with you?

"What?" you muttered. His eyes got really big.

"It's just that you're new in town, right?" He started. "And I thought...well shit, I thought I could show you around. Or if you wanted company sometimes at lunch, because you usually sit by yourself. And trust me, dude, I know it sucks to sit by yourself at lunch."

He knew you sat by yourself? Maybe all of those times you thought he was trying to ignore you, he was just nervous.

He laughed and looked down at the teddy bear.

"But I get it if you don't want to," he continued. "I know Stacey Andrews works here too; I don't know if she's said anything to you about me. She's a huge blabbermouth."

He winced.

"Not that...not that there's anything wrong with that. Gossiping is kind of all you can do in a small town like this."

"I get it," you said. The town you grew up in wasn't that small...but it was a tight knit community and everyone knew everything about everyone. And yeah, Stacey was kind of a blabbermouth.

"I figured," he shrugged, suddenly looking dejected. He played with the ears of the bear for a second and then stood up. "But yeah, I thought...I would at least ask."

Wait, did he think you were saying no?

“Sorry about wasting your time.”

"Hey, wait," you stopped him before he could head towards the door. "A tour of town sounds great. And company at lunch."

"You don't have to say that just to be nice," he said dismissively, trying to brush you off.

"I'm not, please believe me" you insisted with a smile. He stopped in his tracks and looked at you. "If you have some...bad boy reputation in town or whatever, I mean, yeah that's kinda hot, but that's fine. But you're up here offering friendship to someone new, so even if Stacey was gossiping about you--which she wasn't by the way--I think I'm smart enough to figure out that you're not as bad as other people think you are. Or you think that they think you are.

"And really, it doesn't matter what others think. Because what I think is that you're a sweet, considerate, kind of goofy, definitely metal, neon-lacking, guitar-playing guy who is gonna show me the best place to get pizza in town because I've just been getting it downstairs before I go home and, I've gotta say, it isn't great."

Did you say all of that in one breath? Because you were definitely a little light-headed now.

He stared at you for a while before that grin took over his face.

"You think I'm hot?" he asked.

"Uh," you frowned and thought back on your words. Maybe you blacked out a little bit too. Did you say that? "No?"

"Because you definitely said I was kind of hot."

"I--" Why didn’t your brain work? "I said...I said having a bad boy reputation was kind of hot."

"But I'm the one with the bad boy reputation," he explained. "Therefore, I am the hot one."

"I also called you goofy."

"You said a lot of things, sweetheart," he laughed. "Including pizza. Which I can guarantee that I provide the one and only comprehensive Pizza Tour of Hawkins. So. When are you free?"

When were you free?

"Fridays usually...or I close on Sundays."

"Well, wouldn't you know, I also close on Sundays."

"Great!" You grinned. "It's settled then. This Sunday after close."

"Great. I'll see you then," he bowed--bowed--and then walked out of the store.

You briefly relived the entire interaction in your brain as you went back to the piercing station to save the abandoned supplies.

Ok, so a date, but maybe not a date. At the very least, pizza with a new friend on Sunday.

God, you couldn't believe you called him hot.

The bell rang and you turned to greet your next customer only to find your new friend there again, slightly out of breath this time.

"My name's Eddie, by the way," he said and you smiled.

"I know," you giggled.

"You do?"

"It's on your name tag."

...

Next Part: Standard Operating Procedure 1.01

[tomorrowusa]

Anne Applebaum's book Autocracy, Inc.: The Dictators Who Want to Run the World was published a few days ago. in the book she describes the basic nature of contemporary autocracies and how they cooperate with each other.

About two-thirds of the way through this NPR audio she pivots from overseas autocracies to talk about how disinformation and outright lies are undermining democracy in the US.

The transcript for the audio can be found here.

A few bits from the transcript:

You know, for a long time, certainly since the end of the Cold War gave us this feeling that our political system was the best and it was inevitably the best, we took for granted the idea that somehow, you know, information was like - was another free market. And there would be a competition in the market between good ideas and bad ideas, and eventually the good ideas would win. That's actually not how it works. And that's not how the news business works anymore. It's not how information works. And understanding how important it is and how important it is to engage in it, both in our country and around the world, I think would do us a lot of good. I mean, we - you know, we sort of stopped competing or - again, out of complacency, out of the assumption that everybody would eventually agree with us, we didn't really have to do anything. We didn't have to try very hard. I think we misunderstood that. [ ... ] I want people to be convinced that ideas matter, that we're going to have to defend and protect our political system if we want to keep it. We have to do that around the world, but we also have to do it in our own country. So much of what I suggest is to do with changing the way things are done in the United States. And much of it is also to do with people becoming engaged in public life, in understanding what's happening, and not just voting, but participating. With autocrats, whether they're in American politics or in Russian politics or in Chinese politics, what they want is for you to be disengaged. They want you to drop out. They want you to become overwhelmed, and they want you to, you know, to say, I can't do anything. It's all hopeless. So it's very important to remember that our ideas are better. And our system is better, and however flawed it may be - and I'm sure you could do another whole radio program about the flaws of the United States and our democracy - it's still better than the autocratic world. And I should also say, it's still the case that our ideas are the ones that people in the autocratic world wish they had. The people who are really the most eloquent spokesmen for freedom of speech aren't the kind of free speech warriors in America. They're Russians who don't have it. And the people who are the greatest advocates for transparency in the rule of law are also people who live in states where they don't have it. And remembering that these are things that we have that they're under threat, and they need to be protected and defended, I think is extremely important.

We fight autocracy by being engaged and by challenging disinformation.

The book is brand new. Here's a link to the publisher's site for Autocracy, Inc.. Take note of the title and author's name and then buy it at a local independent bookstore. 😉

Autocracy, Inc.: The Dictators Who Want to Run the World

@npr

[scotianostra]

The Scottish actor David McCallum was born on 19th September 1933.

Born as David Keith McCallum, Jr in Maryhill, Glasgow, the second of two sons of Dorothy Dorman, a cellist, and orchestral violinist David McCallum Sr. When he was three, his family moved to London for his father to play as concertmaster in the London Philharmonic Orchestra. Early in the Second World War, he was evacuated back to Scotland, where he lived with his mother at Gartocharn by Loch Lomond.

McCallum won a scholarship to University College School, a boys’ independent school in Hampstead, London, where, encouraged by his parents to prepare for a career in music, he played the oboe.In 1946 he began doing boy voices for the BBC radio repertory company. Also involved in local amateur drama, at age 17, he appeared as Oberon in an open-air production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream with the Play and Pageant Union. He left school at age 18 and was conscripted, joining the 3rd Battalion the Middlesex Regiment, which was seconded to the Royal West African Frontier Force.In March 1954 he was promoted to Lieutenant. After leaving the army he attended the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (also in London), where Joan Collins was a classmate.

David McCallum’s acting career has spanned six decades; however, these days he is best known for his starring role on the police procedural NCIS as medical examiner as Dr. Donald “Ducky” Mallard. I first really remember McCallum for his role in another US show, The Invisible Man which ran for 13 episodes in the 70’s. McCallum by then was a veteran of many TV and Film roles, starting in the 50’s including Our Mutual Friend and The Eustace Diamonds, in the 60’s he was in several ITV Playhouse shows before moving across the Atlantic to take roles in The Outer Limits and his big break as Illya Kuryakin in several incantations of The Man from Uncle.

His most notable films were The Greatest Story Ever Told as Judas Iscariot and of course Ashley-Pitt ‘Dispersal’ in The Great Escape.

As well as the aforementioned Invisible Man in the 70’s he took time to pop back over to our shores to star in two quality series, as Flt. Lt. Simon Carter in Colditz and Alan Breck Stewart in an adaption of Robert Louis Stevenson’s, Kidnapped.

The 80’s saw him team up with the lovely Joanna Lumley in Sapphire & Steel and several guest roles in the likes of The A Team, Hart to Hart and Murder, She Wrote as well as a one off reprise of Illya in the TV movie The Return of the Man from U.N.C.L.E.: The Fifteen Years Later Affair.

The 90’s saw David in Cluedo and Trainer on our TV screens over here and American science-fiction series VR-5 in the states..

During the last 20 years or so he has been in the kids TV show, Ben 10: Omniverse as the voice of Professor Paradox and of course Donald Horatio “Ducky” Mallard in a remarkable  436 episodes of the popular NCIS.

David has been married twice. He married his first wife Jill Ireland in 1957. They met on the set of the movie Hell Drivers. Together, they had two sons and a daughter, Paul, Jason and Valentine, with Jason being the only one who was adopted. In 1963, David introduced Jill to his co-star on The Great Escape, Charles Bronson, and she left David and married Charles in 1968. In 1967,

David McCallum passed away aged 90 on September 23rd last year, he is survived by his wife of 56 years, Katherine McCallum, his sons Paul McCallum, Valentine McCallum and Peter McCallum, his daughter Sophie McCallum and his eight grandchildren. NCIS paid tribute to him in an episode called The Stories We Leave Behind when the tagents find comfort in working on one of his unfinished cases. The episode features clips from several old shows.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA for subscribing to a city’s community radio station as a musician when I don’t live in the city?

I’m (31F) a musician who will be releasing my first single in about a month.

My special interest relates to a specific city’s music scene and its history. The city has a really cool independent community radio station that’s a huge part of that history.

One of the station’s main sources of income is subscriptions where people can make a yearly payment to support the station. You can subscribe as either a regular listener or as a musician. Musician subscribers are listed on the station’s website and also get a live read campaign on the radio. Since I’m going to be releasing music soon, I’d like to subscribe as a musician.

Here’s where I’m worried I may be TA:

-I’m not from the city where the station is based, nor have I ever been there. My main connection to the city and its music scene is my special interest. Since it’s a community radio station and I’m not part of that community, I’m worried I’d be inserting myself somewhere I don’t belong.

-In addition to the above, I’m from the US, while the radio station is based in another country. The radio station puts a lot of importance on promoting local artists and challenging the mainstream. If I subscribed as a musician and benefited from the live read campaign, the station wouldn’t be promoting a local artist, they’d be promoting some random USAmerican.

-Even though I’d be financially supporting the station by subscribing as a musician, I could support them just as well by subscribing as a regular listener.

-I want to subscribe to financially support the station, but part of my motivation is selfish. I’m really interested in this radio station and have spent a lot of time nerding out about its history, so I think it would be really cool to be listed on their website and mentioned on air. Also, I would imagine the station is more likely to play songs by subscriber artists, and it would be amazing to hear my song on the radio, especially on this station.

-I’m autistic (as you’ve all probably guessed from me having a special interest) and I sometimes have trouble determining whether or not my actions will be appropriate or well-received, so I don’t really trust my own judgment on this.

I thought about emailing the station to see whether it would be okay for me to subscribe as a musician (and I probably still will if the results aren’t a YTA sweep) but since I think so highly of the station, I’d hate for anyone working there to think I’m an asshole for asking.

WIBTA?

What are these acronyms?

[onesidedradiostatic]

My assumption on Alastor’s pre death radio fame, was that he may have been very popular locally, but not nationwide or anything. I don’t know the transmission ranges of that time, but it certainly might’ve been dependent on what equipment and infrastructure you could afford. If Alastor was affiliated with a major state or local channel- maybe he had a specific slot on their timetable - then I guess his audience could be quite far spread! But if he was running some kind of independent operation, or even a secret channel, the range may well be smaller. And the u.s is big, Vox could be from anywhere, but maybe he was close enough to pick up Alastor’s show.

(prev)

yeah that's what I thought too, having more of a local community, that's why I don't usually think vox, let alone husk or angel dust, had heard of alastor pre-death. but like I said, that one art from twitter made me so insane I may just be willing to indulge in the idea a LITTLE bit....

[3months2mordor]

We're preparing for our LotR Pre-US Election read along by getting our books together. If you don't have a copy of your own and want one, we'd absolutely suggest buying from your local independent bookstore, new or used (as a former bookseller myself, indie bookstores rock!- Mod Elanor). There's also your local library!

But if you don't have access to a physical book we've found a few options online for you to use for free.

We're so excited to get reading soon!

Internet Archive 1987 Houghton Mifflin edition (needs free account)

2. Internet Archive 1981 BBC Radio adaptation (starring Ian Holm as Frodo)

3. This Spotify Playlist of audiobooks.

[zombieheroine]

Initial D character headcanons (1/?)

Screw canon, I'll add my own. Here are some headcanons I came up with, take it, leave it, add your own, whatever we keep drifting.

Fujiwara Takumi

Music of choice: Eurodance, to stay awake. Works better than any caffeinated drink ever could. In his glove compartment: Take-out fliers, loose coins to spend on vending machines. Parallel parking skill: Has never parallel parked, but would succeed on first try. Could drift into the spot but doesn't want to look like a show-off. Driving pet peeve: Slow drivers who don't give way. Ticket score: Zero. He doesn't want to find out what Bunta would say.

Itsuki Takeuchi

Music of choice: Whatever is on the radio In his glove compartment: His driving license and the manual of the car, list of his work shifts, a car magazine, a pair of fluffy dice he hasn't dared to hang yet. Parallel parking skill: He's super nervous and sweats it every time, but does okay, even though he needs multiple tries. Driving pet peeve: Tailgaters. Ticket score: Since the first accident, he's a very responsible driver and doesn't have any additional tickets, but the points on his license remain.

Iketani Koichiro

Music of choice: Classic Japanese rock/pop ballads for strong independent manly men who need no woman In his glove compartment: A water bottle, a spare bowtie for work, forgotten old tests from high school, personal hygiene kit with mouthwash and a disposable razor, but he's forgotten to buy shaving cream. Parallel parking skill: He's proficient, but if someone's watching he gets too self-concious to even try. Driving pet peeve: Ending up on the slow lane and watching cars pass him on his left. Ticket score: He caught a few speeding tickets in his first year with a license due to being over eager and careless in urban areas, but wisened up before maxing out the points.

Kenji

Dayjob: A baker, which leaves him with lots of free time to bother his friends at their work place. Music of choice: Rock'n'roll from all over the world, to both knead bread dough and drive fast to. He burns his own mix CDs. In his glove compartment: CDs, several tubes of prescription hand cream, manga magazines, marker pens, post-it-notes and old shopping lists, crumbled up receipts. Parallel parking skill: None. This man has so far never been forced to even try, and so he won't learn. There's always a free spot somewhere in a small town, especially very late and very early. He would never want to drive in a metropolitan area. Driving pet peeve: Drivers who rev their engines and screech their tires to show off. Ticket score: A few parking tickets because he tends to forget himself in chatting with friends.

Takahashi Keisuke:

Dayjob: This rich problem youth has not worked a day in his life. His parents may have given up on him, but his allowance was never wholly cut to keep him from getting into even more serious trouble. Music of choice: Synth pop, like all the cool scene kids in the 90s. In his glove compartment: Snack bar wrappers, a cell phone charger, cigaretters and several half empty lighters, emergency condoms and a totally unrelated tube of body lotion (water-based). Parallel parking skill: He could, but would never expose his precious car to the other parked cars and their drivers like that. If there's no spacious parking spot, he won't leave his car for anything or anyone. Driving pet peeve: Prone to road rage just in general. Ticket score: Zero, but the local police knows him by name.

Takahashi Ryosuke

Day job: Full-time med student, favorite child. Music of choice: Heavy metal, it's excellent stress relief In this glove compartment: Vehicle license, the manual of his car, a logbook, maps, first aid kit. Parallel parking skill: Perfect, what did you expect? Driving pet peeve: People who get road rage. Ticket score: Surprisingly high. He's been caught speeding multiple times when looking for his brother during his gang days, and caught the occasional parking ticket due to forgetfullness.

Nakamura Kenta

Dayjob: An employee at a 7/11 Music of choice: Same as Keisuke's In his glove compartment: Wrappers from various snacks, empty noodle cups and an uneven number of disposable chopsticks, crumbled up energy drink cans. Parallel parking skill: Could do it, as long as he concentrates instead of trying to act too cool Driving pet peeve: Drivers who hit puddles on purpose, either spraying the pedestrians or risking hydroplaning needlessly Ticket score: He's got his license suspended once for three months. Since joining the RedSuns he's cleaned up his act in general.

[mariacallous]

This year marks 30 years since the Rwandan genocide in 1994, when a Hutu-majority government and a privately owned radio station with close ties to the government colluded to murder 800,000 people.

The year 1994 may seem recent, but for a continent as young as Africa (where the median age is 19), it’s more like a distant past.

Suppose this had happened today, in the age of the algorithm. How much more chaos and murder would ensue if doctored images and deepfakes were proliferating on social media rather than radio, and radicalizing even more of the public? None of this is beyond reach, and countries including the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Ethiopia, and Niger are at risk—owing to their confluence of ethno-religious tensions, political instability, and the presence of foreign adversaries.

Over the last few years, social media companies have culled their trust and safety units, reversing the gains made in the wake of the Myanmar genocide and the lead-up to the 2020 U.S. elections. Nowhere else are these reductions more consequential than in Africa. Low levels of digital literacy, fragile politics, and limited online safety systems render the continent ripe for hate speech and violence.

Last year, a Kenyan court held Facebook parent company Meta liable for the unlawful dismissal of 184 content moderators, after the company invested in only one content moderator for every 64,000 users in neighboring Ethiopia.

This was while Ethiopia spiraled into one of the world’s deadliest wars this century. During this time, Facebook was awash with content inciting ethnic violence and genocide. Its algorithms couldn’t detect hate speech in local languages while its engagement-based ranking systems continued to provide a platform for violent content. The scale of disinformation meant that the website’s remaining content moderators were no match for the moment.

The advent of adversarial artificial intelligence—which involves algorithms that seek to dodge content moderation tools—could light the match of the continent’s next war, and most social media companies are woefully underprepared.

And even if safety systems were to be put in place, hateful posts will spread at a far greater pace and scale, which would undermine the algorithms used to detect incendiary content. Sophisticated new AI systems could also analyze the most effective forms of disinformation messaging, produce them at scale, and effectively tailor them according to the targeted audience.

With limited oversight, this can easily tip some communities—ones that are already fraught with tensions—toward conflict and collapse.

Facebook has drawn criticism from human rights organizations for its perceived role in enabling and disseminating content intended to incite violence during the war centered in Ethiopia’s Tigray region from 2020-2022, a conflict which is estimated to have killed more than 600,000 people.

“Meta has yet again repeated its pattern of waiting until violence begins to support even rudimentary safety systems in Ethiopia,” Frances Haugen, the most prominent whistleblower to testify against Meta, told Foreign Policy.

In 2021, Haugen testified before the U.S Congress, exposing Facebook’s internal practices and sparking a global reckoning about social media’s influence over the communities that use it. Her disclosures suggested that Facebook knew that its systems fanned the flames of ethnic violence in Ethiopia and did little to stop it.

It did so because it knew it could. Far from the spotlight of a congressional hearing, most technology companies attract less scrutiny for operations abroad.

“It just doesn’t make the news cycle” according to Peter Cunliffe-Jones, the founder of Africa Check, the continent’s first independent fact-checking organization.

Most technology companies do not share basic data that would allow third-party organizations to effectively monitor and halt dangerous influence operations. As a result, most countries are left to outsource this critical task of maintaining social cohesion to the companies themselves. In other words, the very companies that profit the most from disinformation are now the arbiters of social order. This becomes dangerous when the companies slash safety resources in both wealthy nations and more peripheral markets beyond North America and Europe.

“One of the great misfortunes is that the war in Tigray [took place] in Africa. There was less oversight and unverified claims ran rampant” Cunliffe-Jones told Foreign Policy.

In leaked files, Meta found that its own algorithm to detect hate speech was unable to perform adequately in either of Ethiopia’s most widely used languages, Amharic and Oromo. Furthermore, the organization fell short on investing in enough content moderators.

While Meta has made significant strides elsewhere to counter disinformation, its strategy in Africa remains opaque and often involves the mobilization of response teams after a crisis becomes dire. The measures taken and their impact are not made public, leaving experts in the dark. This includes Meta’s own Oversight Board, whose requests for independent impact assessments in crisis zones were effectively ignored.

The war in Tigray is by no means an anomaly, nor should it be treated as such. In fact, across much of the continent, identity is still largely delineated by ethnicity, or along clan or religious lines—some of them a remnant of European imperialism.

With the advent of adversarial AI, Rwanda and Ethiopia could pale in comparison to an even more deadly future conflict. This is because these new algorithms don’t just spread disinformation—they also attack the very systems tasked with reviewing and removing incendiary content. For example, an adversarial AI program might slightly change the video frames of a deepfake, such that it’s still recognizable to the human eye but the slight alteration (technically known as noise) causes the algorithm to misclassify it, thereby dodging content moderation tools.

“We have been told by Big Tech that the path to safety is dependent on content moderation. Adversarial AI blows up this paradigm by allowing attackers to side-step safety systems based on content,” Haugen told Foreign Policy. “We may see the consequences first in conflicts in Africa, but no one is safe.”

Africa is at a crossroads. It is rich in critical minerals—such as cobalt, copper, and rare earth elements, which make up essential components of the technology driving the green energy transition—and has a young workforce that could turbocharge its economic growth. But it could fall prey to yet another resource curse driven by proxy wars between large powers seeking to dominate the supply chains of those critical minerals.

In this context, it’s not hard to imagine foreign mercenaries and insurgent groups leveraging adversarial AI to sow chaos and disorder. One of the greatest threats is in the eastern regions of Congo, home to an estimated 50 percent of the world’s cobalt reserves.

The region is also plagued by roughly 120 warring factions vying for control. These include, for example, the March 23 Movement (M23) and the Democratic Forces for the Liberation of Rwanda (FDLR). The FDLR, an offshoot of the former Hutu extremist government in Rwanda, is in a heated contest against the Tutsi-majority M23, which argues that the FDLR poses a threat to local Tutsis as well as neighboring Rwanda.

According to U.N. experts, the current Rwandan government supports M23, though Kigali denies it. Through targeted information warfare, M23 argued that a genocide was looming against the Tutsi population. The Congolese army, along with the FDLR, argued that the M23 is yet another example of foreign interference and warfare intended to sow chaos and seize Congolese assets. But both sides have been accused of manufacturing news stories about violence through manipulated images and inflated death tolls, which are widely shared on social media.

The advent of adversarial AI could prove particularly dangerous here, given the ethnic tensions, foreign interference, lucrative critical mineral reserves, and a provocative online discourse that tends to fly without many strategic guardrails. Different factions could easily deploy deepfakes that mimic the casualties of past massacres or declare war from seemingly official sources.

Given the market value of critical minerals and the role of foreign adversaries, this could quickly spiral into mass violence that destabilizes Congo and neighboring countries.

Faced with such a risk, Africa cannot afford to wait for Western tech companies to act. African governments must take the lead.

As the tools of disinformation grow more sophisticated, old safety systems are becoming defunct. Faced with such a threat, the solution cannot be to invest exclusively in content moderation.

An alliance between Africa and South Asia could prove crucial. These two regions alone account for the largest anticipated growth in internet users over the coming decade as well as a growing share of market revenue. Many middle-income powers—such as Nigeria, South Africa, Bangladesh, and Pakistan—command a growing influence in global affairs.

A coordinated effort among these nations, focused on auditing tech platforms, muting destructive algorithms, and ensuring corporate accountability for social media-driven violence, could help set new standards against disinformation and adversarial AI.

Leaders in the global south should first turn to experts on disinformation. Nations threatened by the technology should demand the appointment of an independent board of experts who can request independent audits into the nature of algorithms used, co-sign on content moderation decisions in crisis zones, and measure the efficacy of new interventions. Such a board would need the accountability powers currently vested in U.S.- and EU-based agencies to ensure that there are consequences when standards aren’t adhered to.

When the independent board deems a country high risk, tech companies would be required to effectively mute algorithms that rank content based on engagement—that is, the numbers that track how many people have seen, liked, and shared it. As such, users would only see information chronologically (regardless of how much engagement it gets), thereby drastically reducing the likelihood of traffic gravitating toward incendiary content. In the age of adversarial AI, this would give an expanded team of human moderators a far better shot at removing dangerous content.

And if the board determines that an algorithm platformed incendiary content that consequently led to offline violence, the tech companies responsible for those algorithms should be pressured to contribute to a dedicated victims fund for families that bear the deadly consequences of those calls for violence.

African governments must also spearhead digital literacy efforts. In 2011, South African politician Lindiwe Mazibuko made history as the first Black woman elected as opposition leader in the South African Parliament. Today, she runs Futureelect, an organization aimed at training the next generation of ethical public leaders.

“There are 19 elections taking place this year across Africa. We’re lagging on digital literacy globally and so I worry that deep fakes and disinformation warfare could be more consequential here,” she said. “It’s why we are actively training the next cycle of ethical leaders to be cognizant of this threat.”

Ahmed Kaballo, who co-founded the pan-African media house African Stream, is focused on building more independent media. “There is virtually no way to effectively fact-check rival claims without a flourishing independent media landscape. Otherwise, the public is left to accept disinformation as the truth,” he argues.

Meanwhile, technology companies should, in the near term, invest in algorithms that can detect hate speech in local languages; build a more expansive network of content moderators and research experts; and prioritize far greater transparency and collaboration that would allow independent experts to conduct audits, design policy interventions, and ultimately measure progress.

For Haugen, it comes down to advertisers, investors, and the public demanding more oversight.

“Investors need to understand that allowing social media companies to continue to operate without oversight places systemic risk across their portfolios. Social stability and rule of law are the foundation of long-term returns, and Ethiopia demonstrates how when basic guardrails are lacking, social media can fan the flames of chaos,” she said.

In Africa, the confluence of political tensions, critical mineral reserves, and superpower competition make the continent ripe for targeting by new technologies designed to evade detection and spread chaos. Rather than just becoming a testing ground, Africa must take proactive steps to leverage its growing global weight (alongside South Asia) to demand greater government action against new forms of AI-driven disinformation that have the potential to upend societies across the world.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

About Bill C-18 and the Meta news blackout, I also wanted to share how this affects not only bigger news outlets like the CBC, CTV, etc., but also hits local journalism, and far beyond just news. All campus and community radio stations are now blocked on Facebook and Instagram. For the campus station I volunteer at, that's 99% of their online presence (save for whatever is left of Twitter/X...). Unlike the CBC, which has spent the last few weeks on social media telling people to instead get their news on the CBC website and apps, no one really goes to campus radio stations' websites, except when sent there once a year during funding drives and donation campaigns. Even if they did, especially for smaller entities like community radio, we just don't have the staff nor budget to maintain a constantly updated website with full, new articles published throughout the day. The best we could do was post updates on social media and link to radio programmes.

It's especially a kick in the teeth considering the NCRA recently carved out grants to support local and community-level independent journalism on radio, and now no one can see us. Of course it's not just about music programming. The news journalists at our station (and others too, I'm sure) conduct interviews with local representatives and candidates, cover local news, updates and elections. Many leading journalists in the country got their start on campus radio at university, too.

Campus and community stations get their licences from the CRTC because their purpose is "to serve the community". Now information about community events, radio programmes, local news, promoting local talent, etc., which used to largely happen through publicising radio programmes and features on social media, is blocked. What will community radio do if it can't be where the community is?

Also, our funding drives are in jeopardy. In Ontario, Ford made all the fees that were included in university tuition optional, and so for the last few years we've been relying exclusively on money coming in from funding drives, and most of that would happen on social media: reaching out to the local community, to alumni, past volunteers, and all of their networks. If our social media presence is blacked out, I don't think our station and many others will even survive this academic year, and we're one of the longest-running radio stations in the world.

All this is to say, write to your MPs, please! Urge them to do something about it! Facebook and Instagram have embedded themselves so far into local community work, that to have local broadcasters locked out of the community would disrupt everything and spell the end for all of us. Find your local MP (https://www.ourcommons.ca/members/en) and send them a letter urging them to reach a negotiation and end the blackout on Canadian broadcasters!

~~~~

[aeolianblues]

Message to swifties: please for the love of god learn what the word feminism actually means

unbelievable: these kids are still trying to ‘cancel’… Dave Grohl (??) for not liking Taylor Swift’s music?? Girl she doesn’t need his approval? What the fuck is ‘unfeministic’ about having music preference?? This is a rock musician for crying out loud. You’re angry he isn’t lying about liking radio pop??

Can you focus on actual cases of gender inequality rather than crying about a billionaire musician? She’ll be fine. Can you go to your local club and support an independent female musician? No, I bet your sorry asses you can’t.

You can’t even stand to see other ultimately successful female pop stars who aren’t your goddess thriving. If your idea of feminism is ‘everyone worships my one lady and anyone who doesn’t is committing heresy un-feminism’ then my friends you are not feminists, you have reinvented religion. Go listen to Allie X and come back when you’ve had exposure to more women in music.

[zvaigzdelasas]

[NYT is US Media]

The newspaper was the recipient of United States government grants and was printed on an American government-financed printing press operated by Freedom House, an American organization that describes itself as "a clear voice for democracy and freedom around the world." In addition to the United States, several European countries -- Britain, the Netherlands and Norway among them -- have helped underwrite programs to develop democracy and civil society in this country. The effort played a crucial role in preparing the ground for the popular uprising that swept opposition politicians to power.

"Of course, this infrastructure had an influence," said one European election observer. [...]

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Kyrgyzstan quickly became an aid magnet with the highest per-capita foreign assistance level of any Central Asian nation. Among the hundreds of millions of dollars that arrived came a large slice focused on building up civil society and democratic institutions. Most of that money came from the United States, which maintains the largest bilateral pro-democracy program in Kyrgyzstan because of the Freedom Support Act, passed by Congress in 1992 [...] Hundreds of thousands more filter into pro-democracy programs in the country from other United States government-financed institutions like the National Endowment for Democracy. That does not include the money for the Freedom House printing press or Kyrgyz-language service of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty, a [US Congress funded] pro-democracy broadcaster.

"It would have been absolutely impossible for this to have happened without that help," said Edil Baisolov, who leads a coalition of nongovernmental organizations, referring to the uprising last week. Mr. Baisolov's organization is financed by the United States government through the National Democratic Institute.[...]

Those Kyrgyz who did not read Russian or have access to the newspaper listened to summaries of its articles on Kyrgyz-language Radio Azattyk, the local United States-government financed franchise of Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty.[...]

Other independent media carried the opposition's debates. Talk shows, like "Our Times," produced in part with United States government grants, were broadcast over the country's few independent television stations, including Osh TV in the south, where the protests that led to Mr. Akayev's ouster began. Osh TV expanded its reach with equipment paid for by the State Department. "The result is that the society became politicized, they were informed," Mr. Kim said. "The role of the NGO's and independent media were crucial factors in the revolution."[...]

Mr. Akayev began suggesting that the West was engaged in a conspiracy to destabilize the country. A crudely forged document, made to look like an internal report by the American ambassador, Stephen Young, began circulating among local news organizations. It cast American-financed pro-democracy activities as part of an American conspiracy.[...]

The American Embassy sent Freedom House two generators the day after the power went out, allowing the press to print nearly all of the 200,000 copies of MSN's special issue[...]

MSN informed people in the north of the unrest in the south. The newspaper also played a critical role in disseminating word of when and where protesters should gather. "There was fertile soil here, and the Western community planted some seeds," said one Western official. "I'm hoping these events of the past week will be one of those moments when you see the fruits of your labors."

Wow I wonder why Kyrgyzstan might treat foreign NGOs as suspect. Probably because of Poutine

2005