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“By 1900 child mortality was already declining—not because of anything the medical profession had accomplished, but because of general improvements in sanitation and nutrition. Meanwhile the birthrate had dropped to an average of about three and a half; women expected each baby to live and were already taking measures to prevent more than the desired number of pregnancies. From a strictly biological standpoint then, children were beginning to come into their own.
Economic changes too pushed the child into sudden prominence at the turn of the century. Those fabled, pre-industrial children who were "seen, but not heard," were, most of the time, hard at work—weeding, sewing, fetching water and kindling, feeding the animals, watching the baby. Today, a four-year-old who can tie his or her own shoes is impressive. In colonial times, four-year-old girls knitted stockings and mittens and could produce intricate embroidery; at age six they spun wool. A good, industrious little girl was called "Mrs." instead of "Miss" in appreciation of her contribution to the family economy: she was not, strictly speaking, a child.
But when production left the houschold, sweeping away the dozens of chores which had filled the child's day, childhood began to stand out as a distinct and fascinating phase of life. It was as if the late Victorian imagination, still unsettled by Darwin's apes, suddenly looked down and discovered, right at knee-level, the evolutionary missing link. Here was the pristine innocence which adult men romanticized, and of course, here, in miniature, was the future which today's adult men could not hope to enter in person. In the child lay the key to the control of human evolution. Its habits, its pastimes, its companions were no longer trivial matters, but issues of gravest importance to the entire species.
This sudden fascination with the child came at a time in American history when child abuse—in the most literal and physical sense—was becoming an institutional feature of the expanding industrial economy. Near the turn of the century, an estimated 2,250,000 American children under fifteen were full-time laborers—in coal mines, glass factories, textile mills, canning factories, in the cigar industry, and in the homes of the wealthy—in short, wherever cheap and docile labor could be used. There can be no comparison between the conditions of work for a farm child (who was also in most cases a beloved family member) and the conditions of work for industrial child laborers. Four-year-olds worked sixteen-hour days sorting beads or rolling cigars in New York City tenements; five-year-old girls worked the night shift in southern cotton mills.
So long as enough girls can be kept working, and only a few of them faint, the mills are kept going; but when faintings are so many and so frequent that it does not pay to keep going, the mills are closed.
These children grew up hunched and rickety, sometimes blinded by fine work or the intense heat of furnaces, lungs ruined by coal dust or cotton dust—when they grew up at all. Not for them the "century of the child," or childhood in any form:
The golf links lie so near the mill
That almost every day
The laboring children can look out
And see the men at play.
Child labor had its ideological defenders: educational philosophers who extolled the lessons of factory discipline, the Catholic hierarchy which argued that it was a father's patriarchal right to dispose of his children's labor, and of course the mill owners themselves. But for the reform-oriented, middle-class citizen the spectacle of machines tearing at baby flesh, of factories sucking in files of hunched-over children each morning, inspired not only public indignation, but a kind of personal horror. Here was the ultimate "rationalization" contained in the logic of the Market: all members of the family reduced alike to wage slavery, all human relations, including the most ancient and intimate, dissolved in the cash nexus. Who could refute the logic of it? There was no rationale (within the terms of the Market) for supporting idle, dependent children. There were no ties of economic self-interest to preserve the family. Child labor represented a long step toward that ultimate "anti-utopia" which always seemed to be germinating in capitalist development: a world engorged by the Market, a world without love.”
-Barbara Ehrenreich and Deirdre English, For Her Own Good: 150 Years of the Experts’ Advice to Women
sorry if you've already answered this - what makes the old material different from the new one?
the biggest difference is that the old manu fabric was a polyester jersey knit made to imitate cotton jersey where the new fabric is woven polyester (and some elastic).
the new fabric also has a much higher thread count and is therefor much more durable/much less likely to snag or pill because it has a much tighter weave. this is also why the print quality is much crisper. the old manu skirts could only print up to 100dpi, the new ones prints at 300dpi which is frankly outrageous. i’ve done surface design for a lot of fabrics and i’ve never encountered another fabric with this level of print fidelity. most fabric can only print up to 100dpi.
and in my anecdotal experience the new fabric is quite stain resistant where the old fabric was not
add in that our new factory has certifications for ethical labor practices and responsible textile production and the swap was a no brainer, even tho our costs increased significantly. now, just because a factory doesn’t have those certifications doesn’t mean they’re automatically bad—those certifications involve investigating up an entire supply chain, all the way up to the fastenings which are nearly always made unethically, and that is extremely expensive and not something most small factories (like our previous factory) can afford. still, when you’re a small brand like us that cannot afford to facilitate your own factory audits (which is something large brands often do), these sorts of certifications are invaluable.
The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №5
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This is the translation of the another post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.
Wow, this is probably the longest and most productive time for me. I don't force myself to do any of this at all. The plot just comes to me, and I am filled with happiness as I embody it. But I think I will still slow down the pace and post the plot development a little less often, so as not to feel bad when I don't feel like drawing.
I'm trying to experiment with the glow of the eyes. It seems to me that it turned out very ok =)
Error got a little carried away with knitting. But it killed two birds with one stone: he no longer needs to constantly tie Cross and Dust with threads, the effect now works without his participation. Thanks to the generosity of the Destroyer, Dust now has a cozy corner of personal safety under his hood.
The Bad Guys found a sewing kit at Kitty's place, so they were able to mend their clothes a little and not look like tramps (well, more than they do now). There were also a lot of sweets and other food in the kitchen, which now fills the inventory of Horror, Cross, and Killer. They managed to find out the properties of some food:
Almond Water
Restores 15 HP and sanity.
*you can never have too much
Greasy Marshmallow
Restores -25 HP.
*sometimes there is too much
*makes your skin smooth and elastic
*follow the recommendations
Fortunately, the recommendations were found in the notebook with some details:
I once saw how one idiot ate 50 of them on a bet and turned into a pile of marshmallow and fat. A terrible sight. Smelled like at Willy Wonka's factory. But wow, this thing is almost like chocolate when melted. Sometimes I'm ready to kill for such a treat. Recommendations:
- Melt the marshmallow.
- Do not melt more than 30 at a time.
- The interval between marshmallow intakes is 40 minutes.
- Cook it with Almond Water.
- Make sure you are safe during use - its smell attracts dangerous entities.
This food looks dangerous, but they are not in a situation to turn up their noses. And the note about chocolate excited at least half of them.
As soon as Error finished making a knitted doll for Kitty, they all left her house. As the notes said, she moved them back to the halls of IKEA. From there, they found an exit to some underground corridors resembling catacombs. The air there was humid, and condensation had formed in some places.
The local architecture resembled a labyrinth with orange wallpaper and a smelly carpet. The corridors twisted haphazardly, and there were many more doors and stairs than they expected. Some of the doors had signs. Most of them said "Service Rooms", "Storage Rooms", and they found various things in them: cleaning supplies (Dust took some of them without any explanation), mops, knives (Killer took a couple, he didn't need any explanation), rusty muskets, wet gunpowder, bundles of wires, dolls, coins of different countries and denominations, boxes of rotten canned food.
There were also "Room 402", "13", "10". These doors led to living rooms, as if from hotels and inns, but some abandoned ones, with broken and rotten furniture. Nothing interesting.
Finally, the corridors became wider, branched out, and there were rooms with several passages, communications ran along the walls, in which, judging by the sound, water was flowing somewhere. They were both warm and extremely hot.
Finally, in one of the corridors where they decided to stop, Killer found a balloon, which he carried around like something funny. Around the corner, he found another one and a bunch of scattered confetti. There was also a disturbing graffiti on the wall. But the Bad Guys were no longer surprised by anything, having traveled for about a week and a half through constantly changing space. They stopped for a break in this remarkable place.
However, those who decided to flip through the notebook, Dust and Cross, were a little scared, distracting Nightmare from his conversation with the Destroyer with a flash of negativity.
Party people
Very dangerous. Do not touch the balloons, poppers, and confetti. RUN WITHOUT LOOKING BACK. Do not let them corner you, and if you see signs of their presence, pray that they don't find you. Smart creatures, constantly hacking our databases and editing texts (be careful with "=)").
Recommendations:
- Correct/delete pages created/edited by Partygoers
- Run if you see or hear one of them.
- Inform others, especially operatives [illegible], about any observations of 'party rooms'.
Prohibitions:
- Follow the balloons, party sounds, and confetti.
- Make tactile contact with the Partygoers
They tried to calm down by the fact that the author of the notebook clearly sometimes exaggerated by calling things "lethally dangerous " and Error said that most things in this place work on them "not as they should have ". But in the main moments, the former owner of the notes was right, wasn't he?
Despite this, the short break went quite normally, no one bothered them.
Nightmare belongs to Jokublog
Killer belongs to RahafWabas
Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale
Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios
Error belongs to CrayonQueen
Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork
"A Chicken in Every Pot" political ad and rebuttal article in New York Times
Collection HH-HOOVH: Herbert Hoover PapersSeries: Herbert Hoover Papers: Clippings File
This is the advertisement that caused Herbert Hoover's opponents to state that he had promised voters a chicken in every pot and two cars in every garage during the campaign of 1928. During the campaign of 1932, Democrats sought to embarrass the President by recalling his alleged statement. According to an article in the New York Times (10/30/32), Hoover did not make such a statement. The report was based on this ad placed by a local committee -- which only mentions one car!
A Chicken for Every Pot [handwritten] World[?] 30 October 1928 [/handwritten] The Republican Party isn't a [italics] "Poor Man's Party:" [/italics] Republican prosperity has erased that degrading phrase from our political vocabulary. The Republican Party is [italics] equality's [/italics] party -- [italics] opportunity's [/italics] party -- [italics] democracy's [/italics] party, the party of [italics] national [/italics] development, not [italics] sectional [/italics] interests-- the [italics] impartial [/italics] servant of every State and condition in the Union. Under higher tariff and lower taxation, America has stabilized output, employment and dividend rates. Republican efficiency has filled the workingman's dinner pail -- and his gasoline tank [italics] besides [/italics] -- made telephone, radio and sanitary plumbing [italics] standard [/italics] household equipment. And placed the whole nation in the [italics] silk stocking class. [/italics] During eight years of Republican management, we have built more and better homes, erected more skyscrapers, passed more benefactory laws, and more laws to regulate and purify immigration, inaugurated more conservation measures, more measures to standardize and increase production, expand export markets, and reduce industrial and human junk piles, than in any previous quarter century. Republican prosperity is written on [italics] fuller [/italics] wage envelops, written in factory chimney smoke, written on the walls of new construction, written in savings bank books, written in mercantile balances, and written in the peak value of stocks and bonds. Republican prosperity has [italics] reduced [/italics] hours and [italics] increased [/italics] earning capacity, silenced [italics] discontent, [/italics] put the proverbial "chicken in every pot." And a car in every backyard, to boot. It has[italics] raised [/italics] living standards and [italics] lowered [/italics] living costs. It has restored financial confidence and enthusiasm, changed [italics] credit [/italics] from a [italics] rich [/italics] man's privilege to a [italics] common [/italics] utility, [italics] generalized[/italics] the use of time-saving devices and released women from the thrall of [italics] domestic drudgery. [/italics] It has provided every county in the country with its concrete road and knitted the highways of the nation into a [italics] unified [/italics] traffic system. Thanks to Republican administration, farmer, dairyman and merchant can make deliveries in [italics] less [/italics] time and at [italics] less [/italics] expense, can borrow [italics] cheap [/italics] money to refund exorbitant mortgages, and stock their pastures, ranges and shelves. Democratic management [italics] impoverished [/italics] and [italics] demoralized [/italics] the [italics] railroads,[/italics] led packing plants and tire factories into [italics] receivership, [/italics] squandered billions on [italics] impractical [/italics] programs. Democratic maladministration issued [italics] further [/italics] billions of mere "scraps of paper," then encouraged foreign debtors to believe that their loans would never be called, and bequeathed to the Republican Party the job of [italics] mopping up the mess. [/italics] Republican administration has [italics] restored [/italics] to the railroads solvency, efficiency and par securities. It has brought rubber trades through panic and chaos, brought down the prices of crude rubber by smashing [italics] monopolistic rings,[/italics] put the tanner's books in the [italics] black [/italics] and secured from the European powers formal acknowledgment of their obligations. The Republican Party rests its case on a record of stewardship and performance. [full transcription at link]
“I hear them whispering when I walk by…” - fWhimmy
As with the whole series, the prompt was found @deity-prompts
I wanted to write fWhip with a cane for the longest time
And I think Grimlands crown definitely needs to be based on Wither Roses :}
AO3
Jimmy had a small problem with a certain king of a nation neighbouring his small empire. Mythland seemed incapable of remembering where the agreed borders were. Talking to Gem who seemed to be his closest and most agreeable ally didn't help matters much. Lady Pearl just shrugged it as Sausage being Sausage. It would seem no one in the whole Wither Rose Alliance could control the knight-king of Mythland. Unless...
He heard from Scott, his good friend and ally, that there was one more empire in the Idiot Alliance - Grimlands. Unfortunately the young - according to Scott so who knew how young he actually was - count rarely left his manor within Eastvale. And while usually, Jimmy would deal with his 'enemies' - Sausage was honestly more of an annoyance than anything - himself with brutality and force, he'd rather not annoy Lizzie by starting a war... Again. So against what he'd rather do he set off to meet with Grimlands' 'young' count.
Grimlands... Scott's talking did no justice to the settlement nestled in the surrounded by mountains plains. The slight corruption of some sort breaking from the ground was a bit worrisome but Jimmy dared to assume locals knew how to deal with it. The raised rail leading to the distant mines was impressive but not as much as the count's manor towering over everything within the valley. Even the gunpowder 'factory'. Jimmy knew enough about surface technology to know it was just pens of creepers and some sort of machines refining the raw gunpowder into the slightly more stable product Grimlands sold as all sorts of explosives.
Just as he landed he realised that in his neighbour-related annoyance, he forgot to schedule a meeting. Or maybe he just got used to Joel always being up for a meeting with other rulers? Whatever the reason he could not just turn back now. It'd look weird. The least he could do was find someone who could get him a meeting scheduled. So to the town hall, he went and to his surprise was told where he could find the count to just talk to him today.
So with no complaining, Jimmy thanked them and went where they directed him to. A vast field of black roses - Grimlands special Wither Roses - that thrived on the corrupted ground and were the symbol of the empire. Not explosives, not the red gems that caused the corrosion. The roses. And quite honestly, as dangerous as they were, Wither Roses were quite beautiful.
But the roses weren't the only pretty thing. Other than Jimmy there was only one other person in the whole huge field of darkened soil and black flowers. Average - from what Jimmy understood about humans - height human man with soft-looking, ginger hair, not too different from Gem's, with a black crown resting among the slight curls. He wore a heavy-looking coat despite the warm sun. His heavy boots left easy-to-follow tracks on the safe paths between the flowers. His right hand - he wore dark thick looking gloves as well - was clutching a sturdy but masterfully decorated cane.
"Count fWhip I presume?" Jimmy asked after closing the distance, he did stay out of the cane's reach.
The count slowly turned to face him. He was really leaning heavily on that cane. Not that Jimmy paid it much mind. He instantly understood what Scott meant when he said the count was pretty. Dark blue eyes, flawless but slightly worryingly pale skin. A pair of goggles fighting for space around his neck with a thick knit scarf. And the crown was apparently based on the Wither Roses. A dark metal flower crown. Cute...
"Yes, and you are?" the count asked, straightening his back to look a bit taller.
"Jimmy, the Cod Father of the Cod Empire, one of your allies is my neighbour and has been disrespecting our borders for months at this point," Jimmy explained, offering the count a bow Joel taught him.
fWhip thought on it for a second and... "They never tell me anything," he sighed and winced as he shifted.
"Should we move this indoors?" Jimmy offered. "Open field doesn't strike me as a place to discuss politics," he added so fWhip would not think he was talking about the cane.
fWhip nodded and led Jimmy back to the town. Jimmy carefully matched his speed to the count's slightly limping walk. It gave him more time to appreciate how beautiful the valley was in late spring. And he even saw the train moving between Eastvale and the mines right next to the flower fields. It was really impressive.
"You're not going to say anything?" fWhip asked when the train's noise died down.
"The train's really impressive, I have no..." Jimmy started but a bitter chuckle stopped him. Did he say something wrong?
"About my dumb leg, I meant. Everyone has something to say about it and I'd rather you say it to my face than talk behind my back," fWhip sighed, shaking his head as he stopped to look at Jimmy. “I hear them whispering when I walk by... I think they think my hearing's worse than it is,” he chuckled, dry and bitter.
"It is what it is, what's more, to say here? Does it make you any less capable of ruling?" Jimmy shrugged. He didn't see any problem there. He knew rulers - now long dead but that's life - who had many imperfections but were still very effective leaders and rulers.
"Maybe if I was meant to rule here before... stuff maybe people would look over it but as things are everyone's overly worried about me," he shrugged and resumed their slow walk. "I haven't heard a word about your border thing with my lovely older brother before today, I rarely hear about things happening outside Grimlands. My siblings and Pearl keep things to themselves and don't involve me. Other rulers just go to them unless they really have to... It's annoying. I think Scott's the only one who just goes right to me."
"Well, I thought you just didn't really care," Jimmy shrugged. Damn, Grimlands was pretty save for the spikes of red rocks and crystals spreading from the mines.
"No, I definitely do care, just no one bothered to say anything... And the trains run on coal. It heats up water and makes steam that..."
Jimmy honestly got instantly lost as fWhip explained how the trains worked but still listened to it intently. fWhip had a very pleasant to listen-to voice. Like Scott and his endless rants about elven history and architecture. Pretty to look at and pleasant to listen to. Unfortunately, they eventually walked through the city - most citizens looked at Jimmy due to his height of nearly eight feet and that he was not salmon-merfolk. To Jimmy's shock, there was a whole small village of Salmon-merfolk by a river.
"Refugees of their old royalty's stupid wars," fWhip explained and Jimmy tried to keep his hostility to cod's biggest enemies. They were civilians, they came here to escape their ruler's stupidity.
The talk about the border problem was a different matter and enough of a distraction.
"Well, the main problem is that Sausage does not like being told what to do. And unfortunately, he won't listen even to my words. He needs to see things... So how would you feel about having a big hole be your border with Mythland?" fWhip only needed one look at the map once he was sat by his meeting table.
"Big hole?" Jimmy asked. He was a bit confused as to what fWhip meant.
"Basically, we'd blow up a big hole along the border so no one can miss or misinterpret or question it," fWhip clarified with a wide smile. "Don't worry, we'll do it in the safest way possible. And agreeing on a bridge should be easier than a border," he added, maybe to calm Jimmy.
And so, a week later, Jimmy, Sausage, Gem and shocking everyone but Jimmy, fWhip gathered by the border and watched it blow up. Jimmy was glad he didn't tell Lizzie about it. Just seeing the resulting hole had her almost fainting.
Less border conflict gave Jimmy more time to talk to Scott - and now fWhip. But mostly with Scott, about fWhip and how cute he was when talking about explosions.
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