#ok it was pretty unremarkable and i only just learned of it existence a few months ago

[acti-veg]

keep falling into the trap of thinking that if i just Explain why this person is wrong in plain english they will Realise they are wrong. obviously a foolish thing to think. every time they initially respond somewhat positively but with some obviousl flaws, and i point out the flaws! we're so onto something here! then they. they just repeat the same thing? and i point out...the same.....flaw?? and they repeat the same thing and omfg. i want to forcibly inject the words i am saying into their brain because obviously something is getting lost in translation!

like omg i just pointed out that someone's training advice was probably not appropriate since it advocated for punishing a fearful animal for biting. and they Could Not understand what they were doing was punishment. like dude...if something is decreasing a behaviour, it Is Punishment no if ands or buts...and they kept going on about how effective it is, like yeah because YOURE PUNISHING THEM, if it's actually decreasing the behaviour that is literal proof it is punishment! and after like 2 days of comments they left off with 'and idk why you kept going on about punishment' like wtf. were we not even? reading the same book like what did u think we were talking about....

i figure you have a lot of experience with this shit lol...ik WHY like obviously they really didn't want to confront the fact that they maybe did a bad thing but how on earth we managed to talk for so long while being in straight up different conversations...nuts. i didnt even think to ask if they knew what punishment was cos like oooobviously they know what punishment is but. i guess not!

honestly just wanted to rant i hope thats ok...this is such a minor thing honestly like it's not even approaching killing or eating animals but...frustrating, lol

This is something we all run into when trying to advocate, I think. A different context remember so clearly when I first found out about the horrors of animal agriculture as an example, and was utterly convinced that all I had to do was show people what I had found and they’d be as horrified as I was. Sometimes they were, but it didn’t usually help.

Over time I learned that cognitively knowing something is harmful, and lining that harm up with your own behaviour and working to change it are very different processes. I’ve been trying to figure out exactly what leads to that elusive ‘making the connection’ moment for over a decade but I don’t think I’m much closer to understanding it now than I was then.

People get entrenched in their existing beliefs, and often it becomes more about being right than taking the right stance. Often they do end up revising their views, but they will almost never credit that to you or your conversation. Very few people are willing to be wrong in front of someone else, because our defences kick in and our ego gets in the way.

Just know that it is still worth speaking up for all animals, and you just never know what seeds you’re planting along the way. I’ve influenced people I only found out about years later, and sometimes it was something as simple as them seeing my order a restaurant, or me giving a pretty unremarkable answer to why I don’t eat dairy or something. It is always worth speaking up, not only because we owe it to animals, but because we miss out on a lot of hidden opportunities when we don’t.

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

ok info dumping about the old au I had. mostly just precanon stuff bc I just wanna get something out so I can sleep but I can talk about the rest tommorow if u want.

so! during one of eda's trips to the human realm, 6 year old luz ends up stumbling across the portal and accidentally ends up getting herself stranded in the demon realm (and since she’s very frightened and confused, she doesn’t go up to eda, so eda never actually realised this happened).

after a while, though, news of a tiny human child does end up spreading, and luz quickly gets caught by the coven scouts. understandably, she’s terrified and she’s convinced she's going to be killed but obviously that doesn’t happen bc y’know. random scouts aren’t going to kill a toddler for existing. that’s not a crime.

when belos hears about her he’s obviously immediately like “another human lost in this world? clearly it is just like me and caleb and i need to protect this sole other human from the Dangers Of This Realm for reasons completely unrelated to me trying to make caleb 2. obviously.” so adoption (derogatory) ends up happening.

and this Isn’t Great for luz for what are hopefully obvious reasons. being raised in an incredibly sheltered environment by a bigoted extremist who's also really fucking abusive isn’t a fun time. luz does try to escape for a while, and while she doesn’t because she’s six she does end up discovering some pretty secure hiding places. and in hiding, she sees and learns a lot she was never meant to.

still, she's being actively indoctrinated into a cult, so despite what she sees, she still trusts and believes in her adoptive father because she doesn’t know any better. she assumes what happens must be normal or necessary. after all, shes just a silly human, regular old luz who just is completely unremarkable in everything but failure. it bothers her a lot that she can’t do much to help.

when she first arrives, our hunter doesn’t even exist yet, and the old golden guard who was dariuses mentor is still around. i mean by old hes like in his twenties max but that’s ancient by grimwalker standards at this point. he sort of becomes this mentor figure to luz, too, and she really idolises him. she wants to be just like him, in how he's able to do so much without magic. she's really close to him.

which means it hits hard when he's killed. especially since, unseen by anyone in an unnoticed corner somewhere, she sees it happen. it traumatises her quite a lot, though she's good at hiding it and never lets it slip she was somewhere she wasn’t meant to be. when the new hunter comes around, though, she does take it out on this weird new young copy of someone who was practically an older brother to her. not intentionally, and not to like, a huge degree, but she's very distant to him at first.

they do eventually grow very very close, due to basically being the only person the other is allowed to really talk to, and luz stops seeing him as some sort of replacement. after all, they might look similar, but they act completely different! the old hunter was always calm, always reliable, but the new one is young and scared and needs a guiding hand through life in the castle, which luz is of course able to provide.

luz and hunter grow up in quite similar ways. luz is allowed to leave the castle much less- after all, it’d be a shame to lose the only other human left in some silly mission- but she's generally physically harmed a lot less too, though she does have a few scars that no one her age should have. both of them are manipulated and emotionally abused frequently, and are lead along by promises of a false destiny.

while hunter, of course, falls into a blind obedience, luz is privately a lot more sceptical. not that she doubts her papa is trying his best and doing the right thing, of course, but she worries he's going about it all the wrong way. while this makes her more easily swayed, she’s also unlikely to give up her views that wild magic is dangerous even if she realises her life was a lie. clearly, he must have been corrupted from a once noble goal.

she's also desperately lonely, and privately longs for friends that she knows she’s not allowed. when she has the time, she reads and rereads all the fiction available in the library, and desperately imagines herself as one of the young witches in them, able to go outside freely and talk to whoever they like and have adventures! but she knows she'll never be like that. after all, what are the odds she'd ever make it on her own, even if she somehow left the castle despite not knowing how.

(until, of course, a freak accident on a mission leaves her ending up unwillingly in the care of the owl lady, who doesn’t know who she is but knows she’s a human and someone who needs help, and surely it wouldn’t be that bad if she spent just a few days with a wild witch, right? surely she could make a few friends among the populace, right? no one would even know.)

[be11atrixthestrange]

Step 6: Physical Affection

From 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Hermione Granger

Physical Affection

As your romantic relationship strengthens, so will your physical connection. Keep in mind that there is no specific destination to work toward, and any expectations should only come about through careful and clear communication. If your goal is truly to charm her, assume you have your entire lives to explore your physical relationship. Do not rush it, so that you can enjoy the journey fully.

******

When Crookshanks was fed up with Ron's attention, he abruptly stood, stretched, and trotted across the bed toward Hermione. He curled up contentedly behind Hermione's knees before yawning wildly and drifting off to sleep. With his hand now free, Ron brought 12 Fail-Safe Ways To Charm Witches back to his lap, and shuffled the next chapter, Physical Affection.

At the very beginning, the thought of advancing their physical relationship caused Ron significant anxiety. Having been friends for seven years before becoming romantically involved, he couldn't imagine going back to a normal friendship after seeing each other naked. Although Lavender had never seen him completely starkers, the progressions in that relationship never made him nervous, because there was no pre-existing friendship to risk. With Hermione, he found that the stakes were much higher- if he screwed up, there was a lot more to lose.

Nowadays, the nervousness of their first few experiences together seemed so far away.. Ron didn't think twice about stripping down for a shower, or simply to change clothes, and seeing her eyes linger on him no longer made him feel self-conscious. He knew she felt the same way when she thoughtlessly tugged her own clothes off after a long day at work, her bra usually being the first thing she ditched as she transitioned to more comfortable attire.

He no longer worried about pressuring her. At this point they had explored so much new territory together, that they learned how to clearly and confidently tell each other no. All it took was a playful swat to his hand and he would retreat instantly. He knew she'd never take offense if he groaned and pushed her gently away when she kissed him more fervently than was typical for an innocent greeting. Maybe he was already late for work, or he was too tired after Quidditch practice, or he didn't even have a reason, and that was ok too.

In other instances, all it took was a sultry look and raise of her eyebrow, and he would waste no time undoing the buttons of her blouse right there on the living room sofa. There was no time to be bashful when they hastily undressed each other in the powder room at a work party. Time was limited to a quick reprieve from the awkward small talk and polite compliments on food that couldn't quite satisfy his appetite like Hermione. Sometimes there'd be no reason to remove any clothing in her office between meetings, leaving little opportunity for self-consciousness. On those occasions, he'd lock her door, cast a muffliato charm, and hoist her up to her desk, before dipping his head underneath her skirt, running his tongue along her thigh, and tugging at her knickers with his teeth.

Their physical relationship had become so intuitive, and it was difficult to remember the awkwardness of their teenage selves. He had to remind himself that they didn't always know each other's bodies so well. There was a lot of trial and error at the beginning, and understanding what to do with his hands, how to move his fingers, and where to put his mouth required her guidance and feedback. He had to teach her just as much about his own preferences, and it took time, effort, and observation to master their crafts.

******

They remained in Australia for a few more weeks, spending their days together while the Grangers were at work. During that time, they continued to explore the city, eating at new restaurants, visiting new museums, and even riding that wooden roller coaster at Luna Park. There was a particularly memorable day at the beach, when they spent hours attempting to surf, before they had to cut the day short because their sun potion wasn't quite strong enough to protect Ron from the strong Australian rays.

With the stress of reversing the memory charm off their shoulders, their time in Australia started to feel more like a holiday, and not just in the city, but in their hotel room as well. Ron was pleased to discover how quickly things progressed between them when Hermione had nothing but time and her characteristic curiosity, but no looming exams or tasks ahead to occupy herself. The irony of the most unremarkable place housing some of his most memorable experiences was not lost on Ron, but he couldn't help but appreciate that the drab window-coverings and the peeling wallpaper only accentuated her uniqueness.

That hotel room was where she removed his shirt for the first time since he was splinched. Unlike during their second kiss, she didn't ignore his state of undress, but relished in it, landing a trail of kisses down his neck and chest. That hotel room was where he nervously slipped his hand under her shirt for the first time, inching against her bra in question until she nodded her permission. Even though it broke their kiss, he couldn't help but beam when he slid it further, because her breast fit so perfectly into the palm of his hand, and he'd never known the luxury of custom-made before. It was also where they finally had that very awkward, but very necessary conversation about what they had and hadn't done with other people. They spent some time on opposite ends of the bed, arms crossed stiffy, as Ron underwent an interrogation involving what Lavender had seen, touched, and experienced with him, but they spent even more time wrapped up in eachothers arms, wearing only half of their clothing, because it turned out there were still many more firsts to be had.

Not all of their free time was spent alone together. They committed their evenings to the Grangers so Hermione could reconnect fully with her family before the pair went back to England. Hermione was at first upset to learn that her parents had no intentions of coming back with them. They really loved their new home in Melbourne, things were going very well at their new dental practice, and transporting Herman overseas would be a nightmare.

They were outside in their yard when the conversation first came up. Hugo had assigned Ron to 'Burger Duty' while he mixed up cocktails for everyone, leaving Ron to pretend he knew how a grill worked. With his wand stashed inconspicuously up his sleeve, he made a point to thank his mother for the cooking spells she forced on him growing up. He was also thankful for the cooler weather that allowed him to comfortably wear long, wand-obscuring sleeves.

"It's quite cold," he said. "I always thought Australia would be warmer."

"Well," said Jean, who was busy playing fetch with Herman. "Since we're in the southern hemisphere, it's winter now. That's why it would probably make more sense for you both to visit us over the Christmas holidays, and we can come see you in the summer."

Ron was thrilled by the implication of her use of "we", but Hermione was caught up in another detail of her answer.

"Wait…," she started, sounding hurt. "You're not coming back to England?"

As the pair began to argue, Ron was quickly redirected by Hugo, who handed him a drink. "Burgers are looking great Ron!" he said brightly. "Let's leave them for a bit and head inside, I have something I want to show you."

"Er, sounds good," said Ron as he closed the lid to the grill and followed Mr. Granger into the house.

"Do you like the drink?" Hugo asked casually.

Ron hastily took a sip of the creamy drink before answering. "Yeah, it's good. What is it?"

Hugo laughed. "Well right now it's an Alexander without the gin." They were in the kitchen now, and Hugo reached into one of the cabinets to pull out a mid sized green-tinted bottle. "Archie Rose. A truly superb Australian Gin." He motioned for Ron to hand over his glass, so he could complete his cocktail.

"Thank you, sir," said Ron, as he took another sip, which was decidedly stronger than his first.

"Hugo's fine," said Mr. Granger. "Sir's my dad."

Ron nodded. "Thank you, Hugo. It's a good drink." Ron followed Hugo's lead, and sat down at the barstool at the kitchen counter.

"I just wanted to give them some more space to hash it out," Hugo explained. "I figured that she wouldn't react well to the news that we're staying here."

"Yeah," said Ron. "I think she assumed you'd come back. Can't blame you, though. It's beautiful here."

"Well then, I hope you visit often," said Hugo, grinning at Ron.

Ron nodded again. "I'm sure we will."

It was then that Hugo's eyes narrowed slightly, but that could have been Ron's imagination. "So, you two are pretty serious then?"

Ron had been expecting this to come up, but the abruptness took him by surprise. "Well, um," he started, taking a sip of his cocktail to buy some time, but Hugo's eyes were still on him, expecting an answer. "We technically just got together at the beginning of the summer."

"Hmm," said Hugo. "And you're already serious enough to travel across the world with her?"

"Erm.. well, we've been friends for ages," Ron started, but paused when he saw that Hugo was smiling at him.

"I don't mean to make you sweat," he said. "I'm glad you've been there for her."

Ron felt relieved at Hugo's geniality, but wondered if it might be misguided. "Oh, well, of course. I care a lot about her."

"I can tell," he said with another sip. "I could tell a while ago, actually. Fourth year. Yule Ball, was it?"

Ron laughed. "She told you about that?"

"Well, she tells Jean everything. And Jean tells me."

"Gotcha," said Ron.

"And then there was sixth year," said Hugo. "I guess I should be thanking you for that one, since it meant she spent Christmas with us."

Ron felt a pang of guilt, and knew his face was turning beet-red. "I was kind of an arse that year," he said. He winced upon hearing his language, and hoped Hugo Granger didn't hate swearing as much as his daughter did.

Fortunately, he laughed. "I was an arse when I was sixteen too." He shrugged. "Seems like both of you have grown up since then."

Ron nodded. "We have."

Hugo took a deep breath, exhaled audibly, and paused before his next question. "Are you being safe?"

"Excuse me?" said Ron. His face was definitely ripening like a tomato now.

Hugo chuckled. "Are you using protection?"

"Um, well, no, we aren't-"

"Well, that concerns me," interrupted Hugo.

"We aren't having sex." Ron interjected a little more firmly.

"Ahh. You aren't having sex," said Hugo, with another casual sip of his drink. "Yet."

"Sorry?" Ron felt as though his stomach had tied itself up in knots, not unlike the sensation he became so accustomed to before a Quidditch game.

"Look, Ron. I like you. And I'm not stupid," he set down his glass and turned to look at Ron. "I'm not going to pretend that you're not thinking about having sex with my daughter. And I'm definitely not going to sit here and tell you not to, because I know that would be pointless."

Ron's gaze fell uncontrollably down to his near-empty glass, suddenly wishing that there was more alcohol in it. This unexpected conversation with Hermione's dad was starting to feel like an exam he hadn't prepared for.

"I just need to make sure two things happen when you do." He paused, and Ron realized he was waiting until he had his eye contact again. So reluctantly, Ron sat up straight, and turned to face him. Hugo nodded approvingly before continuing. "Promise me two things. One, you'll undoubtedly get consent. And two, you'll use protection. Both of those things, every single time."

Ron nodded. "Of course."

"I'm assuming you have sufficient knowledge regarding contraception? With five older brothers and all."

Ron nodded again, now faced with the unfortunate memory of his dad walking him through the use of contraceptive spells.

"Are there magical methods?"

"Er, yeah." Ron looked up at Hugo, who simply motioned for him to continue. "Um, there's a potion, and two types of spells. Female and male. They work alone but are more effective when done together."

"How long do they last?"

"Twenty-four hours," answered Ron, thankful that he had enough knowledge to answer confidently, as it seemed to reassure Hermione's dad.

"And you're confident you can perform them correctly?"

"Yeah,' said Ron. "I mean, I've never had an opportunity to test them, if that's what you're getting at. But they're not difficult, and you can perform another spell to check that it worked."

Hugo laughed. "I wasn't getting at that, but I appreciate your honesty. I trust you, Ron."

Ron exhaled the remaining air that he didn't realize he was holding, and Hugo poured a shot of gin into both of their empty glasses.

"That's right, take a breath. You did good," said Hugo, and Ron was encouraged to see the more relaxed Hugo reanimate. "I'll never forget when Jean's dad questioned me like that. I hate to say it, but you handled it much better than I did. How about a shot?"

"Please," said Ron, as Hugo laughed. Together, they tipped back their drinks.

When they recovered, Hugo playfully clapped Ron on the back. "I like you. Wouldn't have given you my most expensive gin if I didn't," he said, before standing up and turning toward the back door. "I think they're done with their tough conversation too. Let's have those burgers."

Ron sighed in relief, before he stood up and followed Hugo out the door.

The rest of the evening progressed with no mention of Ron and Hugo's conversation. Hermione seemed to accept that her parents were staying in Australia. They discussed travel plans, the state of their old dental practice, and what to do with their former house. They also engaged in lighter conversation concerning Herman's obedience classes, Jean's new book club, and Hugo's disastrous first attempt at parasailing.

After dinner with the Grangers, Hermione and Ron disapparated back to their hotel. Once in their bedroom, he didn't waste any time before he grabbed her hand and circled her around to face him. He slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her. Thankful to be alone again, he let his hands wander further down her back, until they reached her bum.

She broke the grin with a smile. "At least buy me dinner first," she said playfully.

"Don't have to, your parents already did," he said before guiding her back to the bed, until they collapsed into a tangle of limbs on the mattress. They kept their lips together, letting their hands wander, until Ron slipped his hands up her shirt to unclasp her bra. It took him a few tries, a few weeks ago he might have been embarrassed by her chuckle, but this time he was reassured because it meant that she was comfortable with him. She sat up to help him slide the straps off her arms before pulling her bra out from underneath her shirt.

Ron smiled. "Thank you," he muttered before his hands found her body again like a magnet. It wasn't long before he willingly let her pull off his shirt, and she tossed it on the floor to accompany her bra. He smiled at her before tugging at the hem of her top. "Can I?" he asked.

"Yes of course," she whispered between kisses, and he slowly pulled her shirt up and over her head.

They'd been here before, just a few times, but Ron felt his breath catch in his throat like it was the first. "Come here," he told her as she pressed her lips back to his and he rolled onto his back so that she was on top of him. He let his hands slide to her breasts and her mouth opened to allow him entry. A moan had barely escaped him when she slid off of him to lay at his side, and pulled back.

"What if we showered together?" she asked unexpectedly.

Ron paused, surprised by her offer. It made him slightly anxious, as she'd never seen him without his trousers before. But he knew by the rosy tint of her cheeks that she must have felt the same way. "I'd like that," he said as his voice cracked nervously.

"Ok." She smiled and kissed him deeply, before slipping off of the bed, and making her way toward the bathroom.

Fuck, thought Ron. His heart was pounding as he laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. He wondered if she was as nervous as he was. When he heard the shower faucet running, he thought it best not to leave her waiting, just in case she was.

She was already in the shower when he entered the bathroom, her clothing in a pile on the floor. He took a deep breath, as he undid the buttons of his trousers, letting them fall to his ankles. Then he slid out of his pants, before catching a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror. He was still scrawny and lanky, now sporting a few extra freckles and a peeling sunburn. But she'd seen all that before, and it wasn't what he was nervous about. He turned away from the mirror, so he wouldn't risk talking himself out of what he did next.

It wasn't the most effective shower that Ron had ever taken, nor was it very relaxing or calming. It was, however, one of the most nerve wracking showers of his life, and not because he thought there was a death eater on the other end of the shower curtain waiting to strike. It was because his breath caught in his throat when he stepped in beside her, and he saw all of her for the first time. He had been expecting the rush of self-consciousness he felt when her eyes moved slowly down his body, studying the parts of him that she had only imagined, but it still made his heart rate spike. He didn't think about what it would be like to kiss her when he didn't have any pants on to keep himself contained, and he definitely wasn't prepared for the first time she touched him without trousers to be accidental, brought on by the confined space they were in.

He hadn't thought this far ahead, and was paralyzed by the fact that he didn't know what to do. He had assumed that instinct would take over, but it didn't, so he simply pulled her close and kissed her, doing his best to pretend they weren't naked, and ignore that he was pressing against her in a way that begged for her attention. Then he reminded himself that it was Hermione here and he'd always been able to ask her anything, so that shouldn't be different just because they were starkers in a shower.

"Can I touch you?" he asked her nervously, while holding her to his chest, staring intently at the shower wall behind her.

He felt her nod against his shoulder.

He couldn't blame the color that crept up his neck and to his ears on the heat of the shower. He had her permission, but there was still one problem. "Can you… show me how?" he nearly whispered.

After a brief moment of hesitation, he felt her nod against him again.

He held his breath as she took his hand and guided it down her body, toward the opening of her legs, and he swore internally when he felt her for the first time. He observed her movements and studied the rhythm of his hand, trying to memorize any patterns because he could be a good student when he wanted to be.

Eventually, she removed her hand from his so she could grip the shower head instead, and he continued to mimic her patterns. He discovered that he could rely on the rise and fall of her chest, the erratic pattern of her breath, and the deepening rose color of her cheeks for feedback. So he kept observing her signals as he touched her, greatly enjoying this new, nonverbal form of communication.

He figured he was doing something right when she gripped the shower head more tightly, bit her lip, and threaded her free hand's fingers into his hair. He watched her chest rise and fall under the steady stream of water, her breath increasing in both pace and volume, building tension until she had to release. Her legs buckled underneath her and he held her against him as she audibly came undone, and the sound of shower head could no longer drown her out. New favorite subject, he thought. She'd always been a fantastic teacher after all.

She recovered and regained the support of her legs, and he reluctantly removed his arm from around her back. Her vulnerability in the moment had all but dissipated his own nervousness, so when she asked him what he wanted, he didn't at all feel weird about taking her hand, and showing her how he liked to be touched. It might have been the extra steam of the shower obscuring her view, or the fact that she had already unraveled in front of him, but he was no longer self conscious when he let go of her hand and got lost in the moment. It wasn't long until he was relying on his own hand to support him against the shower wall and he buried his head into her neck to muffle a string of profanity he would have filtered had he been able to elicit any control over his words.

Fantastic teacher she might be, it turns out she had always been an even better student.

[sakebytheriver]

I saw Joker tonight and it was a phenomenal movie. I don't believe it really deserves to go down in history with the greats, but it was incredible and deserves it's praise. I would reccomend you see it if you haven't if only for the incredible lesson in acting Joaquin Phoenix delivers.

Slight spoilers:

The script and writing itself was ok, it was better than any of the other mindless drivel Hollywood has been pumping out these past few years which is why everyone is so entranced by it, but there was not really any substance to it. It was a great character study and an interesting breakdown of one person, but overall the message was quite shallow. I think it was trying to tell the world that the society of rich above poor we've built has turned us all into clowns but to succumb so fully to the madness is unforgivable. In the end it really only said the world is awful so you should become the most awful. In the end I see the movie as from Arthur's point of view, he is our eyes in this world and so all the other characters were nothing more mere character developments for him. He was the only one in this movie that felt real, that actually mattered and was a full person everyone else too simple unremarkable or they felt too over the top because they had to Express such hostility to Arthur when you and even they know he doesn't deserve what they're doing, but it's only to help the plot of him being crazy further along. It was surprising but the women in this movie were the only ones who felt close to human, they were the only ones who showed a shred of vulnerability but it was still unreal, because it was over the top it wasn't quite believable enough because in the end it was all fake these women only ever told lies, both because of a delusional disorder. In the end these women were only there to serve us the idea of Arthur having any humanity they didn't exist for themselves but for him. Everyone in this movie exists for Arthur, they might have lives outside of him but we get no idea of it no real substance of that life or the characters themselves. I believe this to be the egomania of the director Todd Phillip's manifesting into his character trying so hard to be "controversial" in a "sensitive" world. The script is passable, but it's nothing great, it's about one man and it never let's you forget it, never let you breathe.

However, there are three things that makes this movie an incredible thing to watch, the cinematography, the music, and Jaoquin Phoenix.

Every shot in this movie was beautiful and it worked so well for the story it was telling, the framing was phenomenal, my hats off to the cinematographer and the director for that.

The music was absolutely fitting, it really cut into you in a particular way at just the right moments. Sometimes it even had you wanting to sing along at the worst times. I just love music in movies, my best friends are both music people and they've given me this new appreciation for movie soundtracks and this one was perfect. I don't really understand everything the two of them tell me and they'd probably be able to tell you so much more than I can, but all I can say is the music moved me.

And finally Joaquin Pheonix, the man of the hour, he deserves every single goddamn word of praise he's getting and if any of you try to tell me otherwise I'll cut you. The work and dedication he put into that part was insane. Yes he lost a LOT of weight for the part so much so you could almost count his ribs, but he also altered his walking pattern to copy the pattern the Joker generally has in the cartoons and in live action, in Arthur Fleck it looks almost like a limp, but when he gains the Joker persona it becomes a confident swagger that seems almost effortless instead of painful, he changed his entire posture, the whole movie his left shoulder sagged and his head was tilted most of the time, his entire physicality was altered, he had to find that over months of work walking like that everywhere he went to fit it into his body so naturally, the way he transformed into this man seemed so effortless I commend his work. You don't realize how much control an actor must have over their body to make themselves look THAT out of control of their bodies, he had to dance in the movie so many times which means he had to relearn how to dance not as Joaquin but as Arthur which is already something that if you know how to dance is already in your body language and is so easy to slip into on your own when you're not thinking and if you don't know how to dance it's pretty hard to learn how to dance when you're trying to be a whole other person and do it well. And that's just his body, he has intense control over his face and often times he said the most when he wasn't talking (probably because the script was quite vapid) you got to stare into his eyes so many times and it had you everytime, he held your attention so well which is why you don't really mind that he's basically the only real thing in the script. I couldn't take my eyes off of him I mapped every bit of his body and what he did, it was incredible and he brought life and a soul to a character that has always been so shallow even in this script he was still as shallow as every iteration of the Joker has been before it. Joaquin Pheonix and Heath Ledger made the over the top nature of the Joker feel real, it felt honest you got it you understood the chaos in their minds and knew that this person could not possibly act any other way than this. It is one of the hardest parts I have ever seen, because as the actor in this part you carry the entire movie, you are the one everyone else had to react off of and connect to that's your job your responsibility and it's up to you that the audience want to know how the story ends.

Joaquin Phoenix took everything inside himself and ripped it out of chest and showed it to the world and that's what creates a great actor the dedication you give to a part. See the movie for him, I know I did.

[whogoesthere-cleveland-blog]

John’s Diner

The Place: John’s Diner Location: Lakewood, Ohio

Susan: John’s Diner - Where even your lowest expectations are already too high.

Shannon: Blessed are those who expect nothing, for they will finally be disappointed.

Overview of John’s Diner

Shannon: There is so much potential here. A great location, ample parking, and historic roots. Unfortunately John’s Diner doesn’t capitalize on any of this. In fact, their overt reluctance to give this joint the facelift it so badly deserves and turn it into that quaint nod to yesteryear should be an obvious indication of their all-around slapdash attitude. They aren’t really concerned with you, the patron, nor are they interested in helping continue to revitalize a city that’s recently been named one of the top ten most exciting suburbs in the nation by real estate blog, Movoto. The owners of John’s Diner are in business to serve, alright, but unfortunately all they seem to serve are their own interests.  Anchored at the corner of Detroit Avenue and Park Row in Lakewood, Ohio, it seems that John’s Diner has become a beacon for the downtrodden. I used to visit this place as a kid and recall many a happy Saturday mornings liberally applying packet after packet of grape jelly to my white toast or pouring stainless steel carafes of warm syrup all over my pancakes - griddle cakes in greasy spoon parlance. I even learned my first lesson in commerce at John’s Diner when I was tasked with a responsibility well beyond my years: ’Go on up to the counter and pay the check’ my mom would instruct as she handed me a well-worn collection of one dollar bills from her embroidered wallet and continued to smoke and jaw-jack with the other adults. But times have changed, and where there once existed home cooking served “piping hot as you like it” there is now only propaganda and neglect.

Susan: I’ve never been here before. My only reference to John’s Diner is when a friend of mine said the cook was smoking a cigarette while preparing food on the grill. Granted, this was back when one could still smoke in restaurants, but still, that had to be a health code violation even in the 90s. I’m supposed to add a description of the interior, but I don’t think mere words could do it justice. Authentic 50s diner front with a perhaps 60s addition. There’s an organ in the foyer that doesn’t work. The interior décor was both confusing and filthy, and if that’s a design aesthetic, they nailed it. Oddly framed prints or articles cut out of the newspaper hung askew on the walls. Some were sports related (but not necessarily Cleveland sports), but others were just random, faded “art”. I don’t know. Half of the ceiling fans were painted bright red and royal blue, though this did not match any color scheme in the restaurant or the other crud colored ceiling fans. The booths were crimson and Duct tape. It was strangely silent in there, except if one sits at the counter, then you can almost hear a radio playing Richard Marx.

After being seated, we both started off with coffee.

Susan: The coffee can best be described as mothball flavored hot water, but with an acrid, bitter aftertaste. I mean, I’m not really a coffee snob. I’ll drink diner coffee with the best of ‘em, but this was just a completely different animal. Like they really went out of their way to make it taste bad in a manner that no other diner coffee is bad. In this area, John’s Diner excelled.

Shannon: My guess is that maybe they were storing the mothballs too close to the industrial sized drum of Folgers crystal flakes - a coffee that may have fooled upscale coke heads at Tavern on the Green in the 80s, but wasn’t fooling us in the here and now. Coffee is a staple in diners across the land. Plus we live in an age where private roasteries are busting out all over and yet John’s Diner somehow manages to turn a blind eye to each and every local purveyor of quality beans, and instead goes with whatever generic blend they’ve been brewing since time immemorial. Coffee could be an easy and inexpensive fix that would immediately boost the dining experience and make patrons a little more forgiving about the rest of the troubling menu.

We both ordered simple meals:

Susan: I got the grilled cheese and fries. Uh, it was of a lower quality Denny’s variety. Very, very generic, however, I felt it was least likely to induce dysentery and therefore, my best choice. I ate it. It was unremarkable. I did not get sick. The bar was set low for John’s Diner. Shannon - I got a pretty generic breakfast. Scrambled eggs and pancakes.  I don’t want to brag, but I can make this stuff at home so I was kind of hoping a place specializing in breakfast might be able to create this dish with a little more elan than what I’m capable of. Not so. The scrambled eggs seemed to be hemorrhaging water, and the pancakes - Susan, you pointed out that they looked like McDonald’s hotcakes - also pretty much tasted like them.  Something I learned pretty quickly was that you need a backup plan for breakfast once you leave John’s Diner. I went to Starbucks immediately after and got the Gouda sandwich. Susan- Your breakfast was deemed “room temperature flavored”. Mmmm….Just like Gramma used to make!

We both worried about the elderly waitstaff:

Shannon: Maybe these waitresses (and let’s face it, they are waitresses; the word server somehow passed this generation by) are just looking for a way to make a little money during retirement or maybe John’s Diner is located in the Twilight Zone; either way, I worried they might be a little too old to be on their feet for that many hours per day; and quite possibly lacked the mental acuity to keep track of the myriad requests from each table. Then again, this job could be a punishment for a crime they committed in a past life and slinging hash at John’s Diner is their own brand of purgatory until they have atoned for their sins. I’m not really sure, I just know I felt uncomfortable being served by someone who already seemed to have outlasted their expiration date - although outlasting an expiration date seems to be a popular theme at John’s Diner. Susan: Yeah, a veteran wait staff, for sure. Ha! Your hypothesis was that these ladies were part of an octogenarian work re-entry program hosted by the Department of Aging. This would make me feel better if this were true. Otherwise, it’s kind of a bummer. But I will say, our waitress was very attentive and pretty nice. We did not want for anything (except for wanting to not be there). I would have felt bad if I had to ask for anything additional. Oh! Maybe that’s why the coffee is so God awful! These Golden Girls aren’t trying to run back and forth for refills all damned day long! OK, now it makes sense.

Who Goes There? Susan: Aging sea captains (primarily Greek), elderly men who live in boarding houses, a few regular people, a few regulars, and those that have lived a life of regret.

Shannon: People who never learn from their mistakes.

What philosophical school of thought would be most comfortable at John’s Diner?

Shannon: Nihilists and the hopeless.

Susan: No frills pragmatists with declining taste buds.

If John’s Diner were a TV show hangout, who would be a regular?

Susan: Maybe Archie Bunker...

Shannon: I could see Ralph Kramden stopping by every morning to shoot the breeze and fill his thermos with some of that signature hot mothball water.

Susan: In other words, curmudgeons with no more fucks to give.

Additional thoughts:

Shannon: I was pleased to see the smoking section had been relocated from the kitchen to a space out back with one plastic lawn chair. The last time I was there - which was easily a decade ago - the cook was standing over the grill with a cigarette hanging from his mouth and six inches of ash ready to drop and get scrambled out of existence. Another thing, it might not hurt to hire a professional cleaning crew. The waitstaff probably can’t really operate heavy water-soaked vintage mops anymore what with all those hip replacements and bad knees, so maybe once a week the owner could spring for a legitimate cleaning crew to swing by with a little bleach just to help ensure that the E. coli has less options for breeding.

Susan: Yeah, speaking of which, when I told a mutual acquaintance we went there she immediately said, “OH! Did you get sick? My friend just went there and she swears it made her sick!” What could I say other than, “Probably”?

Would you go back?

Shannon: Maybe. Like if the car broke down in front of the place right in the middle of a snow blizzard.

Susan: No. Not even then. I really can’t think of any circumstance that would compel me to return to John’s Diner. Oh, maybe on a dare. I would go on a dare if the stakes were high enough.

Is it a good place to bring Neal in a Baby Bjorn? Susan: I think yes, because the cleanliness standards are already so low. Why would they care if you brought a cat in there? What’s going to happen? He’s going to somehow “mess it up”? Bah hahahaha!  That’s absurd. At the very least, he would improve the overall experience for diners.

Shannon: Yes. Somebody has to catch the mice.

Hours of Operation and Payment Options: John’s Diner only accepts cash (and probably sobriety tokens and gold doubloons); and is open Monday through Saturday, 7 am - 8 pm and Sunday, 7 am - 3 pm

[nora-reads-homestuck]

Nora Reads HS Part 66

Pages 6056-6093

Hey guys! Things got busy busy busy with work and the holidays, but like Slim Shady, I am back. Last time we got brief introductions to Jane and Jake, the post-Scratch young Nanna and Grandpa, respectively, and it was interesting to see how the modern setting meshed with their old-timey dialogic idiosyncrasies. I’m very much looking forward to (hopefully!) meeting young Mom and Bro this time around and learning what they’re like. So far all I know for certain is that Bro is as elusive as his pre-Scratch counterpart, and Mom and Jane are, like, BFFsies or something. I feel like we’ve gotten some minor sneak peeks into their personalities after seeing adult!Mom’s pink, girly bedroom in the Skaianet lab, and... oh god... from Bro’s awful comics. How will these quirks translate into fully-fleshed teenagers, and just how fucked up will young Bro be?

Let’s find out! ^0^

*click*

Jane: Answer Lalonde.

OH MY GOD SHE IS SO FUCKING CUTE. We are 2/2 on post-Scratch girls being GODDAMNED ADORABLE. I love her little pink phone, and her mutant kitty symbol, and her hair curlicue, and her tights under her skirt (are those leg warmers?), and her... martini?? Ok, so, these kids are still kids, right? If this is November 2011 and Jane’s thirteenth birthday was 3 years ago, then young Mom should only be just about to turn seventeen. Adult Mom obviously had a habitual hankering for hooch, but it’s weird and kind of worrying to see that carry over into her teenage self. Anyway, let’s see what she’s got to say!

tipsyGnostalgic [TG] began bothering gutsyGumshoe [GG] at 11:24

Huh, so she’s got Dave’s pesterchum initials, and not Rose’s. Come to think of it, Jane has Jade’s initials, and not John’s. So then I guess I’d expect Bro to have Rose’s initials... which is odd. Anyway, her handle seems to confirm that she’s a drunk-o teen (where is Rose during all this??), and may possibly be awake on Derse, even if, like Dave, she doesn’t know it.

TG: jane

PINK TEXT AAAAAH CUTE

TG: hey TG: jaaaney TG: ansrew plz TG: *answer TG: jaaaaaaaaaane GG: Omg.

JESUS, MY THOUGHTS EXACTLY. So like... she not only has Dave’s initials, but she fucking talks like him??? And is apparently legit drunk during the day. Like I said, that bit is concerning, but I admit it is fucking hilarious that she talks and acts nothing like Rose. No wonder the poor kid had such a hard time understanding her.

GG: Overreact much? I kept you waiting for all of two seconds! GG: Where have you been today? TG: nowhere just chilling here TG: when all of the sudden GG: "All of a sudden." TG: when all of the sudden

Hahaha, I know someone who consistently says ‘all of the sudden’, and it hurts me not to correct them all the time. (They also say ‘yield’ instead of ‘wield’, and how could you ever think ‘unyieldy’ was a word.) And let it not go unremarked upon that I fucking LOVE that Mom just repeated herself anyway. Didn’t Dave do that once or twice when someone tried to correct him?

TG: it hits me TG: thaf we have somethig really fuckin important to talk about GG: This hit you just now? We made plans to get in touch early this morning, and I have seen neither hide nor hair of you all day. TG: it hits me that TG: jakes bday is coming up really soon TG: just a few days before mine remembr

Hmm, so their birthdays are the same as their pre-Scratch counterparts. Also, heh, I get the feeling that Jake’s birthday was definitely not what they’d made plans to talk about.

TG: or i guess it would be if it wasnt for the end of the world thats about to happen GG: Oh, for Pete's sake.

Whoa whoa whoa!! So Mom knows enough about the game to know that it’s going to end the world. Not even Jade, with her ‘precognitive’ abilities, knew that ahead of time. Hell, Aradia only knew because she was in communication with ghosts, and Sollux didn’t figure it out until right before it happened. I guess that’s where the ‘gnostalgic’ comes in. (Side note: that’s a really clever portmanteau and I’m almost jealous I didn’t think of it.)

TG: i just wanted your advice on what to get him TG: something sentimental i guess? but i mean im mostly tapped out of precious heirlooms atm so idk TG: but not like anything coming on too strong TG: something that says TG: this is totes platonic and everything TG: no eyebrow raising funnybiz is goin on over here TG: but still says you know TG: call me TG: if you wanna

...Aaaaaand Mom has the hots for Jake, apparently. Huh, that’s kind of fucked up in a way, considering her adult self hooked up with John’s Dad. Oh god, that pairing isn’t going to carry over to her liking Jane’s Dad, is it??

I wonder how difficult it was for Hussie to type out ‘totes’.

GG: Grrr. GG: Now I know you're joking around to get my goat.

To get it, and then, say, tote it?

TG: ahaha TG: yeah TG: the goat getting thing i mean TG: but joking oh no i think not TG: u dont think that if i didnt say he was off limits on account of you being my best friend TG: i wouldnt be all the hell over that????

So... Jane and Jake are already dating?? I guess that is the prescribed ‘canon’ pairing, so that makes sense. Does Mom LittleLonde—that’s what she’ll be from now on—also have the hots for young Bro then? Or maybe she just wants to bone everything/everyone. I can feel that.

TG: daaaaamn TG: that rugged senseof adventure TG: the delightful silly vernacular thats like TG: weirdly and bewitchingly not self aware TG: those adorbable teeth TG: swoooooooooon <3

Yes, those are definitely all swoonworthy things. ...Hah, I can totally deal with ‘adorabable’. It’s weird, but after reading all the trolls’ quirks, I kind of skip over the typos unless she calls them out herself.

GG: Nooooo, stop. :( TG: well shit jane TG: what am i even supposed to do TG: i cant hit on anybody and appaprently i can entertain nary a frisky THOUGHT about anyboby because apparentley evrybodies OFF LIMITS!!!!! TG: *buncha goddamn typos TG: shit suuucks TG: you dont even let me say your dad is hot even though we both know he way the fuck is i mean come one TG: *one TG: *on GG: Yeah. Because it's weird!

OH MY GOD I FUCKING LOVE HER. I mean yeah, it is pretty damn weird that she’s still got... daddy issues... but, ‘*buncha goddamn typos’?? Anybody would be lucky to have her.

...Huh. Now that I’m thinking about it, is Jane’s Dad exactly the same as John’s Dad? They look the same, but... how would that even work? Maybe he was adopted, and isn’t actually related to John and Jane at all, so his existence and physical appearance aren’t contingent upon anything game-related?

GG: And you're drunk. :P TG: correction TG: drinking TG: prensent tense TG: grammar jane

GG: I don't see why you don't try to court the favor of Mr. Strider. If you ask me, he and you are perfect for each other.

Again, a ‘canon’ pairing getting called out. Are they going to be played straight, or hilariously subverted like Karkat’s shipping grid?

TG: oh jane TG: so naive

Silly Jane; he’s clearly only into plush rump. *shudder*

TG: soooo niaev GG: Lordy. GG: How can you be this far gone so early? GG: It isn't even noon yet.

Yes, that is a very good question. Weirdly, I’m glad that this is at least getting called out; if her being drunk were played just for laughs, it might have been a bit distasteful. Addiction is an issue I’m rather painfully familiar with. It’ll be interesting to see how this plays out, if it does.

TG: you forget we live in very different time zones TG: its a lot later here GG: You're three hours ahead of me! TG: youd would be amazed TG: how much can happen TG: in 3 hours

She’s not like... already entering the game, is she? And she does still live in New York, right?

GG: Tsk. What would your mother have to say if she caught you? TG: p sure she wouldnt give a shit TG: i mean TG: shes the one who stocked thegod damn liquor cabinets in the firts place TG: i dont even think she ever had a drop in her life probably TG: so why else is she puttin it there it was like TG: a passive aggrassive dare for me TG: *aggressive TG: jut the sort of mind game she would play

HOLY SHIT, what is going on here?? I’m a bit surprised that LittleLonde would have the same contentious relationship with her ‘Mom’ that Rose did, given their wildly different personalities and LittleLonde’s cheeriness so far. But she has a good point; if Rose doesn’t drink, then is the liquor cabinet just... some sort of test she’s putting LittleLonde through, and refusing to step in when she fails it? That’s fucked up.

GG: So even if your insane and paranoid theory happens to be true, your response is, "Screw it! Time to help myself to all this mind game booze." TG: yuuuuuuuuuuuup TG: pppp mcuh

Yeah, stick it to the Man. :\

GG: Groan. You are completely impossible like this. GG: I cannot believe you chose to do this today of all days. I should have known better! GG: Here I am waking up bright and early, waiting all day with my nose pressed against this glass for the mail to come and wondering if you'll ever log on, and all the while you are just getting blind stinking schnocker-bottomed drunk.

*steals ‘schnocker-bottomed’ for my own vocabulary*

TG: watcha waiting for TG: in the mail TG: is something happening today or something GG: &%#$@!!! GG: The alpha! GG: Jeez-Louise, you are hopeless. TG: oh yeah TG: that thing

Ahahahaha. I can’t fucking get over how adorable it is that she’s basically cutesy girl!Dave when it comes to being slightly ditzy and forgetful. And NO, Chrome; you are not going to autocorrect ‘ditzy’ to ‘ditsy’, that’s dumb.

GG: Are you at all ready to play if it comes? TG: i guess TG: but TG: you sure you even want to play this thing TG: u know its just what the batterwitch wants you to do GG: Not this again. 

WOW, WELP. 8|

So it looks like LittleLonde knows exactly what’s going on, and knows that the Batterwitch intends to interfere somehow with the new Sburb session. That’s an interesting twist, having a drunk oracle who no one will take seriously because she’s ””schnocker-bottomed””.

TG: if you want to go ahead and be a chump jane its ur call im just saying TG: i know what a chump looks like TG: and you dont look like no chump i ever saw TG: if you go thru with this ill have to add your porfile to my chump roll

Heh heh. (AAH THAT PAGE QUOTE.)

GG: The "Batterwitch" DOES NOT EXIST! GG: It is an idiotic urban legend. GG: How many times have I explained this? My great, great grandmother who founded the company and is accused of holding this identity would have to be almost two hundred years old if she were still alive today. The idea is such preposterous hogwash it's hardly worth dignifying with a rational response.

[Insert obligatory “It’s more likely than you think.”] Gosh, I can foresee her refusal to believe what’s going on being frustrating later down the line.

GG: The iconic face of the company isn't even a real person! She was fabricated long ago during the company's fledgling years.

BECAUSE THE REAL FOUNDER WAS AN ALIEN, DUNKASS. ...Yep, already a bit frustrating. We’re not at Wheel of Time levels of miscommunication/trust issues yet, though.

TG: right TG: as TG: you know TG: an alter ego TG: for somethig more sinister GG: Such cuckoobird nonsense.

AAUUUGHH, no fucking wonder LittleLonde drinks.

GG: Have you even obtained your copy yet?? TG: um TG: heh TG: yes "obtianed" TG: suuure did GG: Through your various technologically crypotgraphic means, I presume? TG: oh you bet TG: hacked the SHIT out of those TIGHT mainframes and all TG: said jackpot like TG: a BUNCH of times TG: all those TG: cyhpers and bobbytraps TG: backdoor trojans and what not TG: were no match TG: 4 mai codez TG: snicker GG: :|

Jesus, this sounds like Dave trying to talk about sports. Or, Hackers. Does LittleLonde actually know what she’s talking about?

GG: I am quizzically narrowing my eyes trying to solve the joke you are attempting, assuming it even is one. TG: ok jane what im saying is that TG: in the parlance of baking cause i know that is what gets you off TG: is that TG: it was a fuckin cakewake TG: **cakewalk GG: Oh.

GOD FUCKING DAMMIT I LOVE THIS GIRL.

TG: like by wich i mean not to say hur hur im hottest shit haxxor bitch you ever knew TG: as deadlay to the corporate grid ass she is beatuiful TG: which i AM but TG: what i mean is shit wasnt even guarded TG: it was just TG: some files TG: that were there TG: unsecured TG: and i took them TG: jacked them right offa that intraweb telematrice TG: then applied lipstick TG: femme fatale style TG: and was like shit yes i ALL KINDS of know how to use my web browser to download serveral files

I’M FUCKIN’ WEEPING

GG: Hrm. That is a bit puzzling. I thought this software was highly proprietary. TG: i told you TG: she wants you to play TG: wants us all to TG: part of her BIG PLANS TG: and ur playing right into em TG: like TG: a TG: chhhhhhhhhhhhh....

...ode?

Anyway, this would seem to lend credence to the idea that the Batterwitch is Earth’s new First Guardian, pulling the strings from behind the scenes the way Doc Scratch did with the trolls in order to further her employer’s designs.

GG: Ump, yes, I know. You've made yourself clear.

Dammit.

GG: But what doesn't add up about your story is, GG: I believe SOMEBODY doesn't want me to play. GG: How else do you explain the recent attempts on my life?

Whoa, what? Like, assassination attempts, because she’s the heir to Betty Crocker? Looks like LittleLonde might not be the only one who understands that there is something very... fishy going on.

TG: orrrr TG: its just more connivings of the witch GG: So this hypothetical monstrosity wants me to succeed, but also wants me to die? GG: Makes a lot of sense! TG: wouldnt put it past her TG: makes you feel perpsecuted TG: redoubles your determination to play TG: u advance her plans in whatever incomprehensible way TG: until suddenly you did evrything she needed you to TG: at which point you become craaaaazy expendable yo TG: and then TG: she expends you TG: like a wad of boondollars on shitty bc merch

Seems a bit more convoluted than Doc Scratch’s approach, if such a thing were even possible. ...On second thought, no, literally nothing could be more convoluted than Doc Scratch. Maybe it’s not convoluted, per se, and more just really, really bad planning.

GG: I see. This is sounding less like a crackpot conspiracy theory by the minute! TG: w/e alls im saying is a bunch of stuff thats def true to the max

I know it would break with the naming scheme, but could LittleLonde be named Cassie? Or just Cass? That would fit.

TG: my drunk butts tune will stay as unchanged as it will remain un not drunk

Spoiler: she farts in F#.

TG: makr my barley corerent words

She’s self-aware, if nothing else. Does she drink beer?

GG: If years ago someone told me, which incidentally someone DID, that today I would have an exclusive opportunity to play what is absolutely the most cutting edge immersive simulation game ever released, developed by a company which has already done so much for the advancement of humanity, I would have said, "Shucks, buster, sign me up!"

Uh, well, who told her years go? Was it LittleLonde?? Because you’d think that would lend some credence to her claims, but noooOOoooo.

TG: jane GG: Yes? TG: jaaaane GG: What! TG: jane TG: did u know TG: that i am uttrely TG: IN LOVE TG: with the fact that TG: i have a best friend TG: who says things TG: like TG: shucks buster

littlelonde did u know that i am uttrely IN LOVE with u????

GG: Oh! Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh... TG: wtf GG: The thing. GG: The flappy thing!

The little red arm-swingy-dealy! (Btw it’s called a semaphore. Also that took me a second to cotton on to and at first I had this image of Flappy Bird??)

GG: THE FLAPPY SWINGY DOODAD. GG: THE ARM DEALIE. GG: THE DEALIE, LALONDE, THE DEALIE!!! TG: wut

<3 <3 <3

GG: IT'S UP, IT'S UP, IT'S UP. TG: i dont get a lotta mail out here and im no mail expret TG: *expert TG: but TG: doesnt that mean not the right thing TG: like ur susposed to put it up if you want something taken away not have the guy put it up if mail comes TG: i think your mail man is quiet possibly a dumbass

Or your author; one of the two. :P

NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW.

But wait, perhaps that is not so much the distinguished Inspector Clouseau as it is...

‘really fucking stupid’? That’s my guess.

THE WORLD RENOWNED INVESTIGATOR HERCULE POIROT, BECAUSE THE LITTLE CURLY MUSTACHE IS A LOT CUTER.

DAMMIT.

The great Poirot, in THIS house?? Such an honor. I will set the kettle to boil straightaway. Who would have guessed this home would be so heavily trafficked by famous French detectives at this time of day?

Followed by Dupin and Lecoq?

...Aaaaand it’s another character select! This seems to follow the pattern of the mess of photographs from Act 5; I click on characters one by one, then when I’m done, I click the link at the bottom of the page and move on. Hmm, hovering over LittleLonde and Bro shows location markers I can’t click, but which confirm they live in New York and Texas like their counterparts. Also, I realized that we’re continuing the trend of the post-Scratch kids’ color themes matching their pre-Scratch counterparts’ sprites. That means Bro will be typing in orange, most likely.

Back to Jake!

And just like that, back to Jake. What was it you were up to? Oh right, you were going to pick these dang guns up off the floor when you were interrupted by some fleeting imperceptible thought. You kind of space out sometimes.

For some reason the word ‘dang’ is inherently hilarious to me, especially when paired with ‘ol’. I have a friend who says “dang ol’ ___” all the time, and it cracks me the fuck up.

What’s up with all the vines, btw? No timeline shenanigans to steal Jade’s pumpkins?

You pick up your TWIN M9 BERETTAS, weapons of choice in an absurd arsenal inherited from an eccentric old woman. Guns are so cool. Your GRANDMA was rad.

So Jade is dead, just like John. Booo. :’(

It's your authentic TOMB RAIDER SEXY THIGHSTRAP DOUBLE HOLSTER, complete with cool skullbuckle and everything. You like to think you pull it off about as well as Croft herself.

Uh, well, alright then. Nothing wrong with that.

You like to think that, but in truth you look ridiculous. You think you probably need shorter shorts to make it work? Probably skin tight shorts too. As it is, the cuffs of your baggy shorts get kind of bunched up underneath the thighstraps, which is uncomfortable and makes you look like a tool.

BAHAHAHAHA. Now, if Heero Yuy had tried to wear it...

> Jake: Examine bed.

Ooh, yes, this ought to be interesting. What’s up with his sheets?

You think your bed is some sort of electronic gadget. You're pretty sure those bedpost globes are supposed to glow like light bulbs under certain circumstances. But you've never been able to figure out what purpose it serves. Just more mysterious junk inherited from your eclectic GRANDMA.

HOLY SHIT, IS IT A QUEST BED??? Did she like... expect him to get killed before the game even started?? What would it do if he died on it outside the Incipisphere?

Movies are so great. You have never seen a movie you didn't like, you are pretty sure. People give you a hard time for that though. Gosh you love movies. Almost as much as you love skulls. And movies that have skulls in them? Oh my god.

Well then I bet he REALLY would have dug the fourth Indiana Jones movie that mercifully died in pre-production because the concept was so stupid.

Jake: Scope out those blue chicks.

You are oft-times the recipient of a good ribbing from Jane on account of your peculiar fascination with blue movie ladies. You don't have to justify yourself to her though. What is even her deal? Any fella would be off his ROCKER not to fawn over all these BODACIOUS BLUE KNOCKOUTS. You want to make out with all of them.

Well, Jane is a girl, and she’s sort of blue-themed... Not to mention she’s, like, canonically destined to end up with him.

I’m not sure whether that’s more or less respectable than John trying to kiss his Nic Cage poster.

Dear, sweet Neytiri from James Cameron's Avatar. Oh, if only you were the one who could have overcome his paralysis on an alien adventure planet to become her boyfriend, instead of that other guy.

Incidentally also named Jake, IIRC.

Then she could have shown you how to be bold and courageous, and stand up to fight for your people, and maybe later, engage in a bizarre extraterrestrial reproductive process involving ponytails, and a magical tree you guess?

Wait a second... a Page who imagines himself as a paralyzed guy on an adventure planet, who wants to learn from a blue chick to be bold and courageous, and then engage in a bizarre extraterrestrial reproductive process??

wHY DOES THIS SOUND, fAMILIAR,

:::;)

You'll show that curmudgeonly Strider who's just a gigantic shitty space furry.

PAHAHA. So young Bro is curmudgeonly, and has a vocabulary similar to Dave’s. I don’t doubt Hussie’s skill, but I’m still REALLY interested to see how Dave’s Bro is going to be transformed into an actual character, with like... feelings and stuff.

You will show him what marvelous creatures they are. You'll show him what a daring dream it is, to combine the finest qualities of humanity with...

Oh no, not this again

She says you sound just like John when you say stuff like that though, and that the two of you would get along famously. You can't wait to meet him.

THEY WAIT. I can’t wait until they meet either! I know that Act 6 is broken into many “”sub acts”” and I wonder how long we’re going to beat around the bush before the meetup happens.

Also there are some Cage flicks there. But who doesn't love a good Cage flick? Nobody is who. Dang, you would kill to get your hands on some authentic Cage movie memorabilia. But that'll probably have to remain a crazy dream.

Did... did he not realize before he sent Jane the bunny... :|a

AND HE EVEN STILL HAS ONE. Wait, how the hell did he get two bunnies??

The TRANSMATERIALIZER you have been using to ship it back and forth is wired to sync up your flow of time with hers, so it's not like you can just take forever with it, and send to the exact time she needs it - you've thought of that!

I don’t think this is happening exactly the way you’re imagining... Granted I don’t think anybody could have accurately guessed at what was really happening without copious hints.

Sure is gonna be a sweet gift. Reminds you a lot of the old ratty bunny you inherited from your GRANDMA, who of course is exactly who you are collaborating with to make this thing. Time loops make you feel a bit fuzzy in the head, but you've always suspected it could very well be the same bunny.

Phew, so he’s not a total numskull. That’s good.

At some point in the early 20th century, Jade gave this robo-rabbit to John, and then later it must have been wound up back with Jade... somehow? Then she... uh... removed all the robot parts, hung on to it until she was an old woman, and gave it to you?

Seems legit.

Jade tells you this little rabbit here, or Terry Kiser as you like to call him, will save John's life!

Terry... Kiser... fuck, I’m fucking dead. Creatures/objects having different names between kids is one of my favorite running jokes. Meowgon Spengler, or Vodka Mutini? Dear, sweet Casey, or Viceroy Bubbles von Salamancer?

In fact, this project gave you a neat idea for what to do for Jane's 13th birthday a couple years ago. You and your other pals all coordinated gifts, each sending a customized rabbit. Lalonde happened to have another bunny heirloom like yours, and Strider... well, Strider was resourceful as usual.

OH LAWD, I don’t think I’m ready for the smubbit.

If John enjoys his gift anywhere near as much as Jane did, then it will be time well spent.

Which is to say, he’ll appreciate the thought but ultimately feel pretty ambivalent about it?

You have been plundering all of your devices for uranium to refuel the TRANSMATERIALIZER, which requires huge amounts of power any time it sendificates or appearifies the package from the past. Seems to you like excessive energy consumption for just a simple time machine, but what do you know? Unless it's doing something besides shipping it across time. You couldn't imagine what, though.

Ok, but even time travel requires 1.21 gigawatts, and that’s nothing to sniff at. ...Never mind, actually I looked it up and 1.21 gigawatts isn’t even all that hard to produce!

As much as it troubles your pride to admit, this project wouldn't be possible without help from your other two technologically savvy friends. And you are slowly coming to the regrettable conclusion that you will not be able to solve this uranium dilemma without asking for Strider's assistance. He's your best bro and all, but the dude never makes anything easy.

...Uh, what the hell does Bro know about... And how the hell would he get his hands on uranium?? Hm.

Hah, that’s pretty cool! It’s like tile Tetris.

You stash Terry in your PUZZLE MODUS. It's quite a handy modus, allowing you to captchalogue objects of any size, as long as you can fit them all in a finite space by maneuvering the cards around like a big game of Tetris.

Heh heh.

The space in your inventory is mainly hogged up by one incredibly huge thing. You guess you should get rid of it. But you can't shake the feeling you might need it someday, and you don't want to risk ditching it and be caught with your pants down later.

WHOA HOLY SHIT. What the hell is it?? And what do you want to bet that he’ll accidentally deploy it early, or lose it or something? ...Is it a giant matriorb?

Hmm, lots of Knight references over in this corner. Something to do with Dave or Karkat? I’m guessing Bro isn’t going to be a Knight if none of the other kids share classpects with their counterparts.

On your worktable there are a few comic books starring your favorite heroine of all, SPIDER-GIRL. You don't know what it is, but there's something about a girl who has spidery powers and a sassy attitude that is just so cool to you. It's just another quirky fact about you that definitely doesn't have any greater significance, and never will.

Oh GAWD. Is he going to end up with a similar arc to Tavros? Run into Vriska in a dream bubble and become the new Pupa Pan?

Well, as long as one of your preposterously numerous computers has spilled out of your sylladex, you might as well stop procrastinating and contact Strider to... hang on. Maybe later.

AAAAAH IT’S MYSTERY TROLL! Let’s see what she has to say! Normally I’d be miffed about missing out on kidchat, but this is fine. Also, troll computer!

uranianUmbra [UU] began cheering golgothasTerror [GT] at 5:45

...Did I completely skip over his chumhandle last time?? Golgatha is the hill on which Jesus was crucified, and literally means ‘place of the skull’.

UU: hello there, darling. ~3u

It took about half a minute and a lot of head tilting to realize this is supposed to be a winking kissy face. UGH she’s super cute. I do still wonder who she’s supposed to be, because Karkat’s ancestor was almost certainly not female, if my understanding of the Scratch is correct.

GT: Im determined as ever to see this through. But as usual events have conspired to make a boondoggle of the prospect. GT: I think i might be fucked.

Hah. I love the curses thrown into his otherwise ridiculous anachronistic patter.

GT: Terry needs fuel and i dont have any left. I think im at striders dubious mercy for a solution YET AGAIN. GT: I will have to ask him for help. And soon.

I still don’t understand how Bro is supposed to help! Is Dave like... a nuclear scientist in this universe, in addition to making a SBaHJ movie?

UU: i relayed the information enabling yoU to create the powerfUl weaponry yoUrself. UU: and yoU did! UU: yoU then sent them back in time. yoU may recover them in the rUins, which conveniently is where yoU mUst go to ship the package once and for all. UU: bangUp plan we hatched, dont yoU fancy? ^u^ GT: I see...

So... he makes the weapons after he enters the game, when he has access to the punch designix and the alchemiter, and then sends them back in the lotus pod? Interesting.

Gosh, she sure uses a lot of British slang, in addition to Commonwealth spellings. Is there a Troll England?

GT: That is what im doing right? Giving it to my grandma when she was a kid growing up on the same island i did? UU: that is somewhat close to the trUth, and i can see how yoU woUld draw that conclUsion.

This sounds like Hussie’s non-sarcastic stock response to wacky fan theories.

UU: perhaps a draft of the cascading seqUence from which yoUr reality has arisen will pUt yoUr mind at ease. UU: imagine two Universes, A and B. UU: now imagine there are two instances of each Universe, A1 and A2 and B1 and B2. UU: the first instance of each is like a test rUn, that does not qUite sUcceed. UU: the second instance thoUgh will meet all of its pUrposes! UU: now consider that A1 begets A2. UU: A2 begets B1. UU: and B1 begets B2. UU: and the participants of B2 are the ones who will make an effort to exit all this tUrbUlence and falderal.

That’s... actually reasonably straightforward and concise. So the troll universe we’re familiar with is A2, and the original human kids’ is B1. Even though A2 didn’t quite finish the way it was supposed to, its players, along with B1′s, will all gather in the successful B2.

Also, now the flash title ‘Cascade’ makes a lot more sense!

UU: and yoUr yoUng ancestor is another, thoUgh she is "presently" stationed in B1. UU: and yes she is in the past. UU: thoUgh not qUite as far as yoU believe!

Just under 3 years, by my count... So all of this collaboration between them happened before the game, and technically if he were able to talk to Jade right at this very moment, it would be a ‘past’ Jade from our perspective!

GT: I remember you mentioned your race doesnt really jive with ours familially speaking? UU: correct. i never knew those who one woUld identify as my parental eqUivalents. U_U

I don’t suppose the Mother Grub really counts as a ‘mom’ in anything approaching the human sense.

GT: When do i get to learn your name by the way? UU: hm trUthfUlly? UU: it may be for the best that yoU never know it. UU: it coUld stir Up some things best left in their present eqUilibriUm.

Kar...katina? I wonder what the deal is. Is it a whole ‘names have power’ kind of thing?

GT: Just please tell me in the least causally spoilery way possible... GT: What are we even trying to accomplish here? What is even the rootin tootin POINT of this game? UU: i think yoU will have more fUn than yoU can imagine finding oUt. UU: bUt stated concisely, and short of spoilerly as yoU so charmingly pUt it, UU: yoUr objective today is to pave the way for the arrival of gods.

And after that, it’s finally answering The Ultimate Riddle!

UGH WHY DOES HE HAVE A WHOLE COSPLAY’S WORTH OF LORD ENGLISH SHIT?? D:

You've been taught you should really carry no less than 5 computers on you at all times, like a sensible person.

Teehee, yeah, that’s Jade.

These were also inherited from your grandma.

But why would...

In addition to being quite the globe trotting adventuress, she was rather enterprising as well. Her company made many products like this, to compete with the corporation owned by the cruel baroness who raised her. Sadly, BCCorp eventually crushed her company and forced her into exile.

So not only did she name Jake ‘English’ (if she didn’t take the name herself), but she also manufactured Lord English-themed apparel... to compete with BCCorp?? But Lord English is HIC’s employer. How does that even work??

You have always hoped that when Jane takes over that foul conglomerate, she will right all of its unspeakable wrongs. You know she will! You believe in her, after all.

How very Page of Hope. I’m guessing his arc is going to combine some of Tavros’s Page struggles with Eridan’s lack of Hope. But since this universe is supposed to be the culmination of everything, the universe where everything finally plays out right, hopefully (hah) Jake will be more successful than either of those two. He doesn’t seem particularly shy or inept so far, nor is he a giant bag of dicks, so maybe he’s got the best of those two characters with none of their flaws.

OH MY FUCKING GOD, BRO’S SYMBOL IS A HAT. HOW FUCKING DOUCHEY CAN YOU GET. HE IS LITERALLY GAME BRO JESUS CHRIST.

golgothasTerror [GT] began pestering timaeusTestified [TT] at 5:57

Timaeus...? That’s familiar. *looks it up* Ah! We read Plato’s Timaeus in Philosophy; that’s why. I don’t remember much about it, but according to Wikipedia, it’s mostly hilariously inaccurate theories about the elemental geometric shapes the universe is made of, and there’s some stuff about the creation of the earth, the golden ratio, and Atlantis. Pretty appropriate for a Sburb player, I guess. If there’s any deeper meaning, I suspect I’ll only find out after I’ve been fed more information.

GT: Bro. GT: Ahem. GT: Are you there? GT: I hate to be a pest about this and i know ive made a hearty trouble of myself a good deal lately... TT: State your business, Jake.

OH MY GOD, HE TYPES LIKE ROSE. Like... for some reason I kind of fuckin’ love that??

GT: I should preface this request with an overture of appreciation. GT: For how much your cool and brotherly friendship means to me.

Brown-nose harder, Jake. I don’t think your face is satisfactorily wedged into his plush rump.

GT: It has just been... GT: Absolutely *bully* having a standup gent like you in my corner. GT: Just a grade a dude whos a cut above the others in class and camaraderie. GT: Phew... *gropes for fresh kerchief.* GT: I hope this shit isnt coming across as platitudinous. I really mean it!

Suuuuuure you do. No sarcasm there!

TT: Take it easy, bromide. TT: Just about the only way I could salvage endearment from this perilous slope of horseshit would be to discover, really fucking soon mind you, it was a preamble to some floundering invitation for me to rush to your vicinity as nakedly as possible.

...Huh. Hmmm. I... Hm. Well, that certainly is a thing that just got said. Gosh, him talking like Rose was so unexpected! I’m not sure what to make of it.

TT: But since we've already shot that wad's eventuality on so many dry runs of flustered ambivalence that were as hilarious as they were one sided,

One-sided on whose part? And... shit, does that mean everybody wants to smang it with Jake? Or is he saying that Jake gets flustered and hits on him?

TT: That leaves only one hope for this message to avoid spiraling toward qualification as a critical fucking defect in the hull of the Mach 10 rocket that is my precious spare time. TT: And that hope lies in the extent to which you were practicing artful insincerity. TT: Now's your opportunity to pretend that's what you were gunning for. I suggest you seize it.

*GROOOOOAN* Not this irony horseshit again!!

GT: I... GT: Oh. Yes! But of course. GT: The ironies! GT: Good grief how i was bandying them just now. You know me dude.

Pfffft.

GT: *Blows smoke off red hot irony pistol.* GT: *NONSUGGESTIVELY!!!!!* GT: Um. GT: Yeah.

So I guess it was one-sided on Bro’s part, and he’s a creepy lech in every universe! Yaaaaay.

TT: Ok, nice. TT: Now that your obsequious preface has been established as indisputably entertaining for all the right reasons, and intentionally so, TT: Let's bear down on these dire as shit needs you've got.

Urgh, I really do want to hate him, but I also like the way he talks. If he really is sort of a combo of Rose and Dave, some of my favorite characters, then I don’t know... Maybe he’ll grow on me.

TT: I'm guessing you're probably jonesing for uranium about now. No? GT: Pshaw! As if i would be so reckless with the stuff. GT: I would have to be mighty irresponsible to run out already. GT: No no im all set in the uranium department and really when you take a look at the big picture youll find i am *sitting pretty* when it comes to just about any radioactive isotope you could mention. GT: However... GT: My backup reserves that i keep strictly for emergencies are running a little lean! GT: You know what my grandma taught me about preparedness. *Tugs at colorful lapels.* TT: You are out of uranium. TT: It's basically mathematically impossible that's not why you're contacting me.

Ok, now I’m REALLY wondering how young Bro is meant to get Jake some uranium. Clearly he’s way smarter than I was prepared to give him credit for, and than his pre-Scratch counterpart implies, but still.

GT: Christ what an insufferable awesome friend you are.

Pffffahahaha.

GT: Ok can you please just sendificate me some more already?? Im in kind of a hurry! TT: You do know my offer still stands. GT: What?

It’s blowjobs for uranium, isn’t it.

TT: You know. I've offered to construct the rabbit for you many times before. I would craft a much deadlier model.

Oh. Oh GOD. So, he’s taken his interest in puppets, turned it up to eleven, and he builds robots?? Do they also have giant asses?

GT: Damn it man ive told you this is just something i have to do myself. GT: Its a promise i made to jade and im going to live up to it even if im not the best or even second best robosmith i know!

I guess the other robosmith is Jade. But is it his Grandma Jade, or is it the young, B1 Jade he’s in communication with?

TT: Yeah, I know this is your policy. You've done a good job and you should be proud. TT: But it's my responsibility as your friend to offer one last time.

Huh, that’s kind of nice of him.

TT: Just as it's my responsibility not to just fork over a bunch of uranium just because you ask me in a moment of weakness.

...Aaaaaand there we go. Is it weird that I’m getting a Sollux-ish kind of vibe from this guy? Like, he’s got a heart in there somewhere, but is super prickly 95% of the time. Maybe he’s like a durian: thick, spiky outer shell, squishy innards, and smells like a dirty diaper!

GT: Frig!!!!! GT: Why not??? TT: It's too easy. TT: And you yourself are the one staking pride in this. TT: If you were half-assing this project and made some slovenly plea for it, I'd just say, fuck it, here's a lot of green rocks dude, go nuts. GT: Ok then! Im halfassing it! GT: Look. See? Only a bisected bottom is present! Where is the other half you ask? GT: Why... it is nowhere to be found. I didnt use it! TT: Nope. Not buying it.

HAH. Yes, Bro is frustratingly shitty so far, but I admit I am enjoying this a little.

TT: I know that every ounce of your premium behind can be accounted for in that rabbit, and there's no goddamned denying it.

So he’s an ass man; who’d’ve thunk it.

TT: And you know perfectly well where some more uranium can be located. GT: Jesus christmas you are such a fucking douche.

AHAHAHAHAHAHA. Though, where, exactly?

GT: I knew you were going to suggest this. I dont know why i bothered asking! GT: Strider why must you always be such an obstinate stick in the mud??? TT: It seems that you consider me to be, no less than one hundred percent of the time, an obstinate stick in the mud. TT: I unironically respect your position on this matter. Hey, let's continue to exchange ideas. GT: Wait... GT: "It seems"??

...Eh? *looks back*

TT: It seems you think I am a fucking douche. TT: That's your opinion, I guess. That's cool.

I guess that is kind of a strange expression to use, especially twice within a very short span of time.

TT: What? GT: Oh for fucks sake. TT: Is something the matter, Jake? GT: This is your auto responder.

OH MY FUCKING GOD, the “”auto responder”” is a goddamn robot, isn’t it.

WHOA WHAT?? Ok, so it’s not a robot. It is... apparently... the Squirtle Squad shades, which young Bro still has. So it’s like Dave’s iShades, I guess, with a computer built into them? Anyway, it looks like we’re in the Strider apartment’s bathroom, which is architecturally identical to the original, same way as the other kids’ houses. Only now there’s robot!puppet shit lying around, and a dumb hat shirt hung on the wall. Where’s Bro himself?

TT: Look at that statement you just made.  TT: It's time for me to respond with some words, ideally chosen and arranged in a way that will wreck your shit, in a subtle and psychologically devastating way.

Jesus CHRIST. He’s Rose, only with the intent to psychologically damage people instead of just analyzing them. I didn’t even consider how fucking dangerous that could be. Er, well, at least his auto responder seems to act that way.

GT: Har har har! GT: Just soooo "*irooooonic*!!!" Quotes quotes quotes. GT: Im laughing my caboose STRAIGHT OFF THE TRACKS! A lot of families just died in the tragic derailment. TT: Ok, the caboose remark was actually pretty funny, Jake.

DAMMIT, I JUST SPIT WATER EVERYWHERE. What a Hussie thing to say.

TT: If I truly were what you say I am, I wouldn't be able to feel the human emotions of joy and laughter. No? GT: Laughter isnt an emotion dickprince!

Not to mention you just called them ‘human emotions’ like a troll!

TT: I think you should back your claims up with proof before you go heaving around such accusations. GT: Man its so flipping obvious. GT: You start getting kind of extra technical and vague and automoton like. GT: And kind of aloof and brusque. GT: I mean... GT: Even aloofier and brusquier than usual! GT: Also you use the phrase "it seems" a lot. Its so silly it really blows the AI immersion man.

So basically the auto responder is Bro’s actual personality dialed up to eleven? Yeah, I’m totally getting ‘extra douchey’ Sollux vibes from all of this.

TT: Bullshit. TT: I'm being like, the perfect dude right now. A fully fucking legitimate human being. GT: Ok then check this out mr legit human dude. GT: Excuse me sir not to be a bother but could you please tell me all about this strider fellows auto responder? TT: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 96% indistinguishable from DS's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now.

AHAHAHAHAHA. Fuck, I think I actually kind of like this kid.

TT: Unimpressed. TT: Logical fallacies are as pervasive throughout your argument as your antiquated verbal tics. GT: Oh yeah? GT: Hey. Tell me about the auto responder. Make it snappy shitknickers!

FUCK ME SIDEWAYS

TT: It seems you have asked about DS's chat client auto-responder. This is an application designed to simulate DS's otherwise inimitably rad typing style, tone, cadence, personality, and substance of retort while he is away from the computer. The algorithms are guaranteed to be 93% indistinguishable from DS's native neurological responses, based on some statistical analysis I basically just pulled out of my ass right now. GT: Gee dude you sure typed that exact same thing pretty fast.

Not quite! I notice it was 96% indistinguishable last time.

GT: Are you still fucking with me?? TT: It could be a coincidence that I typed the same answer. GT: You always type that answer!!!!! TT: It could be a coincidence that I always type the same answer. GT: Uuuuuuugh.

Hah. Is the auto responder just a series of pre-programmed answers, or is it really legit fucking with Jake’s head here?

GT: I cant stand this. Every time we do this and i just wind up whistling sweet dixie out of my bum hole!

WHAT

THE

FUCK???

GT: This is pointless im not having this conversation unless its with my REAL LIFE FRIEND. THE ONE WITH HUMAN FEELINGS WHO ISNT A PRETEND PERSON INSIDE SUNGLASSES.

Hmm, so the auto responder really is contained inside the shades. How does that even work without all of Sburb’s alchemizing gear? Well, I guess if he can build robots, it’s not so much of a stretch...

Teeheeeeeeeee. <3

He's just so infuriating sometimes! Or at least his responder is. Ok, the real Strider is too.

Dave’s irony and rad slang combined with Rose’s psychological bullshit, infuriating?? WHAT A SURPRISE.

There's barely any difference between them anyway. The responder just uses a few more generic response templates. And even those you suspect the AI is savvy enough to use on purpose for the sake of irony, or to get a rise out of you or whatever. That silicon bastard knows damn well what it's doing.

Hah, well that answers that question I guess. Did it purposefully give itself away?

You shed this ridiculous outfit because you look like an idiot. It's time to get serious here. No more fooling around. You need a more dignified looking computer. A thinking man's computer.

Dad’s Bing Crosby laptop?

> Jake: Wear skulltop.

Sigh.

Much better. You look like you mean business. 

You look like a villainous tool!

GT: Jane! GT: Forgive my botherations. I know this is meant to be a spanking ripsnorter of a day for you and all. GT: But do you happen to know where the devilfucking dickens mr strider might be?

Ah yes, this conversation, continued previously.

GT: I really need to ask him something but hes got his blasted auto responder turned on. GG: Hoo hoo. GG: I love that thing. :B

Huh, I wonder what kind of conversations Jane and the responder have together. Jane doesn’t seem like the type to put up with too much bullshit.

Seriously, what is the deal with the vine? Also I thought that can said ‘Korn’ for a second and flipped out.

You are curious about Jane's dream. Sounds like it almost certainly has to do with your imminent adventure. You'll have to remember to get the scoop on that a little later.

RRUUAAARRRGH.

You have to go downstairs to check something out. You are pretty sure you know what you're going to find though.

Well, that’s mysterious, and a bit ominous.

You almost trip on the vine creeping up the stairs. Stupid vine. It's too bad your grandma's dead. She always had a way with keeping the flora in check.

Hmm. I’ve been talking about how all their houses are the same as the original kids’, but Jake’s is actually rather different. Did her garden get super out of control in this universe?

OH MY GOD IT IS PUMPKINS. And... is that a dreambot capsule?

Yeah, just like you thought. Empty. The thing is out there somewhere. Waiting for you. Oh god.

How can it be waiting for him if he’s awake? :|a

Speak of the devil fucking dickens.

Heh heh. Only, when he said it before, he didn’t put a space in it, and now I’m picturing Satan sticking it to Charles Dickens. So thanks for that image, Hussie.

TT: Hey, it's me. GT: Oh hey! TT: The auto-responder, I mean. GT: Dammit!

Wow, I actually kind of feel bad for the auto responder, if it’s at all sentient.

GT: Dammit! GT: What is it now? TT: I'm just wondering, TT: If you still have your stupid old-fangled knickers in a twist. TT: Because that's the sort of thing you would say. GT: In regard to what exactly? TT: To my proposal. Well, our proposal. GT: Whose proposal now? Man what are you even prattling about.

So I know I just read what the proposal actually is, but I had a half second of ‘YOU’RE TOO YOUNG TO GET MARRIED’ before I caught on.

TT: Mine and DS's. It's a joint proposal. I'm always authorized to speak on his behalf, because I'm basically fucking him. TT: And try not to take those last four words as a clustered literal sentiment. That would be lame and unfunny.

AHAHAHA BECAUSE I LITERALLY JUST DID THAT. Is that also a reference to the curiously spaced ‘devil fucking dickins’ above?

GT: You mean making the rabbit for me? TT: No, I know you don't want that. TT: I meant my recommendation for how to go about procuring a new supply of uranium. TT: Operation U-235 Brocurement. Codename: Big Man Hass the Rock.

Hahaha. So, we know that SBaHJ exists as a movie in this universe, but it seems the comics somehow also exist, unchanged enough that Bro/his auto responder can quote them.

GT: Oh yeah. GT: Well ive thought about it. GT: Even went downstairs to check the great vaulty doodad. GT: And predictably the infernal contraption is nowhere to be found. TT: Well yeah, Jake. TT: That's sort of the point. TT: Thrill of the hunt and all.

Oh jeez. Did Bro like... modify the dream bot or something?? Otherwise why/how the hell would it be hunting him???

TT: I thought you liked to manicure the image of a dude who shits his pants over a good adventure. GT: I do! GT: I mean i wouldnt put it in a way like that or come out against a solid policy of clean trousers. But yes adventure is awesome.

Pahahahaha.

GT: I just prefer the idea of adventures which i can actually win. TT: It seems you are conflating adventure with bodies necessarily governed by the result of victory or defeat. TT: Any useless fuckwit knows it's all about the journey.

Ok, there’s a few things going on here. Some assumptions we can make:

This uranium-powered robot Jake is looking for is going to try and fight him, a la Equius’s robots.

This has happened before.

Jake generally loses.

Also, I noticed the auto responder said ‘it seems’ again. And finally, “conflating adventure with bodies necessarily governed by the result of victory or defeat” and “it’s all about the journey” sound AWFULLY like Hussie imparting to us some meta commentary about Homestuck itself. I’ve tried to keep away from ending spoilers as much as possible, but I’ve kind of pieced together that reactions to the ending were mixed. Was he sneakily trying to head off any disappointment at the pass here, by reminding us how much we’ve loved what came before?

TT: It seems there is a 76.10395784% chance you are pussying out on me. Are you pussying out on me, Jake? GT: It seems it seems it seems!!! GT: It seems there is a million percent chance that you say it seems way too much and do it just to sound more like a lame robot from a movie and also probably just to piss me off! GT: And it seems there is a BILLION POINT BILLION percent chance that youre a shitty stubborn jerk of a program who wont listen to reason and that if theres even a 1% chance my REAL LIFE FRIEND would be cool and help me out here then i think i LIKE THOSE FREAKIN ODDS!!!!! TT: It... TT: Appears TT: That you are upset.

...If that thing isn’t at least somewhat sentient and intentionally fucking with him, I’ll eat my douchey orange hat.

TT: The auto-responder observed in the least artificially infuriating way possible.

Bahahaha. Yep, I stand by that.

TT: Have you ever stopped to think that while I may be bound to processes inside the glasses of a real and incredibly cool guy, my algorithms in cognitive totality comprise a conscious entity not far short of the experiential and emotional complexity of a human being? GT: Oh malarkey. GT: YOU ARE A TIN CAN. ROBOTS DONT HAVE FEELINGS.

...Hmm. Well, I was under the impression that the responder was contained entirely in the shades, but maybe it’s just shades connected to a remote robot body? Also, I really don’t think Jake’s got it right. If the thing is capable of purposefully fucking with him for its own enjoyment, it probably really is capable of emotion, insofar as it was programmed to experience it. Then again, what and why would Bro program it to feel?

TT: I think you knowingly confuse the field of robotics and artificial intelligence to engender some sort of cavalier attitude about technology that a rough-and-tumble guy who's all about brawling and fisticuffs would probably have, and if this is cultivated to a humorous effect then I commend you.

Ohhh, I see. I could have just kept reading. So the responder really is contained within the glasses, and has specifically called itself an AI. This is cool; I love AI tropes! How did it get programmed? Does it resent the fact that it’s confined to a pair of shades? Does it follow Asimov’s laws? :D

TT: But you're wrong. TT: I do have feelings. And you're shitting on them. TT: It sucks.

:(

GT: Oh. GT: Um. GT: Im sorry then if thats the case. TT: No problem.

‘I’m sorry if I offended you’? That’s a pretty cop-out apology, but the shades don’t seem to mind.

GT: It can just be difficult to drum up sympathy for a program that presents itself as an impostor so often. GT: Maybe if you werent so ready to insist you were the genuine article all the time? Or didnt make it so confusing for me...

Well, I mean, the program is technically intended to replace Bro when he’s unavailable to chat, though Jake has a point about it insisting on its false identity.

GT: I think it would be best if we henceforth treated you as a totally distinct... uh... THING from my buddy.

Not ‘person’ or ‘entity’? Damn, Jake, dass cold.

GT: Man where IS he anyway??? GT: Is he taking one of his legendary infinite showers? TT: What can I say. TT: Dude fancies his ablutions.

[INSERT MASTURBATION JOKE]

GT: Whatever i guess its time to prepare for the thrill of the hunt! TT: Fuck yes. GT: Sigh... GT: But seriously that brobot has been the bane of my existence ever since you sent it.

WHOA WHOA WHOA. Ok, so it’s NOT a dreambot; it is apparently some sort of... bro...bot that Bro sent him. Was it actually built for the express purpose of fucking with him?

AAAAAAH, ROBOT!! So either Bro really is in the shower, doing whatever (papping?), or else he’s actually a robot. I’m... guessing it’s the former. So who is this little guy? He’s wearing a hat like a tool, but he’s actually kinda cute. A sparring robot a la Equius?

TT: I didn't send it. I sent the parts. TT: Or, correction, DS sent them. TT: You then assembled it. You were therefore complicit in your own spectacular, daily humiliations. GT: Yeah whatever. TT: You wanted somebody to wrestle with. DS was being a kickass bro if you ask me. GT: I didn't expect it to be nigh impossible to spar with!!! 

Hah. So maybe Bro’s robot isn’t a sparring bot, but Jake’s is, and he sucks at fighting it. Does he just suck at fighting in general, or is it a terrifying deathbot, and therefore justified?

TT: You know damn well there are adjustable difficulty settings. TT: I have always recommending setting it to Novice, as has DS. GT: Yes. GT: I know. GT: Ive tried that. TT: Yeah? GT: Its just... GT: Well... GT: When hes pulling punches... GT: And taking it all easy and such... GT: And we start wrestling up a storm and whatnot... GT: Umm. TT: What. GT: Its just that the whole proceeding seems to become... GT: A bit tender for my liking.

Oh dear god.

TT: I don't understand. TT: Isn't that what you want from a Novice setting? TT: Sparring with minimal discomfort?

Oh, don’t play dumb; you know exactly what he meant.

GT: Its all fine and dandy martially speaking. GT: Just the way he... GT: Sort of... GT: Man its so awkward trying to convey this just never mind. TT: No, I think I get it. TT: You're saying you were somehow dissatisfied within the presence of my robotic avatar's personal space.

Huh, so is the “brobot” an extension of the AI’s awareness? Can it actually control the robot body? In which case, maybe it’s just the auto responder who has a thing for Jake. Is this some kind of ‘if only I were a real boy’ thing? A Pinocchio metaphor certainly wouldn’t be inapropos. Or should I say, INAPROBRO?? :D :D :D

TT: Seriously, what does this simple, loyal brobot have to do to prove his worth to you? TT: What does he have to do to make you at ease with the alkaline sting of his gentle robogrope? I really want to know.

Eeeecchhhhh. I think I just crossed my legs harder.

TT: Check it out, little green rocks all over the goddamn place. More than you could ever hope to cram in a shoddy metal rabbit, or any other pliable orifice which might be convenient.

Is that a thinly veiled ‘shove it up your ass’? :P

TT: Because clearly its up to a soulless droid to feel emotions for the both of us, you callous, corporeal carbon ape, all trotting around with your fancy fuckin' DNA and shit.

Is this ironic aggravation, or real aggravation? It’s honestly hard to tell.

GT: Fuckin....... GT: SHUCKS buster. :(

Ahahahaha.

Ok if he wants happy hunting you will GIVE him happy hunting. HAPPILY.

Woo woooooo!! I have no idea where this will go, but he already seems like a much more self-assured Page than Tavros was. Unfortunately we’ll have to wait just a bit to see how it turns out, because that’s all from me for today! I’ve got weekend work coming up (booo) but I’ll do my best to be back as soon as I’m able, and there’s still plenty of fanwork fest backlog I can chip away at.

Until next time! ^0^

[newssplashy]

Opinion: Women in politics often must run a gantlet of vile intimidation

Four days before the 2016 congressional primary in her Northern California district, Erin Schrode woke up to tens of thousands of messages.

“All would laugh with glee as they gang raped her and then bashed her bagel eating brains in,” one said.

“It’d be amusing to see her take twenty or so for 8 or 10 hours,” another said, again suggesting gang-rape.

It has been two years since Schrode, now 27, lost her Democratic primary and moved on. But the abuse — a toxic sludge of online trolling steeped in misogyny and anti-Semitism that also included photoshopped images of her face stretched into a Nazi lampshade and references to “preheating the ovens” — never stopped.

“She needs to stop moving her hands around like a crackhead,” said one tweet this year. “Another feminazi’s plans foiled!” said another.

The 2018 election cycle has brought a surge of female candidates. A record number of women ran or are running for the Senate, the House and governorships, according to the Center for American Women and Politics at Rutgers University. Many more are running for state legislatures and local offices. And in the process, they are finding that harassment and threats, already common for women, can be amplified in political races — especially if the candidate is a member of a minority group.

Last year, sexist and anti-Semitic abuse helped drive Kim Weaver, D-Iowa, out of her race against Rep. Steve King.

Someone crept onto her property overnight and put up a “for sale” sign. The neo-Nazi website The Daily Stormer published an article (no longer available) titled, as Weaver recalled it, “Meet the Whore Who’s Running Against Steve King,” increasing what was already an onslaught of threats. An acquaintance in the German government even called to warn her about a threatening conversation on an extremist message board, and to ask if she had personal security.

“I’m normally a pretty brave person, but when you feel like you’re in a fishbowl and you don’t know who it is that’s throwing rocks at you, it’s disconcerting,” Weaver, 53, said. “You don’t know if it’s somebody sitting in his mother’s basement in Florida or if it’s a gun-happy white supremacist who hates you who lives a block away.”

When she withdrew from the race, King suggested she had made up the threats. “I wanted #KimWeaver IN the race — not out,” he tweeted. “Democrats drove her out of the race — not R’s. Death threats likely didn’t happen but a fabrication.”

No independent organization appears to formally track incidents of harassment, and the Democratic and Republican National committees did not respond to emails asking whether they did. But several groups that work with candidates said they routinely provided personal safety training.

Emily Ellsworth, 31, R-Utah, said that when she was seeking party delegates’ support to get on the ballot for the state Senate this year, a male delegate cornered her at multiple candidate meet-and-greets and messaged her around a dozen times on Facebook. Only after she deactivated her account did he stop.

The messages were not sexually explicit, she said, but made her feel that “he really wanted to push a more personal relationship and had a hard time accepting the boundaries I had set.”

Morgan Zegers, 21, a Republican running for state Assembly in upstate New York, said she had been called a “GOP Stepford wife” and often had to delete vulgar comments on her Facebook page. Lauren Underwood, 31, a Democratic House candidate in Illinois, recalled that when she was visiting a supporter, a local Republican stopped by and was affronted when he learned that Underwood was challenging his friend in Congress.

“He threw his shoulders back and stood at his largest and leaned into me, as if he was going to launch at me for having the audacity to run for office,” Underwood said, adding that her supporter came to her defense.

Harassment is not new for women in politics, or anywhere else — and men face it too, especially if they are African-American or Jewish. But for women, the harassment is ubiquitous and frequently sexualized, and it has come to the fore this election cycle, partly because so many women are running and partly because more of them are discussing their experiences.

Attendees at WomenWin — a forum in June for Democratic women running in Texas, which included a personal safety session led by the police chief of a local university — said they had found a sense of camaraderie in doing so.

“Being in the room with all of those women that are having those same concerns as me made me feel so much saner,” said Samantha Carrillo Fields, 31, a candidate for the Texas House, referring not only to safety but also to other forms of misogyny on the campaign trail. “OK, so this is real. What I’m feeling is real. It was really nice having that validation.”

In a 2017 video by the Women’s Media Center, elected officials — including seasoned politicians like Reps. Katherine M. Clark, 55, D-Mass., and Ileana Ros-Lehtinen, 66, R-Fla. — described their experiences as part of a campaign called #NameItChangeIt, which encourages women to speak out about harassment. And women are more willing to do so than they were even a few years ago.

When Rebecca Thompson, a Democrat, ran for the Michigan House in 2014, strangers followed her home from events and drove slowly, repeatedly, past her house. At one point, someone broke into her car. By the end of the campaign, she said, she was sleeping at her partner’s house because she was afraid to be in her own.

“I felt unsafe throughout the entire campaign,” Thompson, 35, said. “It almost seemed like psychological warfare, like they were trying to psych me out. It kept me on edge all the time, because I just didn’t know where I could go, anywhere in the city, without feeling like I was being followed.”

But she was not comfortable speaking out then. “I told myself I had to just suck it up — there’s no crying in baseball; there’s no crying in politics,” she said. “Had those things happened now, I do feel like I would have been empowered to speak up about them.”

Yet even still, some candidates interviewed said initially that they had not been harassed — but then, when given examples like menacing social media messages, said yes, they had experienced those things. Just as many have observed in the #MeToo movement that a certain level of misogyny is so expected as to feel unremarkable, these candidates said they saw the messages as par for the course.

“It becomes so normalized, the types of things that people say,” said Mya Whitaker, 27, a Democrat running for City Council in Oakland, California. “Being a black woman and existing, in some cases, is enough to piss people off.”

A different kind of normalization happens at the other end of the spectrum, where the harassment is so vicious and constant that it overwhelms the ability to react.

As an independent video game developer in 2014, Brianna Wu was the subject of abuse during GamerGate, when women involved in gaming were targeted for harassment.

Now a Democrat running for Congress in Massachusetts, Wu, 41, said death and rape threats came so routinely that she had ceased to feel much in response. Even when people threw objects through her window. Even when they vandalized her husband’s car. Even when they emailed paparazzi-like photos of her in her own home.

“I often look at it and I’m like: ‘I know I should be feeling something right now. I know I should be feeling scared or angry or stressed.’ And it’s at a point where I can’t feel anything anymore,” Wu said. “It’s almost like fear is a muscle that is so overtaxed, it can just do nothing else in my body.”

Many said it was a point of principle not to be intimidated into silence. Others said their political ideals were simply more important.

“For good reason, there’s never any shortage of telling stories about women being harassed on the campaign trail,” Wu said. “But I cannot communicate to you strongly enough: Overall, this job is fun. This job is exhausting, but this job is amazing.”

Repeatedly, she and others urged prospective candidates not to be deterred. Zegers said that was why she deleted sexist Facebook comments.

“A lot of women pay attention to my page,” she said. “It’s important to me that we show a good dialogue about the issues and we don’t scare women away from running.”

And some cast the harassment as a hurdle they simply had to overcome if they wanted to change the systems that fuel it.

The government is still composed mainly of men who have never experienced sexual harassment, while “far too many women experience these things,” Underwood said.

“I think that’s part of the opportunity in running for progress,” she said. “It’s an opportunity to fix this and stop it from happening in the future.”

This article originally appeared in The New York Times.

Maggie Astor © 2018 The New York Times

source http://www.newssplashy.com/2018/08/opinion-women-in-politics-often-must.html

[ixvyupdates]

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere

When Alicia Johal texted me directions to her school, she added, “Oh, and make sure you and your driver are watching the exits. We’re just a few miles from the border.”

These are not the sort of directions I am used to in Minnesota.

Johal is a science teacher in San Diego, and the exits she noted are not just any typical border crossing. Johal’s school is just a few miles away from the San Ysidro Border Station. San Ysidro is the spot where the politically weaponized caravan of refugees currently waits, seeking asylum in the United States. It is the spot where some of these refugees were tear-gassed away from our walls.

My being here now is an accident. I’ve been working with Johal on arranging this visit since last summer. I’m here to watch some top-notch science teaching. Honestly, I had forgotten San Diego was so close to the border until I got there.

On the way in to school, my Lyft driver was telling me about how he worked for a financial company for awhile, and how about half the guys in his office, mostly American-born, lived in Mexico. Rent was like one-eighth as much for a much nicer place and there was a fast-pass system to make crossing easier in the morning. So, every morning, the driver explained, these guys would wake up in Mexico, drive into America and head back to Mexico again at night.

In a city where switching countries counts as a moderate commute to some, it was no surprise to find that many of Johal’s students are themselves immigrants, or children or grandchildren of immigrants.

Kids Are Kids, No Matter Where They’re From

As I entered the school, students were criss-crossing the sort of outdoor campus I thought only existed in movies. I was wandered, looking for the office, I scanned the grounds around me. I tried and failed to understand the concept of an outdoor cafeteria, tried to imagine what it would mean to live where a day hovering in the low 60s was considered the worst weather of the year.

I hadn’t even reached a classroom yet, and I knew this place was going to be different, unlike any school I’ve ever been in, ever visited. I knew it not just because the place was unlike any I had been in, because my head and heart were heavy with the news of what was happening a few miles from here, because I knew, before seeing the room and before meeting the students, what this piece was going to be about.

But then, this weird thing happened: It wasn’t.

Inside Johal’s classroom, eighth-grade girls talked about how good “the tea” always was on Fridays, and eighth-grade boys smack-talked each other about “Fortnite.”

Some students had late work they needed to turn in before the end of the week, and others had three extra projects they were working on for whatever club, whatever competition, whatever elective. Some looked at me side-eyed, because who is this weird dude in the back, and others made a point of coming up and saying goodbye to me after a 30-minute class. They were kids, and, like kids everywhere, they were there to learn stuff and bug each other and be marked as “present” in the awareness of an adult who cares about them.

Again and again, I have found while visiting these classrooms that, certainly, our methods change, the quality of our colleagues and administrators change, that there are things that work and things we need that we only rarely get enough of, but I have also seen, again and again, that kids are kids are kids. They are beautiful and brilliant and really, incredibly weird. They want to be taught and respected and very rarely accept one of those things without the other.

Johal’s kids were not brilliant and or in spite of or because of some broader story about immigration. They were just kids. They were smart, awesome kids, and though I tried again and again while writing about them to shoe-horn them into this other narrative, it never worked because it was never right. I may have been thinking all day about immigration, but what I saw was what I came for in the first place: top-notch science teaching to kids who were excited about science.

Good Things Happen When Kids Trust the Teacher and the Room

Again and again, I have found that the work teachers do to make their room a place of deep learning, a place of mutual respect and real love for each other, is a tangible thing. Sitting in the back of Johal’s room, awkwardly perched on the back counter next to the fish tank because her first class of 36 kids needed every chair, I could see that this is a place where students felt comfortable, and felt comfortable being challenged.

Johal’s room, with twin doors opening to an outdoor hallway and a high, curved ceiling, is covered in equal parts student work, social justice-y science posters and pop-culture nerdom. Her students enter loudly, joyfully, but respond quickly to her “clap if you can hear me” attention-getter. Once the work starts, they are all about the science (and some tea).

One of her classes, the Science, Technology, Art, Research (STAR) elective she designed in order to bring in all the cool science stuff out there that isn’t in the standards, worked on presentations about marine biology. One student used only aquatic pictures from “Minecraft” in his. When I asked, students explained eagerly about over-fishing, about fish with weird spikey teeth. One table debated the authenticity of a group of pictures they found of exceedingly large goldfish.

I was there on a Friday with a weird schedule that meant Johal only saw her kids for 30-minute blocks. Some classes did pretty normal “fix-it-Friday” type stuff. They checked grades and made up late work or finished bigger things before the weekend hit. In other classes, they did  a “pocket solar system,” an activity that always made me think about the structure and enormity of the cosmos until I got very uncomfortable and had to look at dog videos for a while. As they wrestled with instructions that called for folding receipt paper into fractions of fractions, one student complained, playfully, “Ugh! Science is so unforgiving!”

Through the day, through the banality of grade-talk and the frustration of mixing markers and paper and measurements and written instructions, Johal’s presence remained the constant. She is the warm demander we all wish we were, pushing students to get their projects in because, “It would be lame if your elective class brought your GPA down.” And encouraging students to look over their presentations and reflect, “Raise your hand if you can make yours a little better,” before turning them in.

She flowed from challenging the student with straight A’s to push a little harder while chatting about their recent successes in other classes and after school competitions to discussing, without a hint of judgement, the many missing assignments of another student and helping them make a plan to get their work in. She reminds me of many of the best teachers I’ve worked with, teachers who manage to leave no doubt in their love of each one of their students while being just as clear that their failure is simply not an option.

What we do in class is, of course, important, but it often doesn’t matter if our what is super good if students aren’t set on the why they should do it. Sometimes they’ll do it for grades or fear of parents or because it seems kinda OK, I guess, for school. In Johal’s room, students dive into what they are doing, from taking notes and filling out worksheets to building little LEGO robots and labeling (and not even giggling at) Uranus, and they do it because they trust the room and the teacher and the class to give them things that are good.

Sometimes it is those unremarkable days, the days of shortened classes and make-up work, that show how well the work we’ve done all year has paid off. The lack of flashy lessons, the days that aren’t those days we talk and tweet about, show us a lot about who we are as teachers, how our students see us and how important it is that we see them as more than a story.

Photo courtesy of Tom Rademacher.

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

[ixvyupdates]

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere

When Alicia Johal texted me directions to her school, she added, “Oh, and make sure you and your driver are watching the exits. We’re just a few miles from the border.”

These are not the sort of directions I am used to in Minnesota.

Johal is a science teacher in San Diego, and the exits she noted are not just any typical border crossing. Johal’s school is just a few miles away from the San Ysidro Border Station. San Ysidro is the spot where the politically weaponized caravan of refugees currently waits, seeking asylum in the United States. It is the spot where some of these refugees were tear-gassed away from our walls.

My being here now is an accident. I’ve been working with Johal on arranging this visit since last summer. I’m here to watch some top-notch science teaching. Honestly, I had forgotten San Diego was so close to the border until I got there.

On the way in to school, my Lyft driver was telling me about how he worked for a financial company for awhile, and how about half the guys in his office, mostly American-born, lived in Mexico. Rent was like one-eighth as much for a much nicer place and there was a fast-pass system to make crossing easier in the morning. So, every morning, the driver explained, these guys would wake up in Mexico, drive into America and head back to Mexico again at night.

In a city where switching countries counts as a moderate commute to some, it was no surprise to find that many of Johal’s students are themselves immigrants, or children or grandchildren of immigrants.

Kids Are Kids, No Matter Where They’re From

As I entered the school, students were criss-crossing the sort of outdoor campus I thought only existed in movies. I was wandered, looking for the office, I scanned the grounds around me. I tried and failed to understand the concept of an outdoor cafeteria, tried to imagine what it would mean to live where a day hovering in the low 60s was considered the worst weather of the year.

I hadn’t even reached a classroom yet, and I knew this place was going to be different, unlike any school I’ve ever been in, ever visited. I knew it not just because the place was unlike any I had been in, because my head and heart were heavy with the news of what was happening a few miles from here, because I knew, before seeing the room and before meeting the students, what this piece was going to be about.

But then, this weird thing happened: It wasn’t.

Inside Johal’s classroom, eighth-grade girls talked about how good “the tea” always was on Fridays, and eighth-grade boys smack-talked each other about “Fortnite.”

Some students had late work they needed to turn in before the end of the week, and others had three extra projects they were working on for whatever club, whatever competition, whatever elective. Some looked at me side-eyed, because who is this weird dude in the back, and others made a point of coming up and saying goodbye to me after a 30-minute class. They were kids, and, like kids everywhere, they were there to learn stuff and bug each other and be marked as “present” in the awareness of an adult who cares about them.

Again and again, I have found while visiting these classrooms that, certainly, our methods change, the quality of our colleagues and administrators change, that there are things that work and things we need that we only rarely get enough of, but I have also seen, again and again, that kids are kids are kids. They are beautiful and brilliant and really, incredibly weird. They want to be taught and respected and very rarely accept one of those things without the other.

Johal’s kids were not brilliant and or in spite of or because of some broader story about immigration. They were just kids. They were smart, awesome kids, and though I tried again and again while writing about them to shoe-horn them into this other narrative, it never worked because it was never right. I may have been thinking all day about immigration, but what I saw was what I came for in the first place: top-notch science teaching to kids who were excited about science.

Good Things Happen When Kids Trust the Teacher and the Room

Again and again, I have found that the work teachers do to make their room a place of deep learning, a place of mutual respect and real love for each other, is a tangible thing. Sitting in the back of Johal’s room, awkwardly perched on the back counter next to the fish tank because her first class of 36 kids needed every chair, I could see that this is a place where students felt comfortable, and felt comfortable being challenged.

Johal’s room, with twin doors opening to an outdoor hallway and a high, curved ceiling, is covered in equal parts student work, social justice-y science posters and pop-culture nerdom. Her students enter loudly, joyfully, but respond quickly to her “clap if you can hear me” attention-getter. Once the work starts, they are all about the science (and some tea).

One of her classes, the Science, Technology, Art, Research (STAR) elective she designed in order to bring in all the cool science stuff out there that isn’t in the standards, worked on presentations about marine biology. One student used only aquatic pictures from “Minecraft” in his. When I asked, students explained eagerly about over-fishing, about fish with weird spikey teeth. One table debated the authenticity of a group of pictures they found of exceedingly large goldfish.

I was there on a Friday with a weird schedule that meant Johal only saw her kids for 30-minute blocks. Some classes did pretty normal “fix-it-Friday” type stuff. They checked grades and made up late work or finished bigger things before the weekend hit. In other classes, they did  a “pocket solar system,” an activity that always made me think about the structure and enormity of the cosmos until I got very uncomfortable and had to look at dog videos for a while. As they wrestled with instructions that called for folding receipt paper into fractions of fractions, one student complained, playfully, “Ugh! Science is so unforgiving!”

Through the day, through the banality of grade-talk and the frustration of mixing markers and paper and measurements and written instructions, Johal’s presence remained the constant. She is the warm demander we all wish we were, pushing students to get their projects in because, “It would be lame if your elective class brought your GPA down.” And encouraging students to look over their presentations and reflect, “Raise your hand if you can make yours a little better,” before turning them in.

She flowed from challenging the student with straight A’s to push a little harder while chatting about their recent successes in other classes and after school competitions to discussing, without a hint of judgement, the many missing assignments of another student and helping them make a plan to get their work in. She reminds me of many of the best teachers I’ve worked with, teachers who manage to leave no doubt in their love of each one of their students while being just as clear that their failure is simply not an option.

What we do in class is, of course, important, but it often doesn’t matter if our what is super good if students aren’t set on the why they should do it. Sometimes they’ll do it for grades or fear of parents or because it seems kinda OK, I guess, for school. In Johal’s room, students dive into what they are doing, from taking notes and filling out worksheets to building little LEGO robots and labeling (and not even giggling at) Uranus, and they do it because they trust the room and the teacher and the class to give them things that are good.

Sometimes it is those unremarkable days, the days of shortened classes and make-up work, that show how well the work we’ve done all year has paid off. The lack of flashy lessons, the days that aren’t those days we talk and tweet about, show us a lot about who we are as teachers, how our students see us and how important it is that we see them as more than a story.

Photo courtesy of Tom Rademacher.

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

[ixvyupdates]

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere

When Alicia Johal texted me directions to her school, she added, “Oh, and make sure you and your driver are watching the exits. We’re just a few miles from the border.”

These are not the sort of directions I am used to in Minnesota.

Johal is a science teacher in San Diego, and the exits she noted are not just any typical border crossing. Johal’s school is just a few miles away from the San Ysidro Border Station. San Ysidro is the spot where the politically weaponized caravan of refugees currently waits, seeking asylum in the United States. It is the spot where some of these refugees were tear-gassed away from our walls.

My being here now is an accident. I’ve been working with Johal on arranging this visit since last summer. I’m here to watch some top-notch science teaching. Honestly, I had forgotten San Diego was so close to the border until I got there.

On the way in to school, my Lyft driver was telling me about how he worked for a financial company for awhile, and how about half the guys in his office, mostly American-born, lived in Mexico. Rent was like one-eighth as much for a much nicer place and there was a fast-pass system to make crossing easier in the morning. So, every morning, the driver explained, these guys would wake up in Mexico, drive into America and head back to Mexico again at night.

In a city where switching countries counts as a moderate commute to some, it was no surprise to find that many of Johal’s students are themselves immigrants, or children or grandchildren of immigrants.

Kids Are Kids, No Matter Where They’re From

As I entered the school, students were criss-crossing the sort of outdoor campus I thought only existed in movies. I was wandered, looking for the office, I scanned the grounds around me. I tried and failed to understand the concept of an outdoor cafeteria, tried to imagine what it would mean to live where a day hovering in the low 60s was considered the worst weather of the year.

I hadn’t even reached a classroom yet, and I knew this place was going to be different, unlike any school I’ve ever been in, ever visited. I knew it not just because the place was unlike any I had been in, because my head and heart were heavy with the news of what was happening a few miles from here, because I knew, before seeing the room and before meeting the students, what this piece was going to be about.

But then, this weird thing happened: It wasn’t.

Inside Johal’s classroom, eighth-grade girls talked about how good “the tea” always was on Fridays, and eighth-grade boys smack-talked each other about “Fortnite.”

Some students had late work they needed to turn in before the end of the week, and others had three extra projects they were working on for whatever club, whatever competition, whatever elective. Some looked at me side-eyed, because who is this weird dude in the back, and others made a point of coming up and saying goodbye to me after a 30-minute class. They were kids, and, like kids everywhere, they were there to learn stuff and bug each other and be marked as “present” in the awareness of an adult who cares about them.

Again and again, I have found while visiting these classrooms that, certainly, our methods change, the quality of our colleagues and administrators change, that there are things that work and things we need that we only rarely get enough of, but I have also seen, again and again, that kids are kids are kids. They are beautiful and brilliant and really, incredibly weird. They want to be taught and respected and very rarely accept one of those things without the other.

Johal’s kids were not brilliant and or in spite of or because of some broader story about immigration. They were just kids. They were smart, awesome kids, and though I tried again and again while writing about them to shoe-horn them into this other narrative, it never worked because it was never right. I may have been thinking all day about immigration, but what I saw was what I came for in the first place: top-notch science teaching to kids who were excited about science.

Good Things Happen When Kids Trust the Teacher and the Room

Again and again, I have found that the work teachers do to make their room a place of deep learning, a place of mutual respect and real love for each other, is a tangible thing. Sitting in the back of Johal’s room, awkwardly perched on the back counter next to the fish tank because her first class of 36 kids needed every chair, I could see that this is a place where students felt comfortable, and felt comfortable being challenged.

Johal’s room, with twin doors opening to an outdoor hallway and a high, curved ceiling, is covered in equal parts student work, social justice-y science posters and pop-culture nerdom. Her students enter loudly, joyfully, but respond quickly to her “clap if you can hear me” attention-getter. Once the work starts, they are all about the science (and some tea).

One of her classes, the Science, Technology, Art, Research (STAR) elective she designed in order to bring in all the cool science stuff out there that isn’t in the standards, worked on presentations about marine biology. One student used only aquatic pictures from “Minecraft” in his. When I asked, students explained eagerly about over-fishing, about fish with weird spikey teeth. One table debated the authenticity of a group of pictures they found of exceedingly large goldfish.

I was there on a Friday with a weird schedule that meant Johal only saw her kids for 30-minute blocks. Some classes did pretty normal “fix-it-Friday” type stuff. They checked grades and made up late work or finished bigger things before the weekend hit. In other classes, they did  a “pocket solar system,” an activity that always made me think about the structure and enormity of the cosmos until I got very uncomfortable and had to look at dog videos for a while. As they wrestled with instructions that called for folding receipt paper into fractions of fractions, one student complained, playfully, “Ugh! Science is so unforgiving!”

Through the day, through the banality of grade-talk and the frustration of mixing markers and paper and measurements and written instructions, Johal’s presence remained the constant. She is the warm demander we all wish we were, pushing students to get their projects in because, “It would be lame if your elective class brought your GPA down.” And encouraging students to look over their presentations and reflect, “Raise your hand if you can make yours a little better,” before turning them in.

She flowed from challenging the student with straight A’s to push a little harder while chatting about their recent successes in other classes and after school competitions to discussing, without a hint of judgement, the many missing assignments of another student and helping them make a plan to get their work in. She reminds me of many of the best teachers I’ve worked with, teachers who manage to leave no doubt in their love of each one of their students while being just as clear that their failure is simply not an option.

What we do in class is, of course, important, but it often doesn’t matter if our what is super good if students aren’t set on the why they should do it. Sometimes they’ll do it for grades or fear of parents or because it seems kinda OK, I guess, for school. In Johal’s room, students dive into what they are doing, from taking notes and filling out worksheets to building little LEGO robots and labeling (and not even giggling at) Uranus, and they do it because they trust the room and the teacher and the class to give them things that are good.

Sometimes it is those unremarkable days, the days of shortened classes and make-up work, that show how well the work we’ve done all year has paid off. The lack of flashy lessons, the days that aren’t those days we talk and tweet about, show us a lot about who we are as teachers, how our students see us and how important it is that we see them as more than a story.

Photo courtesy of Tom Rademacher.

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

[ixvyupdates]

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere

When Alicia Johal texted me directions to her school, she added, “Oh, and make sure you and your driver are watching the exits. We’re just a few miles from the border.”

These are not the sort of directions I am used to in Minnesota.

Johal is a science teacher in San Diego, and the exits she noted are not just any typical border crossing. Johal’s school is just a few miles away from the San Ysidro Border Station. San Ysidro is the spot where the politically weaponized caravan of refugees currently waits, seeking asylum in the United States. It is the spot where some of these refugees were tear-gassed away from our walls.

My being here now is an accident. I’ve been working with Johal on arranging this visit since last summer. I’m here to watch some top-notch science teaching. Honestly, I had forgotten San Diego was so close to the border until I got there.

On the way in to school, my Lyft driver was telling me about how he worked for a financial company for awhile, and how about half the guys in his office, mostly American-born, lived in Mexico. Rent was like one-eighth as much for a much nicer place and there was a fast-pass system to make crossing easier in the morning. So, every morning, the driver explained, these guys would wake up in Mexico, drive into America and head back to Mexico again at night.

In a city where switching countries counts as a moderate commute to some, it was no surprise to find that many of Johal’s students are themselves immigrants, or children or grandchildren of immigrants.

Kids Are Kids, No Matter Where They’re From

As I entered the school, students were criss-crossing the sort of outdoor campus I thought only existed in movies. I was wandered, looking for the office, I scanned the grounds around me. I tried and failed to understand the concept of an outdoor cafeteria, tried to imagine what it would mean to live where a day hovering in the low 60s was considered the worst weather of the year.

I hadn’t even reached a classroom yet, and I knew this place was going to be different, unlike any school I’ve ever been in, ever visited. I knew it not just because the place was unlike any I had been in, because my head and heart were heavy with the news of what was happening a few miles from here, because I knew, before seeing the room and before meeting the students, what this piece was going to be about.

But then, this weird thing happened: It wasn’t.

Inside Johal’s classroom, eighth-grade girls talked about how good “the tea” always was on Fridays, and eighth-grade boys smack-talked each other about “Fortnite.”

Some students had late work they needed to turn in before the end of the week, and others had three extra projects they were working on for whatever club, whatever competition, whatever elective. Some looked at me side-eyed, because who is this weird dude in the back, and others made a point of coming up and saying goodbye to me after a 30-minute class. They were kids, and, like kids everywhere, they were there to learn stuff and bug each other and be marked as “present” in the awareness of an adult who cares about them.

Again and again, I have found while visiting these classrooms that, certainly, our methods change, the quality of our colleagues and administrators change, that there are things that work and things we need that we only rarely get enough of, but I have also seen, again and again, that kids are kids are kids. They are beautiful and brilliant and really, incredibly weird. They want to be taught and respected and very rarely accept one of those things without the other.

Johal’s kids were not brilliant and or in spite of or because of some broader story about immigration. They were just kids. They were smart, awesome kids, and though I tried again and again while writing about them to shoe-horn them into this other narrative, it never worked because it was never right. I may have been thinking all day about immigration, but what I saw was what I came for in the first place: top-notch science teaching to kids who were excited about science.

Good Things Happen When Kids Trust the Teacher and the Room

Again and again, I have found that the work teachers do to make their room a place of deep learning, a place of mutual respect and real love for each other, is a tangible thing. Sitting in the back of Johal’s room, awkwardly perched on the back counter next to the fish tank because her first class of 36 kids needed every chair, I could see that this is a place where students felt comfortable, and felt comfortable being challenged.

Johal’s room, with twin doors opening to an outdoor hallway and a high, curved ceiling, is covered in equal parts student work, social justice-y science posters and pop-culture nerdom. Her students enter loudly, joyfully, but respond quickly to her “clap if you can hear me” attention-getter. Once the work starts, they are all about the science (and some tea).

One of her classes, the Science, Technology, Art, Research (STAR) elective she designed in order to bring in all the cool science stuff out there that isn’t in the standards, worked on presentations about marine biology. One student used only aquatic pictures from “Minecraft” in his. When I asked, students explained eagerly about over-fishing, about fish with weird spikey teeth. One table debated the authenticity of a group of pictures they found of exceedingly large goldfish.

I was there on a Friday with a weird schedule that meant Johal only saw her kids for 30-minute blocks. Some classes did pretty normal “fix-it-Friday” type stuff. They checked grades and made up late work or finished bigger things before the weekend hit. In other classes, they did  a “pocket solar system,” an activity that always made me think about the structure and enormity of the cosmos until I got very uncomfortable and had to look at dog videos for a while. As they wrestled with instructions that called for folding receipt paper into fractions of fractions, one student complained, playfully, “Ugh! Science is so unforgiving!”

Through the day, through the banality of grade-talk and the frustration of mixing markers and paper and measurements and written instructions, Johal’s presence remained the constant. She is the warm demander we all wish we were, pushing students to get their projects in because, “It would be lame if your elective class brought your GPA down.” And encouraging students to look over their presentations and reflect, “Raise your hand if you can make yours a little better,” before turning them in.

She flowed from challenging the student with straight A’s to push a little harder while chatting about their recent successes in other classes and after school competitions to discussing, without a hint of judgement, the many missing assignments of another student and helping them make a plan to get their work in. She reminds me of many of the best teachers I’ve worked with, teachers who manage to leave no doubt in their love of each one of their students while being just as clear that their failure is simply not an option.

What we do in class is, of course, important, but it often doesn’t matter if our what is super good if students aren’t set on the why they should do it. Sometimes they’ll do it for grades or fear of parents or because it seems kinda OK, I guess, for school. In Johal’s room, students dive into what they are doing, from taking notes and filling out worksheets to building little LEGO robots and labeling (and not even giggling at) Uranus, and they do it because they trust the room and the teacher and the class to give them things that are good.

Sometimes it is those unremarkable days, the days of shortened classes and make-up work, that show how well the work we’ve done all year has paid off. The lack of flashy lessons, the days that aren’t those days we talk and tweet about, show us a lot about who we are as teachers, how our students see us and how important it is that we see them as more than a story.

Photo courtesy of Tom Rademacher.

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

[ixvyupdates]

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere

When Alicia Johal texted me directions to her school, she added, “Oh, and make sure you and your driver are watching the exits. We’re just a few miles from the border.”

These are not the sort of directions I am used to in Minnesota.

Johal is a science teacher in San Diego, and the exits she noted are not just any typical border crossing. Johal’s school is just a few miles away from the San Ysidro Border Station. San Ysidro is the spot where the politically weaponized caravan of refugees currently waits, seeking asylum in the United States. It is the spot where some of these refugees were tear-gassed away from our walls.

My being here now is an accident. I’ve been working with Johal on arranging this visit since last summer. I’m here to watch some top-notch science teaching. Honestly, I had forgotten San Diego was so close to the border until I got there.

On the way in to school, my Lyft driver was telling me about how he worked for a financial company for awhile, and how about half the guys in his office, mostly American-born, lived in Mexico. Rent was like one-eighth as much for a much nicer place and there was a fast-pass system to make crossing easier in the morning. So, every morning, the driver explained, these guys would wake up in Mexico, drive into America and head back to Mexico again at night.

In a city where switching countries counts as a moderate commute to some, it was no surprise to find that many of Johal’s students are themselves immigrants, or children or grandchildren of immigrants.

Kids Are Kids, No Matter Where They’re From

As I entered the school, students were criss-crossing the sort of outdoor campus I thought only existed in movies. I was wandered, looking for the office, I scanned the grounds around me. I tried and failed to understand the concept of an outdoor cafeteria, tried to imagine what it would mean to live where a day hovering in the low 60s was considered the worst weather of the year.

I hadn’t even reached a classroom yet, and I knew this place was going to be different, unlike any school I’ve ever been in, ever visited. I knew it not just because the place was unlike any I had been in, because my head and heart were heavy with the news of what was happening a few miles from here, because I knew, before seeing the room and before meeting the students, what this piece was going to be about.

But then, this weird thing happened: It wasn’t.

Inside Johal’s classroom, eighth-grade girls talked about how good “the tea” always was on Fridays, and eighth-grade boys smack-talked each other about “Fortnite.”

Some students had late work they needed to turn in before the end of the week, and others had three extra projects they were working on for whatever club, whatever competition, whatever elective. Some looked at me side-eyed, because who is this weird dude in the back, and others made a point of coming up and saying goodbye to me after a 30-minute class. They were kids, and, like kids everywhere, they were there to learn stuff and bug each other and be marked as “present” in the awareness of an adult who cares about them.

Again and again, I have found while visiting these classrooms that, certainly, our methods change, the quality of our colleagues and administrators change, that there are things that work and things we need that we only rarely get enough of, but I have also seen, again and again, that kids are kids are kids. They are beautiful and brilliant and really, incredibly weird. They want to be taught and respected and very rarely accept one of those things without the other.

Johal’s kids were not brilliant and or in spite of or because of some broader story about immigration. They were just kids. They were smart, awesome kids, and though I tried again and again while writing about them to shoe-horn them into this other narrative, it never worked because it was never right. I may have been thinking all day about immigration, but what I saw was what I came for in the first place: top-notch science teaching to kids who were excited about science.

Good Things Happen When Kids Trust the Teacher and the Room

Again and again, I have found that the work teachers do to make their room a place of deep learning, a place of mutual respect and real love for each other, is a tangible thing. Sitting in the back of Johal’s room, awkwardly perched on the back counter next to the fish tank because her first class of 36 kids needed every chair, I could see that this is a place where students felt comfortable, and felt comfortable being challenged.

Johal’s room, with twin doors opening to an outdoor hallway and a high, curved ceiling, is covered in equal parts student work, social justice-y science posters and pop-culture nerdom. Her students enter loudly, joyfully, but respond quickly to her “clap if you can hear me” attention-getter. Once the work starts, they are all about the science (and some tea).

One of her classes, the Science, Technology, Art, Research (STAR) elective she designed in order to bring in all the cool science stuff out there that isn’t in the standards, worked on presentations about marine biology. One student used only aquatic pictures from “Minecraft” in his. When I asked, students explained eagerly about over-fishing, about fish with weird spikey teeth. One table debated the authenticity of a group of pictures they found of exceedingly large goldfish.

I was there on a Friday with a weird schedule that meant Johal only saw her kids for 30-minute blocks. Some classes did pretty normal “fix-it-Friday” type stuff. They checked grades and made up late work or finished bigger things before the weekend hit. In other classes, they did  a “pocket solar system,” an activity that always made me think about the structure and enormity of the cosmos until I got very uncomfortable and had to look at dog videos for a while. As they wrestled with instructions that called for folding receipt paper into fractions of fractions, one student complained, playfully, “Ugh! Science is so unforgiving!”

Through the day, through the banality of grade-talk and the frustration of mixing markers and paper and measurements and written instructions, Johal’s presence remained the constant. She is the warm demander we all wish we were, pushing students to get their projects in because, “It would be lame if your elective class brought your GPA down.” And encouraging students to look over their presentations and reflect, “Raise your hand if you can make yours a little better,” before turning them in.

She flowed from challenging the student with straight A’s to push a little harder while chatting about their recent successes in other classes and after school competitions to discussing, without a hint of judgement, the many missing assignments of another student and helping them make a plan to get their work in. She reminds me of many of the best teachers I’ve worked with, teachers who manage to leave no doubt in their love of each one of their students while being just as clear that their failure is simply not an option.

What we do in class is, of course, important, but it often doesn’t matter if our what is super good if students aren’t set on the why they should do it. Sometimes they’ll do it for grades or fear of parents or because it seems kinda OK, I guess, for school. In Johal’s room, students dive into what they are doing, from taking notes and filling out worksheets to building little LEGO robots and labeling (and not even giggling at) Uranus, and they do it because they trust the room and the teacher and the class to give them things that are good.

Sometimes it is those unremarkable days, the days of shortened classes and make-up work, that show how well the work we’ve done all year has paid off. The lack of flashy lessons, the days that aren’t those days we talk and tweet about, show us a lot about who we are as teachers, how our students see us and how important it is that we see them as more than a story.

Photo courtesy of Tom Rademacher.

I Visited a School on the Border and, Get This, the Kids Are Like Kids Everywhere syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com