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nemesis-is-my-middle-name · 2 years

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Your anthro Ingo where he's all thin and pale and ghostly and he looks almost feral, is. SO. FUCKING. COOL. Dude, dude. He looks so fucked up, I love him, I love him so much. I love all of the rest of them too, trust me, but oh my god. Just, the contrast between him in Hisui and him before he fell is stellar. Fantastic even. And his EARS. His haunted eyes, his canon posture that has new connotations, the way you can see his spine through his coat. The cute aggression is real, I want to shake him around like a dog with a toy and then wrap him in a blanket and cuddle him close.

Wait, no, okay, I'm going a little bit crazy over this. I haven't drawn anything in like two years because of art block, but this. You have ignited a fire with this. So. That is a thing that is currently happening. I hope you don't mind? Who knows if I'll actually finish it, but I've made quite a lot of headway.

But anyway.

I mean, I don't how many more there'd be or if it's just Adaman and Mai in the clan right now that are reptiles, but I do think that historically they produce much, much more than the Pearl Clan, and I don't think Galaxy Team is too likely to have many either. Their populations are just so sparse you probably don't get most than a handful of any given type of animal.

Actually, I wonder if Adaman or Mai would be the one to approach Ingo about it first. Adaman if Irida decided that it was worth asking for help from the Diamond Clan if it meant her friend and warden was able to function better (which I figure she would, if she realized they might know something he could benefit from), or Mai if she just noticed at a warden's meeting that Ingo was struggling, put together why, and felt compelled to offer him some advice. Not sure if Mai would be the type to offer unsolicited help, but she seems like the responsible type and might be inclined to if only because he's a fellow warden.

Oh shit, you're absolutely right. Even though it probably isn't super safe for an arctic animal to visit the mirelands or coastlands during the summer, she and the others still could pass through safely as long as they weren't like vigorously exercising and kept hydrated, and at pretty much all times of the year they'd be okay in three of the five regions. Ingo can only go to like, two safely, and even then it's probably hard for him to go up towards Snowpeak for too long. Good thing it was Melli who got Moonview Arena and not him. Even if that doesn't really feel like a punishment to Ingo, I do think you're right that it'd hurt Irida. It'd probably help that he can still go to Jubilife once he starts wanting to, since at the very least he's able to go do something he has fun doing. I bet that'd actually mean a lot to her, to know that she hasn't basically shackled him to the highlands for his own safety (the irony being what she does in OoP lmao).

Very true, a lot of it could be! That's part of what makes it so fun to think about for me lol

>:3c tysm!! i'm really happy with how that art turned out too, it was actually the last ingo i drew after doing the other sketches (& a bunch of hare studies) and i was like "hmm. this isn't weird and concerning enough. let me make it worse" and there was a point in drawing one of the faces, i don't remember which which, but i like went. ohh yeah i love this man but there is some kind of primal monkey-brain instinct to get very far away before he sees me

MIND?? DO I MIND?? of COURSE not!! i love knowing ive inspired other people! ty!

and yeah, for sure out of all the groups in hisui they would probably have the most reptiles. whereas the galaxy team has the most diverse array of species, and the pearl clan has a bias towards fluffy mammals. the ginkgo guild is probably also a pretty random assortment. (maybe ginter's another goat, though?) so adaman might not necessarily agree that reptiles in general are unlucky, but when he hears about that particular pearl clan tradition there's probably still a "hah, yeah" moment anyway.

awwww the idea of irida approaching adaman to ask for help for ingo... especially if you assume that they're still on kind of shaky ground at that point. and she doesn't necessarily like him, but she's worried enough about ingo that she's just like "screw it" anyway and sets that aside for his sake. mai might care enough to offer her help, but the other question is, would ingo even listen? i feel like it'd require hearing it from someone he really cares about/trusts, like irida, for him to even notice/acknowledge that anything's wrong. before that he'd just be like "well that's good advice to keep in mind for the future or for anyone else i come across, fortunately i'm in perfect operating condition and don't need it. thank you though" and mai's just ... :/

YEAH... i do feel like in this au, irida and ingo are considerably closer than they are in ounce of prevention (not to say they AREN'T close in OoP, just that it's Very Complicated and in this au there seems to be less clan stuff getting between them.) i feel like there's probably also something in this au that means the clan in general is a lot warmer (ha) towards ingo... in my head i've been thinking that maybe lady sneasler was unevolved/young when he arrived and he happened to find and bring her back from having run off into the snow, which is a thing i think i've seen one or two other people do and i enjoy the social implications of lol. it also means that irida and others might be more inclined to see him, maybe not literally but metaphorically, as someone who was sent to help them during this troubled time, since he literally saved one of the noble lines from destruction before they'd even met him. which would just make the fact that hisui is so Objectively Bad for him hurt even worse!

yeah lol, it's like canon-a-bit-to-the-left right now which is really fun to play with? seeing what gets exposed to investigate if that makes sense. also reminding me that i WOULD like to write more cc stuff to do character/lore exploration... hmmm

#the nemesis speaks #the nemesis answers #anonymous #anthro legends arceus

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writer59january13 · 1 year

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The moral mortgage of mice and men

Yours truly quite astute, especially regarding cute little field mice, also known

as meadow voles,

which imprecation one doth emote,

when aforementioned animal burrows inside leaving pellet size poop in their wake suddenly presenting a pain in the glute.

Analogous to swiss cheese fecklessness riddled Homo sapien

writer, whom he himself cannot Provolone equality

for Mus musculus to live, exception viz one named Stuart Little

as equal among indomitable realm dominated by bipedal hominids

said species arrogated

since time immemorial self superior holier than thou tenet

and dictum governing hegemony across webbed wide world,

which supposed word of creator conveniently got interpreted to mean; "Be fertile and multiply; fill the earth and subdue every square inch courtesy

trappings of western civilizations, henceforth since the dawn of consciousness, when primates such as Sahelanthropus tchadensis,

Homo habilis, Homo erectus,

and Homo heidelbergensis evolved

to slowly but surely

wield dominion over the fish of the sea, the birds of the air, and all living things that move on the earth,” their subsequent descendents relegated every creature deemed inferior and thus (no pun intended) fair game across proverbial eminent domain, thus justified, ordained, usurped, et cetera courtesy manifest destiny, particularly mostly aborigines.

Against bullet proof credo, ethos,

and genuine holistic integrity

to respond to such an event

as Minnie's or Mickey's, no matter

an ohm my cat reluctance arises

to don and trumpet role as "killer"

tis with only the means and ways

to avoid health crisis that I hesitantly didst exterminate existence

of other critters decried as pestilential

so please no unsolicited

mouse a lean knee black barbs

against this august gent

tis a marvel to evince the behaviour

of rapaciousness, when nary a hint

extant within me - except,

at a crossroads arises

when vermin take residence

as per mentioned earlier as an unpaid inhabitant,

this one mortal married male loathes

to distribute deathly lethal instrument

innocuous morsels of D-CON

doth not make me feel jubilant

this chap doth newt believe

dangerous buggars ought

be be consigned with tender loving care but certainly less cruel fate versus getting lethally euthanized, eradicated and essentially

charged with heinous crime

such as murder committed by a litigant slapped unfairly suffer being poisoned

imposing forfeiture reprisal

tomb the tinker-bell tolls

visa vis a role in the realm

within flora and fauna not meant

for humans decreeing vermin

lack purposelessness,

and must be exterminated

to own rights qua life, liberty

and the pursuit of happiness quietly when staking out an alcove,

cupboard, or mauve wainscoting

reproduction of discriminated, hashtagged, and targeted mammals

would nonchalantly find safe haven

exiting man made confines if left

to their biological devices,

this millennial saga of mice and men

perhaps Noah occident,

and no matter what means

one approaches pursuant

to rid the house of mice,

these creatures reboot toxic tolerance

to incorporate schemes

quite innovative within floorboards,

deep chambers viz hitting

expansive domestic quadrant

this Brie zee, cream cheesy,

though temporarily dislodged per demise,

the recurrent adaptation reverberant

and stupefy supreme survival skill re:

by a modus operandi

with adaptive qualities salient

ta dum me little nimble,

opal and quizzical rodents lacking redolence tubby mammals,

though their existence

and devil's blue diet tribe curd dish rant

might be diametrically opposed to American ethics committee, who slant

the bald (also balled), bold,

and brazen cordon bleu appearance

analogous to a vagrant, unrepentant truant

sans more than one little

furry Muenster of scurrying critters

spur this heir force deputy

issues a poisoned search warrant.

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darkwingownsthenight · 6 years

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Gyro headcanons

Been meaning to post these for a while so here goes:

Sexuality: demisexual gay

Gender: male

A ship I have with said character: Fenton (eventually when he learns to love and respect him).

A broTP: Scrooge. I can see him as a mentor and friend for Gyro and he respects Scrooge greatly.

A noTP: any woman...he's just too gay guys...

Random other headcanons:

His mother is a short plump hen and his father is a tall slender stork, who delivers mammal babies for a living (haha, I can't help myself). He has three sisters.

He is on the autism spectrum. He's not fond of unsolicited touching, surprises, and loud noises. He also gets stomach ulcers from time to time.

He eats a lot of sandwiches with strange ingredients. (This is actually fairly canon anyway).

He had a train set as a child and still loves them.

The first thing he ever took apart was a Polaroid camera, he still keeps it around.

He is shy about his tail feathers and not having a rooster comb. Fenton likes to pull them out of his pants playfully some times to fluster him.

He can not swim well.

He nibbles as a sign of affection. Preening happens.

He has a vanity plate on his car that says "GDGTMAN"

Occasionally smokes weed for his nerves.

Doesn't like to be tickled.

Is very attached to Lil' Bulb (after the bugs are worked out).

He lives at the money bin in a storage closet.

Because of his traumas with his robots turning evil, he is very nervous around red lights of any kind. It's like a trigger.

#ducktales #gyro gearloose

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ommadusk · 6 years

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So, the @TSVoices (Transsexual Voices Matter) Twitter and Facebook came and went and is back again. There’s plenty I could say about the group’s initial statement. The claim to be diagnosed with ‘rare acute forms of gender dysphoria’ is just silly because whatever gender dysphoria is, the justification for treatment is that the condition supposedly is chronic, and anyway what we know about male transsexualism points again to this being a chronic condition. There’s a lot of whining about how the identity of ‘transsexual’ is being swept aside by ‘transgender’, which is a fair argument and one I’ve used myself, but as usual it’s what the statement manages NOT to say that gives the game away, and add to that the continual claim to ‘woman’ throughout the statement lets us all see exactly what this is:

It remains to be seen whether this group stand for anything different. They could have specifically identified and condemned the use of ‘TERF’ and the attack on female homosexuality; if they’re that concerned about respecting female culture, spaces and the lives of women, I’d look for an explicit distancing from the use of ‘lesbian’, ‘mother’ and ‘woman’. Unfortunately many of ‘the good trans’ still can’t bring themselves to this more evolved point.

Remember TSRainCrew? Tried to sell themselves as the ‘good trans’ and made similar arguments about cultural distinction. Yet in reality their spokespeople ended up being just as big dicks as the gendersists they criticised.

If they’re going to be different, they actually have to be different. Else this is just another attempt to claim a higher spot on the validity hierarchy.

– my comment earlier (16 August) on the resulting @TSVoices Mumsnet thread

Of course there are many other things their self-serving statement omitted, like how for example homosexual and gender non-conforming minors are being instrumentalised by transgender activists in order to validate their own claim to identity, but I digress. What is properly amazing is how quickly this group reverted to classic male transgender activist behaviour. NO SURPRISES THERE.

‘Choose your enemies’

‘Radfems verbal abuse of their allies too’

Unsolicited DMs

It’s pointless my analysing these further as, of course, we have all seen this sort of shit before: if they’re going to be different they actually have got to be different. And here they have shown so clearly how they really are no different at all, and the whole thing was an exercise in claiming validity: how can you credibly complain about your own erasure when you and other members of your group so freely steal women’s language, culture and lives? Idiots.

@AngryBird ‘identifies as a mother’

The problem here of course is that the people who are speaking for this group simply do not listen to what women have to say, instead they brush off their concerns with a casual mansplain and lap up the validation cookies thrown them by all the women out there who really do want a world where they and transsexuals can stand together to face a common problem, or even just be able to get on with their own lives and battles in their own way, without interference from the Manosphere.

Finally, despite our opposition to those transgender activists which have started this ‘rewriting definitions and rules’ campaign and ‘twitter sex wars’ we remain strong allies of both reasonable women and reasonable and genuinely suffering transsexuals. We all are humans.

— Transsexual Voices Matter (@tsvoices) August 16, 2018

Yes, transsexual voices matter, but again we are in the situation where these voices are elevated over and above the voices of women. No change there, then. In case I’m not making myself absolutely crystal clear, what I am saying to @TSVoices is, hear this: in the words of Pink Floyd ‘you’re just the same as all the rest’. And yes, that feeling of discomfort you are having right now is déjà vu.

So, where do we go from here? Well, I get to say exactly the same damn thing I have been saying for years:

Disavow any claim to ‘woman’ and ‘female’, including all subsets, ‘lesbian’, ‘mother’, ‘sister’ etc., these are never yours to take;

Clearly and unambiguously denounce male violence against women without exception or qualification or any other way you lot keep trying to wriggle your way out of it;

Affirm that human beings are sexually dimorphic mammals and that what you presently call ‘trans women’ are biologically male;

Be honest about gender, this means recognising autogynephilia as a primary cause of male transsexualism and that the entire concept of ‘living as a woman’ when applied to trans males is just sexism;

Use your activism to support the rights of transsexuals, but not at the expense of women, and not as is so clear in this case to claim a higher step on the validation hierarchy;

Don’t ever use threatening language to women, and while your’re working on that, learn to apologise for being a dick when you’ve been a dick;

Don’t try to undermine women’s voices by using the term ‘radfem’ as a synonym for extreme, just like you actually did;

Fight against today’s fashion of coding sex role nonconformity in children as these children being ‘born in the wrong body’, this is dishonest and incredibly cruel and should be right at the top of your agenda;

Recognise that your own interests are best served by repositioning the trans movement, not the women’s movement; and

Listen to women.

The End.

Transsexual Voices Matter So, the @TSVoices (Transsexual Voices Matter) Twitter and Facebook came and went and is back again. There's plenty I could say about the group's initial statement.

#stupidity

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evoldir · 3 years

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Fwd: Graduate position: UAalborg.ConservationBiology

Begin forwarded message: > From: [email protected] > Subject: Graduate position: UAalborg.ConservationBiology > Date: 20 March 2016 at 05:13:45 GMT > To: [email protected] > > > Call for unsolicited Enquiries and Applications to the > Doctoral School of Engineering and Science Aalborg University > (AAU) (Denmark) in the field of Conservation Biology. The > applicants is expected to work in the group of Professor Cino Pertoldi > (https://ift.tt/3nhtkVc), > starting in September, 2016 or January 2017. The successful candidates > are expected to conduct experimental works, use second-generation > sequencing methods, apply modeling approaches, design breeding > strategies with main focus on endangered mammals, reptiles, insects and > amphibian. After that the candidates have proposed a research project > and have discussed it with Prof. Cino Pertoldi (e-mail: [email protected]) > the students (in case that the project is judged relevant), are expected > to submit their project proposal to the Doctoral School which is an > independent unit organized under the Faculty of Engineering and Science, > which is ranked amongst the top 100 engineering and science faculties in > the world. The Doctoral School currently has more than 600 PhD students > enrolled. > > The following serves as a guideline in relation to the minimum > requirements for all PhD applicants: You must hold a relevant Danish > master degree or a master degree on a corresponding level (research > based education including a 180 ECTS bachelor education followed by a > 120 ECTS master education) > > All international master educations are checked in relation to their > academic level. > > Your master degree must be characterized by a general high level of > grades. This is particular relevant for your master thesisand courses > relevant to the area in which you are pursuing a PhD > > If you have been granted a scholarship from a governmental institution > such as the Chinese Scholarship Council or the like please contact the > Doctoral School. If you wish to finance your own PhD study the cost is > approx. DKK 156.000 dkr annually in > > tuition fee. You also need to finance your own living expenses. > > In addition to this, it is required that a residence permit is granted > prior to a foreigners entry into Denmark. A minimum of 50.000 DKK in > savings is among the requirements to obtain such a permit. > > For more information please consult the following website: > > https://ift.tt/2JECTrt > > for granting possibilities please go to the following link: > > https://ift.tt/3nbkg42 > n-fees-and-scholarships > > The conservation group of Prof. Cino Pertoldi focuses on empirical > conservation and evolutionary genetics of animals, but also includes > conceptual and theoretical studies in the interface between genetics, > ecology and evolution. The group merge current efforts in evolutionary > and ecological genetics, complementing molecular genetics and > macroecology in order to understand how genetic measures can indicate > causal processes. > > For further informations please contact: > > Professor Cino Pertoldi, e-mail: [email protected] > > Deadline: 1 May 2016 > > Please specify in the mail which are your main interest and attach a > short CV and if you are interested in a PhD fellowship grant or if you > wish to finance your own PhD study or you have an external grant which > can partially cover the tuition fee. Please consider the fact that new > PhD students can be enrolled in all phases of the facultyÂ´s three-year > PhD Programme. In connection with the enrolment, the PhD Board decides, > upon recommendation by the Head of Department, the supervisor, and the > PhD Board on the following issues: > > Call for unsolicited Enquiries and Applications to the Doctoral School > of Engineering and Science Aalborg University (AAU) (Denmark) in the > field of Conservation Biology. The applicants is expected to work in > the group of Professor Cino Pertoldi > (https://ift.tt/3zWQLpX > chgate.net/profile/Cino_Pertoldi), starting in September, 2016 or > January 2017. The successful candidates are expected to conduct > experimental works, use second-generation sequencing methods, apply > modeling approaches, design breeding strategies with special focus on > endangered mammals, reptiles, insects and amphibian. After that the > candidates have proposed a research project and have discussed it with > Prof. Cino Pertoldi (e-mail: [email protected]) the students are expected > to submit their project proposal to the Doctoral School which is an > independent unit organized under the Faculty of Engineering and > Science, which is ranked amongst the top 100 engineering and science > faculties in the world. The Doctoral School currently has more than 600 > PhD students enrolled. > > The following serves as a guideline in relation to the minimum > requirements for all PhD applicants: You must hold a relevant Danish > master degree or a master degree on a corresponding level (research > based education including a 180 ECTS bachelor education followed by a > 120 ECTS master education) > > All international master educations are checked in relation to their > academic level. > > Your master degree must be characterized by a general high level of > grades. This is particular relevant for your master thesisand courses > relevant to the area in which you are pursuing a PhD > > If you have been granted a scholarship from a governmental institution > such as the Chinese Scholarship Council or the like please contact the > Doctoral School. If you wish to finance your own PhD study the cost is > approx. DKK 156.000 dkr annually in > > tuition fee. You also need to finance your own living expenses. > > In addition to this, it is required that a residence permit is granted > prior to a foreigners entry into Denmark. A minimum of 50.000 DKK in > savings is among the requirements to obtain such a permit. > > For more information please consult the following website: > > https://ift.tt/2JECTrt > > for granting possibilities please go to the following link: > > https://ift.tt/3nbkg42 > n-fees-and-scholarships > > The conservation group of Cino Pertoldi focuses on empirical > conservation and evolutionary genetics of animals, but also includes > conceptual and theoretical studies in the interface between genetics, > ecology and evolution. The group merge current efforts in evolutionary > and ecological genetics, complementing molecular genetics and > macroecology in order to understand how genetic measures can indicate > causal processes. > > For further informations please contact: > > Professor Cino Pertoldi, e-mail: [email protected] > > Please specify in the mail which are your mail interest and attach a > short CV and if you are interested in a PhD fellowship grant or if you > wish to finance your own PhD study or you have an external grant. > > Please consider the fact that new PhD students can be enrolled in all > phases of the facultyÂ´s three-year PhD Programme. In connection with > the enrolment, the PhD Board decides, upon recommendation by the Head > of Department, the supervisor, and the PhD Board on the following > issues: > > 1) The studentÂ´s level of seniority (articles published, book > chapters, books, etcâ€¦) > > 2) Previously completed courses for which the student is eligible for > a credit transfer; > > 3) Previous knowledge dissemination activities for which the student is > eligible for at credit transfer; > > After the approval of the planned PhD project and the PhD studentÂ´s > qualifications, the PhD student will be enrolled in the facultyÂ´s PhD > Programme. > > Cino Pertoldi > via IFTTT

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crevicedwelling · 1 year

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Hello! I was wondering if it’d be alright to request an ID of a little fellow I found a day or two ago! Found in the central northwest of Ohio! In the area dragonflies are kinda popping up, while I don’t think it’s your layman’s dragonfly — it seems a bit small and I just thing it’s just a structural similarity — I don’t wanna be conclusive on it.

Have a good day!! And a picture of my dog as well :)

that’s a leptogastrine robber fly, a true fly and not an odonate dragonfly! iNat suggested Tipulogaster glabrata but I’m hesitant to ID to species from that photo

#ID ask #unsolicited mammal

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designmeblogss · 5 years

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Detecting a YouTube Desperado

In a world where Facebook, YouTube, and various new social media subside occurring mammal a common system for people in this area the globe to interact, comes a brand-added type of internet resident which you regarding the subject of your own may have control into in your sojourn within the net Acheter des abonnés youtube pas cher. Ladies as subsequent to ease as gents, presenting the YouTube desperado.

Just how make a make a benefit of of you spot a YouTube desperado? Right here are the tolerable satisfactory signs:

Uncommonly big volume of demands from a single person

Have you ever been barraged by requests for YouTube suches as competently as YouTube sights by some person or team? These are the kinds who will likely wear the length of resources and as well as approaches profitably to bring in YouTube customers in their networks. Sending out links of their channels to everyone in their manual site or people they complete not even know is conveniently the primary step in the ladder of disturbance. Talk more or less shoving something beside your throat.

However wait, there is even more.

Unsolicited promos in videos following climbing views

Attempt observing video clips once increasing attraction in YouTube. While all person else is talking not quite the YouTube help, the video scrape itself, or the musicians entailed, there are customers bound to profit going on of nowhere carrying their off-subject explanation which usually have their own video scratch links trailing subsequent to. It is a to your liking event if the remark section has a delightful mediation messages can be found in to ensure that their remarks will just be drowned in oblivion.

Nowadays, however, the desperadoes have a counter-assertiveness.

Using pretense make occurring preliminary YouTube subscribers, likes, or sights

Do not underestimate a desperado. Have you ever to the lead asked yourself why their worthless notes with have not one yet eleven customer thumbs up? That is due to the fact that it is just the whole easy to make phantom accounts in the internet nowadays. Phantom users remain in Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, and generally all more than. To ensnare their member-ridden comments from toppling the length of all-time low of the comments section, they utilize these phony accounts to once their clarification. As soon as a substantial variety of "green animate" is reached, the remark will every "float" for a specific times roughly the Leading Comments sector of the YouTube web page.

Those kinds of clarification are eye sores, however we have not seen all yet.

Paying to reach them all

This bank account is the embodiment of creature a YouTube desperado. They pay individuals to make those phony accounts. They make a get bond of of likes. They obtain views. Essentially, they pay, just to getting friendship of innocent relatives of your focus Acheter des abonnés youtube. A innocent contract of people can benefit carried away as soon as the bandwagon intensification of thinking. If they create a scenario that will definitely gain valid individuals to think that their video clips or networks are hot stuff, they may begin greed in actual likes and legitimate fans.

What should you complete bearing in mind you meet these people in the net scene? The best method to shut down focus hoarders is just to leaving them. If they linger (they normally get), you can just description them or flag them as spam.

The shackle in addition to these YouTube desperadoes however, is this - yes they wane, yet others rise to from their ashes and recognize their area. If that holds definite, abandonment tally.

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kkintle · 5 years

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The View from the Cheap Seats by Neil Gaiman; Quotes

Some years ago a writer not much older than I am now told me (not bitterly, but matter-of-factly) that it was a good thing that I, as a young writer, did not have to face the darkness that he faced every day, the knowledge that his best work was behind him. And another, in his eighties, told me that what kept him going every day was the knowledge that his best work was still out there, the great work that he would one day do. I aspire to the condition of the second of my friends.

I believe that it is difficult to kill an idea because ideas are invisible and contagious, and they move fast.

Prose fiction is something you build up from twenty-six letters and a handful of punctuation marks, and you, and you alone, using your imagination, create a world, and people it and look out through other eyes. You get to feel things, visit places and worlds you would never otherwise know. You learn that everyone else out there is a me, as well. You’re being someone else, and when you return to your own world, you’re going to be slightly changed.

And discontent is a good thing: people can modify and improve their worlds, leave them better, leave them different, if they’re discontented.

Fiction is the lie that tells the truth, after all.

I’m going to point out something so obvious that it tends to be forgotten. It’s this: that everything you can see, including the walls, was, at some point, imagined. Someone decided it might be easier to sit on a chair than on the ground and imagined the chair. Someone had to imagine a way that I could talk to you in London right now without us all getting rained on. This room and the things in it, and all the other things in this building, in this city, exist because, over and over and over, people imagined things. They daydreamed, they pondered, they made things that didn’t quite work, they described things that didn’t yet exist to people who laughed at them.

It was as if some people believed there was a divide between the books that you were permitted to enjoy and the books that were good for you, and I was expected to choose sides. We were all expected to choose sides. And I didn’t believe it, and I still don’t. I was, and still am, on the side of books you love.

the fundamental most comical tragedy of parenthood: that if you do your job properly, if you, as a parent, raise your children well, they won’t need you anymore. If you did it properly, they go away. And they have lives and they have families and they have futures.

We who make stories know that we tell lies for a living. But they are good lies that say true things, and we owe it to our readers to build them as best we can. Because somewhere out there is someone who needs that story. Someone who will grow up with a different landscape, who without that story will be a different person. And who with that story may have hope, or wisdom, or kindness, or comfort. And that is why we write.

“Nothing much has changed, except everything.”

Listen: to be eccentric, you must first know your circle.” And I—for once—heard, and listened, and understood. You can fuck around with the rules as much as you want to—after you know what the rules are. You can be Picasso after you know how to paint. Do it your way, but know how to do it their way first.

“There are three phrases that make possible the world of writing about the world of not-yet . . . and they are simple phrases. “What if . . . ? “If only . . . “If this goes on . . .”

(As a final note, in these days when we worry and we argue about whether ebooks are real books, I love how broad Ray Bradbury’s definition of a book is at the end, when he points out that we should not judge our books by their covers, and that some books exist between covers that are perfectly people-shaped.)

Well, it’s also the prerogative of the elderly and the retired to share their knowledge, to drive from the backseat, and to offer unsolicited advice. “And,” as a poet put it, “being good for nothing else, be wise.”

I learned early on that most of the people at the top of their professions—and I’m not talking about comics here, I’m talking about everything—were the nicest people, easy to deal with, and with little side to them. And I also learned that the people who were most insistent on having VIP status, on making a loud noise about everything—the kind of people who would actually say things like “Do you know who I am?”—were the second-division talents, the ones who hadn’t made it, the ones who never would. It took me longer to learn that you can say no. And it’s an easy thing to say. It helps define your boundaries.

Play to your own strengths if you’re an artist—but don’t relax into shtick or into the dozen things that you do.

Don’t stop learning. It’s too easy to achieve a level of competence in your field, whatever it is, and to stop there.

Don’t worry about trying to develop a style. Style is what you can’t help doing. If you write enough, or draw enough, you’ll have a style, whether you want it or not. Don’t worry about whether you’re “commercial.” Tell your own stories, draw your own pictures. Let other people follow you.

If you believe in it, do it. If there’s a comic or a project you’ve always wanted to do, go out there and give it a try. If you fail, you’ll have given it a shot. If you succeed, then you succeeded with what you wanted to do. And last of all, know when to leave the stage. I thank you.

There is room for things to mean more than they literally mean.

The Eisner Awards, like all awards, are flawed. But they reflect something very important, which is a striving toward excellence.

If you feel that great work by other people is going unrecognized and unrewarded, then make a noise about it. Tell everyone you know. Word of mouth is still one of the best sales tools there is.

Another piece of advice: I’ve learned over the years that everything is more or less the same amount of work, so you may as well set your sights high and try and do something really cool. There are other people around who can do the mediocre, meat-and-potatoes work that anybody can do. So let them do that. You make the art that only you can make. You tell the stories only you can tell. As a solution to various problems you may encounter upon the way, let me suggest this: Make Good Art.

Be proud of your mistakes. Well, proud may not be exactly the right word, but respect them, treasure them, be kind to them, learn from them. And, more than that, and more important than that, make them. Make mistakes. Make great mistakes, make wonderful mistakes, make glorious mistakes. Better to make a hundred mistakes than to stare at a blank piece of paper too scared to do anything wrong, too scared to do anything. Critics will grumble. Of course they will. That’s one of the functions of critics. As an artist it’s your job to give them ulcers, and perhaps even something to get apoplectic about.

it would be a poor sort of world if one were only able to read authors who expressed points of view that one agreed with entirely. It would be a bland sort of world if we could not spend time with people who thought differently, and who saw the world from a different place.

I suspected, that music-as-object (CD, vinyl, cassette tape) was going to lose value, and that other things—mostly things that could not be reproduced, things like live shows and personal contact—would increase in value.

Mammals, he said, and I paraphrase here and do not put it as well as Cory did, invest a great deal of time and energy in their young, in the pregnancy, in raising them. Dandelions just let their seeds go to the wind, and do not mourn the seeds that do not make it. Until recently, creating intellectual content for payment has been a mammalian idea. Now it’s time for creators to accept that we are becoming dandelions.

The more you know, the harder it is to appreciate the things that once gave you joy. But sometimes it’s nothing like that at all. Sometimes you return to a book and find that it’s better than you remembered, better than you had hoped: all the things that you had loved were still there, but you find that it’s even more packed with things that you appreciate. It’s deeper, cleaner, wiser. The book got better because you know more, have experienced more, encountered more. And when you meet one of those books, it’s a cause, as they used to say on the back of the book jackets, for celebration.

so the explanations one gets are always partial and unsatisfactory, the stories, as with the stories of our lives, are unexplained and incomplete.

Is it better to actively seek happiness or to avoid unhappiness?

Having a place the story starts and a place it’s going: that’s important. Telling your story, as honestly as you can, and leaving out the things you don’t need, that’s vital. The Moth connects us, as humans. Because we all have stories. Or perhaps, because we are, as humans, already an assemblage of stories. And the gulf that exists between us as people is that when we look at each other we might see faces, skin color, gender, race, or attitudes, but we don’t see, we can’t see, the stories. And once we hear each other’s stories we realize that the things we see as dividing us are, all too often, illusions, falsehoods: that the walls between us are in truth no thicker than scenery. The Moth teaches us not to judge by appearances. It teaches us to listen. It reminds us to empathize.

“I think that night may have lasted a thousand years, one for every ocean.”

Sometimes some songs take years to get right. You do it and you just know it’s not right and you can’t get it right so you leave it. I think you can only do your best with it and sometimes your best isn’t good enough. At which point you have to give it a rest. Because then you start doing really strange things to it. And when it starts going that far astray it’s time to go away from it.

They say that sex and death are all we’ve got to write about . . . Those are the basic themes. There’s a reason they’re there, but I think every generation has to have them reinterpreted for them.

They are aware of the audience. They respond to applause. But they are not on that stage for us.

But whether it be or be not so You can afford to let this go For nought as nothing it explains And nothing from nothing nothing gains.

First of all: when you start out on a career in the arts you have no idea what you are doing. This is great. People who know what they are doing know the rules, and know what is possible and impossible. You do not. And you should not. The rules on what is possible and impossible in the arts were made by people who had not tested the bounds of the possible by going beyond them. And you can. If you don’t know it’s impossible it’s easier to do. And because nobody’s done it before, they haven’t made up rules to stop anyone doing that again, yet. Secondly, if you have an idea of what you want to make, what you were put here to do, then just go and do that. And that’s much harder than it sounds and, sometimes in the end, so much easier than you might imagine. Because normally, there are things you have to do before you can get to the place you want to be.

I tended to do anything as long as it felt like an adventure, and to stop when it felt like work, which meant that life did not feel like work.

and I decided that I would do my best in future not to write books just for the money. If you didn’t get the money, then you didn’t have anything. If I did work I was proud of, and I didn’t get the money, at least I’d have the work.

To all today’s graduates: I wish you luck. Luck is useful. Often you will discover that the harder you work, and the more wisely you work, the luckier you get. But there is luck, and it helps.

So be wise, because the world needs more wisdom, and if you cannot be wise, pretend to be someone who is wise, and then just behave like they would.

The joy and power of portraiture is that it freezes us in time. Before the portrait, we were younger. After it has been created we will age or we will rot.

Do not give either of us gifts: give us the tale that accompanies the gift. That is what makes the gift worth having.

The joys of the gifts are in the stories.

Life has a sense of humor, but then again, so does death.

I’m thinking about all those signs we put on our walls when we were teenagers and knew that we would live forever, in order to show how tough and cynical and worldly-wise we were: NOBODY GETS OUT OF HERE ALIVE was one of them. THE PERSON WHO DIES WITH THE MOST TOYS WINS was another. There was one of two vultures sitting on a branch that said PATIENCE MY ASS, I’M GONNA KILL SOMETHING. And it’s easy to be cynical about death when you’re young. When you are young, death is an anomaly. It’s not real. It only affects other people. It’s a bullet you’ll dodge easily. It’s why young people can go into battle: they really will live forever. They know. As you stick around, as you go around the Earth, you realize that life is an ever-narrowing conveyor belt. Slowly, inexorably, it takes us all along with it, and one by one we tumble off the sides of the conveyor belt into darkness.

Though one may conquer a million men in battle, yet the noblest of victors is he who conquers himself. Self-conquest is far better than the conquest of others. Not even a god, an angel, Mara or Brahma could turn that triumph back into defeat.

We win some, but we lose many. We lose a lot. We lose our friends and we lose our family. In the end we lose everything. No matter who’s with us, we always die alone. When you fight your battles, whatever battles you fight, it’s always going to be about life.

There are things you can never unsay, that you cannot say and still remain friends, and that would have been one of them.

#the view from the cheap seats #neil gaiman #non-fiction #quotes #books

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callmemoprah · 5 years

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Get the Scoop on Plos Biology Before You’re Too Late

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Source: http://mobimatic.io/2019/04/18/get-the-scoop-on-plos-biology-before-youre-too-late/

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bigmouthbadsleeper · 6 years

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Are You There Pizza? It's Me, Gabi.

When I was twelve, my favorite album was Alanis Morissette’s “Jagged Little Pill”. There’s a song on it that I love called “Mary Jane”, and it remains my calling card to this day. The lyrics cut me real deep, in particular the part that goes, “I hear you’re losing weight again, Mary Jane. Do you ever wonder who you’re losing it for?” One time on a car ride I told my mom that I felt like I was Mary Jane, and when she asked what I meant by that, I told her about that line and she started to cry. I didn’t understand why back then, but now I think it was probably because she knew what it was like to be a woman. It probably hurt her that even at twelve I felt the pressures of a society that placed so much emphasis on looks rather than on being a person of substance.

I’m trying to remember the first time I became aware of my body, and I think it was in sixth grade. A boy in my class called me a whale. He didn’t mean it as a compliment, like “Hey, whales have excellent hearing, and have a very intriguing way of communicating. You are very much like a whale.” It was in a mean way, said with disgust. “Look at her, she’s a whale!” I guess he meant it in more of a “Whales are very large mammals so it’s no surprise that they consume large amounts of food” way. I don’t remember why my body was a topic that was up for discussion at that time, I only remember the sharp sting that came along with that word. It was as if I had been slapped across the face. I was stunned into silence, which was odd for a kid who was pretty much widely known for being a big mouth (apparently avid communication is another thing I have in common with whales). I just sat there staring at him, with a burning urge to punch him in the face. I knew I couldn’t do that, and not in a Martin Luther King Jr., “violence is never the answer”, kind of way. More like an “I would never be strong enough to overpower a boy” kind of way.

(When the twerp in your class calls you a whale in a mean way even though they are majestic creatures and also no one should ever comment on your body because it’s nobody’s business!)

I don’t know when society decided that fat means ugly, but it has been the story that has been told to me all of my life. That I WOULD be beautiful, if only I wasn’t so fat. The first time a guy said some variation of that sentence to me, I was 14. I’ve heard it so many times over the course of my life, I can’t even count them all. Although I am confident about certain talents that I have, I have never ever been confident about my body. I don’t know a life where I haven’t been aware, at all times, that I am overweight and therefore less desirable, less capable, and less beautiful than everyone else in the room.

I wasn’t a fat kid, but I was a chubby teenager who grew into a fat adult. If these terms make you feel sad or uncomfortable, I feel you. They make me feel sad and uncomfortable, too. I didn’t ask for these to be the words that described my body or my looks, but they were the words that were thrust upon me by those around me, and by society at large through movies, television, and magazines. The majority of people who made comments about my body were boys, but some of the more cruel girls would make remarks too. Sometimes they were meaner than “fat” and “chubby”, and sometimes they were more subtle, like, “Are you really going to eat that?” or “I thought you were on a diet?” As far back as my memory takes me, my weight has always been an issue, and it’s been an issue that, for some reason, other people feel the need to comment on. It’s exhausting for me to think about my weight; to think about every piece of food that I put in my mouth, and to plan out every bit of physical exercise I do. In many ways it is a miserable life to constantly feel like who you are is wrong, lazy, bad, ugly, etc. As exhausting as it is to calorie count and restrict myself, the bigger pain associated with my body comes from the unsolicited comments I receive from other people about it.

Despite my weight, I’ve always been an active human. For many years of my life I got up at 5:00 in the morning to walk around the block before work. When I got a job that started earlier in the morning, I joined a gym and started exercising later at night. I’m a Just Dance champion. I use five pound weights with my workout DVDs. I do yoga. At one point in my life I could hold a plank pose for three minutes straight, which I think basically means I’m Wonder Woman? Being overweight means most people assume you’re lazy and you do nothing but eat all the time. To those people I say GOOD DAY SIR. Most people are surprised to find out that I don’t binge, snack, or overeat, and that I exercise regularly. While exercise is a big part of being mentally and physically healthy, it doesn’t make you skinny. Obviously.

My body isn’t like other bodies. Because of my medical condition, I have a very hard time losing weight. I’ve tried many diets in my lifetime, some more weird than others. I once did I diet in high school where I ate a grapefruit and bacon for breakfast every morning. That lasted all of five days. I’ve tried the Atkins diet. Body For Life. Weight Watchers. I’ve choked down more gross food than I can count. I saw the best results when I counted calories. For a straight year I exercised every day, and restricted myself to a daily intake of 1,250 calories. I lost twelve pounds, and four of them were lost in the first month. Those kinds of results are depressing to say the least. I got the feeling that I was trying so hard to get my body to be something that it wasn’t. Losing weight seemed impossible for me, so why was I trying so hard to look like someone I wasn’t?

(at least she got to eat cheese, right ladies?)

A couple months ago, I decided to try the Whole 30 program. I first heard about it a few years ago, through the #whole30 Instagram hashtag, and when I looked into it initially, I thought anyone who did it must be crazy. As someone who loves food, I couldn’t imagine being that restrictive on what I ate for an entire month. No bread, no grains, no dairy, no sugars, not even honey. I am not one of those people who eats for fuel. In fact, I am a person who rolls my eyes at people who say they eat for fuel. I eat because I love food. Food is my friend. Food helps me cope with difficult things, it helps me feel better when I am sad. Pizza would never let me down. Cheeseburger always makes me feel happy. I couldn’t imagine going a whole month without my friends. What was I supposed to do when I had a bad or hard day? You mean to tell me that I can’t talk to Burrito about it?? I have to just deal with it on my own?? What kind of sorcery is that?? It wasn’t something I ever even considered possible for myself, which is primarily why I decided to do it. I didn’t like that there was something out there that I thought was impossible to do. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do something that was very difficult for me. If I lost weight on the diet, I would count that as a bonus, but what I really wanted to do was challenge myself, and hopefully change my relationship with food and my body.

I’ll be real honest with you, this diet was rough for me. I really struggled. On the first day, I got a migraine and barfed three times. As I sat on the bathroom floor, sobbing and gripping the toilet seat, I started to doubt myself. I wondered if this was maybe not the best idea for me. I was doing the diet with my husband and a couple members of my family, and they all assured me that it was okay if I needed to quit, and I did seriously consider it. I laid on the couch with my head throbbing and tears in my eyes and looked over at the white board that was in my kitchen. My husband and I had written so many encouraging things on it the night before, along with meal ideas and grocery lists. Emblazoned in the middle of the board in bright orange ink were the words “DAY 1”. I stared at that board for a long time, imagining what it would look like when it said “DAY 10”, or “DAY 15”. I thought about how amazing I would feel when I would finally be able to write “DAY 30”, and I wanted so badly to feel amazing about myself. I wanted a win. With the image of myself writing that on the board secure in my mind, I decided that I wasn’t going to let one bad day keep me from finishing what I had started. I was going to keep going, and I was going to finish.

(every day we would write something on our white board that encompassed how we were feeling that day-most of them had swears- I wish I could share them all with you, because they were top comedy.)

Spoiler alert: that wasn’t the last hard thing I went through. The first ten days were miserable. I choked down every broccoli floret, every dry piece of chicken. I lived for the few “treats” that I allowed myself; dried apricots, Utah peaches, and a glass of fresh squeezed orange juice. I savored those things and they tasted as good to me as any scoop of ice cream. Three days into the diet, I dreamed that I drove to Little Caesar’s and got a Hot n Ready pepperoni pizza, without my husband knowing. I took one bite out of it then began to sob because I cheated and ruined my diet. I tossed the rest of the pizza into a dumpster and woke up in a cold sweat. The dreams I had on this diet were truly wild, man. I dreamed about chicken strips, I dreamed about ice cream. I dreamed about taking a bath in ranch dressing. I spent many waking hours being disappointed with the weakness of Dream Gabi. She’s a maniac, I tell you.

I read a lot about this diet and most everyone commented on how hard the cravings would hit you, and they weren’t kidding. On day ten I went to the grocery store to get a couple things I needed for dinner, and I became a salivating savage in the bakery section. I walked around like the velociraptor in that scene from Jurassic Park. You know the one, where the steam from the raptor’s nostrils fogs up the window? Yeah, that me. I went to the little containers where they sell fresh baked bread and lifted the lid and took a giant hit of fresh Kaiser roll. My eyes rolled into the back of my head. I sadly slunk past cheese island without taking any samples. I was a hero, I tell you! Strong and noble. Joan of Arc and her flames have nothing on me and my resistance to carbs and dairy! Feel free to write about me for future school papers on strong women.

During the first part of the month, I cared more about food than I ever had in my life, mainly because I couldn’t eat any of the things I wanted. Going to the movies was a particularly sad affair. Two weeks into the diet we snuck fresh pressed juice into the theater in my backpack. I was disappointed in myself for spending $13 on two small orange juices, but desperate times call for desperate measures! Movie popcorn is my number one all-time favorite treat. Not being able to have it was bad enough, but smelling it and listening to everyone around me smack it around in their mouths during the movie was torture. Over the course of that month my husband and I had many “nothing” fights, purely because we were hangry. In a particularly low moment, during an argument where I was unnecessarily irritated because I was so hungry, I started crying like a toddler and then maniacally laughing. It was a wild ride, my friends.

(sadly, pizza and I could only be internet friends during this time period. which basically meant I googled pictures of pizza all the time and cried.)

People online talk a lot about the “Tiger’s Blood” phase of the diet, which sadly I never achieved. I never felt anything even remotely like a tiger! I was generally less energized, more tired, and my skin was as bad as ever (I knew my acne was all hormonal but that didn’t stop me from hoping that it would clear up when I cut out dairy completely). Most of the time I continued on with the diet only because I didn’t want to be a quitter, and I really didn’t want to let myself down. Because I’m such a fan of social media, I really wanted to be able to post about my experiences online. I decided against sharing anything related to the diet until after I finished it, because I didn’t want to have to tell all of my friends that I failed. Except for the vent sessions I had with my husband or my mom, I kept everything I was feeling to myself. Sometimes I don’t know what I’m most surprised by, the fact that I went 30 days without pizza, or the fact that I did it without talking about it online. Both were difficult in their own way.

(here’s a pic of how our board looked when we were a little over halfway through and we really got our crap together.meal planning and cooking was really the worst part of all of this, tbh.)

Reading all this probably makes you wonder if there was a single positive thing I felt while dieting. The answer is yes! I did have some good feelings! Most importantly, I really never felt so proud of myself. I was so thrilled to write “DAY 30” on my white board. I still haven’t erased it, it’s just so dang satisfying to see it up there. I feel accomplished. This is the furthest I’ve ever gone with an extreme diet. About ten days in, my belly started feeling smaller, and continued to get smaller throughout the month. That was a huge deal for me! My husband and I took measurements and weighed ourselves the night before we started, and the morning after we ended. I lost 21 pound and five inches off my waist. That’s almost double what I lost in a whole year of calorie counting. I do love that during this diet I didn’t have to count or measure anything out. Sometimes I feel like I spend my life counting, and that gets old after a few years.

I’ve been done with the diet for a few weeks now, and sometimes I still can’t believe it’s real. I can’t believe I really went a month without pizza, soda, ice cream, chicken strips, etc. The people who work at the Soda Shop probably think my husband and I are dead! Though we are finished with the initial 30 days, we have decided to continue with the Whole 30 program during the week, and eat in moderation on the weekends. I’m hoping to continue to lose weight while still allowing myself to eat for enjoyment every once in a while. I’ve found a new appreciation for my body in these past 30 days. I think it’s kind of amazing, all the things it can do for me. Although I have changed the way I see food, and I now make better decisions on what I eat, I still love food a lot. That hasn’t changed much. There’s a quote from a famous supermodel that goes, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels” and that makes me sad because she’s obviously never had the sourdough pizza that we make in our backyard, and I feel bad for her.

I think back to who I was at twelve, the girl with the flushed face and balled up fists in her sixth grade classroom, irate over the boldness of a strange boy who felt like her body was available for his commentary. I love that girl. I don’t think she is fat or ugly. I think she is brave, and smart, and kind, and it makes me sad that she ever felt like anything less than that. Why do those feelings only apply to past versions of myself? Why is it so hard to feel that way about myself now? I think maybe what I’m most proud of myself for is the fact that I did this for myself. I could have quit, but I didn’t I kept going because I wanted to prove to myself that I could. I hear you’re losing weight again, Gabrielle, do you ever wonder who you’re losing it for? This time I was losing weight for myself, and that really does feel better than any pizza tastes.

Well. Almost.

#whole30 #diet #self love

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the2travel · 7 years

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* World Travel Tips : Here's What Actually Happens During A Night At The Natural History Museum

Travel Tips -

“Just don’t worship anything.”

Such was the unsolicited advice I received from a grinning night guard at the American Museum of Natural History last Friday night. I was standing in the Hall of Northwest Coast Indians hours past the institution’s normal 5:45 p.m. closing time, gazing up at a Kwakwaka’wakw mask squeezed between a sprawling display of totem poles. The lights were dim and I didn’t see him coming.

“No, for real,” the guard added as he trotted back into the darkness, leaving me once again unmonitored in one of New York City’s most cavernous attractions.

His counsel was questionable, for sure, but not off-brand. That night, I was one of approximately 200 adults who voluntarily crammed themselves onto very small and uncomfortable cots beneath the museum’s suspended Giant Blue Whale. VIP lanyards around our necks, we were making nerdy tweenage dreams come true by spending an actual night at the museum.

The AMNH has been sporadically hosting sleepovers since 2006, the year the first Ben Stiller-fronted film “Night at the Museum” debuted, introducing audiences to sophisticated characters like Rexy the animated T. Rex skeleton and a series of otherwise lifeless artifacts that rouse after dark. Unsurprisingly, the sleepovers are more often targeted toward children, but every once in a while, there’s an adult version that, according to Michael Walker, manager of media relations at the museum, almost always sells out.

The cinematic schtick was one even the security guards agreed to act out that night, to the utter delight of the grown-ups who paid a whopping $350 per ticket to be there. (Disclosure: I had a comped press ticket to cover the event.) Just to get the FAQ out of the way: Did we have free reign of the museum? Yes. (The public halls, at least.) Was there alcohol at the sleepover? Yes. Did we physically sleep? Yes. Did anything move as if empowered by an ancient Egyptian tablet? No.

To best illuminate what happens during one of these adult sleepovers, here’s a rough retelling of my itinerary. Behold, a night at the American Museum of Natural History:

7 p.m.

I checked into the sleepover a bit late (doors opened at 6:30 p.m.) due to dramatically massive amounts of rain deterring subway travel. After heading in through the Theodore Roosevelt Memorial entrance in the back of the museum like I owned the place, I was greeted by Walker, who walked me to the check-in table to retrieve my itinerary, maps and the very official lanyard badge I’d wear all night.

After making sure I was aware of the T-shirts and activity books that came free with a ticket, Walker escorted me to the impressive Milstein Hall of Ocean Life, where the Giant Blue Whale hovered above hundreds of very closely positioned cots. He suggested I pick out a sleeping spot sooner rather than later. Since the cots on the edges were all taken by then, I settled for one sandwiched in the back, slowly acknowledging the fact that I would literally be sleeping next to strangers, hospital ward-style.

Really, at this point, I was just amazed by how industrious people were, with their inflatable pillows, certified sleeping bags and slippers. I asked Walker if any of these incredibly prepared individuals were returning slumber party guests, but he was unsure.

7:15 p.m.

With over a half hour until dinner, I headed straight for the well-stocked champagne station on the Milstein balcony. Access to most of the museum’s first, second, third and fourth galleries began the moment we got our hands on our badges. In fact, those who wanted to stray from the makeshift bar already could request a plastic cup to take their booze to go. By the whale, a few musicians called the 12th Night Trio played a selection of jazz covers of Britney Spears and Red Hot Chili Peppers. The evening became gradually more surreal as time wore on.

7:30 p.m.

Orientation was relatively painless. Brad Harris, the museum’s senior director of visitor services, went over the itinerary and a basic set of rules. (No outside food, no smoking, lights out at 2 a.m.) When I asked Harris if there were any off-menu attractions he’d suggest I check out, he preferred to stick to the schedule ― the 122-foot Titanosaur was a must-see. I’d need a flashlight, Walker added. I felt like I was at camp and I did not hate it.

8:15 p.m.

After spending some quality time in the Hall of North American Mammals (where champagne-tipsy people were already snapping selfies with bears, mountain goats, big cats, etc.), Walker summoned me for dinner. We ventured to the second floor and stood in line for a pretty substantial buffet: chicken and fish, rice, asparagus, salad, rolls, mini puff pastries, after-dinner coffee. There was a final bar with to-go cups, of which many, many people took advantage. Some fraternizing occurred, and I learned this was the first adult sleepover for most. People were pretty eager to start exploring. Some actually ran out of the dining area once they’d indulged in their last opportunity for booze.

Note: If you are wondering, at this point, whether or not people were consuming mind-altering substances beyond alcohol, my best professional guess would be: Yes, definitely.

9 p.m.

I bid Walker goodnight and my self-made tour began. I opted to first visit the Hall of Northwest Coast Indians, where I was mostly alone save for that secret security guard, until the 9:15 showing of “Humpback Whales” in 3D at the Lefrak Omnimax Theater. Then I watched 40 minutes worth of Ewan McGregor-narrated whale hagiography. The sheer gravity of this night at the museum was starting to be felt.

9:45 p.m.

Here’s when the bulk of my exploration began. I rounded out the first floor: Hall of Human Origins, Hall of Meteorites, Hall of Gems and Minerals. Guided by the sweet sounds of climate change advocacy playing on a few gallery screens, I went on to spend about half an hour staring at rocks while simultaneously contemplating the horrors of overpopulation. Nearly everyone I passed rightly made a whispery joke about jewelry heists.

If I’ve yet to fully illustrate this, most of the museum’s lights were dimmed to pleasantly shady levels throughout the night, so I did indeed use my cellphone’s flashlight to navigate. Next: T. Rex, Stegosaurus, Triceratops, the massive Titanosaur on special exhibition. Were rogue grown-ups trying to touch the massive bones? Yes. Were there guards around to police the shenanigans? Yes, but they were surprisingly kind and lenient.

Onto the mummies. To locate the fourth floor gallery that housed them, one needed only listen for the hushed sounds of a diverse 21-and-older crowd having the collective time of their life. If anything was going to rise from their sarcophagi, 20th Century Fox-style, they were going to do it there. Spoiler alert: They didn’t. At around this point, I noticed two standout sleepover attendees ― an emotional support dog who had more than a few accidents throughout the night and a 20-something in Superman pajamas with a full cape.

11:20 p.m.

Knowing that there was a live animal demonstration at 11:30 p.m. that no adult in their right mind would miss, I took the opportunity to stop by the so-called Lunar Lounge where we were advised to go if we were in need of snacks, beverages, outlets for charging our phones, or just a place to chat. It was pretty packed. The cookies and hot chocolate were OK.

I also stopped by my cot, where people were already napping. (A visibly drunk woman was sprawled partially on my blanket, and when I went to snatch it from her, she resisted.) I soon learned that snorers were being corralled in separate areas away from the primary smattering of beds. Pro tip: Claim your disease and you’ll get an isolated spot on the Milstein balcony. Worth the shame, people.

11:30 p.m.

Up until this point, everyone had been behaving, for the most part. Faced with the prospect of live animals, though, the adults began to unravel. After a staffer took too long introducing the live animal show in Kaufmann Theater, a man in the audience began speaking over him, claiming that the staffer was hindering his ability to get to the proceeding space show. “Give me live animals or give me death,” was the general sentiment. After the agonizing revolt, an older gentleman finally took the stage with a parade of small creatures ― an owl, an eagle, an alligator.

Highlight: When he noted that the frantically flapping eagle had imprinted on him, which explained the loving sounds heard emanating from the bird’s box anytime our guide spoke aloud for the rest of the demonstration. He also scared us into believing that New Jerseyans are really irresponsible when it comes to gator-as-pet ownership. Quit it, New Jersey.

12:15 a.m.

I need only say a few things about the “Dark Universe” space show that took place in the Rose Center for Earth and Space ― the pièce de résistance of the night, if you will. When the gorgeous expanse of our known universe took over the rounded screen, and Neil deGrasse Tyson’s bellowing voice filled the Hayden Planetarium, alerting the audience to recent advancements in space exploration, there were audible gasps. Someone actually ran out of the theater, but I think her reasoning had more to do with alcohol than being overwhelmed by the sublime.

1 a.m.

The excitement levels were dwindling. Many of the special exhibitions had closed at this point, so I lingered in some nearby first floor halls: Biodiversity and North American Forests, and back to the mammals. Several groups were rushing, nearly sprinting, to see bits of the museum before our curfew. I overheard a group of people from Pennsylvania remarking on how similar this night was to elementary school field trips, except this was better because they had access to alcohol and drugs. Fair enough.

2 a.m.

Second stop by the Lunar Lounge. Some old public domain films were playing on a projection screen. I caught the 1902 silent movie “A Trip to the Moon.” People were already beginning to fall asleep on the floor as they charged their phones. “I was a kid tonight,” a man said to his female companion.

2:30 a.m.

I strolled back to the big whale, impressed with my newfound navigation skills. Feeling pretty tired from walking what I imagined were miles through the museum, I decided to give sleep a try. I laid on my back and stared up at the belly of a beast, attempting to be as zen as possible, because when else was I going to be able to meditate underneath a giant sea creature? I was passed out by 3 a.m. I did not brush my teeth.

7 a.m.

Eyes open, it didn’t take long to realize the magic had faded. (This, despite the fact that somewhat loud whale sounds played me into consciousness.) Breakfast was not in the upstairs dining hall, but in the downstairs children’s cafeteria, consisting of a few pieces of fruit, yogurt and muffins. The galleries weren’t open to us like they were the night before. I wanted to leave quickly, in order to maintain the sanctity of my sleepover and not taint it with the disappointing break of day. I rushed out the same way I came in.

The next AMNH sleepover, should you be curious, happens on June 30.

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readbookywooks · 8 years

Text

As Master Wishes

THREE SECONDS before the arrival of J. B. Hobson's letter, I no more dreamed of chasing the unicorn than of trying for the Northwest Passage. Three seconds after reading this letter from the honorable Secretary of the Navy, I understood at last that my true vocation, my sole purpose in life, was to hunt down this disturbing monster and rid the world of it. Even so, I had just returned from an arduous journey, exhausted and badly needing a rest. I wanted nothing more than to see my country again, my friends, my modest quarters by the Botanical Gardens, my dearly beloved collections! But now nothing could hold me back. I forgot everything else, and without another thought of exhaustion, friends, or collections, I accepted the American government's offer. "Besides," I mused, "all roads lead home to Europe, and our unicorn may be gracious enough to take me toward the coast of France! That fine animal may even let itself be captured in European seas - as a personal favor to me - and I'll bring back to the Museum of Natural History at least half a meter of its ivory lance!" But in the meantime I would have to look for this narwhale in the northern Pacific Ocean; which meant returning to France by way of the Antipodes. "Conseil!" I called in an impatient voice. Conseil was my manservant. A devoted lad who went with me on all my journeys; a gallant Flemish boy whom I genuinely liked and who returned the compliment; a born stoic, punctilious on principle, habitually hardworking, rarely startled by life's surprises, very skillful with his hands, efficient in his every duty, and despite his having a name that means "counsel," never giving advice-not even the unsolicited kind! From rubbing shoulders with scientists in our little universe by the Botanical Gardens, the boy had come to know a thing or two. In Conseil I had a seasoned specialist in biological classification, an enthusiast who could run with acrobatic agility up and down the whole ladder of branches, groups, classes, subclasses, orders, families, genera, subgenera, species, and varieties. But there his science came to a halt. Classifying was everything to him, so he knew nothing else. Well versed in the theory of classification, he was poorly versed in its practical application, and I doubt that he could tell a sperm whale from a baleen whale! And yet, what a fine, gallant lad! For the past ten years, Conseil had gone with me wherever science beckoned. Not once did he comment on the length or the hardships of a journey. Never did he object to buckling up his suitcase for any country whatever, China or the Congo, no matter how far off it was. He went here, there, and everywhere in perfect contentment. Moreover, he enjoyed excellent health that defied all ailments, owned solid muscles, but hadn't a nerve in him, not a sign of nerves-the mental type, I mean. The lad was thirty years old, and his age to that of his employer was as fifteen is to twenty. Please forgive me for this underhanded way of admitting I had turned forty. But Conseil had one flaw. He was a fanatic on formality, and he only addressed me in the third person - to the point where it got tiresome. "Conseil!" I repeated, while feverishly beginning my preparations for departure. To be sure, I had confidence in this devoted lad. Ordinarily, I never asked whether or not it suited him to go with me on my journeys; but this time an expedition was at issue that could drag on indefinitely, a hazardous undertaking whose purpose was to hunt an animal that could sink a frigate as easily as a walnut shell! There was good reason to stop and think, even for the world's most emotionless man. What would Conseil say? "Conseil!" I called a third time. Conseil appeared. "Did master summon me?" he said, entering. "Yes, my boy. Get my things ready, get yours ready. We're departing in two hours." "As master wishes," Conseil replied serenely. "We haven't a moment to lose. Pack as much into my trunk as you can, my traveling kit, my suits, shirts, and socks, don't bother counting, just squeeze it all in - and hurry!" "What about master's collections?" Conseil ventured to observe. "We'll deal with them later." "What! The archaeotherium, hyracotherium, oreodonts, cheiropotamus, and master's other fossil skeletons?" "The hotel will keep them for us." "What about master's live babirusa?" "They'll feed it during our absence. Anyhow, we'll leave instructions to ship the whole menagerie to France." "Then we aren't returning to Paris?" Conseil asked. "Yes, we are . . . certainly . . . ," I replied evasively, "but after we make a detour." "Whatever detour master wishes." "Oh, it's nothing really! A route slightly less direct, that's all. We're leaving on the Abraham Lincoln." "As master thinks best," Conseil replied placidly. "You see, my friend, it's an issue of the monster, the notorious narwhale. We're going to rid the seas of it! The author of a two-volume work, in quarto, on The Mysteries of the Great Ocean Depths has no excuse for not setting sail with Commander Farragut. It's a glorious mission but also a dangerous one! We don't know where it will take us! These beasts can be quite unpredictable! But we're going just the same! We have a commander who's game for anything!" "What master does, I'll do," Conseil replied. "But think it over, because I don't want to hide anything from you. This is one of those voyages from which people don't always come back!" "As master wishes." A quarter of an hour later, our trunks were ready. Conseil did them in a flash, and I was sure the lad hadn't missed a thing, because he classified shirts and suits as expertly as birds and mammals. The hotel elevator dropped us off in the main vestibule on the mezzanine. I went down a short stair leading to the ground floor. I settled my bill at that huge counter that was always under siege by a considerable crowd. I left instructions for shipping my containers of stuffed animals and dried plants to Paris, France. I opened a line of credit sufficient to cover the babirusa and, Conseil at my heels, I jumped into a carriage. For a fare of twenty francs, the vehicle went down Broadway to Union Square, took Fourth Ave. to its junction with Bowery St., turned into Katrin St. and halted at Pier 34. There the Katrin ferry transferred men, horses, and carriage to Brooklyn, that great New York annex located on the left bank of the East River, and in a few minutes we arrived at the wharf next to which the Abraham Lincoln was vomiting torrents of black smoke from its two funnels. Our baggage was immediately carried to the deck of the frigate. I rushed aboard. I asked for Commander Farragut. One of the sailors led me to the afterdeck, where I stood in the presence of a smart-looking officer who extended his hand to me. "Professor Pierre Aronnax?" he said to me. "The same," I replied. "Commander Farragut?" "In person. Welcome aboard, professor. Your cabin is waiting for you." I bowed, and letting the commander attend to getting under way, I was taken to the cabin that had been set aside for me. The Abraham Lincoln had been perfectly chosen and fitted out for its new assignment. It was a high-speed frigate furnished with superheating equipment that allowed the tension of its steam to build to seven atmospheres. Under this pressure the Abraham Lincoln reached an average speed of 18.3 miles per hour, a considerable speed but still not enough to cope with our gigantic cetacean. The frigate's interior accommodations complemented its nautical virtues. I was well satisfied with my cabin, which was located in the stern and opened into the officers' mess. "We'll be quite comfortable here," I told Conseil. "With all due respect to master," Conseil replied, "as comfortable as a hermit crab inside the shell of a whelk." I left Conseil to the proper stowing of our luggage and climbed on deck to watch the preparations for getting under way. Just then Commander Farragut was giving orders to cast off the last moorings holding the Abraham Lincoln to its Brooklyn pier. And so if I'd been delayed by a quarter of an hour or even less, the frigate would have gone without me, and I would have missed out on this unearthly, extraordinary, and inconceivable expedition, whose true story might well meet with some skepticism. But Commander Farragut didn't want to waste a single day, or even a single hour, in making for those seas where the animal had just been sighted. He summoned his engineer. "Are we up to pressure?" he asked the man. "Aye, sir," the engineer replied. "Go ahead, then!" Commander Farragut called. At this order, which was relayed to the engine by means of a compressed-air device, the mechanics activated the start-up wheel. Steam rushed whistling into the gaping valves. Long horizontal pistons groaned and pushed the tie rods of the drive shaft. The blades of the propeller churned the waves with increasing speed, and the Abraham Lincoln moved out majestically amid a spectator-laden escort of some 100 ferries and tenders.* *Author's Note: Tenders are small steamboats that assist the big liners. The wharves of Brooklyn, and every part of New York bordering the East River, were crowded with curiosity seekers. Departing from 500,000 throats, three cheers burst forth in succession. Thousands of handkerchiefs were waving above these tightly packed masses, hailing the Abraham Lincoln until it reached the waters of the Hudson River, at the tip of the long peninsula that forms New York City. The frigate then went along the New Jersey coast - the wonderful right bank of this river, all loaded down with country homes-and passed by the forts to salutes from their biggest cannons. The Abraham Lincoln replied by three times lowering and hoisting the American flag, whose thirty-nine stars gleamed from the gaff of the mizzen sail; then, changing speed to take the buoy-marked channel that curved into the inner bay formed by the spit of Sandy Hook, it hugged this sand-covered strip of land where thousands of spectators acclaimed us one more time. The escort of boats and tenders still followed the frigate and only left us when we came abreast of the lightship, whose two signal lights mark the entrance of the narrows to Upper New York Bay. Three o'clock then sounded. The harbor pilot went down into his dinghy and rejoined a little schooner waiting for him to leeward. The furnaces were stoked; the propeller churned the waves more swiftly; the frigate skirted the flat, yellow coast of Long Island; and at eight o'clock in the evening, after the lights of Fire Island had vanished into the northwest, we ran at full steam onto the dark waters of the Atlantic.

#20000Leagues

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