#Dental Office King City

[safely-in-vhagars-belly]

Concept: Aemond and Aegon are criminals and you are a journalist looking for your lost sister, Dyana. It becomes a lot.

Mentions of overdoses sex powerplay power abuse and modern kingslanding setting and gore. Mafia/criminal romance and of course Non con but idk how much of that will apply yet.

This is a work of fiction and does not display actual criminal law or how criminals work or function. It is all made up.

CriminalAemond and later criminalAegon x OC

Word count:???2k

The smells of cigarettes fill the air. You lick your lips. They are dry. Your eyes slowly adjust to the dark. A single light bulb dances around your head, briefly blinding you. You have no idea where you are. Or what happened. You remember looking for Dyana. You remember going to the docks in the dangerous part of town. You also vaguely remember a green car following you...

Your thoughts are interrupted by someone grabbing your chin. ‘’Someone finally woke up from her beauty sleep.’’ You assume he is the one who put your here. There is a deep rough edge to his voice, reminding you of a blade. The lights are turned on.

You sit in an office chair. Your hands and legs are tied with chains. The chains have spots of red. Dried blood.

You can hardly call what you are in an office. It seems to be a funky weird laboratory. You see a desk with one of the most expensive and newest pcs. Your boyfriend, Dys, talked about wanting one before you two broke up.

You look up, to the ceiling and scream. From the ceiling dangle bodies bound with chains. They are cut by their hands and feet only. They bled out. Buckets collect the blood. Another body lies on the desk where a knife and a chainsaw kind of tells you what happens to them.

You are strapped to a dental chair and start to panic as your captor sits on a chair right beside you. He has a knife causally in his mouth with the edge poking in your direction. His silver hair shines when the light catches it.

You have found them.

The Targaryens. You assume they are behind your sister's disappearance. Now for the million dollar question: How the hell will you avoid ending up like those people above your head?

The Targaryen asshole shoots you a bright smile when you are done staring at the bodies. He removes the knife from his mouth. ‘I take it you know who I am?’’ He leans in a bit closer. That is when you see the huge scar under his left eye and the eyepatch. You heard rumours. You always assumed they were bullshit, the way that criminals bragged and boasted. But you see now. The rumour is as real as you are.

This is Aegon's problem solver. He tortures people, and you realise that the bodies are his handiwork up close. He is simply known as One-Eye or the Kinslayer, but his records say he is named Aemond. He had his own nephew killed and when he was done, brought the skull to his sister's territory, and blew it up. The blood was said to have scattered everywhere. The body parts are still being found across the cities.

A few months ago, a man who supported the same campaign as your father disappeared. Someone nailed his dead body to a statue in the middle of Kings Landing. You assume that that was Aemond's idea. The rest of his body parts were sent to other members following the campaign of Lyman Beesbury. You got a finger in the mail with a threatening letter from the Greens.

You try not to let your knowledge of his crimes affect you. You are a journalist. You make your face blank as a paper sheet. ‘’A Targaryen. You all bleach your hair to be as white as a chicken bone.’’ He finds that description funny.

‘’Guilty.’’ He blows his breath in your face before slowly placing the knife against your throat. The metal is cold and hard. You try not to gulp or to swallow.

He continues. ‘’Aegon does not like spies. He asked me to find out everything there is to know about you.’’ That can be a problem. Your parentage is an issue. Your father is helping future president Lyman Beesbury with his campaign. You doubt Aemond knows this, however. You aren't as scandalous as your sisters. You keep a low profile.

You pretend to be an innocent girl who was at the wrong place at the wrong time. An innocent soul. ‘’There is nothing to know. I got lost.’’ You say innocently. "I didn't realise that you guys own this part of the city."

Aemond smiles, but you can see that he does not buy your bullshit. "You got lost when entering a locked ship and also breaking one of our windows?" You curse in your head but not out loud. Come on, Doroda, you think. Creative writing was your favourite subject. A good story might convince him to spare your life.

The only reason you got involved with Dys was because of his drug dealing. You hoped he would lead you to the Targaryens. ‘’I was looking for my boyfriend. Perhaps you know him? Cheating scumbag, aged 24 and oh, rumoured to be working together with your gangster buddies?’’

He has become far less open, and you can see him be on his guard. You know that if you tell Dys's name, he'll be in trouble. ‘’Who’s your boy?’’ That is none of his business.

You smile coy as a fox.

‘’Why don’t we make it a fair trade? I want some information as well.’’ You say, ignoring the knife on your throat. Aemonds brows frown with displeasure.

He lets out a scoffing chuckle.

‘’You’re lucky I’m not cutting out your tongue right now. You are in no position to bargain.’’

You chuckle and give him your most seductive smile. ‘’That would make me tell you what I know so difficult.’’ Aemond's smile vanishes, and he gets a devilish smirk on his thin lips. He leans in closely and keeps the knife against your throat. You hope that wasn't pushing your luck.

You feel fear and curse yourself for thinking that he would even be that weak. This is his job, and he clearly he takes it quite seriously. He tsks. You feel something unhealthy happens when he slowly pulls down the sleeves of your sweater."I see someone's a little used to getting what she wants. Perhaps I should teach you a lesson." He grins.

You lose your patience and give into fear. ‘’Fine. Here’s the deal, you white-haired scumbag. I lost my sister a few months back. Her name’s Dyana. She was rumoured to be-’’ He interrupts you by chuckling as if he and her go way back.

‘’Oh that Dyana.’’ He says with a cheeky boyish smirk that gives you the creeps. Is he messing with you, or did they meet?

You heard rumours. You always hoped they weren't true. That your sister had a wild life full of sex and drugs and drugsdealers fit right into that image.

‘’You know her?’’ Your voice sounds worried.

‘’Our paths have crossed, yes.’’ He takes a deep breath before telling you. You know he is not doing it because it's the right thing. He is doing it to hurt and to manipulate you. To throw you off track and to break you. ‘’Certain girls, it’s quite sad. We refer to them here as candycanes. They do anything for a little bit of cocaine. Dy loved her crack…’’ You do not let him finish before lashing out in blind anger and rage.

That is borderline rape and he will pay for that. ‘’You asshole!"

He sighs.

‘’I am afraid you got the wrong criminal. I prefer them untouched, not fucked by everyone I work with.’’ He says dryly.

You feel the hope slowly die.

"And the other guys? Is there anyone who might have taken her?"

He sits back and thinks. He shrugs. "I think it's more likely she got her nose filled with coke and kept sniffing until she died. It happens. We had nothing to with it." He thinks she overdosed. He already assumes she is dead.

"No! I refuse to believe that!"

He grabs your throat. "You will watch your mouth around me, Princess. I am sick of your little attitude, and unless you like me to teach you a thing or two about how it works here, you'll shut the hell up unless spoken to!" You scoff.

You glare at him. He removes the dagger from your throat, and you are shocked as he gives you a soft kiss on your head. You panic and start to pull the chains around you, hoping to break free.

You see that animal grin at you from across the room as he takes out one of the newest smartphones out of his pocket and calls someone. "I am calling my brother. Be a good little pet and be quiet." He says.

You scoff. Like hell you will. He lowers his phone to his chest before grabbing your throat. You are not choked, but it is meant as punishment. "I will make sure you regret it if you do not let me make this call, little brat."

"I know you wouldn't risk calling someone with me present. You are calling someone who knows." You smugly reply. He growls in pure anger before picking up his phone again.

"Aegon, my brother. I got a bit of a problem here." He speaks, and you are surprised with how different he sounds when speaking to his brother.

You meanwhile try your best to find the exit of the room. You are still tied to a chair but you can observe. Aemond ends his phone call very early. You nearly jump out of your chair when he pops up behind you silently. "I'm taking you with me to my brother. We'll dicuss your fate." You sit tight until he has you untied.

When he forces you to stand, you kick him right between his legs. He grunts out in pain before chasing after you. "Get here, you fucking brat!"

You take a bucket of the collected blood and throw it in his direction splatting his leather jacket and white brand sneakers with red. That makes him even more angry but the blood does slow him down a bit.

Two other arms that are defiantly not his, unless he is also an octopus, grab your arms and hold you against their chest.

Aemond chuckles as you still try to break free. He approaches slowly as if he's a killer in a slasher movie from the 90s.

He is delighted by all of this. "Cole. Thanks." You glare at Dorne's most wanted criminal. The Cole guy smirks at Aemond, who is covered in blood. "No problem, Boss."

Aemond takes you from him. He lightly smacks you across your face. 'You'll be properly dealt with for kicking me later. I do not want to hurt that pretty face of yours before we've seen my brother."

----

Aegon's office is actually on the highest level of the building. There are expensive paintings on his wall by artists you vaguely recongize. Most of the paintings are about ancient Rome. You also see a photograph of the battle of Normandy. You wonder how he got hold of that. He must be a history buff.

You are dragged into Aegon's office, which is guarded by two men with each an impressively deadly gun. You know they can and will shoot you on the spot.

Aegon is older but much shorter than his brother. Aemond throws you on the ground for his brother's desk and barks at you to sit on your knees. You obey with an annoyed groan. "Aemond, what have I told you about entering my office when you have worked? I do not want blood on my furniture." He says as matter of greeting.

Aemond scowls. "I want to keep this one." He says referring to you. "She has caused trouble, and we should keep an eye on her. She wants to find her sister."

His brother does not care. "Can't we just kill her?" That would be the logical thing to do.

"I would advise against that." An older man enters with a smirk. You recognise him for wanted advisements. Otto Hightower.

Aemond greets him with a handshake when Aegon is greeted by a respectful nod. "Grandfather. We thought you were still in Essos." The boss says.

"Essos was...eventful. Let's just say the plan has been set in motion." They wisely shut up about their plan with you present. The man looks at you, and you look back unbothered. You do not expect help from him.

"Aemond, you did good, capturing this girl." He says.

Aemond snorts. "Obviously. We can't have rats roaming around our territory. That's bad for the business and our clients." He says and gives you a spiteful grin. You roll your eyes.

"You haven't figured it out yet?" His grandfather asked. "You both should have been informed by now. Only old people watch the news, I suppose." He chuckles.

"Lyman Beesbury got shot in his face. One of our guys saw him chewing a big fat hamburger and took his chance. I'll send you the photos of his face. It is quite the pretty sight." He says sickingly. You nearly gag.

"There is no way he'll survive this. He'll die." You are disgusted that they can exchange photos of their victims like it are memes. You are disgusted that they gloat about their killings and celebrate the end of their enemies. "Cole barely escaped with his life. He is all good now but has to lay low for a while. They are looking for him."

"Let them try, I own the pathetic Goldcloaks. They won't do shit unless I command them so." Aegon snickers darkly.

"Lyman's party has selected a vice president for the Council. And this is where she comes in." He points at you dramatically. You feel dread fill your stomach. You begged your father not to take this position. But you just know he said yes. Behind your back. Without you knowing. He said yes. He put a target on your back. "Jon Waters is our president." Which makes you first daughter and a valuable target. Shit.

There is a silence before Aemond grabs your hands. You fuss briefly but he silences you. Otto continues. "When Beesbury hated drugs, your father is actually a very big supporter." You feel your world shatter.

"What? That's not possible. He supported Beesbury. He hated drugs. He told us to stay away from you." You stutter as the truth begins to fall in places.

They call Otto the hand because he arranges everything in Aegons organisation. "Your father was a big supporter of the saying: Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer." The spare rooms... the expensive weird trips...it all makes sense. How Dy got her hands on drugs time and time again...

"What are you saying, Otto?"

"Your father is like us. A killer. A liar. A despicable human being." He is like them.

You feel the air leave your lungs. You stumble on your feet. Aemond catches you before you can fall. "And to make this even better, your father owns us a blooddebt." He tells you excitedly.

"What the fuck is a blooddebt?" You whimper as black spots cloud your vision. Aemond chuckles. "It's an house Targaryen tradition. It means he owns us a life. Any life we find valuable will do. We can claim anyone from his organisation. Including you, little princess." You tremble.

He leans in closer and whispers in your ear. "You'll be mine, little brat."

"No! You can't claim me! I am not part of my father's crimes! I am a human being. This is illegal." You are slowly panicking and notice tears stinging as well. This was a mistake.

"She said in front of the killers and the drugsdealers." Otto should really watch his mouth, or you'll end up slapping him across his face.

You realise that you made the biggest mistake of your life. You slowly tear up and try to keep from crying. Aemond grabs your waist. He kisses your forhead. You hear him mutter in your ear. "I hope you keep up being fun after I've broken you completely. Pets like yourself get so boring once your spirit and will are ripped from your body."

/////

Me: What will we do. I think we will finish the new stories.

My brain: we'll make a new one

Me: with a cute aemond?

My brain:

Me: With a cute aemond?!

Brain: he kindaaa is

Me: OK.

Brain: and he's covered in blood

Me:

I fear you're never gonna get fluff from me sorry.

Modern aus are a thing as I am definitely not good at them but if you like to read more let me know.

[ageofxail]

Some Daniel King traits I enjoy a lot and am always eager to explore/plot around:

He is scared of dogs. Specifically, hounds and other baying dogs. Weirdly enough, huskies tend to be OK by him. He liked Balto.  He is subject to a magically-enacted contract in which any order given to him from a member of Congress, be they of the House or the Senate, he must follow. This applies to former Senators and Representatives, as well, unless they were forcibly removed from office. Daniel was a loyalist in the American Revolution. He does not regret this stance. He’s had children before - three of them. Two were mortal, one went on to become Deseret/Utah/The American Southwest. He’s been married to an immortal -- Monaco, in 1953. This ended in divorce and is the reason Daniel is extremely reluctant to be involved in romantic situations with a woman. Public Speaking is exhausting. Yes, he is very good at it, but even a short speech will force him to need a nap, a snack, and two days of recovery time. Once he filibustered for a straight 37 hours and proceeded to not be seen in public for a month afterwards. He was a member of Dutch Schultz’s gang, running speakeasies across New York City! His bones are full of cyanide. He has multiple degrees - Bachelors in Nutrition, Biology, Ecology. Masters in Ecology, Economics, and Liberal Arts. Doctorate in Medicine and Dental Medicine. He refuses to be referred to as anything but “Mr. King” as he feels his medical degrees are out of date and thus should not be considered a doctor anymore. Daniel can and does use Magic. A lot. Its primarily subconciously, but he avoids purposefully employing it as explicit usage of magic has literally and figuratively burned him in the past. Lad’s got trauma.

[leadingedgeinfo]

Five Proven Strategies for Dentist Digital Marketing Success in 2024

Dental practices must adapt innovative marketing strategies or collaborate with a reputed dental digital marketing agency to navigate the marketing maze in this rapidly evolving digital world. As we move into 2024, the competition among dental clinics and the effort to attract new patients while retaining old ones intensify. Here are five tried-and-true digital marketing methods to help your dental office succeed in today's competitive economy.

1.Optimize your website for Local SEO.

Any dental practice requires a solid local SEO strategy. Begin by ensuring that your website contains location-specific keywords, such as the city or neighborhood where your practice is. Ensure your clinic is included in local directories and on Google My Business, and regularly maintain your online reviews to increase visibility and reputation.

2.Utilize the power of Social Media.

Social Media platforms such as IG, FB, and TikTok offer tremendous opportunities to engage with potential patients. Share before and after videos and photos of services and highlight patient testimonials for the greater good.

3.Implement a valid Content Marketing Strategy.

Content is king, and this holds for dentistry marketing. Create and disseminate excellent material that tackles common dental difficulties, provides answers, and educates your target audience on dental health. Thus, a prominent dental digital marketing agency has the best team to provide result-driven content marketing strategies that automatically grab users' attention.

4.Use Paid Ad Campaign Smartly

Paying advertising, such as Google or Facebook ads, can be highly effective. The target-specific demographics are based on age, location, and interests to guarantee your ads are seen by the potential patients who will most likely look for your services. Thus, Re-targeting ads can also remind those who have visited your dental clinic website but have yet to convert into potential customers to make an appointment to take action.

5.Boost Patient Experience with Technology

In 2024, the patient experience will broaden beyond the dental chair. Employ technology to expedite appointment scheduling, provide reminders, and follow up on treatments. A user-friendly website layout, mobile app, or chatbots can all improve the patient experience and make your practice more appealing.

Wrap Up!

The strategies mentioned above can help your dental practices achieve the best results. If you need assistance with your business's online visibility, contact Leading Edge Info Solutions.

[saharaground]

Healthcare Facilities and Ambulance Services in Jashore

Jashore, located in southwestern Bangladesh, is a city in Jessore district, in Khulna Division. The place is renowned for its agricultural contributions and is commonly known as the "City of Water Bodies" due to the abundance of rivers, canals, and ponds that enriches the landscapes. Despite being a developing city with few of the renowned hospitals, the place still needs work in the area of healthcare sectors. Even though their infrastructures include both private and government hospitals and healthcare facilities, they still lack advanced medical services and specialised healthcare professionals. The problems of quality healthcare still persists, especially around rural areas. 

Some of the hospitals available in jessore are, 

Pongu Hospital, Jashore

Jashore General Hospital

Fatima Hospital 

Queen Hospital 

Combined Military Hospital (CMH)

City Hosp[ital 

Genesis Hospital

Doratana Hospital 

Janata Hospital & Diagnostic Ltd

Ibn Sina Hospital & Diagnostic Center, Jashore

Ad-Din Sakina Medical College and Hospital

Modern Hospital and Diagnostic Center

Ad-din Shishu Hospital 

AD-din Eye Hospital (Jashore)

Jashore Pongu Hospital 

Ashim Diagnostic Center & Hospital, Jashore

Kopotakkho Lions Eye and Diagnostic Hospital 

Shishu Hospital, Jashore

Jashore Medical College 

Popular Medical Services

AHAD Diabetes Center 

Labscan Medical Services

Life Care Hospital & Diagnostic Center

Zaara Medical Center 

Sunrise Diagnostic Center

Dhaka Ahsania Mission, AMIC Jashore

Ad-Din Sakina Medical Hospital, Child Unit 

Army Medical College Jashore 

Chaugachha Upazila Health Complex, Jashore

Uttara Hospital 

Orthopaedic Center 

Ibn Sina Diabetes Center 

Bagherpara Upazila Healthcare Complex, Jashore

Popular Diagnostic Center 

Poribar Porikolpona Office, Jashore

Doctor Kendro Dental, Jashore

Monirampur Upazila Healthcare Complex

Jashore Community Eye Hospital 

Kings Medical Services and Hospital 

Unique Hospital and Diagnostic Center

LABAID Diagnostic Center 

Hasina Clinic

Hospital Social Services Office, Jashore

Shubho Dental Care 

Union Shastho O Poribar Kallyan Kendor

Health and Family Planning Center

Abdullah Medical and Dental Care 

Despite the presence of numerous hospitals, they are still unable to address critical health emergencies. These medical facilities lack the necessary equipment and specialised medical professionals required for comprehensive patient treatment. Therefore, prompting patients to seek treatment elsewhere. Hence, it is crucial to ensure the safety and healthcare of these patients during transportations, e professionals must guarantee that the patient's health does not deteriorate further, emphasising on the need for ambulance services to maintain the stability of the patient's condition during transit.

To ensure the well-being of these diverse patients, emergency healthcare services provide thorough ambulance assistance, including,

Standard or Basic Ambulances

Intensive Care Unit (ICU) Ambulances

Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) Ambulances

Air Ambulances

Advanced Life Support (ASL) Ambulances 

Ambulances for Transporting Deceased Bodies

As many patients are often forced to seek medical help from other cities, such as Dhaka, ambulance services are essential to ensure their stable health during the transportation. These ambulances provide everything that a critical patient may need to be stabilised. These ambulances (except Standard Ambulances and Ambulances for Transporting Deceased Bodies) are equipped with everything that we expect in an ICU, they are basically miniature versions of ICUs. Intensive Care Unit (ICU) Ambulances, Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) Ambulances, Air Ambulances, and Advanced Life Support (ASL) Ambulances are equipped with, 

Bi-phasic Defibrillator

Automatic external Defibrillator (AED)

Cardiac Monitor 

Recorder

Ventilators 

Suction Pump (electronic and manual)

Infusion Pump 

Syringe Pump

Volumetric Pump

Artificial Manual Breathing Unit (adult, child and neonatal)

Mouth to Mask Ventilation Device

Pulse Oxymeter 

Fluid and Blood Warmer

Roll-in Cot Main Stretcher (Manual or Auto loading)

Foldable secondary stretcher

Spine Board with restraint set

Resuscitator Adult with Overpressure Valve

Cervical Collar different size (set of 6)

Dual Head Stethoscope

Wall-Mounted Sphygmomanometer

Portable O2 Cylinder – D Size with regulator

Portable Suction Unit

Stair Chair stretcher

Head Immobiliser

Scoop Stretcher

Traction Devices

Extrication Devices

Compression Device 

First Aid Kit

Vacuum Mattress

And as for staffing, they are staffed with trained and qualified medical personnel, including paramedics and Emergency Medical Technicians (EMTs), who are equipped to handle various medical emergencies. They have undergone years of training to be able to serve these critical patients. 

Ambulance services aim to provide timely and effective medical care, ensuring that patients receive the necessary interventions to stabilise their health en route to medical facilities.

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

"CONTRACT IS AWARDED," Daily British Whig (Kingston). September 9, 1913. Page 6. ---- TO THE ONTARIO ASPHALT BLOCK COMPANY ---- For Laying of Four Blocks of Roadway On Wellington Street-Meeting of the Board of Works On Monday Afternoon. --- But one trnder was submitted for the construction of the asphalt block pavement on Wellington, from William to West streets. It was by the Ontario Asphalt Block company. At Monday afternoon's meeting of the Board of Works it was accepted, and a re solution passed recommending to council to award the contract. The Ontario Asphalt Block is the same company which laid this kind of pavement in business blocks last year, and did the work on Wellington, Johnson and King streets this year. The price is the same as for the latter, namely, $2.75 a square yard. The Wellington street ratepayers petitioned for the extension of this pavement on that thoroughfare.

The plans and specification for the new street railway roadbed are still in the hands of Mr. Nickle, to whom they were forwarded for his approval. The Board of Works wishes to rush the preparation for the commencement of the work. There is to be a conference this week between the chairman of the Board of Works, the city solicitor and engineer, H. W. Richardson, the president of the road, and H. C. Nickle.

The city auditor informed the board, on Monday afternoon, that it had reached the extent of the appropriation made for the work under the engineer's department at the beginning of the year. The appropriation made was $14,400, somewhat less than for recent years. The department has yet much work to be done, and decided to ask council to empower the Finance. committee to provide an extra 85,000 with which to do this.

In order to extend the sewer which runs from Russell street, along Pat rick and down Thomas streets, it has been necessary for the city to acquire certain properties. The matter has been under way for some months, greatly to the annoyance of those concerned. On Monday afternoon a communication was read from Mayon Rigney, censuring the department for what appears to have been undue delay in proceeding with the work. But the difficulty has been experienced in securing the options of the properties. They were obtained by the engineer for the meeting, for the city, on the properties of W. Shufflebotham, A. Tugwood and G. G. Mann. The board recommended the purchase of the same to council. If the owners refuse to sell, then the property will be expropriated.

On the recommendation of the Board of Health and the city engineer the sewer is to be constructed on Patrick street, from James street northerly.

The request of E. A. Green, of the scavengers, who was injured red by being run down by a team while at work on Clarence street some weeks ago, for to be paid his wages while laid up, was left in abeyance. Thomas Mills asked for an improvement to the sidewalk in front of a residence he is erecting on Lower Alfred street. It was left with the engineer.

James B. Gordon, chief clerk in the engineer's office for the past couple of years, tendered his resignation to the board on Monday afternoon. With regret it was accepted, to take effect on September 30th. Mr. Gordon is going to finish his dental college course.

An account with the Ontario Asphalt Block company was ordered to be paid. It amounted to $4,036.64. The bonds guaranteeing the pavement for five years had been fyled.

A number of applications for the removal of trees were read, and, al most entirely, granted on the advise of the engineer.

Ald. Fair presided at the meeting, the other members present being Alds. Graham, Peters, O'Connor.

[oakridgesnorthden01-blog]

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[denturesplususa]

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[greatworldwar2]

• Bat Bombs

Bat bombs were an experimental World War II weapon developed by the United States. The bomb consisted of a bomb-shaped casing with over a thousand compartments, each containing a hibernating Mexican free-tailed bat with a small, timed incendiary bomb attached.

The bat bomb was thought up by a dental surgeon from Irwin, Pennsylvania named Lytle S. Adams, an acquaintance of First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt. The inspiration for Adams' suggestion was a trip he took to Carlsbad Caverns National Park, which is home to many bats. Adams wrote about his idea of incendiary bats in a letter to the White House in January 1942, little more than a month after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Adams was intrigued by the strength of bats and knew that they roosted before dawn. He also knew that most of the buildings in Tokyo were constructed of wood instead of concrete. He believed that if time-release incendiaries could be attached to bats, some kind of container holding them could be dropped over the city after dark and the bats would simply roost and burn Tokyo to the ground. The plan was subsequently approved by President Roosevelt. In his letter, Adams stated that the bat was the "lowest form of animal life", and that, until now, "reasons for its creation have remained unexplained". Of Adams, Roosevelt remarked, "This man is not a nut. It sounds like a perfectly wild idea but is worth looking into."

After Roosevelt gave the project his approval, it was relegated to the authority of the United States Army Air Force. Adams assembled the workers for the project, including the mammalogist Jack von Bloeker, actor Tim Holt, and a former gangster, among others. Von Bloeker and his assistant Jack Couffer, self-described "bat lovers", noted that it did not occur to them to question the "morality or the ecological consequences of sacrificing a few million bats". For the duration of the project, many members enlisted in the Air Force, where Adams quickly promoted them to "acting" non-commissioned officers. The team had to determine several variables to make the project feasible, including what kind of incendiaries could be attached to the bats, as well as the temperatures at which to store and transport them. They also had to decide what species of bat to use for the bombs. After testing several species, the Mexican free-tailed bat was selected. Adams had to ask for permission from the National Park Service to harvest large numbers of Mexican free-tailed bats from caves on government property. While the original plan was to arm the bats with white phosphorus, American chemist Louis Fieser joined the team and white phosphorus was replaced with Fieser's own invention, napalm.

Tests were used to determine how much napalm an individual bat could carry, determining that a 14 g (0.5 oz) bat could carry a payload of 15–18 g (0.53–0.63 oz). The napalm was stored in small cellulose containers dubbed "H-2 units". After trying several attachment methods, they decided to attach the H-2 unit to the bats using an adhesive, gluing them to the front of the bats. The bomb carrier was a sheet metal tube approximately 1.5 m (5 ft) in length. The inside of the tube was fitted with twenty-six circular trays, each of which was 76 cm (30 in) in diameter. In total, each bomb carrier could hold 1,040 bats. It was planned that the carrier would be deployed from an airplane, descending to an altitude of 1,200 m (4,000 ft) before deploying parachutes. The sides of the bomb carrier would then fall away, allowing the bats to disperse.

A series of tests to answer various operational questions were conducted. In one incident, the Carlsbad Army Airfield Auxiliary Air Base near Carlsbad, New Mexico, was set on fire on May 15th, 1943, when armed bats were accidentally released The bats roosted under a fuel tank and incinerated the test range. Following this setback, the project was relegated to the Navy in August 1943, who renamed it Project X-Ray, and then passed it to the Marine Corps that December. The Marine Corps moved operations to the Marine Corps Air Station at El Centro, California. After several experiments and operational adjustments, the definitive test was carried out on the "Japanese Village", a mockup of a Japanese city built by the Chemical Warfare Service at their Dugway Proving Grounds test site in Utah. Observers at this test produced optimistic accounts. The chief of incendiary testing at Dugway wrote, "A reasonable number of destructive fires can be started in spite of the extremely small size of the units. The main advantage of the units would seem to be their placement within the enemy structures without the knowledge of the householder or fire watchers, thus allowing the fire to establish itself before being discovered".

More tests were scheduled for mid-1944 but the program was cancelled by Fleet Admiral Ernest J. King when he heard that it would likely not be combat ready until mid-1945. By that time, it was estimated that $2 million (equivalent to $19 million today) had been spent on the project. It is thought that development of the bat bomb was moving too slowly, and was overtaken in the race for a quick end to the war by the atomic bomb project. Adams maintained that the bat bombs would have been effective without the devastating effects of the atomic bomb: "Think of thousands of fires breaking out simultaneously over a circle of forty miles [64 km] in diameter for every bomb dropped. Japan could have been devastated, yet with small loss of life." The infamous "Invasion by Bats" project was afterwards referred to by Stanley P. Lovell, director of research and development for Office of Strategic Services (OSS), whom General Donovan ordered to review the idea, as "Die Fledermaus Farce".

[fructuyeux]

CANADA-20 (xxx) COVID-19

3/13/2020 - 3/22/2020

By: Rayce R. Rayos

This undertaking was planned as a daringly creative escape from mounting internally & externally placed workloads, & was slated to take place during the UNLV 2020 Spring Break.  In concurrence with the vacation was the ever-increasing, ever-diversifying socioeconomic fallout, mandates, & obstacles associated with the first global pandemic that I have experienced in my lifetime.  I’d be remiss to not admit that the cheapened airline, lodging, & transportation prices were viewed as a silver lining in an otherwise hysteric & strange time in human history. The following account of the trip is intended to recount the experiences & knowledge gained (from what is remembered), and aid in the recollection of the associated photo-documentation conducted during.

DAY 1 - 3/14 - 7.5 miles

The outgoing flight 1224 from McCarran International Airport to the eventual destination of Niagara Falls, New York was delayed, unbeknownst to me, & so the trip began with a frantic drive to the airport with a hastened goodbye to my roommate & lovely daughter (who wanted dearly to join her father in Canada).  The flight was delayed by an hour, & I made it on the plane.

A quick stop in Denver, CO was followed by a landing in Fort Lauderdale, FL.  Upon landing, the Spirit Airlines attendant notified me that my flight to Niagara Falls had already left (to the complete fault of their flight coordination), & that I’d have to spend the night & following day in Broward County, 15 miles North of Miami.  I was frazzled & upset to have started my trip with such a complication, but after the airline was able to change my ticket free of charge, I decided to extend my trip an extra day. So, I asked them to book my returning flight for a day later (3/20 → 3/21), to which they agreed to do for free, utilizing a COVID-19 flight disruption program.  I booked a room at the Vacation Inn in the middle of the night, & recalibrated my trip schedule.

The following morning was a beautiful sunny day in South Florida, & after resting my luggage at the motel for the day (for a fee), I skateboarded to SE 17th Street, hung a right, & breezed through a few miles of million-dollar homes & yachts, over the Causeway Bridge, to what would eventually become Fort Lauderdale Beach Park.  Full of families & largely free of fear, the beach was warm, sunlit, & vivacious.  The locals were out in near-full effect, & I spent the entire day with the rays on my back, the water at my waist, & a respite of relaxation before ensuing madness. I even struck up a conversation with some fellow beachgoers as a result of my Kobe Bryant tattoo, & learned a good deal about quotidian life down there.  I got a workout in on the beach equipment, & some peaceful serenity as I stared down the horizon beyond the Atlantic.  I returned to my motel to acquire my bags & make my way to the airport en route to New York… Little did I know that a bar, Bimini Bay to be exact, neighbored my motel.  I found myself entrenched in an environment eerily similar to that of the Huntridge Tavern, although this spot was half the size with raunchy anal porn playing on multiple screens throughout all of the 5 walls.  Throwing brews back & chain-smoking with the locals to country music was a familiar feeling, & instilled in me further the universal nature of letting loose.  That being said, I lost track of time & had to hightail it out of there via a gentleman’s Uber to the airport.  Another flight ran after & barely boarded in the nick of time… My time in South Florida was as serendipitous as flight disruptions can be.  The most lingering aspect of my time spent there was, indubitably, the sunburn that would come to stick with/on me for the remainder of the vacation. Perhaps the worst case of the sun’s kiss I’ve come to bare.  Before fully coming to this realization, I’m on a plane to New York.

DAY 2 - 3/15 - 10.47 miles

Upon being alive on arrival in New York state at 2 AM in the morning, I resolved to sleep in the IAG airport for the night, especially considering my phone charger at the time had been severely out of whack.  There I lay, curled on an airport bench in Niagara Falls for the night with blistering skin & a scent of fresh tobacco smoke (& ass).  I distinctly recall wrestling with the time I should render myself awake, eventually settling upon 9:30 AM. It was at this time that I found myself the only visible individual in the airport terminal; no staff, no bags, no patrons, nothing.  The unexpected isolation harkened memories of the film 28 Days Later.  Once the drool was free from my chin, I hailed a Lyft to the American-Canadian border, specifically the entrance to the Rainbow Bridge; it was along this ride that my driver informed me that the American dollar was fairly strong against the Canadian dollar to the tune of 1 USD = 1.33 CAD (roughly). This would come to be an extremely welcomed caveat to the remainder of the trip, as most every purchase converted to about 75% of all prices quoted in Canada.

When the border was reached, there I stood as a man with his spirit & belongings intact, & began my trek over the bridge to a foreign land.  With frequent pause, the majesty of the falling water on a brisk Spring day will play in my mind for years to come.  Pictures were taken, deep thought was attempted, & it was a stark moment of gratefulness for the life I have been given.  Next was passing through Canadian Customs at the north end of the bridge, & after being grilled for a moment as to my intentions for entering, the officer pointed me in the direction of the bus stop from which my Greyhound was leaving in less than an hour.  From the Rainbow Bridge to the Whistleblower bridge 2.5 miles north, I was blessed with a walk of forced clarity as I hugged Niagara’s riverway with 75+ pounds of much needed possessions.  I found myself doubting my ability to invite others with me on trips in the future out of a fear for unintentionally inflicting similar tasks upon them.  Nevertheless, I made it to my Greyhound in time and rested on the ride to Toronto.

The recuperation was much needed.  When I awoke I found myself in Canada’s largest city (& the 9th-largest in North America), Toronto, Ontario.  Excitement coursed through my capillaries & once departing from the bus on foot, it was straight to my ‘Chinatown Guest House’ to set down my things & get on the go… this was not the case.  A whole fiasco followed where I was unable to contact the host, thereby unable to access the place I had paid to stay for the night (& the night before, despite Spirit having different plans on DAY 1). The first two Torontonian hours were spent in a Chinatown chicken spot (Gdou’s) where I struggled to gain the cellular abilities necessary to overcome this debacle; I bought a new charger & charger port at the market center across Spadina.  I grappled with frustration in a very real sense, but was utterly appeased to find that I had been sent an email containing the entry instructions from Booking.com.  Relief rushed over me. I grabbed my bags, & hunkered down in a room with a wooden balcony & stunning view of Downtown Toronto to boot.  I showered, shat, & escaped into the city heading South on Spadina.  A brief stop at the famed ‘Graffiti Alley’ along with a trip to the marijuana grocer located me in the heart of the Fashion District, a sector largely reminiscent of Williamsburg, BK (as hip, although much smaller).  After a lovely skate to the harbourfront I was able to catch the sun set behind a vast array of monolithic condos & headquarters. The sun was able to get quite low, however, after having nestled between two skyscrapers, & that shared scene on the pier between myself & just a handful of individuals was quite a sight.  Heading south afterwards, I rolled by the Toronto Music Gardens, through Coronation Park, & through a series of railway tracks amidst arenas (BMO Arena), Centennial Park, Lakeshore Boulevard, & an array educational campuses.  Once Dufferin Street was reached, I headed toward Little Portugal.  On the way there I stopped short (per the advice of a local) & turned north up King Street. Halfway home I stopped at the restaurant Thai Place Too & enjoyed some steaming seafood Tom Yum fit with stimulating conversation from the waitress.  I paid my bill, thanked those there, & pushed onward on King Street traversing a barrage of tunnels, city folk, & shopping centers.  At this juncture I recall being bummed by the lack of nighttime activities, & decided to stop at a bar near my place for the night called Wide Open.

What was to begin & end as a night of the all-evasive ‘one brew’ quickly accelerated into a merry time of mutual drunkenness & fun.  A couple dental hygienists befriended me at the bar, & not far to follow were a West Indian techy working for Google & an Irishwoman on her way out of town.  My memories of what exactly transpired are quite shaky, but an unflinching enjoyment of that particular night at the bar lasts.  I got home at an ungodly hour & crash-land in my bed.

DAY 3 - 3/16 - 7.53 miles

Similar to popping out of bed due to a frightening nightmare, “Where’s my fucking board?!” was the thought & simultaneous phrase that opened my eyes that morning.  I was still drunk, so a hangover wasn’t an issue, but discovered a damn large lump on my right posterior parietal bone & a pool of blood in the sheets where I slumbered. I racked what was left of my brain as to where/how/why this injury came to be sustained, but to no avail.  In hindsight, it’s consistent with braceless backwards fall, & vaguely recall attempting to ride my skateboard back home equipped with a BAC of full-blown ‘no bueno’.  Nevertheless, the pain wasn’t of serious concern (although I had plenty of time to reflect on the very real possibility of me now having to operate in a concussed state). What was of concern was my skateboard, my iPod, & my eighth of weed that I had yet to dip into.  I began retracing my steps and was welcomed with open arms by my beautiful black, four-wheeled bride waiting for me at the front doorstep- Check 1.  I scooped up my board, got dressed & readied for the (likely music-less) day ahead, had a solid conversation with my father, & cleared my stuff from the house just in time to be 4 hours late for checkout.

In one of the more daring tactics employed on the trip, I stashed my big purple duffle bag (containing clothes & other non-essentials) & my backpack (containing my laptop, passport & other very-essentials) in the empty garbage bin to the side of the front door.  This was a huge gamble, & one that would weigh somewhat on my conscience for the coming hours, despite heavy medication- re-upped on weed, Check 2.  During my second trip to Graffiti Alley I encountered a bum in mid-tweak repeatedly pulling his pants up & down amidst a backdrop of beautiful art, & naturally this struck me as microcosmic of the whole of Toronto.  The bar I had chanced upon the night prior didn’t resume service until 4 in the evening, & so I had a few hours to kill which were spent speaking with various loved ones & contemplating last night’s events as I bobbed & weaved a hangover.  4 o’clock rolls around & I walk into the bar greeted by a smiling bartender with an unclaimed red iPod.  THIS WAS A PERSONAL WIN OF GREAT PROPORTIONS, & solidified my successful navigation through mindless debauchery abroad- Check 3.  I felt the proverbial wind was once again behind my back, & opted to knock out the city’s landmarks North of Spadina Avenue, largely via Adelaide & King Streets until Yonge.

Post-modern magnificence a la architecture kept my chin up as I managed to dodge pedestrian after pothole after Porsche.  Sundown was not far off & the gleaming beams reflected softly off the mirrored panels some seventy-five plus stories on all sides.  A real embodiment of the term ‘hustle & bustle’ was laid out in front of me, complete with a citizenry whose diversity mimicked that of my own home a world away.  The gritty attitude that I’ve come to associate with East coast cities (specifically the colder ones) was alive & well here, evidenced in reluctance to help guide tourists or even tell the time of day. I loved it, & judged it as genuine more so than anything else.  It should also be noted that the music playing in my ears throughout my time in the ‘Six’ was exclusive to the stylings of Drake, a rapper native of the city with references to its contents (streets, sides of town where the pretty girls sleep, subpopulations, parks, etc.) found abundantly in his lyrics.

When Yonge was reached, I peered west to a ton of things going on, but elected to go east.  This turned out to be a wise decision. After a few blocks I was greeted by the area of town most closely associated with the Toronto skyline & its historical foundations on the illustrious Front Street. Here is where I stood mouth agape with the enormity & incomprehensible complexity of the city on full view.  I touched the base of the CN tower & spent a good amount of time in awe as it registered (despite the Stratosphere being superior in my eyes), traversed the Railway museum set just outside of Olympic Park, gazed upon the Rogers Center where the Blue Jays come to bat, & ended at the water of Lake Ontario at the sandy Harbour Square Park where some solid skating took place.  After some time, the thought of my possessions having lasted (or not) in the trash receptacle all this time prompted me to retrieve them, & so back to Chinatown I booked it.  The moment of truth arrived when I got off my board at 83 W. Sullivan Street, & lo & behold, my stuff was nestled just as I had left it some 5 hours before.  Feeling giddy from the travel-savvy risks taken, I was on to grab dinner with an old colleague of mine who happened to be doing her post-baccalaureate studies there.  T. & I, a former classmate at Valley High, met at what we would come to find as nothing more than another closed restaurant with a COVID-19 newsletter plastered on the door.  We deliberated playfully on what we should now do, & after having happened upon the  ‘T O R O N T O’ sign & all of its illuminated glory, a 6-pack of Stella Artois from the rather hidden LCBO in the mega-commercial Eaton Center became the night’s main entree.  Polite exchanges with exceedingly conversational locals made for a nice segue as we awaited our second Lyft ride to the Harbourfront.

The Harbourfront Centre was largely uncrowded as temperatures dipped below zero (Celsius, of course), & after a brew-cigarette combo, it was in an instance that snow began falling from the blackened sky & onto everything in sight… including our unsheltered selves.  It was as surprising as it was splendid (at least for a desert cactus like me) to have been outdoors somewhere prior to snowfall & then to behold its beginning.  A few days prior, I had been notified that the ski lift an hour North of Ottawa whose mountain I intended to shred had been closed, & so, I found myself with a decision to make: stay in the Toronto area an extra night or board the bus I had booked & crashing in a twin-sized bus seat for the night & do who knows what in Ottawa…  Motivated by the phrase, “What the hell are you going to do in Ottawa?” I chose the former & began searching for a nearby hotel room.  My homegirl, sitting beside me, of course overheard, & more-than-kindly offered a guest room in her condo as a suitable place to rest my head for the evening. I accepted, & we whisked ourselves out of the snow to a 12th-story condo in the 95+% Chinese suburb of Markham, ON.  An once-schoolmate was changed into a dear friend after having exhibited flawless hospitality in the form of whiskey, toast, toothpaste, a bed & sublime conversation.  We jabbed & joked in Francais (with hers being superior to my own), & this was a much-needed introduction to everyday dialogue in the different tongue of the Quebecois whom I would spend most of the days to follow with.

DAY 4 - 3/17 - 4.38 miles

I awoke early in the morning after not being able to sleep too much due to my skin’s incessant irritation, as well as a pseudo-insomnia I’ve come to expect from myself when on vacation.  To fill the time between my awakening & my host’s, I read as much of The Four Agreements, by Don Miguel Ruiz as I could retain, ending with the last chapter left unread.  As a result, the mantras prompted by the book that one is to agree with from within his/herself resonated with me.  They are ‘be impeccable with your word,’ ‘don’t take anything personally,’ ‘don’t make any assumptions,’ & ‘always do your best.’ Fondly, I looked to these statements as a source of my second wind around this time, as the physical toll of my endeavors began somewhat to present themselves.

When T awoke, we engaged in parley for another hour or so before trudging to the neighborhood bus/rail station where she purchased my ticket & we ran goofily to make the train before the doors swiftly shut.  During the train ride back to Downtown Toronto I was able to sit quietly in my thoughts, as well as get some business dealings out of the way via phone.  The walls flanking the tracks were riddled in graffiti of both very high- & very low-quality pieces on fleeting displays.  We were headed to Union Station, the hub for all non-automobile commutes in the metropolitan area, & second-largest transportation facility in North America, servicing some seventy-two million humans yearly.  A stunning structure of Greco-Roman design with pristine pillars, it was a treat to walk the halls of such an obviously integral establishment.  Soon we said our brief farewell & parted ways so that she could go to school & I could purchase a rail ticket to Ottawa, ON- set to leave later in the day.

I purchased my rail ticket to Ottawa for 6:30 PM & stashed my luggage at the bagging station inside the terminal, leaving me with 3 ½ hours to get the last of my rocks off in a city unique to itself. I went straight for Yonge-Dundas square after having caught a glimpse of the scene days prior, & once in the center I felt a likening to Times Square, both personally & perceivably.  There was no better wayward idea at the time than to bust off some skate tricks in the center of such commotion, & was able to have a solid 15-20 minutes on the board before security (much like their American counterparts) gave me the good ol’ boot.  Onto St. Lawrence Market I dashed, the bayside market most closely associated with Canadian grub.  Here I tried peameal for the first time, & was left affirmed of Canadian courtesy, although the meal itself wasn’t anything to write home about.  Yet another stop at Tim Horton’s for some pastries seemed in order before heading back to Union Station.  Back at the staging port for my bus it was revealed to passengers that there was a 50-minute delay- just the break I needed to step out & smoke a potent bowl.  When I did finally step outside after a few lefts & maybe a right, there in front of me stood the Scotiabank Arena where the Toronto Raptors (reigning NBA Champions) play their home games.  To be frank, I was at the rear of the practice court, but nevertheless, happy to happen to be there. The train boards, takes off, & a long list of Canadian towns were slept through & bypassed in the dead of night.  I hailed a lift from the Ottawa Train Station to my hostel for the night. The place served as the first jail in city, & had since been neatly converted into a hostel with guests sleeping in tight-fitting ‘jail cells.’  I was on floor 6 in cell number 613, the quarters of a long-gone inmate by the name of Angelo Villamino. I relished this opportunity to mix the excitement of historicism with the usually lull nature of lodging.  The rest itself was subpar as my skin had begun peeling profusely during the day, & remained red hot during the night.

DAY 5 - 3/18 - 16.24 miles

Morning comes quickly & I am tasked to clear my cell of my things in a playful return to freedom.  Breakfast was held in the dining hall of the jailhouse, aptly ascribed the ‘oldest dining hall in Ottawa.’ After replenishing my body, I held my bags at the front desk, & hurled myself into the city; I had a little over one hour to squeeze as much of the country’s capital into my memory banks as possible.  I began by searching for the Parliament building (more like a castle) where the bulk of legislation for the world’s second-largest country (in landmass) largely transpires.  No Prime Minister Trudeau or politicians in sight, as the effects of the Coronavirus pandemic amplified by the day.  I believe this is the day that the Prime Minister of Canada closed the southern border to incoming Americans, followed swiftly by our President’s mutual refusal of incoming foreign travelers at the border.  Admittedly, this was not of concern to me, as I figured (& thankfully was later proven correct) that a U.S. citizen would be permitted to come home.  In hindsight, I perhaps predicted such measures being taken & allowed them to expedite my plans of getting to Canada before being unable to enter as an American.

Anyway… by Parliament I glided taking whatever pauses necessary to piece together how things came to be as they are up there from an academic perspective, but carefully preserving the right to take the utmost tourist-y photos (much like others do at 1600 Pennsylvania).  A breathtaking building it was indeed, & that was just the view from the street!  I continued along my path, circumnavigating the center of the city which took me to Victoria Island & into the province of Quebec for a brief moment (although I was not aware of the provincial border at the time).  Like my time in Niagara, I elected to skate from a southern bridge to a northern one, the latter being Alexandra bridge over the Ottawa River.  What a special moment this turned out to be as my wheels clanked over the wooden boards of the bridge, seemingly to the dismay of the townspeople.  I was not the least bit concerned for this harmless transgression, as I had been otherwise captivated by my backside view of Parliament sitting atop its hill.  It felt as if I had been transported to Transylvania, & the Victorian edifice gave me a sense of passion for human ingenuity.  I made it back to the HI Ottawa Jail Hostel, aligned my belongings, & requested a ride to the Ottawa Greyhound terminal to catch my bus to Montreal. Here is precisely where Francais surpassed English as the primary mode of communication for the foreseeable future.  The beloved Quebecois are very proud of their Francophone heritage, as it is the written language on road signs & nearly all signage everywhere (with a distinctive lower regard for English).

Arrival in Montreal occurred after the couple-hour bus ride.  Immediately I was made aware of the foothold in normalcy that the French language commanded there, mainly because everything was in French (& not always in English).  Outside the bus station, during my coordination with my Airbnb host, multiple homeless individuals approached me in search of loose change or a cigarette. This would be otherwise unworthy of mention had it not been for their guttural requests being in a language outside of English; I remember finding it striking to conceive a natively French-speaking bum whose domain I was now a guest in.  My stuff & I made yet another march to the place I would come to call a temporary home- the apartment of Alix & Marion.  I was mid-toke when my host, Alix, motioned to me to come to the stairs at the foot of the door & take my entry. A simple ‘bonjour,’ we greeted each other with, & I demonstrated to her that I would prefer to speak in her primary language in an effort to sharpen my own ear & mouth, to which she gladly agreed.  The remainder of our exchanges over roughly the next 48 hours took place in Francais, with varying degrees of contextual & vernacular depth.  The common Montrealaise person is a French-speaker with a veritable accent when they switch to English.  As the old addage goes, when in Rome, do as the Romans do.  I met this challenge to navigate a new cityscape & probe its peoples in an embracing way with occasional angst, constant excitement, & most profoundly with a thirst for knowledge.

My goods were locked away in my room, I had just showered, so I grabbed my board & set sail in search of the city’s lifebloods. Beginning in Chinatown (which usually tends to be either exactly or nearby places I stay in cities), I opted to head west in search of Le Plateau & Mile’s End, sections of the town celebrated for the globality & execution of their cuisinieres.  Some poutine boeuf hache from Main Deli on Rue Ste. Laurent seemed the right call, & turned out better than my imagination had guessed.  From Mile’s End southward I was bound, seeking to lay eyes upon L’Universite de Montreal.  Little did I know it was set atop one of the many tiers of Mt. Royal at the city’s center.  Getting there was rather trying, but the views of Quebec’s largest city at night from the campus, coupled with the exhilaration of board-bombing down the occasional hill, left little to be desired & much to be remembered.  Further south of the University lied L’Oratoire de St. Joseph (St. Joseph’s Oratory), a Catholic-driven destination featuring towering stained-glass windows, a gathering hall for services that rivaled the most Mormon of Tabernacles, along with a balcony’s viewpoint all its own.  After struggling to find the exit from the Oratory, I found it in my best interest to begin the journey back to my bed.  A complete encircling of Mt. Royal park was supposed to cap the day’s adventure as night had already befallen hours before.  Perhaps fate had other plans in mind.

My phone had been rendered useless at this point, & I had little more than my intelligence to rely on to get me back home.  Unfortunately, my mental capacity had waned significantly over the course of the day’s doings, & over the next 2 or 3 hours I could be plainly seen wandering somewhat aimlessly from roadside map to roadside map.  The outcome of being well off-track was spectacular, however.  I cannot help but feel I got to experience the city in a different & daring light.  Half of me wanted to return home, & the other half wanted to investigate each eye-catching facet; more often than not, I let the need to investigate prevail & tacked some formidable mileage onto the invisible odometer of my skateboard throughout the night.  After some much-needed guidance from a man walking & a bus driver, I was able to piece together just enough of my surroundings to locate 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth. Before heading home, I stopped into an Indian restaurant called SpiceBoys, where I requested tandoori chicken with curry rolled into naan bread.  The only problem was that their card terminal was unable to accept any of my debit or credit cards, & so, with one stroke of effortless Indian-Canadian kindness, I was gifted a hearty dinner for the night free of charge.  With the help of daylight, the next day I uncovered that I had thoroughly explored Downtown Montreal (via Rue Ste. Catherine), the Red-Light District, the Quartier Latin (Latin Quarter), & the Quartier des Spectacles (Entertainment District).  I crept back into the apartment, which creaked with every floorboard, into my room & resigned to fatigue.

DAY 6 - 3/19 - 8.64 miles

I remained asleep in my quarters for the morning’s entirety, having groveled thirteen hours through the mandatory regeneration of my body & mind.  Near this time I had an extended conversation with my hostess in which I requested to place my bags there after check-out the following day & attached reasoning to the request… completely in Francais! She was more than accommodating.  Awakened & thoughts of the night prior still scrambling my brain, I showered (peeling skin off myself for the vast majority of time in the water), clothed myself in some hot shit, & set out to cross the St. Lawrence River.  The cartographic struggles that were now in the past (plus a charged phone) helped me immensely in getting to my desired destinations in the coming days.  I set out southward on Boulevard Rene-Levesque seeking to hit Griffintown & St. Henri before taking the Wellington Street bridge over to the L’isle de Ste. Helene (St. Helen Island).  The riverfront at Sq. St. Patrick was an intoxicating mixture of sights & sounds; inlaid with a frozen stream, industrious (sometimes abandoned) infrastructure, & graffiti/street art that seamlessly colorized a scene already full of vibrance made for a quite memorable portion.  At the point where most individuals had turned back due to the icy paths & an increasingly disinviting ambience, I progressed under Highway 10.  On a route I was positive few or none had taken before, I stood roadside at dusk having to think intensely upon my next move & if it was the correct one.  Wrong ones were made, gloves were dropped, but in time & effort I was able to find Avenue Pierre-Dupuy.

For a handful of kilometers, I skated along the shipyard gazing upon the city that I had been so immersed in & with.  I was trying to practice kicking & pushing in the ‘goofy’ stance, so that I could face the spectacles & not apartment complexes (to mild avail).  Before I knew it, I reached Parc Dieppe (Dieppe Park), a park on the north tip of the Cite du Havre & the starting point of the Pont de la Concorde (Concord Bridge).  I would begin crossing without giving myself the time to let fear fester.  Cars sped by at a half-meter’s length as my wheels rolled over tidbits of gravel, & more present in my mind, over a large body of water.  I recall taking a few moments of pause at the bridge’s midpoint to survey my surroundings, & beautifully dominating they were.  Humbled I felt, truly.  As if my existence equated to a ripple in the river below, & with my individual ripple I can become a hurricane, or mud.  The end of the bridge was a comforting sight.

To reach L’isle de Ste. Helene was the goal for the day & having gotten off the east end of the Pont de la Concorde, I was finally there.  A long walk up the eastern coast of the island awaited me & was met with a heart teeming with adventure.  Here I had time alone.  With no other humans nearby, I let my mind run wild with thoughts of the trip to this point & how, in the grand scheme of things, I felt I was at where I should be; perhaps not geographically as one’s physical station is usually inconsequential. But in my mental state I was home, & home alone at that.  Onward & northward I strode through the Parc Jean-Drapeau, laying eyes upon the ‘Biosphere’- a spherical structure on the island meant to champion ecology.  Trees & ice accompanied me on the brisk walk to the north end of the island.  There, Pont Jacques-Cartier (Jacques Cartier Bridge) awaited me in all of its steel beam splendor.  Thankfully, the lanes of traffic & the pedestrian walkway had a divider between them, as well as a protective gate on the side where one might otherwise go overboard.  This was all I needed to hop back on my board & skate my weathered boots over the St. Lawrence for the last time.  On the bridge there were workers toiling away & the dazzling light sequence of the bridge itself made for a surreal experience.  In the distance I could see the bridge, lit in rainbow colors, that I had crossed merely an hour or two before this new bridge that served as my current vantage point.  Thoughts on the ephemerality of my existence at large (exemplified by having been way over yonder ‘then’ & here ‘now’) & the absolute need for self-belief against a vacuum of chance pervaded my tiny brain.  The Pont Jacques-Cartier provided a special moment in my life that I can attest to having been rarely duplicated before.  For reasons beyond me, I shed a tear & smoked a bowl before getting off.

Once off, I felt my way through Gay Village & back down into the Quartier Latin where I stopped for dinner at a quaint, but busy, Napoli Pizzeria.  The owner was Italian.  The waiter too.  Both spoke Italian, English, & French, but after a while a Mexican family of 6 on vacation from Monterrey was seated, & the working duo displayed their aptitude in the Spanish language as well, going so far as to tell jokes anecdotally.  I grinned & shared in the aura of the exchange, although I likely resembled a dirty drifter in the corner.  Coming from such worldly humans, naturally the smoked salmon pizza topped with capers & onions was not lacking in the least bit.  So, I ordered a large box for take-out after munching away the smaller portion & took my leave.  On the way home, I stopped at a Second Cup Coffee Co. location & had a brief verbal volley with the barista in request of a cheesecake. He complimented my accent when speaking French, & even likened it to that of a French person (maybe meaning not Quebecois), despite glaring difficulties in my comprehension & rebuttals.  Riding an emotional (& literal) high during the descent of a simply remarkable day of jam-packed novelty & sensation in all forms (sights, sounds, smells, tastes, touches, introspection), I returned to the apartment for  my last full night in the region.

DAY 7 - 3/20 - 2.42 miles

My time in Montreal was now nearing an end, & I began to hold thoughts of coming home in high regard.  When the sluggishness of sleep washed away in the shower (insert skin peeling of the largest proportions here), I readied my luggage & cleaned my temporary room as best as I could to eliminate all signs of a horrific sunburn & accompanying cranial gash.  With the green light from my hostesses to store my luggage in the apartment until the night’s 10:50 bus ride to Plattsburgh, NY, I was intent upon checking off the last few Montreal-bound goals that remained.  This came chiefly in the form of a desire to reach the Mt. Royal lookout in order to take in the city-sphere from its namesake mountain.  Originally, I had intended to skateboard there from the apartment, but after a few blocks of dousing rain, I called an Uber to scoop me up (after finding out that Lyft doesn’t yet operate in Quebec) & take me.  The friendly Uber driver, Vincent, let me out at the drivable point closest to the Chateau Mont Royal, & didn’t hesitate to call me crazy for being there in such ferocious conditions.  He pointed me in the proper direction which was aided by a fellow human headed toward the same spot as myself.  Precipitation worsened as the half-mile March was underway, but it was worth every goosebump & raindrop once I reached the outlook.

A dreary backdrop of low-hanging, gray clouds & the smell of rain caressed the skyline’s perimeter in a way that rang true & imprinted upon me a stunningly naked Montreal.  An intimate version of the city it was, gripped by the unknown like the rest of the world, yet resilient enough for entrepreneurialism to survive in pockets.  Having already been to many of the places now set in my sight made the moment all the more fulfilling & full circle.  A naive feeling of having ‘conquered’ the city laid bare before me was soon supplanted by the revelation of the realer self-conquest. Half-frozen water panging my face & wind gusts pulling & pushing without cease proved no match for the firmness I had found, in feet & fortitude.  This was the quintessential culmination of the week I endured, & one one-hundred percent befitting of such a voyage.

I made my escape of Mount Royal with haste before my inadequate (but stylish) clothing proved a fatal error.  Originally, I had the notion to return to Main Deli because my last meal there was so damn good, but in the moment I opted for Schwartz’s Deli across the street in the name of variety.  A heaping steak sandwich slatted between two tiny slices of wheat with mustard proved to be the house specialty, & was served less than a minute after being ordered… It was alright.  Homeward bound with a full stomach, I decided to walk into a store that I had held in the back of my mind after passing by my first day there, Cul-de-Sac.  This place was happening!  The owner of the store was gracious in her conversation as I browsed.  I eventually confessed my inspiration(s) gained from her shop (& plans to recreate in a respectful, homage-paying manner).  We spoke at length about various topics, from our being of parents, to our being of owners of similar retail operations, to her allegiance to Quebec & not the whole of Canada.  In fact, she was the foremost messenger of the separatist mentality that the people of the Quebec province displayed, on their countenance & in their conduct.  I purchased a few of the items in her shop, she threw me some good stuff for free, & we wished well upon each other at my exit.  That was the last recreational stop in Montreal, & soon thereafter I retreated to the Quartier des Spectacles to acquire my things.  I was graced with the time to charge my phone & rest my bones for about 45 minutes.  It was during this time that a cherished exchange between myself, Alix, & Marion (a hostess with whom I’d only spoken with via Airbnb messaging up to this point) occurred.  It had become expected that I was asked what I did with my day, & that is how the chat began.  I explained the day’s travels, thanked the duo for being a source of comfort & ease at the beginnings & ends of trying days.  I also thanked them for putting up with my butchering of their language (as each inhabitant of the apartment was from France) for the sake of practice, which they met befuddled & were quick to praise my ability to communicate/intonate in their complicated speech.  They even went so far as to say that my speaking has a native’s accent & were super appreciative of my having taught myself over the last couple years.  A mutual encounter I cannot help but feel it was, & I remain grateful for their pleasant & inviting demeanors.  I climbed down the long stairwell of 1223 Rue Ste. Elisabeth once & for all & signaled for Uber to take me to the Longueil Metro.

I had arrived at the bus station with plenty of time to spare, having somewhat learned the errors of my ways.  I was serious about not wanting to cut anything close with such little time left for my returning flight home. I waited patiently at my gate for my bus to arrive & whisk me away back to the states for my 2:59 AM flight out of Plattsburgh, New York (Upstate).  Sadly, the bus’s arrival time came & went, & at the mention of the ticketing booth agent, I waited another 45 minutes for it.  Having received no notification of cancellation from the bussing company, no accurate updates on the whereabouts of the bus, & minute after minute shaving away from takeoff time, I was forced to call an Uber to pick me up from the metro station & take me to the border- this cost one-hundred Canadian dollars.  We stopped at an ATM, grabbed some snacks, & finally Ridaha & I were on our way.  A fruitful & insightful chat aided us along the drive, & I was able to disentangle much French from this nice Tunisian man.  An hour passed & we arrived at the U.S. border.

As the car pulled up to the border, U.S. Customs agents ordered repeatedly for my driver’s documentation.  A brief argument between an unsuspecting Ridaha & an extremely serious officer took place.  The very odd circumstances were eventually explained, Ridaha was directed to make a U-turn & head home while I exited the vehicle, grabbed my bags, & headed to the border patrol substation.  It was there that I was informed that I would need to call a cab (as Uber wasn’t functioning in this particular location), but to complicate matters drastically, the taxi services weren’t doing the ‘border run’ that night.  My heart fell into my stomach, & I had entered a phase of worry that I had yet to reach at any point along the trip.  Thankfully, one Officer Burdette walked me to the West Service Road behind the U.S. Border Patrol & Customs Champlain Station & pointed in the direction of the nearest place still open- a Peterbilt truck stop about a half mile down a pitch-black road.  He also made it a point to mention that if I attempted to hitchhike on main Highway 87, I would be arrested.  This oh so tangible road brought with it intangible emotion after emotion as I grappled with triumph & failure, each still hanging in the balance.  It had become very important outside of my own ambitions for me to make the plane & get home, & I was purely keen to not have loved ones worry about my wellbeing any longer.  A frantic mixture of skating & speed-walking got me to the Peterbilt stop, & by the grace of God, the taxi company agreed to send out a driver for me & get me to the airport from this largely equidistant pick-up point. While I waited in freezing temperatures in an Eddie Bauer peacoat on the side of the road at the smallest hour, another group of U.S. Customs agents spotted me & sought to question my being there.  They asked for identification & reasoning to which I was forthcoming.  They wished me well & left.

Thirty minutes later, a portly man of sound intelligence & world view taxied me to the Plattsburgh International Airport (after having stopped at an ATM for cash to pay him). I entered the empty airport at 2:30 AM for my 2:59 AM flight with the driver’s assurance that I’ll be able to get right through TSA & onto the plane.  More than sadly, he was mistaken.  The Spirit Airlines attendant had vacated his post thirty minutes before takeoff to aid the onboarding crew, as per policy, of course.  I rushed up to the barren TSA line & inquired about my chances of getting on the plane.  They responded that the flight door had already been closed, & that it was now an impossibility for me to board.  Needless to say, it was now impossible for me to get home on time, too. I felt I had fallen just short of a buzzer-beating victory that I had already affirmed to those who had expressed concern. I had begun to list the many variables that could have gone differently to get me on to that flight: 1) why didn’t my bus in Longueil show up or even notify me of cancellation? 2) why didn’t I deem the bus ride a lost cause sooner & get an Uber sooner? 3) why did we have to stop at an ATM so off-route when leaving Montreal? 4) Couldn’t they have held me & my driver up a bit less at the border? 5) Why couldn’t the taxi agency send someone a half-mile further than where they would eventually come to pick me up? 6) Why did this portly man with a good view of the world have to drive the speed limit? Would he have driven faster if I didn’t entertain his subjects? 7) Why the fuck does the agent at the airline counter leave the counter thirty minutes before a flight is scheduled to take off?

When the airline attendant did return, he was sympathetic to my cause & willing to help find a solution.  Employing a similar program to the one used at the beginning of the trip, he was able to book the exact flight for the following day free of charge.  This eased me greatly.  Questions & doubt lingered, but I soon picked my chin up & hopped in another cab headed for the America’s Best Value Inn. This would be my impromptu safe haven on this frigid Friday night, & I checked in at 3:30 AM.

DAY 8 - 3/21 - 0 miles

Today is my sister’s & my aunt’s shared birthday.  I wished dearly to be home by now next to my daughter, & to begin decompressing the week’s peaks & valleys. Yet, here I sit in the lobby of the cheap motel I spent last night in.  I’ve been in the same chair since 1:15 PM, & it is now 12:49 AM (with the exception of a few bathroom/water breaks & a brief standing up to accept ordered wings & garlic bread).  This unexpected & obligation-less window in time was spent formulating this transcript of a vacation I can confidently say will come to prove formative as life presses on.  One not soon to be forgotten, nor the lessons gained therein forsaken. My flight to Las Vegas via Fort Lauderdale, Florida & Dallas, Texas is due to leave in a couple hours.  With my lack of punctuality deeply ingrained, I resolve to close this memoir in saying that the constant struggle with mortality across Earth & in minds amidst these troubling waters was on full display in every city & each individual’s expression.  Death and Disease on the tongues of the media & man the world over, but life itself (outside of the biological & inside of the metaphorical sense) is to be explored & discovered lovingly… never to be shied away from or merely sustained.  With our collectively restricted circumstances reaching a fever pitch in what people can & cannot, should & should not, will & will not do, I resolve to digress & remain profoundly thankful for love, safety, health & home. 

[cocktail-party-in-an-abattoir]

In Memoriam Herschel (2005-2021)

           It was the late summer/early autumn of 2005. I was 16 years old. I went to a friend’s house for a get-together with other friends. She lived in a more rural area, so stray cats were not uncommon. One of these strays had recently birthed a litter of kittens. They were corralled into a blocked-off area in my friend’s den. Naturally, we all gravitated towards the kittens. We spent a good while petting them, playing with them, holding them, and watching them with their mother. A particular kitten was a gray and white tabby. This kitten had made its way towards me and tried to crawl up one of my jean legs. I was wearing bootcut jeans, so it actually managed it. I was immediately drawn to this kitten, the idea of asking my parents if we could keep it already forming.

While my friends and I were playing with them, we decided to give them all smartass, noncommittal names. None of us could sex kittens, so that was reflected in the names we chose. I named the gray and white tabby (of which there were two, but I zeroed in on the jean leg kitten) “Herschel.” Why? Well, when I was eight or nine, I used to play House with friends. I had heard the name “Herschel” on some sitcom, and I liked the sound of it. So, I often named my fake son “Herschel.” This became an inside joke between my best friend and me.

            Back at home, I asked my mom if we could adopt the kitten. She had veto power. She was kind of hesitant at first but eventually relented. A few weeks later my friend and her mom brought the kitten over to my house. By that point I was already seriously referring to it as “Herschel.” We all just kind of assumed it was male. The first thing Herschel did after getting out of the carrying case was hide behind one of our bookcases and stayed there.

            We took Herschel to the vet. Upon examination the vet tech proclaimed he was, in fact, she. Her exact words were “You have a little girl!” For better or for worse, I was committed to “Herschel” (much to my mom’s chagrin), so from then on, I had a girl cat with a boy name. This led to years of various people (mostly veterinary staff) getting her sex wrong. I don’t know that I ever bothered correcting them because, well, they were going to find out the truth soon enough.

            Between 2005 and 2010, Herschel grew from a kitten with what my mom described as “Yoda ears” into a gorgeous young lady. She had the most beautiful green eyes. People always had nice things to say about her looks. She had an adorable bow-legged gait from the beginning. She grew into an affectionate little cuddle-bug once she adjusted to us. She was wary of strangers, which was probably for the best. She did not like to go outside as much as our older cat, Simba (RIP)—especially after being treed once—but she was a very skilled huntress. She even managed to get two hummingbirds. Obviously, I’m not a fan of such “presents,” but I couldn’t help but be impressed by her prowess.

            In 2007, we adopted 2 labs named Olive and Penny (RIP x2). 2010, we adopted two fluffy black kittens from our vet’s office. We named them Buttercup and Licorice (RIP x2). Herschel respected Simba because of his seniority, but she absolutely despised the other pets. She would growl and hiss at them on sight. Because of this, the dogs had to stay downstairs while the cats had free rein upstairs. By 2012, Buttercup had gone missing, and we had adopted two more animals: a cat named Kid Twist (“Twist” for short) and a blue heeler named Bleu. Herschel did not care for them either. That same year my parents moved one state over, and I moved to a nearby city to stay with a family friend. The Menagerie went with my parents.

            One day in 2013 or 2014 my mom commented about how Herschel hid under a guest room bed much of the time. She would only come out to do her business or eat. Since the dogs had free rein over the entire house, this meant there was no real “safe space” for Herschel. Thus, her reclusiveness. Mom was worried about her well-being. I offered to take Herschel under my wing. Mom agreed. Now, my housemate already had a few cats, so it wasn’t perfect, but it was an improvement over a house with dogs. Herschel had been under my care since.

            In 2015 Herschel moved with me into the apartment I currently live in. Despite my apartment’s smallness, she was finally the one cat in a one-cat home. I had stopped letting her out because a) my apartment complex is positively labyrinthine b) the complex is next to a busy highway, and c) I wanted her to live longer and not harm any wildlife (although her hunting days were behind her). She didn’t seem to mind. For the next few years, she was my kitty comrade. Aside from some dental issues and a heart murmur, she always had a clean bill of health. I honestly thought she was going to live as long as Simba had (18, almost 19) because he was also a spry geriatric cat.

            In late 2020, Herschel was diagnosed with hyperthyroidism. She had been growing thinner and vomiting before I found out. I had to start giving her medication twice per day, but there was otherwise no change. She was still the empress I knew and loved, if a little slower. I thought that was going to be it. Then, earlier this year, the vet ran some more tests. While I had managed to lower her thyroid levels, the vet found another problem: chronic kidney disease. My blood ran cold upon hearing this because one of our pet labs, Olive, had died from kidney failure a few years prior. The vet told me while there was no cure, CKD could be managed with diet changes and medication. He was right, but unfortunately, that wasn’t the case with Herschel. She quickly went from stage 3 to stage 4 (4 being the end stage). I still kick myself about this because I feel like I could’ve found out sooner. Anyway, the vet suggested I should have Herschel hospitalized for a couple of days with IV fluids. The idea was to basically rehydrate her and then start a regimen of a new diet, supplements, and medication.

            So, I waited outside for three hours until a hospital staff member came to collect Herschel. It would’ve been longer, but my very kind vet called ahead. A couple of days later my mom and I returned to the hospital to wait for Herschel. It was March 25th, my birthday. One of the vets called me and stated despite the diuresis, Herschel’s stats remained the same. She stated I had probably 2 weeks left with her. I knew she was right, but I was still determined to try. I gave her daily cocktails of medication. I learned how to give her subcutaneous injections to hydrate her. I got the prescription wet food. At first, she had more okay days than bad, but it eventually became clear she was circling the drain. Treatment transformed into hospice care. I was going to do everything possible to keep her comfortable. By the end she was incontinent and no longer eating or drinking. Then she stopped being able to walk. I knew I had to make the final appointment. After a long crying session, I did.

            My mom came to help yesterday. Herschel was mostly immobile and out of it. Not even her favorite prosciutto roused her. I swaddled her in a changing pad and a blanket and slept with her next to me for one more night. She was still alive this morning if barely. Before we were set to go to her final appointment, I played her Sugarloaf’s “Green-Eyed Lady” (which will always remind me of her) and Audrey Hepburn’s version of “Moon River.” As my mom and I went to prepare her for the appointment, we realized how still she was. She did not appear to be breathing, and she did not react to anything we did. I took a flashlight to her pupils and… she was gone. She had died peacefully on my couch, which was one of her favorite spots to lounge. Honestly, I was relieved because the thought of taking her to a strange place to be euthanized frankly distressed me. I cuddled her ragdoll body from then until we were sitting in the vet office’s parking lot. Mom got a chance to hold her, too. A vet tech came out, used her stethoscope, and confirmed what we already knew. After a few more minutes with her we said our last goodbyes. I filled out paperwork confirming I wanted her ashes returned to me with a clay pawprint.

            I want Herschel’s ashes buried on my parents’ property with the others. Maybe a little farther away since she did not like most of them. I’m also looking into urn jewelry so I can carry her with me. This cat saw me at some of my lowest points, including when I was furloughed from my job last year. This cat was sweet and affectionate but also a pesky little shit. This cat was the first living being I was fully responsible for. She somehow managed to be regal while shoving her butthole into your face. If she liked you, she came and sat with you. If she didn’t, she hid behind the washing machine. I’m convinced she was part slug because even at her largest she was able to fit into confined spaces. I will miss her trilling meows. She was beautiful to the end, and I will always love her and miss her. I don’t know if there is an afterlife or not, but if there is, I hope she has endless king crab and prosciutto to snack on.

[seattlebusinessgroup]

Top Museums in  Seattle, WA 98148

Seattle is a seaport city on the West Coast of the United States. It is the seat of King County, Washington. Seattle is the largest city in both the state of Washington and the Pacific Northwest region of North America. According to U.S. Census data released in 2019, the Seattle metropolitan area's population stands at 3.98 million, making it the 15th-largest in the United States. In July 2013, Seattle was the fastest-growing major city in the United States and remained in the top five in May 2015 with an annual growth rate of 2.1%. In July 2016, Seattle was again the fastest-growing major U.S. city, with a 3.1% annual growth rate. Top museums in Seattle, WA are:

The Museum of Flight: The Museum of Flight is a private non-profit air and space museum in the Seattle metropolitan area. It is located 9404 E Marginal Way S, Seattle, WA 98108, United States. It was established in 1965 and is fully accredited by the American Alliance of Museums.

Seattle Art Museum: The Seattle Art Museum is an art museum located at 1300 1st Ave, Seattle, WA 98101, United States. It maintains three major facilities: its main museum in downtown Seattle; the Seattle Asian Art Museum in Volunteer Park on Capitol Hill, and the open Olympic Sculpture Park on the central Seattle waterfront, which opened on January 20, 2007.

Museum of Flight Store: Museum gift store stocking an array of merchandise relating to aviation & space exploration. It is located at 9404 E Marginal Way S, Seattle, WA 98108, United States.

Member Spotlight:

Olympic View Dental

19703 1st Ave S, Seattle, WA 98148, United States

(206) 824-4700

https://olympicviewdental.com/

The team at Olympic View Dental is known for making dentistry fun! From the moment you call the office, until the time you leave, you'll experience personalized, professional care. 

Map Directions:

https://goo.gl/maps/f7fCMj2fFBKepztV9

[fyrapartnersearch]

if the saloon doors are a-swinging...

howdy, howdy fine folks! shock and surprise, i am looking for a couple of writing partners c: i am 26, and i work fulltime as well as go to school part-time, so while i cannot promise rapidfire posts, i am becoming better about daily posts! as long as they're relatively short, sweet, and to the point. so, limits/fun factoids about my style/"tl;dr are we compatible?" first: + when reaching out to me, please tell me your limits and any plot/character ideas!  + addendum: i will not respond to messages that don't contain any information about you, your limits, and what you're looking to write or what characters you'd like to use! it doesn't need to be completely fleshed out, thanks!  + i write over discord near exclusively now! + i'm adaptable and laidback! however, i do not write pedophilia, rape/sexual assault, incest, abusive relationships, romantic large age gaps, nor master x slave. i will not write explicit content with minors either.  + quality is far more valuable than quantity regarding length. i prefer shorter nowadays! those tasty, 1-3 para potato chip rps, so to speak c: + third person only, please +i do like long-term!  + romance and platonic is welcome! as far as romance goes, all gender identities and sexual identities are a-okay. i do admittedly have a preference for m// lately, so i will likely turn some other pairings down depending on what i am currently already writing! + i prefer writing middle-aged to older farts! they come in all shapes, sizes, colors, identities, and backgrounds! i wholeheartedly welcome the same! + i love ooc chatter! i'd prefer it if you did too, but it's absolutely okay if you're just interested in writing! it is not a dealbreaker + if you're not feeling it or if life happens, that's okay. you are free to either tell me you want a change, drop altogether, or even ghost me! i will do my best to communicate, but i am sorry in advance if i disappear without a word! i try to be pretty good at letting people know if i am not feeling it or if i am going on a break c: + yes, yes, i know i write like a goob - but i promise you that my posts will be crafted with love and care what do i like to write?  [cravings] + constantly changing! i have a couple of silly nuggets rolling around. mostly fluff with sprinkled angst. + post apocalypse slice of life is also great. with plenty of humor to spare. + anything with werewolves and their human beloved very concerned about the recent furniture chewing phase, and wow is frontline expensive for a 400lb beast. + want something depressing? how about something inspired by bioshock? impossibly beautiful underwater world with genetic manipulation, unhinged leaders, and missing children. + a silly, humorous story about a familiar and their witch + something a bit more rocky, but an old fashioned western physician falling for an outlaw/ sheriff/ rancher, etc. bonus points for post-apoc and western themed. please, i got the perfect ole grizzled doc for this c: [modern] + i love modern, but i am not really looking too intensely for it right now c: i am happy writing about firefighters and lawyers, scientists, military readjusting to civilian life, boring divorced dads who find lifelong love with other divorced dads, fluffy slice-of-life, etc. + military and coming back home! + leaving the city for a life on a farm! + leaving the farm for a life in the city! "y'all mean to tell me you don't know what noodling for catfish is?"

[(somewhat) historic] + btw, i am not a history buff - so be prepared for anachronisms galore! c: which might mean plumbing and dental care centuries before it was introduced. + noire crime! old grizzled detectives and their partners in crime trying to figure out these gosh dang murders. dang killers, bringing down everyone's vibes. + a detective moving to a podunk old town, with a ~mysterious past~. however, there isn't any mysterious past, the locals just humor the guy and i have a soft spot for the detective falling for the sheriff while constantly heckling him for assistance. + western! please, just... anything western. i love cowboys, ranches, train robberies, just... i will maybe propose if you let me indulge this. 

[fantasy & monsters] + i am also happy to write fantasy!  + fantasy can genuinely be blended into anything, into modern, sci-fi, post apocalyptic, etc. + i am also happy with pure, vanilla, cheesy fantasy - with kings, queens, beautiful warhorses and kingdoms by the sea, and conventionally attractive people with healthy teeth and... far less dysentery.  + i am happy to write sci-fi into fantasy - hunters/mercenaries with eyes that can hologram maps and prey, platinum horses made of gaskets and titanium joints who breathe steam, a kingdom in the sky, anything! + something all 'bout dat circus life! star crossed lovers tropes abound! + very, very old monsters who pester that one Highly Top Secret Government Agent ™ to let them see the spectral ghost of their mortal loved one from centuries ago. the ghosts of their in-laws also tag along. + good-natured, summoned demon spouses who just wish you'd get along with your in-laws who reside in a lovely three-bedroom villa style family home in hell. + i have a love for monsters trying to figure out this whole. human. thing. attempting to fit polo shirts for their office job over their curled horns, old werewolves trimming their nosehairs and their primary physician chiding at them for eating too much red meat, etc. there are so, so many possibilities + also dragons! [post-apocalyptic] + i've got spurs that jingle jangle jingle! post-apocalyptic in the wild, wild west sounds incredibly fun! + one innocent or guilty chump gets kicked out of a survivors organization, and their closest friend follows. then they both adventure into the great unknown of a hollow world. + zombie survival, maybe? [sci-fi] + space pilots, space pirates, space colonies, space travel, spaaaaace! + i don't have anything specific! typically, my sci-fi is blended in with other themes c: if you have anything, i'd love to hear it! [... guilty pleasures] + i love the cheesy and humorous things to temper the chaos. love, love, love writing that domestic, usually peaceful, sweet life of two happy people who have been together for ages or just met in their golden years after struggle and just... working for their happy endings. + though i am not usually interested in cheesy, obnoxious tropes... i have a soft spot for two grumpy, gruff guys falling for each other c: [miscellaneous]

+ this is hardly an exhaustive list of ideas or themes that interest me! if you have something in mind that you do not see, or anything at all, please do let me know! i love brainstorming and hearing ideas c: + note: i love writing with pretty boy archetypes!! but i am inundated with them at the moment in my current threads, bring me yer more grizzled and rough and tough boys! the two characters i have in mind are too old and boring to keep up with pretty, lithe youngins! what characters do i have in mind? plenty! craving two in particular, but i have plenty more in mind if the following two don't catch your interest: + one is svelte, aloof, posh, thoughtful. the very characterization of something like... a sleek, abyssinian cat playing the cello. intriguing, a little odd, an intimidating, coded villain - but really, just socially awkward, and a sweetheart. + the other is beefy, grumpy, and also... a goof at the core. the archetype of an ornery grandpa with the warmest heart and a distinguished grey streak in his hair. both are middle-aged men and adaptable to anything from old-fashioned fantasy, to modern, to sci-fi, to fantasy-modern hybrids, to post apocalyptic. they can be rogues, kings, survivors, lawyers, detectives, chefs, scientists, neighbors, loyal right-hands, anything from protectors and anchors to the village/office boob.  i am preferring to write the former gentleman, but i am up to write either, or someone completely different! i am also happy to elaborate upon contact if you are interested! fortunately, each one is more complex than several adjectives and a stereotypical archetype. i'd also love to hear the characters you have in mind! are you interested? well, neat-o! i can be reached at discord on howdy^3#6518, i look forward to hearing from you!

[mysideblogofsurveys]

Survey 16.

Favorite beverage: Well, Water I guess.  I like drinking Mt. Dew or Coffee but I’ve cut back on all that stuff (but I will have a cup of coffee every morning)

When was the last time you had ketchup? On Saturday.  We made Sweet Potato Fries but they don’t really good with ketchup

What is the most recent gift you've been given? My co-workers gave me a GrubHub gift card for all the help (they’re working from home but I still go into the office so they e-mail what they need to do to me so I can do it for them - I actually hate doing it but..we don’t really have a choice).  Anyway, they wanted to give me something as “Thanks for all the help” and I told them a simple “Thank You” is all I want but people don’t listen. (Not to be ungrateful but I don’t like receiving gifts from anyone other than family and NO ONE listens and gives me things anyway).

Did you leave the house today? Not yet, I’ll be leaving about 8:10 to go to work

Are there bumper stickers on your car? Yes :) a “Straw Hat” pirate one from the anime One Piece and an EXO sticker for the kpop group.

Are you watching tv right now? Kind of.  “Dark” on Netflix.  I paused it briefly though to read these questions - its in German so I need to read the subtitles.

Are you wearing anything blue? No

Do you have a job? Yes..but I’ve been thinking about quitting so I can move back to the city I loved.  Life is too short to live in a place you don’t like and I’ve seen other jobs I can apply for so I’m not worried.

Is your car messy? No, I like to keep it clean.

When did you last have whipped cream? This morning..I like using heavy whipping cream in my coffee (as opposed to the other creamers that are all sugar).  My husband uses the canned/aerosol whipped cream in his coffee though.

How far away is the closest house? Literally down 2 flights of stairs.  I live on the 3rd floor of an apartment.

What street do you live on? On one that has a cool name

Are you dating anyone? I’m married.

What color is you computer? Both my laptop and desktop are black

Do you own an iPod? What color is it? I do!  I won an iPod at my high school graduation celebration (my class had a “lock in” at the school - basically they “lock” you in the school (from like 6pm to 6am) where you can play games, nap if you want, eat all sorts of junk food or just hang out and have a party for everyone graduating, it was a lot of fun.  They had a raffle before everyone went home the next morning and I won an iPod (this was in 2006 so a long time ago lol) But it was just the standard black one.

What is the most recent picture on your phone/camera of: UGH OMG so I forgot I took a picture of this DISGUSTING roach that I found in our apt on Friday night.  They’re not the tiny/infestation ones, they’re large “Palmetto Bug” roaches that tend to wander into houses that have cracks and our vents.  Since I live in an apartment, theres not much I can do about it. I can’t wait to move!!!

Have you ever shot a gun? Oh definitely, we like to go to the gun range with my father-in-law.  Its a great way for us to bond and I hope to God I’ll never ever have to actually use one but I like the idea of not being completely defenseless if someone breaks into my house (as I’m small and could easily get overpowered)

What temperature is it? Maybe 70 in the apt but probably 80s outside? Do you know anyone with a third nipple? Uh..no.

What do your parents do for a living? My Mom is a dental hygienist and my Dad is an Electrician.

Have you ever had a pet that had babies? No :/ I always thought that would have been fun though

Which grocery store is closest to you? Publix

Do you have a hamper in your room? Yes

Do you know anyone that's a nurse? Yes but I haven’t talked to him in years.

Do you know someone with the name Alaina? No

What color is the blanket on your bed? Ahh, black blankets, blue blankets, purple blanket..we have like 4 or 5 blankets on our bed.

What are your parent's middle names? Well, one starts with an “S” the other starts with an “E”

Have you ever broken a bone? Yes, kind of

Do you wear braces or glasses? I wear glasses and had braces growing up.

What color are they? I’m assuming my glasses?  They’re black and have tiny stars in the corner. 

Are you currently reading a book? Yes, I’m reading “Legends of the Alfar” by Markus Heitz

When did you last get your blood drawn? Its been quite a few years

Have you ever done hard drugs? No, I’ve smoked weed before but didn’t like it.

How many contacts are in your phone? A lot but thats because I haven’t deleted them.  If I deleted everyone I don’t talk to, there wouldn’t be many.

Does your toilet have a seat cover? No.

What's currently on your grocery list? I have a whole list.  We haven’t been to the grocery store in a few days but we need to go when I get off work.

What things do you take with you everywhere? Wallet, phone, car keys..and my Zune (yes, the MP3 player from like 2000 lol)

Do you know someone that is/was over 100 years old? No but my Great-Grandpa is still living and he’s 96

Was your HS principal a girl or a boy? Woman I think..I actually don’t remember

Have you ever eaten a raw egg? No

Do you own any rings? Yes

Have you eaten fruit today? Not yet.  I’ve peeled 2 clementines for my breakfast when I get to work though

What about milk? Nope, not for a couple weeks.

What letter does your state start with? F

Could you list all 50 states? Easily.

What about their capitals? No, I used to be able to though

What internet browser do you use? Firefox.

Do you know anyone that lives in Wyoming? No, but my Husband and I joke about just leaving everything and moving there sometimes (to just get away from all the idiocy we see in this city).  I can’t believe there are only 500,000 people living in the entire state!

Do you smoke cigarettes? No

Which person you know has the most unique name? A few I suppose

Do you know someone that's missing a limb? No

Do you have facial hair? I don’t but my husband does Are you a bad person? I’m not and I hope no one thinks I am

What was the last swear you said? Bullshit (referring to my state closing beaches for Independence Day - yes I realize this was over a week ago but it still annoys me)

Have you ever called the police on someone? No

What is the most amount of pets you've had at one time? Two - a cat and dog

When did you last check your email? Yesterday.

Have you ever had a 3rd degree burn? No

Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? Yes, I fainted at work on time and they brought me to the hospital to find out what was wrong - thankfully it was nothing major

How long is your hair? About the middle of my back

Do you lock your doors at night? Oh yeah, they’re always locked even when we’re home.

Does your bedroom have a lock? Our bedroom doors do not

What do you have at your bedside? I have a table with old mail, a clock and sometimes my book (I want to read more before bed instead of looking at my phone)

How big is your bed? King

Do you know someone that was murdered? No

Do you know someone who's pregnant? No.  My friend was pregnant recently but she miscarried :(

Do you wear a watch? No, but I want to start wearing one!

What was your first pet? A cat

How much jewelry do you own? Not too much.  I don’t really wear jewelry.

What is the closest purple thing? My EXO pencil bag - it has their logo in a galaxy themed colors (purple, blue and green)

Green? Same thing as above

What time is it? 7:44am

What is your ideal profession? I wish I knew!! I have no idea :(

How tall are you? Like 5′0

Have you ever gotten x-rays? Yes

Do you wear gloves in the winter? I would but its never Winter in FL.

Do you consider yourself smart? Eh, so so.  I’m not stupid but I”m also not a genius.  I’m just average.

What color eyes are the prettiest? Gray-Blue eyes or Dark brown

Are your teeth straight? Yes

Do you like chocolate milk? I do but I don’t drink it because of all the sugar

Do you own a bike? No, I haven’t in years.  I want to buy one though but theres not really a place to bike where I live right now.

Are you taller than your mom? No, she’s like 5′1 lol so she’s just barely taller than me

Have you ever been engaged? Yes :)

What, in your opinion, is the ugliest name? I dont’ know, I don’t particularly like the old style names though

[anwdental]

Meet Dr. Eric J. Lee

Education and continuing education

Dr. Lee graduated from the University of Missouri, Kansas City in 1998 with a Bachelor of Science. He earned his Doctorate of Dental Surgery at the University of Missouri Kansas City School of Dentistry in 1998. Dr. Lee also attended the Advanced Education in General Dentistry program at the University of Maryland in Baltimore, and graduated in 1999.

Dr. Lee launched his private dental/implant practice in Shoreline, April 2000 and has been delivering high quality and affordable dentistry to Snohomish and King County families ever since.

Dr. Lee keeps abreast of the latest advances and developments in the field of dentistry, participating in numerous post-graduate education and special training courses, such as Invisalign®. He continues to study extensively the art and science of restoring beautiful smiles and the overall health of the mouth.

Experience

Dr. Lee practices both family dentistry and cosmetic dentistry. He is trained and certified by the Dental Board of Washington to administer oral sedation, and offers comfortable conscious sedation dentistry for his patients. Dr. Lee also performs advanced oral surgeries and root canals and is a dental implantologist. He has more than ten years of experience in providing superior dental care and achieved full fellowship status in theInternational Congress of Oral Implantologists in 2004, following attendance in a didactic and clinical program in oral implantology.

Dr. Lee is an active member of the American Dental Association and the Academy of General Dentistry.

Outside the office

Dr. Lee was born in Seoul, Korea, and came to the US when he was 13 years old. He lived in New York City for three months before coming to Seattle, and he’s loved it here ever since! Dr. Lee enjoys the mostly moderate climate of the Pacific Northwest, and is happy to raise his family in such a wonderful community.

Spending time with his wife and two children is Dr. Lee’s priority, whether he’s attending their sporting events or just hanging out together at home. He also enjoys playing tennis, watching movies, traveling, and community involvement through his church.

[fiinalgiirls]

GENERAL INFORMATION.

FULL NAME - ramira beatriz reyes bustamonte NICKNAMES - ram, mira GENDER / PRONOUNS - she/her DATE OF BIRTH - february 12, 1990 PLACE OF BIRTH - el paso, texas CITIZENSHIP / ETHNICITY - cuban-american RELIGION - agnostic SOCIOECONOMIC STATUS / POLITICAL AFFILIATION - upper middle class, liberal. MARITAL STATUS - single. SEXUAL & ROMANTIC ORIENTATION - pansexual. EDUCATION / OCCUPATION - horror author, librarian in some verses LANGUAGES - spanish, english

FAMILY INFORMATION.

PARENTS - diego and paola reyes  SIBLINGS - tbd OFFSPRING - none PETS / OTHER - none NOTABLE EXTENDED FAMILY - step-family

PHYSICAL INFORMATION.

FACECLAIM - jeanine mason HAIR COLOR / EYE COLOR - black / brown HEIGHT / BUILD - 5′7″ / slender TATTOOS / PIERCINGS - ears DISTINGUISHABLE FEATURES - red lips and a winning smile, long dark hair

MEDICAL INFORMATION.

MEDICAL HISTORY - none KNOWN ALLERGIES - nkda VISUAL IMPAIRMENT / HEARING IMPAIRMENT - none NICOTINE USE / DRUG USE / ALCOHOL USE - has a bit of a party problem in her past, now is trying to drink more responsibly and limit drug use to the occasional joint

PERSONALITY.

TRAITS - friendly, imaginative, enthusiastic ; a little vapid, distant TROPES - tbd TEMPERAMENT - sanguine ALIGNMENT - chaotic good CELTIC TREE ZODIAC - rowan, the MBTI - esfp HOGWARTS HOUSE - slytherin VICE / VIRTUE - tbd LIKES / DISLIKES: leather jackets and designer boots, red lipstick, the sound of a keyboard clicking, drop shots, stephen king and clive barker  /  doctor’s offices, family gatherings, ubers QUOTE:  ❝strip a writer to the buff, point to the scars, and he’ll tell you the story of each small one.❞

FAVORITES.

FOOD - shrimp raviolis DRINK - red wine and black coffee PIZZA TOPPING - pesto chicken COLOR - red MUSIC - dark synth BOOKS - horror, thriller MOVIES - horror, thriller CURSE WORD - tronpon SCENTS - coffee, pasta, cloves, and pine

BIOGRAPHY,

trigger/content warnings: divorce mention, horror

ramira reyes was almost a household name by the time she’d finished her third book, but only her family called her beatriz. the sound of her birth name on their lips producing goose flesh as easy as the creak of a door in a house void of people. it had been a wise, yet impulsive, decision she’d made prior to her first publication that, were she to gain any small fame at all, she might like to keep some part of herself to herself. that she might want to some day found her own world absent of perfection without them. if nothing else, she could at least have her name and that small piece of autonomy and power that came with keeping it safe someday on the lips and hearts of her siblings, even if many of them did not appreciate or understand her chosen subject matter.

diego and paola met in artemisa, cuba in diego’s dental practice. paola was a dental hygienist with dreams of modelling and diego thought she had the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. the pair were perfection, because they were both obsessed with perfection. despite the infidelity, no one could find a single flaw between them. beatriz was born eight months later and diego thought she and paola could offer him a more beautiful life than the one he already had. no hairs out of place, no stains on white couches. beautiful enough that he left his wife, and the children he’d already had with her, bringing his new bride and daughter to el paso, texas where they could start anew.

since the very first book, beatriz devoured the written word. she read every book she could get her hands on. she read in spanish and english. she read poetry and prose. she read history and the classics and all of shakespeare’s collected works by the time she was ten. it was stories like macbeth and the raven she loved most and she searched for their peers. disturbed by their daughter’s love of the macabre, paola threw out her stephen king paperbacks as easily as she found them and diego insisted she read more sophisticated authors. her parents’ efforts did little to sway her and, as her siblings were born after her, she was able to fly under their radar a little more with each birth.

a nervous child since birth, her parents control and idiosyncrasies only served to worsen her anxieties. allowance was not freely given to be spent; purchases had to be reviewed with both parents for approval. she became afraid to step out of line and yet she stepped on every crack in the sidewalk on her daily walk home from school. not because she believed some playground rhyme, but just to spite them. just to feel the imperfection underfoot as she plastered on her wooden smile. reading was her greatest escape and the school library her only refuge. it was there she discovered terrifying covers and flawed heroes. there was comfort in the frightening fantasies spun by horror greats. whatever her worries were, they were never as intimidating as the battle of good versus evil in the stand or the serial terror of books of blood. soon she was writing her own stories–sending shivers up the spines of girls at slumber parties and earning concerned, but approving glances from her creative writing teachers.

despite their dislike of her interests, both diego and paola were loving and supportive, they told her so. there was a long list of careers they had planned for her. she could follow in her father’s footsteps, she could be a model and fulfill her mother’s dreams, she could become a doctor, a lawyer, or go to business school like her uncle. and none among the prestigious careers laid out for her included horror writer. they stroked her hair and assured her it was not her fault when they finally split during her sophomore year in high school. in some ways, it only served to make things worse, but their divorce made it even easier to pursue her passion for writing. they were so focused on sabotaging each other’s happiness, she could easily slither through the cracks. finding herself with a hefty acceptance letter to sarah lawrence, where she’d always dreamed she’d go to escape the monotony and control of life in a dentist’s household in order to become who she’d always dreamed she could be.

college never felt pointless, despite meeting some of the same attitudes shared by her parents–one of the only things they could still agree upon. the nervousness that had driven her to the macabre seemed to dissipate the more she wrote about it. the more she wrote, the more she had to keep going and her first collection of short stories–her thesis project–was published the year she graduated. touted in the horror circles as a debut success, beatriz found herself in a whirlwind and, while her parents refused to read her work they did their best to support her; they told all their friends that they’d always pushed her to write. it burned that she couldn’t share everything she loved with them. that her place in the family was largely tied to her success. even her siblings seemed more afraid of stepping out of line than they did a desire to step out from underneath the reyes patriarch’s heavy thumb. and, as her success grew with each book, she felt further and further away from them. ramira reyes was a household name, but beatriz was the name she left behind with her family.

the distance only grew with her busy schedule and, as christmas neared, she found herself unable to travel back home under the threat of a new deadline for her latest tale of terror. procrastination became seductive with every daily distraction, and she found herself caught up in movie deal negotiations and parties. parties with people who were rarely critical of her, bathing her in the afterglow of sycophantic, unconditional love. after one such night out in a string of forgettable nights, she found herself drunk and lost in a subway car that felt eerily like midnight meat train with a broken phone and lost wallet. it was that morning, when she sat in a diner with last night’s party dress and smudged eyeliner, that she decided it was time to unplug. it was time to be scared again and it was time to write.

the loft apartment didn’t take long to sublet, nor did it take much time for her to pack. ramira had no idea where she was going, but she’d seen some rumors online about the mysterious town of boot hill, arizona and it seemed like the perfect place to unplug and be inspired. she sent her mother and father an email, apologizing to them that she’d likely miss christmas this year, but would make sure to come and see them all in el paso when she’d finished her book. the words were as wooden as her childhood smiles; nothing sounded worse than another christmas back home in el paso.

the flight wasn’t too long, but she was exhausted by the time she got into the rental car. assured by several people along the way that boot hill was simply an urban legend, ramira shrugged them off. it didn’t matter really. boot hill was more of an idea to her than a real place. as long as she found some small town where nobody knew her name and she wouldn’t be tempted by new york city nightlife, she was pretty sure she’d manage. maybe it wasn’t a real place, she thought dreamily, turning the dial on the rental car’s radio as she lost service, after following the directions she’d read on reddit and finding nothing. she could swear to god there’s no southbound highway and she’s barely able to keep awake any longer without any music, even with both windows rolled down.

it seems like it’s time to pull over at the next rest stop and catch some shut eye when she sees the sign. BOOT HILL, ARIZONA. IF YOU LIVED HERE, YOU’D BE HOME NOW! the quaint kitschiness makes her exhale sharply in amusement. fuck you, creepy gas station clerk, she thinks, tightening her knuckles at ten and two on the wheel with renewed resolve. i’m going to write a new bestseller in this town. white knuckled and red eyed, she drives on with the renewed energy of a second wind.

as a small smattering of lights appear in front of her, she can hardly hear the call of something sinister in the outskirts as she drives on. her phone still doesn’t have service, as she looks for an airbnb, but it doesn’t even bother her that she can’t call anyone to let them know she’s made it safely. hell, her publisher will probably lose his marbles until she sends him a draft, but all of that can wait. there’s something so calming about the sleepy town waking up in the wee hours of the morning. there’s something so magical about the pace of this place and ramira thinks, maybe she could write all her books in this town. maybe this is somewhere she belongs.

[howtohero]

Fairy Tale Themes

Having a distinct superhero identity is very important if you’re going to be a superhero. You can’t just be stopping crimes as a civilian, stopping crimes is often a crime, for some reason. So you need to wear a whole getup and come up with a whole unique shtick. But that can be pretty hard. You can’t just throw a bunch of darts at a word board, that’s how you get heroes like Cat Vomit Confetti Man, or Pencil Rhombus Mount Rushmore Woman. (No offense to those guys, I know you guys were instrumental in repelling that Planet Doom invasion a couple of years back!) So sometimes, instead of coming up with an entirely new thing, heroes just steal an old one.

If you’re going to pattern yourself after a figure from a popular tale or piece of folklore you need to make sure you pick a good one. For example, you don’t want to run around fighting crime calling yourself The Ugly Duckling. (No disrespect sir, I know you singlehandedly held the planet together during The Great Fissuring.) But at the same time guys calling themselves Hercules are a dime a dozen. (None of you come to my house and punch me! I know how important the Hercules human pyramid was in saving Earth during the Galactic Olympics.) You need to hit that sweet spot of not completely ridiculous and not too overplayed.

You’d also be smart to grab a fairy tale character whose got a similar set of abilities as you do so your powers are thematically appropriate. If you’re an ice guy you can be The Abominable Snowman or Jack Frost (not to be confused with Jacked Frost the ice man who is almost too buff) but you wouldn’t want to be calling yourself Elsa from Frozen Man or Frosty the Snow-Man (yes Mr. the Snow-Man I know about the time you cooled the fires of Hell and freed several hundred wrongly damned souls during Greg the Skeleton King’s war on the living. If you’ve got the power to turn things into gold you might call yourself Midas but you wouldn’t want to go fight crime under the name Rumplestiltskin (for one thing, his whole bit is that people can’t guess his name, and if people can’t guess your name you’ll never be able to sign any lucrative sponsorship deals!) If you’ve got a winning smile you can call yourself Cheshire Cat but you should, under no circumstances, model yourself after dental hygiene folk hero Finnigan Floss. (He’s a sixty foot giant who has teeth the size of cars and spends all his days flossing, the story was meant to teach children not to focus only on one thing and let life pass them by but the dental industry coopted it and turned Finnigan Floss into a propaganda tool!)

But becoming a fairy tale character isn’t just a simple trick to get out of putting any effort into your superhero identity. You need to be ready to grapple with the consequences of such an action. For one thing, if there’s any villain out there who is already aping the image of a character from the same fairy tale, they’re going to automatically become one of your villains. So if there’s an entire crew of Wizard of Oz themed villains, maybe don’t call yourself Glinda the Good With of the North Man. (Tinman-Woman, I swear this is not a callout on you, I have nothing but the utmost respect for you after you singlehandedly, and I mean that literally she had one hand tied behind her back, thwarted a robot uprising.) At the same time though, if they’re famous for being hilariously ineffectual villains, then it might not be a bad idea to guarantee that they move to your town and attempt to commit crimes there for you to easily stop.

Your decision to become a fairy tale character might also inspire fairy tale enthusiasts to take up arms against you. These nerds will point out all the inaccuracies in your take on the character. Every. Single. One. “Ahem, Marry Poppins never drove a Poppins Mobile, she had a magical umbrella this is highly inaccurate.” “Erm, I hate to be that guy (you know that they love to be that guy) but Little Red Riding Hood was not a thirty five year old man with perpetual stubble.” “Goldilocks historically (???) had 150,000 golden locks. I’ve noticed when I observed you while you were sleeping (????) that you have only 135,000 locks of hair, and don’t even get me started on your roots.” So you’re going to need to preemptively block every fairy tale and folklore nerd in the word on all your public social media accounts, and probably some of your private ones too. Don’t underestimate the power of an angry nerd. Some of them might even be so angry, that they’ll try to become a fairy tale themed villain, just to show you the error of your ways. So... if you want to have a little fun with that be our guest. Make some nerd rob a bank while showing you what the real Little Bo Peep would look like! Convince some fairy tale buff that the best use of their time is mugging people while espousing the importance of pronouncing “bippity boppity boo” correctly.

Side note: Don’t become a Goldilocks themed superhero. Goldilocks is the clear villain of that story. Anybody who breaks into someone’s house and eats their food and sleeps in their bed is a criminal. That’s not just right. That’s just wrong. You should avoid taking on the appearance of any classic villains. That’s going to confuse trigger happy police officers who are responding to the scene of the crime. I guarantee you they’re going to shoot the guy dressed like Dracula (or plunge a wooden stake into your chest, which is just like, splinter-city) or an evil step-mother before they ask even a cursory “Which of you costumed ninnies is the superhero here?”

Superhero identities are as unique and varied as the people who choose to don them. And some people are just not all that unique, and for them we have some not so unique superhero identities. The stories we’ve been told as kids are rife with potential do-gooder (and do-badder) identities. So head to your local library, pick up a giant book of fairy tales from the kids section, and then sit there and read it and make all the parents there with their kids wary.