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chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

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Anything But Mine - Daniel’s Important Purchase

A/N Daniel had always second guessed almost everything in the past, but now, at only twenty-one years old, there’s nothing he’s more sure of than wanting to marry the love of his life.

Daniel stood in front of the glass case, biting nervously on his bottom lip as he scanned the sparkling contents, the small LED lights making each tiny stone glint and shimmer impressively. He tapped his fingers anxiously on the metal trim of the case and tried to find a price tag on any of the items.

“Can I help you find something?”

The voice startled Daniel a little and he looked up wide-eyed at the older lady behind the counter.

“Uhm,” he swallowed nervously, glancing back into the glass case, “Yes. Please. I’m…I’m looking for an engagement ring.”

“How lovely. Do you have a style in mind?”

“No…I don’t know.” Daniel shook his head.

“That’s alright. We can figure that out together. What about a budget?”

Daniel took a shaking breath and nodded, sliding his backpack off his shoulder and bent down to pull out his old music theory textbook from first year. He set it on the counter and opened the front to reveal a messy pile of bills. He had been saving for a few months, sneaking all his tips from work or stray bills from playing a few songs on city blocks into his old textbook in perfect secrecy.

He wanted to propose in Vancouver so he only had a few months to save as much as he possibly could to buy the most perfect ring for her; the girl who was raised in the ultimate luxury and whom he thought deserved the absolute world. He had it all planned out too: he would drive her up to his favourite hiking spot in the city at sunset and take her down to the lookout where you felt like you were at the top of the world and he would ask her to marry him right there. In picture perfect romance. But December was approaching quickly and Daniel needed to turn in his savings for a ring as soon as possible otherwise he would need a whole new plan.

To say he was stressing himself to make this perfect was an understatement.

The lady at the jewelry store eyed his open textbook with raised eyebrows and she sent him the calmest smile she could muster. This was a first for her.

“Okay, how much is all of that?” she asked.

“$385.” Daniel mumbled.

“$385? Okay.”

“I don’t know how much they cost and…this is all I have. I’ve been saving since, like, April but I need to buy one today.”

“That’s okay. We have plenty of options in your price range. Follow me over here.”

Daniel shut the textbook, sandwiching the bills tightly away as he slid it back in his backpack and zipped it up before rushing after the lady to another glass case across the store. His hand held tightly onto the strap of his backpack as he watched her slide out the tray and set the array of rings on the top.

“All of these are our sterling silver engagement rings, mostly all under $300.”

Daniel skimmed the display, pursing his lips in thought and tapping his fingers against the edge of the velvet tray. There were a few larger ones but they looked cheap and clunky or had black diamonds which Daniel thought was incredibly weird. He shifted nervously under the expectant stare of the lady.

“We can keep looking.” she offered.

Daniel sighed in relief, “Yes, please.”

She set the tray back in the case and moved them over to the next one, “These are a bit pricier but have more carats on the sterling silver bands.”

Daniel scanned the options but his eye caught on something in the next case over like it was fate. He leaned over a little to get a better look out of the sparkling glare of the LEDs that reflected off it, being met with a small simple diamond ring.

“What about that one?” Daniel asked, pointing carefully to it, glancing up at the lady with nervousness all over his face.

“The small one there?” the lady pulled open the case and lifted off the individual velvet stand it was tucked onto.

“Yeah.” Daniel breathed, staring at it like it was just what he had pictured. He licked his lips nervously as he asked the question he was almost too scared to ask, “How much is it?”

“This one is .23 carat, the middle stone of the three being .15 carat alone, on a 10k white gold polished band. It’s $545.”

Daniel let out a deep sigh, hanging his head forward in disappointment as if the number physically hurt him. He pouted slightly, looking back up at it sitting in front of him on the glass countertop, sitting pretty on the black velvet stand. He could almost see it on her finger, feeling as if he could see it sparkle on her hand as she smiled.

“I need this one.” Daniel breathed. “Is it on sale? Or is there, like, a coupon?”

“I can check.” the lady couldn’t help but smile to herself at the young man’s obvious determination to the woman he wanted to marry, and she turned to the computer near by to check for any promotions.

Daniel literally held his hands together and rested them against his face and prayed for it to be at least down to $400, swearing to God to never do anything wrong in his life ever again if he got this one thing the way he wanted it-

“It’s your lucky day. It’s on Christmas special. 30% for a total of $380.”

“$380?” Daniel gaped. “That’s less than…I have more saved than that.”

“You do.” the lady chuckled. “Is this the one you want then?”

“Oh my gosh.” Daniel whispered, biting back a grin, “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll get this one.”

“Alright! Do you have her ring size?”

“I brought another.” Daniel reached into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out one of Florence’s old rings that he snuck out of the back of her jewelry box.

The lady held out her hand for it and when he passed it to her she took a quick look, “About a 7. Give me one second.”

She handed him back the ring and then took the new one from the display to the back.

Daniel bit back his nervous but excited grin, pulling his phone from his pocket to see a few messages from Florence. He had told her he was working later at the studio so she wasn’t suspicious to where he was running off to after class, exam season approaching making his lie much more believable. He leaned against the case and opened her messages, finding a video of Penelope walking messily across the living room rug to Florence’s outstretched hand. The sixteen-month-old was a late bloomer so she was still wobbly on her feet but her cheesy grin brought a smile to Daniel’s face as he watched the video on low volume in the store. Penelope grabbed onto Florence’s hand to steady herself as she almost fell forward, earning plentiful praise from her mother. Daniel’s eyes lingered on Florence’s empty left hand that their daughter clung onto. He couldn’t wait to just put a ring on it already.

“Is she yours?”

The lady’s voice made him startle again and Daniel looked over at her as she was staring at the video on his phone screen, “Yeah.”

“She’s so cute.”

“Thanks.” Daniel grinned, taking one last look at the video before sliding his phone back in his pocket.

“So, we have it all here.” the lady opened the black velvet box to reveal the small diamond ring, the light from the store sparkling off the polished stones and shiny band.

“It’s perfect.” Daniel smiled and she rang it up into the cash register.

He paid for it with the messy stack of bills, with $5 left over to slide in his pocket, and he was passed over the small bag and his receipt.

“And you’re all set. No refunds after 30 days, only store credit, and if you fill out the survey on the back of the receipt you can be entered for a chance to win a $100 gift certificate.”

Daniel thanked her honestly before heading out of the store. He tried to ignore the nervousness that her statement about returns set on his conscience, suddenly wondering if Florence even wanted to marry him. He let his brain stew for the amount of time it took him to roll of the bag and slip it in to the bottom of his backpack before heading for the subway to go home, pushing any negative thoughts out of his mind.

He called Florence on his way to the station to say he was coming home, stopping in his tracks when he passed the florist. The dial tone rang steadily against his ear as he smiled to himself and went inside, quickly purchasing a single red rose with the remaining $5 in his pocket. He only smiled wider as Florence answered the phone.

“Hey, baby,” Daniel replied, rose in his free hand as he leaned back against the metal doors to step out of the mall and into the winter weather of the busy city, “Yeah, I’m coming home now. I bought you a little surprise…”

#anything but mine #why dont we #daniel seavey #why dont we fanfic #daniel seavey imagines #why dont we imagines #why dont we music #daniel seavey fic

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ask-de-writer · 5 years ago

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THE HOUSE, (part 2 of 3), a tale of Flocking Bay

Return to the Master Story Index

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THE HOUSE

De Writer (Glen Ten-Eyck)

7357 words

Written 1990

Reproduction in any form, physical, electronic or digital is prohibited without the express consent of the author.

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Users of Tumblr.com are specifically granted the following rights. They may reblog the story. They may use the characters or original characters in my settings for fan fiction, fan art works, cosplay, or fan musical compositions. I will allow those who do commission art works to charge for their images.

All sorts of Fan activity, Fiction, Art, Cosplay, Music, or any other thing is actively encouraged!

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Next, I began to check the walls for hidden panels or the like. The walls of the parlor, sitting room, and kitchen were smooth with elaborate flocked paper. The wainscots were all of solid, if elaborate, woodwork. That left the study, dining room, and library. I set eagerly to work. The paneled walls of the study proved depressingly solid.

I was delighted when I finally found the basement stair in the library. A bookcase camouflaged a hidden door with the spring catch concealed as one of the few knots visible anywhere in the wood of the house.

Flashlight in hand, I ventured down the short flight of stairs. The basement proved to be small and bare. It had mortared stone walls and a cement floor. There were no hiding places, even the space under the stairs was empty, no rats, no dust, and no cobwebs … Slowly I went back up the stairs to the library.

I put away my flashlight and went to the study to look at the land records again. The papers revealed that the house’s first buyer was George Oates. His brother and sole heir sold the house seven years later. His name was Harold.

As I am something of a bibliophile, I decided to give the house’s library a detailed look. I was more than pleasantly surprised. Not one book was published later than 1866. Many were far older. Some of the books went back to the 1400’s. Mr. Wickes was apparently somewhat dishonest, intellectually. He had signed and dated the flyleaf of each book, for example, “Hiram Wickes, acquir’d 1565.” Some of the dates went back to 1540 in books published from 1483 to 1497. He would have to have been over 300 years old, if the inscriptions were true.

Hiram was heavily into the occult. There was little that did not pertain to the various occult ‘sciences.’ Even the books in foreign tongues, and there were many, had illustrations that indicated that they belonged to this awesome collection of lore. The impression was that Hiram had read all or most of this collection. His marginal notes were in a wide range of languages, often not the language of the book in question. From scanning the shelves, I deduced that there were over twenty five hundred books in the library.

My near drenching of the day before had taught me that it was wise to take my car into town. Mrs. Alderman greeted me at the slightly shabby old counter that served the library for a check-out desk. “My goodness, young man, how did you get on when the power went out? I have a gas range, ‘cause you never can tell when, hereabouts, the power might go.”

“I’ve got gas where I’m staying, too,” I told her, “I made out okay.”

“Well,” she said knowingly, “the radio says it’ll be another two-three hours before we got power again. Why don’t you go sit by that window? It’ll give you light all morning.”

I thanked her and turned at once to the death certificates. Bingo! George Oates, his wife Wilfreda, daughters - Caroline and Charity, and son Harold (named for George’s brother in Boston), had all been declared legally dead, seven years having passed since their disappearance, and all reasonable attempts at contact having failed. Now, the reason for that malevolent plaque came into focus.

Turning to the letters, I started with the earliest. The Post Office had saved Hiram’s mail in the hope that it would yield some clue to his whereabouts. This practice was followed in the disappearance of all subsequent owners of the house. Hiram’s mail was of considerable interest to any who might know a bit of the occult and something of rare books, as I did. The first letter follows:

My Dear Hiram:

It is with the utmost concern that I read your last communication. You were always my most talented pupil and are a valued associate. I pray you, please, reconsider the rash course that you are now contemplating.

Remember, your copy of Alhazarad is not a good one. The edition of 1784 contains many minor lacunae. Before you attempt anything, consult also the Pnakotic Manuscripts and collate what you learn there with Von Junst.

I know that reading the Pnakotic Manuscripts is a difficult and time-consuming task. Never forget that the source of your present wealth and mine lies in those ancient pages. There is much wisdom there for those with the courage to seek. Everything must be checked against other knowledge.

To call upon Him Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered for so trivial a task is a sure way to serious mishap. Remember, your Alhazarad is incomplete!

In concern for your welfare,

I remain, Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

Unfortunately, the authorities were unable to trace the mysterious Richten or his address. Arkham, Mass. is, of course well known to all scholars and bibliophiles as the home of Miskatonic University, with its astounding collection of rare books of occult lore.

I had never heard of the Pnakotic Manuscripts but the other items mentioned in the letter were familiar to me. Alhazarad could be none other than the author of the infamous Necronomicon. The 1784 edition survives only as a fragmentary copy in the vaults of Miskatonic University. Von Junst could only be the almost as infamous Black Book. This book also survives in only a few priceless copies. Two of the best ones lurked in the vaults of the rare book collection at Miskatonic. They were separate editions, published a century apart.

Another letter, about a week later than the first, was a bit more specific. Richten started in much the same vein as before but went on:

Calling so mighty a being for so trivial a task is absolutely insane. I know that you enjoy tidiness. Who does not? Yet He Whose Name Must NOT be Uttered is not a mere servant and can be disastrously literal, even when all else is done perfectly.

Binding Him, as you have, cannot please Him. What you have learned from the Necronomicon and the Pnakotic Manuscripts has enabled you to compel Him to bring you gold. The first time that He did was almost fatal. Remember, being able to compel is not the same as being master.

For your own safety, Do Not Do This!!!

Wishing you the best,

Your friend and former Master,

Richten

At Darkhouse, Arkham, Mass.

There were also, unfortunately, not translated, letters from Korea, China, India, the 0ttoman Empire, Germany, France, Morocco, and several places in South America. Apparently our Mr. Wickes had been something of a polyglot and did in fact read all of the languages of the books in his library.

It appeared that a careful search of the house, attic to basement, was in order. If there were any chance that I might find a copy of either the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could turn a fine profit. Either book in almost any condition, was worth in far in excess of mere $45,000.00 that I had paid for the house.

Turning to the newspaper clippings, I found mostly stories of the disappearances of people who had bought the Wickes place. The George Oates family was only the first. They were not alone. The clippings gave some flesh to the legal death declarations. There was another detail to add to my list. No trace was ever found of the possessions of any person who vanished.

Electric wiring had been installed. Several times. It too had vanished without a trace. After each disappearance, the house was exactly as it had been when Hiram Wickes vanished. Even if the furniture and books were sold or even burned, everything always came back.

The Reverend Orville Olson piled all of Hiram’s books and furniture on the lawn and burned it all. He then exorcised the whole place of the “evil ghost of Hiram Wickes.” To prove that the evil was gone, he spent the night in the house. The burn scar on the lawn and the Reverend Olson both vanished. The furniture and books returned.

I made careful tracings of the strange gold coin in the file and made longhand copies of such of the letters as I could and included all of the oddments that I knew of Hiram Wickes and the Wickes house, and prepared the lot for mailing. I addressed it to Professor Gordon Wetherbee at Miskatonic University.

He was a sort ‘uncle’ to me. He and my father had been close friends since long before my birth. That friendship had been extended to me as I grew and was largely responsible for my love of books and learning. I did not know all or even a fraction of what ‘uncle’ Gordon knew or did but I trusted him absolutely.

I did know that his research had taken him all over the world. He knew more of the occult than any other man of my acquaintance.

One set of clippings caught my eye. “BOY GOES MAD!!” Curiosity piqued, I read on. In essence, the story was this:

It was a fine day in April, 1896. Willie Asphel, age 10, was in the mood to get into trouble. He sneaked off to the Wickes place to break windows. Apparently he missed the house with the first stone, as there was no crash of glass or thump of stone on board. He took precise aim and watched carefully where the stone went. Ever after, his hair was stark white, his eyes crossed, and even after he stopped raving, his mind was never fully normal. He demonstrated a talent for seeing into closed containers and the like.

He died of a brain hemorrhage at the age of fifteen.

The power which had failed last night, came back at 3:30 p.m. I felt a need to digest the tale of Reverend Olson and young Willie Asphel, so I left the library. I walked up the street in the sunlight. Cobbles could be seen here and there through old cracks and holes in the paving. Stepping around the occasional weed, I followed the sidewalk to the Post Office. There I mailed my letter to uncle Gordon.

Thoughtfully, I retraced my steps. My car awaited me. No sooner had I got into it than a gust of wind slammed the door. The impact caused the glove box door to fall open. Inside were five gold coins exactly like the one in the file

To say that I was stunned by this occurrence would have been an understatement. A breeze plucked at my right hand, almost as if it were guiding me to the gold. The moment that I took the gold in my hand, the breeze died away. Only then did I notice that my car windows were closed.

My first response was to say, “Thank you, whoever or whatever you may be.” I drove home slowly, mulling over the day’s events. The clouds roiled overhead like fighting dogs.

Once home, I got my flashlight and went straight to the attic. At the stairs, my light would not shine. Somehow, I must have left it on when I last put it away. Irritating.

I had lots of candles down in the kitchen. For a prize like the Necronomicon or the Black Book, I could search by candlelight. An obsession to find those books seized my spirit.

I hurried down to the kitchen and set up a candlestick, which I took back to the attic. The soft glow of the candlelight revealed the same boxes and trunks that I had seen before. There were still no dust or spider webs to be seen. I heard what sounded like a hundred rats on the floor below. A glance out an attic window showed that night had fallen. The ‘spectral brigade’ never started before dark.

The boxes and trunks contained the curios, mementos and journals of travels on six of the seven continents (only Antarctica was not represented.) Glancing through the journals revealed that although Hiram was meticulous at recording detail and observations, he was also quite secretive about the object of his searches and research. It was both fascinating and frustrating.

Some of the boxes contained disturbingly carved stones and other artifacts. Many of these were only disquieting to look at but a few were truly mind twisting. A number of the journals contained finely drawn sketches in ink of architecture that Escher would have loved, had it not caused actual nausea when studied too closely. Many of the drawings were of ruins but they still retained their otherworldly power. Their geometry was subtly skewed from any earthly construction. There was little else, aside from literally thousands of the above mentioned journals. Valuable to the right collector perhaps but not the precious books that I was seeking.

I tried the second floor next. Both bedrooms, the bath, and the large room that I had dubbed ‘the work room’ all proved to have no secret hiding places. If there were any hidden doors or concealed panels they defied me.

The ground floor was next. I started with the kitchen. The parlor got a once-over walls and ceiling. (I had done the floor when I searched for the basement.) The same was done with the dining room, sitting room, and study. Then it was the library’s turn.

Looking at the wall to wall, knee to ceiling, cases of books with their sliding ladders, I despaired of finishing my search that night. There were over twenty five hundred volumes on those shelves.

I stared at the sea of brown leather backs, some stamped with gold, and decided to start at the right of the door and work my way around the room. Each book had to be inspected to be sure that it was not concealing another book in innocent appearing binding. Many of them were valuable in their own right but none could compare with the Necronomicon or the Black Book.

I did not get far before I was too tired to continue. The books that I was seeking had waited for century and a third. They could wait until morning.

The next day, my inspection of the library resumed. Here, at least, Hiram had achieved order. The books were shelved by subject and author, regardless of language. There was precious little of outright fiction though many were obvious foolishness in the light of modern knowledge. At ten in the morning, I stopped, arms aching and eyes swimming. I was less than a quarter of the way through the herculean task.

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#THE HOUSE #part 2 of 3 #Flocking Bay #Written by De Writer

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arthurhwalker · 7 years ago

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ReMarkable Tablet Review

The ReMarkable tablet has gotten a lot of reviews, but in most cases the device was reviewed by tech reviewers. They weighed the device against others, listed the specifications, battery life, and other technical aspects.

I wrote a similar review, and never posted it because it was just my take from the same technical angle. I think what people want to know is whether this tablet will be a purchase they'll regret. If you're reading this, you may have already tried an iPad, Windows Tablet, or Android tablet with a pen stylus, or several.

I'm about ninety days into owning mine and haven't once regretted the purchase. My spouse and I both bought one, and carry them almost every day.

Here's what I did when I bought mine.

Scanned in the residual pages from all my physical notebooks, and put them in a box. Turned the scans into PDFs, and loaded them onto my ReMarkable.

Exported my active OneNote notebooks, the active ones, to PDF, and loaded them onto my ReMarkable.

Loaded everything PDF or ePUB that I use, or might use, onto the ReMarkable, and organized everything into folders so it could be easily referenced.

I made certain there was no reason to use anything but my ReMarkable Tablet. I wanted to see how long it would take before I broke out my physical notebooks in frustration, or preferred carrying a stack of paper to the ultra-light tablet device. Weeks later, none of that happened.

My printer sits unused, my physical notebooks are still in the box, and I carry the ReMarkable everywhere. Some of that is owed to the preparation and time I took setting it up, and my own ability to adapt to new devices. The lion's share of the credit goes to ReMarkable for making a really nice device.

Value

You're probably asking yourself, is it worth the 500 USD price tag?

I fill a lot of notebooks, and I like to buy Moleskine specifically. I burn through a ton of pens, and I prefer the expensive variety. I don't print a lot of stuff, but when I do it's hundreds of pages at a time. I've got a good set up for that, and my printer is both ancient and cheap to maintain. It sort of evens out between the two.

500 USD is probably 3-4 years of notebooks, pens, and printing costs. Because I write for a living, I'd put my usage at the extreme end, so if you're buying the ReMarkable to save money on paper and ink, it probably won't do that for anyone but the most prolific annihilator of tree-based products.

The 500 USD is being paid largely for two things. The first is the convenience of having all your documents and handwritten notes in one place. The second is for the cloud storage feature that comes with the tablet, and the peace of mind that your things are backed up to the cloud. Being able to check any of my handwritten notes with my phone is keen.

If you have ever used your phone to take pictures of handwritten notes so you had them with you, the ReMarkable is probably for you. If you are carrying around a lot of paper, notebooks, and pens, and it's draining to keep track of all those extra things, the ReMarkable will be a luxury worth the price tag.

A Few Technical Matters

The device does get regular updates. I've downloaded two since receiving mine. Each has fixed bugs and helped stability.

In troubleshooting the device in the rare instance where it has frozen or had a glitch, plugging it in to charge usually clears the issue or allows the device to reboot. I've had precious few instances where this has happened. Usually, I can just hold the power button to reboot it, or it restarts on it's own.

When it's out of battery, and you plug it in to charge there's no indicator light or other sign that it's taking a charge like most devices. There's no battery meter animation that pops up on the screen to let you know it's charging, or similar. That said, this device charges very quickly, and when I've been out of power I'm back up and writing again in 20-30 minutes.

Page turning and rendering in documents varies depending on the graphical complexity. If it's just text, the pages will turn seemlessly, with little or no load time. If you're reading a 300 page game book with background images, pictures, and other graphical elements the tablet seems to handle it well, but set your expectations accordingly.

The ReMarkable seems to load whatever page you're on, and as many pages in both directions as it can buffer. With a simple text document, it might be able to hold the whole thing in memory. With a more graphically intense book, it might be 3-4 pages in either direction. If you're reading at a normal speed, you probably won't notice, the table will load pages as you go.

If you're trying to rapidly turn pages or you select a specific page, expect 5-6 seconds of load time while the table renders the page you selected, and as many pages in both directions as it can buffer. I thought this would be annoying, but I don't tend to jump around books too much, and the preview images in the page selection view are pretty decent.

Handwriting

Writing with the pen is flawless. I've used virtually every pen stylus technology there is going back a decade; capacitive, EMR, AES, MPP, the works. Tilt and pressure sensitivity are spot on. There is no parallax or offset, and the textured surface of the tablet and soft nibs of the stylus make this feel exactly like writing on paper.

It taps so heavily into my own cognitive automaticity with regard to using paper I forget it's not paper sometimes. When I first got it, I'd stare curiously at the device, forgetting I need to press a button to start or turn to a new page. My brain would want to turn the physical page, but there wasn't one, so it'd throw a fault.

Weeks later, whenever I have to interact with real paper I tend to dislike it. It's like using a computer with a touchscreen and then having to use one that isn't. You'll tap the screen anyway because that's what you're used to. Real paper is inconvenient to me now because I can't easily erase or move elements around like I can with my ReMarkable.

#ReMarkable Tablet #ReMarkable #Tablet #E Ink

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filmfilmmagazine · 4 years ago

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Linklater on Linklater : self-interview by the Slacker filmmaker (The Austin Chronicle, 1991)

“Austin has the highest per capita ratio of wonderful people and the lowest percentage of assholes of any city. I believe I'll be based here for quite some time." When Richard Linklater made that announcement to the Chronicle back in 1991, at the height of Slacker's success, it would have been reasonable to believe that he was blowing at least a little smoke. But three decades, five Oscar nominations, and $300 million in the global box office later, he's still hanging around – an older, wiser version of the indie innovator whose latest film, live-action/animation hybrid coming-of-age period piece Apollo 10 ½: A Space Age Adventure, has been acquired by Netflix, and was still made in the ATX.

But 30 years ago, he was the newly minted hometown hero. In typical fashion, when the Chronicle sponsored a screening of Slacker at the Dobie on Sept. 22, 1991, we ran a story under the unwieldy title of: "The Art of the Interview: Self-Revelation or Self Torture? Richard Linklaker Interviewed by ..." There's no byline, because the subject was the author: Linklater, still whirling from the seemingly never-ending press tour, sat down with himself to dispatch, once and for all, the most meaningful answer to the most generic questions he had been asked over the summer months.

Here's a snippet, for the first time since its original print appearance, is the whole story of surviving Slacker, in Linklater's own words - Richard Whittaker.

After nearly 140 Slacker interviews in the last two months, automatic pilot has taken over, like an actor in a long-running play summoning energy before each performance, or an instructor making an ages old lecture seem witty and spontaneous. This publicity grind also seems to resemble a psychoanalytical session: Someone gets paid to ask prompting questions and listen to you drone on and on – and I do find myself discovering new things in the process. It's been a forced transformation from being too shy to address an audience to being live on CNN in front of millions. The final stage in the filmmaking process is apparently being a professional mouth and ranting on about things that have only the slightest connection to whatever "qualified" me to be ranting in the first place. So I thought a "composite interview" of all my interviews might able to include many of the natural questions the film invites, as well as more than just the snippet of my answer that happens to fit an interviewer's agenda – the luxury of my being both interviewer and subject here.

So, first question:

RL: So, just what is a slacker?

RL: (Acting like he's never heard the question before.) Hmmm... Slackers might look like the left-behinds but they are actually one step ahead, rejecting most of society and the social hierarchy before it rejects them. The dictionary defines slackers as people who evade duties and responsibilities. A more modern notion would be people who are ultimately being responsible to themselves and not wasting their time in a realm of activity that has nothing to do with who they are or what they might ultimately be striving for.

RL: (A slightly suspecting, almost distrustful look) So okay... You aren't a slacker. Slackers don't make movies.

RL: Sure they do, just not the kind you would usually want to interview somebody about. It sounds like I'm being judged on the success of the film, not its simple existence. No one ever said slackers weren't productive. It's just that their products often fall outside the market economy. If the film never found an audience, would my slacker credentials be revoked like this? I think I still qualify as a slacker... just one that's currently lucky. I've been officially employed about one year of the last seven. Actually, filmmaking is the perfect slacker profession. You can piddle around for years, watch tons of movies and daydream about what important films you would make if you only had the cash.

RL: Speaking of it, where did you get the money for Slacker?

RL: It wasn't about money, we never talked about it. There wasn't any, so we had to get by some other way. Everyone who worked on the film did it for reasons other than cash. The fact that it was done so inexpensively says more about the spirit of the people involved in the project than the cost. But by the first watchable print, about $23,000 had been spent. That doesn't include large amounts still owed at the time to the lab, sound studio, and all the deferred wages. With the blow-up to 35mm and all the legal costs involved in signing with a bigger distributor, the budget is now well over 150 grand and still growing. The initial cash came from where most truly independent films come from: supportive family and friends, credit cards, any savings, additional loans. You sell off possessions, steal, ask others to steal, all kinds of things you're not particularly proud of.

RL: Are you surprised at the film's success?

RL: On one level, sure. It could easily have never happened. It comes down to a series of the right people at the right time saying "yes" in whatever way they can. But for whatever success the film has had, there is a parallel track of rejection. You have to build up an almost erotic relationship with rejection, or the process could decimate you. Even as late as last week, it continues to get turned down at certain festivals, and we haven't really had a big break internationally yet. But I think everyone who worked on the film felt it was a success last summer when we opened at the Dobie. It was closure and success completely on its own terms. Had it never gone much further, it would have been this positive experience that we all learned from, had fun with, and basically accomplished what we set out to do; any additional success has all been gravy. The national selling of the film is a bit strange to me because it's so "cult-of-the-director" oriented. When I say "we," they usually change it to "I." Fortunately for me, my key Slacker collaborators understand the inevitable simplifications as a part of the marketing process to be used, ultimately, for our ends. I'm trying not to take the personal attention and scrutiny too seriously. and actually find a certain comfort in simply seeing myself as a spokesman of the moment for a lot of people's creative energy and input. As a producer, I've always felt responsible to the 150-plus people who donated their time and energy and will share in any profits from the film.

RL: One of the most interesting aspects of the movie is its large cast of mostly non-professional actors. Where did you find such poorly dressed people?

RL: Many were friends of mine or the crew, but were most were found through a very selective vetting process where we gave out cards that were essentially invitations to a video interview. From there it was matching people to parts they seemed to embody the essence of. A lot of interesting people couldn't get it together to show up for their interview, and a lot of cool people we met with just didn't match a preconceived part. We were then so underground no one cared much. I run into people who say if they had known it was going to be any good, they would have been more interested. Basically, the cast has never been given enough credit. These were not only interesting, creative and courageous people, but also the ones serious enough to approach the rehearsal and shooting process in a professional manner. By saying everyone "simply played themselves," it doesn't acknowledge that leap of faith to get into that arena and tap into a part of themselves necessary for the part. It's not easy to be yourself on purpose take after take.

RL: The press kit here says that the movie was entirely scripted. It has such an improvisational feel.

RL: Don't ever believe press kits... that was all bullshit. Actually, we'd just turn the camera on and whatever happened, happened. I don't know why everybody doesn't do a movie like this. I guess we just got lucky that it all fit together somehow (smiles).

RL: Seriously, I detect a structure, but was just commenting that the actors seemed very real.

RL: They are real. That was the point. It was all about giving the characters complete freedom within the confines of a certain structure. As long as the scene meant what I wanted it to mean, it was open to anything and in fact demanded a certain honesty of the moment that transcends acting in the typical sense. The inspired moments and personal characteristics were planned on and cultivated. It was all about creating an atmosphere where everyone was participating as an artist. Nowhere does it say that I alone wrote every word of the movie. The director in me would never give myself that much credence as a writer, and that wasn't what this movie was all about. I initially wrote what happens in each scene, minus the exact dialogue. This all came from God knows where... conversations, crazy ideas, and actual experiences. Some were inspired by or adapted from bookish ideas or pre-existing texts, like a spoken word performance by Jim Roche or a few short stories by Jack Meredith. I had a meeting with Sid Moody about various conspiracy theories. The thread was that I was moved in some way or another by a situation and deemed it important and thematically meaningful enough to be worthy of screen time. After the cast had been selected I would usually write the dialogue and then work with the actors rewriting it. To blend with the pseudodocumentary style of the film, it was very important that the characters make the material their own in whatever way possible. This was in the rehearsal period, which for me was the most inspired aspect of production — seeing the ideas come to life via this fusion of real person and fictional context. Each scene had its own unique life, and was as varied as the personalities involved. I had trained for years as an actor and felt confident I could extract a certain quality from people that would play on the screen. It's amazing what many of the characters brought to their scenes. This was where a lot of the humor in the movie came from: You get witty and intelligent people together with a common purpose in a playful atmosphere, and almost magical things start to happen.

RL: Does this Slacker phenomenon exist anywhere else, or could this have only been made in Austin?

RL: It definitely taps into one aspect of the local atmosphere, but it's hard to say how unlike other college towns that is. I wanted it to be both an "Austin Movie" with references and one that could have come from anywhere. Its spirit might have come from elsewhere, but it probably could have only been made in Austin. Where else would such a concentration of talented film people be willing to be involved in something outside the typical professional borders of the film industry? Where else would we have been able to get the professional favors and donations of everything from equipment to locations to food? I'm proud to say that it's a 100 percent Austin product.

RL: Much is being said about the twentysomething generation that is represented in the film.

RL: First off, I refuse to participate in a conversation couched in such derivative, blatantly unoriginal terms. That ridiculous catch-phrase started last summer on the cover of Time magazine, the same magazine that could only talk of Slacker in relation to the 1960s. and even called Austin a Haight-Ashbury of the 1990s. There's no doubt where their heads are at, and it's that kind of thinking that ruins anything new. I never bought that standard baby-boomer line that we were all so nothing... it just takes a different form. We're aware of the past, informed, cynical in a healthy way, and have a great sense of irony. Who could spend such formative years in the 1970s and 1980s and not have that ironic edge? I can see why people are asking me about a generation I happen to be a part of, but to me Slacker owes more allegiance to cinema than to a generation.

RL: I thought the movie was funny, but the person I was with found it a little depressing... that it adds up to futility.

“What gives me eternal hope and, in a way, what the film really depicts, is that our society still has a strong individual vitality at heart, intellectual and otherwise.”– Richard Linklater

RL: I guess I can see how some people look at it that way... it certainly has its dark areas. But what gives me eternal hope and, in a way, what the film really depicts, is that our society still has a strong individual vitality at heart, intellectual and otherwise. Habitual energy can equal optimism. We as individuals and as a society have the ability to revitalize ourselves. There can be no denying there is a large amount of alternative social and cultural experimentation going on. It could add up to something new, or if in fact there isn't anything new, at least a new emphasis, a new combination.

RL: What's been the most exciting or satisfying experience related to the making of Slacker?

RL: I think it was working with my friends and who were with the film all the way — the "Slacker 7." When people ask advice on how to make films, I always say "have talented friends." It was one of those rare experiences where we were so in sync and dedicated to the film that the notion of professional credits was a little odd when it was all over. We all had our specialties but basically everyone did everything — whatever was required. It was just such a life-expanding process. When I fell in love with the cinema eight or nine years ago, it filled a vacuum in my life in an all-encompassing way. With Slacker, I think I had a need to reach out and try to communicate, not only to a potential audience, but more importantly, to the cast and crew I was working with. It was a challenge to go from a rather isolated world to working intimately with over 100 people. And a finished film can add an entirely new dimension to the lives of those who worked on it. The people I've met because of this film have been the coolest. I could almost now say I have a life in addition to film. There were many years before where I really couldn't or wouldn't have wanted to.

RL: What's next? Are you going to go Hollywood or stay in Austin?

RL: I'm getting really anxious to be in production again — it's been so long since we were first shooting Slacker. I have several very different kinds of films I'd like to do soon. It's all about hooking up with the right people who, regardless of what level they're on, want to make the same movie you want to make. It's certainly not so cut and dried, like the independent scene is cool and artistic and the studios are evil. A guy who gives you 50 grand to make a film can totally ruin it, and a studio that gives you seven million can leave you alone completely. I've already been to Hollywood, actually, and it's a lot of driving around and people who care much more about their bodies than their minds and spirit. I've spent a lot of time in New York in the last year, but always come back thinking Austin has the highest per capita ratio of wonderful people and the lowest percentage of assholes of any city. I believe I'll be based here for quite some time.

Cet article est disponible en ligne sur le site de l’Austin Chronicle.

Si l’un des ayants droits souhaite voir le contenu de cet article retiré de filmfilm, nous nous soumettrons à son choix (ask). Tous les documents sur filmfilm sont publiés à des fins éducatives et non-commerciales. Les droits appartiennent aux auteurs.

#Richard Linklater #The Austin Chronicle #Slacker #en

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rogue-snorunt · 7 years ago

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Why I made a ko-fi

I got an anon who said that if I'm going to ask the public for money, than I need to explain why and it better be good. Which. Subtlety kind of rude but I get it. I'd want to know the story too and while I did give the explanation already in my first post about it, because I broke my own link with my incredible stupidity, I took it down.

reposted the link to my Kofi that hopefully works now but did leave out the explanation because I feel bad involving others in my problems and I don't want people to hear em and feel guilted into anything.

So here it is: the full obnoxiously long saga of the series of unfortunate events that had led me to making the Kofi from start to finish describing my 2017-2018 life presently.

It all started back in January of last year..

The cafe in which I work.. Worked? Work.. closes every January for cleaning for anywhere between 2wks and a month and in the time they encourage us to apply early and collect unemployment. This would be my first and last ever time doing this.

Why close? Mainly because my bakery is an old fashion French bakery where our lawyer city boy rich owner went to France and liked some countrymans brick oven so much he dropped I think it was a million or so to not only buy the oven, but to actually bring said oven to America brick by fucking brick.

And to clean this wood fed oven the size of a living room, you need AT LEAST 2-3 wks to let it cool down enough for some poor scrawny guy to climb in through the tiny wood stuffing hole and excerise all that soot. Plus deep cleaning a detached two story bakery; the kitchen and cafe itself..

Anyway back to the plot:

So on Jan 1st,2017 I applied and by Jan 14th2017, the place temp closed for cleaning.

I had saved 900$ for this because I'd be okay for the month.. $200/month for rent; $50 for phone, $35 for gas, $130 for groceries for me (who has strict diet of lactose and gluten free diet because I WILL die if I eat gluten because my organs swell; attack themselves and try and shut down. Rip™ my diet gets fucking hella expensive. Bread alone is &4-$5 bucks) $300 monthly student loan etc..

Well: not a week in our gas heater said fuck you. So to help repair, there went -$400 bucks. A WEEK IN. Than my grandmas car died, -$250 a week later. Fuck me gently.

Than the fateful blizzard night of Jan 31st 2017 that would be the catalyst of unfortunate bullshit leading today.. at 4:35 on my friend was bringing me home after a fun weekend, as I do not have a car, and he wanted to make sure I got home safe before the super storm hit. The cafe was reopening Feb 10th.

I was later informed that at around 4:56, my friend hit black ice and we °360 hard into a tree. I only remember seeing it about to happen and worrying about my glasses about to break, then nothing. Then looking at my blurry hand and even with my one good but still kind of blind eye, I saw that it was black; blue and I couldn't move it. Then I guess I said "well shit" and went to sleep.

I had broken not only my glasses trying to protect them, the fucking irony.. but my metacarpals; my nose, inhaled the chemical death from the airbag and recieved mild chemic Burns to face and throat. My smol rib cage was punched by the airbag so hard it got bullied out of place and was now compressing my lungs and a severe concussion.

My friend luckily being a 6' ft some man was set far away from air bag and being the impact was more my side, had only bad bruising to the limbs but okay. His truck now an accordion.

The doctor only looked at my hand and ignored my concussion, as I had an in the ambulance and was apparently making stupid nonsense jokes. So they assumed I was fine I guess.

I had to call in to my job and sadly tell them the news I would not be able to work for maybe a few months.

A month later while home and coming down the stairs, I suddenly could not breathe and got light-headed. Not good when you on stairs. I ended up refuckin up my metas and now add broken tail bone to the list.

My return to work just went from hopeful 3-4 months to 6. I was not financially equipped for this

But wait rogue! The unemployment!

Ah yes. The fucking thing that would fuck me harder then the airbag and stairs combined.. You see:

I had asked everyone I knew that had ever collected unemployment before what to do and even the girl who did the disability thing: for I was unable to work; disability would not kick in until at least a month. I got bills men, life don't stop cause bad shit you know?

Everyone told me, collect unemployment until Disability kicked in. Then stop. Okay.. these 6 people would know best right? Dingdong: unfortunate event #3 so far:

By the time disability kicked in I had collected $700 caps. Nice! Right? Well my honest naive ass thought how you cancelled unemployment was to tell em to cease and why. So I did.I explained what happened. This proved to be the biggest mistake of my pathetic life and installed the lesson of "don't be honest with big brother." They said "oh no you got injured? Well guess what fucko. You now have to pay back the $700, or else and guess what, we adding an bonus fuck you of $200 ."

Hahahahahaha-what?

I'm not able to work; disability only gave$100 some and I got friends and family I am in debt to for helping during these shenanigans.

Then unfortunate events #4-#9 took place. my aunt died.

I had to be hospitalized for pancreatitis; kidney stones and infections a few times, sometimes for all em at once.

Then my dog prostate cancer became apparent and despite the medicine and surgery every thing that could hell, he had to leave us for the rainbow bridge.

Than my grandma's car died again.

Then my stepmother died.

Grandma had to get surgery for her knees and began to complain of occasional blindness and migraines.

Went back to work early because you guys do what you gotta do man, only it's 7 months later and in a couple more, the fucking Cafe is going to close again.

By the time it did, I had been using every paycheck to catch up on bills; pay back the my friends and family lent, paying the late bills from my dog and car repairs, back owed payment and feedback to the student loan. and just as I had started seeing the light at the tunnel.. we closed and I wasn't prepared.

Unemployment have nothing but the middle finger.

It'll be fine.. I can handle a month. It'll suck but-

ITS NOW MAY AND THEY AIN'T OPEN.

During the time I was laid off this year I spent my time as follows:

Joined Tumblr and began to meme to counter that bi-polar depression and made some friends, looking at you @m-is-for-mungo 😘💞💞

A man grabbed my hand that didn't heal right and squeezed it so hard he fucked the bone. Had to go back to p.t. Hand once again fucking useless and I had posted about this way back, if you dig in my archive, you'll find the posts.

Applied for a state job at our prison with my friend whose already there, as kitchen worker

Got the surgery that I could no longer put off as it was too fix the anatomical problem contributing factor to my organs rioting like they do, but thankfully since it was considered life threatening, my insurance covered it.

Finally deal with death of my dog; and my family. Then my dad having a stroke and other family stuff.

Got that pesky rogue ribcage displacement taken care of

Fell down the fucking stairs again.

Adopted a special needs cat.

Became once again a financial burden and the moment I could, filled the still laid off time by trying to help my friend at their restaurant as much as possible.

Got the "we want you asap BUT thanks to state Bullshit like budget stuff.. We have to wait for the actual state to say yes" call from the prison call.

My uncle was discovered to cancer but by the time it was found, he had a week left. Then he died.

Got my shit broken by the scorned ex of our roommate

And then got the fucking letter from unemployment mildly threatening me to pay up.

But you said you didn't have a car in January 31st but then you do now??

After the car event, my friend told me to seek comp because I did get fucked up and being a baker who broke their hands, shit ain't good.. I did not want to because it was my friend, it wasn't their fault and if I had had my own car or just during go there in the first place this wouldn't have happened. Reluctantly after much badgering, I did.I did not get anything however until a year and half half later. and yeah, I’ll tell you how much seeing how Im being brutally honest: $10,000.

I immediately bought a $4000 car so I would never again be a burden and every single car I’ve ever owned have been $100+ garbage death traps I got from shady people and for once in my fucking life I wanted a car that wouldnt break down or try to kill me a week later; helped my grandma buy a car that wouldn't fail her, bought her a new fridge because hers died and paid some of her bills she got behind on. My friend had fallen behind on their bills as well and I owe everything I am and still being alive to these people.

You bet my stupid ass, I used almost every dime to help them. And id fucking do it again because: homies help homies.. And when your Nana whose been both mom; dad and nana to you and is the reason you weren't place in foster care needs you.. You fucking help her no matter what.I did have enough to pay the student loan for last month and this month. I got a new track phone because mine broke, bought a pair of shoes because I've only ever had my loafers and the soles fell off finally and I brought groceries. I have enough to pay rent and I am now tapped out.

My only debt is this $900 fuck you from the government and my $15000k student loan.

And now y'all caught up on the fucking disaster that is my life.

I'm sorry for this sobstory of me crying about my problems but i.. I really do not like asking for help.i hate asking for help. I hate that I have to ask for money because I've been in desperate shitty situations my whole damn life and managed to somehow scrape by but for the first time, I'm in a situation that I can't fix alone. And I fucking hate it and that I have to admit it. but I need help .

This is why I made the Kofi

A kofi that is absolutely only for and will only be used, to pay that $900. I promise you that even if I become homeless, I am going to pay that goddamn bill before anything else. Because I helped everyone with their debt and they are all good now, we all squared and now it's my turn to be okay glib-dimit

#ask a rogue a question #explanation #i defeatedly #desperately and guiltedly i need fucking help #kofi roguesnorunt

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allenmendezsr · 4 years ago

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smoaking-greenarrow · 7 years ago

Text

Right Girl Chapter One: First Sight

Felicity meets Oliver after she transfers to Starling Academy, a high school she never wanted to step foot in.

Read Chapter Two: Second Chances on AO3!

Being the new girl in high school was always hard, but mom was forcing me to go to a prep school now; one that I didn't even believe we could afford. I guess after being kicked out of three other schools, she didn't have very much of a choice.

I wasn't heartless. I felt terrible that my mother had to send me here; almost as much as I hated the idea of having to deal with privileged, idiotic stoners all day. It would be worse than the idiotic jocks I had to deal with at my old schools. I knew I wouldn't be dealing with football players here though. The school didn't even have a football team. I was a little curious to do an observational study on which form of boy was worse; the jocks who tried to get into your pants by flexing and slapping your ass when you walked by, or the rich boys who tried to get into your pants by flaunting their money in your face and revving the engines of their fancy cars.

This might be the worst school I've ever been to, but I also knew that I had to try to play nice. For my mom.

I could play the part, I could blend in. I had the blonde hair to get me started, but if I'd learned anything, it was that looks only got you so far, and if I wanted to fly under the radar here, I couldn't tear down any cheerleaders and I couldn't verbally ruin the prep squad of boys I knew would be interested to meet me. New girls at school are like shiny toys to high school boys. The guys always have to find out if we're worth the effort of playing games with; if it's worth it to chase us, as long as we sleep with them soon after. I'd have to play along this time, even though I knew everything inside of me would want to shove my high heel into their crotches.

I took a deep breath, glancing at myself in the mirror before stepping out of my car and into the sunny parking lot. I pulled at my dress, adjusting the fabric, my heels tapping on the pavement as I lifted my chin. All eyes were on me. The problem with private schools is how small they are; there weren't actually that many families in this city that could afford Starling Academy. These kids were all of the children of all of the businessmen, politicians, and lawyers that lived outside of The Glades.

Everyone noticed me, and I was pretty sure that the entire school had gotten a nice long stare, or glare, by the time I reached the school's office. "Felicity," The receptionist smiled as I walked in, as if she knew exactly who I was already.

I would have rolled my eyes, but I was dedicated to playing nice here. So I smiled back. "Hi," I glanced down at her name tag, "Sharon. Nice to meet you."

She blushed, "I try to give all the new kids here a warm welcome. Here's a printed copy of your class schedule, in case you need it. You start with Mr. Baird's Statistics course in room 311. I've asked this lovely first-year to show you where the class is, since she decided to skip it yesterday."

I turned around to look at the brown haired girl slouching in the chair behind me. She looked equally as thrilled as I felt to be here. "I'm Felicity Smoak." I said, smiling as sweetly as I could and holding out my hand.

"Thea," She answered, ignoring my hand and standing up. This is why I have a hard time playing nice, I thought as I dropped my hand. "Stats is this way," she wandered into the hallway without another word. I gave Sharon another smile before following my welcoming tour guide. She glanced at me as she walked ahead, towards the staircase, eyeing my outfit. "Nice," she turned her back to me again, "you'll fit in here just fine." I took in her jean shorts and ripped Metallica t-shirt.

"I thought they had a 'professional attire' dress code here." I said, smirking at her converse sneakers.

"Not when your family donated the whole west wing of the building." she flashed me a sarcastic, annoyed smile.

"I see," I said, following her around the corner and onto the third floor. "So, Thea, what should I know about Starling Academy?"

Thea leaned against the lockers outside of room 311, "Stats isn't worth your time," she gestured her hand for me to go in.

I looked at her, and all I could really see was an angry, confused girl who was trying to be cooler than she really was. "Oh yeah? Then why, as a freshman, are you taking a 300 level course in it?" Thea glanced away, and I stepped closer. "See, I have a feeling that you're smarter than you want people to know. You think that the edgy outfits and 'I don't give a shit' demeanor will make people leave you alone, but you're not actually sure that you want to be the loner."

Her eyes darted to meet mine, and I watched as anger flashed. "You think you know me? You don't know the first thing about me."

I shrugged, "Rich girl raised with a silver spoon in her mouth lashes out due to the pressure to become what mommy and daddy want her to be."

Thea glared, "You think you have me figured out, huh?"

"I've known people like you. And your plan won't work." I said, wondering how long she'd go through the 'I'm an edgy, angsty teen' phase before she grew up and decided to become the trophy wife of a Mayor or CEO.

I turned on my heel and headed for the door. "Yours won't either." She responded. I gave her one last look before going into the classroom, and watched as she bailed on class again, storming off down the hallway. Rich kids were predictable, if anything.

During lunch, I sat at one of the giant, round tables. Alone. It was like they chose these tables, big enough to seat fifteen students, just to make the ones who sat by themselves feel even lonelier. But it did give me the opportunity to watch. I watched and analyzed the cliques. The boys pretty much all looked the same; tall, muscular, and handsome. They also all seemed to mostly be friends, of course with the occasional outcasts and nerds who were probably here on scholarships rather than paid for by their wealthy family trust fund.

The girls were what interested me though. Those differences were much more noticeable. There was the cheerleader clique, obvious by their uniforms; the honor student clique, obvious by their noses hidden in text books; the lacrosse girls, obvious by their braided hair and loud voices yelling about a game this weekend; the artists, the musicians, the 'I'm in every club' girls that were bust planning prom or something; and of course the stoners, where I could easily see my new friend Thea sneaking out of the cafeteria and ducking behind the building.

I rolled my eyes, typical.

"Hi,"

I looked up to see a dark haired boy with bright blue eyes standing above me. "Hello," I said, putting my apple down. He hesitated, like he was nervous. I watched as he glanced back at his buddies, who were all nudging each other and giggling. I rolled my eyes. "Please, sit, give them something to pat you on the back for."

The boy cocked his head to the side, his eyebrow raising at my comment, and I bit my lip. Nice, Felicity. Way to not be snarky.

He sat down beside me though, throwing one more glance over his shoulder. "I'm Tommy."

I nodded, holding out my hand. "Felicity."

"I know."

I raised an eyebrow, "Oh do you?"

"Well, yeah. This school only has 500 kids, it's kind of easy to recognize a new face when you've spent the past three years looking at the rest of them."

I nodded again, I didn't really know what else to say. To be honest, I wasn't really used to talking to boys. I usually scared them off through sarcasm, or I just talked computers and they got bored enough that they'd leave me alone. Luckily, I was saved by the bell. "Well Tommy," I said, jumping up from my seat, "It was really nice to meet you."

"Yeah...you too, Felicity." He walked beside me as I threw my things in the trash, and I eyed him suspiciously. "Sorry," he said, laughing at himself, "I bet the last thing you want is some random guy trying to hit on you on your first day."

I raised an eyebrow, "Is that what you're doing?"

His face got red, "Well, no. I was just wondering if you'd want to stop by a party tonight. It's right on the beach, tonight at 10:00."

"With you?" I asked.

"Uh, no, not necessarily, I mean, we can definitely call it that if you want, but I just thought, you know, you being new and all, that I'd invite you. I could introduce you to everyone. I'm sure most of the school will be there, start of the year party and all. We're having a bonfire. You'll see it when you pull into the parking lot, it'd be hard to miss."

I tried to read his expression, wondering if this was some new girl hazing thing. The kid just looked nervous and optimistic. I sighed. If I wanted to survive this school without getting kicked out, I needed to make friends. "Sure."

He smiled, relief and happiness washing over him. "Okay. I'll see you there, then."

It was my last class of the day and I couldn't stop glancing up at the clock. Not only was English my least favorite subject, but the teacher was droning on about Romeo and Juliet, a play I had read every year since middle school, and at every school I'd ever been to. As soon as the bell rang I sprang from my seat and started shoving my books into my bag. "Hey," a voice said from behind me. I sighed, turning around and taking a deep breath. This was really not the best time to make more friends, I just wanted to get home and curl up in my pajamas and watch reruns of reality television while eating a pint of Ben and Jerry's ice cream.

"Hi," I responded, zipping my bag and putting it over my shoulder. "I'm Felicity, but I'm kind of in a rush to get home," I said, smiling and rolling my eyes as I offered my hand to the boy in front of me, "My mom needs my help giving our cat his shots," the boy took my hand hesitantly and shook it while I rambled on like a crazy person in the hopes of him never talking to me again. "He's a slippery little fella, I have to hold him down while my mom injects the shot, it usually involves a lot of screaming by all three of us. And claws. Painful scratching."

He nodded slowly, "Okay...I'll let you get home then..."

"Great," I smiled brightly, "see you tomorrow!" I tapped his shoulder before running off, not bothering to mention that we'd never actually introduced ourselves.

I didn't slow down until I reached my car, avoiding eye contact with every student I passed. Once inside my car, I gave myself two seconds for a little happy dance that I was finally out of that hell hole, until tomorrow morning at least. Tommy passed in front of my car with his herd of friends, including the guy I'd just blown off.

I waved and they both waved back with sheepish smiles. Yikes. No thanks. No love triangles for this girl.

I put my keys in the ignition, more excited to go home than I'd ever been when my car made a familiar, heart dropping noise. The engine rattled and fought to start before screeching and turning over. I sighed, letting out a groan and slamming my head on my steering wheel.

Worst. Day. Ever.

"Do you need help with that?"

I looked up to find my third unwanted boy of my first day at Starling Academy, leaning against the passenger side of the car parked next to me. But at least this one was offering something I needed. "You know how to fix that?" I asked, gesturing toward the hood of my car.

The boy shrugged, "pop it and let me take a look." I popped my hood and he walked over, opening it up as I got out and moved to stand beside him. "Hm," he said, reaching down to fidget with some parts. Grease was on his hands immediately, and I felt a little bit embarrassed until I remembered that he was a preppy boy and some grease on his hands wouldn't hurt him.

"So, you know how to fix it?"

"Not sure yet," he answered. I watched for a moment as he played around with the insides of my car until I got bored and took a seat on the curb. He glanced down at me from over his shoulder, "You can sit in your car if you want. Or mine." to which I only shrugged, watching the people as they passed, getting into their own cars and going home. "I'm Oliver. Queen."

"Felicity. Smoak."

He nodded, turning his attention back to my car, "So Felicity, how'd you end up at SA?"

"How did you?" I shot back without thinking. It was a relatively safe question, unless you were me and had a record of not meshing very well with high school administrations.

Oliver glanced down at me again, obviously wondering why I wouldn't answer his question. "My parents paid for the west wing of the school."

I bit my lip, "Your Thea's brother." Part of me felt bad for snapping at a guy who offered me help, and the other part of me didn't want to think of him as a nice guy.

His eyebrows raised in surprise, "Wow, first day and you've already met the elusive Thea Queen. I feel like I haven't seen her at school since it started."

"She's...an interesting girl."

"She's something, all right." He answered, smirking. He clearly wasn't too worried about his sister's behavior, the look on his face seemed like he actually admired her rebellious attitude. It made me curious about her; how I'd written her off as a spoiled rich girl who was going through her defiant phase. "Are you going to answer the question, or should I just keep asking more so you can direct them back at me?"

I narrowed my eyes at him and he chuckled, turning his back to me and looking down at my car. "My mom made me come here," I said hesitantly but honestly.

"Why?" he asked, still adjusting and analyzing the car parts.

I paused, not sure how much I could trust this boy or how much about me I wanted him to know. I had a good feeling about him though, like he was different. And he was currently staying after school to fix my car when he could have just gone home. "I got into some trouble at my old schools."

"Schools?" he asked.

"People aren't always who they seem to be." I mumbled.

He turned to look at me, trying to read me as much as I'd been trying to read him. After a moment of watching me, he smiled sweetly, "Story for another time, then. There's a party tonight, think you might go?" He changed the subject, turning away again.

"Uh," I had forgotten. "I don't know. Some guy named Tommy invited me, but I'm not sure."

"You should," he said, still focused on my car as he shrugged. After a moment of silence he sighed, turning around and wiping his greasy hands on his nice pants. "Look, I don't think that I'll be able to fix this. Why don't I call a tow and have them take it in, and I'll give you a ride home."

I pursed my lips, "Okay. Do we need to find your sister before we go?"

"No," Oliver shrugged, "She finds her own way home." He opened up the passenger door and offered me his hand to help me up. We both glanced down at the grease on his hands. I laughed, picking myself up and getting into his car.

"What's Thea's deal, anyway?" I asked when he rounded the car and got behind the wheel.

"She doesn't like to remind the kids here that she's a Queen. So that means she doesn't acknowledge me at school, and she definitely doesn't let me drive her home."

"Why is she trying so hard to not be a Queen?"

Oliver shrugged as he pulled out of the parking lot, "Queen Consolidated might be a successful business, but my family stepped on a lot of people to get it that way. I think Thea just wants to figure out who she is without the name, so she tries to associate herself with people who don't care about it. But in a school like this, the only people who don't care about your last name are the kids who are too high to care about anything."

As he spoke, he pulled out his phone and dialed, putting it to his ear and glancing at me, looking for my reaction. I wondered what exactly "stepping on a lot of people" meant, but I wasn't sure I actually wanted to know. It was his family's company after all, not his. I listened as he told the tow truck service where my car was, and handed me the phone to give them my address.

After he hung up, I glanced at him, "And you?"

He met my eyes for a moment before looking back at the road, amusement behind his gaze that I wasn't about to drop this interesting conversation about his family. "I've come to terms with it. For now." He replied. I looked out of the front window as he drove, feeling a little bit guilty for the way I'd spoken to Thea Queen. Maybe there was at least one person in this school that I couldn't write off just yet. I glanced at Oliver again. Or two. "What about you, any brothers or rebellious sisters?" He asked.

"No," I said, shaking my head. "Only child."

He smiled at me, and I actually felt nervous. He had a gorgeous smile, one that made me sure the girls at this school were lining up to get his attention. I wondered if he gave it to them. By his easy-going demeanor and friendly attitude, I doubted he had any trouble finding dates. And why was I thinking about his social life? So he could smile at me and make me feel some butterflies, so what? "Hey," I said, looking out the window. "I never told you how to get to my apartment. Where are we going?"

Oliver gestured to his pants, "I was kind of hoping to stop home and change before I dropped you off. I live just a few blocks away. It'll only take a minute. Do you mind?"

I shook my head, curious and happy that I'd get to see where this guy lived.

I wasn't surprised by the mansion we pulled into a minute later, the Queen family ran half the city. The nice half at least. I felt a moment of panic, thinking about the apartment he'd be taking me home to, right at the edge of The Glades. It wasn't the worst apartment in the city at all, but it definitely didn't compare to this place. I shook my head, not realizing that he had gotten out until he opened my door. I didn't care what people thought of me, so I shouldn't care what Oliver Queen thinks about our apartment.

He lead me into the Queen mansion silently, probably guessing that I needed the silence to process the giant home. "Mom!" he yelled as he dropped his backpack in the foyer.

"Yes, Oliver, in here." He smiled and gestured for me to follow him into a study, where his mother sat on a sofa doing some kind of paperwork, spread out on the table in front of her and on the cushion beside her. She glanced up quickly as we walked in, ready to go back to the papers, but my presence seemed to catch her attention.

"Mom, this is Felicity Smoak, she's new at school."

"Hi, Mrs. Queen." I said, smiling, "It's nice to meet you." I offered my hand. The woman shook my hand while eyeing me the whole time, in that cautious mother way. Jeesh, hello Ice Queen.

"Moira, please. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Smoak." She glanced at her son again, "You're bringing her through the front door, what a refreshing change."

My mouth dropped a little as Oliver hissed a sharp "Mom,"

"Where's your sister?" She asked, still barely looking up from her work. If this was the way Oliver and Thea grew up, I couldn't really blame Thea for not wanting to become like this woman; snide remarks and barely acknowledging her son.

"Probably at Ben's again, I'll see her tonight at the bonfire and make sure she comes home though." he promised.

Mrs. Queen sighed, "Please tell her that she needs to call me if she plans on staying the night somewhere else."

"I will."

I glanced at the pictures on the wall as they spoke, plenty of Thea and Oliver, a few family photos, their parents' wedding. I noticed one photo that looked like a summer yacht party or something, that had Tommy in it along with Mr. and Mrs. Queen, Thea, and Oliver. Clearly Tommy was welcome in this family, unlike me it seemed, or any other girl Oliver brought home. I wondered if my judgment was a little off about him. He sneaks girls into his house through the back door? Maybe he was a player and I was just blinded by the smile and the eyes and the hair and the little freckle by his mouth and everything else that made him very attractive to me.

"Well," Oliver said, "I'll be back in a bit, I just stopped to change my pants before I bring Felicity home."

Moira glanced up, and then down at her son's pants, noticing that he was covered in grease for the first time. "What on earth happened to you?" She asked, her eyes amused.

"I...uh, Felicity was having car trouble."

Moira laughed, "Oliver, you don't know the first thing about fixing cars."

My eyes snapped up to Oliver. His lips were pursed as he shook his head at his mother, embarrassed, but I could see the humor in his eyes. He faked it? Who would do that? My mind jumped to the conclusion that he was an asshole trying to get laid, before I realized that he hadn't even touched me; not once, not accidentally, hadn't even tried. I couldn't help the giant grin that spread across my face. "What?" I asked.

Oliver glanced up at me hesitantly, "Thanks, mom." he said.

Moira was distracted by the paperwork in front of her again, but she glanced up at him with a warm smile, "Hm? Oh, you're welcome honey."

"Uh, my room's upstairs," he said, leading me back out into the foyer and up the staircase.

I followed quickly on his heels. "You tried to fix my car for fifteen minutes." I said.

"Yes," He sighed. He got to the top of the stairs and lead me down a hallway.

"You have grease all over you."

"I'm aware." He replied, opening the door to his room and walking over to his bureau. I followed him inside and sat down on his bed as he rummaged through his drawer and pulled out a pair of pants. He looked over at me as he unbuttoned his pants, and I raised an eyebrow. Rolling his eyes, he took his dirty pants off and pulled on the pair of jeans he'd picked out. Once clothed again, he shoved his hands in his pockets and met my eyes, not looking away this time.

"Well." I said. He continued to stare. "Why?"

"Why did I say that I could fix your car when I don't have the slightest idea on how to fix cars?" I nodded. He sighed again, "I saw an opportunity." He didn't look away from my eyes as he spoke. Under any other circumstances, I probably would have ran from that room screaming, or at least been totally creeped out that a guy would pretend to fix my car just to talk to me. But this was different, it felt different. I liked that he did it.

"To...?" I teased, "See if you could fix an engine?"

He threw me a look, glancing away with the hint of a smile pulling at his lips, "No. To talk to you."

"Well, why would you need such a messy excuse? Saying hello in the hallway would have been a lot less trouble."

Oliver shrugged, "My car was right next to yours...I heard that awful sound it made when you tried to start it...you looked so defeated...I figured that even if I couldn't magically become a mechanic long enough to fix it, that I could at least offer you a ride." Oliver sat down beside me on the edge of his bed and I looked at his eyes again. He laughed lightly, "Definitely on the list of stupid ideas I've had."

"Are you a nice guy?" I asked. The question kind of slipped out. It'd been in my head for the past hour of knowing him, but I hadn't meant to say it out loud. I usually made those judgments about men for myself. And the answer was usually no.

"I hope so." He said quietly, not looking away, letting me try to decipher if he could be trusted or not. Half of me was trying to figure out if I wanted to let him in, the other half of me was wondering if he was going to try to kiss me, or if he'd stop me if I tried. "You've been hurt quite a bit, haven't you?...By too many people."

I looked away now, uncomfortable that he could read me like I could read everyone else. "I guess you could say that."

He smiled slightly, "Story for another time, then." He said softly, his words from earlier when he'd asked about what brought me to Starling Academy. He could see my boundaries, and he didn't push them, but his comment told me that he wanted to know. Sometime. I watched his eyes for another moment before I heard him take a deep breath, "I should get you home."

"Yeah," I replied, standing up. There was a pit forming in my stomach, wondering if Oliver Queen could actually see through me, if he'd actually try to hear those stories, to get to know me. But the knot was there because I was afraid of what would happen if he did, or if I could even let him.

"I have nothing to wear," I groaned, throwing more clothes out of my closet and onto my floor. My mom laughed from the doorway of my room. "It's not funny. What do you wear to a party on a beach? Dress? Jeans? Sweatshirt? Should I bring a bathing suit?"

"Wear whatever you'll be comfortable in, honey."

"Says the woman who wears six inch stilettos and body con dresses every day." I mumbled. My mom was in the middle of rolling her eyes at me when the doorbell rang and she lunged for the hallway. "No!" I screamed, "Please mom, go hide in your room!" I hissed at her as I tried to gain my balance and chase after her. She was surprisingly quick for a woman in stilettos. She reached the door before me, and swung it open with an excited squeal at the first sight of Oliver. I groaned, hiding my face in my hands.

"He's cute!" she "whispered" to me. I groaned more, shaking my head as Oliver chuckled. "Hi handsome, I'm Felicity's mom. You can call me Donna."

"Hi Donna." he shook her hand, "I'm Oliver."

My mom giggled. She giggled. I grabbed Oliver's hand and pulled him inside, slamming the door and gently nudging my mother out of the way. "You don't really look ready," Oliver commented, his eyes roaming from my face, to my robe, to my bare feet.

"Oh honey, go finish getting ready. I'll keep Oliver here company."

I threw a glare at my mom, continuing to pull Oliver through the apartment and into my room, "I just have to change. He can sit in here." I said, slamming my bedroom door too. I glanced at Oliver, wearing the same jeans he'd changed into earlier and a plain gray t-shirt that hugged his body in all of the right places. I nodded to myself, stripping off my skirt and pulling on jean shorts. I watched as Oliver awkwardly glanced away. "What?" I teased, "Never seen a girl in her underwear before?"

Oliver continued to study my ceiling. "Uh, no, I was just thinking how strange it is that we've barely known each other for six hours and we've already seen each other without our clothes on."

I smoothed my face, staring at him blankly, "Did you just flirt with me?"

"What?" he asked, his eyes meeting mine, "No. I wasn't-I was just saying-" He let out a breathy laugh, "You're funny."

I shrugged, pulling a sweater over my tank top and slipping flip flops onto my feet. "You're fun to tease." I nudged him as I passed, leading him back out into the kitchen where my mom was pouring a glass of wine. "I'll be back later mom," I said over my shoulder, doing my best to drag Oliver away quickly.

He hesitated, "It was nice to meet you, Donna."

"You too, handsome. Have fun, kids! And take care of my girl!" She yelled as I closed the door.

Oliver looked down at me, his eyes amused. "What?" I asked.

"Your mom really cares about you." He said, heading down the stairs. I wondered if that was a change of pace for him, but decided not to ask about his mother. Instead I let him lead me to his car and open the door for me.

"I should tell you now," I said as I sat down. He stopped with one hand on the roof of the car and other on the passenger door, leaning down to hear me. "I'm not very good at parties." Oliver laughed before closing my door and rounding the car to get in.

"Why do you say that?"

"I don't make friends very easily." I sighed, looking out of my window.

Oliver glanced at me, and then smiled, gesturing between us with his index finger, "I think you make friends just fine."

I pretended not to be affected by his use of 'friends' when it came to us, since I wasn't really sure what it was exactly that he hoped to have with me. I wasn't sure if he was interested in me or not. I couldn't even say for certain if he thought I was pretty. He didn't act like he hated me or anything...but maybe it was only friendship that he was looking for.

"Special circumstances," I shrugged, trying to play it cool. I barely knew him, I couldn't expect him to get the same butterfly-ish feeling about me that I had about him. "I was actually trying to flee that parking lot today."

He laughed gently, "Well, I'm happy you have an awful car then."

"We can't all have nice ones like this." I said, running my hand along the dashboard.

"It was partially a gift. My dad gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday, but I worked to pay for some of it."

I laughed, "Wow, and here I thought the kids at SA had never worked a day in their lives."

Oliver shrugged one shoulder, "My dad always said that things were more rewarding if you worked to earn it. I've tried a few different jobs here and there since I was fourteen. I wanted to see what it was that I wanted to do with my life."

"What was the consensus?" I asked.

Oliver bit his lip, seeming a little uncomfortable, "At the thriving age of eighteen I am preparing to start my leadership of Queen Consolidated."

I raised my eyebrows. After all that talk about Thea finding her own way, it seemed a little weird for Oliver to want to follow in his parents' footsteps. He seemed to have more admiration for Thea's free spirit than he did for the profession he was stepping into. "Your dad must be proud." I said.

Oliver glanced between me and the road for a long moment, and I knew I'd said something wrong. "He died," he finally said hesitantly, his voice low.

"Oh." I hesitated too, "I'm sorry, Oliver-I didn't realize."

"It's okay," He breathed, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel and keeping his eyes focused on the road now. "It was two years ago, he took the boat out and never came back."

"He...I mean, did they find the boat?"

"Yeah, at the bottom of the ocean, fifty miles from here."

"I'm sorry." I said, instinctively touching his forearm. Obviously he was still hurt by his father's death.

Oliver glanced down at my hand and then up to me. "It's okay, Felicity. But thank you." I didn't move my hand or stop looking at him. I wasn't sure what it was about him, but it felt like I'd known him for a very long time, much more than just a few hours at least. And I wanted to know everything about him, about his family, his life; anything he was willing to tell me. Well, that's a scary thought. Why was I so interested in knowing him? How did I already care so much? I didn't even know that I was capable of letting new people into my heart, but if every conversation with Oliver was like this, learning more about each other and talking like this, I knew that he was about to nudge his way right in there.

"If you ever need...I know I'm not really the most open person," I struggled for the right words, "But if you ever want to talk about it..."

He nodded slowly, moving his body so that he was facing me, and I realized that he wasn't driving anymore. My hand slid from his arm as I looked out of the window, noticing now that we were in a parking lot next to the beach, right by the party. I could see dozens of people on the beach and the giant bonfire Tommy had said I wouldn't miss.

"Felicity," I turned back to look at Oliver, who was still staring at me. I felt those damn butterflies again. "I just want to say...that I've really liked spending time with you today. And I'd really like to do it more." I bit my lip and his eyes flickered down as he watched, "Just so you know." He murmured, his eyes still on my mouth. Well, if he was going to stare at me like that...I leaned forward a little, trying to give him the green light to kiss me.

I'd just noticed the party and all of the people five seconds earlier, but the knocking on Oliver's window still had me gasping and jumping out of my seat. I would have seen the guy coming too, if I hadn't been trying to telepathically beg Oliver Queen to kiss me in the front seat of his car...at a party...after six hours since meeting him. Stupid girl.

The boys outside made sexual hand gestures and Oliver waved them off, "We should get out there." He said, his eyebrows coming together in...concern?

I just nodded, stepping out of the car and waiting by my door while he tried to brush off the frat boys that had swarmed his entrance with their annoying window tapping. I raised an eyebrow, okay, so he's popular. No surprise there. I kind of figured that much just by his model-like face and muscles.

Oliver nudged them, telling them to get lost, before coming up beside me. "Sorry," he said shyly, like he was embarrassed by the whole thing. I shrugged, and he reached for my hand for a moment before thinking differently and shoving it in his pocket.

"What are you worried about?" I asked.

Oliver looked at me for a long moment, "Are you always this direct?" He asked, a small smile pulling one corner of his mouth up.

It was contagious, and adorable. I couldn't help but smile back. "Yes. Sometimes I speak before I think. It's been an issue since first grade." I rolled my eyes and he laughed.

"I just don't want people to start rumors about you." He said slowly, "Showing up here with me, you know..."

"Ah," I said, the concerned look on his face when his buddies caught our almost kiss made sense now. "You sure you just don't want your classmates to know that you're a giant dweeb for pretending you could fix my car?"

Oliver smirked at me, "Don't you think I'd be walking in here bragging that I spent the afternoon with you if that was the case? You're gorgeous, Felicity. And this school is desperate for drama and gossip; they'd eat it right up if I told them all I spent some time with you. Every guy here would be jealous. I just don't want them talking about you more than they already are; especially not to gossip, I know how they work...I lied about being able to fix your car, but the drama mill turns it into something...not as innocent as it was."

I nodded slowly, trying to understand why he cared that much, but I ended up just replying, "So what?"

"I know it sounds silly," he sighed, "Just wait til you talk to some of these people." He said, heading towards the fire, and I groaned as I followed after him.

For the first half hour of the party, Oliver stayed by my side; showing me to the keg and getting me a drink, and then coming down to the water with me to put our feet in the water. Then we went up to the bonfire and he sat beside me on a log where I listened to him joke with some of the boys from school. It kind of made me wonder what the point of his little speech was, we were getting looks from people anyway, and I could tell they were talking about us. People had seen him helping me after school, and then we show up to the party together...I wouldn't be surprised if his so called drama mill started some crazy rumors just based on that. What really had me worried about my sanity though was that I didn't really care. I kind of liked the idea of people talking, thinking that Oliver Queen liked me. Would it really be a bad thing if people thought there was something going on between us? Would they even be wrong?

The party wasn't even going on for an hour when a very drunk, very annoying boy stumbled over to the log that Oliver and I were sitting on and squished between us. "Cat girl," he slurred. He looked like every other guy at the party, until I actually looked at his face. The guy from English class. "Is your cat all right? Did he get his shots okay?"

Oliver gave me a quizzical look, and I could see the wheels turning in his head, I hadn't mentioned having a cat to him, and he definitely hadn't seen one in my apartment. Because we didn't have one. "Yes," I responded. "Little Fluffy is pulling through."

The boy nodded, relieved. "Good." He said, like he'd actually been worrying about it since I made up the excuse.

I burst into laughter, and Oliver did too. The boy glanced between us. "What's so funny? Fluffy could have been seriously hurt, Oliver. It's not funny."

"You're right, Ben. Definitely not funny." He said, looking over at me, still laughing.

I bit my lip, drunk Ben was clearly very concerned about my imaginary cat. "I'm going to go grab another drink." I said, standing up. "You want one?" I asked Oliver.

"I do." Ben replied.

"I don't think that's a good idea," I said, taking Oliver's cup and making my way to the kegs. I knew that I would be hating every second of this party if it weren't for Oliver. I knew that drunk Ben, and all of the drunk boys like him, would have pissed me off if Oliver wasn't there. I wasn't sure how I felt about Starling Academy just yet, but Oliver was starting to change my mind about what I expected it to be. I didn't have a problem with that. I welcomed it. If I could get through my last year of high school without any incidents and actually having a little bit of fun, maybe I wouldn't feel so much bottled up anger all of the time; if I could actually open up and talk to Oliver about everything I'd done and been through. But those were some pretty heavy 'if's'.

As I approached the kegs, a tall brunette girl was up on one of them, her hands on either side while two boys held her legs up in the air, and another held the nozzle in her mouth. The others cheered. Apparently she was breaking her record from last weekend's party. Okay, maybe this would be my only SA party, I thought, rolling my eyes as the girl came down from her keg stand. She wiped her mouth and high-fived one of the boys who had been holding her legs. I waited. But the excitement wasn't going down. So I pushed my way through the crowd to the kegs, filling my cup and then Oliver's.

The girl from the keg stand glanced at me, "Is that for Oliver?"

I just gave her a shrug. I'd met my 'meeting new people' limit for the day, and if she was going to come at me with an accusing question rather than an introduction, I saw no point in being pleasant. "Maybe you should've fetched his drink a little quicker." She sneered, her lips curling in a smile.

I stared at her, and she quirked her eyebrow, nodding to the fire. I followed her gaze to Oliver, sitting beside a blonde who seemed very intoxicated. Her hands were all over him. He was gently pushing her hands away, but they seemed to be in a pretty intense conversation. "Oops," Keg girl sang.

I spun around to glare at her, "Who the hell are you?" I asked. My anger wasn't even at this girl. I'd seen pettier, bitchier girls than this, but it wasn't like she didn't deserve it.

"I'm Laurel. Oliver's ex. Or should I say one of Oliver's exes."

I shook my head. Uh-uh, no way. I was not about to buy into some lame gossip without hearing who she was to Oliver, from Oliver. I handed the girl my beer, "Seems like you're the jealous one. Maybe you need this more than I do. Enjoy your keg stand and frat boys, Laurel; seems like the attention is what you live for," I spat, unleashing all of my ruthless anger from this school on her. Laurel's mouth dropped slightly as she took the drink. "Have a nice night." I said, turning around but not really sure where I was going. I glanced at Oliver, and met his eyes immediately. He still had a drunk blonde murmuring something in his ear, but my heart raced for a moment because I had his attention. I wondered how long he'd been watching, if he noticed my little riff with his ex. I could tell that my face gave something away, because his eyebrows pushed together and he stared right at me. He shoved the blonde's hands off of him now and stood up, walking towards me.

The next thing I knew, sirens were blasting as six police cars pulled up to the sand and officers with flashlights came towards us. The party-goers were running in all directions. Oliver looked behind him, "Sara, come on!" He shouted. The blonde girl that was groping him seconds before looked up and noticed the police, and her face dropped. She stumbled her way to us and Oliver took my hand, guiding me to the car as the blonde trailed behind us. "There's another exit at the back of the parking lot," Oliver said, pulling out his keys as we rounded the car. "Can you help Sara into the back?"

"She's coming with us?" I asked. Stupidly. Of course she was.

"Her dad is the chief of police. I don't want her getting into any trouble."

"I'm right here, you know." Sara said, looking at me, and then down at Oliver's hand in mine. Her head cocked to the side, "Who is this, Oliver?"

"This," I responded, feeling my claws coming out for my second cat fight of the evening, "Is Felicity." I opened the back door for her and Sara nodded once as she passed me, getting into the backseat. I glanced back at the beach and saw the officers arresting a few of the kids that were too drunk and slow to run away as fast as the others. Once the doors were closed, we took off. "Where are we taking her?...if her dad can't know she's hammered."

Oliver sighed, clutching the steering wheel and looking at Sara in his rear-view mirror before glancing at me. "My house," he said hesitantly, gauging my reaction.

I kept quiet and nodded.

Sara leaned forward, sticking her head between us, "Ollie, you know that was all her, right?"

Oliver sighed, "We can talk about it later, Sara."

"Nooooo, no, no, no." Sara ranted, clearly pissed about something. "You know she called them."

I glanced between the two of them, but Oliver kept his jaw shut tight. "She who called who?" I asked.

"My sister," Sara said like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "The cops. Our dad." I was starting to catch on to the fact that whatever was going on was much bigger and deeper than some high school love triangle. Keg girl was drunk girl's sister, and they both had a connection to Oliver...I bit my lip, trying to piece together the unthinkable...Oliver didn't. He couldn't have. Who would do that? When I didn't respond to Sara, she groaned and laid back into the seat.

I threw a look at Oliver, who was watching me out of the corner of his eye. "How do you know Sara and Laurel?" I asked quietly, so that boozy in the back wouldn't hear. I glanced behind me, and Sara's eyes were closed. If there was one think I envied about getting that drunk, it was how quickly people could fall asleep.

Oliver raised one shoulder, and I could see the tension in his face and body. "It's a small school." He said so softly that I could barely hear him.

I glared. "I mean it." For our first day of knowing each other, we'd done a pretty good job of having open conversation, and I would have guessed that I'd be the one to put walls up and hide things, not him.

He sighed, "I was dating Laurel a year ago." I waited a moment, but it didn't seem like he planned on saying any more.

"Oliver, please..." I whispered, tilting my head until he glanced at me, and I raised an eyebrow.

"I was dating Laurel a year ago...until I cheated on her with her little sister, Sara. Sara was a freshman, and she transferred to a different school a couple of weeks after people found out. I was praised, but Sara...people didn't treat her very well, and nothing I said could stop it." I stayed silent for a moment while I watched him. And then I glanced back at Sara, still passed out. I didn't even know what to say. I turned my head to the windshield and tried to keep my face smooth. Oliver sighed, and I could feel his eyes on me. When I glanced over at him, he tried to smile, but he just looked very...sad. It broke my heart a little bit, and I fought the urge to touch him, to put my hand on his cheek and feel him. Instead I looked away, focusing on the town passing by my window.

I guess I wasn't the only one with some dark secrets.

Tags:

@boo-ritz-radley@olicityforeverqueen @ljanies@newyorkinlove @adiwriting @boo-ritz-radley@bytemegeekette @sarcastic1515 @sandycakes24 @tragically-irrelevant @glittercupcakedreams @standingontheedge-ofme@ymeanidem @sailorchibimoonunicorn @embroidered-fiction@seaolicity @smoak-me @dopecycleblaze @mrsd923@flailykermit @niki-is-amazing @alex-wesley @bandanab310@felicityqueenforever @smkkbert @myhauntedblacksoul@mrsbubblelee @nuksu @not-done-fighting @hopeful-warrior@pleasedontletmedownx @hear-the-banshee-screaming@siriuslyobsessedfangirl @coal000 @alwaysmyownvoice@morganmaybaby @marniforolicity @elizasbodega@albinoturdqueen @olicityfluv @motoughismylife@velvetsteel @almondblossomme @hope-for-olicity@charlinert @geemarie @memcjo @oliverfel4

#Olicity #Olicity fanfiction #Olicity high school au #Right Girl #Felicity Smoak #Oliver Queen #Oliver and Felicity #Oliver and Felicity fanfiction #Arrow

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thewanderingkru · 7 years ago

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5 DAYS IN BURMA FOR LESS THAN 300!

Burma, the old name of Myanmar is a country in South East Asia. It is known for its beautiful and enchanting pagodas, natural wonders, and of course, its rich and unique culture.

Last July of this year, I spent my long weekend in Burma for less than 300 US DOLLARS (approximately 10,000 Thai Baht/ 15,000 Philippines Peso). For a country that is not very familiar to everyone, or perhaps, still, an undiscovered touristy place, this is definitely a must place to visit.

(Flying with Myanmar Airways International featuring my first Burmese meal. Yay!)

In this blog, I will share my thoughts, insights, as to how, I spent my five day itinerary in Burma for less than 300 USD!

DAY 1 (Bangkok to Yangon)

It takes about an hour from Suvarnabhumi Airport (Bangkok) to Yangon International Airport. I arrived at Yangon (a city in Myanmar) at around 8PM, although it took me an hour to really got outside the airport. From the airport, it took about 20-30 minutes to the city center (although it depends on the traffic), lucky as I am, I have a best friend who happens to work in Yangon. Got a free taxi ride! Yay!

As for visa fees: As a Philippine Passport holder, I got a 14-day visa free since Philippines and Myanmar (Burma) are both members of ASEAN. So, when you arrive at the immigration, just show your passport, and of course, your boarding passes.

As for the taxi fares:

(City Center to the airport and vice versa fare: 5,000 - 10,000 kyats/ 100 Thai Baht - 250 Thai Baht/ 3 - 5 USD) However, it depends on how you haggle. The lower the price, the better! As for this trip, although I’ve only traveled in South East Asia so far, this is, perhaps, the cheapest taxi fares I’ve had.

Since it is a bit late then, although, I’ve had a hotel booked, I’ve decided to couch surf at my best friend’s place (Well, my best friend of course, offered to stay at his place for a night), because of course, it would be much better and lesser the expense.

As soon as we arrived at my friend’s place, changed clothes, and ready ourselves for late dinner and of course, in hope of finding a good bar, or club, to make the most of the night on my first day in Burma. Fast forward, we had our dinner and of course, party!

(First decent meal/dinner after an exhausting trip. You can get this at dinner meal for two approx 8,000 Kyats/200 Thai Baht/5 USD for two at 365 Cafe Yangon International Hotel)

Yes, for about 5 USD, you can get a huge burger meal at that price with a Mango smoothie (seasoned)!

(Cheers to the good life with a picturesque view of the Shwedagon Pagoda and a local Myanmar draft beer at a Sky Bar Yangon International Hotel)

And of course, while the night is still young, although, it’s almost midnight, perhaps, time for Cinderella to go home, well, not for us. We went to a sky bar (free entrance) located near Yangon International Hotel. No need for taxi as you just have to walk. Beer costs: 2,000 Kyats/2 USD

Thus, ending the first day in Burma at the MUSE Club, still, near the Yangon International Hotel.

(Clubbing with my best friend, and of course, with the locals at MUSE CLUB)

MUSE CLUB Entrance Fee: 6,000 Kyats/150 Thai Baht/4 USD

TOTAL OF MY FIRST DAY TRIP: 11 USD

2nd day (FULL DAY TOUR TRIP IN YANGON)

From last night’s jaunts, we’ve started the day at around 10 in the morning, went to a really good brunch place in downtown Yangon and had our brunch.

(Yep, that’s full pack meal for the whole day Pagoda trip in Yangon)

(Cozy ambiance for brunch at the Brunch Society, downtown Yangon, nearby Sule Pagoda)

Brunch cost: 5,000 Kyats/4 USD each. Not bad for a full pack meal!

After our full-packed brunch, we went to our first stop: Sule Pagoda!

(Favorite view at the The Sule Pagoda over the foot bridge at Downtown Yangon)

Entrance Fee: FREE!

Although it’s a really beautiful Pagoda, and it was my first sight-seeing of one of the beautiful Pagodas in Burma, we didn’t enter, as there was of some sort of a Buddhist ceremony. Also, during that time, it was a Buddhist holiday in Myanmar.

As we continue our walk around Sule Pagoda, we came across at some local markets along the way.

(Colorful sights at a local market in downtown Yangon)

This local market is actually located near Maha Bandula Park in downtown Yangon.

(Selfies shouldn’t be missed, of course!)

Entrance Fee: FREE!

After spending some time around Maha Bandula Park and Sule Pagoda, we went to one of the most visited Pagoda, the Shwedagon Pagoda.

Going to Shwedagon Pagoda wasn’t really that far from Sule Pagoda, however, due to the weather, as it was really hot then, we had to take a taxi.

TAXIS AROUND DOWNTOWN YANGON: 2,000 Kyats - 5,000 Kyats/1USD - 3 USD (Note: And again, since, the taxis in Yangon doesn’t have a meter, so, all you gotta do, is to haggle. Make use of that haggling skills!) I got mine for FREE since my best friend paid the taxi. THANK YOU, BEST FRIEND!

ENTRANCE FREE: 8,000 Kyats/4 USD

Of course, perhaps, just like everyone else in this world, when entering a religious or a holy place, there should be a dress code for everyone. So, no shorts or slippers or shoes when entering the Pagoda.

I bought myself a longyi (this is a local sheet of cloth widely worn in Burma), in entering the Pagoda. Although you can rent a longyi for 3,000 Kyats at the entrance of the Pagoda, however, I bought mine, for souvenir. :)

Longyi: 5,000 Kyats/3 USD

It was my first time then, to see a crowd, it’s like a concert or convention, or more like a pilgrimage, as it was more like a feeling of the whole Burma is at the Shwedagon Pagoda, then I was reminded that, it was a Buddhist holiday.

After a few walks around the Pagoda. Yes, it’s huge! We went to another local tourist spot, the Kandawgyi Lake. Just a few minutes walk from Shwedagon Pagoda.

After visiting the Pagodas, bucket list checked! We had our time to chill at the moment in the lake. It was a bit exhausting as the weather was really hot then, so don’t forget to bring bottled water while on a day trip.

Kandawgyi Lake Fee: FREE!

After we had our moments at the lake to chill, we went back to my best friend’s place as I had to prepare for a night bus trip to Mandalay and Bagan. It’s another cities in Burma known for its ancient and historical Pagodas.

Around 7 in the evening, I arrive at the bus terminal. I booked my overnight bus trip online at JJ EXPRESS, you can look for them in their facebook page. All you gotta do is just private message them.

Taxi ride from my friend’s place to the bus terminal: 10,000 kyats/245 Thai Baht/7 USD

If you’re wondering that, if it’s a little bit pricey, because, downtown Yangon to the Bus Terminal takes around an hour or two drive, depending on the traffic. Thus, it was typically the price going to the terminal. Also, I got myself an air conditioned taxi. And by the way, normally, the taxis in Yangon doesn’t always have an AC, so might as well, bring a fan, and of course, water!

As for the bus trip, I got free food and drinks. Well, it’s more just like riding in an airplane. Plus, a comforter!

Overnight sleeper bus trip fee: 19 USD

TOTAL OF DAY 2: 36 USD

DAY 3 (Bagan)

At around 5 in the morning, I arrived from Yangon to Bagan. So, there’s new and old Bagan. I stayed in new Bagan, where the chill and perhaps, hippie, as they say, areas in Bagan.

As soon as I arrive in Bagan, all foreigners should pay for the national park fee. Then, you get the rest of the Pagodas/Stupas for free (Although, not exactly since I paid 20 USD, lol!). So, always keep your national park ticket when entering Pagodas/Stupas in Bagan, as they sometimes, ask you for it. Or, you might pay another 20 USD for it.

Bagan National Park Fee: 25,000 Kyats/20 USD

I paid in Kyats (Burma currency) since, the conversion then, was like, 25,000 Kyats = 18 USD. Saved 2 USD. Yay!

Haggling skills doesn’t always work when there’s a fixed price, though. As for the taxi from the Bagan bus terminal to my hotel costs 15,000 kyats. Expect that this is the normal price. Bus terminal to the hotels normally around 20-30minutes ride. Taxi fare: 10 USD

When I arrived at my hotel, it was almost 5:30 then, and I had to hurry as I need to catch up the sunrise in the Bagan temples. I rented an e-bike for 8,000 Kyats. Lucky me, as my best friend told me that renting e-bikes normally costs 10k - 11k kyats. Well, another perks, perhaps, since it’s a hotel e-bike.

It was also a moment of rush, as I myself, still in sleepy mode, asked the receptionist for the maps about the best spots of pagodas to catch sunrise, although, I have no idea at the moment since it was my first time in Bagan, dared to drive the e-bike with using only the map. And finally, found a good spot, for myself, to watch the sunrise in Bagan.

(Breathtaking moment while watching the sunrise in Bagan)

I know, this photo doesn’t give justice as to what my eyes saw at that very moment. Bagan is really beautiful as it is. As I barely remembered, it was only in my dreams to visit this country, and specifically, this place. Well, as they say, if you want to make your dreams come through, you have to work hard for it. Make it to a point that you do it. Privilege as it seems, but this travel session, took me months to save and make the most of this trip. At those moments, too, was, while watching the sunrise at the pagoda, perhaps, one of the best highlights of my 2017.

(Of course, selfie, in my most, unusual and sleepless self. I had to wear my long sleeve then, since I forgot to bring a coat during this trip. Well, after all, smile!)

After sunrise watching, at around 7, I had to go back to the hotel and check-in. Thus, I had to get more sleep, since I didn’t really sleep well while at the bus, perhaps because of excitement of the wonders of the unknown. Hours later, around 10, I had my time for breakfast and took a dip in the hotel pool.

Supposedly, check-ins are usually at 2PM, however, I called the hotel the night before I arrive for an early check-in at around 5AM since I will be arriving very early. Due to circumstances, they are fully booked. But as soon as I arrived there, they got me checked in at 7AM. Lucky me, again!

Buffet breakfast for 5,000 Kyats/3 USD. Yep, that’s eat-all-you can! Since arriving earlier, I will have my free breakfast the day after my check-in. Still, for only 3 USD, why not!

By the way, as for my hotel, I booked at booking.com and checked in at the Floral Breeze Hotel, New Bagan. from 79 USD to 29 USD/Per night (Since it was low-season, as they say). Fast and easy transaction! Plus, very welcoming receptionist! They will help you with your itinerary trip while in Bagan.

(Morning dip at the pool after a heavy breakfast)

After some swimming time, I prepared myself for a whole day trip in the Old Bagan, Mandalay. With only maps and google maps with me, I traveled for about 20 - 30 minutes to get there. Visited the Stupas and some Pagodas. I didn’t really have an exact itinerary for the day because all I ever want was just to let things flow and make the moments do its worth.

Stupas and Pagodas fee: FREE! (Well, since I already paid when entering the national park)

(Afternoon journey to Old Bagan, Mandalay with my e-bike, locals, and my shadow)

(Shwezigon Pagoda at Old Bagan, Mandalay under the heat of the sun… Just imagine how hot it is while walking bare foot)

(Don’t mind my sweaty face while at the market as it was really and literally hot then)

After some time at the Pagodas, outside of it, was a local market, bought something for souvenirs and more longyis!

Souvenir shopping cost: 30K kyats/22 USD

(Stop-over for lite brunch at Sharky’s in Old Bagan, although it looks lite, but the chicken sandwich was huge!)

Lunch: 7,000 kyats/5 USD

After lunch, pagoda visits, and souvenir shopping, I went back to the hotel to take a rest, refresh myself and wait for the sunset. At around 5pm, I went back again outside, in hope of sunset viewing and of course, taking a photo of it. However, the sun got shy. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to take pictures of it. Well, regardless of it, I got myself my own Pagoda to watch the views for myself.

(It’s just me, the pagoda, my backpack, and of course, my longyi)

(Afternoon solitude moment in Bagan, Burma)

Traveling alone can sometimes be lonely, or, perhaps, most of the time, but I think, it’s all about in the state of mind. On a personal perspective, I think, traveling alone can be fun, too, of course, because you get to discover your inner potentials especially in being responsible, vigilant, and most importantly, you discover more of yourself that you thought you couldn’t do it.

As twilight came, I went out to a local restaurant for dinner. After dinner, went back to the hotel and sleep.

Dinner cost: 5,000 Kyats/3 USD

DAY 3 TOTAL COST: 94 USD

DAY 4 (BAGAN to YANGON)

My fourth day in Burma was perhaps a bittersweet moment, as I have don’t want to leave yet, but reality hits, as I have to go back to Yangon the day before my flight.

(Morning dip before hitting reality)

I spent my morning just dipping at the pool and a full-pack breakfast in preparation for a 9-hour trip from Bagan to Yangon. It was drizzling and raining on midday til afternoon then. So, most of the time, I just spent my whole day sleeping at the bus and a bit feeling sick, because perhaps, I didn’t get to have lunch and just sleep the whole day. From 9 hour trip turns to 12 hour trip due to rain and traffic.

(”Are we there yet?” feeling… Nope, just traffic)

As soon as I arrive at downtown Yangon, I met up with my best friend again for dinner and some late shopping at junction city mall. Living in Thailand for a quite some time, there was no sign of any Philippine brand, as expected, of course. And of all places, I couldn’t believe that, I could find a Philippine brand shops in Yangon (Bench and Penshoppe), and without further notice, I bought stuff for my self. Perhaps, a proud moment, and of course, exciting moment for me. After all, we’ll never know what’s in store in the future.

(Wandering dolls for sale in Bagan)

Bus trip from Bagan to Yangon cost: 13,000 Kyats/9 USD

(It’s a bit cheaper since it’s not a VIP Sleeper Bus, thus VIP BUS travels only on a night trip)

Yangon bus terminal to downtown Yangon taxi cost: 10,000 kyats/7 USD

Dinner at Junction City: 5,000 Kyats/3 USD

Shopping: 10,000 Kyats/7 USD

(Not in my best smile at the time, I wonder, too. But my best friend is happy to shop with Bench at Junction City, Yangon)

DAY 4 TOTAL COST: 26 USD

DAY 5 (Flying back from Yangon to Bangkok)

Not as exciting as it seems, as the morning started with a drizzle and turned to heavy rain, I didn’t explore much of the city, but instead, I went for a local cafe hopping (the usual, every time I visit a place).

(Drizzling Yangon on my last day at Burma)

(Rewarding myself with local Burmese-style fried rice for breakfast… it may look the same as any other fried rice meal, but the taste really makes it unique and worth the penny)

I had my breakfast at a fancy local restaurant/cafe (Cafe 26) which somehow a bit pricey, although still, affordable. But the ambiance and the food was really delicious! At lunch time, my best friend, toured me to a local cafeteria, where they serve the one of the best Shan noodles (popular local dish in Burma).

(Shan Noodles with Fried Tofu)

Ultimately, as they say, never leave a place without trying their popular local dish. And so, before I leave this beautiful country, I got what I deserve! SHAN NOODLES for lunch. Yay! After lunch, I went to my to Yangon Airport and go back to reality.

Breakfast: 8,000 Kyats/6 USD

Lunch: 4,000 Kyats/3 USD (However, I got it for free since my best friend treat me)

Taxi from downtown Yangon to Yangon International Airport: 8,000 Kyats/6 USD

DAY 5 TOTAL COST: 12 USD

Airfare cost (Bangkok to Yangon) back and forth: 100 USD (Got it on sale with Myanmar Airways International)

OVERALL TOTAL COST: 279 USD.

(Waiting for my flight with my backpack, passport, and of course, my self at Yangon International Airport)

To wrap up everything about this journey, things change, plans change, people change, as it is inevitable, but one thing is for sure, if you want something to happen, it may be your dream, or your goals in life, work for it. Do it! Break barriers and of course, always be vigilant. But above all, love yourself first. Because, with loving yourself, you will understand your own worth, and what you are capable of.

Special mention to my best friend Max for taking care of me when I was in Yangon. Thank you very much!

8/22/2017

Updated: 8/23

#Myanmar #Bagan #Yangon #SoulSearching #Traveling #Alone #thesuperlex #thewanderingkru #backpacking

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kesch · 7 years ago

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Oh Fury, My Fury

My friend Ian and I set out to complete a full North-South traverse of the Picket Range in the North Cascades, allotting 7 days for the whole trip. I literally packed for 7 days. “This will be fine -- the reports from previous years looked manageable. We’re experienced. My gear works. I’ve been training.”

See below for a few pictures (some are mine, some are Ian’s).

My info: IG: @keschh.

Ian’s info: IG: @iansradventures, Blog: http://photo.iansradventures.com/

Sunset of Mount Baker (left) and Shuksan (right) from the false summit of Luna Peak.

We thought were ready. In shape. Skillfully experienced and physiologically aware. But we were still outmaneuvered and underprepared. We weren’t far off from ready, truly. In fairness, we had everything we needed, save 3, maybe 4, extra days of food. But I should’ve paid more attention when Ian said only a few others groups had done the full traverse.

Our shadows as we cross the Challenger Glacier.

In reality, it wasn’t the technical difficulty that made us bail out early, but the daily gruel. Thousands of feet of descent, followed by thousands of feet of ascent, again and again. Every. Day. Our packs weighed upwards of 60 pounds, Ian’s due to camera gear and his (!) 6 Platypus liters. And me having packed for more-than-anticipated snow-travel. One of the problems was that the Pickets are so remote, that there were very few reports about conditions. Not just in the past few months -- but in the past few years. We’d stopped by the Marblemount Ranger station the morning before our departure -- they’d sent out climbing rangers to do a quick look at the conditions, but even their beta was limited. So in the end, while we found that conditions were manageable (water was plentiful, the glaciers were still traversable), the only thing we didn’t account for was time. Our pace was simply too slow to meet the resource constraints.

Luna Lake at dusk -- my first time jumping into a lake that still had icebergs in it.

I’ve done a lot of long-distance backpacking, easily over 300 miles spanning 3 or 4 trips. I felt ready. I knew what it felt like to walk for days on end with a heavy pack, at least on a nicely groomed trail. I knew where my blisters would form and when, and how the first day always sucks, but how your trail legs come in with a vengeance. The food I packed was enough for the time I packed for (alright, maybe I did lose some pounds, but because of lack of food). But the Pickets are different. The total mileage is short, by most measures, maybe 50-60 miles or so. But after hiking in the 18 miles from Little Beaver trailhead, the “trail” stops, and you’re left route finding through boulder fields, talus, glacier travel, literal bushwalking, and feeding your way through cracks in cliff faces.

What you think is a nicely groomed route with a manageable descent, when you see it from thousands of feet away high on a cliff, is actually a hundreds-of-feet-tall moraine freckled with boulders the size of busses and stabilized by sand. What looks like an easy-going climb up a clear knife edge is actually loose rock, with limited holds for cams. And what looks like a reasonable “ramp”, for lack of a better word, that might even have a climbers trail, is actual a massive boulder field covered in alder bush that steals your camera gear and tears your pack open.

The going is slow my friend. I’d liken it more to bear crawling drunk, with the literal added constraint that you now have a big, heavy round thing strapped to your sweaty back. Maybe that’s how I should’ve trained.

Ian’s photo, taken at Perfect Pass.

In retrospect, neither of us overpacked at all. Mountaineering boots, crampons, axes, rope, harnesses, gear. Extra filters, warm puffys, base layers, rain shells. It was all necessary. We used everything we had. We could have done without the tent and bivvied instead, but that’s pocket change in the grand scheme of things.

Ian’s photo of me standing mesmerized by Mount Fury, taken from the Luna Col at sunrise.

In the end, we got to experience one of arguably the most remote and rugged, yet simultaneously magical and beautiful, places in the lower 48, and that I’ve ever seen. A place that few people know about, and even fewer ever get to see. There were fires burning in BC, Idaho, Montana, and Eastern Washington, and the smoke seemed to converge in the North Cascades, making for some of the most remarkable sunsets. The mountains are sharp and jagged -- they almost look “fresh”, as if a glacier just carved them out and they’re still reeling in their rawness. The colors are deep, pure, and threatening. The Pickets are saturated with jet black granite and copper-veined boulders and mesmerizingly blue crevasses.

Mount Challenger summit at dusk.

We crossed the Challenger Glacier in the evening, and I remember feeling like I was on the moon. The sun cups in the snow were lit up on one side, with a deep purple shadow on the other, giving the glacier this dreamy, cratered look. If you snuck a peek up towards the summit, you could see the deep bergshrund, and just over the peak, a half moon. It was one of those moments where you realize what’s happening and the only words you can think of are “Holy shit, I love Earth.” Or does that just happen to me?

We’re planning our trip back already.

Ian’s photo of us, taken at the false summit of Luna Peak.

#north cascades #picket range

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sonreiv · 7 years ago

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Digital anon again, in ur experience what tablet works best?? Do u ever have problems with the whole connecting tablet to computer process, any warnings and advice for starting digital?? And (sorry for all the questions) what do u use to draw digital ??

Hey nony! I got a bit lenghty so I’m going under the cut.

I’ve only ever owned two tablets so I can’t say I know a lot-- I’ve had a Genius MousePen i608X which is fairly cheaper than a Wacom, but unnecessarily large with a tiny work space and the pen was battery powered and super fragile, so if you’re a clumsy idiot like me who drops his things on a whim, it doesn’t last. And I think they don’t even make Genius tablet anymore, so if you were to buy one it had to be via a third party site. But it’s cheap and the driver works fine, same pressure sensitivity as an intuos.

My current one is a Intuos pen small CTL480L by Wacom. It’s small but just enough for me. The cable is tiny on purpose so they make you buy the wireless kit, but I just bought an USB extensor. It comes with 3 extra nibs in a hidden compartment that no one tells you that exists, and the nib packs are ridiculously expensive and might not even ship to your country (they don’t ship to mine) but fret not, there’s tutorials online that teach you how to make DYI nibs with trimmer line and it’s super cheap and easy. The driver will sometimes randomly fail and not read the pressure (usually when you had the tablet connected for a while without using it) and you have to restart them via Services (if on windows) which is a bit annoying but it’s quick to solve. Wacom is the go-to for most artists sssso from experience and from what I always hear I’d recommend that but!

I came across this post about a tablet that’s fairly cheaper and pontentially superior than a wacom’s so it’s worht to take a look! The cheapness factor depends on where you live though bc the shipping turned out to be more expensive than a wacom tablet itself.

Now whichever you decide in the end, from my experience you probs don’t absolutely need a big ass active area and 2k pressure levels. If you get one that has that, neat!! But it’s less about the tool and more about what you do with it. I’ve never tried a more expensive tablet but I’m doing fine with the one I got now which is the simplest tier in wacom.

About the installing process, it’s chill. The same process as installing any programs in your computer. I’ve heard from other people with Genius tablets that the driver simply won’t work, but with Wacom you should be safe. The driver derps sometimes like mentioned before, but you just have to go to Services and reboot it, takes a few seconds. Once the driver is properly installed in your computer, you just plug in the tablet via USB and it starts automatically, get to drawing.

I use Paint Tool SAI for making art. It’s a paid program, but my cheap teen ass pirated it a few years ago orz others also commonly Photoshop, Manga Studio and Fire Alpaca (which is a free one). I’m set on SAI cause it’s simple enough and made specifically for making digital art. I use Manga Studio when I want to do effects like patterned backgrounds.

About tips on starting digital... Mann it’s an entire new world, I could sit and go on and on! I’ve been drawing digitally since 2014 and there’s still things I don’t know. The most basic advices I can give are (most of these applied to a SAI user):

Set your canvas to be 4000x4000px large and with a 300 ppi resolution. You don’t have to use the entire space, and you should size it down before uploading, but a larger canvas has better quality and minor mistakes are less visible.

When filling in base colors, use the magic wand to select an entire area and the select/deselect brushes to trim your selection. Saves you a lot of trouble. (ps works better if you’re doing a clean, “closed” lineart)

Try different brush settings! Sometimes what isn’t working is the kind of brush you’re using. Play around, look up what setting the artist you like use and you might find a brush that makes you comfortable when drawing (took me 12 years to realize the brush I used to sketch was making it harder for me).

SAVE. ALL. THE TIME. Set one of your express keys to be a saving button and soon enough it’ll become an almost unconscious habit.

Set a bunch of hotkeys to make your life easier! I don’t use them enough tbh, but it’s good to have some for flipping and rotating the canvas (I use tab to flip the canvas and Q+W to rotate counter-clockwise and clockwise). Always flip the canvas during the sketching process because when flipped you can notice mistakes more easily!

Try to avoid using black and white to shade and highlight your art. I mean, when choosing a darker/lighter shade for shadows/highlights, try moving the mouse sideways and changing the color a bit, rather than just choosing the same color but closer to white/black.

SAVE A FUCK TON OF TUTORIALS, EVEN IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO USE THEM NOW, SAVE THEM SOMEWHERE AND LOOK AT THEM AND EXPERIMENT! There’s SO many things you can learn and you can only grow with digital art by experimenting. I struggle a lot actually to step out of my comfort zone and try new stuff which leads to my art style evolving faster than my digital process orz but I’m trying!!

It WILL feel awkward and you WILL feel like it doesn’t look good enough, and that is normal. You move to a whole new medium and it’s like you’re learning how to art all over again. You have expectations on how your art will look like, and you’ll be a bit upset because it doesn’t look how you wanted to yet. It’s normal. Might take months, maybe even a couple years for you to find yourself and what works for you digitally, but it’s because only YOU know what your expectations are, to everyone else it’ll be an awesome process of improvement. Look up a bunch of tutorials, watch speedpaints and see how people do their thing, try different brushes.

If you have any questions, feel free to ask again or DM me directly! I still have a lot to learn and experiment but I can share what I know! Hope this helped a little!

#sonrei answer #Anonymous

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alegriaspain · 6 years ago

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A Book in Bed, Ahhh…

“Let’s have a lie-in tomorrow morning. It’s Sunday,” says Maureen. But I’m an incorrigible early riser so yesterday morning I was up at 5:30, lighting a fire in the bedroom fireplace and looking for a book. The first one to come to hand was Richard Hugo’s Selected Poems. I read it quite a few years ago but I was ready to give it another go. Books don’t change, but we do. The best example of that phenomenon that I can recall is my experience with Arthur Miller’s 1952 play, The Crucible, set in the 17th-century Salem witch trials, but universal in scope. The Crucible was required reading when I was in college but it made no impression on me. Then, when I was 30, I had to spend a month in bed with hepatitis. Toward the end of that time The Crucible was the only book left in the house that I hadn’t read. I was poleaxed by it. It’s one of the most intelligent and moving books, theater or otherwise, that I have ever read and my discovery that it was a commentary on McCarthyism only enhanced its value. It contains this line, for me, and in context, one of the most moving in literature:

Elizabeth, gently: “They press him, John.”

Richard Hugo, the Personification of Bleakness

Maureen became friends with Richard Hugo in the mid-sixties when she was running a little hotel and restaurant in Nerja, a fishing village on the Mediterranean coast of Málaga province. The town was bucolic then and an eight-liter carafe of passable red wine cost less than a dollar. Barefoot children ruled the cobblestone streets. The village was ideally placed between the coastal mountains and the sea, with kilometers of beaches and 300 days of sunshine a year. Since then it has been devoured by industrial tourism. So it goes.

The poet was in his early 40’s during his three-month stay in Nerja. It was time enough for him to fall in love with a much-younger English girl. He bought her a ring. Her parents obliged her to return it. That was a typical Hugo ending. He was already a well-known American poet at the time and later went on to edit the Yale Younger Poets series, to have two of his books nominated for the National Book awards and to direct the creative writing program at the University of Montana.

A good poet can rearrange your chromosomes and Hugo is undeniably a good poet. But he’s a poet of constant sadness and unfulfilled lives. According to Maureen’s account Hugo fought in the Italian campaign during the Second World War. Several times while she was waiting to close the bar he recounted for her his grueling experiences in the 123-day siege of Monte Cassino where the Allies lost 55,000 troops. “He never looked up from his beer while he was telling the story,” she said. Could the origins of Hugo’s world view include a case of PTSD? Who knows. In any case, there’s very little glamorous Big Sky Country in his writings. What he perceives in Montana are its numbing cold and damp, its mining-town poverty and an irretrievable love affair. And he notes that there were people in Butte named “Grubski.”

Though Hugo grew up in Seattle and studied at the University of Washington he is more associated with Montana, perhaps the place he should have been born due to its unforgiving bleakness. You can’t grow many cash crops up there, but Hugo makes it look like a perfect place to cultivate despair.

Saved by the Contacts

I was on the verge of despair myself when a 4×6-inch sheet of glossy paper fell out of Hugo’s book. It was a sheet of what we used to call “contact proofs.” These were digital copies of black and white negatives and quite a bit smaller than standard 35mm contacts. So they were harder to read and for that perhaps more intriguing. So I got out the great magnifying glass that came with my condensed versión of the Oxford English Dictionary, 16 volumes shrunken down to two, still hard to read, even with that magnifying glass. Judging from the age of our dog, Pachi, the pictures must have been taken in the mid-80’s, about 35 years ago. It was a different world then and we and our friends were still the same people, but younger. Everything has changed. The Spanish have a phrase for this: “Ha llovido.” “It has rained.”

The first three frames at the top left are images of the Gentle Young Poet (GYP), sitting at the base of the fig tree with Pachi lying placidly in the background. GYP had already won a national poetry prize by then and would go on to write many more books of poetry and to teach literatura at university level. One of his first collections of poems was entirely about his girlfriends anatomy, which he considered unique, as all young men do. Today he’s the director of one of Spain’s principal international cultural projects.

Next on this glossy little sheet of nostalgia come a few shots of my best friend (MBF) and his wife in bed with their newborn baby girl. She’s precious in the pictures, as all babies are, but as she grew up she began to show symptoms of instability such as screaming her way around the house, “Leave me alone.” Today she’s a perfectly normal Canadian engineer, married and with a family of her own. You never know. I first met MBF when he was 17. Someone told me there was an American teenager living in Málaga who was writing articles for an English-language magazine there. I went down to do a story on him for a General Motors magazine called American Youth. He was a delightful, precocious kid and we hit it off immediately. Written on the front of his guitar was a quote from a Spanish poet (Antonio Machado?). It said (my translation): “Don’t identify yourself with the “you” of my song, friend. That “you” is me.”’American Youth paid $500 for the story, a small fortune in those days.

How Can I Be a Godfather?

When their second child, a boy, was born MBF asked me to be the godfather. I replied, “How can I be a godfather? I’m an atheist.” “That’s why we want you to be the godfather,” he said. So we drove the 130 kilometers down to the ceremony on a 250cc Ducati 24 Hours. It was the month of February and the thing I remember best from the whole experience of that day was getting off the bike every 20 or 30 km. and flapping our arms to restore our circulation. MBF was a saint of a father and a friend. He died of lung cáncer at the age of 45. A lot of people miss him. Many of them will tell you he was their best friend.

The next three frames are photos of the Young Painter Who Wanted to Be Famous (YPWWTBF). He was the youngest of a talented and idealistic group of people, most of whom belonged to the Cultural Cell of the Granada Communist Party. A lot of them were well on their way to fame, GYP among them, as writers or musicians and he, not a bad painter, half expected to be joining them soon. It never really happened but his consolation prize is a lot of famous friends.

Then come eight frames of our Great Dane, Pachi, the best dog we ever had. Why does he have more pictures than anybody else? Because he deserves them. He was big and beautiful, noble and as gentle as a lamb—except for one occasion when a rough English couple came down our entrance stairs shouting demands. Pachi accompanied Maureen out to see what the ruckus was, his right shoulder pressed against her left leg. The ingleses never made it to the bottom of the stairs because Pachi emitted a deep-throated growl that inspired them to turn around and scramble up the way they came. We never saw them again.

Tragic Poet, Girlfriend Two, Petite Bavarian Painter

Then three frames of Granada’s most talented poet since Federico García Lorca. Unfortunately he, the son of a prominent Granada doctor, drank and led a disorderly life and committed suicide at 35. Maureen had painted a near-life-size double portrait of him and his girlfriend at the time and given it to him as a gift. It was one of her best. One of his subsequent girlfriends—he had a few—shredded it with a knife in a fit of jealousy.

Next comes a single headshot of Maureen, wearing her painter’s squint, and then three shots of the poet’s former girlfriend, the subject of the ill-fated portrait. She wasn’t beautiful in a conventional way but she had a head of pitch-black hair like a stork’s nest, and beautiful breasts. She was nude in the double portrait. Perhaps that’s what motivated Girlfriend Two’s destructive rage.

The next three frames are identical bracketed (one on, one over, one under) photos of the bronze monument to Mariana Pineda—Granada’s Betsy Ross—in the plaza named after her in a quiet corner of the city. Bracketing is what photographers do when the light is tricky or when they’re insecure or just too lazy to expose carefully.

The last three photos are of the Petite Bavarian Painter (PBP) sitting in the extravagant wicker chair that figures in the aforementioned portrait, looking like a miniature Polynesian princess. The PBP has lived in Granada for some years now, running a bed and breakfast in the Sacromonte Gypsy caves, and is one of our favorite people. Before that she lived in a Bavarian town south of Munich surrounded by delightful gasthauses in the countryside where they served sausages with wonderful potatoes simmered ever-so-slowly in farmhouse-fresh butter. And of course the beer, brewed according to the 1516 Reinheitsgebot rules, which permit only three ingredients: water, hops and malt.

We used to visit PBPand her Japanese mate almost annually during the 70’s and 80’s. PBP’s cooking—always the finest ingredients—was so good and occasionally her husband would prepare a Japanese meal. One time we stayed with them for two weeks. When they arrived in Granada to stay Maureen taught her etching. Those were the years when I covered most of Europe for an American hotel guide. People always ask if that was an interesting job. Yes and no. The first time you see Belgrade and Skopje they’re interesting, but the fifth visit you start to get the feeling that you’ve been there before. Yugoslavia had its charms, though. The people were so refreshingly naive then. I asked the manager of a lovely little 40-room hotel on a lake if it was private or publicly owned. He looked at me pityingly and replied, “Public, of course. Nobody has enough money to own a hotel like this.” Also, I loved Ćevapčići and Yugoslave speeding tickets which, in those days, were like a dollar and a half. The war in Bosnia-Herzogovina changed everything there for me. Sarajevo used to be one of my favorite places. But I can never go back.

###

Thanks for commenting and sharing.

Sunday Morning, Old Book, Sheet of Contacts, Nostalgia A Book in Bed, Ahhh… “Let’s have a lie-in tomorrow morning. It’s Sunday,” says Maureen. But I’m an incorrigible early riser so yesterday morning I was up at 5:30, lighting a fire in the bedroom fireplace and looking for a book.

#Arthur Miller #Contact Prints #Creative Writing Program #Nostalgia in Photos #Richard Hugo poet #Spain 1980s #University of Montana

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debtfreeinthree · 7 years ago

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How We Made $9,000 on Airbnb

When I talk to people about paying off their student loans early, I often hear that they’re having trouble finding extra money to add to their loans. They’ve looked at their expenses, trimmed their budget and are still struggling to pay more than the minimum.

I know what it’s like to be on this scenario. Remember, I started off by only paying an extra $10 a month. But I found that my debt payoff really skyrocketed when I began paying $100, $200 and $300 extra on my loans.

So if you’re stuck between a low-paying high salary and high expenses, how do you find the cash to increase your debt payoff? You make more money.

On this blog, I try to highlight ways to save money and budget responsibly, but I also want to share stories of people making more money. A couple of months ago I featured Harry, who makes $500 a month driving for Uber. Imagine what adding $500 to your student loans would look like.

Today, I’m featuring two friends of mine, Matt and Fae. They decided to rent out their second bedroom on Airbnb and found they could make a lot of extra money. Even though I had extra room in my apartment, I never considered renting out my space (hello, serial killers). But Matt and Fae made it work – and made a ton of money in the meantime.

Here’s their story of how made almost $9,000 in one year off Airbnb.

Why did you decide to start renting a room on Airbnb?

We decided to start renting on Airbnb in order to make extra income. This income generally paid for our rent each month and allowed us to live basically rent free.

It all began because my fiance Fae and I allowed a friend of a friend rent a room in our house for a couple months after she moved to Indianapolis. After she left, we had a room ready to rent out to guests at a moment’s notice and we took advantage of the situation.

Were you nervous having strangers stay in your house?

While we were slightly nervous about having strangers in our house at first, the rating and review system through AirBnB really helped to allay any fears. After the first few guests, it became clear that we had nothing to worry about. Every person that stayed with us, whoever they were, was respectful, kind, and fun to be around.

How much work was involved in setting up your place and dealing with the tenants?

There is not a whole lot of work that goes into renting out a space. The hardest part was cleaning the room and changing sheets between guests when the old guests left, and the new guest came on the same day.

Others may find that meeting guests for check-in is difficult due to the array of times that people arrive. However, I had a flexible work schedule and worked close to home so it was easy for me to accommodate guests.

Can you share how much you made per night?

We charged $69 per night to stay at our place but actually brought it $67 each night someone stayed. Over the course of 2015, we made roughly $8,900 for little effort.

Would you recommend this to someone else trying to earn money on the side?

I would definitely recommend someone else doing AirBnB on the side. I think it is important to think about your location and how attractive it may be for visitors to whatever city you’re renting in. Your location will greatly affect how often you receive bookings.

Do you have any advice for someone trying to make money off Airbnb?

Always be willing to chat with your guests and help with recommendations around I always had multiple guides and maps in the room as well that I would pick up from various cultural destinations for free too. Also, take advantage of the free professional photography service provided by Airbnb.

Nothing discourages me more than crappy pictures when I’m looking to rent on AirBnB myself. Lastly, always be thinking about your tax liability at the end of the year. Be sure to keep a record of expenses associated with renting out the room in order to write off as much as the income as possible later on. I’m not a tax professional, so please consult one, but portions of your utilities, phone bill, etc could be potential write-offs.

Zina’s note: Matt’s right about this. If you buy anything related to your Airbnb business, you can deduct it from your taxes. Wait, taxes, what? Another thing: if you earn money on the side, you’ll probably owe taxes on the amount. Any money you earn outside of a regular day job is taxed at a higher rate, so it’s important to pay attention to how much you earn. But, you can minimize that amount by deducting any expenses such as linens, cleaning supplies and anything related. Save your receipts and track how much you spend.

The Pros and Cons of Renting on Airbnb

I love Matt and Fae’s story. They did something what few people do – rent out their living space while they live there – and used it to make money and live almost rent-free. A lot of people used to do this to make money. If you remember in the movie, “The Iron Giant,” Hogarth’s mom rents out their guest room to the government agent looking for the Iron Giant.

Boarding is less common nowadays, but it’s still a totally viable way to earn extra money. If you have an extra room or even a couch, you can rent it out on Airbnb.

Here are some things to keep in mind before you do:

It Might Not Be Legal

If you don’t own your own home, then renting out a room might be against your lease. Check your lease specifically for any clauses that specify if you can sublet your apartment. Sure, there’s a chance your landlord will never know, but you should be aware of what you’re getting yourself into. A few cities, such as San Francisco and Santa Monica, have strict rules about short-term rentals. Make sure to read those before you publish your listing.

It Could Be Risky

Anytime you open your home to someone, whether it’s a friend or a paying guest, you risk being liable for something happening to them or them doing something to your property. I’ve often thought about renting out our house on Airbnb when we’re away, but since my husband has lots of musical equipment, I don’t want to risk it.

Airbnb hosts do have access to $1 million in insurance, but it might not cover every specific instance. Again, be aware of this before you open your doors.

You Could Owe Taxes

Remember what Matt said earlier about owing taxes on your rental property? These rules depend on where you live, but many Airbnb hosts find themselves with a tax bill at the end of the year. Try to set aside about 20-30% of your Airbnb earnings for taxes, just in case you find yourself in this position.

Have you rented out your space on Airbnb? I’d love to hear your stories in the comments below!

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How We Made $9,000 on Airbnb was originally published on Debt Free After Three

#make more money

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yesilian · 8 years ago

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The long read: That One Where I Moved To England

This is going to be long, so let's start with some background.

England has always held a fascination for me, something I know loads of people can sympathise with. An old school mate of mine went to London a few years ago and whenever we talked she told me to come, too. And I wavered, wanting to go on the one hand, wanting that big adventure, but on the other hand, I was afraid. Of course I was. Being all alone in a foreign country, on my own, with no help to get easily. But the dream was alive. Oh, I liked dreaming about it. I imagined the greatest of times, me in England. Old castles and country cottages and people speaking English. What fun I would have.

And then came the day my boss told me that the company would have to be sold soonish and he couldn't promise me that the new owners would keep me. So I quit and I started thinking. England was one option, but the most amazing thing happened: I didn't want to go.

With so much clarity, I knew, now was not the right time for me. I was 27 then, just off from my first real job, so much confidence that I was great at what I was doing, and the world was open to me. England was a dream, but not one I wanted to pursue then. And that made me so happy. Because, up until then, I had always played with that thought of moving there, but always too afraid, too hesitant. In that moment, when I knew that yes, I could now, in fact, the timing could hardly be better, but I didn’t want to, I also knew that, maybe, someday the opposite would be true. That someday I would know that now was the right moment, just as surely as I knew then that that wasn't it.

So I left Hamburg after three and a half rather happy years, illnesses and personal set-backs notwithstanding, and moved back home. I started a job in Berlin, didn't find a flat there and had to move into my father's guest room, where I was to make myself at home but not to change anything. That chapter is a whole different story and I'll tell it another time, but what we have to take from here is that after two months, that Moment, capital M, was there. I knew it was time now.

And so I started preparing. At first people didn't believe me. Well, they're wont to do that. But obviously I was serious. I started thinking about where I wanted to live. Brighton, that was my favourite. Never been there, but why not, eh? I looked at the job sites and there were some offers for people with just my skillset. It looked good. It looked feasible. Up until October I told people that was where I was headed eventually. Because even so, I knew I would have to start out in London. It was just easier. Set up base in London and then find a job in Brighton. Well, spoiler alert, I never made it to Brighton. When the job offer came, my heart bled and I declined. I couldn't face leaving London.

Finding a place to live was daunting from abroad. I couldn't just fly over and look at places. Well, technically I could, but I didn't want to. Too much stress. I found this website that was renting out rooms, for just a smallish fee of 100 pounds in advance, as deposit and security. That sounded reasonable. My room was to cost 125 pounds a week, which sounded high, but as I soon found out was also quite reasonable for London. So I booked it, starting from the first week of January.

I felt a bit queasy about that, but I've only paid £100 in advance, so I thought if worse came to worst, I'd lose 100 quid and would have to stay in a youth hostel. That was my plan B. God, did people laugh at me. But I was confident everything would go all right.

So I had a place to live, but still no job. And here comes my real secret to success, to sit down and listen carefully: I had money. There. I had a job in Germany that was paying all right, and I lived at home where my father refused to take rent. I saved up, I think, around 8,000 Euros, and went abroad with that in my pocket. That was a lot of reassurance right there.

So I wasn't worried about a job. Here’s my second secret to success: Study for a job that is needed everywhere and is not reliant on a certain language. In my case, that's being a programmer, and the only language anyone was ever concerned I "spoke" was Java. Problem solved.

With enough money in my pocket to survive the first five or six months and a sought-after occupation on my resume, I packed my bags.

That's another fun story. I'm a bit cheap, I have to admit. So I only booked one piece of luggage for that first flight. Everything I wanted to take with me had to fit in one medium-sized suitcase and weigh less than 23kg. That was a bit of a challenge.

In the end I took mostly clothes, and winter clothes to boot, it being January and all. I've rolled the pieces so tightly in order to fit as much as humanly possible into that suitcase. My laptop, phone and kindle where in my carry-on luggage, and I wore my boots and heavy winter coat. And that was all.

I'm always laughing about it. I left my whole life behind with just a suitcase full of clothes and a laptop. That was all. I've seen so many people arrive in this country, and they always bring so much luggage. When I compare that to the stuff I brought, I can't help but think that something is wrong with me. There were people on the airport with more suitcases going on a winter holiday than I had when I planned to move my life abroad.

Nobody, I believe, took my seriously. How could they? Everything I did seemed so spontaneous. I had no real place to live, no job, no belongings. How long did they think I would make it, seriously? I think they all thought it was a lark, they must have. It's kind of a joke, if you think about it.

I took a very early flight that 3rd January 2014, and because it was a connecting flight, I've only made it to Heathrow by lunch time, by which time I was knackered already. It was warmish that day, but foggy, and I was in my big winter coat and already sweating. First order of business was I needed money for my room. I had paid the deposit online, but when I was to pick up the key for the flat, I was to pay for the first two weeks in cash. Plus, I needed an Oyster card and possibly something to eat later on, so money was the first thing I did on the airport.

My heart just about stopped when I typed in the amount I needed at the cash machine and, without a message, no money came out. I wanted £500 pounds, but nothing happened. I feared that it would take the money from my account without giving me a single quid and already saw my savings melting away. £500, gone like that.

I tried another machine and another card with a smaller amount, and that, at last, spit out some money. I've tried the other card for the rest, and that, too, worked. I still had an uneasy feeling about the first machine. I wasn't sure if I had just depleted my savings or not. Thankfully, that had not been the case. The reason is that these machines don't give you more than £300 at a time, but I didn’t know that back then, and because there was no error message, I had no way of knowing.

With a big wad of cash in my pocket, the British having a dislike for any note that is bigger than £20, I went to get an Oyster card, the pay-as-you-go transportation ticket in London, and promptly lost that. I've put £50 on it, and it was gone after a minute. I was about to cry. I frantically searched all my pockets, my backpack, my suitcase for wherever I might have put it, but it was gone. Well, not all pockets, not the back pocket of my jeans, because I've never ever ever had put anything in there, so there was no need to search that, right? Until, of course, I did, and of course it was there that I had put the Oyster card. I've no idea why. I still don't use that pocket, ever.

Knackered, with the thought of having lost £500 to a faulty cash machine, and after just having spent more than 20 minutes looking for an Oyster card that was never lost, I jumped into the tube and put my ear plugs in. Time to forget everything.

I had a goodish idea about how to get to the place where I was supposed to pick up the key for my room, but once outside of Walthamstow Central, I realised I was lost. And it had started hailing, because, why not. I tried to make my phone connect to the network and find my way on Google maps, but even that took ages. But then, I finally made it to the office where I was supposed to sign my first English contract. How exciting.

Except, no, of course not. The good news is, it actually was not an internet scam and they were expecting me. I sat in a little room that was more storage area than office, crammed in between boxes and suitcases, and put my name on a one-page contract. Then they wished me good luck and locked the door after me.

It was still hailing while I waited for the bus to take me to my new place, but alas, I was stupid and waited on the wrong side of the road. It would take me weeks to completely get that out of my system. Once on the right side and then on the right bus, it dropped me off a few hundred metres from my new home. The street looked nice enough. A row of terraced houses, a view that you can see everywhere around London and in fact the UK. It's as anonymous as it is benign. I walked down the road, counting the house numbers, and there, almost at the end, it finally was: 30, Balmoral Road. A blue door in a dirty, little shrubbery. I took a deep breath and entered through the unlocked door.

The hallway, the teeny tiny hallway, was half-filled with letters, what must have been years of undelivered letters. There were three doors leading off of it, and on one was a crude note saying EURooms, which was my letting "agency". Excitedly, I put the key in and was so surprised when it didn't work. I couldn't get the door to open. Minutes and minutes passed, but the door wouldn't budge until someone heard me indoors and let me in. That was a very common problem for all new-comers. No-one was able to open that door, because you had to do so many things at the same time, put the key in only to a certain amount, and then chant the magic words three times while turning on the spot counter clockwise. They forgot to tell me that at the agency.

The door opened to another teeny tiny hallway. Let's put that into perspective, my medium-sized suitcase didn't fit through it. Off that hallway was the kitchen, where the oven had never worked and the washing machine was constantly running. The kitchen led to the bathroom and to one of the bedrooms, then a staircase downstairs to the basement and the other bedrooms. Going downstairs, you passed a hole in the wall big enough for a grown man to climb through, that was never explained, or covered, or even bothered about. The bedrooms downstairs were a big double that was let to a couple, a box room just barely big enough to fit a single bed (the wardrobe was in the hallway), and then my room, which was the most spacious of them all. I had a single bed that fit in lengthwise, and quite some space for a desk and chair even, and of course a wardrobe. Everybody was so envious of that room. I was just in shock.

This place was run-down. I'm not very peculiar about those things and I knew that with a bit of cleaning and tender loving care, this could be liveable. But by then, I had been on my feet for 10 hours, I was wet and cold, and frankly exhausted, and all I could see was the narrowness of everything. It was dirty, there were holes in the wall, and you needed to take a day-course to be able to unlock the front door. I had never doubted any decision as much as the one to move to London right then.

I closed the door to my new and curious flatmates and sat down on the bed to have a little cry. I was overwhelmed.

But, life must go on, right? And I was hungry and disgusting. I hadn't brought food or even soap, figuring I'd buy that somewhere on my first day and use the space in my suitcase for a few more clothes. I ventured out of my room again and found a flatmate to ask where the nearest supermarket was. Helpfully, he directed me to the next Asda, which he confessed wasn't the closest supermarket, but I'd be stupid to go anywhere else, where I'd pay so much more. So, instead of going to the Tesco fucking 200m away, which he refused to tell me about, he directed me to a superstore almost 1 mile away on a rainy day because I'd be able to save some money. Boy, did I not care about that. I wanted soap and bread and water, and I was angry.

The superstore overwhelmed me even more. It was so big with so many choices none of which I knew. I was hungry, but how was I supposed to know which of the 40 choices of bread was good? What yogurt should I buy? What spread? I was tired and I stood in front of the shelves and tears sprang to my eyes because it was loud and I'm practically deaf in loud spaces and therefore, lost, and I didn't know what to buy. People were constantly shoving me around and I just wanted to know which of these cheeses to get. So I grabbed a packet of pasta, a random loaf of bread, a two litre bottle of water, soap, and ran for my life. I felt so stupid.

Back in the flat, I showered and felt so much better for that already. I've changed into fresh clothes and lay down on the bed. I didn't like the covers, which were made of very cheap polyester, but I put that on my mental list of things to buy. New bed sheets. Salt for my pasta. Shampoo. After some time, I felt restored enough to brave my flatmates, who were still so curious to get to know me.

The people were nice enough. Once I got to know them a bit better, I didn't hate them and they were a friendly group. We'd all go out from time to time and often had dinner together. There was one girl, part of the couple, who had lived in the flat for a year, the others were always coming and going. Some people stayed for a few weeks, some a few months. Myself, I actually stayed 8 months in that house.

Because here’s the thing: Yes, I was shocked at how small everything was that first day. It was, and it takes some getting used to. In Germany, everything is much more spacious and it's a definite downgrade. What they call a small double bedroom in England is a storage room in a German flat.

It was dirty and it was run-down, but I didn't spend all that much time in that flat. After a good night's sleep, I got up that first Saturday and ventured out. I explored Leyton and then Stratford, and I came to like it so very much. My first month in London, I was a tourist, just going from place to place and taking it all in. I started looking for a job in February, started interviewing in March and working in April. The weather got nicer and nicer and I watched the parks becoming green. I fell in love with Regent's Park. We got a new flatmate who made us go to the Leyton Technical, a lovely pub down the road, almost every night for 8 straight weeks. I made friends. I spent the best birthday I ever had in a café atop a hill in Stratford. When I had saved up a bit of money, I moved into a lovely flat in Haringey with an old friend. England, and London especially, is very different from everything I ever knew and it was a gigantic change and it was a challenge, and it's something everybody wanting to move here should be aware of. But what I'm trying to say is, my life changed so much in these past 3 and half years, and I couldn't be happier about it. Was it worth it giving everything up to come here? Apart from that very first day, I never stopped to even question it, to be honest. A big, resounding yes.

#personal #my memories

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