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mostlysignssomeportents · 1 year ago

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No, Uber's (still) not profitable

Going to Defcon this weekend? I'm giving a keynote, "An Audacious Plan to Halt the Internet's Enshittification and Throw it Into Reverse," on Saturday at 12:30pm, followed by a book signing at the No Starch Press booth at 2:30pm!

https://info.defcon.org/event/?id=50826

Bezzle (n): 1. "the magic interval when a confidence trickster knows he has the money he has appropriated but the victim does not yet understand that he has lost it" (JK Gabraith) 2. Uber.

Uber was, is, and always will be a bezzle. There are just intrinsic limitations to the profits available to operating a taxi fleet, even if you can misclassify your employees as contractors and steal their wages, even as you force them to bear the cost of buying and maintaining your taxis.

The magic of early Uber – when taxi rides were incredibly cheap, and there were always cars available, and drivers made generous livings behind the wheel – wasn't magic at all. It was just predatory pricing.

Uber lost $0.41 on every dollar they brought in, lighting $33b of its investors' cash on fire. Most of that money came from the Saudi royals, funneled through Softbank, who brought you such bezzles as WeWork – a boring real-estate company masquerading as a high-growth tech company, just as Uber was a boring taxi company masquerading as a tech company.

Predatory pricing used to be illegal, but Chicago School economists convinced judges to stop enforcing the law on the grounds that predatory pricing was impossible because no rational actor would choose to lose money. They (willfully) ignored the obvious possibility that a VC fund could invest in a money-losing business and use predatory pricing to convince retail investors that a pile of shit of sufficient size must have a pony under it somewhere.

This venture predation let investors – like Prince Bone Saw – cash out to suckers, leaving behind a money-losing business that had to invent ever-sweatier accounting tricks and implausible narratives to keep the suckers on the line while they blew town. A bezzle, in other words:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/05/19/fake-it-till-you-make-it/#millennial-lifestyle-subsidy

Uber is a true bezzle innovator, coming up with all kinds of fairy tales and sci-fi gimmicks to explain how they would convert their money-loser into a profitable business. They spent $2.5b on self-driving cars, producing a vehicle whose mean distance between fatal crashes was half a mile. Then they paid another company $400 million to take this self-licking ice-cream cone off their hands:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Amazingly, self-driving cars were among the more plausible of Uber's plans. They pissed away hundreds of millions on California's Proposition 22 to institutionalize worker misclassification, only to have the rule struck down because they couldn't be bothered to draft it properly. Then they did it again in Massachusetts:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/15/simple-as-abc/#a-big-ask

Remember when Uber was going to plug the holes in its balance sheet with flying cars? Flying cars! Maybe they were just trying to soften us up for their IPO, where they advised investors that the only way they'd ever be profitable is if they could replace every train, bus and tram ride in the world:

https://48hills.org/2019/05/ubers-plans-include-attacking-public-transit/

Honestly, the only way that seems remotely plausible is when it's put next to flying cars for comparison. I guess we can be grateful that they never promised us jetpacks, or, you know, teleportation. Just imagine the market opportunity they could have ascribed to astral projection!

Narrative capitalism has its limits. Once Uber went public, it had to produce financial disclosures that showed the line going up, lest the bezzle come to an end. These balance-sheet tricks were as varied as they were transparent, but the financial press kept falling for them, serving as dutiful stenographers for a string of triumphant press-releases announcing Uber's long-delayed entry into the league of companies that don't lose more money every single day.

One person Uber has never fooled is Hubert Horan, a transportation analyst with decades of experience who's had Uber's number since the very start, and who has done yeoman service puncturing every one of these financial "disclosures," methodically sifting through the pile of shit to prove that there is no pony hiding in it.

In 2021, Horan showed how Uber had burned through nearly all of its cash reserves, signaling an end to its subsidy for drivers and rides, which would also inevitably end the bezzle:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/08/10/unter/#bezzle-no-more

In mid, 2022, Horan showed how the "profit" Uber trumpeted came from selling off failed companies it had acquired to other dying rideshare companies, which paid in their own grossly inflated stock:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/05/a-lousy-taxi/#a-giant-asterisk

At the end of 2022, Horan showed how Uber invented a made-up, nonstandard metric, called "EBITDA profitability," which allowed them to lose billions and still declare themselves to be profitable, a lie that would have been obvious if they'd reported their earnings using Generally Accepted Accounting Principles (GAAP):

https://pluralistic.net/2022/02/11/bezzlers-gonna-bezzle/#gryft

Like clockwork, Uber has just announced – once again – that it is profitable, and once again, the press has credulously repeated the claim. So once again, Horan has published one of his magisterial debunkings on Naked Capitalism:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/08/hubert-horan-can-uber-ever-deliver-part-thirty-three-uber-isnt-really-profitable-yet-but-is-getting-closer-the-antitrust-case-against-uber.html

Uber's $394m gains this quarter come from paper gains to untradable shares in its loss-making rivals – Didi, Grab, Aurora – who swapped stock with Uber in exchange for Uber's own loss-making overseas divisions. Yes, it's that stupid: Uber holds shares in dying companies that no one wants to buy. It declared those shares to have gained value, and on that basis, reported a profit.

Truly, any big number multiplied by an imaginary number can be turned into an even bigger number.

Now, Uber also reported "margin improvements" – that is, it says that it loses less on every journey. But it didn't explain how it made those improvements. But we know how the company did it: they made rides more expensive and cut the pay to their drivers. A 2.9m ride in Manhattan is now $50 – if you get a bargain! The base price is more like $70:

https://www.wired.com/story/uber-ceo-will-always-say-his-company-sucks/

The number of Uber drivers on the road has a direct relationship to the pay Uber offers those drivers. But that pay has been steeply declining, and with it, the availability of Ubers. A couple weeks ago, I found myself at the Burbank train station unable to get an Uber at all, with the app timing out repeatedly and announcing "no drivers available."

Normally, you can get a yellow taxi at the station, but years of Uber's predatory pricing has caused a drawdown of the local taxi-fleet, so there were no taxis available at the cab-rank or by dispatch. It took me an hour to get a cab home. Uber's bezzle destroyed local taxis and local transit – and replaced them with worse taxis that cost more.

Uber won't say why its margins are improving, but it can't be coming from scale. Before the pandemic, Uber had far more rides, and worse margins. Uber has diseconomies of scale: when you lose money on every ride, adding more rides increases your losses, not your profits.

Meanwhile, Lyft – Uber's also-ran competitor – saw its margins worsen over the same period. Lyft has always been worse at lying about it finances than Uber, but it is in essentially the exact same business (right down to the drivers and cars – many drivers have both apps on their phones). So Lyft's financials offer a good peek at Uber's true earnings picture.

Lyft is actually slightly better off than Uber overall. It spent less money on expensive props for its long con – flying cars, robotaxis, scooters, overseas clones – and abandoned them before Uber did. Lyft also fired 24% of its staff at the end of 2022, which should have improved its margins by cutting its costs.

Uber pays its drivers less. Like Lyft, Uber practices algorithmic wage discrimination, Veena Dubal's term describing the illegal practice of offering workers different payouts for the same work. Uber's algorithm seeks out "pickers" who are choosy about which rides they take, and converts them to "ants" (who take every ride offered) by paying them more for the same job, until they drop all their other gigs, whereupon the algorithm cuts their pay back to the rates paid to ants:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

All told, wage theft and wage cuts by Uber transferred $1b/quarter from labor to Uber's shareholders. Historically, Uber linked fares to driver pay – think of surge pricing, where Uber charged riders more for peak times and passed some of that premium onto drivers. But now Uber trumpets a custom pricing algorithm that is the inverse of its driver payment system, calculating riders' willingness to pay and repricing every ride based on how desperate they think you are.

This pricing is a per se antitrust violation of Section 2 of the Sherman Act, America's original antitrust law. That's important because Sherman 2 is one of the few antitrust laws that we never stopped enforcing, unlike the laws banning predator pricing:

https://ilr.law.uiowa.edu/sites/ilr.law.uiowa.edu/files/2023-02/Woodcock.pdf

Uber claims an 11% margin improvement. 6-7% of that comes from algorithmic price discrimination and service cutbacks, letting it take 29% of every dollar the driver earns (up from 22%). Uber CEO Dara Khosrowshahi himself says that this is as high as the take can get – over 30%, and drivers will delete the app.

Uber's food delivery service – a baling wire-and-spit Frankenstein's monster of several food apps it bought and glued together – is a loser even by the standards of the sector, which is unprofitable as a whole and experiencing an unbroken slide of declining demand.

Put it all together and you get a picture of the kind of taxi company Uber really is: one that charges more than traditional cabs, pays drivers less, and has fewer cars on the road at times of peak demand, especially in the neighborhoods that traditional taxis had always underserved. In other words, Uber has broken every one of its promises.

We replaced the "evil taxi cartel" with an "evil taxi monopolist." And it's still losing money.

Even if Lyft goes under – as seems inevitable – Uber can't attain real profitability by scooping up its passengers and drivers. When you're losing money on every ride, you just can't make it up in volume.

Image: JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LA_BREA_TAR_PITS,_LOS_ANGELES.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

I’m kickstarting the audiobook for “The Internet Con: How To Seize the Means of Computation,” a Big Tech disassembly manual to disenshittify the web and bring back the old, good internet. It’s a DRM-free book, which means Audible won’t carry it, so this crowdfunder is essential. Back now to get the audio, Verso hardcover and ebook:

http://seizethemeansofcomputation.org

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/09/accounting-gimmicks/#unter

Image: JERRYE AND ROY KLOTZ MD (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:LA_BREA_TAR_PITS,_LOS_ANGELES.jpg

CC BY-SA 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/3.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #bezzles #hubert horan #uber #rideshare #accounting tricks #financial engineering #late-stage capitalism #narrative capitalism #lyft #transit #uber eats #venture predation #algorithmic wage discrimination

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copperbadge · 4 months ago

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So the Chicago Public Library does "One Book, One Chicago" every year where they encourage everyone to read the same book and discuss it, and I've been invited to the next title reveal. In the invite and on the RSVP page, this is the logo/marketing they're going with and it's...very specific.

[ID: The email I received for One Book One Chicago, which includes "You're Invited" done in pixels with the O as a heart, on a background of pastel colors that fade from red to yellow to green; below that it reads "Enter into the Unveiling Experience" and some of the text includes the statement that "The announcement and press event will be an immersive and surprise-filled unveiling of the book's title."]

It's giving Ready Player One, it's giving Polybius, it's screaming "Someone really bought into the metaverse briefly". I'm planning to go to the unveiling, I'm excited and intrigued, but also a little wary. It makes me want to start some kind of pool on what the book will be.

It can't be Phillip K. Dick, we just did Do Androids Dream Of Electric Sheep like five years ago. It's tough to get a measure based on the list of past books, because it covers a number of genres both fiction and non, and sometimes they seem really relevant to the historical moment but sometimes not so much. Maybe How The Internet Happened? But that seems slightly too niche. Then again, so did The Sixth Extinction.

The CPL has been going hard on gaming and tech for teens lately (in a good way, but there's been a noticeable bend in the way they market teen programs), so when a colleague said "Maybe a YA novel?" I did a little search. One book came up in both "books about the internet and the 80s" and "YA books about the internet", which is "Fake" by Ele Fountain, so that's a contender.

What do we think? I don't read much cyberpunk, I rarely am in the know on bestsellers and usually we're doing something that's relatively popular but a few years old. Interested to see what people would speculate it could be.

Also I'm somewhat curious about what algo got me on the mailing list for this -- I've never participated in One Book before and while I am a regular library user and live local to the HWLC, so do like a billion other people. Would love to talk to the person who composed their mailing list. (I am somehow categorized as "Press" in a number of databases belonging to Chicago politicians and for-profit consulting firms, I'm not sure how that happened, so it could be they think I'm a journo.)

#books #reading #chicago

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thelightsandtheroses · 4 days ago

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one: florida!!!!

Call It What You Want | Frankie Morales x OFC

Summary: Daisy never expected to move to Florida but recovering from burnout in the sunshine state seems a good enough plan. Years after the death of her estranged half-brother, Tom, she finds herself agreeing to move in with Frankie Morales, Tom’s former army colleague and friend. Falling for her roommate, who is definitely keeping secrets about your brother’s death, may not be the best way to ensure a fresh start, or is it actually what they both needed all along? Chapter Warnings: 18+ blog MDNI, mentions of previous canon death and grief, references to corporate burnout Word Count: 3.7k Notes: Please note I am not from Florida, or even the US, so there’s a degree of creative license here, What I know about firefighting probably comes from 9-1-1, other firefighter shows, or google so please don’t think this is gong to be an accurate depiction of the Florida FD for Frankie. It’s fic, babes, let’s let me be a little self-indulgent. This is a rewrite of my first fic which felt too fast, too angsty and not the story I wanted to tell for a concept I really loved. It’s seen some considerable changes since then while retaining several themes, but I am so excited to share this and particularly this version of Frankie who has been rotting my brain for months and months 🔥 🔥🫠

Series Masterlist | Next. | A03

Palm trees, beaches and viral memes. That’s what I’ve always associated with Florida. It never struck me as a potential place I would make my home. I thought I might vacation there one day perhaps; some time in a distant future when I had a real grown-up life and family and we would go to the theme parks, buy overpriced merchandise and fried food and take cheesy photos before flying or driving home.

It’s funny how things work out though, isn’t it?

I pull into the apartment block with trepidation.

This is the fourteenth apartment I’ve viewed this week. Fourteen. I thought the market back in Chicago was bad but this is a whole new hellscape, or maybe it was easier because I knew more people back then. College roommates turn into post-college roommates and your circle is fully formed. It means you have people when you need to find a new place, there’s a whisper network, friends of friends.

I don’t have that anymore.

I want it though. I miss it.

I think I miss it.

The advert says that this listing is for a single room and the apartment is occupied by a group of young professional women. It’s the best option I’ve come across yet in my browsing of online postings which has taken me through several levels of Dante’s inferno. Facebook is just one above Craigslist in the hierarchy of the internet hellscapes I’ve seen recently. One guy asked for my shoe size and asked if I routinely wore high heels before I could view the apartment. Safe to say, that one went off the list extremely quickly. It was a shame though - that listing had a double room and balcony, but I think I can see why it’s been listed for over sixty days now.

I haven’t had a roommate since college and this whole process has been a soul-crushing exercise on my already fragile self esteem. I don’t think I can take much more of this.

I take a deep breath. I’ve got this. I will find a room so I can move out of Molly’s and do something, anything with my life. Anything that’s not just existing in this strange purgatory I’ve found myself in. I’m potentially placing too much importance on the apartment here, but it’s a symbol, an omen.

It’s a fresh start. A signal to the universe that I’m here, that I’m doing something.

I feel like everything else I’m hoping and dreaming of can’t even start unless I have an apartment, and I can’t afford my own apartment and start a business so I need to find a roommate.

Maybe this is finally the one.

“It was so bad, Benny,” I say, taking a glug of lukewarm beer. “It was like being in high school over again, but worse. Infinitely worse!”

“Worse?” Benny tilts his head as he asks the question, something that only heightens my association between him and golden retrievers.

“Yes, because I’m not sixteen with a promise it’ll get better when I ‘find my people’ in college. This sucks. What was I thinking? Clearly I wasn’t. Maybe I should have stayed …” I trail off awkwardly.

“You were thinking that Florida is the perfect place to start over, which it is, Daisy,” he replies confidently.

Benny and his brother, Will, have played a considerable part in my move here. They served with my half-brother Tom.

Tom died more than five years ago - I don’t really know much about how it happened, Tom and I weren’t particularly close. There was an age difference, I sometimes felt he didn’t want me as a sister. I was only a reminder of his own parents’ relationship breakdown after all. I wish I could say we had that sibling bond but we didn’t. It’s clear to me his real siblings were the men in his team - he was their brother.

After his death though, Will kept in touch with me. I wondered if he thought he needed to fill a gap from Tom, if there was a sense of responsibility there. Tom never called me though except for birthdays and Christmas. I haven’t told Will that though.

It’s been nice feeling like I have a big brother. The irony isn’t lost on me that I feel this the most once my actual big brother is dead.

Will encouraged me to move down here, as did Molly, Tom’s ex-wife. They said I needed a fresh start and maybe they’re right.

I can’t remember the last time I felt like me. I’m not even sure what that feels like now, who I’m supposed to be and who I am really.

Florida seems a good place for reinvention though, for something new. I’m closer to the beach, to weekends spent with my toes scrunched in the sand as I sip coffee and read books. Days spent with Benny and Will

“Hey Benny,” A voice calls as I hear the front door open.

“We’re in here.“

“You remember Frankie, right?” Benny asks casually. “Tom woulda called him Catfish?”

“Uh, sure.” I don’t but I won’t admit to that. I remember the name vaguely, but that’s all. Tom wasn’t big on the details of his life with me.

“You probably saw him at the wake last,” Benny adds.

Even if it hadn’t been four years ago since I last saw him, all I can remember of Tom’s funeral is a procession of strangers and the continual vibration of my work phone as I stood in a strange graveyard. That whole day was a stark reminder of the distance between us, that my own blood was a ghost to me even when he was alive. It bought me Molly, Tess and Will though.

Frankie walks in. He’s a little older than Benny but younger than Tom was. He’s all dark eyes and curls peeking out through a battered baseball cap; softly tanned skin and that smile … that smile is something. If he could bottle that up and sell it, I’m pretty sure he’d find a captive market.

“Frankie, you remember Daisy, right? She’s moved here,” Benny says. “She’s starting a coffee van.”

“Uh - yeah.” Frankie has no clue who I am, but his efforts to conceal that are admirable. “Now you mention it, Will might have said something about that. You’re uh, staying with Molly for now, right? You were in Boston before?” I nod, wondering what Will has exactly said to Frankie about my move. “A coffee van?”

“Eventually,” I add nervously, “It’s a whole process. So, I’m actually just temping for now while I get things sorted.” I have no idea why I’ve told him that, why I still want to introduce myself based on my career, on my outward accomplishments. I’m almost surprised I haven't tried to find an old business card in my pocket or referred him to my LinkedIn profile where it neatly lists all my employable skills and experience.

Daisy is highly skilled in project management, board engagement, data analysis and most of all completely falling apart all of the time, but she makes a mean slide deck. Plus, guess what, she’s open to work!

“Oh, right, cool.”

“Frankie works for the fire department. He’s a firefighter pilot now,” Benny says. “Out here making me look bad.”

“Aw, I keep telling you don’t need my job to do that, Benny.”

Benny laughs heartily and throws a cushion at Frankie who catches it with ease and a raised eyebrow.

“Well, that’s definitely cooler than paperwork and admin.”

“Not really,” Frankie says, “I mean, it’s not really cool if you know what I mean.”

“Oh,” you say with a groan, “that might be the most dad joke I’ve heard.”

“It’s a classic though,” he replies lightly. “You got a soda, Benny?”

“Fridge. Wait, I just had a brilliant idea,” Benny suddenly interjects with a grin. “I mean, I’m a genius.”

“Oh yeah?” Frankie asks, one eyebrow quirking up. “About soda?”

“No, no, no. You need a roommate, right?”

“Yes?” Frankie replies slowly with the seasoned reluctance of someone who knows exactly what Benny’s brilliant ideas usually result in.

“Daze needs a room, you need a solid roommate, voila!” Benny makes a complicated hand gesture and smiles widely.

It seems too simple, too obvious but despite the terrible apartment earlier, my heart races as I wonder what if Benny’s onto something.

“Benny, I’m sure Daisy would -”

“How soon is it available?” I ask.

“Uh, immediately. My last roommate moved in with his boyfriend, which is great for him, but I’ve been struggling to find anyone suitable for it since then.”

“Suitable?” Immediately flashbacks of the weird Craigslist ads come back to me, please don’t say Frankie is going to say something odd. “What do you mean, suitable?” I really hope Frankie isn’t actually the weird shoe size guy from Craigslist.

“I have a kid who stays with me regularly. I need someone I can trust, someone safe to be around him, and someone who’s not going to be a …”

“Frankie wanted to mandate a background check,” Benny interrupts, before raising his hands at Frankie’s expression. “I said I got it! Perhaps, if you interrogated people less though ….”

“I’m not gonna apologise for prioritising my kid.”

“So, do I need a background check to apply then?”

“Nah,” Benny says, “you’re Tom’s sister, right Frankie?”

There’s a comforting weight to his words. The conviction in his voice, the simple answer that takes it for granted that maybe I’m not one of them, but I’m adjacent at least. It feels unfamiliar. I’ve never been Tom’s sister, not to Tom at least.

I feel as though I’m wearing someone else’s skin, another identity, and it’s alien but comforting. It’s an identity I never knew I could wear. One I never even knew was an option.

“You’re actually considering this then?” Frankie asks, eyebrows raised.

“Well, yeah. Benny’s heard all about my nightmare of an apartment hunt so far… unless, I mean. If you don’t want to then that’s fine.”

“Alright Tom’s sister,” Frankie begins with a soft smile.

“Daisy.”

“Daisy. “I’ll send you the info. let me know whether you’re still interested then. No pressure.” His voice is honey smooth, low and there’s something else.

His eyes.

They’re kind. Soulful even.

“I’m interested,” I say without thinking. “I’m definitely interested.”

Of course life isn’t as simple as just being interested in the apartment and one magically falling into my hands. Frankie texts me the information which is sadly towards the top end of my truly pitiful budget but includes a double room, furnishings and the apartment has a balcony which in itself is a big reason enough to say yes. I instantly conjure up a romantic image of me sipping from a steaming mug of coffee in the mornings, watching the sunrise.

It’s farcical. I hate the sunrise, or at least being up at that time. I’m not a morning person at the best of times.

Frankie says there’s a beach view from the balcony though … if you squint, lean one arm and twist at a very precise angle. It’s something he has advised he doesn’t recommend without exceptional health insurance though so that’s definitely off the table for now. He mentioned it’s close enough that the landlord said it was a coastal view but it’s clearly not really.

Texting him feels so easy - there’s a lightness to the conversation, even as we talk about something as serious as becoming roommates. It’s why I’ve agreed to this - the next step and the one that is now filling me with dread.

The coffee shop we decided to meet at is halfway between his place and Molly’s. I haven’t been here before but I mentally take notes of the roast, of the general ambience. The brownies look amazing - the perfect combination of a fudgy middles and the solid crackly top that immediately calls to me.

It’s a neutral space though, one where we can finally make a decision of am I becoming Frankie’s roommate or not.

I think I want to.

I really can’t take another week of Craigslist -especially after watching that true crime documentary last night.

I twist the empty sugar packet into a knot, only looking up as the doorbell chimes. I see Frankie immediately.

He’s wearing a baseball cap, dark hair curling out from underneath and the Florida FD hoodie he’s wearing looks particularly well worn, comfortable. I can almost imagine how it smells.

No. No. This is a roommate negotiation.

“Hey,” Frankie says as I stand up to greet him. I immediately panic - is this a hug situation, that feels too familiar, but a handshake feels like an awkward callback to my corporate days. I have no idea what I’m supposed to do.

“Oh, you already ordered?” Frankie asks.

“Yeah, sorry, I got here a bit early. Overestimated the traffic. I haven’t been here long.” Frankie looks at my almost empty mug of coffee, cocking one eyebrow.

“No worries. Do you mind if I grab a drink though? Want another?”

“Oh no, I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay.”

He walks over to the counter and I sit down and watch him carefully. This is a test really, an opportunity to try and work out his personality further. Does he talk to the barista? Is he cold or insufferable? Is he rude? These are all qualities I should be able quickly establish in just a few moments. Mum always taught me to notice these things on a date, to tease out those basics in the early days. Not that it’s foolproof. Not always at least.

Frankie seems. pleasant though, laughing with the barista but there’s almost a shyness about him. I don’t get it. From how Benny described him - a pilot, a firefighter pilot no less, I would have expected him to be as extroverted as Benny.

Frankie’s a surprise though. There’s a quietness to him, a slow and careful evaluation in each glance, in how he takes in the cafe around us as he sits opposite me. He’s assessing everything too and it occurs to me that as much as I’ve set this meeting up to work out if I can live with him, he’s doing the exact same thing.

The people pleaser in me instantly calls to attention, ready to perform and be perfect, be liked. To succeed. Automatically I straighten my posture, try and remember my very best table manners. I prepare to perform.

“What’s your poison?” I ask, which is a phrase I never use and an immediate sign I need to shift out of performance mode.

“Just an Americano.”

“Oh.”

“You don’t approve?”

“no, I guess it’s fine. I mean, I would personally recommend a pour-over and filter coffee than a watered down espresso. Something like a V60 or a -”

“I see what Benny meant about the coffee truck.”

“I’m not judging!”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, only judging a tiny bit. Mostly I’m rambling. I’m just - I’ve never got the watered down espresso thing.”

“It’s got two extra shots in if that helps,” he confides with a smirk, “I was on shift yesterday.”

“Oh, we could have arranged this for later -”

“It’s fine. The shift wasn’t too bad, even got a few hours sleep!” Frankie empties sugar into his coffee and smiles up at me.

“How did you end up in the FD then? I don’t – I don’t remember it from before.”

Frankie pauses, twisting the empty sugar packet in his hands. The silence holds just long enough I worry I need to change the conversation before he speaks. “A couple of years ago I needed a change. It’s been good, much better than commercial helicopter flights for rich people.”

“Making a difference?”

“Trying to.” A ghost passes over his eyes. I immediately realise the link - Tom. His death. Was that the trigger for Frankie joining the fire department?

“Anyway, the apartment -” Frankie starts, reaching for his phone, “I took some new photos this morning.”

His wallpaper is him with a small boy. His son. I take in the wide toothy smile on his photo, the bright shine in his eyes and the same features I can see in Frankie, accompanied by a head full of brown curls.

“Felix,” Frankie says, a soft smile on his face.

“He looks like you.”

“Poor kid.”

“No, I mean - uh, how old is he?”

“Four and a half. He stays with me on alternate weekends, if I’m off shift, and sometimes in the week if his mom’s working late or something. A lot of it depends on my work patterns but that’s the general rule of thumb.” He wrings his hands together and I wonder what the story is there.

I have limited experience with children to say the least.

I’ve reached that point where half of my friends are parents, sharing photo after photo on their social media and speaking a whole new language. In contrast, the rest of my friends appear still mentally stuck in their early twenties party mindset. I’ve never been sure where I fit in with that; I’m definitely not a huge partier, but that sort of responsibility and commitment has filled me with anxiety. Maybe it’s my choice in friendships, in love.

I try not to think about it too much, the friendships left to dust over, the dates I was too scared to go on. I threw myself into my work instead because it felt safer somehow. I defined myself by my career and made that the only metric that matter. I poured all of myself into the corporate world for all those years and it turns out I was naive. So naive. I actually thought they cared about me.

It’s hilarious in hindsight. Now I’m in Florida without even a leaving card to commend the efforts I put in. I’m a barely remembered spectre in the place I once thought I was indispensable in. A shameful secret swept under the rug. A never repeated name.

I can’t go back to that world again.

“Are you okay?” Frankie asks, concern creasing his brow. Great, five minutes into talking about becoming roommates and he already clearly thinks I’m disturbed.

“I’m fine, sorry, must have drifted away for a second.”

“Happens to us all,” he says lightly. “So, is that a problem?” Frankie folds his arms and I get the clear sense that he’s annoyed, that I’ve missed an important cue somewhere.

“Is what a problem?” I ask.

“Felix staying at the apartment, because sorry but it’s a non-negotiable”

“No, not at all. No, I just … I drifted away, like I said.”

“Right.”

Great, this is the first apartment that feels reasonable, and Frankie seems like a nice person and I’m wrecking it. Somehow at best, I’m managing to come across as scatty and someone who doesn’t listen, and a child hater at worst.

I need to get out of Molly’s. I need to make Florida work for me.

“I do that sometimes,” I say quietly, “It doesn’t mean I’m not listening, or anything. It’s just … it’s just something that happens. I don’t have a problem at all with Felix or …. it’s your home, Frankie.”

He pauses. “If you take the room, it’s yours too though.”

“And I get why you’re being careful about who takes the room because of that. Look, I can’t promise I won’t secretly judge your coffee choices, or leave coffee grounds everywhere, or watch really terrible TV from time to time, but I …”

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

“You do?”

“I do.” Frankie smiles. “So, you’re still interested in the room then? You really wanna do this? I thought Benny might be putting you up to this and I won’t be offended if you don’t want to live with some random guy.”

“Benny keeps reminding me you’re not though, are you?”

Frankie shrugs and looks away, something flashing over his eyes briefly that feels a little haunted.

Since moving back to Florida, I’ve realised that, at least for Benny and Will, Tom’s death is still an open wound even now. It makes me feel worse sometimes because Will was so kind to me after the funeral, so keen to ensure I knew they’d be there if I needed them, that I could rely on them in Tom’s absence and I didn’t know how to say I’d never been able to rely on Tom. My brother spent his life a half-stranger to me and I feel like a fraud pretending we were real siblings. In five and a half years, the Millers and my brother’s ex-wife have been more of a family to me than Tom ever was.

“It’s okay,” Frankie says, “I’m sure you’ve got far better roommate options.”

“I actually really don’t. One guy asked for foot pics, and these women kind of judged me because I wasn’t corporate enough anymore, so I don’t have a wealth of better options.”

Frankie frowns slightly.

“It’s a brutal market. And your place looks… nice and you seem like you wouldn’t ask for -”

“Some guy really asked for that?”

“I blocked him, it’s fine. It’s the internet, Frankie.”

“Sometimes I fucking hate that thing.”

“Yeah, but I like being able to shop in my pyjamas.”

Frankie laughs. “Okay, fair point. So, Daisy, do you want the room? ‘Cause if you do, it’s yours.”

My heart races. The room is mine? It’s not just that I’ll be escaping from feeling like a perennial thorn in Molly’s life, but it’s a beginning. Finally I have the chance to make something here, to be Daisy 2.0 and leave the corporate burnt out husk of my old self in the rearview mirror.

“You don’t have some weird neighbour who plays the bagpipes at 3am?”

“No, I don’t have one of those. It’s a normal building.”

“Good, just wanted to check. Okay then, yeah, I think I do. Want the room that is.”

“Great. I’ll get the agreement emailed over to you and we’ll go from there.”

“This is going to be good”

“Yeah, yeah it is.”

I think this might be the handshake part.

Tag List

If you would like to be added to to my overall taglist please let me know - I am no longer creating individual fic taglists though. As a reminder this blog is 18+ - minors do not interact and I block blank/ageless blogs. Tag lists are a bit funky at the moment, so I recommend following me or my fic account @thelightsandtheroses-fics (you can enable notifications for that account) if you want to ensure you're up to date

Everything Pedro tag-list: @harriedandharassed @pedrostories @hiroikegawa @pedrosaidsheispunk @pastelnap

#frankie morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fic #frankie morales x ofc #frankie morales fic #frankie morales x ofc davis sister #fic: call it what you want #aka the firefighterpilot!frankie one #and the roommate one

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mariacallous · 1 month ago

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Earlier this week, journalists at WIRED and The Washington Post reported that a “Russian-aligned propaganda network notorious for creating deepfake whistleblower videos” appears to be behind a coordinated effort to promote false sexual misconduct allegations against vice presidential candidate Tim Walz.

At WIRED, David Gilbert wrote that researchers have linked a group they’re calling “Storm-1516” to the campaign against Walz. “Storm-1516 has a long history of posting fake whistleblower videos, and often deepfake videos, to push Kremlin talking points to the West,” Gilbert explained. A few days earlier, NBC News also reported on Storm-1516, citing its work as demonstrative of Russian propaganda’s growing utilization of artificial intelligence and more sophisticated bot networks.

Two days after the WIRED report, Washington Post journalist and Russia expert Catherine Belton reported on another bad actor implicated in spreading the allegations against Walz: John Mark Dougan, a former Florida cop with a long and winding record that includes internal affairs investigations, early discharge from the Marines, and a penchant for posting confidential data about thousands of police officers, federal agents, and judges on his blog, which led to 21 state charges of extortion and wiretapping. To escape that indictment, Dougan fled to Moscow, where he soon put his conspiratorial blogging skills to work, effectively enlisting in the Russian intelligence community’s “Internet war” against America.

Records show and disinformation researchers argue that Dougan is responsible for content on dozens of fake news sites with deliberately misleading names like DC Weekly, Chicago Chronicle, and Atlanta Observer. Lately, he’s reportedly started using a GRU-facilitated server and AI generator to create phony videos like the deepfake video showing one of Walz’s former students accusing him of sexual abuse.

With a little more than a week until the U.S. presidential election, Meduza spoke to Renée DiResta — the author of Invisible Rulers: The People Who Turn Lies Into Reality and an associate research professor at Georgetown University’s McCourt School of Public Policy — about Russian propaganda, how it’s evolved over the years, and how American social networks are responding (and not responding) ahead of the November 2024 vote.

Timestamps for this episode:

(5:00) The Role of Social Networks in Identifying Fake Accounts

(9:35) Government and Platform Collaboration on Inauthentic Behavior

(16:46) A Case Study: Maxim Shugaley and Russian Influence in Libya

(21:45) Twitter’s Public Data Dilemma

(24:25) Bespoke Realities and Content Moderation

(25:57) The Tenet Media Case

(27:28) The Role of Influencers in Propaganda

(35:26) Marketing and Propaganda: A Historical Perspective

(38:27) The Democratization of Propaganda

(39:36) Name Your Poison: Tyranny or Chaos

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landorris4 · 3 months ago

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── ☆ quadrant house

☆ Maybe Lando Norris was more than a friend, and maybe it was time for you to learn that.

warnings: friends with benefits words count: 2.6k

POV Maya

It was the third time that week that my parents had pestered me about moving in with my cousin. I made videos for YouTube and that's why the neighbors sometimes complained about the noise and stuff, after all, we lived in an apartment in Chicago.

After so much insistence on this idea, I finally accepted. Living with him will be fun, after all he lives with a bunch of other people, and I think I know all of them. I sent a message to Max asking if I could come over on Monday and he said he would prepare everything.

The only condition he gave me was that I help with the expenses, and I accepted, after all I made money from the internet and spending time there would generate much more content for my channel. And it would be great to see my best friend, Lando, again.

Right now, I was checking my bags. I'm only taking my clothes, accessories, shoes and some souvenirs, decorations I buy there. Today is Sunday and I have a flight at 7 pm, so I'm going to take a nap before my flight. It will be a seven hour and forty minute flight, I even had time to sleep, but I can't relax on planes alone.

[...]

I just got off the plane and my cousin sent me the address, I'm going to take an Uber because they forgot to clean the house and are only doing it now. It had to be Quadrant.

Anyway, I did everything I had to do at the airport and called an Uber. I would even describe what I did, but it's a lot of bureaucracy. I started filming on the plane and now I was filming some scenes in the Uber as well. Of course, I didn't say anything, I just recorded it and I'll tell you later. I'm really embarrassed to talk to the camera around people.

As soon as I arrived in front of the mansion, I thanked and paid the driver, took my bags out of the car and immediately placed them in front of the door, I sent a message to Max and in 2 minutes he was opening the door for me.

── I thought they were going to let me live in the garden ─ I acted dramatic and he laughed. I think drama runs in the family.

── I missed you, Maya! ─ he said hugging me and messing up my hair, which made me look at him angrily.

── Max! I spent the whole way from the airport fixing my hair and you mess it up when I get here? I just don't kill you now because I'm so tired ─ I said and he just laughed, picked up my bags and took them to the living room.

── Ria, Niram and Aarav went to the market to do their monthly shopping. Lando is sorting out some sponsorship stuff, Steve is still sleeping. Oh, and your room won't be ready until tomorrow, so you'll be sleeping with someone. I'd say sleep in my room, but P is arriving today too ─ he said and I nodded.

── I'm going to stay in Lando's room, I'm going to put him to sleep on the floor ─ I said, picking up my bags and Max laughed, I've always been very attached to Lando, ever since I met him.

Max picked up the remaining bags and took them to Norris's room. I followed him since I didn't know this house yet. It was huge, I would definitely get lost here.

── You can sleep if you want, we'll wake you up for lunch ─ he kissed my forehead and left the room, closing the door.

I looked at the clock and saw that it was 10 o'clock, so I decided to take a shower. As soon as I was done, I put on some comfortable clothes and went back to my room. I saw that Lando had a bulletin board and I went over there, writing that I should finish my vlog later. I would definitely forget.

I grabbed my camera and put it on the nightstand. Soon someone knocked on the door and I said they could come in. As soon as the person opened the door, I saw that it was Pietra and smiled. I went up to her and hugged her. It had been a long time since I had seen her, and I really enjoyed her company.

── Did you miss me? ─ she mocks and I laugh, releasing her from the hug.

── Not at all ─ I replied and she laughed.

── I just came to give you a hug and let you go to sleep. The boys don't know yet, so when Lando comes in and sees that there's someone sleeping in his bed, he'll find it strange ─ she said a few more things and then left the room, finally leaving me alone.

I lay down on the bed and was thankful that Lando had a soft bed. I grabbed my camera and said I was going to sleep, I sent a message asking Max to record Lando's reaction when he arrived and saw that I was here and he agreed.

And then, after a few minutes of trying, I managed to fall asleep.

[...]

── NO WAY! ─ I heard a scream and immediately woke up, looking at the door and seeing a disbelieving Lando, and a laughing Max with a camera right behind him.

I smiled at Norris who came running, threw himself on top of me and hugged me. I missed his hugs, they were so warm. Lando and I have known each other since before I moved to the United States, I met him at one of Max's kart races and we ended up becoming best friends, that was about 9 years ago. Sometimes we would hook up, just for fun, but it never affected our friendship.

── Wow Ma, I missed you so much! ─ he exclaimed without letting go of me.

── I felt it too, Lan! ─ he smiled at the nickname and hugged me tighter, falling down next to me and laying me on his chest.

── I'm going now because I feel like being left out ─ Max said, leaving the room and closing the door, which made us laugh.

── What are you doing here, Yara? ─ he called me and I frowned. I hated that nickname.

My name is actually Mayara, and Lando is the only one who calls me Yara. Throughout my life, he was the only one who dared to create a nickname. When he realized that I didn't like the nickname, he started using it just to annoy me.

── Don't call me Yara, Norris ─ I said and he laughed. ─ And I came to live here!

── I missed annoying you, and I'm glad you're going to live here now. I missed you so much! ─ He surprised me with a kiss and I smiled, shyly.

── I'm sleepy, so if you're going to stay here, don't make any noise, thanks ─ I said, turning to the other side and curling up on the bed. The truth is that even after years of intimacy with Lando, I still felt blushing with every minimally romantic action, and at this moment, I'm sure I'm blushing.

── I'm going to help the boys with lunch. I'll come and get you later. ─ He got up, walked around the bed and stopped in front of me. He held my face and gave me a kiss. And how I missed those kisses. In the end, he smiled and left the room, leaving a completely happy Maya lying on the bed.

[...]

We had lunch, and when it was 2 pm, I put on a bikini and went to the pool area. I was listening to music on my headphones when I heard my name being called. There was no one calling me, just Niram making fun of Lando for not wiping the smile off his face since I arrived.

I sat back down on the lounge chair and the boys decided to stay in the pool. After a while, I remembered that I needed to record more scenes for the vlog so I went in and got my camera.

I started going through the takes I recorded and ended up realizing that Max had set the camera to record Lando's reaction, and then left it on the nightstand, but didn't stop recording, which ended up recording the kiss Norris gave me. I laughed in despair, after all, Ria is the one who edits my videos, and I couldn't cut this before sending it to her because my laptop doesn't support editing applications. And to make matters worse, my computer was an ocean away.

I couldn't erase the take, because it was too funny from that angle, but I had to find a way to convince Ria not to tell anyone.

It's not like it's a huge secret that Lando and I kiss at parties. But homely affection like the one in the video, those are secret. To our friends we only kiss when we're drunk, to my cousin we're just friends who have never touched each other's lips, but between him and me there's a mutual agreement of free will to kiss and make out in private.

Speaking of him, the arms that surrounded me were definitely his, his unmistakable scent invaded my senses, followed by a caress on my waist, a body pressed against mine and a head in the curve of my neck.

── Are you okay, Yara? You didn't go back to the pool ─ Lando murmurs, giving small kisses on my shoulder.

── Yes, I just remembered that I need to record a few more scenes and I came to get my camera. It turns out that I asked Max to record his reaction and he forgot to tell me that this camera was also on, so he recorded our kiss ─ I explain and he smiles.

── It's not like it's a secret ─ he says, moving away and smiling mischievously.

── It's not a secret, but it's not public knowledge. Ria will see it and will ask me a lot of questions, let's pray that she doesn't tell anyone ─ I explain, turning to face him.

── Everyone knew for me ─ Lando lets go.

What do you mean? He's the first one to say he doesn't want anything serious when he's with other girls. It doesn't make sense for him to say that.

── Lando, with all due respect, why are you saying this? I can't even count on my fingers how many girls you turned down in the last year, claiming you didn't want to be with anyone and were focused on your career. I remember well every time you called me drunk to tell me you couldn't have a serious relationship.

── Yes, because none of them were you! ─ the boy says and leaves the room, leaving me confused.

What does he mean by that?

(...)

There are few things I don't know how to deal with well. Among them are injustices and adult tantrums, both of which always irritate me. And dealing with Lando Norris today was being impossible, because it was unfair that he made me confused and his childish tantrum of running away from me all day would have to stop at some point.

That moment came at bedtime. He tried to take as long as he could to come to bed, but he found me awake, sitting on the bed waiting for him. Sighing in defeat, Lando went into the bathroom and changed his clothes so he could sleep, and sat down next to me, both of us watching the television that was off.

── So... Aren't you going to explain it to me? ─ I begin.

── There's nothing to explain, Yara. It's obvious that I'm in love with you, if you didn't notice before it's because you didn't want to. I never made a point of hiding that I would do anything for you.

── You never made a point of talking either, did you? ─ He remains silent. ─ Lando, I'm sorry, but it's hard to read your signals when you're with me for a week and then show up at a club with some girl the next week ─ I'm honest.

I don't hold any grudges or resentment over it, but I admit that yes, sometimes it hurt to wake up to pictures of you with a woman hanging around your neck.

── You never wanted anything serious, Yara, you always made it clear that our lives didn't fit together because I'm always traveling and you live on another continent. I had no choice but to make the most of my time with you and then try to forget the desire to return to your arms ─ Lando vents. I can see his back tense and his gaze get lost between the sheets. ─ But now it's a different story. I thought we could finally have that love story from your favorite books. I thought you would finally notice me the way I notice you. Like when I realized you hold your breath every time something bothers you in one of our conversations about privileges. Or when I realized you hate eating plain or excessive cheese but love four-cheese pizza. Or when I realized you wake up with back pain if you sleep on your right side, so I switched sides in bed...

Watching Lando vulnerable was comforting. Knowing that he felt this way around me and knowing that we can have a future made me deeply happy. Even better was realizing that he had been noticing me all along. He saw me. And I won't deny it, until yesterday I thought I loved Lando just as a friend. But today, after all his speech, I realized that it was never just that. It was never just kisses and hugs, it was never just sleepless nights, it was never just mornings with a hangover. It was never just friendship. Lando was by my side every step I took over the last few years and I hoped he would continue to be there for the next few years too.

Charlie Brown Jr.¹ once said: "They say it's impossible to find love without losing your mind; But for those with strong minds, the impossible is just a matter of opinion; And even madmen know that." And he was right. Love is blind and madness accompanies it, just like the fable by Jean de La Fontaine says. It's unlikely that you'll love someone without having a hint of madness in the mix. After all, only madmen are capable of loving someone so much without losing their self-love. And I loved Lando Norris. I loved him so much!

Loving Lando Norris was a lazy Sunday morning, between kisses, sheets, affection and love on a cold but sunny morning. After all, that was the definition of love for me. I won't know how to explain it, but that was it. And Lando was all that and much more.

Unable to hold it in any longer, I grabbed his hand to get his attention and settled myself on his lap, beginning a slow, passionate kiss that lasted until both of our lungs were begging for oxygen. When our mouths parted, I pressed our foreheads together briefly before snuggling into his shoulder in a warm embrace.

── Thank you. For paying attention, for understanding my side, for giving me satisfaction even when you shouldn't, for loving me. Thank you for being you and choosing me to love you ─ I whispered.

── I'm the one who should thank you here, love. Thank you for loving me, even if I'll never be half the man you deserve to have.

── You are more than I need, Lan.

And maybe, in the end, only the crazy ones really knew. And, God, how happy I was to be one of the crazy ones.

¹Charlie Brown Jr. was a Brazilian rock band formed in 1992 in the city of Santos, by Chorão, Champignon, Marcão Britto, Thiago Castanho and Renato Pelado.

#landonorris #lando norris #f1 imagine #f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando x reader #lando x you

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misfitwashere · 3 months ago

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We thank you, Joe

Tonight is for you

Robert Reich

Aug 19, 2024

Friends,

Tonight’s opening of the Democratic National Convention in Chicago will be an opportunity for the Democratic Party and the nation to take stock of Joe Biden’s term of office and thank him for his service.

He still has five months to go as president, of course, but the baton has been passed.

Biden’s singular achievement has been to change the economic paradigm that reigned since Reagan and return to one that dominated public life between 1933 and 1980 — and is far superior to the one that has prevailed since.

Biden’s democratic capitalism is neither socialism nor “big government.” It is, rather, a return to an era when government organized the market for the greater good.

The Great Crash of 1929 followed by the Great Depression taught the nation a crucial lesson that we forgot after Reagan’s presidency: markets are human creations. The economy that collapsed in 1929 was the consequence of allowing nearly unlimited borrowing, encouraging people to gamble on Wall Street, and permitting the Street to take huge risks with other people’s money.

Franklin D. Roosevelt and his administration reversed this. They stopped the looting of America. They also gave Americans a modicum of economic security. During World War II, they put almost every American to work.

Subsequent Democratic and Republican administrations enlarged and extended democratic capitalism. Wall Street was regulated, as were television networks, airlines, railroads, and other common carriers. CEO pay was modest. Taxes on the highest earners financed public investments in infrastructure (such as the national highway system) and higher education.

America’s postwar industrial policy spurred innovation. The Department of Defense and its Defense Advanced Research Projects Administration developed satellite communications, container ships, and the internet. The National Institutes of Health did trailblazing basic research in biochemistry, DNA, and infectious diseases.

Public spending rose during economic downturns to encourage hiring. Antitrust enforcers broke up AT&T and other monopolies. Small businesses were protected from giant chain stores. Labor unions thrived. By the 1960s, a third of all private-sector workers were unionized. Large corporations sought to be responsive to all their stakeholders.

But then America took a giant U-turn. The OPEC oil embargo of the 1970s brought double-digit inflation followed by Fed Chair Paul Volcker’s effort to “break the back” of it by raising interest rates so high that the economy fell into deep recession.

All of which prepared the ground for Reagan’s war on democratic capitalism. From 1981 onward, a new bipartisan orthodoxy emerged that markets functioned well only if the government got out of the way.

The goal of economic policy thereby shifted from the common good to economic growth, even though Americans already well-off gained most from that growth. And the means shifted from public oversight of the market to deregulation, free trade, privatization, “trickle-down” tax cuts, and deficit reduction — all of which helped the monied interests make even more money.

The economy grew for the next 40 years, but median wages stagnated, and inequalities of income and wealth surged. In sum, after Reagan’s presidency, democratic capitalism — organized to serve public purposes — all but disappeared. It was replaced by corporate capitalism, organized to serve the monied interests.

Joe Biden revived democratic capitalism. He learned from the Obama administration’s mistake of spending too little to pull the economy out of the Great Recession that the pandemic required substantially greater spending, which would also give working families a cushion against adversity. So he pushed for and got the giant $1.9 trillion American Rescue Plan.

This was followed by a $550 billion initiative to rebuild the nation’s bridges, roads, public transit, broadband, water, and energy systems. He championed the biggest investment in clean energy sources in American history — expanding wind and solar power, electric vehicles, carbon capture and sequestration, and hydrogen and small nuclear reactors. He then led the largest public investment ever made in semiconductors, the building blocks of the next economy. Notably, these initiatives were targeted to companies that employ American workers.

Biden also embarked on altering the balance of power between capital and labor, as had FDR. Biden put trustbusters at the head of the Federal Trade Commission and the Antitrust Division of the Justice Department. And he remade the National Labor Relations Board into a strong advocate for labor unions.

Unlike his Democratic predecessors Bill Clinton and Barack Obama, Biden did not reduce all trade barriers. He targeted them to industries that were crucial to America’s future — semiconductors, electric batteries, electric vehicles. Unlike Trump, Biden did not give a huge tax cut to corporations and the wealthy.

It’s also worth noting that, in contrast with every president since Reagan, Biden did not fill his White House with former Wall Street executives. Not one of his economic advisers — not even his treasury secretary — is from the Street.

The one large blot on Biden’s record is Benjamin Netanyahu. Biden should have been tougher on him — refusing to provide him offensive weapons unless Netanyahu stopped his massacre in Gaza. Yes, I know: Hamas began the bloodbath. But that is no excuse for Netanyahu’s disproportionate response, which has made Israel a pariah and endangered its future. Nor an excuse for our complicity.

***

One more thing needs to be said in praise of Joe Biden. He did something Donald Trump could never do: He put his country over ego, ambition, and pride. He bowed out with grace and dignity. He gave us Kamala Harris.

Presidents don’t want to bow out. Both Richard Nixon and Lyndon Johnson had to be shoved out of office. Biden was not forced out. He did nothing wrong. His problem is that he was old and losing some of the capacities that dwindle with old age.

Even among people who are not president, old age inevitably triggers denial. How many elderly people do you know who accept that they can’t do the things they used to do or think they should be able to do? How many willingly give up the keys to their car? It’s not surprising he resisted.

Yet Biden cares about America and was aware of the damage a second Trump administration could do to this nation, and to the world. Biden’s patriotism won out over any denial or wounded pride or false sense of infallibility or paranoia.

For this and much else, we thank you, Joe.

#robert reich

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frannyzooey · 7 months ago

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(pls feel free to ignore for like internet safety reasons lmao I’m just excited) but were you visiting Milwaukee Wisconsin??? Just asking because in that little book haul pic (which looks awesome by the way!) it looks like there’s a visitor’s map and that’s where I grew up and I never see it get any love online! I hope you had an amazing time (wherever you went) and again feel free to ignore!

Yes baby I WAS! 😍

I had to go for work reasons, and I actually had no idea how gorgeous the architecture is? Everyone talks up Chicago, but Milwaukee was legit next level:

I also stayed at The Pfister and like —

How does the lobby look like this?! I got a glass of champagne with check in and never felt so bougie in my life (they also served me tiny glass bottles of mayo with my dinner and I saved one because I loved it so much lol)

I got to cruise around town the weekend after and eat delicious food and visit The Third Ward and the Milwaukee Open Market and I am DEF coming back this summer! Any suggestions?? 👀

#Milwaukee gets ALL the love from me #it was amazing and super accessible!

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skytrust11 · 2 years ago

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badwritinghabit · 1 year ago

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Chef's Kiss | Carmy x fem!OC x Luca | Chapter 4

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist | Ao3

Warnings: Mentions of suicide, Carmy panicking

Word Count: 2,501

Summary: Sophie and Sydney bond over dealing with Carmy's bullshit. And Sophie and Carmy get close in the kitchen.

Sophie started building a friendship with Sydney, the sous chef in Carmy’s kitchen. Their short time cooking together at The Beef acted as an introduction and when Sophie ran into Sydney at a farmer’s market, they reconnected and ended up spending the afternoon together. They wandered the market and eventually decided to chat over coffee and pastries at a coffee shop nearby.

The two bonded over their experiences in restaurants, exchanging stories. Sophie learned about Sydney’s catering experience and her time in culinary school. Sophie shared about her time in San Diego, how she missed California but had to admit Chicago had its own charm.

Sydney updated her about the restaurant. Carmy and the crew at The Beef had found money Mikey was hiding in cans of tomatoes. And they were planning to rebuild into an entirely new fine dining spot, with a window to keep hold of their roots and still sell their famous sandwiches.

Sophie was happy for them. Carmy had talked about his dream to help Mikey turn the restaurant into the Bear for so long. Syd was also excited to be working in a restaurant more fitting of her experience. She deserved the role of CDC and Sophie was thrilled for her.

“I needed this,” Sydney sighed into her coffee mug, looking at Sophie after she vented some of her frustrations. “Carmy is driving me insane.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s been even more unresponsive lately. And I know after his brother– I mean, I can’t imagine.” Sydney had quieted. “Tina was telling me how close they were. How Mikey had been a little unstable but no one ever expected–” she trailed off and Sophie went cold.

“Richie told me he had passed but I didn’t realize.. he- Mikey killed himself?” Sophie asked, feeling her heart start to race.

“You didn’t know? Oh shit. I assumed since you and Carmy were friends you must’ve– it was all over the internet too. With the Beef. There was a couple articles. And Carmy being Carmy…” Sydney was clearly uncomfortable, feeling guilty for spilling something she worried she shouldn’t have.

“No it’s okay, Syd. Carmy and I hadn’t really talked since he went to work at Noma. And I hadn’t really kept up with his career,” Sophie regretted not trying harder to keep track of where he had ended up.

“It’s hard because I know it explains some of this. I can’t blame him. But also, this is my future too. I can’t risk my career if he isn’t all in. And he keeps leaving me hanging.”

“You are absolutely right. Even if he has a reason it doesn’t make it okay for him to abandon you,” Sophie agreed, head still spinning with the news of Mikey’s suicide. “Damn, sorry Syd. I wish I could help. I don’t think me talking to him would be any help though.”

“Did something happen between you? It seemed like you two were talking and now you’re avoiding each other,” Syd said, leaving it open for Sophie to respond.

“It’s a long story. We had a bit of a disagreement,” she paused. “But I wish I knew about Mikey. My dad– uh. My dad also took his own life. A few years before I met Carmy actually. So I know what it’s like,” she said, softly. “Should have given him the benefit of the doubt. He has other things on his mind,” she explained.

“Oh I’m so sorry Sophie,” Syd was instantly sympathetic and Sophie nodded. “I’m sure you and Carmy will work it out,” Syd smiled at her encouragingly.

Sophie hoped she was right.

---

It seemed as though Sydney must’ve said something, done some urging, because Carmy called Sophie a few days after they spoke. He asked her to visit, to come see what they were doing with the new restaurant. And to discuss their decor decisions. He said she had the better eye for art and design. She disagreed, Carmy was one of the most detail oriented people she’d ever met. But she did enjoy it and it was a good excuse to put what happened behind them.

Her visit was fairly short and Carmy was quiet, as usual. She learned a little about the stress of kitchen prep, getting all of the permits, making sure the new space was up to code. She met Carmy’s sister Sugar and offered her help where she could.

She still felt a little awkward around him, a little annoyed at him and herself. But she wanted Carmy’s restaurant to be successful. He deserved it.

She left before they could ever interact without Sydney or Sugar also there.

---

Weeks later, Sophie received a call. Carmy’s voice sounded through her phone. “Soph. I– I know this is sudden. But I have an idea for a dish and I was hoping I could cook it for you.”

“A new dish for the menu?” she asked, confused.

“Yes. I had this idea and I couldn't get it out of my head. Could I come over? I want you to try it.”

“Oh– of course, Carm. Tonight?”

“Yeah. If that’s okay,” he sounded unsure. As if he just realized he was making a strange request.

“Yeah. That would be fine. You can come over whenever.”

Carmy called when he got to the front door and she found him outside, looking slightly flustered, holding a giant bag of groceries. She grinned at him and led him upstairs.

“I won’t get in your way but let me know if you need help. Or a taste tester,” she said. She walked back to sit on the couch and tried to work a little on her laptop.

Something about the sounds of Carmy cooking in her apartment made her feel at peace. Like all of the nights in New York, shuffling around in her tiny apartment, cooking into the early hours of the morning. She missed it. The comfort of just having him around. Eventually she stopped pretending to work and found herself just looking over at him while he cooked.

“This feels a lot like New York, doesn’t it?” he asked, as if he could feel her attention on him.

“I was just thinking about that”, she admitted, walking over and leaning against her kitchen island to get a better view of his cooking. She hummed. “Do you remember that night we made those god awful ginger prawns?”

Carmy laughed, loudly, caught by surprise. “Fuck, I forgot about that.”

“My roommates were so mad. Our apartment smelled terrible for a week.” She shook her head with a grin.

“This smells amazing though. Almost like–” She stopped for a second when she saw the chicken and herbs in the cast iron skillet on her stove. “Chicken Paillard?”

“It is. A little bit of a twist. Because you used to be obsessed with potatoes. And bacon lardons.”

“This is like our lazy sunday dish.” She was astonished. “But French.”

“A little French. A little Danish. Mostly just– our dish. It’s what I want the Bear to be. All of the things I love.” Sophie blushed at the softness in his voice.

He had started plating it, his hands sure as he placed the chicken over the salad of greens, roasted veggies, and crisped polenta– alongside the small caramelized potatoes. An herb and lemon scented pan sauce carefully poured over the top. He turned and handed it to her.

She bit her lip but took the plate and looked it over. Devouring the details, the mix of colors, the golden potatoes and the bright greens and the crispy, browned chicken. She took a bite.

“It’s amazing,” she said, knowing she was blushing. After another moment of thought, she looked up at Carmy with wide eyes. “I remember these potatoes. The Danish recipe.” He had cooked them for her the night he told her he was applying to Noma. She remembered so clearly sitting and watching him cook for her. Sad about his possible departure but happy for him. He was so excited. And he deserved good things.

This dish was all of it. It was New York. It was them, sitting in the kitchen at 2am laughing over complete nonsense because they were so exhausted they had become giddy. All of the quiet joy they had found amidst the chaos. She took another bite. Then she slid the plate over to him. He reached over and took a bite as well, looking at it thoughtfully. “You’re too talented for your own good,” she said, voice too intense for what she meant as a way to play off how much it meant to her. For him to make this dish.

He smiled at her, his own cheeks flaring pink. “I’ve been so fucking lost. Making the menu for The Bear. Syd has helped a lot but we’re both just taking swings wildly, trying to make something memorable. But for some reason this afternoon I couldn’t get our chicken dish out of my head. And I wanted to make something that felt like that. I wanted it to feel like your kitchen in New York.”

Her heart pounded. She was getting caught up in him again. She didn’t want to mess it up. She knew what he was going through. With Mikey. Didn’t want to make things worse for him.

“It’s perfect,” she blinked and looked away, trying to cut the tension. “But you improving on our dish feels a little like that terrible Bobby Flay show,” Sophie joked, lightly. He huffed out a laugh before looking at her with his unbelievably emotional eyes. “I think this is my new favorite dish,” she said, thoughtfully. His eyes lit up and she decided to tell him just how much she loved his cooking– had always loved his cooking. “For years my favorite has been that veal saltimbocca you made for us on our last night in New York,” she admitted quietly, hoping he didn’t feel odd about her obsession with his food.

“That was your favorite?” he asked, eyes wide.

“Yeah. Are you kidding me? It was simple but perfect. Back to basics, that’s what we talked about back then, remember? I was so annoyed with fine dining then, turning everything into foam. I feel like that conversation, that dish changed my career. It has stuck with me ever since.” She realized she had rambled, gotten too passionate, and bit her lip.

Carmy had stepped closer to her. “That day– those dolma you made? I tried for months to get that recipe right,” he said to her, eyes burning into hers. She felt the air leave her lungs. It had changed– the energy between them. Her hands gripped the edge of the counter, nervous. “And those caneles– I get a canele every time I see it on a menu now.”

She blushed, feeling nervous energy shoot up her spine as he stood in front of her, hands on either side of her hips against the counter. “I remember wanting to make something so you wouldn’t forget me when you were off traveling the world,” she responded softly.

He was standing so very close and shifted even closer, she moved slightly, making space between her legs so that they were on either side of his hips. Her heart pounded. He moved his hands and the feeling of his palms on her thighs burned through her jeans. “It worked.” It was a whisper.

And then his lips were on hers, the taste of lemon and smoke still on his tongue from the dish. He was soft and gentle, hands unmoving on the outside of her thighs. But she wanted more. She lifted her hand and tangled it into his hair.

Her thoughts had found her here numerous times before but none of it compared to the reality. The feel of his lips against hers. His hands as they smoothed up from her thighs to her hips, pulling her against him. His hand traveled up the curve of her back and cupped the back of her neck, fingers entwined in her hair. She was burning, every inch of her he touched suddenly alight.

And then it was over.

He pulled back and she found herself looking into his eyes. Something had changed. He was pulling away again.

“Wait.” He stepped back and pushed a hand to his forehead. “Shit, I shouldn’t have.” He was panicking, eyes wide. Gripping his hair, he turned and cursed to himself.

She reached out to him, still breathless. Her brain struggled to catch up but something kicked in, seeing Carmy’s clear distress. “Carm, it’s okay. I know you are about to start a restaurant. Not a good time to make things complicated,” she said, quickly changing to comforting mode. She was still thrown for a loop, her lips and fingertips tingling from the kiss. But she was worried about him. “It’s fine,” she said, again. Trying to mollify whatever feelings he was having. Remembering what she learned about Mikey. Knowing he must be so fucking exhausted with it all. She didn’t want to be another problem.

“No.” He shook his head, hands running through his hair. “Fuck. I ran into Claire. From high school.” She recognized the name, of course. The two had talked about their childhoods and she came up. “We ran into each other and then I helped her move some furniture. And she took me to a party.” He had let go of his hair and it fell across his face. He looked disheveled and broken and apologetic. She realized what was happening. He was choosing Claire. Then why did he kiss her?

Her heart raced. Shame burning the pit of her stomach. But she forced herself to respond. The embarrassment and hurt could come later. “Oh that– that’s good, right?” She asked, her voice sounding much more clear and confident than she expected, even with the stutter. “I know what she meant to you,” she said when he remained silent.

Why did you kiss me? She wanted to ask. Wanted to rewind and have him take it back. It wasn’t fair to do this to her. Make a dish for her. For them. Kiss her. Then say he was with someone else.

“I’m–fuck.” His hands were shaking. “Fuck I’m so sorry, Soph.” He walked over to the table and grabbed his jacket. “I’m going.” And he ran out the door.

She stood there in the kitchen as he left. Eventually she turned to look at the plate of food. Their relationship on a plate. Their hopes and dreams as young chefs. The little safe friendship they had built. She grabbed the plate and threw it into the trash.

She felt tears streaming down her face before she realized she had started crying. She walked over to her couch, grabbed her cellphone from the table, and called Mallary.

“Hello?” her sister’s voice answered almost immediately.

“Mal,” Sophie’s voice wavered, a sob escaping before she could help it.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?”

“He kissed me.”

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