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sabbaticallife84 · 3 years ago

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“Going to the mountains is going home.” -John Muir

July 1st. My favorite July 1st in a long time. It was a cool day. I had a delicious lunch with my aunt. I had bratwurst, kartofel und Sauerkraut, cola, cause it was too early to drink wine.

I didn’t have a phone, no pictures of maps or much direction, so I wanted to do something not that far from where I was staying. My aunt described this beautiful walk I could take around Wolfgangsee, the lake we were staying next to. I thought that sounded ideal. There was a cute town and then another cute town along the lake that I would run in to if I was lucky. So I decided to do that walk. On my way out of town, I saw a cute little second hand shop and they had good backpacks. I decided I needed a little bit of a bigger day pack than I had brought. I found a cute back pack and it looked sturdy and high quality. I asked the owner how much it was. He looked me up and down and said “eight euro”. So that was a steal! This bag was nice, sturdy, good Austrian quality and I was getting it for 8 euro! Yay, this was going to be a great day! I walked down a side walk to the left to try to find the path around the lake.

The path around the lake was really nice and flat. I saw these happy fish swimming in the shallows. The woods around me consisted of lindens, beech trees, pine trees, vines and was so green and cool and perfect. The temperature lovely.

I walked out of town, to Fürberg. When I got to Fürberg, I wasn’t sure I was there until I saw a sign on the guest house and realized this was it! I decided I wanted to sit at this beautiful cafe and have a delicious coffee and a piece of cake. My waiter was having a slow day. He came over to my table to have a chat. He said it was “dead” there, that day. We talked about how their busy season was more like July 15-end of August. We talked about how the kids weren’t out of school yet in Austria. He said his son was 11 years old and he was anxiously awaiting July 9th, when school would be out for them. My waiter was from Hungary. He shared that his son was struggling with learning German but had taught himself English with tv and movies. His teacher had asked his dad who in their family spoke English at home and when he said, “No one.” The teacher was surprised cause his sons English was so good. The waiter went on to tell me about some beautiful sights to see in Hungary and one was the Plattensee in Hungary. We talked about Covid. His friend was an orthopedic doctor and he said his friend did that kind of specialty to avoid the really sick and infected people. I was explaining how our ortho unit had changed into a covid unit. The waiters were wearing bright white shirts and lederhosen. The waitresses were wearing the traditional dress from Austria, the dirndl. The staff looked very festive in their outfits. I ordered this delicious cake and coffee. I asked the waiter if I could go back to the back and see which kinds of cakes they had or what they looked like. I saw this delicious cake I needed to try. So I ordered that piece with whipped cream.

The couple next to me asked what kind of cake I had ordered. They called the waiter over and ordered it. I realized as the waiter brought it out, I didn’t tell them I had ordered it with whipped cream. So then I told them, they called the waiter back over and ordered whipped cream. Then the waiter didn’t disappoint. He brought this big bowl of whipped cream for them. Sitting there, I was looking that the clear bright blue water of the lake. It reminded me of emerald lake in BC. It’s almost green. It was really gorgeous. Happy fish swimming in the shallows, The perfect path around the lake. Surrounded by lindens, buchenwald, pine trees. The temperature was cool and perfect.

After Fürberg, I was walking down the path and saw a group of teenage boys with a six pack and a couple of bottles walking into the forest. I thought it was fun, and I remembered when I was a teenager in Germany and had similar experiences after school. Then “The girl on the Train” came to my mind I was all of a sudden nervous. Not that this exact thing happened in that book, but it was just kind of creepy. These guys fueled by alcohol and maybe wanting to cause trouble, who knows what they might do. I don’t know why my mind went ominous. I waited a bit to let them walk ahead of me. The path was changing from a flat path to a steeper path. It started to feel like ‘Lake View’, this hike in Priest Lake, Idaho. The path started to go up and down, with large stair cases up and down.

I learned that back in the 1500′s, supposedly, a man was trying to take his ox to the market for slaughter, when it ran away. The man grabbed the ox’s tail and followed him into the water. Back then, people couldn’t swim and the man would have sank and drowned if he wasn’t holding on to the ox’s tail. But luckily he survived, the ox swam a ways and then back into shore. Then the man or someone built a little beautiful white shrine thing on this tiny island. It was called the Ochsenkreutz (Ox cross). The water was clear and turquoise around it. The color was crazy and the water was super clear and beautiful.

I walked up the path, down the path. The forest was beautiful, quiet, except for the occasional rustle. I actually sometimes felt like I wasn’t alone. I would stop and look around, and would be totally alone. Eventually I figured out that 1.) the wind in the trees sounded like people, 2.) my new backpack had a little zipper clinking on my back, 3.) there were little brown mice running around and rustling in the leaves and that sounded like footsteps. This forest reminded me of Outlander or of Robin Hood. It was deep and green. It was so beautiful and I kept imagining at any moment the rustling would reveal a man carrying a bow with arrows, walking out of the forest towards me. I eventually made it to a bit of a bigger memorial thing on the main land called the Hochszeitkreutz. (the wedding cross) There were three people in wet suits and a girl down below in the lake who had just jumped. These brave souls were jumping off high rocks into the turqouise water below. This sweet teenage kid was standing, looking over the cliff and trying to amp himself up to go. The man, maybe his father, uncle or coach had a camera on video mode trained on him for the jump. But the young guy hesitated. I stopped to read the sign on the bench about the memorial site. You could tell that I freaked the teenager out and he thought I was watching him. I finished reading and walked off. There was a bench looking out at the water and a man was sitting on the bench reading his book.

I didn’t wait for him to jump in and then I started walking home. I also never saw those teenage boys again. It started to rain. I was soaked after 30 minutes of walking in it. I had a rain coat on so my chest, and stomach were dry. My heads, wrists, thighs, legs, and feet were squelching wet. I ducked into an Italian restaurant, that was very popular and buzzing with people. You could tell that this place was well liked by locals and tourists alike. I asked the hostess for a table and she said at the moment, they didn’t have anything. I thanked them and went to leave and keep walking. Some other customers called to me from a table and said the hostess had called me back. I waited on their covered porch and the hostess kept motioning for me to wait. I waited like 5-10 minutes and then got a table. It was great.

The server/owner and hostess/server were really sweet women and they were working so hard. Running and running. They smiled at each other and all the customers and they worked as a team, even though they were slammed. It was impressive. I got to see the other fun tables with friends and families at them (Yes I was a creeper, but what else did I have to do? ;-) ). A family was celebrating their youngest daughters birthday. It was so funny, cause the littlest girl had eaten her dinner and she was running around and running around and wanted to leave the restaurant and play outside with her grandmother. But the whole family was trying to entertain and cajole her so she would stay long enough for... the staff to come out with her cake with a sparkler candle on top. And then the whole restaurant sang “happy birthday” in English. Then the staff sang it in Italian. It was really cool. The girl was super happy and excited, until a few minutes in, she decided she didn’t like her mango cake creation and she was bouncing around again. Finally her grandmother did take her outside to run around and play and work off some of her energy.

I ate delicious caprese salad and pizza. It was so yummy. I also drank my new favorite drink, a Hugo Spritz. It’s light and sparkly and sweet. Then I walked back to my Aunts house. It was a really fun day!

“And we will meet in the woods far far away from this hustle and bustle... and share love and sunshine.” -Avijeet Das

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jokerownsmysoul · 5 years ago

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a only way to love you - part one

A/N: I need a place to drop my love for hands and tummy, especially Arthur’s ones that are my religion lmao, also I wanted to give my own contribution. This is what came out, two pieces but linked by the same thread. To be honest I’m not very proud of these pieces, I could have done better but that’s okay <33 I don’t know if any of you wanted to be tagged in my stuff so in doubt I don’t tag anyone at all lmao I don't want to bother you sksks I hope you like it.

Summary: Arthur deserves to be loved entirely, but there are parts of his body that have deeper wounds and need a special love treatment. Also you're obsessed with Arthur's hands and put love on them. Hands love treatment: that's it, that's the fic. part two: tummy love treatment

Pairings: Arthur x Reader Content: angst, comfort

Warnings: mention of past trauma, wounds

Word count: 3484

A/N: english is not my first language so I apologize for any typos, I’m still learning.

Arthur was a piece of art to you.

There was nothing about him your mind couldn’t resist. For those who didn’t know him and could only look at him from afar his body looked unhealthy, thin, weak and fragile, yet the only thing you could see when you looked at him was a perfection which only imperfect things can have; the only perfection which really matters. A forgotten, neglected, fragile and consumed perfection, beaten by a life that with Arthur had been hard, much more than he could bear.

It was easy for you to catch yourself looking at him, mesmerized by all the tragic beauty his body was wearing like an invisible blanket built from all the pain he had faced in his life.

Everything that life had inflicted upon him had been absorbed not only by his soul, whose pieces Arthur had always had to carry, but also by his body. Yet you wouldn’t have wanted him any other way than in his extraordinary and rare way which dressed him as a garment made of past and experiences.

You got lost in his tired eyes which for an inexplicable reason they always had inside of them a glow that never went away despite their tiredness and that would sparkle even in the darkness, like a lighthouse in the night which illuminates the coast of the sea. Every time you looked at him, his eyes reminded you of the stars that even after they died keep still shining. And despite all the pain he had to face, whose unforgettable consequences would follow him throughout his life, he had never ceased to have in his eyes the true life sparkling in his emerald green pupils as if it were the reflection of the sunlight at the bottom of a lake. Perhaps in his eyes resided all the life his body didn’t hold and that’s why they were so bright they looked like living crystals.

You got lost in his slender torso where the rib cage glowed through his skin, where you liked to pass your fingers and kiss each rib one by one which reminded you of those roots of trees that pierce the ground and begin to grow on the surface; you yourself got lost in his arms, which were defined by muscles whose curves you clung to every time you made love and which kept you anchored in the sea of pleasure in which you would have liked to get lost, if it weren’t for Arthur who waited for you on the shore every single time.

And most of all, you loved his hands. Hands have always fascinated you, but you swore you were obsessed with Arthur’s. You thought about that every time your eyes were immersed in looking at them and your mind could never wake up from the hypnotic state his hands made you reach, a state you wouldn’t let go until Arthur realized you were watching him, bringing you back to reality; as it happened this night.

You were on the bed and the TV on lit up the room of a ghostly blue light that shone in the bedroom walls and illuminated you two, its volume was so low it seemed a silent companion of your mind that at this time was totally directed towards Arthur and, above all, his hands.

Arthur was laying with his back resting on the mountain of pillows behind both of you, his hands resting on his lap. Although he was focused on watching TV, he noticed with the corner of his eye that your gaze was fixed on watching something he had not been able to decipher and he would’ve sworn you had not even realized it. “Y/N?". A jolt ran through your whole body and your mind awoke from this hypnotic state.

You lifted your head placed on his shoulder to look him in the eyes in a rash move, as if he had just woken you up from a dream in a brusque way. "Arthur?" you repeated imitating him and letting a guilty smile mark your lips. “What… what are you doing? Are you okay?” His circumspect eyes stared at you as he placed his right hand on your face to caress your cheek in a worried gesture; you closed your eyes, purring as soon as his hand touched your skin. “I’m okay, love. Just watching your hands.” You rubbed your cheek in his palm nuzzling into his touch even more. Arthur giggled in a shy expression and stroked your cheek with his thumb.

"My hands? What’s with my hands?" Before he could move his hand away from your face you placed yours over his and moving lightly your lips toward his skin you printed a gentle kiss on the heels of his hand, lingering your lips on his soft skin to breathe in his unmistakable smell.

There was something in his hands you just couldn’t explain. When you looked at them it seemed to you that time had passed faster on his hands than the rest of his body, because they were marked by dark spots and pads that a young man like him rarely have on his own skin.

That’s probably why you liked them so much: in his hands you could read the story of his whole life.

His body had absorbed all the wounds and bruises Arthur had seen grow outside of him and then they were rooted inside of him, into his soul. Every time he got jumped, every wound in his body which had already healed but whose weight had never gone away, every wound in his soul that remained open because too fragile and deep to heal, all the pain and suffering he had endured and all he had lived until this moment, his body had gathered him and had made it converge right there, in his hands.

You really believed that every time the wounds on his body healed, their heavy presence immediately moved on his hands, maybe that’s why they seemed much older than the rest of his body. His hands were the carnal reminder of all the pain Arthur had experienced when he was young and had forgotten, and of all the pain he was aware of but tried to hide.

Arthur had been told since he was a little boy to hide his pain putting on a happy face, that’s why he’d held it back his whole life, and the only way his body had found to get him to vent was to use his pain as a brush to paint his hands and to give them that worn-out and eaten look.

Yet you never wanted to see hands other than his on his body; of him you loved all that he was and all that he had been, it was inevitable that you would love the part of his body which had absorbed the weight his soul bore every day, on which his life had converged and on which you could read the remains his pain had left him.

When you looked at them, you could only see a part of him who deserved attention and care as much as his lips did when you kissed them. Probably they were one of the parts more worthy of love because his hands held back the memory of all the wounds the rest of his fleshy body could heal, no longer carrying the sign. Yet even if they healed and externally were not visible their memory remained there, on the surface of his worn hands.

"They’re so beautiful, Arthur. They’re… they’re just like you." Arthur looked at you frowning in a confused expression. “Like me?” He repeated, his confusion had shifted to the tone of his voice. You smiled shyly and understanding, you were as confused as he was because you couldn’t find the right words to make him understand how precious his hands were. “They deserve to be loved, Arthur.” Just like you, you said silently in your mind and saw Arthur smiling in return as he also thought of these same words, and silently understood what you meant. A mutual conversation was created through your minds thinking in unison and understanding each other by speaking in unspoken words. You took his hands and held them between yours, staring at them as if you wanted to touch them through your eyes. Each of your thumbs was dedicated to caress gently the back of each hand of his.

Not only did his pain emerge from his hands, but everything that was part of him too. The love he felt for you, his fragility, his vulnerability so vivid that sometimes you were even afraid to break them even by touching them with your fingertips. Every time he touched you with those hands all the delicacy and grace Arthur carried inside emerged out of them and seemed to dress his hands with a different fabric than the one that dressed his entire body.

You remained silent for a few minutes watching them, Arthur understood that in your words there were hidden thoughts you still had to say out loud and looked at you curious, awaiting, while you were studying his hands with moved eyes, your body was trembling as if you weren’t prepared enough to look at Arthur’s beauty before your eyes.

“I want to… love them.” You said shortly after continuing to stare at them almost embarrassed to utter this desire aloud, Arthur giggled blushing in return. "You're already loving me, Y/N."

"No, Arthur." You moved your head from both sides with a sharp move and raised your eyes to look him in the eye.

You approached him further enough for your noses touch each others lightly. "Listen," you reluctantly let go off the grip of his hands but shortly after you wrapped his face so faster you didn’t give time to the void left by the absence of his touch you felt on your hands to spread all over your skin, because it had already been nourished by the touch of his cheeks when you wrapped his face with yours. You looked him straight in the eyes intensely, your eyes were piercing and determined. Arthur was surprised to see how heavy was the load your face was carrying as you watched him. "I really want to love on them. I... I want to love on you piece by piece, like the way you deserve to be loved."

You were so overwhelmed by the love you felt for him that sometimes you couldn’t speak without a trembling voice. Arthur had a surprised, confused expression, but not because he thought it was absurd what you were saying, but because even though you were together for a long time by far he was still surprised to see the love you felt for him and how you were able to find new ways to love him and to make him feel loved each day more deeply than the previous one. He would never cease to be overwhelmed by the love you showed him and would never cease to be surprised to be loved by you so much as well, sometimes he was even bewildered that someone could love him with such fervour and strength of soul.

You brought slowly, very slowly, your lips close to him looking into his eyes. The closer you got, the more the desire to feel your lips on his grew within Arthur and reached his gaze turned to yours with anticipation. The expectation of that kiss increased his impatience and was watered when you passionally intertwined his lips with yours in an open-mouth kiss, closing both of your eyes in unison. Shortly after you broke the kiss but you were still so close that your lips still touched one another as you kept speaking, your hands still wrapping his face.

“Let me love you, Arthur. Please?” He smiled softly letting your hands feel his dimples deepen under your touch and you smiled in return, knowing that in his smile he hid a yes not said openly. You took the previous position and with your shaking hands you held his right hand as the open palm facing you.

You traced the lines of the palm with your fingertips as if you were walking the streets created by his skin and traveling them with your every sense. Through your fingertips you felt the grooves and ruts his skin formed, folds of skin in which you wanted to sink and lose yourself inside him.

When you examined with your fingers every line of his palm you slowly brought it to your face and laid a series of kisses along its outline. His skin was soft and smelled of him, your lips were lost between these folds, his cupped hand welcomed your face in a warm wrapper while you kissed his palm with parted lips.

With your lips you followed the sinuous curve at the base of his thumb peppering his skin, gradually reaching the heels of his hand on which you planted slowly small sweet kisses. Shortly after, you laid a kiss right in its center, on the most sensitive part. “You’re tickling me,” he said giggling and you looked up at him worried, noticing he had his eyes still closed and a smile that had highlighted his dimples. “Sorry, love. Should I stop?”

Arthur moved his head from both sides gently. “Oh no, sweetheart. I didn't mean it. I’m actually enjoying it.” You smiled at him knowing relaxing the worried look on your face and continued to pay attention to the palm of his hand making sure that no point of his palm remained unkissed; but this time, between one kiss and another, you were leaving wet trails on his skin, trying to trace the folds his hand created with the tip of your tongue. His hands had a taste similar to the one of his lips but more decided and a bitter aftertaste, but which you loved to death.

Your tongue was drawing a mosaic of humidity and freshness on his skin that sparked a heat to Arthur’s core which with every kiss you laid on his skin expanded more and more while with his eyes still closed and with his short breath he followed the movements of your lips that were loving him.

You felt the same little tremors which coming from his skin shaking his hand through your lips as if they were small lightning bolts running through his veins, while you filled the inner part of his fingers with the same kind of open-mouthed kisses, kissing each phalanx and each hill formed by his fingers, inserting your tongue in the space between his fingers before turning his hand to take care of the back.

The palm of his hand rested on yours and through this contact you felt the wet trails that your tongue had left on his skin. You smiled to yourself at the thought that your wet footprints were leaving a mark on his worn out hands and you hoped that, perhaps, your loving touch might one day replace all the pain those hands had touched and experienced and that they carried on themselves.

You didn’t want to change him or erase his story because every single thing he went through made him the man you loved, and there was nothing about him you didn’t love with all of yourself. What you wanted was to weaken his wounds by sprinkling your love on them, as if it were a cream smeared on an open wound. You wanted to kiss him with such fierce and heavy ardour that you would take away all the suffering that was in his worn hands.

When you lifted up your face to look at him and no longer feeling the touch of your lips he opened his eyes, crossing yours. His gaze carried a fire that lit you from within, his short breath was in full contrast with his relaxed expression and his face muscles were relaxed. You smirked proudly knowing what even the simpler touch of your lips could do to him, before you put your lips back on his skin and began to kiss the back of his hand as you had done just before with the palm, still feeling Arthur’s eyes fixed on your movements.

The skin of his hands looked like a sheet of paper in which his past and his present had been written, everything that was and would be was there, written through the swollen veins that covered the back of his hands as if they were words that on this sheet of paper were writing his story and flowed between his long and bony fingers as if they were rivers running along well defined paths.

You wish you could have flowed into his hands just as his veins did, you wish you were even his veins to flow into him and love him from within. You would have found a new way to love, more all-encompassing and deep than any human being had ever loved another person before.

You read the words in his veins by exploring them with your lips and by tracing a wet trail along their length as if you really wanted to be able to read all the stories his hands carried with them. Through the wet trail and the kisses you were drawing along his back you finally reached his knuckles. You raised your eyes crossing Arthur’s gaze and keeping it locked on his you led your parted lips on the knuckle at the base of his middle finger, kissing it slowly.

You teased him with a starving look before starting to suck his knuckle by moving the tip of your tongue around it to soak it completely while your lips were pushing his skin toward your mouth. You stopped looking at each other’s eyes when Arthur closed his own and opened his mouth to release a sweet moan of pleasure.

"Y/N..." You grinned with his knuckle still between your lips and proudly repeated the same dance of lips and tongue with the others knuckles, kissing and sucking each one of them while the sweet whining coming out of Arthur’s lips alternated with the rhythmic movement of his chest rising and falling quickly to catch the air your caresses were taking away from him.

“Y/N, just kiss me.” It was what went out in a sweet prayer when by now you had begun to kiss also the knuckles of the other hand, repeating the same movements and kissing the back as you had done so far with the other one. You smiled tenderly at the pleading groan he had let slip. You couldn’t have done otherwise than to grant him every touch he needed and removed your lips from his hand, more than happy to satisfy his request.

Before you could make any other move he rushed toward you and surrounded your face with his hands to approach it to his and in a second his hungry lips were on yours. His tongue pressed impatiently on your lips to allow him to enter your mouth and explore it with such lust it expressed the wonderful torment that you made him feel only with just your mouth until then.

Soon this kiss turned by itself into a tangle of bodies, tongues and caresses you both couldn’t resist.

The first time he touched you, you were surprised how such worn hands like his which held so much pain inside could have such a delicate and gentle touch, but after all the time you spent knowing him and loving him every day more than the previous one, by now you knew he had absorbed from this pain the ability to love and the will not to hurt anyone.

Good people manage to absorb from their own pain only what can help them to do good, and Arthur was one of those. This pain had helped Arthur to understand how important it was not to allow anyone to live the same wounds he had; not surprisingly his desire in his life was to make people smile.

When he had met you more than ever this desire had become stronger within him, to the point that he was afraid to spread his pain even through his touch and knowing well how destructive it was in the early months he was even afraid to touch you.

But not anymore. Now he was learning to let himself be loved without feeling indebted and without being afraid that all of that could end if only he had done something wrong.

His touch was still as delicate and gentle as the first time and that would never change. It was the touch he granted the world not to break it and the touch he bestowed on what he loved, and he loved you more than anything else.

part two.

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housingrealtybykaal · 6 months ago

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TVS Emerald Lake Shore Siruseri | Plots In Chennai

TVS Emerald Lake Shore is a plotted development project by TVS Emerald, a reputed builder in Chennai. It's a gated community residence located near Siruseri, off Kelambakkam-Vandalur Road in South Chennai. The project boasts of a clubhouse with amenities like a gym, multipurpose hall, indoor games, co-working spaces, and outdoor dining areas. The project enjoys good connectivity to other parts of the city with easy access to major roads like Kelambakkam-Vandalur Road and Old Mahabalipuram Road (OMR). If you're considering buying a plot for constructing your own house in a scenic location with good connectivity in Chennai, TVS Emerald Lake Shore could be a good option to explore further.

#TVS Emerald Lake Shore #TVS Emerald Lake Shore Chennai #TVS Lake Shore Chennai #TVS Siruseri Chennai #TVS Emerald Lake Shore Siruseri Chennai

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papermoonloveslucy · 4 years ago

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VACATION TIME

April 29, 1949

“Vacation Time” (aka “Trailer Vacation to Goosegrease Lake”) is episode #41 of the radio series MY FAVORITE HUSBAND broadcast on April 29, 1949 on the CBS radio network.

Synopsis ~ It's vacation time, and Liz and George have decidedly different plans. He wants to go camping with a trailer he borrowed from a friend, while she's set on a glamorous vacation at Moosehead Lodge.

This episode later partly inspired the premise of “Liz Learns To Swim” aired on June 11, 1950.

“My Favorite Husband” was based on the novels Mr. and Mrs. Cugat, the Record of a Happy Marriage (1940) and Outside Eden (1945) by Isabel Scott Rorick, which had previously been adapted into the film Are Husbands Necessary? (1942). “My Favorite Husband” was first broadcast as a one-time special on July 5, 1948. Lucille Ball and Lee Bowman played the characters of Liz and George Cugat, and a positive response to this broadcast convinced CBS to launch “My Favorite Husband” as a series. Bowman was not available Richard Denning was cast as George. On January 7, 1949, confusion with bandleader Xavier Cugat prompted a name change to Cooper. On this same episode Jell-O became its sponsor. A total of 124 episodes of the program aired from July 23, 1948 through March 31, 1951. After about ten episodes had been written, writers Fox and Davenport departed and three new writers took over – Bob Carroll, Jr., Madelyn Pugh, and head writer/producer Jess Oppenheimer. In March 1949 Gale Gordon took over the existing role of George’s boss, Rudolph Atterbury, and Bea Benaderet was added as his wife, Iris. CBS brought “My Favorite Husband” to television in 1953, starring Joan Caulfield and Barry Nelson as Liz and George Cooper. The television version ran two-and-a-half seasons, from September 1953 through December 1955, running concurrently with “I Love Lucy.” It was produced live at CBS Television City for most of its run, until switching to film for a truncated third season filmed (ironically) at Desilu and recasting Liz Cooper with Vanessa Brown.

MAIN CAST

Lucille Ball (Liz Cooper) was born on August 6, 1911 in Jamestown, New York. She began her screen career in 1933 and was known in Hollywood as ‘Queen of the B’s’ due to her many appearances in ‘B’ movies. With Richard Denning, she starred in a radio program titled “My Favorite Husband” which eventually led to the creation of “I Love Lucy,” a television situation comedy in which she co-starred with her real-life husband, Latin bandleader Desi Arnaz. The program was phenomenally successful, allowing the couple to purchase what was once RKO Studios, re-naming it Desilu. When the show ended in 1960 (in an hour-long format known as “The Lucy-Desi Comedy Hour”) so did Lucy and Desi’s marriage. In 1962, hoping to keep Desilu financially solvent, Lucy returned to the sitcom format with “The Lucy Show,” which lasted six seasons. She followed that with a similar sitcom “Here’s Lucy” co-starring with her real-life children, Lucie and Desi Jr., as well as Gale Gordon, who had joined the cast of “The Lucy Show” during season two. Before her death in 1989, Lucy made one more attempt at a sitcom with “Life With Lucy,” also with Gordon.

Richard Denning (George Cooper) was born Louis Albert Heindrich Denninger Jr., in Poughkeepsie, New York. When he was 18 months old, his family moved to Los Angeles. Plans called for him to take over his father’s garment manufacturing business, but he developed an interest in acting. Denning enlisted in the US Navy during World War II. He is best known for his roles in various science fiction and horror films of the 1950s. Although he teamed with Lucille Ball on radio in “My Favorite Husband,” the two never acted together on screen. While “I Love Lucy” was on the air, he was seen on another CBS TV series, “Mr. & Mrs. North.” From 1968 to 1980 he played the Governor on “Hawaii 5-0″, his final role. He died in 1998 at age 84.

Bea Benadaret (Iris Atterbury) and Gale Gordon (Rudolph Atterbury) do not appear in this episode.

Ruth Perrott (Katie, the Maid) was also later seen on “I Love Lucy.” She first played Mrs. Pomerantz (above right), a member of the surprise investigating committee for the Society Matrons League in “Pioneer Women” (ILL S1;E25), as one of the member of the Wednesday Afternoon Fine Arts League in “Lucy and Ethel Buy the Same Dress” (ILL S3;E3), and also played a nurse when “Lucy Goes to the Hospital” (ILL S2;E16). She died in 1996 at the age of 96.

Bob LeMond (Announcer) also served as the announcer for the pilot episode of “I Love Lucy”. When the long-lost pilot was finally discovered in 1990, a few moments of the opening narration were damaged and lost, so LeMond – fifty years later – recreated the narration for the CBS special and subsequent DVD release.

GUEST CAST

Frank Nelson (Policeman) was born on May 6, 1911 (three months before Lucille Ball) in Colorado Springs, Colorado. He started working as a radio announcer at the age of 15. He later appeared on such popular radio shows as “The Great Gildersleeve,” “Burns and Allen,” and “Fibber McGee & Molly”. This is one of his 11 performances on “My Favorite Husband.” On “I Love Lucy” he holds the distinction of being the only actor to play two recurring roles: Freddie Fillmore and Ralph Ramsey, as well as six one-off characters, including the frazzled train conductor in “The Great Train Robbery” (ILL S5;E5), a character he repeated on “The Lucy Show.” Aside from Lucille Ball, Nelson is perhaps most associated with Jack Benny and was a fifteen-year regular on his radio and television programs.

Wally Maher (Joe Risley) was born on August 4, 1908 in Cincinnati, Ohio. He was known for Mystery Street (1950), The Reformer and the Redhead (1950) and Hollywood Hotel (1937). He was heard with Lucille Ball in the Lux Radio Theatre version of “The Dark Corner” (1947), taking the role originated on film by William Bendix. He died on December 27, 1951.

Milton Stark (Filling Station Attendant) was a theatre actor and director, who also appeared on radio and television, although usually in supporting roles. He also worked as a dialogue coach and acting teacher. At UCLA a scholarship was established in his name. He lived to the age of 103.

EPISODE

ANNOUNCER: “As we look in on the Coopers, it is a cold rainy afternoon, but Liz is in her bedroom standing in front of the mirror wearing a back-less, strapless sun dress.”

Liz calls Katie in to show off her sun dress, but Katie is disapproving that is so revealing. Liz has shopped for summer vacation clothes. Liz’s bathing suit cost’s forty dollars.

KATIE: “That’s a lot of money for two doilies and a diaper.”

Liz says that husbands only approve of scanty swimsuits when they are on any woman but their wives.

LIZ: “I want to look good for George. He’s going to see a lot of me this summer.” KATIE: “He’s not the only one!”

The topic of revealing bathing suits was later also mined for comedy on “I Love Lucy.” In “Off To Florida” (ILL S6;E6) Ricky thinks Lucy’s new skimpy new swimsuit is for Little Ricky! Lucy also buys a swimsuit that Ricky feels is too skimpy when shopping for their California trip in “Getting Ready” (ILL S4;E11)

Liz says they are going to Moosehead Lodge on Lake Okeechobee. Liz calls it a real swanky place. Katie reminds Liz that George prefers more rugged vacations. Liz says she will suggest it to George at dinner.

Lake Okeechobee is a real place, located in central Florida, although it is far more conducive to George’s type of vacation than Liz’s, highlighting nature through fishing and nature.

Although there are places called Moosehead Lodge in America, it unlikely that a moose would be associated with central Florida and that it would be an upscale resort of the type Liz is describing.

At the bank, George talks to his co-worker Joe about scheduling vacations. Joe says that his ideal vacation is in a trailer. If George likes the idea, he will lend the Coopers his trailer. George will suggest it to Liz at dinner.

After dinner, both Liz and George get cozy with the idea of easing the other into going on their dream destination. Liz ‘just happened’ to hear about a place that she vaguely remembers.

LIZ: “I did hear of some place called Moosehead Lodge. It’s probably situated in groves of stately pines, on the shores of an emerald green lake, its rustic beauty enhanced by lawns and flower beds. Each luxurious room is furnished with clean, comfortable box spring beds, modern bathroom and shower. Ten dollars a day, American plan. Oh, George, let’s go there. We can relax and enjoy a continual round of glorious entertainment, sports, good food, and true fellowship, see your travel agent for details.”

George realizes that Liz has been plotting a vacation. George says he has a better idea - two weeks in a trailer. Liz is less than keen. George says that they can borrow Joe Risley’s trailer!

LIZ: “Keen with mud on it.”

Liz is worried that nobody will see her new vacation wardrobe if they are cooped up in a trailer. They are at an impasse. Liz suggests they go on separate vacations. When George reluctantly agrees, she breaks down in tears.

Liz moans to Katie that she already misses George, and the vacation doesn’t begin for two months. George phones from work to talk to Liz. George offers a compromise. They will take a trial weekend trip in the trailer, and if she doesn’t like it, he will go to Moosehead Lodge!

Vacationing in a trailer was explored by Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz in their 1953 comedy MGM’s The Long Long Trailer. The film mines a lot of physical comedy from the trailer’s unwieldy movement and how Lucy’s character Tacy Bolton copes with it.

ANNOUNCER: “George is just driving up with the trailer hooked up to the back of the car.”

Liz remarks how small the trailer is.

GEORGE: “Keep an open mind.” LIZ: “I’ll have to close it or it won’t fit in that trailer.”

They tour the inside, which is smaller than Liz thought. Just then, a knock at the trailer door and there’s a policeman (Frank Nelson) issuing them a parking ticket! Forty bucks for parking illegally!

The next morning George and Liz get an early start on their trial trailer trip. Liz has brought along a little light reading for the trip: “Inside Moosehead Lodge” by Liz Gunther.

Motoring along the highway, George is enjoying the drive.

LIZ: “Travel is great. I wouldn’t go anywhere without it.”

George says it is so smooth, you wouldn’t even know the trailer is back there. Liz notices that it isn’t! George forgot to hook it on! Finally, they are off (again) to Goosegrease Lake. Liz reads one of those sequential signs along the roadside: “If Your Whiskers... Won’t Behave... Take a Tip Use....” Liz goes silent.

GEORGE: “Use what?” LIZ: “The last sign’s torn down. Now we’ll never know.”

Almost everyone in the audience knew it was Burma-Shave. From 1926 until 1963 the ‘brushless’ shaving cream company dotted the American highways with small red signs, each containing a line of a short rhyme that the driver could read without slowing down as they drove by. At one time, there were over 600 different rhymes on signs!

The idea was given a nod on a 1955 “I Love Lucy” episode “First Stop” (ILL S4;E14) with the roadside signs for Aunt Polly’s Pecan Pralines.

LUCY: Fifty miles to Aunt Sally’s Pecan Pralines. later... LUCY: 300 yards to Aunt Sally’s! ETHEL: 200 yards! FRED: 100 yards! RICKY: Just around the bend! LUCY: You have just passed Aunt Sally’s.

Liz is quite sure that George’s shortcut has gotten them lost. They stop to ask directions from a laid back filling station attendant (Milton Stark) who tells them they don’t want to go to Goosegrease Lake. He suggests they go to the hot springs, instead.

Oops! Milton Stark has trouble pronouncing ‘Goosegrease’ and the audience is aware of his flub. When he asks Lucille Ball “What ya gonna do there?” She deliberately says “We’re gonna goose a grease”, instead of “grease a goose”, which causes more giggles from the cast and gales of laughter from the audience.

FILLING STATION ATTENDANT: “You can’t get there from here!”

Next morning Liz wakes up and looks around. She sees beautiful green grass and a little flag with the number 18 on it! A golf ball comes crashing through the window. The policeman from who ticketed them earlier knocks on the trailer door. They have illegally camped out on the 18th green of the municipal golf course - only two miles from home! Liz said they didn’t know where they were going.

POLICEMAN: “Do you know where you’re going now?” LIZ: “Yes! To Moosehead Lodge!” POLICEMAN: “No, to the city jail! Come on!”

End of Episode

#My Favorite Husband #Lucille Ball #Richard Denning #Ruth Perrott #Bob LeMond #Frank Nelson #Wally Maher #Milton Stark #Lake Okeechobee #The Long Long Trailer #I love Lucy #Burma-Shave #1949 #CBS Radio

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green-co · 4 years ago

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Comment voir les plus belles destinations du monde depuis votre canapé

While we're all staying home to prevent the spread of COVID-19, arm-chair travel has never been more appealing or important. Sure, Netflix watch parties and Zoom happy hours can take your mind off of things for a few hours, but at some point in your self-quarantine adventure, you've likely encountered boredom and—if you're anything like us—travel-related despair. So, if you're mourning a canceled vacation or just trying to get yourself pumped for a future trip, check out the live streams and 360-degree virtual tours that will transport you around the world. From Rio de Janeiro's iconic Copacabana Beach to Manitoba's dancing Northern Lights, these feeds offer a glimpse of the far-flung locales we're missing the most. And to spark more wanderlust, browse through these 27 Totally Insane Travel Photos You Won't Believe Are Real.

1 Machu Picchu, Peru

Dramatic peak views, lush emerald terraces, and fuzzy, slope-grazing alpacas: You Visit's virtual Machu Picchu experience has everything but the altitude. Follow along on the 360-degree tour, and you'll encounter residential ruins and burial grounds, Temple of the Moon, Huayna Picchu (the summit), and the Urubamba River. Make sure you have your audio turned on too, as the tour's narration will teach you a thing or two about the ancient citadel.

2 Tokyo, Japan

Tokyo Tower is already Japan's second-tallest structure, so you can only imagine the view afforded by a camera mounted 656 feet above the needle, right? Well, with this live stream, you don't have to imagine it—you can see it. The 24/7 feed pans from Mount Fuji to Roppongi to Ginza and then Shiodome every day, so you'll catch an all-encompassing picture of the city. Want to teleport back in time? Dive into these 50 Vintage Photos That Show What Traveling Used to Look Like.

3 Trevi Fountain, Rome

The Trevi Fountain is used to seeing 1,200 visitors per hour, but with all of Italy on lockdown, it's sat solitary for nearly a month. Show the world's most famous fountain some virtual love by tuning into Skyline's webcam, and you'll get a crystal-clear view of its Baroque design and soothing waters.

4 Maldives

Scuba diving may be out of the question but you can still observe all the colorful fish and turtles in the Maldives' enviable waters with Skyline's underwater camera. More of a dry land person? Throw together your tropical drink of choice and queue up the site's Meeru Island live stream, which is trained on sugar-white sands, turquoise waters, and swaying palms.

The Maldives may be far, but there are some hidden atolls in your own backyard. See them all here with these 13 Secret Islands in the U.S. You Never Knew Existed.

5 Times Square, New York City

New York isn't quite New York without its throngs of visitors and steady stream of yellow cabs, but not even a global pandemic can grind Times Square to a halt. While EarthCam's live stream reveals that pedestrians are few and far between, you'll see that the big screens play on with blinking Broadway advertisements and daily headlines from the Good Morning America studio.

6 Santorini, Greece

If you're stuck in cramped quarters or holed up in your childhood home with siblings you haven't had to live with for years, this Santorini live stream is a sight for sore eyes. The camera captures a panoramic scene from the village of Firostefani, panning the island's iconic whitewashed homes and glittering Aegean Sea. And for more eye candy, check out these 23 Stunning Photos of the Most Colorful Towns in the World.

7 London, England

Though no live stream can compete with the views from the London Eye or Parliament Hill, this is the best quarantine-approved option out there. The 360-degree experience from Visit London offers an on-the-ground glimpse of the city from more than 25 vantage points like Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, and Tower Bridge.

8 Victoria, Australia

Virtual Victoria—created by Localing, a private tour operator—brings some of Australia's most enthralling sights to arm-chair travelers around the world. A smartphone, tablet, or laptop is all you need to tour Melbourne's vibrant street art and Phillip Island Nature Parks' penguin burrows. Some videos include narration from local experts, historians, curators, and creators, too.

9 Jerusalem, Israel

Put on a pair of noise-canceling headphones and pretend you're floating in the Dead Sea or making a pilgrimage to the Western Wall with Virtually Israel's tour of Jerusalem. The YouTube channel has dozens of tours—outside of Jerusalem, too— from balloon rides over Tel Aviv to panoramic views of the Tower of David. Once you've exhausted those videos, you can also check out Sygic Travel VR's 360-degree tours, which include narration for all you history buffs.

10 Great Wall of China

Right now, exercise consists of 10-minute YouTube workouts and short walks to the grocery store. But we still dream of the day we'll be able to lace up our sneakers and hike even a few miles of the vast Great Wall of China. Get as close as you can to the ancient fortification with The China Guide's 360-degree virtual tour which takes you from Jinshanling to Simatai and includes various bridges, passes, and beacon towers.

11 Rio de Janeiro, Brazil

If irresistible online sales have you stocking up on post-quarantine swimwear, why not take a virtual break on Rio de Janeiro's iconic Copacabana Beach? This live stream captures an enviable slice of the two-mile shore, and while there's no people-watching to be had, you'll still catch calm waves and a few bikers who glide down the beach's geometric promenade.

12 Hong Kong

Soak in Hong Kong's stunning cityscape with this live feed from Skyline. The camera—which is perched atop the Harbour Grand Hong Kong—pans over Victoria Harbor, capturing the city's soaring penthouses and sleek skyscrapers, which are set against Victoria Peak to the west and Mount Parker to the east.

13 Eiffel Tower, Paris

Setting up a romantic date at home? Dig your HDMI cord out of storage and hook your laptop up to your TV so you can enjoy this live view of Paris' most iconic monument—the Eiffel Tower. Skyline also has the option to play a time-lapse of the previous day in which you can catch the sunrise, sunset, and nightly light show.

14 Yosemite National Park, California

Yosemite Conservancy's live cam captures the top section of Upper Yosemite Falls—one of the world's tallest cascades. The 2,425-foot drop experiences peak flow come summer, but it's still a pretty sight to be seen now. If the feed had you jonesing for more national park vistas, check out Virtual Yosemite, too. The interactive VR tour offers 360-degree vistas (and environmental audio tracks) of more than 100 park locations including El Capitan, Mirror Lake, and Glacier Point.

15 Washington, D.C.

For a true bird's-eye view of the nation's capital, give EarthCam's 24/7 live stream a go. The company partnered with the National Parks Service to embed a camera in Washington Monument's pyramidion—AKA the tippity top of the obelisk's capstone. The million-dollar vantage point overlooks the World War II Memorial, Martin Luther King, Jr. Memorial, and Lincoln Memorial (reflecting pool and all).

16 Manitoba, Canada

Enjoy the magic of the aurora borealis without journeying above the Arctic Circle via Explore's Northern Lights live cam. The camera is positioned just below the aurora oval—a circular ring around the Arctic and Antarctic—in Churchill, Manitoba. Though the light show can be observed year-round, it's most pronounced in colder months, so catch it while you still can.

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ormendona1979 · 4 years ago

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tnp4tbowm · 7 years ago

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THOTS & PRAYERS FOR THE BROTHERHOOD OF WHITE MEN

is what I’m gonna call this mess

since we’re the demo that does them best

if thots and prayers mean acting less

or voting against marginalized groups with minority stress… as if women at conference tables… and brown folks in dorms… need white guys subtracting more… and I know we use categories for making sense… and giving names to groups we haven’t met

but no

WHY DO YOU HATE WHITE MEN THAT’S LIKE ME SAYING I HATE FAGGOTS AND LATINAS

my brother

on the phone while I’m at an intersection

but what about flesh in the grass and women in ironworking and los trumpistas in southern california and pixie boys in kootenai county and ill-eagles fireworks on the skokomish reservation and mothers nursing children in rocking chairs at spokane international airport… and steer ropers staring in horses’ eyes… and words so strong they become actions like “guilty” and “I hereby pronounce you”

I want to say

it comes down to

while animals aim for physical victory bc they’re rewarded by evolutionary gain… my brother aims for high-volume sucker-punching bc… well same

no no no I reassure myself… I’ve prepared for this moment… covering my bedroom walls with butcher paper and definitions for agápē and wisdom and grace

the light turns green

in seattle where my boyfriend and I saw a band named “boyfriends”… consisting of three guys some with girlfriends maybe play-acting “gay”

not the faggot town I grew up in

did I say faggot town

flipped my thoughts

I live with faggots now

bc of course I moved away

from where I was raised… where ladies in subdivisions filled rusted bathtubs with dahlias… and re-arranged living room sectionals and side tables… and guys in trailer parks worked on TVs in their yards

I never smeared deer blood on my face after a kill… and neither did my brother

we never paintballed stop signs… or climbed trees to catch squirrels (the unofficial after-school workout of the wrestling team)… or nailed the bloody skins to the weight room wall… or chilled in the parking lot with the tenth-grade science teacher slash security guard

where I grew up

white trash was designated white as opposed to other dodgy colors

wonder if the cafeteria table at school still says derek smith is a fag… I see blocky letters behind my eyes… nirvana on the lawn… holding a stick next to a praying mantis… hoping she’ll crawl on

live in the same place long enough and the frogs will be gone

each year I bike a block further

find certainty in school

lay around and think about what's true

leave cleats books water bottles in the living room

train for x-country in july and august… dream of anthropology and art history in college… parents fill out FAFSA forms

unconscious

at the intersection of my privs

square jaw wide grip

I give in

I say to my brother

driving by the gaybucks

are you serious? I ask... you want to do this rn? you think I hate white men? you didn’t show much interest in my self-hatred when we were teens

we were raised to read widely on top of doing our homework for English class… stories about white men unable to find work or shelter… I stayed awake by reading one chapter in the basement of our three-story home and another chapter in the bath… and another chapter in the basement… and another in the bath

it was 1997 and everyone was wearing ck jeans and eternity cologne and disappearing into the wood paneling of their basements

not everyone wrote a 5-paragraph paper on why abortion was wrong

but I did

most people ate the pro-life sundaes at youth group

as the tin man in our high school production of “The Wizard of Oz”… I dreamed of a fabulous life in the emerald city… while listening to conservatives in the community complain about the presence of witches and pagan values in the play… a few token liberals described how the Wicked Witch’s green skin and Glinda’s button nose… equated virtue with appearance

I worked on a farm for $

hi-ho the derrrrrrrrry-o

faggot on the farm

flesh in the grass

telling stories and pulling weeds as I acknowledged “weed” was a human category… for life distinct from other forms of life… standing out in color and shape… budding out of place

when I got home I studied Zanie’s backwoods dialect in Zora Neale Hurston’s “Their Eyes Were Watching God”

four years later

ash-covered New Yorkers crossed the Brooklyn Bridge with their hands on their faces

I picked blueberries on Mount Rainier… asked if subalpine flowers should smell like dryer sheets… if lakes should be toilet tab blue

¾” threaded galvanized pipe two chain links eye bolts flag

supplies list from the guy at the rest-stop on the way home… old glory should stand up to a 96 mile trip up to 70 mph

I went to work folding taco wrappers into triangles like nothing had happened… and made food with beef that showed up in boxes marked “fit for human consumption”… staging mexi-fries under heat lamps in groups of two or three

while boy george (w.) signed the Providing Appropriate Tools Required to Intercept and Obstruct Terrorism act

after work I slept in self-inflicted poverty in a house full of guys who did backyard enemas and drank jars of pee and kept mushroom journals… and changed my opinion about property ownership… bc why bother storing up treasure when human possession is an illusion… and condoleeza rice has a chevron tanker named after her

we argued about earth history and theological precepts like pre-destination

but agreed

god’s complacent

should be more like the hippie guy in the volkswagen van… with Eden Before The Fall painted one side… and Eden After The Fall on the other… and a nice patch of grass growing on top

textbooks copied screens

fireplaces provided intimacy w/o heat

virtual experiences dominated references in speech

green-tongued goats on forest service roads licked antifreeze

we asked if the phone was real or surround sound prestige... did the spin instructor in the windowless gym want sixty percent on hills or ninety percent on streets… is the norway maple transplanted to the front lawn of the new house conveying a line of aristocratic family wealth

an old-growth tree

the entrepreneur in an education workshop talked about “products” metaphorically

a patriot/explorer on a mustang/bronco went on an expedition/excursion to the frontier/tundra… passing through the winnebago tribe saying

srry bout it

the kids on the makah reservation don’t want whale sandwiches

wal-mart got blue and target red

white wonder bread

happy meals

j. christ

c.e.o.

5 lb cereal

4 brown ghosts

the speaker at the commencement ceremony joked, “what’s the difference between Pullman and a cup of yogurt?”

the cup of yogurt has more culture

zuckerberg’s hoodie went from “disregard for convention” to “purity of intention”… for someone too focused to worry about clothes… monastic gray was helping folks

now we’re here

we’re here

at the mindfulness weight loss retreat… three raisins… six almonds… the right herbal tincture… twenty minutes in the redwoods

dragging

the past in front of us bc it happened

we’re at home eating pancakes with butter and syrup and powdered sugar… but the sugar is crushed-up hydroxycut

city buildings capture sun for the 20%

hey shadows

and data-mining companies have been adding my places of employment and the mesh shorts I almost bought… and the dreams I deferred and the shows I watch… to their digital dossier of me… and I guess the gazing goes one way but not the other… like church… where predictive analytics play upon thirsts… and hunt me down like unicorn shirts

what’s next

trees drop plastic fruits

domesticated deer eat out of troughs

stunt-double bears rent suits in parking lots

forest rangers lasso the last of the orioles and roll up the sky

we learn

the last time I had a long island iced was... the last time I had a long island iced tea

seeeeeeeeeeeeeee

bro

I’m doing better

you’re like me

except I’m a busybody

with no kids

wish: “pc lecture with moral authoritarian tone by urban elite who reflexively rejects critiques of globalization”… reads “fearless inventory in a world where ‘quinoa empanadas’ are a thing… and platters of deviled eggs watch the horizon”

so even as I call your baby’s bedroom view of the skyline from your island home

privilege bestowed

I call out myself

for lavender cookies and oatmeal soap

never noticing appropriation in cartoon indian smokes

white peace pipe under a red sun on a yellow box

database of ruin snapshots

you know how I spent those years teaching high school in gig harbor… what you don’t know is I had two Hispanic sisters… Maria and Paula… spend a quarter translating children’s books on sticky notes

they

smiled

yawned

bored

I was their teacher and offered “support”

(but if you need more… in 2009 I was plucking spraying spiking shaving shoving… like the guys on jersey shore… watched every episode and called it my reward… for getting through two president bushes)

the founding fathers designed our branches of government to withstand the likes of King George

(also: granted love to gather more of it, shirked a wrong but lorded over it)

psychologically spiraling… debating if I should share the video of the first lady in the blue dress staring at her feet during inaugural prayer… wondering if I’m feeling personal irritability or existential despair… if I have “compassion fatigue” from doing “emotional labor” in my newsfeed

why someone hasn’t invented a female-friendly pee trough between the knees… why menopausal sensuality gets teased… why testosterone means feeling confident about incorrect answers

have the decency to feel guilty

living off the massive retail workforce stocking big-box brick-and-mortar stores and online fulfillment centers

what did we expect

detaching personal accountability from global effects

what did you think

watching nature documentaries frame lions as villains… positing giraffes as victims… when we know aggression isn’t something “we get out of our systems”

but confessing rings wrong

I say to my brother

pulling up to my apartment home

ear hot from the phone

how’s the kid

peeing blood

good… he’s got a kitchen set with a stove and dishwasher… he cooks plastic things while he toot-toots… farts on command... he says

I hope he’s reading “Radical American Women A-Z” and “The Adventures of Toni the Tampon”… I say… and playing with the nine new ken dolls with ethnically ambiguous face-sculpts… developing new play patterns… bc brown kids asked to play with “the good doll” choose the white doll… and still grow up overly disciplined at school… by administrators analyzing “racial predictability and dis-proportionality in achievement categories”… without saying the word “racist”

I like body positive post-holiday ken his paunch

also our white immigrant ancestors got rich enslaving Blacks

(the rest of the starter kit for understanding institutional injustice can be found online @ www.google.com)

(intermediate: people of color fight against constructed realities… internally and externally… and the racial imaginary overlaps with the gay imaginary bc invisible people need some space to practice their fkn moves… but what about time and place… whose ear does the hearing… which mouth translates)

o say can I… being me… understand how corporate restructuring shows one face and sublimates others… contributes to oppression where double consciousness affects women and people of color

o say can I hear the oppressors’ voices renegotiate my thoughts decolonize space

where do I fit in? will there be room for me? how do I make room for others?

my brother suddenly has to go asks if you’ll be him on the phone

yes

it's complicated

but yes

(if you're not my brother and the request is nbd bc you've always heard the voices of white men… I invite you to continue… if you’d rather not… peace be with you… let’s hang soon… I love you)

and right there did you feel that [ [ [ [

in actual life we aren’t there yet… I hung up the phone after “faggots and Latinas”... bc my hands were shaking so hard I could barely steer

typical of you to back out of conversation before we say the hurtful things you say

before we say the hurtful things? before? I ask

1) well at least I finally have the upper hand with you thinking you can threaten broken bonds 2) I’ve never seen two belief systems more perfectly in line 3) I guess you stand for democratic values most of the time

we’ll never know what’s depraved and what's divine… I can’t read hearts and I can’t read minds

already I had escaped into the televised self-help seminar in my head… where I am the host rolling up my sleeves… ready to hear from household cleaner huffing sisters… and visualize problems worse than mine

after the commercial break I engage the girls in patient-therapist interactions... mixing hard-hitting realism and hypersensitive dialogue… as intolerable and inauthentic as my wife’s bouffant

basically I’m dr. phil… but also… if it’s okay with you… I’d love to try being the girls… who haven’t seen their father since they were two

and later during the re-tape… the visiting expert with a new self-help book… explains the “colorization of the soul”… saying “I think it makes sense to nurture the ‘daily me’ before skimming the news… look here… on the color rubric… reds before blues”

red apples picked by farm workers with multiple SSNs

blue mechanics in overalls twirling ballpoint pens

white eggshell enamel over pink or saccharine

symbols up for grabs… by anyone… bc that’s what I was told growing up and believed… I can be anyone I wanna be

hope the same for Muslim girls wearing spandex hijabs in P.E.

our country is not exempt… when campaign rallies look like nests… but I know I’m like… eighty-two percent spoon-fed/tone-deaf

tomorrow

is a child’s flying drone-wish… where native plants have extraordinary ability visas like the biebs… germinate round-up ready soft white wheat… and facial recognition software on my self-driving truck beeps… bc I’m not wearing guyliner… and lack ethereum cryptocurrency

so I walk into a bar and borrow liquid pencil

apply it in the mirror by the urinal

remembrance of things pabst

love comes in spurts

the worst

hasn’t

hap-

pened

be around

thanks

I’ll be a morel mushroom full of vitamin d in the dark

an emerald city queer in the shadow of Rainier where bark is bark

mist from the Nisqually River rolls above the fast part

torrent > P2P file sharing

a robot hands me a warm towel after yoga… scans my sweat for communicable diseases

construction workers buy baguettes out of a wheelbarrow… from my kids

paid in no-nuance knockoff dramatized black lady gifs

blood on their faces hunting feral pigs

allahu akbar… on the fortieth click… means more than the first search results about jihadist battle cries… jihad… means more than the first search results about holy wars

as-salaam aleikum… peace be unto you

saw-lahm

all-lay-koooooooom

while keeping an eye on the horizon

for crowd estimation software in weather balloons

across the un-crossable Puget Sound

not really

we live in western wash.

what I’m saying is… I’m not traveling down Tolkien’s path… climbing Silverstein’s precipice… crossing a toothpick pier… or boarding a balsa wood boat… for a “dialogue event”… when I see you across this metaphorical inlet

not everything overlaps… smoke + fog = smog… marionette + puppet = muppet… enchilada + burrito = enchurrito… intermingling > provinciality…but apple slices on guacamole is white people saying to Mexicans we want your food and want to “touch” it too

eww

I want the queer bar full of queers… and that’s true of any gathering place… the identity shifts with who’s there and who stays… for physical touch and feeling safe... and cultural intensification... we congregate

I could never hate feminist separatists reading sappho by lyre

agrarian nationalists and queer energy collectives disappear

cross the cascades… to north idaho… passport in hand to show agents at the skin of the bubble… preparing for my cousin the welder… who can’t get out of his trailer… and my dad who says seat belts and metric measurements are communist and has a legal pad with instructions for working the computer

the girl on the greyhound says she didn’t go to college for four years to sit on her ass and bake cookies

been awhile

a few days later I ride in the back of our uncle’s truck to the parade… where grandma reminds me to keep my beer tabs so kristy will get a party for her class… as we set up folding chairs on the sidewalk… to watch shriners on little cars… and wave at hooters girls on the make-a-wish float… the mayor… always pooping in other people’s pants… grandma says… as we find ourselves standing and clapping for the coeur d’alene tribe

after mayor and police go by

later help grandma make tater tot hot dish... wrap the pan in a bath towel she pulls from a cabinet full of towels stacked vertically like pizza boxes

small talk

fawn over the s’mores pie with graham cracker crumbs on bottom and top… especially the marshmallowy middle

oh oops

did I go there

pre-prayer

here’s the thing… the alliances we need to overcome the monster are never what we think they are… and seeing anti-american sentiment in the firmament… and indicator species’ temperaments… reminds us the world collects… and/or usurps the throne… the debt is more than we think we owe… there won’t be polite knocking or ceremonial drumming… by so-called “others” we didn’t see coming

solution… testing limits… and I don’t mean excusing myself to get the wings by the jumper cables in the trunk… walking back in and telling everyone angel gabriel is here… saying… oh I guess this isn’t… is this not the sexy jesus party with a crucifix selfie station?

omg that hoe over there

our arguments are basically light divisions�� internal-only obstacles where I go back and forth debating

I know

this makes you wanna scream into the phone

well

here’s a semi-autobiographical lyric novella in the form of an epic poem

typical passive progressiveness… I can’t even talk to you face-to-face… when you wanna chill by the water tank… I communicate via popsicle stick messages in the gutter / everyone on tumblr

one thing’s for sure… we’re giving up some things... s’mores pie is on the table… but it’s not on the table… of sacrifices I’ll be making… bc I love s’mores pie

we don’t wanna give up anything but we have to try

our lives are characterized by conveniences with steep costs

like celery and bell peppers and onions already chopped

people with invisibility powers can’t be stopped

rowing outside San Diego and the Gulf

above cracked pipes and pvc

clouds of oil

grass and reeds

dragonflies and damselflies with heavy wings

on multi-generational round-trips without breaks to breathe in juniper trees

addition: we had a seed vault… a plan b food bank… to take care of us... in case a plague trapped in siberian ice destroyed our crops… but ten years went by without permafrost… and car-less urbanites with mileage plans... shrugged and said there was nothing they could do

a collapsed ice shelf is another place for cargo ships to pass through

our ecosystems depend on conversations among interlocking interdependent parts… more than mermaid toast or zombie shows… or mother nature wish-fulfillment fantasies… where we ask quail and cranes in the forest… to come out of the trees and lift us away by our shoulder pads

our second eye watches the ground… as we pace sidewalks disrupted by roots… thank inchworms for decompositions…. trace the paths of ants on the side… turn our ears like ferris wheels on the sly

inner vision attuned

wilderness survival guide

I do not have superior autobiographical memory like my faggot boyfriend does… brother… but if I remember right you beat up the guy who peed on my backpack in ninth grade… bc the next passing period… he apologized

I’m in bed rn… thinking about how I hate your muscular public practice… but needed it… srry for being confused

the word is not the thing

the menu is not the food

the plan

after I’ve figured out what I can give up

is to invite people to a park

grand theft auto fans

promote

slacktivist slash accent coach

mom in dallas… cashier cleric caregiver… competing for section 8 vouchers

developer counting kickbacks and calories... at a housing tax credit industry gathering

middle-aged man afraid to lose… leaving Buenavista for Baton Rouge… parents of dead black kids don’t know what to do… Saudi women barred from carpools… El Salvadoran sugarcane harvesters… closeted Egyptian police officers… Filipino nannies tinikling to Lil’ Wayne… trans women fighting the state… Miss Texas 1988… Harlotte O’Scara Hellen Tragedy… snake handler crab trapper… adjunct professor qualitative researcher… world’s most prolific fortune cookie writer… Bible Jim… shirtless guy next to him in briefs and “This man gave me a blowjob” sharpied on his chest

salmon in gasoline

up the bank across the street

pipeline burst on whatcom creek

hyper-empathic hatchimal colleggtor

trained to serve but not hit back

except in tennis lessons

the male coach

flips that

srry

gay hater cake maker cradle labeler

homo-plausible bi-logical

floral arranger

retain it or give it away

intellectual property is three chords

and the person with less power says you're not allowed

your brother

it’ll be the opposite of when I showed up at your house after my wife left me… and you opened the door… and I collapsed in your arms in the hallway… and bc you’re a few inches taller than me… and my knees wouldn’t work… you saw the nail marks on the walls of my subconscious

we’ll play a game… where we introduce ourselves

recall times in our lives with less repetition more repair

describing versions of ourselves adding post-scripts unaware

listing words we never use: farce, fatuous, machination, myopic, subterfuge

sorting beliefs by size date modified proof

discuss satire-less south park

duraflame start

galvanize flake n rust

behave spontaneously n not combust

help hippielandia hostel in flames

learn ancient proto-langs

repeat shit we wanna forget

like, has anyone checked on the family in the nuclear train car yet

we’ll discuss what should change… what should stay the same… believe ourselves capable of restraint… revive the practice of communal processing… where townspeople gather side by side… to watch events from the day reenacted in light

practice… on a page

like in a play

oceans and lands… dna strands… airspace… electromagnetic spectrums… gridded and privatized… but the public square

ACT I

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE GATHER IN HALF-CIRCLE. MISSILE, WEATHER BALLOON, AND RED SUN HANG OVERHEAD

NICO: “I’ve been thinking about how I might convey my progressive morals in a way that sounds wholesome to my family.”

ISSA: “I’m done with that. I spend ten dollars on tampons at the store and my husband gets a bowlful of condoms every time he orders a jaeger shot. Then if I mention the disparity he blames ‘red tide.’ When I needed postnatal care to stop my fourth trimester pants-pissing, my doctor’s visit wasn’t covered. Society isn’t family friendly. I spend forty-minutes on the couch organizing housework and childcare each week, and regardless of what society says, that’s project management.”

JASLENE: “Last year my teacher gave everyone two bathroom passes and if you didn’t use them they were worth extra credit, so I left bloody circles on the chair para mostrarle que esto es lo que sucedería.”

CROWD SILENCES. BOY IN “WANNA LIFT?” SHIRT LEAVES. DARLENE STEPS TO THE MIDDLE.

DARLENE (to vacated space, then to group): “We’ll miss you… Every manifestation of good and evil has part of the answer, but also, immovable people will not be moved. We will show civil inattention by giving him the space he needs.”

MARK: “I’ll never represent my beliefs adequately since I have trouble telling the barber how I want my hair without the assistance of visual aids, but I’m here to talk anyway.”

JAMES: “We're standing on varying levels of culturally constructed oppressive frames and the only way to deconstruct the artifice as it exists is to stand on the ones that are more entrenched and take apart the ones that are less entrenched.”

SOFÍA: “I’m so confused by the fact that I’m not supposed to feel shame, except for all the things I’m supposed to feel shameful about, which aren’t the things I thought were shameful. Am I supposed to know what a ‘gender illusionist’ is? I thought liking men made my nephew gay.”

CURTAINS CLOSE

overheard in audience:

they’re not connecting… just waiting turns and expressing

let’s not underestimate the hard work of avoiding moral outrage

dismayed at the repetition of “but” while conversation disintegrates

hang on

looking up cognac insta chef’s recipe for caramel-drizzled hennessy cupcakes

unwilling to listen generously… while aiming for an ending other than intensifying favoritism is like nailing jelly to a tree

using a chainsaw to cut butter

jumping from flower to flower in a fern gulley type situation

pragmatism is a dangerous alternative to conviction

ACT II

CURTAINS OPEN. CHARACTER ‘YOU’ GAZES OUT OF HOUSE WINDOW ON AN ISLAND, STAGE LEFT. CHARACTER ‘ME’ LOOKS OUT APARTMENT WINDOW IN A CITY, STAGE RIGHT

In unison: I promise me: to fight for-profit prisons, schools, and kidney-dialysis centers. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I think I can give up me: the scholarship I got in college and give it to someone who needs it. But don’t touch the s’mores pie. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I’ve been thinking about me: what you shared with me about China building artificial land around the Spratly Islands. And how prison construction companies look at standardized test data from second grade children of color. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I believe I am owed me: a reply. Not long, but something. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I care about me: how Ryan and Jesse’s mom used to put Carl Budding lunchmeat with mayonnaise and mustard in a blender… set it on ‘mash’ for a game of Duck Hunt… scoop it into Tupperware… and smear it on white bread throughout the week. I would eat that over apples on guacamole. The real globaloney. you: [ [ [ [

In unison: I hope me: we find space to show real love to kenyan baboons in garbage dumps and dioxin babies walking like spiders with red septic skin and people in apartments named after species they’ve displaced and women planning the clean-up of their suicides. you: [ [ [ [

CURTAINS CLOSE: INTERMISSION

overheard in lobby:

coming up with a formula for interacting in common space

himalayan crystals from the mystic utilikit dude

maybe we’ll see them agree… or calm down… or point towards partial truth… or connect idealism to privilege

not youth

we know old folks are idealistic

planting seeds without expecting fruits

going to target and payless shoes

ACTS III+

CURTAINS OPEN ON PARK/SQUARE. TOWNSPEOPLE HUDDLE AROUND A RADIO, AS IF IN A SNOWSTORM.

RADIO: ... let it be that great strong land of love… where never kings connive nor tyrants scheme… that any man be crushed by one above…

DARLENE: “Starting sentences with ‘I’ is a good place to begin, but feelings of belonging go deeper. Shift responses bring the attention to ourselves. Support responses ask for more. Let’s be more than cannibals with knives and forks.”

MARK: “Food metaphors. We want to think about asking better questions. ‘What place most inspires you?’ instead of ‘Where have you traveled?’ ‘What work are you passionate about?’ instead of ‘What do you do?’”

JASLENE: “What's your weightiest belief? What's your most potent fear?”

RADIO: … clutching the hope I seek… and finding only the same old stupid plan… of dog eat dog, of mighty crush the weak… it never was America to me…

ISSA: “The desperate search for an ethic, a specter.”

JASON: “I am willing to give up my authority but don't touch my autonomy.”

RADIO: ... say, who are you that mumbles in the dark? and who are you that draws your veil across the stars?

YOU: [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [ [

EPILOGUE

Before sharing my brother’s response, I want to say I wrote “Thots & Prayers” because women get fewer obituaries than men in newspapers. Because the Baltimore Orioles lost way back when they had no tree canopy in which to land. Because trauma squats in the valley and anxiety raps her knuckles on the hill. Because Taco Bell spent 10 years and $15 mill developing stretchy cheese. Because men look at other men working in daycare centers and think they’re dumb for frittering away perks that should have been theirs from birth. Because my older brother yelled about faggots and Latinas after visiting the site of the Orlando Pulse shooting.

I am not looking to be comforted or assuaged.

White men need to educate each other. It’s not anyone else's job. We need to listen to the cultural conversation, see connections, and act on behalf of people who aren't seen. We need to be friendly in crowded places, and pull each other aside and be bridges.

I hope my family understands how many things will break if we don’t accommodate fragility. I’m not a metaphysician and don’t know about quantum mechanics or particle physics, but I know the phrase “I hope” is a glimmer of light living outside my rage. “I hope” signals my privilege. I hope to understand more about “I hope” in the context of everyday life in coming days.

As a beneficiary of entrenched systems, I work for everyone to have equal voice and access. I work for what’s best in my neighborhood and nation, on this striking and stunning and astoundingly polluted planet. I avoid asteroid-bashing. I avoid the ossification of stalemate. I avoid co-opting languages of the oppressed. I save room for warmth and time for children. I learn about neuro-diversity in the workplace and nutrient density in school lunches, and communicate generously about these issues and other issues, like the shared struggle for justice.

Mantras I’m saying and acting upon.

What’s mine is yours.

We do not need all the parts of the old society to create a new one.

If you feel inspired, please comment. I’d love to hear your weightiest belief, most potent fear, frustrations, considerations, qualifications, corrections, assessments, and agreements. No presh. I get nervous sharing my feelings, and words impact and behave differently for different people. The spaces between known grains of wood make wood strong.

I wasn’t sure if my brother would be a grain or a space. He’s the first person to admit he doesn’t read much and would rather talk on the phone or hash things out in person. Before sharing this, I called him up and said, “I’m about to send you a piece of writing. You don’t have to read the whole thing. You can always ‘Ctl. F’ and look for ‘brother.’”

Here’s what he wrote:

FYI, I don't really like you writing somewhat rude things about me and my house (which I take as jabs towards my wife and kids), etc. I don't do that towards you. I know there was some nice stuff too… I am communicating by e-mail as I know email is your preferred method, but at some point you need to realize I have feelings and opinions too, and don’t share them with everyone.

Right now I’m looking at 40+ people smoking joints outside the subsidized housing across the street. Wish I had that option. I wonder if their chronic drug use is helping out the health care system – I know they're not paying into it? I was up at 4:05 a.m. today to keep working toward losing that 20 lbs. so I'm not a burden on the system in the future. Learned that from Mom and Dad. I guess sometimes I feel ripped off. Need to get back to work now as I need to pay bills.

I’m sorry about the hate stuff that one day, you know I don't feel that way.

On another note, is hydroxycut good stuff?

He attached a document where he continued the conversation.

I promise to… take care of my kids and not cheat on my wife.

I’ve been thinking about… how to lose 20 more lbs. so I’m not dead when my kids are 40.

I feel like I am owed… nothing. I don’t feel I’m owed anything. Everyone chooses how to spend their money.

... and gave me prompts of my own.

In unison: I’ve been busy me: working about 12 hours per day if I count commuting and working on my house. you: [

In unison: I save my money for me: the future. I think I’m responsible for taking care of my own problems instead of hoping someone will help me out if something happens. you: [

In unison: I feel I’m privileged because me: I had a good Mom, Dad, and brothers growing up. I was never given any money, but having someone in your corner is more valuable. I am in your corner if you are in a pinch, and I know Mom and Dad are too. you: [

Working for a great strong land of love,

COLOPHON

Published on tumblr on Thursday, Aug. 10, “Thots & Prayers” is a phone transcript, visual essay, poem, and interactive self-help manual. I edited my brother’s written response for clarity. My mom took the pictures of my brother and me. My friend Jonathan Ursin took the pictures of me kneeling on the amphitheater stage and laying in the grass with rosary beads. I took the rest. Spanish phrases were proofed by Alè Barrientos. Radio broadcast lines are excerpted from Langston Hughes’ “Let America Be America Again.” Endorsement by Seattle performer Nico Pecans (they/them) / Miss Texas 1988 (she/her) is available. Lines from “James” and “Jason” are from interviews with James and Jason. PDF with original formatting shared upon request.

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