#The work is unchallenging. just tedious

[canichangemyblogname]

I truly, genuinely, hate my job. I can’t stand working here.

[thatwasreallygaybytheway]

Read it on AO3 [x]

Begging

At the end of summer vacation and the beginning of his fifth year at Dursmustrang, Gellert predicted another dull, uninspired school year.

The school had an interesting curriculum, much more stimulating than other wizarding schools he researched, with their combat, gobstones and dragon taming classes, besides the contemplation of the Dark Arts in their curriculum as well, not simply defence against it.

However, his colleagues were dense, dim-witted and uninteresting, and the professors, mediocre, kept pace with their snail-progressing rhythm, making attending classes tedious and unchallenging. The retirement of their Transfiguration teacher, the useless old hag, was the full extent of excitement that place seemed to have to offer him besides the usual rush of relief of its provided shelter from what he called home.

Which was more than reason enough to make nice with his colleagues and cronies on the ship, pretend they weren’t as insipid as the water surrounding them and smile at the girls whose attentions were on him, just enough to feed their interests without engaging too deeply and having to do something dreadful, like talk to them or worse. After all, in his experience people were dull and expendable, but ultimately useful.

He may have no real need for them, except for where and how he could use them to gain influence, power or simply a better target to train on the more advanced dark magic he’d been studying by himself, since training alone just wouldn't do. Therefore, he’d make a point out of keeping people at his side as precious working supplies, even if, secretively, he valued them as much as the dirt clinging under his shoes. Looked forward to hearing them as he did for that stupid rain outside.

So, at the beginning of term, Gellert resigned himself to another dull, uninspired school year.

He hadn’t count with the peculiar presence of Professor Wulfric.

.

At their first Transfiguration class, nothing immediately seemed worthy of note.

The professor was at his table, waiting patiently for them to take their places. And when they did so and he started to talk, his voice had a slight accent but was otherwise clear and easy to follow.

He was a tall, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and twinkling, mischievous eyes.

He looked soft, in a way. Almost delicate. Which was detrimental to the authority figure he represented, but not enough to not capture the prompt attention of the class at large when his voice made itself known, clear eyes bright with some secret-held knowledge nobody else seemed to know.

But, as expected, the subject of that class was, as every other one appeared to until now, underwhelmingly easy.

“…for din første øvelse i år vil jeg at du skal prøve å forvandle disse middagstallerkene til sopp.” (…for your first exercise of the year, I want you to try turning these dinner plates into mushrooms.)

A cold rush of annoyance ran through his body at the proposed exercise. He had barely slept the night before, tormented by visions of a stupid snowstorm sure not to come for months yet invading the castle and causing mild damage and two hospitalizations, eluding his sleep and giving him a headache. And now here he was, out of bed attending class for this child’s trick.

He hadn't, exactly, turned a plate into mushrooms before, but the principle of this specific spell applied to any unequitative transformative spell. It was only a more refined version of the same tricks already learned and the complete incompetence of his colleagues meant he’d have to withstand the exhausting repetition of this pathetic trick for weeks until they moved on to something new to bore him.

“Du virker lei, Mr. Grindelwald.” (You seem bored, Mr. Grindelwald.)

“Ikke i det hele tatt, sir” (Not at all, sir.)

“Å, men det er du.” (Ah, but you are.) – the professor said with an amused smile, coming closer with his hands on his pockets. – “Kanskje vi kunne gjøre noe litt mer utfordrende ut av dette trikset. Fortell meg, har du noen gang kastet en ikke-verbal trolldom før?” (Maybe we could make something a little more challenging out of this trick. Tell me, have you ever cast a nonverbal spell before?)

The boy looked back at his teacher with renewed interest, sparkling something sweet and amused in those deep all-knowing blue eyes.

“No, sir. I haven't.”

“Oh, you do not have to trouble yourself talking to me in English, Mr. Grindelwald. I dare say I'm getting rather good in Norwegian, for a beginner.”

“It's no bother, sir. I have family there as well, learned it since I was small.”

“Very well then. Nonverbal spells are slightly trickier than verbal ones. The mind knows what command intends to give, but there's something about words… they help channel the magical energy to no small extent. And as such, I imagine you can easily understand how it's absence can make the most basic of spells rather challenging. Which I am inclined to say you might appreciate.”

And at it, there were two things he learned:

The first being – when the man approached him with a gentle incentive for him to repeat mentally the spell in his head with intend, envisioning the resulting transformation as if done already –, the smell of his perfume was pleasant as he rarely found. Warm, sweet and spicy.

And secondly, that man was much, much more than he seemed to be at first glance.

.

There on out, few things circled his head with the same intensity Professor Wulfric did.

He started to notice little things about the man.

His predilection for sweets. His enigmatic little remarks who flew over people’s heads more times than not, but still seemed to amuse him to no end. His endless patience over other’s stupidity and fondness for knitted things.

He noticed how observant the man was. How he not only enjoyed when a student got their spell right but also, much to the boy’s amusement, how he did as well the creative results of their failures.

He’d been a fool.

The authority he had didn’t come from intimidation, but from honest respect from those surrounding him. His mild, unassuming manners earned sympathies and his sheer unmatched intellect, admiration.

He walked around the school grounds, perfectly ordinary, except for how extraordinary he was, making people comfortable in their mediocrity while still influencing those around him with a superior mind without even having to try.

That man was just fascinating.

.

He started to actively study the subjects given in class for the first time since he came to that institution, determined to impress his transfiguration teacher.

He wanted the man’s attention fixed upon him more than anything. Unlike anyone else, his opinion mattered to him. He may even have learned by heart the schedule of supervision of students in detention to make sure when his one’s came his way as usual, it would be under his watch.

“I must say it doesn’t surprise me as it should, seeing you here, Mr. Grindelwald, meddling with dark, dangerous magic as it were.”

The boy chose to ignore the heavy feeling at his stomach at the disappointed tone on the man's voice, looking at him then with an unhappy look of his own.

“Sir, what is the use of a study subject if not to study it?” – he dared say, getting an exasperated, but surprisingly fond look in response.

“I understand you. Your mind is too bright for the restrictions of your year’s curriculum. But you are smart enough to know there are things too dangerous to meddle with.”

“But what does even mean this divide between dark and light magic, professor? Magic in its essence is not evil, so how could be labelled so?”

“You are correct, obviously. Magic is nor good or evil in its essence. However, the sources from which they can be channeled can be dreadfully destructive. It is the natural cycle of things, of course, destruction and reconstruction, but power fed from destructive forces is dangerous and costly. A power as great as such have an immense capacity to corrupt.”

The elder wizard paused then, caressing his beard thoughtfully while looking him with his deep, all-knowing blue eyes.

“So be mindful of it next time you get to your ‘studies’, Gellert. There are pursues that are simply not worth it. The greater the power you seek, the higher the price you pay for it.”

.

After his time in detention, while coming back to his room, the boy caught himself thinking about what Professor Wulfric said.

It didn’t sound hollow, somehow, but a thought born out of experience.

He expected to be disappointed in him for his reserve against the Dark Arts. However, he didn’t. He could feel something heavy taking in his chest, but it wasn’t disappointment.

He also felt a bit silly, because hearing him use his first name like that made him want to smile at nothing.

.

As it was, Gellert discovered the man’s first name by accident when his next turn down the corridors led him to find the wizard talking to Professor Vuković, his Dark Arts’ professor, and favourite one until Professor Wulfric.

 “Brian…”

“Jeg ser for meg at du tenker annerledes da, Viktor?” (I imagine you think differently then, Viktor?)

“Not exactly, no. But we could better discuss it over some Brennvin.” – Professor Vuković said in a heavy accented English, cupping the other man’s elbow.

To which Professor Wulfric laughed, warm and friendly, but taking a step back.

“I am terribly sorry to inform I’m quite busy at the moment, Viktor, as you can well imagine. I was fool enough to ask for a five-page-long essay about the Theory of Unequitable Transformative Magic from my fifth years. Three full piles are waiting on my desk as we speak.”

“Well, another time then, Brian.”

And at that they parted ways, the first wizard nodding silently with perfect civility while the second one let out a little sigh, shaking his head as Professor Wulfric turned his back.

To his side of the corridor.

And as if knowing all too well who was there, the wizard gave a brief and meaningful glance with those piercing blue eyes towards where he hid himself to better observe them before he left.

And as both silhouettes faded from view, Gellert realized he learned two things more:

Brian.

His first name was Brian.

And secondly, he might not care for the Dark Arts as much as he first thought he did after all, since any buffoon like Professor Vuković could teach it.

It was clearly a mighty weapon used for lesser minds to mask their mediocrity by compensation. He'd be oh so sure to know how to use it, sure. But he didn't need it to achieve greatness. Not when a man like Professor Wulfric could yield such power without ever touching them. 

Brian.

.

The dreams came as a surprise.

When he first woke up, feverish and aching, body shivering and wet with fluids, he didn’t know what to make of it.

His roommate dared to mock him, asking what lady had sweetened his dreams like that. He learned better after finding living spiders in his Havregrøt.

However, the dreams continued, plaguing his nights alongside his visions in a new, exquisite way. He could barely look at his professor the next class, breathless with exhilaration for his presence as well as dread to be found out.

He never felt something like this before. This hunger.

Bodily functions weren’t a mystery to him, but they were mere mechanics. It never felt like this.

He started to make sure to use silencing charms every night to make sure only he could hear that name falling out of his trembling lips.

Brian.

Brian…

.

Beatrix Kovács was a seventh year. She was a star student, which meant she was marginally less incompetent than her peers. She was good at duel and appointed Topptillitskvinne.

She was a pretty girl with straight dark hair half pinned over her head and mossy-green eyes.

He heard her and her cronies gossiping about a broken pendant they saw over Professor's Wulfric desk. The way ‘grief took over his face for a second’ when he put it away before starting class.

‘How much his figure was to his advantage’ and ‘his heartbreak and lack of a ring must mean he was unattached’ and ‘what a pity’ it was.

That he was ‘too vivacious to possibly be that old at all’.  And ‘how much of an interest he apparently seemed to show over Ms. Kovács talents’ and how that ‘must mean something’.

How ‘she wouldn't mind having his attentions, as he already had hers’.

“I'm positive without his beard he'd not look a day over thirty.”

Beatrix Kovács was a stupid, vapid girl who understood nothing and deserved none of Professor's Wulfric attention.

So, he had to put her in her place.

.

The entire hall fell silent when a nondescript tawny-brown owl stopped in front of Professor’s Wulfric table.

Those beautiful twinkling eyes of his unguarded with genuine surprise before he took the small parcel with a frown.

He could barely sit still, heart thundering inside his chest.

He felt on top of the world, watching those elegant fingers unwrap the parcel, finding his offering of Fizzing Whizzbees with a little huff o delight.

Elated enough to not look away when the wizard looked directly at him, eyes twinkling with pleasure.

.

“I'm very happy to know your efforts to follow your other classes has been as excellent as in my own, Mr. Grindelwald.”

“Thank you, professor. But, if I may be so honest, it's barely been any challenge, sir.”

“Yes, I can easily imagine how underwhelming it must've been. I had similar problems back at school, save, perhaps, your resistance over doing any paperwork on subjects you are convinced you already know.”

Professor Wulfric smiled knowingly, getting an embarrassing blush out of him.

“But I have some advice to easy your suffering, my dear Mr. Grindelwald: try to write it as if you were the one teaching the subject to your reader. It'll easy your aggravation at working over what you already know if you treat it as if you are the one showing it for someone else for the first time.”

“I don't believe I have any talent for teaching, sir. Pulling teeth sounds less painful to me than trying to explain the obvious repeatedly.”

And at that the man laughed, shaking his head with a fond look.

“Well, I think you would do a marvellous job at it. You have so much potential, Gellert. You can do great things; I am sure you know.”

The boy felt something fluttery at the wizard’s words, helpless to contain the proud smirk on his lips.

“Thank you, sir.”

“However, I feel obliged to warn you about the dangers such potential carries. You can achieve great things, undoubtedly, but you can achieve terrible ones as well, if you're not wise enough to prevent your talents from blinding you from other people's worth. Self-importance is the weapon of the fools, I dare say. And, ironically, it's a much easier trap to fall prey to when the fount of said arrogance is rooted in genuine talent.”

“You think me arrogant, then, for thinking everyone else around me slow?”

“Oh, don't take offence of what I'm saying right now, my boy. I was quite arrogant myself when younger. So much talent and genius, so many miles ahead from everyone else, it seemed.”

“What happened?”

“The world taught me humility by showing how much stupidity can exist alongside a brilliant intellect.”

.

If there was one thing he could almost say he didn’t like about Professor Wulfric, would be his tendency to lecture him in subjects he held close to the chest.

Next time they met in one of Gellert’s deliberate detention spree, he offered him a sherbet lemon and proceeded to not only unveil his internal judgment of the clear inferiority of muggles, but to lecture him on the dangers of prejudice and bigotry.

“They are worse than animals.” – he argued with disgust. – “They are always at war; they have enslaved their peers based on skin colour and contaminated our culture with it; they are ignorant and turn love into disease. They’re like fleas, a pest in need to containment.”

“But they’re not. You see, I do not disagree with how backwards some aspects of their culture can be, but one could argue the same about aspects of our own culture. Moreover, we all are ultimately human. Some of our own are born without magic. Some of theirs, with absolutely no magical ancestry, are born with it. We create this divide; them, us. There are only people, and people, humans, are capable of extraordinary as well as terrible things.”

“…They destroyed my family.” – he whispered to the other wizard.

Professor Wulfric answered it with a heavy, warm hand on his shoulder. Elegant fingers holding him firmly and Gellert wanted him to never let go.

“I used to resent them too. You see, some muggles… did something terrible to my family and the repercussions were devastating.”

“Used to? Not anymore?”

“No. No… Not anymore. I learned generalization is another rather dangerous thing. It’s what led them to the witch hunts. It’s what could led us to a totalitarian regimen envisioning complete domination over the non-magical community. It’s a simplistic, limiting thought. Magical or not, there’s good and there’s evil in all of us. And no group of people should be judged by the wrongdoings of individuals whose hearts are tainted. And if nothing else, an evil wizard is infinitely more dangerous than a muggle, wouldn’t you agree, my dear Mr. Grindelwald, only for the power they hold?”

“You don’t think us superior then, for how much more powerful we are?”

“I don’t. More powerful? Yes. But never superior. Power requires compassion in order to not become only another tool of oppression.”

.

The next time, it’s him who receives an unexpected owl.

Inside a carefully brown wrapped paper is a copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and a velvet drawstring bags full of sherbet lemon.

Professor Wulfric hid a little smirk behind his glass, but after turning aside for a moment to reply something Professor Touissant pointed out, he looked back at Gellert, winking with his beautiful, twinkling eyes.

.

Of course, the other students started to finally notice the special connection he had with their Transfiguration professor eventually.

They dared call him professor’s pet a couple of times, but unlike any other time someone dared to mock him, he was content enough to let them be this time.

There was a certain secret pleasure in imagining himself at his professor’s feet, after all.

Ms. Kovács, as it was expected, noticed as well, and started to pay him an amount of attention he wasn’t all that keen on receiving, but did, nonetheless. With her mind fixed on trying to extract information about their professor from him, he could better control her and her pestering feelings towards the older wizard, after all.

But also, as expected, with their increasing contact rumours started to circle around school about their ‘special friendship’. Which amused Gellert to no end, as both seemed to have designs to reach the same man.

.

“I am starting to suspect you see your detention hours as a prize instead of a punishment, Mr. Grindelwald.”

Professor Wulfric smiled that secret smile of his, making his stomach flutter ridiculously.

“I have no idea what gave you this impression, sir.”

The man laughed at his blatant lie, shaking his head.

“Gellert, I cannot in good conscience condone with a student engaging in reprehensible behaviours. Although I will admit your ‘wandering after curfew’ infraction is surprisingly mild compared to ‘smuggling restricted books from the library’, as it were. I could declare myself proud of you, wouldn’t that be most inappropriate.”

Not the most inappropriate thing they could do, though. He could let Gellert trace his graceful neck with his lips and teeth, let him feel his beard scratching the soft skin of his inner thighs, take his pleasure on him over his very desk. That would be most deliciously inappropriate.

“Perhaps I do enjoy our extra hours together.” – he said daringly, looking at the wizard from between his lashes for a second.

He didn’t think he imagined the light blush of the man’s cheeks, although he only laughed, tapping his shoulder in a companiable, but innocuous way.

He took note. Badly concealed flirting was out if he wanted to succeed in seducing the man.

“It is pleasing, having someone to talk with who understands your mind.”

“You carry so much anger inside you, Gellert. I thought at first it was contempt for those who didn’t measure to your mind. But now I believe it is hurt. You want to be known.”

“I don’t need to be known. Perhaps known of. But I do not need anyone else.”

“Your relentless pursue of detention hours with me tells a rather different story, my boy. Everybody needs connection.”

“Can’t you be mine?”

He laughed again, walking away from him.

“Oh, Mr. Grindelwald, I have the upmost faith you can do infinitely better than befriend an old man.”

“But I want you.”

The boy watched the wizard freeze at his thoughtless words, eyes becoming wary as he looked at him.

“You are a great teacher.” – he completed with calculated carelessness, as if it was the intent of his little slip up all along.

The relief of watching his professor’s shoulders relax were greater than the disappointment of his terrible reaction to a possible deeper interest of his part.

“All students adore you, professor. Some more than.” – he proceeded innocently enough, watching closely the frown return to his face at his words.

Given the wizard’s reaction to his accidental declarations, Gellert was almost certain Professor Wulfric wasn’t overly fond of the idea of frolicking with students. Being so, it presented the most perfect opportunity to free himself of Beatrix Kovács’ shadow over what for all rights should belong to him.

“Is that so?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t want to come across as a gossip. Specially now it seems she and I are in friendly terms.” – he did his best to sound sheepish but changed course when he watched the older man’s eyes become wary once more at his actions rather than his words, smiling impishly and raising an eyebrow. – “Although, what harm can it do? It’s just a silly crush, I believe. Ms. Kovács doesn’t have to know I told you about it, does she?”

“Oh. Ms. Kovács is the subject of this conversation?”

“You don’t sound surprised, professor.”

“It would surprise you the number of students whose feelings about their authority figures blur the line of what’s appropriate. I believe it is quite common, in fact. What surprises me the most is, after all these years, it still happening with an old man.”

“She believes you wouldn't look a day over thirty without your beard.”

“Is that so?”

The wizard sounded delightfully amused, smiling at him, unguarded and beautiful.

“I personally believe you look quite distinguished, sir. I hope I can age as gracefully as you.”

“Oh, you will, Gellert. I can assure you, you will.”

The man sounded so wishful and sad at those words; the student felt taken aback.

Doubly so, at the inkling of a thought those words gave him.

.

He started to observe carefully. The idea sounding likelier at every small quirk of that man too out of place to look simply eccentric.

The older wizard wasn’t a seer, he could tell. He seemed to know more than everybody else and had an uncanny capacity to read him as no other ever had, but it wasn’t the same. Brian Wulfric carried none of the signs of a seer.

He was set apart from the rest, even when surrounded by people. And it wasn’t just his brilliance overshadowing everyone else. There was a lack of stiffness, a languidness of posture, a casualness, uncommon for other people his age or younger.

And it wasn’t disrespectful in nature.

He knew exactly how the entire social dance he had to perform to the world was played. He just had something… different about him.  

And the way he said those words. How he affirmed as a fact, with such longing that he would grow old distinguished in nature as the man himself was. He couldn’t stop thinking how the wizard seemed to know him, know his ugliest, most hidden parts and being so intent on guiding him. Stop thinking of how he seemed to have known him for longer than just the school year.

.

“…Were we lovers? Where you came from?”

Gellert couldn’t help to notice Professor Wulfric’s hand going unconsciously to his breast pocket, eyes unguarded with surprise and alarm.

“I suppose I should have predicted this turn of events.”

“Kovács is stupid for thinking you were looking at her when your eyes are always fixed on me. But still, you seemed to become wary when I showed a deeper interest in you, even though you certainty know of my feelings toward you.”

“Gellert-.”

“Were we lovers?”

“…Yes.”

“What happened?”

“You became obsessed by the dark arts and your hatred towards muggles, and for that I lost you.”

“You mean to say muggles broke us apart?”

“No, Gellert. I mean to say your ambitions and hatred did.”

“How?”

“You murdered my sister!” the man exclaimed, covering his face with both hands for a moment.

Ignorant of the shock those words caused him.

“It is not-.” – Professor Wulfric started again before pausing mid-sentence, sighing loudly. – “The least you know of it the better. I just… Wished to change things. To prevent you from turning to darkness and away from me.”

“You love me.”

“As I will until my last breath.”

.

The confrontation let Gellert with much to think about.

One day he’d meet him. Not as Professor Wulfric, but as a young, brilliant Brian, and fall for those bright blue, all-knowing eyes and unmatched intellect. He’d meet someone worth knowing and somehow lose him.

He said his hatred towards muggles broke them.

He said so many things already, before this very conversation. About the humanity of them all, how there were more uniting than separating them. About how a power fed from destructive forces as the dark arts, were dangerous came for a cost. About its capacity to corrupt.

Had he lost his way? Turned away from the one person who could understand him, who loved him desperately enough to turn back time and try to prevent his future from happening by guiding him through another path?

Gellert couldn’t trust what Brian said in front of all he left unsaid; he wasn’t naïve enough to take his vague words at face value. However, he felt in his bones he could trust that man’s love, still.

Moreover, he could feel how no matter his path from then on, his future had already been irrevocably changed from the moment that tall, middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair and twinkling, mischievous eyes entered his life.

.

[trust-my-glorious-purpose]

Loki entered into Tony’s office space, noting that it was quite tidy, almost like it wasn’t used often, or perhaps Tony was really just that organized and Loki had underestimated him. He took the offered seat, though he didn’t allow himself to settle too much. He wanted to be ready in case he was called to do something. “Of course, I’d be happy to answer any questions you might have.” He replied. “I learn best by doing. I would have no problem with some hands-on work. I’m sure I can adapt quickly.” The confidence in his tone was complimented by an easy smile that hid his simmering anxiety extremely well.

When asked about his intentions for applying, Loki was sorely tempted to let the cat out of the bag and reveal the entire ruse so that maybe he could get out of doing this. Instead, he stuck to the story and played his part. “I felt unchallenged and stagnant in my previous positions. I knew I could be doing something more fulfilling with my time. Stark Industries seemed like the natural conclusion to that need. I understand that your previous assistant served you in many ways. I’m told she was quite brilliant. I only hope that I can live up to her achievements and accomplish some of my own to help further the goals and needs of you and the company. I know progress is not a linear path and I embrace the change and chaos that comes with making these advancements.” In reality, Loki thought it sounded sickeningly dull and tedious, but swallowing his pride was necessary to sell the illusion.

He was slightly startled by Tony’s next comment, but he let none of it show. There was no possible way that Stark could have found him out that quickly, was there? He was only slightly comforted by the fact that Tony hadn’t called him out by name, but that meant nothing yet. “I don’t think we’ve met, although I’ve definitely seen your face before. I mean, you are quite famous. Aside from your tech and your company, ‘Iron Man’ is known around the globe. Myself, on the other hand, I’m nothing special.” Ouch. “I don’t have any siblings,” Another lie, “but I’ve been told I have quite a familiar face. I don’t know what it is, but people seem to think they know me from somewhere. I’m afraid I’m just Luka, nothing more, nothing less.” 

trust-my-glorious-purpose​:

Loki had only been in his cell for a few days when Frigga had come to see him. After humiliating defeat at the hands of his brother and new-found friends, his trial before the All-Father, and dealing with the effects of the Tesseract’s remaining dregs of control leeching out of him, Loki wasn’t keen on any visitors. Yet, he found exception with Frigga. Try as he might, he couldn’t bring himself to turn her away. She had always been the one to check in on him after something bad had happened and it seemed, even now, this was still true.

What Loki hadn’t expected to hear was the proposal she laid out for him. Frigga found Odin’s brand of justice to be ineffective (she knew Loki too well) and figured his time would be better spent learning a lesson by doing instead of wasting away in a 12'x12’ cell with minimal interaction. Frigga’s method of justice would see him undercover and serving his time in service to another. She wanted Loki to show that he was not all that others had marked him to be and to maybe prove it to himself as well. There were some caveats with this deal, as was to be expected. He wouldn’t have access to his seidr during this time as he couldn’t be trusted with it, he would be in disguise so that he could carry out his sentence unencumbered by the notoriety his usual visage would bring, and this deal would be symbolized with a mark upon his side that would serve to remind him of his promise to her. Once all of this had been agreed upon, it was mere hours before he was transported back to Midgard with a new face and very little guidance on where he was supposed to go.

He was blessed to find that Frigga had at least prepared some basic comforts for him on Earth. He had a small flat, a simple wardrobe of some casual and business attire and the means with which to purchase what he needed. His assignment was to Tony Stark, to serve as the man’s assistant and perhaps learn something from one of the heroes that had put an end to his destruction. He wasn’t particularly enthused to see this man again. Their last encounter had ended with him throwing the man out a window and then promptly getting blown to his feet by a fiery blast of red and gold hurtling towards its owner. The prior banter and verbal toe-to-toe had given him an impression that the man was confident to a fault, quite sarcastic, and, at times, confusing in his words. There was much that Loki had to do if he were to not give away his position entirely.

And so, here he stood, a door away from the man he was to serve. He awaited the moment the doors would swing open and he would have to play his role. He soothed his nerves by fiddling with his cuff links for a moment before squaring his shoulders and letting out a steady breath. Not a moment later, the doors were opening on their own and he was face to face with- “Mr. Stark, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Luka, I applied for your opening for personal assistant. I was told by Ms. Potts that you wished to meet with me?”

The charming affect he portrayed was perfect, the smile on his lips followed through to his eyes and his tone was engaging and smooth. In his mind, he was calculating every move, analyzing Tony for any detail that might give away that the man knew who he really was, and trying to suppress the desire to enter into fight or flight. He was heavily preferring to flee at the moment. Loki noted that the man looked the same as when he last saw him, standing just a few inches shorter than himself and looking perfectly preened and presentable. Loki looked nothing like his usual self, green eyes were now blue, harsh and angled facial features had been softened ever so slightly with the cushion of youth, and his raven hair was now lighter and uncomfortably reminded him of Thor in some ways. “I was unsure if this would simply be an interview or if you wished for me to work with you for today, so I came prepared for both instances.” Best not to be caught off guard if he could avoid it.

The new guy, Luka, came in then and Tony blinked, struck briefly silent and thrown completely off his game. Oh, he was not going to forget this. There would be retribution later…Pepper was trolling him. She knew his type and there he was: tall, ginger, improbably cute and with a posh sort of accent that made him want to see what it would take for Luka to say his name with a little more feeling.

If this was her tactic to get him to actually keep an assistant, he had to admit it might be a valid one. Though competency was, of course, key. She’d left some big Jimmy Choos to fill, as it were.

“Welcome, come on in,” Tony finally managed, aware he was staring, waving a hand absently at the chairs arrayed in front of his desk. “Yeah, I thought we’d chat a bit and then I could show you around. I’m more of an on-the-job training sort of guy, so things might turn up. It can get a little chaotic around here sometimes.”

Pepper had sent over an organized dossier about the applicant and Tony had scanned it, but ultimately it didn’t matter where the guy had gone to college if he couldn’t handle…well. Tony.

“So give me the rundown. Why are you here? What are you looking for from this? ‘Cause I’ll warn you right now, this won’t be a 9-5. I’m sure you’re aware what we do here.” Tapping absently at the reactor’s housing, Tony’s eyes narrowed, something in the back of his mind worrying at a knot it hadn’t yet managed to untangle. “Say, have I met you before? Or maybe your brother or something? You seem familiar, but I definitely would have clocked you if you’d crossed my path.”

[inanna-arianna]

Another meta on Lan Xichen I did not want to write

Never once does the novel state that LXC was romantically even interested in JGY. And here is why the people who ship JGY and LXC are the most tedious, annoying and delusional part of not just MDZS but MXTX works in general.

It’s their insidious and tenacious twisting of information and pushing of their headcanons as legitimate narrative. The best example of this is the wiki page for MDZS outside of tumblr. Twitter is not as infested as tumblr is. Twitter favors NieLan pairing, it would seem. But those who ship NieLan do not try to pass their ship as canon nor do they shove it down everyone’s throats. Ship all you want, but once you start adding your headcanons to profile pages that are supposed to be an objective analysis of the character profiles and source materials, that is where you become a delusional menace.

Author even went as far as to state that the only gay couple in the novel is WangXian. Why would she be coy? Why would she hide? She has written novels with more than one homosexual couples before.

To the delusional shippers LXC has gone into seclusion to repent for the killing of JGY. They even twist his seclusion to such a level that they insidiously add LXC seclusion to be the same as his father’s. Even adding it to the list of clearly romantic acts of passion such as here:

this is sadly just one of many pages they infected

I don’t think people give LXC’s dimwitted naivety the full credit it deserves. I get it, people are fond of his character. He is one of my favorite characters also. But he is not benign.

His idiocy has come with a terrible price.

Siege of Burial mounds? Against a broken man and a group of farmers who were non-combative? The siege came to their doors. WWX had the right to raise the dead to defend them. Ultimately, had LXC been a competent clan leader and had his clan stood for what they say they do: righteousness and justice, WWX would not have been as desperate as to resort to such horrible cultivation practices. Had the Lan clan been what they pride themselves at being, they would have stood on Wei Wuxian’s side. And don’t try to oversimplify it. I’m not talking just about the siege. I’m talking about the build up to it as well. But Wei Wuxian stood alone. He stood alone at the path where they failed to assassinate him. He stood alone at Nevernight. He stood alone at the siege. But the snow white boots of the righteous Lan clan, stomped the skulls of old women and frail men.

Nie Mingjue’s death is on LXC’s hands more than JGY. You don’t blame a tiger for being a tiger. It does what it was made to do. Nie Mingjue trusted Lan Xichen. Painfully so. And it cost him his life. It was LXC constantly making excuses for JGY and shielding him from criticism and consequences that allowed him to get away with all the evil he has done for so, so very long. JGY carefully and meticulously build the image Lan Xichen had of him. I don’t deny that LXC was a victim of JGY. Perhaps the most tragic victim. But it does not absolve him of his crimes and playing a part. Weather out of his dimwitted naivety or moral cowardliness, does not matter. JGY needed Lan Xichen. He needed him to be his moral guarantor, his warranty, his shield and advocate. He used LXC’s impeccable reputation as a shield. He needed LXC to vouch for him.

That is why he never mistreated Lan Xichen.

But it’s not exactly true, right? I don’t doubt that JGY in this cruelty and arrogance and lust for power truly believed that he never mistreated LXC. But that is just not true. Weather the suffering of the person Lan Xichen loved most in the world, his own brother. Or by having LXC be his unwitting accomplice in his crimes. Nie Huaisang used LXC to deliver a final blow to JGY. But JGY was a villain. JGY’s fans want to condemn Nie Huaisang for that one act but gleefully ignore just how much damage JGY has done to LXC by using him to further his own ambitions. A man that now has to live with the consequences of his naivety and blindness.

Lan Xichen spending time in seclusion is coming to terms with what he has allowed to happen by continuously absolving JGY of his crimes and willfully turning a blind eye to his wrongdoings. Do people seriously believe that a man who is the head of a clan that prides itself on righteousness and intolerance of all evil is going into mourning for the death of a villain than rather to repent for being the guarantor that allowed the said villain to go unchallenged for so long? That his reputation was used as a cover that allowed a murderer to go unpunished.

Before those shippers try to point out how LXC was hiding JGY’s crimes and avoiding reveling them out of romantic interest: Don’t try it. LXC was naïve and non-confrontational on all fronts. He stood by and watched the mistreatment of Wen civilians, elderly and disabled and even children. His greatest love is his brother, yet despite being the head of the clan he stood by and watched his brother be viciously beaten and scared for life. Even refusing to know why his gentle and kind mother would murder someone is part of his refusal to even think and dwell on things that displease or hurt him. He is an incredibly passive and lethargic person.

Even his demeanor, gentle smile and voice are a shield against aggression. Author herself has stated that when drunk his voice becomes more booming, deeper. It’s a common tactic to defuse aggression. He puts on a submissive stance. Gentle voice and smile, non-aggressive and non-threatening gestures. But even he snaps from time to time. Like he did with WWX. But ultimately he is someone who avoids confrontation and pushes all that is too hurtful for him to think about out of his mind. Even if it is his own mother and her pitiful destiny, even if it is the brutal beating of his own bother. So no, he was not hiding JGY crimes out of love or romantic interest.

Do not forget, when confronted with the facts: he sided against JGY. Immediately. He sided with his brother. He sided with the man who is possibly the only man in the world that he hates (or as close to hate as LXC can muster). LWJ one mistake in his own eyes. He helped them gather evidence against JGY. He hid WWX in Cloud Recesses at great personal risk fully knowing that he was gathering evidence against JGY. He revoked JGY’s access to Cloud Recesses as soon as suspicions rose.

My point is: Ship whatever you want to ship. But don’t insert your headcanons or shipping fantasies into source material or profile pages that are supposed to be objective. Why have I decided to go off this time? Well, I have, so far got 4 people to look into the MDZS fandom and 3 of them were very much confused as to why they could not find a single reference to JGY and LXC “epic romance”. And asked me about it. Every time it was them reading wiki pages maliciously edited by JGY/LXC delusional shippers. I’m not going off at normal shippers. I understand the appeal. Many people like to ship the victim and his/her abuser. Just look at the people who ship Xiao Xingchen and Xue Yang. Not that I would ever ship those. But I’m not here to ship-shame. Just for mercy’s sake stop shoving your ship down our throats or try to pass it off as canon. It’s not.

I hate writing metas on LXC. I love his character. I truly do. I relate to him more than many other MXTX characters. He is deeply flawed. A bit dimwitted, lethargic, non-confrontational, but he is well meaning, benevolent, and generous. Whenever I have to write about him I have to unpack things I don’t particularly enjoy pointing out. See, why his character appeals to me. I don’t like thinking about those things so I push them out of my mind. And so I apologies for grammatical errors, to begin with I was short on time. But once again I was irritated into writing a meta on this subject. So I combined many of my metas and rants into this mess.

[imjustheretoseetheprivateblogs]

Good lord, I liked Terminator Genisys!

What a strange thing are remakes and reboots. Fascinating in their inception, often trite in their execution, they can sometimes leave you wondering about the possibilities.

One such beast is the film Terminator Genisys, a film that’s not quite a reboot and not quite a remake.

I put the disc into my Blu-ray player knowing full well what critics and fans alike said of it. I put it in knowing Alan Taylor was the man behind the wheel (I did not care for Thor: the Dark World). I put in the disc having seen not just the first two Terminator films, but Terminator Salvation and Rise of Machines as well.

I put it in the player, pressed the “play” button, and in spite of all that…

I had a good time!

I was expecting a tedious money-grabbing ploy in the form of a bloated episode of a Game of Thrones rip-off to sneer at. And while the film was mainly made for the money (you can tell), I’d say about fifty-percent of it is enjoyable, the other half trite.

The basic plot is a liberal mix of the first two Terminator films: a man named Kyle Reese (Jai Courtney) from the future goes back in time to protect a girl named Sarah Connor from a robotic killer from the same era in order to make sure her son, who grows up to be the leader of the resistance (Jason Clarke), is born.

Only this time, someone (it’s never stated who) has sent a Terminator (Arnold Schwarzenegger) back to when Sarah Connor was a child as her protector to raise her and the whole future has changed.

Maybe that’s the reason people gave this movie such a caning? Time travel in story-telling often results in headaches unless it’s told in a linear or unchallenging way. Here, the movie posits the question of how would the story of an influential and well-known franchise change for want of a nail (the nail being a six-foot cyborg bodyguard).

It’s interesting, but it may have changed something people loved too much for them to be comfortable with.

Not that change is a bad thing. In spite of how resistant fandom is to change of any kind, harrumphing at even the most superficial, change can be refreshing.

But in Terminator Genisys, it’s only refreshing half the time and the other half of the time those changes barely make an impact.

For me personally, that was the film’s biggest problem; it never feels like anything solidly lands while the plot moves forward.

And boy, can it move forward.

In some moments, the characters are doing things too quickly or talking too quickly, all while important plot points pass right over the viewers’ heads. A scene between Sarah and Kyle where the two are talking about having a choice in the face of a dismal fate is delivered too fast for the audience to get a feel for them as people, or to let the weight of their actions sink in. We barely register Kyle and Sarah’s relationship, a relationship which probably should have had more scenes in this movie.

Another example is a hospital fight scene where the characters must face down a familiar face revealed to be an enemy. Here, we see Kyle Reese having to kill the man who was not only his friend, but his own son, after he has became a threat to humanity. This would have been a wonderful end to the movie, showing the rejection of a corrupted savior in the name of keeping Skynet from rising to destroy the world. But it comes too soon in the film, so it's just another CG stunt piece.

But are the characters worth the watch? Again, it’s a fifty-fifty split.

The man of the hour is Arnold, here playing an aging Terminator who was sent back to protect Sarah Connor. Unlike the unthinking killing machine in the first movie, “pops” is a rather brainy avuncular figure, one who has his share of funny moments.

The other major character of note is the main antagonist, outside of the obvious Skynet; John Connor, played by Jason Clarke. Clarke plays his role with a cool, smug charisma that can’t be denied, although some lines can come off a little…mechanical, shall we say?

Finally, there’s JK Simmons, as a new character, a tin foil hat man developed from a throwaway character in T1. I honestly wouldn’t mind seeing a movie about this character or even another Terminator movie with this character in it. Simmons plays the role with both pathos and no shortage of wit and easily carries every scene he’s in.

Everyone else is just okay.

Jai Courtney is no Kyle Reese, but he doesn’t try to be.

Emilia Clarke is no Sarah Connor, but she’s not the Sarah Connor we knew.

And really, that’s the film’s final problem; it’s a Terminator movie.

Or at least not a Terminator movie as we knew them.

The cast, the crew, everyone put their heart into making this movie. Neil Spisak made some pretty interesting set pieces, and writers Laeta Kalogridis and Patrick Lussier received the blessing of James Cameron himself before pursuing this endeavor. The costume designer, Susan Matheson, shows ingenuity, but her work was the only part of the production I felt was a little underwhelming. The resistance uniforms feel a little too much like a staged production than real world clothing.

Everyone shows ambition, but a for all their striving, this film only resembles a Terminator movie. An R-rating probably would have helped with that, and maybe some connective tissue to bring it closer to the rest of the franchise couldn’t have hurt either.

Had this been a TV series or an original property, the reception might have been a little warmer. But if you watch it with little to no expectations, you’ll maybe enjoy it for as the earnest misfire that it is.

[tarableart]

Question from an aspiring artist: how do you motivate yourself to start working on your art, I like doing it once I get started but my problem is I’m just too lazy to start. Do you know what I mean?

Hmm. Well, the one thing I can really say is that it takes a lot of discipline.

Inspiration is a fickle thing. Art blocks and the like are usually from the brain feeling bored and unchallenged, so inspiration appears depending on if you’re leaving your comfort zone and challenging your brain. 

Since I’m making a comic series you can understand that I get hit with this a lot. Drawing the same characters and making so many panels can be tedious, so sometimes it can be grueling to start the next page. Inspiration and drive will come and go- if you only draw when you feel motivated then it won’t happen often. 

The best advice I can give is to push yourself and do it anyway.

What I used to do when I felt no motivation; I would pick a random object or picture and just start drawing it (whether I actually cared about the subject or not). It could be a loose sketch or something with detail- it didn’t matter. THAT picture was just like a warm up for the brain- in the process of drawing something it kind of jump starts things and I often got ideas for what I wanted to do following this picture; maybe I wanted to practice lighting, maybe I wanted to try a new shading technique, perhaps painting with a different medium? 

The warm up sketch didn’t matter, but it helps get me started and on the ball for other pictures afterward. A lot of artists in the professional sphere do warm up exercises/sketches too before starting- sometimes it’s just doodles or hashes of lines and shapes made over and over.

Think of it this way- you wouldn’t run a mile or play a professional sport without warming up first right? Treat art the same way. That full picture you WANT to do is the mile you’re preparing for, so warm yourself up first before you get started!

[allbestnet]

What are the 10-15 books I need to read to get a basic understanding of philosophy?

History of Western Philosophy by Bertrand Russell | 792 pages | 4.05 / 24,059 ratings

First published in 1946, History of Western Philosophy went on to become the best-selling philosophy book of the twentieth century. A dazzlingly ambitious project, it remains unchallenged to this day as the ultimate introduction to Western philosophy. Providing a sophisticated overview of the ideas that have perplexed people from time immemorial, it is 'long on wit, intelligence and curmudgeonly scepticism', as the New York Times noted, and it is this, coupled with the sheer brilliance of its scholarship, that has made Russell's History of Western Philosophy one of the most important philosophical works of all time.

“A stupid man's report of what a clever man says can never be accurate, because he unconsciously translates what he hears into something he can understand.”

“To teach how to live without certainty, and yet without being paralyzed by hesitation, is perhaps the chief thing that philosophy, in our age, can still do for those who study it.”

The Story Of Philosophy by Will Durant | 528 pages | 4.09 / 10,449 ratings

A brilliant and concise account of the lives and ideas of the great philosophers--Plato, Aristotle, Bacon, Spinoza, Voltaire, Kant, Schopenhauer, Spencer, Nietzsche, Bergson, Croce, Russell, Santayana, James, and Dewey--The Story of Philosophy is one of the great books of our time. Few write for the non-specialist as well as Will Durant, and this book is a splendid example of his eminently readable scholarship. Durant's insight and wit never cease to dazzle; The Story of Philosophy is a key book for any reader who wishes to survey the history and development of philosophical ideas in the Western world.

“Science is organized knowledge. Wisdom is organized life.”

“How much more suffering is caused by the thought of death than by death itself.”

The Philosophy Book : Big Ideas Simply Explained by DK | 352 pages | 4.16 / 1,935 ratings

Explaining more than 100 of the most important big ideas and groundbreaking theories of key philosophers in a clear and simple way, this is the perfect introduction to philosophy and the history of how we think. Untangling knotty theories and shedding light on abstract concepts, The Philosophy Book makes use of innovative graphics and easy-to-follow explanations to demystify complex ideas.Explore the history of philosophy, from ancient Greece and China to today, and find out how theories from over 2,000 years ago are still relevant to our modern lives. Follow the progression of human ideas and meet the world's most influential philosophers - from Plato and Confucius through Descartes and Mary Wollstonecraft to Wittgenstein, Chomsky, and Derrida.With clever illustrations, clear explanations, a philosopher directory, and a vocabulary glossary, The Philosophy Book is a perfect and comprehensive introduction to a fascinating subject.

A Little History of Philosophy by Nigel Warburton | 272 pages | 4.1 / 3,348 ratings

Philosophy begins with questions about the nature of reality and how we should live. These were the concerns of Socrates, who spent his days in the ancient Athenian marketplace asking awkward questions, disconcerting the people he met by showing them how little they genuinely understood. This engaging book introduces the great thinkers in Western philosophy and explores their most compelling ideas about the world and how best to live in it. In forty brief chapters, Nigel Warburton guides us on a chronological tour of the major ideas in the history of philosophy. He provides interesting and often quirky stories of the lives and deaths of thought-provoking philosophers from Socrates, who chose to die by hemlock poisoning rather than live on without the freedom to think for himself, to Peter Singer, who asks the disquieting philosophical and ethical questions that haunt our own times. Warburton not only makes philosophy accessible, he offers inspiration to think, argue, reason, and ask in the tradition of Socrates. A Little History of Philosophy presents the grand sweep of humanity's search for philosophical understanding and invites all to join in the discussion.

Philosophy 101 : From Plato and Socrates to Ethics and Metaphysics, an Essential Primer on the History of Thought by Paul Kleinman | 288 pages | 3.71 / 464 ratings

Discover the world's greatest thinkers and their groundbreaking notions!

Too often, textbooks turn the noteworthy theories, principles, and figures of philosophy into tedious discourse that even Plato would reject. Philosophy 101 cuts out the boring details and exhausting philosophical methodology, and instead, gives you a lesson in philosophy that keeps you engaged as you explore the fascinating history of human thought and inquisition.

From Aristotle and Heidegger to free will and metaphysics, Philosophy 101 is packed with hundreds of entertaining philosophical tidbits, illustrations, and thought puzzles that you won't be able to find anywhere else.

So whether you're looking to unravel the mysteries of existentialism, or just want to find out what made Voltaire tick, Philosophy 101 has all the answers--even the ones you didn't know you were looking for.

Philosophy: A Very Short Introduction by Edward Craig

Philosophy: The Basics by Nigel Warburton

Introducing Philosophy by Dave Robinson

Knowledge: A Very Short Introduction by Jennifer Nagel

Nothing: A Very Short Introduction by Frank Close

Reality: A Very Short Introduction by Jan Westerhoff

Metaphysics: A Very Short Introduction by Stephen Mumford

Causation: A Very Short Introduction by Stephen Mumford

Hermeneutics: A Very Short Introduction by Jens Zimmermann

Introducing Plato by Dave Robinson

Introducing Aristotle by Rupert Woodfin

Spinoza: A Very Short Introduction by Roger Scruton

Schopenhauer: A Very Short Introduction by Christopher Janaway

Introducing Hegel by Lloyd Spencer

Introducing Kant by Christopher Kul-Want

Introducing Wittgenstein by John Heaton

Introducing Kierkegaard by Dave Robinson

Introducing Nietzsche by Laurence Gane

Introducing Bertrand Russell by Dave Robinson

[seeroftodayandtomorrow]

Glee Trek

Space - the Final Frontier. These are the Adventures of the Gleeship New Directions. Its mission: to explore new music, to seek out new choreographies and mash-ups. To boldly sing what no one has sung before.

Episode 2: Where no Choir has Sung Before

Captain's Log, Stardate 1312.4. : Finding new crew members with the talents we need has been more difficult than anticipated. It seems the ancient, honorable tradition of Gleeships is, indeed, dying out, and few Starfleet personnel are willing to put their careers into a seeming dead end. I have been forced to use rather unusual methods to find those willing to join us, but I have been successful. Over the next few days, we will welcome four new crew members.

Unusual methods, indeed. Will dared not put these methods into an official log, nor even confide them to a personal one. But Finn Hudson had just been too good to pass up: very good singing voice, though his dancing left much to be desired, but with the education and experience to make him a good first officer. Of course, he had declined, being in the line for his own ship, until Will had acquired, hidden, and then 'found' a forbidden Kitarian game in the young officer's quarters. After that, he had signed up fairly quickly.

Two others had agreed without further....enticement. It had surprised Will at first, but they had seemed rather enthusiastic, and he was sure they would be fine members of his crew.

As for the fourth...well. April Rhodes had been in his year at Starfleet Academy. She hadn't had much going for her except her exceptional singing voice, and she had simply lacked the discipline to make it in Starfleet. One day, she had simply disappeared, and when Will checked her records, he saw that she had never graduated, nor officially quit. Nominally, she was still a member of Starfleet. It had not taken long to find her: at a Dabo table, a glass of something that was definitely no synthehol in her hand, gambling for her dinner. She had accepted his invitation gratefully, and he fully intended to make her a success after all.

April and one of the others would join them today, whereas they would pick up Mr. Hudson and their new counselor in a few days.

“Remind me of who he is again,” he said to Mr. Hummel, who was walking next to him, courteously matching his steps to those of his captain.

“Ensign Blaine Anderson, sir,” the android said. “Engineering. Youngest graduate of Starfleet Academy and lead singer of the Starfleet Academy Warblers.”

Will nodded, determined to make good use of his new crew members' abilities. He put on a welcoming smile as the two people beamed on board.

“Welcome to the Gleeship New Directions. I am Captain William Schuester.”

“Will,” April said, coming towards him with a big smile. She stumbled as she stepped off the platform and pressed against him when he caught her. She also smelled of drink, but if he remembered her voice correctly, it would be worth it. There would be no more drinking for her; there was only synthehol available on the ship. He had decreed it after some crew members had barfed on stage during a performance of a song by Ferengi singer Ke-Latinum-Ha.

The other arrival, a young man in a brand new Starfleet uniform, kept standing on the platform, staring mesmerized at...Lieutenant Commander Hummel?

“Ensign...?” Will asked.

“Oh! Excuse me,” Ensign Anderson said with a charming smile. “It's just...you are the Android, aren't you?” He hurried from the platform to stand before Mr. Hummel, practically bouncing with excitement.

“That is correct,” Mr. Hummel said.

“I majored in Cybernetics,” the ensign said. “You were the subject of quite a few of my studies. It's because of you I wanted this position. I'm looking forward to working with you.”

“I heard you were the lead singer of the Starfleet Academy Warblers. We can use your talents.”

“I'm happy to be here!” Mr. Anderson said with an enthusiasm he seemed to dedicate to everything he did. He stared again at Mr. Hummel. “Is it true that you can reach notes humans can't even hear?”

“I am able to reach any existing note,” Mr Hummel replied. “Although I usually limit myself to a more usual human range in order to -”

“Later, Hummel!” the captain interrupted. “You will have sufficient opportunity to talk to the ensign at another time.” Then he smiled. He had a good feeling about this.

Unfortunately, it didn't last long.

An hour or so later, after having shown the new arrivals to their quarters and invited them to an informal welcome gathering in Ten Forward at nineteen hundred hours, Will was in his ready room, engaged in a particularly frustrating communication with Starfleet Admiral Figgins.

“No, William, you can't go over Warp 5 to get a tactical advantage over the Klingons,” the admiral said, his face on the screen showing a very unpleasant expression of determination.

“But, admiral-” the captain argued. It was an environmental issue, sure, but surely his reasons were valid.

“No! Starfleet regulations forbid going over Warp 5 except in cases of emergency, and winning Quadrantals is not an emergency.”

“It is, especially if that condition still stands,” the captain said sullenly. “You can't pressure us -”

“I can, William, and indeed I must. Starfleet means are tight, and every ship is needed. If you don't place at Quadrantals, the New SS Directions will be used for purposes other than Glee, and you will probably be replaced as captain.”

“But we can be the best Gleeship in the galaxy, I know we can!“

“Then prove it. My hands are tied, William. There's nothing I can do for you.”

Will leaned back tiredly and sighed. It would be hard to win without any tactical advantage, especially if Vulcan Adrenaline and the Klingons would win their respective Sectorials, which he did not doubt. The admiral's conditions hardly seemed of import against the erasure of all music, with which the Sue had threatened them, but it still added another layer of pressure on his crew and himself.

Lieutenant Arthur Abrams, called Artie by most, looked up form his tinkering with a puzzled smile when he heard the door open. Nobody ever came here; but then he remembered there was to be a new crew member in engineering.

Not one, but two people entered, and engineering suddenly seemed pretty crowded.

“Lieutenant,” one of them said, “I'm Blaine Anderson. I am to work with you here, and I thought it best to acquaint myself with the premises, if it's alright with you.”

“And I'm April,” the woman said. “I'm not sure where I'll end up, so I thought I'd look around a little.”

“Well, I can surely use some help,” Artie said and fought to hide a grin. These two came at exactly the right time.

He led them into an adjacent cargo hold that, at the moment, looked more like a junkyard.

“These are old photon torpedoes,” he explained. “They have to be cleaned of silicium before we can dispose of them. The computer will do all the work, but you have to stand by and check nothing is overlooked.”

It was a rookie's job, boring and unchallenging but necessary, and leaving it to them would give him the time for a few much-needed repairs.

Looking into the rather unenthusiastic faces of his new colleagues, he pressed his comm badge. “Abrams to captain: I'd like to go under Warp for a while until while I do some maintenance, sir. We'll need about two hours.”

April grinned. “Two hours, eh? How long will it really take?”

“Two hours, give or take a few minutes,” Artie said, confused.

“What? You never tell your boss the time you'll really need. Always add at least an hour, better more. You have more time if you make mistakes, and if you don't and you make it in less, you look like a genius.” April was shaking her head.

It wasn't bad advice, Artie thought. There had been times when he'd had to ask for more time to complete a task, to the displeasure of his superiors. With April's trick, that wouldn't happen again.

“Well,” Blaine said, scratching his head while he watched the green numbers flicker over the computer screen. “There is probably no need for both of us to be here. You could go and visit another department, if you'd like.”

But April shook her head. “I have a better idea. If we beam all that stuff right into the warp core, it will burn without residue. We will be spared all that tedious work, and we'll have diposed of the torpedoes as well, which is what they want anyway.”

Blaine stared at her with an open mouth. For her, a mere cadet, to go so clearly around the orders of a superior officer, was....he had never seen like it. Even the boldest students at the academy had not been that brazen. He couldn't help but admire her a little bit.

“We've been given our orders,” he protested. “It's our first day. We shouldn't....”

“Oh, but you haven't been personally commended by Dean Tibideaux just because you follow orders so well, have you, Anderson? What about showing initiative, thinking outside the box?”

“But you can't be sure that everything will burn without residue. Besides, won't it disrupt the warp core? My calculations clearly show -”

“I have been beaming things into the warp core when you were still pooping your diapers, boy. I know what I'm doing.”

Blaine didn't know what to do. He outranked her, so she should do what he said - but it was true, she was more experienced, so shouldn't he defer to her?

As he was still thinking, April suddenly got to work without further consulting him. She started beaming the photon torpedoes into the warp core, and after staring at her for some more, he shrugged and helped.

Although the cargo hold started to look considerably less cluttered in a very short time, Blaine was sure they had done something wrong when strange noises started to come from the warp core. April seemed unconcerned; in fact, she had now started to pick up random tools, look at them for a while and then either put them down again or beamed them into the warp core as well.

“What are you doing?” he asked. “These are tools, not junk, you can't just -”

She signaled for him to be quiet, her face drawn in concentration and, Blaine thought, exhaustion.

He left her sitting there and went back into engineering, determined on finding out where the strange noises the warp core made were coming from. At first, everything looked normal, but then

the pulse frequency of the warp core started to accelerate until itwas so high that the warp core seemed to be a single glowing pillar.

Lieutenant Abrams glared at him from behind a computer screen and shouted,

“What have you done? It was a simple command I gave you! You should have done nothing that resulted in this!”

Suddenly the ship stopped abruptly and the lights in engineering went out. Only the regular flashes of the red alerd shed a little light.

In nearly complete darkness, Blaine and Lieutenant Abrams stared at the warp core and tried to decide what had gone wrong. Then, the captain's voice sounded from the comm system:

“All senior personnel to the bridge!”

“Where are we?” frantic voices asked, and,

“Position undetermined,” Mr. Hummel answered.

“We could be anywhere!” the captain said.

“Anywhere at all!” Mr. Puck shouted.

“I surmise we are at the edge of the universe,” Mr. Hummel stated matter-of-factly. “Where none have gone before.”

“Where no choir has sung before!” Lieutenant Berry excitedly said. “The acoustics could be something completely new, we should test them at once!”

“Anderson to bridge,” came a voice from the comm system, “something seems wrong with Cadet -”

“Not now, Ensign!” the captain interrupted, his attention on the ruckus on the bridge and the fact that his ship was wherever, light years away from home.

“To the conference room,” he ordered his senior officers. “We have to determine what happened here and what to do about it,”

Once seated along the large table, the senior officers seemed to remember that they were exactly that, and behaved much more orderly. Still, the captain sighed. He really needed a first officer to remind everyone of their duties.

“Suggestions,” he said.

“Could it have to do with the Sue?” Lieutenant Berry asked.

William groaned at the thought. “We can't rule her out completely. If it's her, though -”

”I don't think it was her,” Lieutenant Abrams interrupted. “I think it happened in engineering. I had left Ensign Anderson and Cadet Rhodes with the task to supervise the cleaning of the photon torpedoes, and then suddenly the warp core was going crazy.”

The new ensign Blaine Anderson looked slightly desperate as he contemplated the warp core that was still making weird noises and the unconscious April in his arms. She had fainted shortly after Lieutenant Abrams has disappeared to the bridge, when whatever had happened had happened.

“Anderson to sickbay,” he tried, touching his comm badge.

“Here Dr. Pillsbury,” a friendly voice answered, and he smiled relieved.

“The new cadet has fainted. Her vitals are stable, but she is awfully pale and her pulse is fast.”

“I'll be there at once.”

While the petite, red-headed Dr. Pillsbury tended to April, Blaine tried to figure out what had gone wrong. He knew by now that they had moved, that the ship had gone many light years from their original position without anyone intending it to be so. Except, maybe...he remembered April suggesting they beam things into the warp core, and beaming even more into it then was necessary to clean up. She had looked strangely focused and determined, and then tired and pale as if the beaming had cost her...Could it be she had been sabotaging them? But why? And what could he do to bring them back?

“Maybe we could reverse the polarity,” he muttered. “That often seems to work...or maybe...”

He needed Lieutenant Abrams for that. Hesitantly, he touched his comm badge again, hoping for someone to listen to him.

Before he could speak, however, a stern voice sounded through the comm. “Anderson and Rhodes to the conference room!”

“On my way, sir,” he answered and went to tell Dr Pillsbury he was leaving. She nodded distractedly while still tending April.

In the conference room, he indulged in a moment of awe that he was here on this ship. He would never have dreamed of seeing this room so soon, though. It was used for meetings with high-ranking diplomats and important discussion among the senior officers. For him to be here....could only mean one thing, he realized as he noticed the faces of his superiors looking at him with less than friendly expressions.

“Where is Cadet Rhodes?” the captain asked, and Blaine answered, “In sickbay, sir. She fell ill after....after-”

“After what?”

Blaine stood to attention as he remorsefully reported what had happened in engineering. When he was finished, he added,

“But I think I've figured out what -”

“I think you've done quite enough for today, Ensign. Go back to your work - your real work.”

Blaine was torn. He wanted to follow orders, he really did, but he knew he could make this right. So he lingered for a moment longer and tried to catch Lietutenant Abrams' eye, signalizing he needed to speak to him as soon as possible. Then he went back to enigneering, where he couldn't do his work because there were no photon torpedoes left to be cleaned.

So he waited. Fortunately, it was not overly long until Lieutenant Abrams appeared, still obviously upset. But Blaine wasted no time with apologies. The only way he could make up for his lapse of judgment was to make things right again.

“I think we need to figure out what we beamed into the warp core, then turn the ship and beam exactly the same things into it again,” he said without preamble, watching Abrams shift from anger to contemplation as he thought over the suggestion.

At long last, the senior officer nodded. “You might be right...and if not, you can hardly take us further from home than we are now - or make things worse for you, I might add. I'll give order to turn the ship, you try to remember what you put in there. I think we can discount the dust and scrap pieces, at least—or I hope so, anyway.”

But there was someone else they needed for this to work, at least if Blaine was right in his assumption. So he visited sickbay.

April was lying on a bed, fortunately alone. She looked much better.

“You played a role in taking us wherever we are now, didn't you,” Blaine accused gently. “I don't know how, or why, but you did.”

Slowly, she nodded. “I like to travel. I wanted to be very very far away, so I could really make a new beginning, you know?”

“Well, you certainly succeeded in getting us very, very far away. We're at the edge of the universe.”

“Oops,” April giggled. “I didn't mean to go quite that far. No wonder I fainted! I've never gone so far before!”

She sat up. “This is so exciting! We're were no one has ever been! There will be so much to discover!” She looked at Blaine. “You don't look excited.”

He shook his head. “I'm not. No one is. We have obligations -”

“Pish,” she scoffed. “Life isn't just obligations. Go have an adventure!”

“A lot of us also have families that don't live on the ship. From where we are now, it could be many years until we see them again.”

April's face fell. “Oh. I didn't consider that. That's awful! I never meant to do that!”

“Is there a way to bring us back?”

“I don't know...”

“Well, how did you do it in the first place?”

“I can do things with my thoughts. When I concentrate hard enough on something, I can make it happen. Kudos for figuring it out, by the way. People like you make traveling so exciting.”

“Can you do the same thing again, but in reverse?” He looked at her still-pale face. “I mean, without dying?”

“There was an interphasic compensator, I'm sure. It was broken somehow, but I don't remember where. Let's hope it's okay as it is,” Lieutenant Abrams said, looking with regret at another tool that would soon be gone.

“A flux coupler,” Ensign Anderson said. “and a dualitic inverter...probably.”

“Let's add a few scraps of metal for good measure—there. That should do it, hopefully.”

The two man looked at each other and nodded, waited until April nodded back at them, and then beamed the small heap of things into the warp core. For a second, nothing happened, but then the warp core started to make the weird sounds again and the ship lurched. Blaine dared a tentative smile.

“Abrams to bridge—where are we?”

“Not quite back home, but in familiar coordinates again. Well done, Lieutenant.”

Their little celebration in Ten Forward looked different than expected. It was a welcome for Blaine Anderson, but a farewell for April Rhodes, who, it had been decided, would not be a good fit with the crew after all. She was quite glad to be gone, as well, since her brief experience with shipboard life and its rules and regulations had not suited her. At their performance of Home, however, she sang lead, and everyone agreed she would visit.

“In spite of his mistake, Ensign Anderson has already proven to be a valuable member of our crew,” the captain announced at the end of the little party while Ensign Anderson blushed. “For bringing us home, I promote him to Junior Lieutenant. I'm sure his talent as a performer will be equally great. For now, though, it is time to get us to Draygo IV, where our new first officer awaits us. Engage.”

[boukenboy]

#12: 聖剣伝説3 / Trials of Mana

I really don’t like being negative! I’m not shy about giving criticism, but I have yet to review a game that I did not vibe with whatsoever. I tend to like most things! That is, until I played Seiken Densetsu 3. I straight up do not like this game, and it’s a little heartbreaking to say this, because SD3 gets a LOT right, but everything falls apart in the core game-play loop.

My biggest issue is the combat: there is a serious delay between entering a command having it play out on screen. I’ve noticed attacks taking several seconds to register - which makes planning any kind of strategy nearly impossible. Furthermore, by using the shoulder buttons, you can control your other part members and access their abilities, but whether or not this actually worked or not seemed entirely random. I’ve had game-overs happen because of this, and its very frustrating to feel as though you have no control over what’s happening on screen.

Combat is also incredibly tedious and repetitive - during the first quarter of the game, you’ll only have access to a handful of spells and special moves, and even those are unlocked through plot progression. Using these spells pauses battle as the animation plays, which makes an already sluggish system feel even more unintuitive. The game perks up a bit during boss battles, as they often feature changing environments and multiple forms, but these suffer from a lack of real strategic depth. Mainly, the problem is with positioning: A boss will occasionally telegraph a particular attack, so one would assume, due to SD3 being an action RPG, that you can dodge or avoid the attack somehow.

Not the case! If SD3 decides something is gonna fuck you up, there’s nothing you can do about it! And despite their glossy trappings, bosses aren’t all that much different than regular ones - all you have to do is debuff, attack, and heal. The same strategy will carry you far, and I felt no desire to experiment because I had no reason to do so. If SD3 had even the simplest guard and block system, everything would feel a more dynamic. But as it is, it feels flat. Dungeons are bit too long - exits and entrances are often hard to find, and I often found myself stuck running around, completely stuck, for absurd amounts of time. There’s little variety in their design, and honestly? They’re not fun. What makes them worse is that treasure chests are only found randomly after battles, so there is literally no incentive to explore around. I got real sick of it real quickly. Definitely use a guide.

All of this could perhaps be forgiven if the plot was strong enough to carry the flaws, but there’s just not enough content. There are a small handful of playable characters, each one with a unique opening scenario (and I assume ending?), but in between? There’s just not enough meat. You’ll occasionally run into your character’s nemesis, but for the vast majority you’ll be chasing after the next elemental boss beast or befriending cutesy sprites. I chose Riesz for my main character, and I actually really liked her! After her kingdom is taken over by a mysterious woman named Isabella, she sets out into the world in search of revenge and her missing brother, who was captured during the invasion. Riesz has a quick temper. but a strong sense of justice, an inability to let evil go unchallenged. Again, I just wish there was more development! But due to this being an SFC game, there may have been memory issues, since each character would need to have extra lines written for them..

The other heroes I chose were Hawkeye and Charlotte. Not going to lie, I barely remember anything about Hawkeye, because your team, unfortunately, gets even less screentime than your protagonist. Charlotte, on the other hand, was an utter mistake. I don’t understand what possessed me to have this creepy hobbit-thing join my team, but she sucks. Her speech impediment is not cute at all, and outside of healing, she’s kind of useless in battle. SD3 features a class change system, and its one of the few aspects of the game I have no complaints about. Each character gets their own unique skillset in each class, and they’re divided into light and dark categories. Light classes tend to be more support based, while dark classes focus more on offense and spells that lower your enemies’ stats. I can already imagine the possibilities for challenge or themed runs! I, being the idiot that I am, chose to make my entire down the dark path. This lead to my team being pretty unbalanced. I wonder if I could have had a better time with the game if I hadn’t decided to be an edgelord. I highly recommend researching each character’s potential growth paths!

Overall, SD3 is a mess, a beautiful mess, but not something I can recommend unless you’re willing to deal with how tedious the game can be. I can appreciate the ideas it has - nothing else plays quite like it - but the execution, for me, fails on many levels. I’d love to play the remake eventually, but I’d recommend staying far away from the original.

[faithfulnews]

Misenchantment

Misenchantment

By David Bentley Hart

January 6, 2020

I come to praise Eugene McCarraher (rather lavishly, in fact), not to bury him. But I may as well begin with a complaint, if only so as to appear evenhanded. In the penultimate paragraph of his enormous and extraordinary new book The Enchantments of Mammon, McCarraher conflates Alasdair MacIntyre’s famous invocation of St. Benedict at the end of After Virtue with what has come misleadingly to be called the “Benedict Option,” rejecting both together as though they were identical in meaning—which is to say, as if both offered a counsel of Christian disengagement from modern society and issued a call to withdrawal into isolated communities. This is an error. The Benedict Option is the title of an earnest but intellectually confused book by a journalist whose ultimate recommendations are difficult to discern amid the turbulences of his passions and anxieties. By contrast, the figure of St. Benedict as MacIntyre employs it has a very precise meaning: Benedict represents a moment when—in the lengthening twilight of a dissolving classical and Christian civilization—the slow labor of rescuing, recovering, and even reconstructing a unified Christian ethos was inaugurated. That labor began under the shelter of new forms of association located at the very heart of culture. MacIntyre’s St. Benedict has nothing to do with disengagement, and everything to do with the preservation and redemption of communal memory and public reason.

The misunderstanding is unfortunate, since it strikes a discordant note just at the close of a book that might well be called symphonic in form, and in the course of which McCarraher sounds a great many McIntyrean themes of his own. Like MacIntyre, McCarraher is impatient with those tedious modern dogmatisms that masquerade as deliverances of enlightened and disinterested rationality. He too finds the modern displacement of any moral grammar based on the cultivation of virtues by a fragmentary ethos of private values, public platitudes, and voluntarist individualisms a depressing reality. He too laments the reduction of ethical reasoning to little more than assertions of the will and celebrations of private property as the supreme index of the good. He too refuses to consent to modern secularism’s claims for itself, even while eschewing the traditionalist’s politics of nostalgia. Above all, like MacIntyre, McCarraher both recognizes and detests capitalism’s spoliations of creation and disintegration of communities, and casts a fond, forlorn eye toward the possibility of restoring a rationality of genuine human life.

But let me start again.

The Enchantments of Mammon is a magnificent book. It is, before all else, a sheer marvel of patient scholarship, history on a grand scale and in the best tradition of historical writing: a comprehensive account of the rise and triumph of capitalism in the modern age, not only as an economics, but also as our most pervasive and dominant system of ultimate values. But the book is far more than that. It is also a work of profound moral insight: a searing spiritual critique of a vision of reality that reduces everything mysterious, beautiful, fragile, and potentially transcendent in human experience to instances of—or opportunities for—acquisition and personal power, and that seeks no end higher than the transformation of creation’s substantial goods into the lifeless abstraction of monetary value. It is, moreover, a work delightfully subversive of the standard story of how this vision of things progressively became the very shape of the world we all now share (or, I suppose it would be better to say, the world we do not really share at all).

In McCarraher’s telling, capitalism as it has taken shape over the past few centuries is not the product of any kind of epochal “disenchantment” of the world (the Reformation, the scientific revolution, what have you). Far less does it represent the triumph of a more “realist” and “pragmatic” understanding of private wealth and civil society. Instead, it is another kind of religion, one whose chief tenets may be more irrational than almost any of the creeds it replaced at the various centers of global culture. It is the coldest and most stupefying of idolatries: a faith that has forsaken the sacral understanding of creation as something charged with God’s grandeur, flowing from the inexhaustible wellsprings of God’s charity, in favor of an entirely opposed order of sacred attachments. Rather than a sane calculation of material possibilities and human motives, it is in fact an enthusiast cult of insatiable consumption allied to a degrading metaphysics of human nature. And it is sustained, like any creed, by doctrines and miracles, mysteries and revelations, devotions and credulities, promises of beatitude and threats of dereliction. McCarraher urges us to stop thinking of the modern age as the godless sequel to the ages of faith, and recognize it instead as a period of the most destructive kind of superstition, one in which acquisition and ambition have become our highest moral aims, consumer goods (the more intrinsically worthless the better) our fetishes, and impossible promises of limitless material felicity our shared eschatology. And so deep is our faith in these things that we are willing to sacrifice the whole of creation in their service. McCarraher, therefore, prefers to speak not of disenchantment, but of “misenchantment”—spiritual captivity to the glamor of an especially squalid god.

  The book tells not only of capitalism’s most buoyant apologists but also of its most caustic critics and dissidents—the anarchists, socialists, communists, distributists, and Christian recusants of every kind.

It all began, of course, as a Christian heresy. Even if McCarraher rejects the notion that ours is an age of disenchantment, he recognizes that its intrinsic hostility to everything genuinely enchanting is itself a kind of rapture of the soul toward impalpable realms and unseen divinities. And this is partly because our age inherited all the sacred intuitions and longings for glorious transformation that earlier ages had directed toward a Kingdom supposedly not of this world. The dreams of one epoch inevitably yield to the disappointments of another. Still, the hunger for the sacred always persists, even as one way of life grows old, suppressed forces reassert themselves, and new ideas arise to fill in the spaces vacated by discarded certitudes. A great part of capitalism’s power over our imaginations, McCar-raher suggests, is derived from the authority it borrowed from a Christian language that had become detached from the larger rationality of the sacramental love of the world. And, while McCarraher holds no particular variety of Christian wholly responsible for these developments, he does not hesitate to assign particular blame where he thinks it just to do so.

He devotes, for instance, many extremely illuminating pages to the Puritan ethic, as it took shape first in Britain and then in the American colonies, and to the ways in which Puritan homiletics and moral discourse provided an empty rhetoric denouncing Mammon’s seductions while quietly laying a firm basis for Mammon’s reign. Above all, he shows how pernicious the Puritan language of godly “improvement” proved when used to justify—even to sanctify—what otherwise would have been called avarice and plunder. What began as a destructive heresy in Britain—as factory manufacture displaced free artisanal production, and as enclosure of the commons progressively destroyed communal usufructs—was only made all the more pernicious by its transplantation to the New World. Here, bright with the luster of holiness but unencumbered by the cultural traces of older orders of spiritual value, it took deep root and flourished without hindrance. And, of course, it was this evangelical fervor for “improving” the land and the people who worked it that became the chief justification for displacing the native peoples of the New World, and for condemning them as lazy, unenterprising, sybaritic, and positively wicked in their preference for living off the land’s bounty rather than transforming the wilds into fixed forms of private property. (McCarraher’s treatment of John Winthrop’s “theology of ethnic cleansing” is especially harrowing.)

Hence American Puritanism’s ghastly combination of the unappeasable pursuit of ever-greater profit with a private ethos not of holy poverty, but of pious drabness. Hence too, America’s historically unique fusion of the opulent and the barbaric, the devout and the rapacious. In a sense, America was born out of the transition from a Christian to a capitalist religious sensibility, mediated through the Puritan’s odd inversion of Christianity’s celebration of sacred dispossession into an ethos of unostentatious wealth. The baptismal waters of the Atlantic washed away the last lingering traces of a genuinely Christian vision of things, and what reached our shores was an altogether new religion. From the first, the nation was already set on its course toward consumer culture’s counterfeit beatific vision, its zealous devotion to the technological domination of creation, and its unconquerable faith in the redemptive power of possessions righteously obtained and vigilantly protected. But only the most earnestly zealous of the apostles of this new faith could have imagined that theirs would one day become the sole unchallenged religion of the entire globe.

  This, though, is only a small part of McCarraher’s narrative, which is too vast to distill into a summary in this space. And the value of the book lies not just in that grand overarching story, but also in the countless incidental details that throng the plot. On every page, there are poignant clarifications and illuminations and aperçus—the account of the Lockean elevation of monetary value over use-value, say, or observations of the legal personhood progressively ceded to joint-stock and limited-liability corporations, or bitter commentary on the rise of management theory and advertising strategies, and so forth. Moreover, as much as McCarraher’s is a history of capitalism’s slow but inexorable triumph, both as a concrete reality and as a transcendental ideal, it is also a more heartening history of resistance. The book tells not only of capitalism’s most buoyant apologists but also of its most caustic critics and dissidents—the anarchists, socialists, communists, distributists, and Christian recusants of every kind. And even these critics and dissidents are scrupulously differentiated from one another in McCarraher’s account, as are the varying degrees to which they either succeeded or failed in rejecting Mammon’s enchantments to the end.

For instance, McCarraher is pitilessly honest about those forms of traditional socialism and communism that have all too often recapitulated the superstitions of industrial production and management, routinized labor, the technological conquest of nature, and the mechanisms of the modern nation-state. Like Adorno and Horkheimer, for example, McCarraher recognizes that the Marx who wrote the third volume of Das Kapital—with its elevation of unremitting labor over festal leisure, its fantasies of limitless manufacture and exploitation of the earth’s resources, and its insistence on a total central control of production—was at the end of the day the most monstrously ambitious corporatist in human history, one whose ideas, if realized, would have changed all of life and the whole of the world into one gigantic factory, human labor transformed into a machine of relentless and joyless production. In fact, much of the secular left comes across in these pages as, at best, naïve about capitalism’s power to absorb everything into the logic of the market and, at worst, complicit in that logic. One thing a reader will certainly take away from McCarraher’s treatment of many forms of classical socialism is that capitalism’s capacity for translating everything—even dissent from capitalism—into a kind of bourgeois commodity is all but infinite. And so his sympathies lie elsewhere.

McCarraher’s is an essentially Christian Romantic vision. For him, the only true path of resistance to capitalism’s destructive energies is one that leads away from the logic of the market: away, that is, from the idea that wealth-creation should be the highest constitutive good of any culture, and from the notion that technological power over nature should be the moral ideal of a sane human society. He longs instead for a truly sacral view of creation, approached with a sensibility open to transcendence. He longs for a culture that would treat nature not as a reservoir of morally neutral resources waiting to be converted into private affluence, but rather as an abundance freely given and freely shared within the embrace of a spiritual order of participation. Such a culture would treat the good things of creation as sacramental mediations and signs of the divine mystery upholding all things. McCarraher’s heroes are not so much Marx and Engels as John Ruskin and William Morris and others of similar disposition. And he has the discernment to recognize the potentially radical political philosophies latent in many places we might typically regard as lying altogether outside the political, such as John Muir’s nature-mysticism. The common ethos to which he is principally devoted is one that relies first upon God’s grace and love, as expressed in creation’s heedless generosity, and that presumes a kind of immanent sacredness in the world available only to those who are willing to receive it as a common inheritance. What he desires is an ethics of personal wonder and of the cultural hunger for God’s presence in the depths of things. It is an ethics, before all else, of the commons, permitted once again to flourish, to run to seed, to overflow, and to offer shelter to all.

So, in the end, while the story McCar-raher tells is principally one of alienation and loss, idolatry and willful blindness to beauty, it is also a tale about all those lingering sparks of an older metaphysics of creation as divine glory that might still be gathered up and kindled into a full flame. Perhaps there might arise a new St. Benedict or two, or a few million, who could strive to overcome the ethics of sanctified greed that separates human beings from one another and from the rest of the -natural world, and who might inspire a renewed awareness that the holiness of living things far surpasses the charms of lifeless wealth. McCarraher clearly believes that it is still possible to revive in ourselves, as late modern persons, a longing for the sort of abundance that is waiting for us when we do not seek to reduce everything into mere property. But this is an abundance visible only to love.

  I risk making McCarraher’s book sound more rhapsodic than practical, and that would be an injustice. He understands that his is also a vision that requires a certain pragmatic economics, and he does not neglect material theory in recommending the spiritual values he believes in.

Of course, no story—or none worth telling—really has a single discrete beginning or a single definitive conclusion. Enormous as The Enchantments of Mammon is, it could well have been longer still. It might, if nothing else, have dwelt a little less exclusively on capitalism’s “Anglo-Saxonism” (as the French would say), and perhaps explored at greater length the rise of capitalism in the late-medieval and early-modern Italian city-states, or the occult ties between early capitalist economics and Iberian colonialism in the Americas and the rebirth of chattel slavery. There are Catholic chapters perhaps yet to be added to the predominantly Protestant story that McCarraher tells. But no book can do everything and this one is already a majestic achievement. It will enjoy a long posterity, I think, in both the academic world and the world of the general readership. It is exhaustive, precise, and rich. But more important still, it is a work of great moral and spiritual intelligence, and one that invites contemplation about things we can’t afford not to care about deeply.

The Enchantments of Mammon How Capitalism Became the Religion of Modernity Eugene McCarraher Harvard University Press, $39.95, 816 pp.

Issue: 

January 2020

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[drthehonpeterphillips-blog]

TRIBUTE TO THE MOST HONOURABLE PORTIA SIMPSON MILLER

We are gathered here today to pay tribute and bid farewell to one of our colleagues who has been an indelible presence in this Parliament for over 40 years. The life and work of our colleague, former Prime Minister, the Most Honourable Portia Lucretia Simpson Miller has been duly recognised in other fora. However, we the Members of this Honourable House have a responsibility to place on record our assessment of her outstanding contribution for future generations. In so doing we discharge a responsibility that is in keeping with worthy traditions. Most of us need an ideal or an individual to rouse us to a realization of the latent powers within ourselves and our capacity for greatness. There is no doubt that for over four decades Portia Lucretia Simpson Miller has become for thousands of Jamaican Children Island wide that symbol of achievement. Her journey from humble beginnings in rural Jamaica to the highest office of the land through sheer grit, determination, hard work and courage is but one dimension of her unique contribution to the social and political life of Jamaica. Equally important in her meteoric rise is the fact that she became Jamaica’s first female Prime Minister in a political process historically dominated by men. Global recognition followed when TIME Magazine ranked her in the top 100 of the most influential women in the world. Her career in electoral politics began with her election to the KSAC in 1974 as the Councillor for the Whitfield Town Division which laid the basis for the transformation of the constituency of South-West St. Andrew into a bastion for the Peoples National Party. The name Portia quickly became synonymous with the struggle of the people in her constituency for a better life. They all began to feel more confident to face life with Portia as they saw in her the opportunity to realize the hopes and dreams they had cherished for so long for themselves and their families. Her overwhelming victory at the polls in 1976 made her the first PNP Member of Parliament for South West Sr. Andrew and marked the beginning of her representation which would be virtually unchallenged for over four decades. As the political representative of a constituency comprised of some of the most challenging urban communities, Portia Simpson Miller earned a well-deserved reputation as the veritable embodiment of the PNP’s historical advocacy of social equality by her work to uplift the most marginalized sectors of society. Her influence was also evident in the rise of a new political class. In the seven General Elections between 1944 and 1972 only four women were elected to the Lower House – Iris Collins, Rose Leon, Iris King and Esme Grant. When Portia entered in 1976 she did so with four other women and since then the impact of women in the Jamaican political process has been increasingly seen and felt. During her political career she held a range of cabinet portfolios including Labour & Social Security, Tourism & Sports, and Local Government, Sports & Community Development. To each she brought passion and the capacity to inspire her staff to share her commitment to make the interests of the people paramount. The Historians and the social commentators will no doubt make their assessments in due course. But it is indeed indisputable that during her tenure as Minister of Labour, the confidence she inspired in both the labour movement and employers contributed greatly to ensuring the stability of the industrial relations climate in what was a difficult economic environment. Equally, history will record her role in the completion and implementation of the Tourism Master Plan which continues to guide the Industry. For many however her role as the Minister, longest associated with Sports and Sports Development was critical in helping consolidate Jamaica’s place on the world stage where sporting prowess was concerned. The nation will forever recall her contribution in this regard. Over the last two decades, as Portia Simpson Miller’s climb to the top has increasingly become a source of inspiration, more young Jamaicans have emerged from our inner city communities to represent Jamaica with phenomenal success on global stage. Indeed, Portia is an emblem of so much that is right with Jamaica. Among other things, she demonstrated the sheer grit and determination to succeed that defines so many of our modern day heroes from Bob Marley to Usain Bolt. Equally, significant is her pride in who she is and her embrace of her history. Many may not know but Portia keeps close track of her relationships; she has more identifiable cousins than anyone else I know. For her it is a badge of pride to recognize and accept them all. At the same time however it was reflective of her almost mystical connection with the people of the country. She was related to them as much as they related to her. Whatever we may think of this notion, there is no doubt that Portia claimed a special place in the consciousness and emotions of the Jamaican people that will earn her a unique place in the political history of the country. She served in the Cabinet of Michael Manley and P.J. Patterson, and developed lifelong friendships with both Hugh Shearer and Eddie Seaga, Prime Ministers during JLP Administrations, but there is no doubt that within the pantheon her place is unique and secure. Today, on the eve of her retirement from representational politics she can be assured that she has earned a special niche among the most enduringly popular leaders in modern Jamaican life, and is guaranteed a secure place in Jamaica’s history. On a personal note I served in her cabinet after challenging her for the leadership of the Party, and I would like to place on record that not only did she entrust me with perhaps the most critical portfolio of Finance, but gave unfailing support to all the measures that were required to take Jamaica through a most difficult period. During her tenure as President of the PNP and Prime Minister of Jamaica, she presided over some of the most definitive growth-inducing reforms of the Jamaican economy and was able to do so despite the many difficulties involved, without losing the essential trust and respect of the Jamaican people. At every step along the way Jamaicans trusted and believed in her basic commitment to the building of a Jamaica that offered equal opportunities to all Jamaicans and ensured that the most marginalized did not remain at the back of the line. For Portia, this concern for the plight of the Poor was not just a dimension of her “political personality”, but rather was a quality of her personal character whether it was the simple offer of a “sweetie” in the middle of some long and tedious public function, or the presentation of a gift to some needy child or constituent, or her rushing home to take care of her beloved “Errol” or Mr. Miller, Portia was and is an intensely loving person. But she was no “sofers” as they would say. She had an indefatigable courage. In the tense and fervid days of the 1970s she would venture anywhere at any time and confront any danger that made lesser men wilt. She may not have “bared her chest” as Bustamante was reputed to have done but she certainly told the arrayed might of Jamaica’s security forces that they could do what they wanted, but she was not going to leave her people in Whitfield Town. I am proud to place on record this Tribute to her as a leader, stateswoman and an exemplary daughter of Jamaica, who has made her indelible mark, not only in Jamaica and the Caribbean, but in the wider world on behalf of all of those masses of people who continue to struggle for a better life. June 27, 2017

[cumbersome-apparatus]

Some very good Breath of the Wild things:

-The “no Big Dungeons, just Shrines and Divine Beasts” format is actually really clever and amazing. The whole game is either combat and exploration, or lovingly designed self-contained puzzles. Even the best Zelda games thus far have had, like… Hallways? Rooms that just had a switch or a lever or something to get you from one puzzle to the next. Well, this game is all but devoid of that kind of make-work. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with busywork POTENTIAL in games. I actually really enjoy repetitive, banal, “tedious” tasks. It’s how I chillax! But when busywork is baked right in, all I can think about is some lazy designer not bothering to think of anything interesting to have you do instead. (This is why I never got very far in Twilight Princess. Or Oblivion’s main quest, for that matter. If you have to pad a game out by alternating the real stuff with entering a uniformly colored parallel dimension to get some stupid sphere, YOU DID NOT MAKE ENOUGH GAME AND NEED TO COME UP WITH MORE THINGS.)

-The lack of level/skill mechanics found in standard sandbox RPGs is Good For Me™. Like I said, I have a high tolerance for tedium, and actually enjoy it. So I’m ​a compulsive level/skill grinder, and have been known to actually break games that way. This is a game I cannot break! I guess I’ll have to, like, NOT complacently run around killing things in one hit, and have FUN and CHALLENGE and all that shit. And spend the time I’d burn grinding on doing​ actual Things, UGH. Hell, you HAVE to do Shrine puzzles if you even want to gain health and stamina at all. You can’t just run around squeezing XP out of enemies. (But seriously, this game made me realize that this really is A Bad Habit.)

-Much as I love Elder Scrolls, I gotta admit, the combat is kinda button-mashy and unchallenging and lacking in strategic elements and a satisfying learning curve. This game is better for being… Not like that. (I thought the same thing about Witcher 3, though, which is much more fiddly, actually. And is also a game where you need to do quests as opposed to just whacking the experience out of things. More games need to have that stipulation, tbh.)

-The combination of cartoony characters and detailed painterly environments reminds me of a really good animated movie from the days when things were actually drawn on cels. But you can run around in it!

-They somehow perfectly captured everything eerie and existentially unsettling about the “unearthing millennia-old artifacts from a previously unknown technologically advanced precursor society” trope. Even just the phrase “we found the Guardians” makes my skin crawl wonderfully. And even that pales in comparison to… Well, this thing I saw. I’m not going to tell you what it is, because I want you to find it for yourselves if you’re also playing, and also because I don’t know what it actually is myself yet because I don’t want to know anything about it until I go check it out myself. Just know that it is HUGE and TOTALLY INCONGRUOUS WITH THE SURROUNDING ENVIRONMENT. You know. Like that stuff should be.

-I like cooking with unsanitary nonsense I find on the ground in the woods.

[agarwal123]

R VS PYTHON VS SAS

We as humans are very found of comparisons to help us choose the best prom the bests. Whether it may be iOS vs Android or Nike vs Adidas, there is a comparison in almost every field. So it is in the data industry.As the Digital world is thriving at a greater acceleration, the need to store data is on the rise. The data accumulation is at the forefront for many businesses to enhance their growth. It is therefore very essential to keep the data structured and organized si it becomes easy to use.R, Python, and SAS are the three major programming languages used to filter data and help in the organization of the same.All three major languages do the work efficiently according to the needs and are centralized to a more specific approach.

Let’s first get an outline of R, Python, and SAS.

R - R is a programming language and free software environment for statistical computing and graphics supported by the R Foundation for Statistical Computing. The R language is widely used among statisticians and data miners for developing statistical software and data analysis.

Python - Python is an object-oriented programming language that has clear syntax and readability. It was created in 1991 by Guido Van Rossem. It is easy to learn and will help you work more quickly and effectively. It has become more popular in a short period of time because of its simplicity.

SAS - SAS has been proved as one of the unchallenged leaders in the field of data science. It is known for its huge variety of statistical functions, good GUI and great technical support experience. It is also easy to learn. But, it is not open-source and ends up being an expensive option for a beginner.

Here we are going to compare the three languages to have an overview of its advantages and its use using specific metrics

1 . Cost: Cost is the major factor contributing to our decision to benefit from the product. R and Python is open source and completely free. They don’t charge anything and are free to access. SAS is expensive software and only private companies can afford it. This doesn’t take away the benefit it provides to the users. It is the leading analytics software used by major companies such as Nestle, HSBC, etc.

2 . Ease of learning: R is difficult to grasp language. You cannot learn it without having a prior understanding of coding. It has a very tedious process. Even a small mistake while implementation makes the task complicated. Python is renowned for its simple use and learning the language. It can be usually accessed by beginners as well as data scientists to lean it. SAS is the easiest to learn among the three. It comes with a GUI that assists in learning. Moreover, you can learn fro the tutorials it provides.

3 . Data handling capabilities: R computes everything based on the RAM. So if you have a relatively low storage RAM, you will be able to handle data according to it. This is no longer the issue. Python and SAS are both equally good in managing the data. We can conclude all three are at the same level when it comes to data handling. They all have the option of parallel computations as well.

4 . Graphical Capabilities: When it comes to graphical capabilities, R is the leader. It has a very dynamic and easy to use graphic interface. Python is par with R due to its unique graphical packages such as VisPy, Matplotlib. It is more complex when compared to R though.SAS has a basic graphical capability. However, it is purely functional. Any customization needs an understanding of the SAS graph package thoroughly.

5 . Updates: R and Python being open-source provide new updates faster. They give new techniques and features frequently. SAS, on the other hand, provides new developments a little late when compared with the two. But due to working in a well-controlled environment, the new developments and features are well tested and error-free.Being open-source, the R and Python updates are generally error-prone.

6 . Customer Support: R and Python being open source do not have a team specifically concerned with customer support. So if you have some issues to be resolved, you have to do it for yourself.But, they do have a big online community. So, if you face some problem, you can reach to the community for help. SAS has a special team dedicated to effective customer service. You can any time reach out to them and you will be answered. It provides great technical support.

CONCLUSION : All three come up with its unique features and are best according to what you need to get the benefit of.It all depends on the field and work you want to do If you want to keep a tap on data analytics for a big IT company, SAS is the best option as they can afford the huge cost.If you are just starting, Python should be your go-to option due to it’s easy to understand learning, a large community. As R has a stronghold in calculations, it is a very good option for statisticians and researchers.

[margotgentrywrites]

third and fourth chances 1

Ai Xue has put her dreams on hold for her family’s sake. She doesn’t believe she’ll ever be able to live life the way she wants to and relieves the doldrums of the everyday with escapist dramas. When a vision from her fantasies steps into her life, will she discover that living to escape isn’t living at all and finally confront her family and reality? Or will she choose to continue living a lie for the sake of peace?

Yu Hai has lived with a secret for over fifteen years. The mask that he wears in public, as the CEO of the successful technology company Heaven’s Gate, has become a part of his everyday life. But when Ai Xue becomes an intern at his company, his steady, boring, well managed life is suddenly in danger of being turned upside down. Will he realize that he can’t and shouldn’t fight his emotions? Or will he continue to deny himself the normalcy he has always craved?

To start with, he had long, straight black hair, always slicked back in a half ponytail or braid. Instead of being a distraction it added an air of elegance and power to his appearance, something his subordinates often tried to cultivate, but failed at miserably. 

To say he was a fashion icon was a bit of an overstatement, though - his suits, while of fine material and tailor-made, were not eye-catching. His shoes, though designer Italian and all leather, were a timeless, modest style. Not to mention he was hardly personable - aloof was putting it nicely.

His appearance was, over-all, nondescript, and his personality was definitely not the ‘inner beauty’ type.

Except that hair.

God, ever since she’d come to work for this company, she’d had fantasies about that hair. She could still remember her first time seeing him, the day she’d interviewed for the internship: he’d walked into the building and across the lobby with just two other men by his side, flipping through a folder - looking completely bored and unimportant. She never even would’ve looked twice at him, except at that moment he’d turned his back as he and his companions waited for an elevator, and his hair had swished about his shoulders neatly, then come back to rest against his back in a glossy, graceful, black waterfall.

She was captivated. What she’d thought at first was just longish, slicked-back hair was actually a mane. Like he was the damn emperor in a drama. It was the hottest thing she’d ever seen, and she’d done a semester abroad in California. Unconsciously, she’d pressed her thighs together as she watched the man turn his head to speak to one of the men. His nose was straight, his profile strong. The hair suited him so well...

Without another thought, and without taking her eyes off the man, Ai Xue had leaned over to the girl next to her. “Who,” she’d whispered hotly, “is he?”

The girl next to her, faceless, nameless, had looked from the man to Xue and back again. “That’s the CEO here. Yu Hai. Don’t you know anything?” Then she’d gone back to her own business. 

Ai Xue didn’t know anything, apparently. She’d just agreed to come apply for the internship at Heaven’s Gate to get her father off her back about not caring about her future, or having enough ambition, blah blah blah.

Well, that had all changed in a moment. She was going to give the interview of a lifetime and absolutely slay the competition. The world would soon see what Ai Xue was made of - he would soon see. After all, if he was an emperor, surely he needed an empress.

Of course, it would be easier said than done. As she’d watched the elevator doors gradually open and Yu Hai and his companions board, she’d vowed to herself to finally make her father proud. He’d never be able to complain about her lack of ambition or obsession with dramas ever again. She would make CEO Yu Hai and all his subordinates look to her for answers, to need her so desperately that Heaven’s Gate could never survive without her. 

She would help this company and that man surpass them all.

She would make him look at her, not just pass her by.

And as the group of men turned around in the elevator, as the doors began to close, she could almost have sworn he did.

___________________________________

Heaven’s Gate was a company that specialized in technology research and development, then brought in contractor groups to produce the systems they created. It was a complex business that relied on its various departments getting along and working together for a common goal. It was a large enough company that it was able to hire two interns to each department, and sometimes took on assistants for the chief administrative and operating offices as well. Over all of it, CEO Yu Hai led the charge in development, providing the ideas and the impetus for the company to continue producing innovative technology and systems.

Perhaps because of this, he was more demanding than anyone would ever guess from a first glance at him. He worked closely with his COO, Yun Qing Li, to ensure the employees did their jobs well, that the compensations were adequate in the case of overtime - and there was always overtime - and that no one ever, ever left Heaven’s Gate for another company. Get a job working for Yu Hai and you were employed for life. The cost was only your unwavering loyalty in the face of an ever shifting economy and market, and an unchallenged belief that Yu Hai was the genius your superiors told you he was. It didn’t matter that the man rarely smiled, rarely spoke to his underlings directly, and was basically sequestered in the ivory tower top floor of the Heaven’s Gate building. Believe in the company and it would believe in you...and believing in the company meant believing in its CEO.

Now, in the intervening weeks since her interview and then the offer of the internship, Xue found herself coming to work early and leaving late nearly six days a week. She ran messages for the department she’d been assigned to, answered phone calls, and made coffee. It wasn’t glamorous, or challenging. In fact, she thought being a delivery driver for her uncle’s restaurant had probably been more difficult. The job was turning out to be just as tedious as every other job she’d had in this industry...but she wasn’t bored of it yet, a fact over which her father and cousin took every opportunity to tease her. Well, her cousin teased her. Her father just alternated between fawning over her newfound ambition and scratching his head, utterly bewildered. Maybe, underneath it all, what was motivating her was the pressure to be the best for the best, but really, Xue thought it was more likely the hair still holding sway over her better judgment.

Finally free after another long day on the job, she’d gone straight home, hoping to relax some before going to bed and waking up to do it all over again.

“I’m home!” she called softly into the darkened front hallway, carefully taking off her shoes in order to put on the house slippers. 

From deeper inside the apartment, she could hear a cheerful voice calling, “Xue is back!” followed by a “Finally. Tell her to make dinner!”

“You all are heartless,” she groused as her cousin, Lin Wei, appeared in the hallway. Wei laughed and took her bag as she tossed it aside.

“Your father has been begging you to cook for him all week.”

“So? Tell him to ask Uncle for leftovers.”

A new voice added itself to the discussion. Quiet, but distinctly masculine. 

“Sorry, Xue. I offered to make it in your place -”

“Feng Li.” Xue smiled up at him as she finished fitting the slippers on her feet. “It’s okay. You do this all day for a living. I don’t mind.”

“That’s right. Besides, you’re so good at it,” Wei interrupted, shooing Xue along the hallway until they got to the kitchen. She turned and stuck her tongue out at Feng Li as they passed him and he just gave a small smile in response, crossing his arms and leaning in the doorway. Xue rolled her eyes at him and his smile broadened. 

Xue began bustling about the space, pulling out this pan and that one, along with some basic ingredients. Taking a particular spice down from the spice rack, she frowned at the jar. 

“What’s wrong?” Feng Li asked quickly. 

“Just...I didn’t realize we were almost out of the curry powder.” She shrugged and went to set the jar back in the cupboard. Before it even reached the rack, Feng Li had plucked it from her fingers and was regarding it seriously. He looked back at her. 

“I’ll get more for you.”

Wei was quick to weigh in. “Great idea. I’ll go with you,” she said. Xue looked at them askance.

“It’s not a big deal. I can make something else.”

“No, no, you can’t,” Wei replied. “Your dad loves your curry. Come on, Feng Li.”

Then Wei was pushing Feng Li out the door without even a goodbye, chattering the whole way. Xue gave a quiet laugh to herself, shaking her head at the couple’s antics, and turned back to the counter. Her slim fingers held freshly washed vegetable firmly and she deftly wielded her knife, chopping the onion, julienning the carrot and radish. It was all second nature to her and she allowed her mind to wander as her hands went through the familiar, relaxing motions. 

Zhang Feng Li was the sous chef for her uncle, Lin Ming. She’d known of him for a long time, and had known him as a friend for a couple of years. He was quiet, hard working, and always happy to lend a hand in the kitchen, or show her how to do something she hadn’t yet mastered. She liked him as a chef and as a person, but she wondered more what her cousin thought of him. In the last few years that he’d grown closer to the family it was obvious that her Uncle Ming wanted Wei to consider Feng Li as more than a friend. 

As she considered her cousin’s romantic predicament, Xue couldn’t help picturing her own predicament. It had been two months since she’d started her internship and she didn’t feel she was any closer to her initial goal of landing a full time, permanent placement at the company. CEO Yu Hai still haunted her daydreams like the proud young dragon she fancied he was, and he still had no clue she existed, except as a peon who occasionally washed his coffee cup. She was afraid to even think it, but it might be time to admit she was stuck. And being stuck usually led to boredom, which led to eventually quitting, then bouncing around from one part-time gig to another until her father hassled her into applying for another tech industry job. It was a cycle she’d been in for years, ever since she’d graduated, and she was getting older, getting tired, and had nothing to show for all the hard work she’d put into her degrees. Of course, if her father had let her just go to culinary school like she’d originally wanted to, she wouldn’t be in this mess at all. Just because a person was good at something - like she was with business and technology - didn’t mean it was what they were supposed to be doing in life. 

She’d always had a dream, hadn’t she, of becoming a chef - not even a big-time one, just a small street cafe would be adequate - and spending her days cooking for people the way her mother had, showing them love and the possibilities of life through her food. Then, at night, snuggling under a blanket with a glass of wine in hand, satisfied with a hard day’s work, ready to dream with her favorite drama or even just stargaze… Instead, here she was in another dead-end job, with a hopeless crush, and nothing to show for it except her father’s pride. Well, he could be proud all he wanted, but the truth was that his daughter was an aimless, foolish woman...

“You’re deep in thought.”

Her father’s voice interrupted her thoughts, breaking the circles she was mentally running around herself, and she cast a grateful, tired smile in his direction.

“Dad. Look, I’m making dinner.”

“I see that! Finally, you’re meeting your filial duty.”

Xue laughed, her strange mood easily lifted by her father’s humor, and pushed the vegetables to one side of the cutting board. Then she lifted the wok that was heating up and swirled the oil around in it. 

“Maybe,” she admitted. “But only if I can turn this internship into a full time job.”

Ai Liang Bo moved further into the kitchen to watch his daughter work. He dismissed her concern quickly. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that! You’re brilliant! How could they let you go?” 

Xue set the wok back down and turned to face her father. “I’m one of dozens of brilliant, new workers - and I’m older than the average intern.” She shrugged. “It’s my own fault if I don’t get it.” She hesitated and then went on, her voice much quieter, “I just want to make you proud.”

“Xue. My girl. Don’t think like that. Don’t even say it. You work so hard. If your mother -” he stopped short and then sighed. He moved toward her and Xue allowed him to pull her into a warm embrace. 

“Your mother and I are both so proud of you already. So you’ve had a few extra years to find yourself. Who hasn’t?” He laughed some. “You should have seen me before I met your mother. I swear, your grandmother despaired of me.” He shook his head some, lost in a memory. “But my point is, you’ve finally settled down and are ready to really work. All you have to do is ask and destiny will open the door of Heaven for you now.”

“Maybe,” Xue repeated, but she returned her father’s embrace gratefully before pulling away to continue cooking. The vegetables she’d chopped up earlier hit the pan with a sizzle and the cheerful sound managed to dispel at least some of her anxiety.

Heaven’s door might open for me, Xue couldn’t help thinking to herself, but will Heaven’s Gate?

Later that night, long after the dinner dishes had been cleared away and most of the household was in bed, Xue sat up by herself with only the glow of the television to keep her company. She sat curled in a ball on the couch, knees drawn tight to her chest, arms wrapped around her blanket-covered legs, and tears streaming down her cheeks from beneath her glasses. 

She stifled another sob and wiped her cheeks quickly, then tucked back into a ball, completely engrossed in the drama playing out before her. The second prince of the realm was in the middle of sweeping the woman he loved into his arms and finally getting her to confess she loved him when his father, the emperor, had stormed into the tent to reclaim his concubine. In between sniffles, she eagerly absorbed the actors’ every expression and movement, all the words that went unsaid in the longing glances the prince was exchanging with his father’s concubine. 

“It’s so awful! Xue, you’re not actually crying over this?”

Xue jumped, scared out of her skin. She’d been so intent on the TV show she hadn’t heard Lin Wei come into the living room. Her cousin plopped onto the sofa beside her and tugged at the blanket. “Come on, let me have some,” she insisted and Xue sighed and relented, holding the blanket up so Wei could thrust her own legs under it as well. The younger woman snuggled close and pouted at Xue.

“Hold me?”

Xue clucked her tongue and then wrapped her arms around Wei. “So demanding.”

“But you love me...and it’s more cuddles than you’re getting anywhere else right now.”

Xue smacked Wei’s shoulder and Wei laughed before settling back down. “Hey, if you can’t have the second prince there’s always Feng Li.”

“I’d rather join a convent,” Xue remarked off handedly, trying to focus on the drama again. “And how did you know he’s the second prince?”

“I said it was awful; I never said I didn’t watch it,” Wei said nonchalantly. “Besides, the thwarted lover is always a second prince.” 

Xue laughed and then settled her cheek against her cousin’s head. It was a comfortable position, and one they’d engaged in for well over fifteen years. First, because Xue had always wanted a little sister when her cousin had been born, and second, because when both their mothers died they’d needed one another desperately. 

“Can I tell you a secret?” Xue asked a few minutes later. Wei nodded.

“You can tell me anything,” she said.

Xue hesitated, caught between escaping into the drama in front of her and the possibility of creating a little drama in her real life. Wei sensed her reticence and sat up, untangling herself from the woman she’d always thought of as an older sister. She searched her face and Xue brought her eyes up to hers.

“I’m working for a real-life second prince.”

Wei’s eyes widened. “Tell me everything. Tell me!”

Xue chewed on her lower lip a moment, then nodded and began to explain just what could be waiting for her behind Heaven’s Gate.

For the first time in a long time, the drama on the television continued to unfold, but this time Ai Xue wasn’t watching it. It was always nice to escape for a little while, but knowing the intricacies of life in ancient China as a screenwriter imagined them was hardly going to help her get unstuck. And if she wanted her own real-life fairytale, unstuck was exactly what she needed to be.

___________________________________________

Yu Hai woke up slowly, as he usually did. His meditation routine wouldn’t allow for anything else.

Become aware. Stretch your limbs. Feel the smooth, cool surface of the sheets. Feel the soft warmth of the blanket. Take a moment to be grateful for waking up to another day. Picture the day as a blank piece of paper, ready for brand new ink. Open your eyes. Gradually sit up. Feel the cool, dry air of the room. Feel the warmth of the sun coming in the window pane. Take deep breaths. Place your bare feet on the floor and feel. 

Feel everything, so you can feel nothing. 

After going through these motions, he did a series of Sun Salutation. Then he finally, finally allowed himself to tend to his physical needs. But even then, he was guided by years of routine. 

Use the bathroom, wash your hands. Wash your face, brush your teeth. Brush your hair, tie it back. Brush it again. Leave the bathroom, step to the closet. Draw out the suit laid out the night before. And so on and so forth into eternity.

While he was getting dressed, his phone rang. He asked his assistant, the brain of his smarthouse, to answer. The call was connected without any clicks or buzzing - perfectly silent and efficient, as it should be. He waited for whatever was so important his morning needed to be disturbed. Not a moment later, a bright, cheerful voice accosted his ears.

“Yu Hai, it’s your day off.” 

He paused in the act of straightening his cuffs and looked to his left, eyeing the orchid the caller had given him for his last birthday. “Something to appeal to your OCD,” she’d joked at the time. He smiled slightly.

“Yun Chen, I don’t take days off,” he replied.

“You do today.”

“What’s the matter? Are your parents giving you trouble? You know, if your father has too much free time I can always -”

“No, no...well. Yes, actually. But no, if you pile any more work on my father my mom will come to your office personally to demand an answer.”

Yu Hai shivered. He liked the Yuns, but he had no desire to spend more time around more people, especially not spontaneously. 

“Fine,” he said. “But if you need an excuse, just come to my office for dinner. I can’t skip work for you.”

“Will you ever skip work for anyone?” Yun Chen wondered. When he didn’t respond, her laughter came over the line, mirthful and genuine. “All right, all right. I’ll come for dinner. But you have to come downstairs to greet me properly.”

Yu Hai pressed his lips together, reminded himself to be present, and forced his shoulders down and to relax. “All right. Just call me when you arrive. I’ll see you.”

“I knew there was a reason you’re my best friend! Thank you! Kiss kiss!”

There was silence and Yu Hai knew she’d hung up. He lowered his head, took a deep breath, and then left his room. 

He didn’t take days off.

__________________________________________

It was a sunny day and Hai shielded his eyes some as he got out of his vehicle in front of the building. He thanked his driver and moved forward, feet making pleasant, reassuring tup tup noises from the leather soles and hand-hewn wooden heels as he crossed the flagstones in front of the building. 

The doors slid open without a sound and the change in air pressure ruffled his hair some. He felt the tickle of a stray strand of hair across his forehead and cheek and he lifted a hand, brushing it away without much thought. The elevators were straight ahead. Rows of comfortable chairs on either side of the lobby. A large, half-circle welcome desk sat adjacent to the elevators. He knew people were nodding to him - they always did. It was only normal to greet your employer, the head of the company you worked for...but it didn’t get any easier to acknowledge the constant, countless hellos, bows, smiles, waves, and head nods.

Then it was over, as his personal secretary approached him, the usual folder with daily tasks listed in his hands. He went through the motions with the man, never breaking stride until they reached the elevators. His secretary pressed the button and then stood back, hands clasped in front of him, waiting for the inevitable. 

“You were late.” Hai didn’t look up from the folder. His secretary cleared his throat slightly.

“Ah. About that. I’m sorry, Sir. I had to take the train today because my car wouldn’t start.”

“You should take the train more often,” Hai responded. When there wasn’t a reply, he looked up to see his secretary clearly confused and struggling to find the correct meaning. He smiled very, very slightly. “That was a joke.”

“Ah. Ah! A joke. Very good, Sir. Sorry, I didn’t - you don’t normally...ahem.” He trailed off as Hai glanced back at the folder, the exchange clearly over already. 

A few feet away, an elevator opened and Hai could hear the the group of employees gathered in front of it whispering furiously to one another, debating whether they should allow him to take it instead. He closed his eyes briefly and then very deliberately ignored the whispers, pretending instead to be engrossed in the schedule in his hands. 

The moment passed, but the clamoring of his nerves remained. Yu Hai finally snapped the folder closed and passed it over to his secretary, who accepted it with surprise, but was kind enough not to say anything. Hai glanced over at the now empty space in front of the other elevator and he suddenly couldn’t stop thinking about how Yun Chen was going to make him leave his office, walk through the halls, take the elevator down and then back up again...all those eyes on him. All those greetings. Every whisper, every smile, every blatant stare - 

Hai was abruptly reminded of that moment, months before, when he’d caught the unabashed gaze of one of the people who’d come to interview during their annual intern search. He’d gotten on the elevator with his secretary and COO Yun and had turned around just as the elevator doors were closing, only to see the round, bright face of a young woman turned in his direction, the blatant curiosity in her expression bordering on rude. And yet…

“Sir?”

Yu Hai came to himself to see his secretary gesturing to the now open elevator before him. He gave a brief nod, somewhat irritated with himself for his confusing reverie, and stepped into the elevator. He turned around, rolling his shoulders back subtly to try and release some of the tension and that was when it happened.

“Oh, wait, please!” 

No. This could not be happening. Everyone knew that no one outside of his secretary and the COO or honored guests was ever supposed to ride the same elevator as him. They made up all sorts of reasons for the exception and truth be told, Hai didn’t really care what was said about him. As long as the rules were followed, his employees could believe he ate baby lemurs for breakfast. 

So who in their right mind thought they could catch a ride on this elevator this morning?

He lifted his gaze to the lobby outside the elevator and saw a woman hurrying towards them. Then he reached down, intending to be the bigger person for once and hold the door, and pressed the button - and the doors began to slide shut.

“Wait!” came the now panicked cry, and suddenly a hand was thrust between the nearly shut doors, causing them to open again.

“I’m so sorry,” the woman was saying, no, practically gasping. “I -” She stopped short as her gaze traveled from his chest up to his face and then all the way down to his shoes and back up.

Yu Hai couldn’t help his own gaze doing the same and he realized, with a sinking feeling, that this was the same woman who’d caught his eye briefly two months ago. The intern with the round, bright face was suddenly a reality and he could see every detail of that shining face up close as they were. A rosy pout, pink cheeks, gracefully tilted eyes, and a playful blunt cut with bangs that cradled a smooth forehead and gentle brows.

“I’m sorry. I meant to hit the open door button.” He confessed so quickly that he was sure he’d muddled the words, not to mention the look of rising panic on the intern’s face. She opened her mouth and a rush of confusing apologies came out.

“I’m sorry, Sir! I...I forgot my badge! I’ll take another elevator later. Thank you! I’m sorry!”

“Huh? How did she get through the security if she didn’t have her badge? So rude. Sir, I can talk to Human Resources if you-”

“No,” Hai replied quickly. “Just....forget it.”

“Yes, Sir.” 

Yu Hai was extremely proud of himself for staying quiet after that, especially considering he was suddenly worried he might be about to have the first anxiety attack at work he’d had in over three years.

[webart-studio]

Hiring Veterans Is Good Technique however These Three components Drive Them Away

Two-thirds of veterans depart their first post-military job inside two years.

November 11, 2018 6 min learn

Opinions expressed by Entrepreneur contributors are their very own.

Following the lead of firms like Comcast, T-Cellular and Amazon, U.S. companies of all sizes and industries are making a concentrated push to rent veterans. And why not?

The coaching and expertise veterans obtain within the army instills a steadfast work ethic, a mission-mindedness and a capability to be taught rapidly. U.S. servicemen and girls are educated to behave quick beneath intense strain in resource-constrained environments, giving them a capability to focus, a stage head beneath stress, and an adaptability that prepares them to deal with any impediment.

They’re pressured to work, stay and sleep in shut quarters, typically in dire circumstances, with various teams of individuals. When conflicts come up, they don’t have the luxurious of transferring or firing somebody and even of strolling away themselves; they’re educated and targeted leaders, adept at discovering options that profit the group. However maybe above all, veterans are outlined by a price system and sense of loyalty that make them one in every of your organization’s strongest property.

And but, many companies aren’t set as much as acknowledge the complete worth of their army expertise. Most companies strategy the hiring, improvement and retention of army expertise as they try this of civilian workers. This can be a mistake. The distinctive circumstances during which veterans gained their expertise and honed their expertise demand particular consideration to keep away from these three components driving them away.

The truth is that 65 % of Veterans depart their first post-military job inside two years. Right here’s why.

1. You’ve typecast them into a task.

For his or her first job within the civilian world, veterans are sometimes employed into positions that match their Navy Occupational Specialty (MOS). Their resumes are a listing of jargon, acronyms and laborious expertise for recruiters and hiring managers to cross-reference with technical necessities of open jobs.

The issue with this strategy is that it doesn’t acknowledge the mushy expertise — management, work ethic, analytical considering and teamwork — that point out the larger profession potential (and organizational worth) of army candidates. Compoundng that, veterans who might affiliate asking for assist as a weak point don’t advocate for themselves for brand spanking new alternatives the best way their civilian colleagues would possibly. In consequence, they might not be supplied ongoing coaching or thought of for brand spanking new or extra senior positions as their civilian colleagues would possibly. Their profession stagnates.

Thirty-one % of veterans depart their first post-military job due to a lack of profession improvement or development; almost 30 % depart as a result of they discover the work meaningless, unchallenging or tedious; and 23 % depart due to insufficient skilled improvement alternatives.

Within the army, servicemen and girls know their present standing and future profession path, they usually crave that very same transparency and alternatives to be taught, develop and advance of their new civilian careers. Firms ought to encourage a tradition of servant management, during which managers purposefully have interaction with veteran candidates and workers to be taught their pursuits and profession aspirations, and hold them challenged and invested within the firm.

Associated: Uncover the Uncooked Expertise of Millennials and Veterans

2. You’re talking a distinct language.

The hierarchy of a enterprise — extra horizontal and collaborative than the vertical chain of command veterans are accustomed to — introduces challenges in reporting, productiveness and long-term development. Veterans accustomed to answering to at least one commanding officer is perhaps disoriented by having a subject of superiors to report back to for various initiatives or assignments. On the identical time, they could really feel slighted if a peer contacts one in every of their “direct stories” with out going by way of the accredited chain of command.

Veterans within the company world are surrounded by these shades of grey, when within the army it was both black or white, sure sir or no ma’am. Communication gaps persist, with veterans typically not selecting up on sure innuendos or the nuances of sure enterprise vernacular. These disconnects can damage each a veteran’s skill to bond with their colleagues and to uncover alternatives for their very own private development.

Think about pairing veterans up with a mentor, ideally (although it doesn’t must be) one other veteran who has efficiently assimilated into the company world. Put money into formal coaching to show mentors how one can be empathetic and understanding, and to answer no matter points or considerations — company, private, even medical — the veteran could also be dealing with.

Giving veterans somebody to assist them navigate their new atmosphere and decipher new forms of interpersonal interactions may forestall minor miscommunications from escalating into a bigger drawback, or a purpose to depart.

Associated: Veterans and Reservists Are Your Secret Expertise Weapon. However, Cautious, You Might Lose Them.

3. You’re not providing service alternatives.

Veterans are outlined by their selflessness and dedication to nation. Once they depart the army and its built-in service tradition, they’ll really feel disoriented, purposeless and misplaced.

Whereas many firms grant workers the occasional day of service, these eight hours a yr typically aren’t sufficient to fulfill a veteran’s innate want to serve. Service can’t be an afterthought. It must be woven into the very cloth of your organization tradition.

Think about distinctive work preparations like job sharing or shortened work weeks (as an example a 35-hour work week and 5 hours of volunteer time). Manage after-hours and even lunchtime volunteer occasions like studying to kids at a neighborhood college or counseling different transitioning veterans.

Perceive, too, that some service members might select to stay within the reserves to fill the void, and also you’ll must create an atmosphere that’s accepting of that service. Organize lunch and learns or extra supervisor check-ins to assist Reservists seamlessly step again into their civilian jobs after coming back from drills in order that they don’t really feel as in the event that they’re falling behind. On the identical time, educate your whole workforce on the continued sacrifice these service members make to encourage camaraderie and stop emotions of resentment from surfacing.

Associated: Three Methods the Military Ready Me for Entrepreneurship

A top-down mentality.

The largest mistake firms could make relating to hiring and managing Veterans is just not recognizing the distinctive qualities and helpful views they convey to the group.

As an alternative of ignoring Veterans or making an attempt to suit them into a conventional company mildew, firms must create a tradition that pulls, embraces, and nurtures army expertise. That begins with a dedication from management to know, problem, and assist Veterans throughout their transition. Your firms will reap the rewards in the long term.

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source https://webart-studio.com/hiring-veterans-is-good-technique-however-these-three-components-drive-them-away/

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