#actually i call myself a book termite

[grateful-today]

for not working in the morning so I can recover from accidentally staying up past 1 am reading.

[writing-hound]

Written in the Sand:

Summary: Mazikeen Sage ventured too far into an abandoned house, the hide locker being in one of the rooms up stairs, abandoned and alone. Her friends had dared her to go in there to see if it was haunted, alone. Her hide, named Spitfire, known for being unpredictable, maternal, and bold, chose her under the very unusual circumstances.

Reading/Pairing: Hamish Duke X Werewolf! Reader

Word Count: 806 words

Warnings: Really none at this point.

A/N: Hello! This story is gonna be a long one with multiple parts. How many? I don’t know yet. Mazikeen is my character, I own her, and so, you know, don’t steal her. The picture is one off of google, and the hide is made from the new site coming out called Wolvden! Hope you guys enjoy this! I am putting a lot of thought into this story so let’s hope I don’t get unmotivated lmfao

This is Mazikeen Sage! Instead of the grey-ish eyes, she has Ice blue ones! Her wolf form however, does have those colored eyes shown below on this reference picture!

This is Spitfire! Picture this as a hide and how the wolves look on the show!

Hide: Part one

I’ve always wondered what was behind the creaky old door of the old abandoned house on Magnolia drive. The windows were boarded up, but not well. It looked as if whoever did it was in a great hurry. I had assumed the doors would be locked, so I never even tried to go in the spooky looking house. 

Until tonight.

Tonight was the only night when I almost chickened out on a dare. And I never really chicken out of one. I looked back at my supposed friends at the time who had dared me to go in. They reminded me of tantalizing snakes, whispering that ‘everything was gonna be okay’ and ‘not to worry’. 

Damn was I ever a fool.

Passing the threshold, I gave a shiver. The ones where you know you aren’t supposed to be there, or that you’re doing something wrong. I ignored it as I went in deeper, going towards the once-grand staircase that lazily winds around. As I walked up the creaky steps, I looked around at the undisturbed dust and items.

Must have been here for centuries! I thought, probably being off with the timeline. I ascended the stairs slowly, looking up and down the hallway. I decided to go right, there was a single door there, looming, and seeming to guard secrets.

I opened the door, it gave a loud and unsettling groan, protesting against the use. Inside the room was furniture covered in aged off-white sheets, termite-eaten wood furniture, and an old, square box in the center, up against the wall between two boarded up windows. 

Curios about the box, I walked over. The box was beautiful for how long it was there. It had delicate carvings that looked fierce, with it’s once vibrant cherry wood. On top was a deep red leather bound book with a layer of dust on it. I picked it up and began to read the first section, the writing in small, rushed handwriting.

December 19

I tried to tell them. But it never seemed right at the time. I should’ve when I had the chance, and now they are all dead. What am I gonna do? Running isn’t an option. No matter where I run, the ringing always finds me.

It is inevitable to say the least. This… Hide makes me do things when that happens. That dreadful ringing. 

I skipped ahead in the book, where there was different handwriting, one seeming like it was written by a female.

April 9th

Spitfire has a way of wanting to do things her way. She is unpredictable that way. When I first accepted the call, I found out rather quickly that when my family was threatened, she didn’t like it. 

When it became apparent that, on top of my own maternal instincts, it fueled her fire. I enjoy it, actually. Today I tracked down a black magic user, one who didn’t know what they were doing actually, and slain them.

That handwriting abruptly stopped. There were a few entries before this one with similar handwriting, but after that, nothing more of it. Swirling cursive caught my attention, making me read another entry.

July 3

Today is the day we execute our plan. Our plan might prove fatal, but it’s what needs to be done to ensure future knights their safety. The magic users are getting more and more advanced, making all of us shift more frequently. It’s not the best plan we have had, but it will have to do. 

Later this evening we, the rest of the pack, will have to go and get in positions. So, Charlie, if you ever find this and I never returned, just know that I love you and I am doing this to protect you. Take care of our daughter, and make sure she never knows of this burden.

I sat there, tears springing to my eyes as I read that last part. But one question rose in my mind. What are they talking about?

I was so lost in thought I barely noticed the box thumping, like something wants to get set free. “What the hell?” I asked myself, leaning closer to take a look. My mind screamed at me to run, but my curiosity rooted me to the ground. All of a sudden, the lid of the box flew open, and all was silent.

I peered into the black abyss of the box, only to get thrown back by a force so strong and crushing, it hurt. Pain seared into me as I struggled to move. A smoky and sickly sweet scent flooded my nostrils as I thrashed. Oddly enough it reminded me of campfires and s’mores. My skin burned and crawled as I let out an ear splitting scream. I couldn’t move.

Then, all at once, blackness enveloped me into its’ welcoming embrace.

[eskewcity]

Cornfield

I listened to Dreamland by Glass Animals on repeat while writing this. 

(minor CW for alcoholism and drug addiction)

submitted by @bird-in-tennis-shoes

----------

Statement of Herbert Pope, regarding a visit to his parent’s farm.

I don’t know what’s happened to me. I don’t know what I’ve become. I don’t know when this will stop. I can only hope that whatever madness controls me will one day have had its fill. One day I will be allowed to sleep. Whenever I even try to comprehend what I’ve seen and done; just the magnitude of it makes me want to shut down. Or throw up. Or lock myself in the house and spread all of my belongings out on the floor so I can see and differentiate every part of the room. I tried to resist it at first, but there’s only so long you can go without sleeping. There’s only so long you can go without the temptation of another human being in your proximity.

I wasn’t always like this. You’ve got to understand I didn’t choose any of this. But before I get into what happened to begin with, I want to make it absolutely clear that I was sober when all of this took place. I don’t want this written off as drunken ramblings or a bad trip. I’m done with that. I’ve got myself a bit of a reputation, I know. But I’ve been sober for three years, and it was a hell of a journey to get that far. I’m not about to have my experience dismissed out of hand because your institute dug up some of the many bad decisions I made when I was younger. I was sober before I visited my parents last summer, I was sober the entire time I was there, and I’ve been sober since.

That’s always been a point of contention between us, actually. I’ve never had the greatest relationship with my parents. They were quite strict growing up, and when I got to uni I just wanted to be free. I guess that’s why I got really into the local party scene my first year there. By the time I was starting my second term, I was already addicted to just about everything I had access to. I even ended up dropping out. Naturally, this wasn’t something my parents were exactly thrilled about, and after a few bad arguments over the phone, I just stopped calling.

I know this isn’t really related. But I just want you to understand how I’ve turned my life around since. After a few months of sleeping on my friend’s couch and going to support groups, I was able to get a job and an apartment. It was several years after that before I felt like I could try to reconnect with my parents. They were happy to hear from me, and especially happy to hear that I had my life together again. I was definitely shocked to hear that they were moving out of the country, to America.

It had always been my mother’s dream to start a farm. We had a small garden when I was a kid, but that was never really enough. They’re both getting up in the years, and had decided that if they were going to do it, they might as well do it before they got too old to do the work of planting and harvesting. They’ve always been do-it-yourself types. I think the hustle and bustle of modern life was getting to them a bit. They’d been doing some research online, even joined a few forum pages to meet people. They’d been planning this for quite some time. Apparently my father has land in Gambier, Ohio that I never knew about. I don’t know all the details, but I think a friend of his, Samuel Fairchild, gave him some property with a farmhouse on it. It was quite a strange situation, from what I can gather. Sam only lived in the house for a few years before just giving it away. I never met the man, but my father once told me that he suspected Sam was in a cult. I don’t hazard a guess as to how they met.

Regardless, it was a nice house in a secluded spot. My father has been paying upkeep costs ever since he got the place, but never did anything with it. Might as well put it to use, I suppose. I made plans to visit them as soon as they got settled and I could take some time off work. When summer rolled around, I made arrangements and booked a flight to Columbus.

The house was about an hour’s drive from the airport, and once I really got out into the countryside, it struck me just how big everything was. Everything’s a lot more compact in the UK. Less space. Here, fields of corn and soybeans stretched out for acres. I would drive for a kilometer and never see a mailbox. Farm houses were tiny pinpricks in the distance. Sometimes barely visible behind a hill. Some farms seemed pristine and well taken care of. Others seemed to be only dilapidated, ramshackle piles of rusted machinery and half burnt out barns. I passed through a town on the way. Well, I say town, but it was little more than a few convenience stores and a post office with peeling paint. The few houses I passed were just as crumbly. Half finished renovations and wrap around porches that looked to be in danger of collapse. Termite eaten posts held up a gazebo roof, like Atlas’ arms folding under the weight of the earth.

The house my parents had moved into was a bit better. It looked homey enough, although the lines of the support beams curved and slanted in strange ways. It looked stable, but almost… impossible. I assumed it was either my imagination or a stylistic choice and didn’t give it another thought. The land surrounding the house was vast and impressive. The only way in and out was a little dirt road leading up to the garage. I noticed the fenced in corn fields and realized that they must have already started planting. In fact, it looked like it was nearly ready to be harvested. I parked in the driveway and went up to knock on the door. It swung inward immediately, and I was met with a massive hug. My mother smelled like cinnamon sugar, just as I remembered her. That evening was fairly uneventful. I told them about what I’d been doing for work, and they told me about the farm and how Sam had left them everything they needed to get started. There was even a chicken coop and a stable in case they ever wanted to get animals. My mother cooked dinner, and before I knew it, it was getting late and my parents were going off to bed. I got settled in the guest bedroom and tried to sleep.

An hour later, and I still couldn’t sleep. I kept tossing and turning. Everything felt sort of… wrong. The moonlight seeping through the curtains gave the place a strange feeling. The room felt different, somehow. Like I was suddenly in a completely different house that was identical to the one I entered last night. I decided I should go take a walk outside. To sort of reset my brain, you know? Maybe I’d be okay if I got some fresh air. There was no way I was going to be able to sleep anytime soon.

Outside, it felt even stranger. I don’t know how, but it didn’t even feel like I was on the same plane of existence anymore. I know for certain I had only stepped off the porch, but when I glanced behind me, the house was now barely visible in the distance. There was no way I had walked that far in an instant. I glanced up at the sky and nearly fell over. It was… bigger somehow. Now, I know the night sky is obviously endless, but it doesn’t usually feel that way. It’s usually more like a thin blanket of black, stretched over the world. The stars are just moth holes and missing threads. It didn’t look like that now. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was like a gaping hole in the fabric had opened over me, and when I looked up, I could see every atom of the infinite universe at once. Like I had put on 3D goggles, and suddenly the pictures on the movie screen popped out and moved around me. The moon suddenly seemed so close in comparison to the stars. Like it was in danger of smashing into the earth.

It was… unsettling to say the least. My head was spinning, and I felt unstable on my feet. The sheer mass of the space around me loomed, like it was threatening to consume me. I had somehow ended up in the middle of the cornfield, the house nowhere to be seen. The world swayed, catching me up in whatever it was. I felt huge and tiny at the same time, the air around me threatening to crush inward, my foot poised, threatening to crush it first.

And then it stopped. Whatever force was manipulating my perceptions was gone. The ground felt sturdy again, and my head was suddenly clearer. It was dead quiet. The moon was still close, illuminating every inch of the surrounding field. I could see infinitely in every direction, and there was nothing but corn. Even the curvature of the earth seemed to have gone; millions of kilometers rolled flat to form this endless plane I had found myself in. When I looked up, I noticed the stars had disappeared as well. The entire universe stretched out before me and there was nothing in it.

The only movement was my own feet as I began to walk. The sound of crunching dirt reverberated through every corner of the cosmos. I must have walked for hours, but nothing changed. It was just corn, corn, dirt, corn, empty black sky, and that awful, bulbous moon. My hands felt… wrong. My entire body felt wrong. I was big enough to hold all of existence in the palm of my hand and still have enough room left over for another universe. But the second I concentrated on any one thing, the feeling slipped away like sand through my fingers, and I felt tiny enough to be crushed by the molecules of air around me. Like I was shrinking forever. Like all of this empty world was expanding around me and I was in the exact center, the edges pressing in on me as it got bigger.

I started running. My feet snapping corn stalks in half, Punching them with my fists as I went. I grabbed a handful of leaves and pulled, ripping several out by the roots and dragging them. Causing as much destruction as I could. If this world was going to go on forever and never change, then by god I was going to change it myself. I ran as far as I could, leaving a path of destruction behind me. I ran until I got so tired that I nearly fell over, but nothing changed. It was still the same corn, the same moon. The whole world was just an endless sheet of repeating wallpaper. I ripped holes in the ground like a crazed gopher until my fingers were raw. Eventually, I sat down among the debris and started crying. I’m not ashamed to admit it; I was hopeless and trapped. There was nothing I could do, because there wasn’t anything at all.

I must have fallen asleep at some point, because I awoke to sunlight and the distant sound of my parents calling my name. I was still in the field, but not a single one of the corn stalks around me had been knocked down. My limbs were wound around the plants like string, not disturbing any. I knocked down a few trying to get up, but I was still too disoriented to care.

I took the first flight I could back to London. My parents were disappointed and understandably quite worried about me, but there was no way I was going to stay there another day. I’ve become a more cautious person as I’ve gotten older, and I was not going to take any chances with… whatever that was. Still, after a few weeks I had written it off as an especially strange dream. I had taken a walk at night and fallen asleep suddenly. That was it. It’s funny how our brains rationalize these things.

As I found out soon, that really wasn’t it. Because I had that dream again. And again. And again. First, it was only a few times a month. Then once a week. Then I began waking up every night in a cold sweat after running in that endless cornfield for eight hours straight. I was terrified to go to sleep, knowing exactly where I’d end up. Every night I would count and categorize everything I could see. My hat on the chair in the corner of the room; my coat hanging up on the wall. I could see the edges where the rug began and ended. The room was not endless. The room had walls and a ceiling. But as soon as I let my guard drop just a bit, or my vision blur slightly with fatigue, everything stretched and distorted and changed, and there wasn’t a thing I could do to stop it. I would suddenly be standing, running, the world silent and impossibly large. I couldn’t rest, because every hour I spent sleeping was an hour I spent awake somewhere else.

I fell asleep at work nearly every day. And even then, I was not free. That damn cornfield, with its horrific sky and endless wasteland of leering barbed javelins haunted me. I was so tired I thought I would die. I started hallucinating while I was awake. Every time my eyes closed I was there, the looming sky and bloated moon mocking me as I ran. I stopped going in to work. I was too tired even to write an email to my boss. The only energy I ever had was when I was running. My friends must have been worried about me, but I didn’t have the energy to talk to any of them. How could I explain what was happening?

Everything reached a crescendo about a week into this, while I was walking to the corner store. I was holed up in my house, tormented by visions of an infinite hellscape, but I still needed to eat. The ground felt more uneven than usual, most likely due to fatigue, but I felt constantly on the verge of tripping. I concentrated hard on the ground in front of me. It was difficult to keep from falling into the cornfield. Part of me was always there, waiting, constantly running.

 My concentration slipped for only a second, and I went sprawling directly into the stranger walking in front of me. He shouted at me, but I was already asleep before I hit the ground. In that single lapse I had slipped into the hungry other world. I was vaguely aware of the events happening around me, but I was somewhere else, running. I… Something happened then, when the man bent down to wake me.

 I don’t know what I did. I reached out somehow, manipulated the air around me. Manipulated the hungry other world and directed its endless appetite towards this man. I’m not sure. There’s really no possible way to describe what I did. Whatever explanation I can give won’t do the action justice. There’s no excusing it either. I did it because it felt right. I can’t even muster the consciousness to regret it. That man is gone now. Or, not gone, somewhere else. Running. The cornfield was satiated for a while after that. I was rested. I was allowed to sleep.

I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t even know what I am. That man was only the first of many. It’s the only way I can rest. It’s the only way the cornfield will leave me alone, at least for a little while. I always make sure it’s someone I don’t know, not that it matters to the cornfield. They’re all just souls for it to hold as they run about like rats in a never ending maze. They’re all in there together, but they will never meet. There is an infinity between every molecule of dirt in that place. Maybe someday everyone will be in that cornfield. I wonder if it would finally let me have peace then. 

[wonderfulworldofmichaelford]

Psycho Analysis: The Grinch

(WARNING! This analysis contains SPOILERS!)

What can be said about the Grinch that hasn’t already been said a million times by a million different people? The Grinch is easily one of the most iconic Christmas characters of all time, up there with the likes of Scrooge, and he even has a similar character arc in which he learns the true meaning of Christmas and becomes a better person. The original Chuck Jones animated short has gone down as one of the most beloved Christmas specials of all time as well as one of the best Dr. Seuss adaptations ever (if not THE best), and it gave the Grinch his iconic theme song which every other adaptation has seen fit to use.

The Jim Carrey live action take and the Illumination version which featured Benedict Cumberbatch in the title role both tried to bring a fresh take to the world’s most beloved classic Christmas curmudgeon, but did they succeed in making him entertaining and engaging as a villain is the real question?

Actor: In the original Chuck Jones short, none other than Frankenstein’s monster himself, Boris Karloff, portrayed the Grinch, but this is mostly due to the fact he was the narrator of the story and the Grinch is the only character who really speaks due to the tale being mostly shown from his POV. Still, let’s not pretend like Karloff isn’t the definitive voice here, especially considering his competition.

Carrey and Cumberbatch are both good actors, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t think they really do the Grinch all too much justice. Carrey, bless his heart, at least comes fairly close, with his Grinch being in line with the original, but at the same time this is a comedic Carrey character coming off of his 90s run as a wacky comic actor. Carrey injects that manic Carrey energy into the performance, and while I think it’s a good performance, I don’t necessarily find it to be a good Grinch,

Cumberbatch faces a similar issue, not helped by his decision to use a weird American accent as opposed to his natural British one, leaving his Grinch sounding like a nasally dork. Again, he doesn’t do a terrible job by any means, but his performance certainly does nothing to convince you the Grinch is a mean, rotten soul.

Motivation/Goals: The Chuck Jones Grinch sticks to the original book to a fault; the Grinch is just a cranky jerk who hates Christmas for some inexplicable reason, and so decides to ruin it for everyone out of petty spite. Yes, it lacks any sort of depth, but the Grinch is a character from a children’s book and he just puts so much darn effort into his plan that it’s really easy to forget he’s just doing this because he is just a miserable bastard.

The two other attempts at the Grinch have gone a long way to giving him some sort of tragic backstory explaining his hatred for Christmas. And… I actually really like that. Yes, yes, villains can just do villainous things because they’re jerks, but I do appreciate the other adaptations attempting to do something interesting with the character and make him a bit more engaging in a feature-length product. In the Jim Carrey film, the Grinch becomes bitter and evil due to a childhood of constant bullying, while the Benedict Cumberbatch Grinch was a lonely orphan who never got to celebrate Christmas. While obviously it’s up to the viewer to decide whether or not these backstories add any sort of interesting element to the Grinch’s hatred of Chrtistmas, it’s hard to deny that it makes a bit more sense than the Grinch suddenly and randomly deciding after half a century that this Christmas was going to be the last ever.

Personality: While this section of Psycho Analysis is going to be semi-retired, the three Grinches are actually a perfect example of where examining the personalities of the characters can actually show a lot about the overall quality. Obviously, the original Grinch is exactly what a Grinch should be, at least in my eyes: a bitter, miserable curmudgeon who takes great joy in bringing misery to others with his selfish, senseless acts of holiday thievery. He’s a mean one, Mr. Grinch.

The Carrey Grinch does still have these elements, but it’s a bit outshone by Carrey’s hammy performance. His Grinch is about as wild as Ace Ventura or the Riddler, and while hammy villains are always fun – and there’s no denying the Grinch is – it makes it a lot easier to see him eventually turning to the light side, especially since he’s actually shown to have some redeeming qualities.

These issues are continued into Cumberbatch’s Grinch, and in fact here the problems peak. Cumberbatch’s Grinch from the start comes off as more as mildly irritated jerk, yet one who really doesn’t seem evil at all, and as the story continues he seems far more like a depressed, unhappy man with undiagnosed mental illness who is suffering due to childhood trauma. You don’t want to say this guy has termites in his smile or that he’s slippery as an eel or that you wouldn’t touch him with a thirty-nine and a half foot pole; you just want to give him a hug and tell him that things are going to get better. He just seems like he needs a friend, not a total life-changing epiphany.

Final Fate: We all know how it goes; his heart grows three sizes and he learns the true meaning of Christmas. Each of the adaptations keeps this in, though obviously to diminishing returns as each successive adaptation has made the Grinch nicer from the get-go in some regard due to the tragic backstories and whatnot.

Best Scene: At least for the original, his best moment is, of course, the montage during “You’re a Mean One Mr. Grinch,” in which we get to see all of the slippery ways this green meanie is ruining the holidays. Of course, this is matched by the epic moment at the end where the Grinch gains super strength from his heart growing three sizes and lifts the sleigh of stolen goods, which is equally awesome whether it’s te animated one or Jim Carrey doing it.

Cumberbatch’s Grinch manages to have a different moment to call his best: after he has redeemed himself, he gets invited to dinner in Whoville, and the scene where he nervously goes to the house and makes small talk is just very sweet and endearing. It’s easily the best scene in the movie and shows that even watered down there’s still plenty of heart to be mined from this timeless tale.

Final Thoughts & Score: I think that the fact that the Grinch is constantly being reimagined is a sign at how impressive and enduring he is as a character, and he’s easily the greatest Christmas villain of all time (with apologies to Hans Gruber, Mr. Potter, Burgermeister Meisterburger, and Kirk Cameron). The original special is obviously the definitive portrayal of the character, to the point where the Grinch became a household name and got himself two more specials, one in which he once again terrorized Whoville (this time with a wagon filled with nightmarish hallucinations) and one where he faced off against the Cat in the Hat, the latter being especially notable for beating Zack Snyder to the punch at making “Crossover Versus Movie in Which One of the Title Characters Is Redeemed By Mentioning His Mother” by 34 years.

The original Grinch even effected himself; his iconic green, almost goblin-like appearance was a departure from the book, where he sort of resembled a more mischievous Who, and it has ended up sticking for the character ever since. Throw in that iconic villain song about how foul he is sang by Thurl Ravenscroft AKA Tony the Tiger, as well as the fact that “Grinch” is up there with “Scrooge” as shorthand for someone who hates Christmas, and it’s easy to justify letting the Chuck Jones take on the Grinch steal not only Christmas, but an 11/10.

Carrey’s take on the character is different, but not bad. I’m not going to say it’s good either, though; I still think Carrey hammed it up too much and just let loose his manic energy. And it’s really weird, because I have a soft spot for the film and I love the performance, and I think the insane energy of Carrey’s performance is what elevates the film and has helped it become a sort of holiday cult classic, but I think that it kind of misses the point of how the Grinch should be. It really boils down to the usual thing with these adaptations that try and add complexities to characters that just work better when they are simple: Jim Carrey’s Grinch is a great, fun character, but he just isn’t a great Grinch. Still, the makeup and costuming is so amazing that I’d feel like a Grinch myself if I stole too many points, so I think a 6/10 is a solid score for a performance that manages to be a bit above your average villain.

And then we get to Cumberbatch. I’m just going to say it: I barely consider his Grinch a villain. He’s just too nice and sad and cranky to really be evil. Sure he has wacky inventions, sure he is a bit passive aggressive to the Whos, but god this guy is just not mean enough. The fact he can just walk into town and interact with the townsfolk and they don’t even bat an eye says a lot about how watered down and toothless this take on the character is. Not helping is the safe, soft design Illumination gave him, as well as Cumberbatch’s weird American accent. Still, I don’t think this Grinch deserves worse than a 4/10 when it comes right down to it. In this case, it’s more that what’s interesting about him as a character saves him from sinking any lower than just being subpar as opposed to the problem with Carrey being that what made him interesting as a character made him less appealing as a Grinch. This guy does still try and steal Christmas, after all… It’s just that he’s so nice to begin with that you really aren’t too shocked when he does end up turning over a new leaf.

While it’s obvious the Grinch has had his ups and downs over the years, the fact he is such a legendary figure and an enduring cultural icon really says a lot for his staying power, as well as that sometimes a simple villain that lacks any complex motivation beyond “he’s a jerk” can really resonate with people. Maybe all of these other adaptations don’t quite measure up to the original animated special, but they don’t need to; it’s just interesting to see what different visions for the Grinch look like from different creators. Whether it’s good or bad, one thing is for sure: he’s a mean one, that Mr. Grinch, and we all love him for it.

You know what we don’t love him for, though? His dental hygiene. 

Merry Christmas!

[unrighteousbooks]

Let Me Tell You About Eden

I have been drinking a bit so I am sorry if this is not very clear. I had plum wine from Japan and I had too much. But I've also been thinking about something, and I feel like it needs to be said, even though I may be getting myself into quite a bit of trouble.

Let me tell you about Eden.

People will tell you that Eden was a paradise. Why do they say that? They don't actually remember it. They're just going by what they heard, and who did they hear it from? It turns out they got that idea from a book, and who supposedly wrote that book? The creator of Eden.

So, the creator says, "Hey, I made this and it's really great and trust me you're going to love it. I put all the plants in and also fish and you get to be the boss." That's right, the creator tells you that you're the boss of the fish and the plants and also you're the boss of all the creepy things and did I mention that there are lots of creeping things? In fact, all of them. All the creeping things. Congratulations, you have dominion over stinky little millipedes and ticks and horseflies. You must be so pleased.

Now, let me ask you: If you were going to build paradise, would you put in chiggers and mosquitos? OK, I am going to get in so much trouble for saying this, but let's suppose you're a builder, and you have to build somebody a house. But let's suppose this house... well, you had only a day to build it. You'd already been working for five days straight, around the clock (and you made the clock, too) and you'd had no rest, and then you have to work on the sixth day, and you're really just looking forward to a day of rest but you know you have to finish this house and get everybody moved into it. So you finish the house, and the new owners move in, and you finally get some rest. And then you wake up on the eighth day, and you start looking at that house, and you're thinking: Oh. Well, that was kind of a rush job, wasn't it? I mean, the place is full of termites and bedbugs and moles. I would mention snakes, too, but I don't want to offend anyone and I know some snakes are all right when you get to know them. Lots of people like snakes. In fact, you can find people who like practically any kind of animal. There are people who like those lizards with the tails that come off, and squids, and moles and groundhogs too and oh groundhogs, I have to remember to come back to groundhogs. But OK, let's just say termites for now.

I am feeling a little lightheaded. But OK. You built this house, and it's full of termites, and not only that, you put the termites in there deliberately, because you were really tired and probably not thinking clearly and you had this idea that, well, I'll tell the new owners: Hey! Look! I filled this up with termites, because I figured you're really be into that, having a place where you could be the boss of your very own termites.

Now, I am not criticizing. Well, maybe I am, but it's constructive criticism. Or construction criticism. Or something. Anyway. You're looking at this house, after you've had some rest, and you're thinking: Wow. This may not have been my best idea.

So, what do you do? Here's the thing, I didn't mention this before and I am really on thin ice here but: Certain builders don't take criticism well. Oh and by the way I just want to say this again, I am kinda still drinking. Plum wine is truly underrated. My compliments to the maker of the wine and the maker of the plums. And also I am not just saying that so I can come back later and say, oh, well, I was drunk when I wrote that.

Back to Eden. That house and everything. So. You don't want to say, hey, I just realized that I didn't do this right, so since I messed up, you'll have to move out. But you DO need to get them out, you know, because you were going on and on about how great the place was, and they are gonna notice. The longer they stay, the more problems they're going to see. And you can't really reverse yourself now, because how would that look? So they need to move out, but it has to be THEIR fault.

Wait, which builder am I talking about? I'm confusing myself. I'm kind of talking about you and how you hypothetically built a house, but let's be honest here. I'm talking about some other builder. Some other creator. Not to name any names, but you know the one I mean.

That builder that I'm talking about, people say he's all-powerful. Influffable. Wait, that's not a word. What's the one I'm looking for?

Infallible. That's the one. People say he's infallible. OK, but once again, who did they hear that from? Also don't let me forget about the groundhogs. We'll get to that in a minute. Right now we're talking infallibility. Omnipotence. Do we have any collaborating scarf for that? Wait. Wrong words again. Corroborating. Source. Corroborating source. Do we have any corroborating source for this "omnipotent" business?

Let me tell you something. Once I knew this guy who was a van. He was a Volkswagen van, in the desert, in a town called Radiator Springs, and he said that if you watched the traffic light blinking, every third one was slower.

Wait, I didn't say that right, he wasn't the van. He HAD a van. I meant he had a van. Now that I think about it the van wasn't important and I'm not sure why I told you about the van, but here's the important part: Once he started talking about omnipotence, and he asked: "All-powerful? If he's all-powerful, could he create a rock so big that he himself can't lift it?"

And now that, that's what brings me back to the groundhog.

I don't travel much. One day, though, I was passing through a little town in Pennsylvania. It's a holiday. For groundhogs. They get their own day and it turns out that in this little town groundhogs are a big, big deal. A big deal. So in this big-deal-groundhog town, I stop at a little restaurant, and it's packed.

Also trust me, this is still about Eden. I'm just having a little trouble telling the story. But there I am, somewhere in Pennsylvania, and I've got this book which now that I think about it isn't all that important but I would like to tell you that the book was Poems for Every Mood . And I'm trying to read this book but there's a guy at a table next to me and he's talking to this beautiful woman and I'm not really listening well OK I kind of was. Anyway. Suddenly he says to her, "I'm a god."

Well, that's the sort of thing that catches your attention, especially if you're me. Which you aren't. But that's what he said, he said he was a god. So I'm thinking to myself OH NO YOU'RE NOT AND TRUST ME I KNOW but then he says, "Not the God. But a god." And I don't know exactly what he did, but he did something or other that surprised the woman, just amazed her, really, and she said how did you do that, it was some kind of trick. And then he said, "Maybe the real god uses tricks. Maybe he's not omnipotent, he's just been around so long that he knows everything."

And I started thinking, you know what? He HAS been around for a long time, and he could definitely pull off a trick or two. And not only that, I realized that's pretty much what the guy with the van had been driving at. ("Driving at," get it? Because he was a van!) That whole omnipotence thing doesn't really make a lot of sense. I got so focused on that, you know what I did? I walked out of there without my book. And it was a lovely little book, too. For some reason I think the guy who said he was a god wound up with it.

But OK, never mind the book, back to my point: I would get in trouble, a lot of trouble if I said, oh, Eden wasn't perfect, and maybe that's because the creator wasn't perfect either. So I won't say that, besides, it's not like I really know. Officially I will tell you this is the wine talking. It's not like I'm giving you the answers, is it? I'm just asking some questions.

Because, OK, here is something else: Sometimes you don't help people by giving them answers. Sometimes you help them by getting them to ask questions. That's how you do it. And you are not going to believe who told me that, but I am going to tell you anyway. I'm not supposed to repeat certain stories told by certain divine beings, but it's OK if I tell the stories if I know they aren't going to be believed, right? So I can go right ahead and tell you this: a certain divine being once told me that He had a conversation with a robot in space. That's what He said. He said He was talking to a robot in space. Don't ask me what robot or where in space because I don't even know. But this robot told Him, well, I tried helping and then I tried not helping and then everybody got destroyed plus also I lost my swag. And then He told the robot: "If you do too much, people get dependent on you. And if you do nothing, they lose hope." So what you have to do is, you have to use a light touch. "When you do things right, people won't be sure you've done anything at all."

So I think robots made Eden. No wait I don't. The wine again. I'm having some trouble keeping my thoughts straight. But OK, next couple of paragraphs, I am getting it together because it's important. Let me take a deep breath.

First: Maybe Eden was never about paradise. It's a complicated metaphor. It's about duality, because you can't have the concept of "good" unless you also have the concept of "bad." It's about the end of innocence. But we're not talking about innocence as the opposite of guilt. We're talking about innocence as ignorance. The innocence of babes, not the innocence of the guy who was acquitted of robbing the bank. Innocence is ignorance, and ignorance is bliss. Knowledge is a burden, but it's a beautiful burden.

There is a story from Voltaire, "Story of the Good Brahmin." An educated man ponders the fact that his uneducated, incurious neighbor is blissfully happy, while he is tormented by questions he cannot answer. "I have said to myself a thousand times that I should be happy if I were but as ignorant as my old neighbor; and yet it is a happiness which I do not desire."

Do you really want to go back to ignorance? If you could turn back time, go back to Eden, would you want to? Could you appreciate being happy, if you'd never known sadness? What's good, if there's no such thing as bad? What's right, if there's no such thing as wrong? What's East, if there's no such thing as West?

East and West, that's something else I'm going to point out. You couldn't go back to Eden even if you wanted to, and do you know why? Because there are guardians at the east gate, with flaming swords. Why only at the east gate? Look, if you really wanted to go back, couldn't you go around to the west? Oh, probably there's a wall. Because no one could possibly build a ladder, right, so a wall would solve everything. I will never understand why some people think that walls will solve problems.

Plus the swords, OK, can we talk about the flaming swords? Flaming swords. I mean, it's a sword, so isn't it a little silly that it's also on fire? I mean, nobody ever got stabbed through the heart with a sword and then got up and said "no worries, I'm fine, it wasn't lit." Let me tell you, the fire would be the least of your worries. But OK. Where was I?

The last thing, that's where I was. "Oh, one more thing." Do you know, once I met a detective, and he used to say that all the time. At first you thought he was absent-minded. He was sloppy and he drove the ugliest car I've ever seen and he was always smoking truly horrible cigars. He would start heading out of the room, and then he would stop, and he'd say, "Oh, one more thing." And eventually, he'd learn everything. By learning one more thing, one more thing, one more thing. Bit by bit, he'd figure out everything. And you know what's really funny? I think he used to be an angel. I really think he was. I'm pretty sure I met him in Berlin and he admitted it.

Wait, sorry, sidetracked again. The one more thing. Here's where I'm really going to get into trouble. I want to say one more thing about Eden. About Eden, and the creator of Eden. Remember how I said that certain builders don't take criticism well? Well, I have a criticism. A harsh one.

There are no two ways about it, this is bad: After he built a house with termites and wanted the people out, he blamed Eve. He totally blamed her. What did she do? Oh, she ate an apple. Big deal. And also she didn't even eat the apple until somebody came along and said, oh, hey, APPLE, check out this apple. It wasn't even her idea. But she gets blamed. Blamed, and then shamed. Blameshamed.

So that becomes the official version of events. It was Eve's fault. Kicked out of paradise. Because of Eve. No more innocence. Because of Eve. No way back. Because of Eve.

If it's necessary to kick them out, OK, kick them out, but don't claim that it was Eve's fault. That's. Not. Fair.

Oh I am really starting to realize that I had way way too much wine but I'm not quite done with that one more thing.

There's a customer who comes in here a lot. He's annoying. All the customers are annoying. And yes I do have customers. There are several. Well there are some. Anyway. He's annoying because he picks up books and he always wants to buy them and sometimes he will just start reading things from them out loud and last week he got ahold of a book of poetry. No it wasn't the one I left in Pennsylvania. I already told you I think the guy who said he was a god took that one. Blue Yodel . That was the book. By... by... oh, bugger all, my head hurts. It was by Amy Adams. No. Sorry, that's not right. By Ansel Adams. Wait, that's not right either. Ansel Elkins. There. Blue Yodel , by Ansel Elkins. The poem was called "Autobiography of Eve." And the line was this:

"Let it be known: I did not fall from grace. I leapt to freedom."

And all I can say is, good for you, Eve. Good for all of us.

[songketalliance]

Here's What I Have to Say About these 'Crushes'

“A crush is called as such because the taller the high of the attraction, the harder the fall and crash back into reality.”

by ShaSha Cuadra

I’m going to make a bet and say there is one thing any sane person dreads the most in life. It’s a concept in which they struggle to get a grip of themselves and act totally, irrevocably and subtly cool in the presence of another person. But not just any “other person”. This person is quite particular; with glowy, warm lights emanating like fireflies from them. It starts with one dot of light, bursting in to a trail of soft, yellow lights with every smile; wink; and laugh they graciously utter. The more brighter they shine in your eyes, the more captivated you become of them; a conga-line of attraction. It’s called … ‘a crush’.

Once, there was a boy with bright eyes and a Ken doll smile who I used to crush on. We talk as if we were exchanging secrets, sharing cover pop songs and opinions on books as we huddle away from the crowd. We catch each other’s eye every time we looked for each other across the room. He’d pull me aside and randomly tell stories of him having holidays in his family’s vacation home; I hung on to his every word, eager to know anything, be it infinitesimal, about him. He’d text sporadically and I’d answer every single one even as he disappears in the next minute. Then he asked me out for coffee. I, idiotically, replied I don’t drink coffee but decided to meet up anyway. It disappointedly, turned out to be a group meet up with other girls in the mix. He left early.

Coffee Guy, I only realized later on that everything about you then screamed superficial to me. You never ask anything about me, or even bothered to try, content with having a puppy eager to give you their affection and attention, rather than an actual person. You loved showing off, dragging me along for the ride as you flash that plastic grin to make sure I was still leashed to you. Thank god we stopped talking. I never got to know you below the surface of your frothy latte macchiato, and honestly, it was not a loss. I’d hate to see what you hid underneath all that white, cookie-cutter facade.

After a while, there was a guy with gentle eyes but with a wicked habit of dropping pick-up lines all the time. It was a battle royale of who hits the most feels by dishing out the best pick-up line they can come up with in every meeting. The high from every win and cheeky replies was addictive, rounding up a whirl of feel-good hormones. One day, I tried getting to know him, or at least have a decent conversation without the need to use a pick-up line. The minutes dragged on as the conversation fell flat, him clearly disinterested in it. I awkwardly excused myself and watched as you just nod your head and look at your phone absentmindedly. Perhaps I caught you at a bad time then but your unwillingness to even contribute to the conversation was a off-putting and a huge turn-off.

Pick-up Line Guy, you’re all talk but you don’t walk the walk. Even as you still drop pick-up lines whenever we meet, I no longer engaged in it as enthusiastically as before. I suggest coming up with new material or actual original ones instead. Even then, good luck with that. I have nothing to say to you, because I feel I’ve wasted words altogether when it comes to you.

Then, there’s the guy with an arrogant look in his eyes but with an attractive sense of humor. We don’t bother greeting or talking to each other, the only connection we have being our mutual friend. I can’t see nor be able to determine whether we have similar interests. He was funny, kind of cute in a geeky way but improbable to graduate from being strangers to anything close to an acquaintance, much less a friend. But still, I remain friendly and polite. And if I’m feeling a little bolder, which is never, invoke light touches and shoves on the shoulders to be playful. Once, we had an impromptu group game session, and I ended up transforming into a total b*tch, savagely cursing the hell out of him. While I may have sounded exasperated and infuriated, it’s only because I was internally screaming in expression at how indignantly charming they were as they tolerated my pirate-talk.

Geeky Guy, for every ‘f*** you’s I dished out, I was banging my head at how equally competitive you were in the game we were playing, which actually meant ‘good God, you adorable piece of sheet’. For every dirty looks I shot , I was holding myself back from squeezing your cheeks, my eyes actually saying ‘Ugh, your stupid smirk, be still, my heart.’ And for every time you answer me back with a retort of your own, I groaned at the clever wit you have that I find ridiculously appealing, my defeated expression crying out at that torturous situation I suddenly found myself in. But at best, you were just a fleeting craving that doesn’t leave a lasting impression but a temporary satisfaction.

A crush is called as such because the taller the high of the attraction, the harder the fall and crash back into reality. The fireflies are gone, and you’re left with a stump trunk or a termite-infested tree of something that was once mesmerizing, and you’re left thinking yet again, “Bloody hell, not this sheet again.”

by ShaSha Cuadra

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[apapachoazul]

Day 119 - 14/01/2021

A typical day

When someone asks me “what do you work” I somehow always feel like I need to say “I don’t work right now”. I guess I feel like that’s the correct response because I am not hired by anyone and I don’t have work that pays. But to say that “I don’t work” or “I don’t have a job” right now couldn’t be further from the truth... And today was one of those days again where it became very clear to me that I do indeed *work*.  I sat in front of the computer all day and took care of various things... so probably more for my reference rather than anybody else’s I thought I’ll share what a rather typical day of work looks like for me right now. 

6.30 Cat woke me up 7.30 Slowly started to get ready to get up  7.50 Made coffee  8.00 My Mum texted me that a colleague of her husband died of COVID the night before. So I spoke to her for a while. 8.30 Checked my emails and was happy to see that I had received a response from the Finnish tax authorities. I had contacted them a few days earlier in regards to the sale of my apartment in Helsinki last year because I figured I still need to pay taxes for that. But since I don’t have a Finnish bank account anymore, I can not access the online tax service anymore and so I needed to email them... Luckily Finns are awesome and they responded really quickly and sent me instructions what to do. 8.40 I downloaded the form they told me to fill and started working on it. It required me to dig up all sorts of bank statements and other papers from way back in 2018… In the end I wasn’t sure how to correctly fill the form so I only did it half way through and then sent it via email to a friend in Finland asking for help.  8.50 texted my friend who is ill from COVID if I should bring her some soup 

8.55 texted Erick to tell him I needed to talk to him and asked if he could come by my house today (will explain later)

9.00 received a revised version of the “tiny houses” from the architect of the construction company in Sayulita - revised it but didn’t like it so I started drafting a response to him giving him honest feedback 

The first image is their initial proposal and the second image the revised option. 

9.30 Texted my architect friend to see when he has time to talk to me as we agreed to speak this morning 

10.00 Received a text from my friend asking when I’m gonna be at the house today. She wanted to buy some of the old furniture I found in the house. I told her that I revised the furniture yesterday and that I’m not planning on selling any at this point cause I might need them myself in the future

10:15 got a voice message from my architect friend asking for some clarification - some back and forth and eventually spoke on the phone briefly. I was happy to hear that he thought I was making some wise decisions with the latest layout but that he suggests I forget about the idea of a second floor because the cost are not in relation to the benefit I get from it. He also said by not building a second floor I only need to get a “renovation permit” and not a “construction” permit and that that is much easier to get. It actually made a lot of sense to me and we agreed to trash the idea.  

10.45 briefly revised the sketches I made and sent them to my friend 

11.00 Made breakfast

11.30 Erick came by my house and we spoke for around 30min - I spoke to him about a job offer. I told him that I’m looking for a “right hand” and that I can not offer him a grand salary right now but that I’m willing to offer him a “future” to grow with me and my business. He seemed exited. 

12:14 Sent a text to my notary asking what’s up with the RNIE fine I’m supposed to pay and if there’s anything I can do to fight their decision

12:15 Sent feedback to the architect whose design I didn’t like 

12:16 Sent a message to my friend Santana asking for recommendation for anti-termite treatment for the old furniture I’m planning to refurbish 

12:30 my notary responded saying that she’s out of office for health reasons but that her colleague is taking care of the RNIE situation and that she’ll inform me when she knows more

12.50 Sent the same feedback to the architects boss telling him that we’re not gonna end up working together on this project at least not for now 

13.30 Had a really great Zoom call with a good old friend of mine from Germany. 

14.45 saw a post on Facebook by someone in the local group that property taxes (predial) are due to being paid and realised that that’s probably something I need to pay as well. So I started researching (aka googling) a bit and then thought about who might know about this that I could could... 15.10 texted my friend Carlos who is Mexican and has also purchased some property in town and asked him about the predial - he checked with his mum and told me about the place I need to go pay  15:30 decided to still text my contact Chava and see if he knows if 2020 is paid already, he said 2020 is paid but I need to pay for 2021 and I need to do it now in January to get a discount 15.45 went back to the Facebook post since someone had mentioned they paid it online. Found the link and investigated. It indeed seemed like one can pay online and gets a discount so I tried to just pay it right away instead of going to their office in Bucerias - however after 2 failed attempts I gave up. The payment was rejected. 

16:20 received a message from my accountant telling me that they finally arranged a meeting for me with SAT (tax office) - unfortunately the appointment they scheduled is in Tepic which is 2h away from where I live and I had asked them to book it in the town that is only 1h away from me. Also the date they booked does not work for me as it’s the day the construction of the roof starts and I need to be at the house that day. 

16:30 Texted my bank lady asking why I can’t pay online with the company credit card  16:45 She replied that she first needs to unlock my cc so I can make payments online and asked me to send her the cc number which I did right away 17.00 Realized that I was starving and decided to driver over to San Pancho to buy dinner and bring some soup to my friend.  17.30 Received a message from my bank lady that as of tomorrow I can use my credit card to make online purchases 17.40 Received a message from my accountant asking if she can call me. I asked her to call me tomorrow

19.00 Got back home, made some tea and started watching Netflix 22.30 Started writing this blog post

[your-sunshineandrainbows-blog]

That ‘Easily Entertained’ life

If you’re having a bit of a stressful time, and you have decided to take your break from exam revision, then I am very happy that you have moved over to your desktop/phone/tablet to read this ‘soon to be beautiful’ experience. A little something about me, that most people should hopefully know, is that I’m actually quite easily entertained. I like to think of myself as the optimistic type rather than the pessimist only because being sad and negative sucks and being positive is a much better feeling, yanno? That’s probably why I am like I am :D

One of those things that easily entertain me are the jokes that aren’t supposed to be funny but I still find them funny. So that means puns, stupid jokes and one-liners. Gotta love them all. 

SCIENCE

I have a new theory on inertia but it doesn’t seem to be gaining momentum. 

Have you ever heard of the book about zero gravity? Apparently you can’t put it down,

Did you hear about the restaurant on the moon? Great food but no atmosphere.

If you fell off a building and had never studied physics, would you understand the gravity of the situation?

Funny chemistry jokes are hard to find nowadays... all the best ones argon. 

What do you get when you combine Barium, Cobalt, and Nitrogen? BaCoN!

What do you get after a reaction of two Sodium atoms with a Barium atom? A BaNaNa!

Oxygen and Magnesium went on a date, and everyone was like “OMg.”

Bartender says, “Sorry, we don’t serve faster-than-light particles here.” Tachyon walks into the bar. 

When I learned how electricity was measured, I was like, “Watt!”

Did you hear that Oxygen and Potassium went on a date together? It went OK.

If the Silver Surfer and Iron Man teamed up, they’d be alloys.

A photon checks into a hotel and is asked if her needs any help with his luggage. He says “No, I’m travelling light.”

What did Gregor Mendel say when he founded genetics? Woopea!

The name’s bond. Ionic bond. Taken, not shared. 

Why can’t you ever trust atoms? They make everything up!

FOOD

Entered what I ate into my new fitness app and it just sent an ambulance to my house...

I eat my tacos over a tortilla. That way when stuff falls out, BOOM, another taco.

Turning vegan is a big missed steak.

I’m on a seafood diet. Every time I see food, I eat it.

I burnt my Hawaiian pizza today. Should have cooked it on aloha temperature.

People are a lot less judgey when you say you ate an avocado salad instead of a bowl of guacamole.

I bet the worst part about being a cake is when you’re set on fire, and then eaten by the hero that saved you.

What cheese would you use to entice a bear out of the woods? Camembert.

What cheese is made backwards? Edam.

What is the best cheese to disguise a horse? Marscaponie.

Do people who go to the gym to “feel the burn” know nothing of Mexican food?

ANIMALS

Life is all about perspective. The sinking of the titanic was a miracle to the lobsters in the ship’s kitchen.

A friend of mine tried to annoy me with bird puns, but I soon realised that toucan play at that game. 

Cats spend two thirds of their lives sleeping, and the other third making viral videos.

Turtles think that frogs are homeless. 

Letting the cat out the bag is a whole lot easier than putting it back in.

I hate insect puns, they really bug me. 

I’m looking at the serving sizes of laughing cow cheese and I now see why the cow is laughing.

Did Noah include termites on the ark?

How many animals can jump higher than a sky scraper? All of them, sky scrapers can’t jump. 

Which day do chickens hate the most? Friday.

Why did the bee get married? Because he found his honey. 

What do you call a magic dog? A labracadabrador.

What did the duck say when it bought lipstick? “Put it on my bill.”

My friend told me to stop impersonating a flamingo. I had to put my foot down. 

Soooooooooo, I hope you enjoyed those cheesy jokes that I found. Hopefully it wasn’t too boring :D

Good luck to everyone with exams! Just remember ‘Exam results do not define you as a person or predict your future.’ YOU CAN DO IT! I believe in you all. 

Bhai Felicia and have a magical, wonderful day (even if all that you seem to be doing is writing out Q Cards and stressing over textbooks) :D 

[toomanyfandoms02]

An Immortals Heart

Hey I've returned with a new fic for Peter Parker! I'm gonna try and make this a long one. But this is just part 1. This takes place right after Homecoming.

Summary - An Immortal reader decides to move to NYC and go to Midtown High for a change.

Word Count - 1.7k

One of my fave troped that I don't see very often, an immortal falling for a mortal.

Ps - Shes an immortal that also had the powers similar to deadpool, so she's literally undying.

Living with the knowledge that you will never die was hard.

It was much harder than Y/n would ever care to admit. She wasn't one to complain very often, most knew that about her. Y/n just bottled up that pain of it until it burst in one of two ways.

One being snapping at whoever minorly inconvenienced her after a particularly hard day. The other being crying at the most minuscule trigger usually late at night in her bed.

Being immortal meant a lot of things. Things like 'Don't tell anyone, it will put you both in danger.' Or 'You must switch identities once every 25 years.' Or the one she most thought about 'You can't have meaningful relationships, you'll have to watch them die.'

It ate away at her like a hungry termite in a rotting house.

She had met tons of people in her lifetime, many of them so intriguing and unique. The ones she knew were completely one of a kind. That was kind of beautiful if you didn't think about the crushing feeling that you won't be with that person very long. Not long before you have to disappear. Not long until that person is among the sea of others you've abandoned.

With each move and name change, Y/n became more and more distant from people. She felt it made it easier on everyone, including her.

Which was a lie of course.

But right now was one of those times she absolutely had to have social interaction.

"16 you said?" The man across from her squinted suspiciously in her direction. "Most kids get fake IDs to get beer and stuff. What's the point of getting one so young?" The truth was that the actual age that Y/n had finished aging was 17. But she hadn't gone to high school in about 50 years and she kind of wanted to experience it again. There was a gifted school in the area too, she thought that it might do her some good.

"It's complicated, and really none of your business don't you think?" She tilted her head at the grizzly man, setting the money he asked for on the table. He shrugged and made the card for her, handing it to her with a smile.

"You have fun out there kid." He shooed her from his apartment and the door slammed shut behind her. And so she would.

Each time Y/n had to move around and change things up, she came up with a new backstory. And a new name of course. She stared down at her new ID along with her new name.

*Celeste A Dockery*

The 'A' being for Arabella. She had researched some European names and ran with it. So here was her backstory.

Celeste Arabella Dockery was born in the UK to her English mother Jaqueline Dockery and her American father James Dockery. It wasn't until she was 9 that her father left them. This prompted her mother to make a big change and move them to the US, believing it was better for them. (They also had a better health plan for her here. She was very ill.)

This was much different from her actual story, but it was one she tried not to dwell on much.

Y/n had picked up lots of dialects. So it wasn't going to be hard for her to have an American accent with a very small hint of British. Though to act as her mother on the phone, she would have a strong one.

She looked up the phone number for Midtown High and dialed it on her phone. A lady was quick to answer.

"Hi! This is Jenny from Midtown High speaking, how can I assist you." Y/n smiled as she prepared her extreme, but frail, British accent.

"Hello, Darling! I've just moved here with my daughter and was researching good schools and this school came up at the top." Y/n could hear a sigh at the other end.

"I'm sorry Ma'am but this is a gifted school, you can't enroll just anyone."

"So what, is there a test or something she needs to take so she can get enrolled?"

"W-Well there is a test yes but-"

"Great! When can she come in to take it?"

"Uh, I suppose I can set one up for tomorrow, does that work?" The receptionist sounded a bit flustered.

"That's perfect, what time?"

"10 am?"

"Lovely, she will see you tomorrow." And with that Y/n hung up the phone.

"Well, that was too easy." She laughed as she walked up the street, in search of her new apartment.

See, a 16-year-old ID card wasn't the only one she had. She also had a 19 year old one. She had two whole sets of new fake documents, that's just what she had to do every 20 years. She had booked this place a few weeks ago from her old home in California.

She had come up with the 20-year plan a long while ago. After the incident, she decided that no one would ever believe she was over 35 to 40. So she had to choose between the ages of 15 to 20. It had gotten her in trouble a few times. This led to having an early change one of those times.

It was nothing new though, even before she was immortal people had mistaken her for a younger age. Now she tried to dress older and style herself to fit the age.

Though it would never stop long-time coworkers from asking how she stayed looking so young.

But she was proud to say she had only told one person that she was undying. That person being her mother after everything had happened to her and sunken in.

The year was 1910 and Y/n had been staring at her wall for at least 3 hours. It couldn't be true right? It probably wasn't. The notion wasn't even in the realm of possibility. The so-called curse was just a silly myth her dad told her as a kid. Right?

Long ago in Athens Greece lived Y/n's great great great grandfather Alexander. Around the world, Gods were well known, and heroes for the most part, such as Thor. This also meant the ones who weren't heroes were worshipped and treated extravagantly by many.

Alexander didn't live the best life, often drowning in poverty. But he didn't mind that, as long as he had his love Zoe by his side. But Zoe had fallen ill, so he did what he did best, and he asked the goes for help. Zoe had always felt a pull to Athena, so he made sure to speak out to her the most.

Though Zoe just got sicker and sicker, no matter what he said to Athena. So one day he marched to the chapel in anger.

"I will not tolerate this disrespect!" He shouted into the nothingness. "I've been nothing but kind and well-meaning but you mean to take Zoe from me!" He stomped his foot harshly on the ground. A stunning silence fell over the room.

"Do you disrespect me?" He heard a piercing whisper through the room. But he was done and tired of the silence he held. For he had come here each day and asked for help and healing. Not only from Athena, but also from Asklepios, the God of healing.

"I do! My wife and I have done nothing but ask for help with no remorse! I even offered myself up to help heal her. She is the kindest soul I have ever come across and you will let her die!" His words spat like venom, this enraged Athena, she liked to be treated with respect.

"Some things are meant to be Alexander. I cannot change the fate you've been given, I can only assist in your fate." She tried to remain calm with him, to give him another chance to choose respect.

"No! You will do as I ask! I'm a loyal servant and you haven't come to my aid!" That was the last straw for Athena, she had given him another chance and he threw it in her face. She appeared in front of him, making him drop to his knees. A quiet plead fell from his lips.

"Since you've chosen to disrespect the gods, I think it's time I make a deal with you, though it's not one you will be able to refuse." He nodded his head vigorously at the offer. "You can have your darling Zoe healed and healthy, but I will curse the next born woman in your family with immortality." She held out her hand to him with a smile, which he grabbed graciously.

Her grip on his hand tightened as he took it. A white rope-like light wrapped around their hands. Alexander looked back up to Athena, noticing just how mischievous her smile looked now. He tried to pull his hand back but she wouldn't release him.

After a few seconds she let go of him and shooed him off to see his wife. You could imagine his devastation when he entered his home to find Zoe had passed in her sleep. Athena had lied along with cursing his family.

Y/n had felt not that long ago that she had stopped aging. It was just a feeling she got. She was supposedly 20 but she felt 17. She just knew somehow, I guess that was the point.

It would become apparent in later years that she had in fact, stopped aging. Her mother took it well, finally telling her once she reached 35 and hadn't changed one bit.

Y/n walked into her apartment and flipped down on the bed softly.

"10 am tomorrow? A little early but alright." She sat up and looked out her giant windows out to the city. This was the first change that she decided would be a fun and big one. Usually, she would move out to a country home with a small-town job and lay low until the next move. But she missed high school, and she had never lived in a big city before so why not? She decided this would be the next move about 9 years ago, and she began saving any and all extra money so she could afford it. Luckily she had a well-paying job back in California, one she would miss.

She kept herself occupied till nighttime by unpacking the rest of the house and making food. By the time she was done eating her extremely late dinner, it was 10:30 and she was exhausted. She layed down in her bed at 10:45 and was asleep within minutes.

[bnrobertson1]

No Hooch, Year Two: On Moby Dick and Meditation

To mark a second year of not drinking, I wanted to do something more substantial than last year’s Se7en-style “celebration” of engorging half a cake, so I decided to read Moby Dick. I’d never read Melville’s meditation on, well, everything*, but a confluence of Wiki-wormholes, a pandemic-limited social calendar, and a lifelong promise to myself to actually, you know, read it (as opposed to referencing it as though I had whilst defogging my monocle) merged at just the right time to propel me through the tome’s intimidating heft.

*It’d be pedantic horseshit to call it my new favorite book, but it’s The Greatest Novel I’ve Ever Read. I recommend it for its existence-sized ambition alone, although if you write things you will feel a little insignificant afterwards.

You know the story: fish eats man’s leg. Man, upset about the whole leg thing, pursues revenge at all costs. Between pages of the most Metal shit* ever put to page (articulated with Shakespearean grandeur, no less) a story of obsession is painted that is as powerful now as it was 170 years ago.

*Metal Gods Mastodon’s album Leviathan is an ode to the book, and does not exaggerate the intensity whatsoever

I’ll can it about Moby Dick- but for the purposes of this, one of the novel’s main themes is a suitable launch pad. Specifically, that of the seductive, destructive power of self-delusion. Drinking, for some- for me- fueled self-delusion like no other. Sure, the self-delusions at first were usually of the more harmless, if not exactly positive, variety- feelings that I was stronger/ more handsome/ more charming/ smarter/ funnier than I might actually be- in other words a confidence boost of debatable need. Alas, as has happened to far better than me, the self-delusions eventually began to take on a more negative tone, and that- eventually- is why I decided to take a break.

But self-delusions don’t just stop when the drinking does. Oh, they fester, alright, and morph into toxic self-trickeries. Delusions that relationships won’t significantly change*. Delusions that the fact you don’t constantly talk won’t come across to some as a sort of new holier-than-thou attitude. Delusions that others care about your own well-being as much as you should. Delusions that warp themselves into useless mental narratives that in retrospect feel more at home in a bad sitcom than real life. They eat at your mind like termites, chewing through ladders of progress like driftwood. 

*As someone who responded to others abstaining from alcohol with cynical, if sarcastic, grumblings along the lines of “I don’t trust people who don’t drink,” I really understand both sides. The funny (and perhaps hypocritical) thing is I still kind of don’t.

I decided to place the blame for all my woes at booze’s tasty, awesome feet, thinking like (sorry, one more MD ref) Ahab that if I slayed my White Whale, all would be solved. I’d convinced myself that the only thing keeping me from bliss was just that one hurdle- perma-happiness merely required snatching the fermented fly from my ointment. I had convinced myself that my many, many flaws would evaporate like the corn squeezins from my skin and other organs and that the world would regain some lost, heavenly harmony once I put the bottle down.

Of course, this turned out to be utterly false. My the relief of my newfound quasi-clarity proved to be almost narcotic in its power, constructing a pride that blinded me to my own complexities. In fact, alcohol had helped me a lot more in life than I wanted to give it credit for- it made my quirks less rigid and my tolerance for pretty much everything far, far higher. To call it a mere “social lubricant” seems to minimize its profound (albeit ranging) effect on my personality. 

Alcohol filled a void in my life that I just assumed would be replaced with light and good tidings once I stopped. And while other substances, concerts, Stereolab vinyl, the first three books of Knausgaard’s My Struggle, and sunrise exercise did do a bang-em-up job filling that emptiness at a slightly-higher-minded level, in truth a lot of the hurt I was trying to avoid by not drinking was more than happy to wait and sharpen its knives while I fooled myself into thinking I’d figured it all out. Anxiety- while not nearly as bad as it was in my hungover/drinking days- would still spread and pop in my veins at the mere scent of confrontation or reckoning, like an oil site aching for a cracked pipe. Even though I was doing good things for my physical and mental health, I wasn’t really grappling with some of the things that drove me to alcohol in the first place. But that’s a topic more appropriately discussed with a certain person I pay a (non-prostitute) hourly rate every other week. 

Hungry for a reprieve from the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, I found myself doing deep dives into literature and music that would heighten some of my experiences with some of the aforementioned substances. Another self-deception? Sure, but in concert with a slightly clearer head, this one actually produced something positive when it led me to stumble upon Jamie Wheal and Steven Kotler’s life-altering Stealing Fire. A book about elevated planes of consciousness, “flow” states, and how they can vastly improve lives, the book- as well as David Lynch’s Catching the Big Fish- coincided with an intellectual superior’s suggestion to get me to try- of all things- meditation. 

I freely admit this was not easy for me to do, as I have found “earthy” folk to be some of the most obnoxious on the planet for most of my life. But my desperation for some sort of lasting change led me to get over my stereotypical assumptions about the cliche meditator (and the fear of being associated with their soft-spoken, vowel-loving kind) and give the meditation app Calm a go. I felt results immediately, even in a period where outside forces seemed to be conspiring to obliterate my ego. Long story short*, taking time for mindfulness provided refuge in a real motherfucker of a year, and would eventually lead to a daily Transcendental Meditation practice and a peace of mind I hadn’t ever encountered and for which I will be eternally grateful.

*Yes, this is the abridged version.   

Meditation taught me humility, appreciation, and clarity by slowing down my relentless thoughts- something I once thought an asset- and gave me the new lens of equanimity through which to see the world. The humility* to realize I wasn’t the “most” or ‘best” anything in the world, nor would I ever be, but I wasn’t the “least” or “worst”* either**. I began to appreciate kindness as a form of a most pure, dynamic courage, not the bi-product of some bland weakness. Finally, a heightened concentration gave me the clarity to see a lot of those self-delusions for what they were, well-intentioned self-defense mechanisms that’d gotten warped and lost their way. Being exposed for what they were, they just kind of went away. The culmination of these teachings gave me the foreign feeling that while I still have a lot- like a stupid amount- of work to do, I actually kind of like myself.

*Another excellent teacher of humility has been picking up my mom’s dog’s shit every morning for the last few months. Few things will make you reflect like a dog making direct eye contact with you as she, as my mom puts it, “does her business.”

**Sure, I knew these things at a lip service level but to actually realize them was due to meditation.

But it’s not all good. Some relationships got stronger- others rusted- others crumbled. Some of my flaws that had been dulled by alcohol or good ol’ fashioned neurosis grew pointy again.  All of this probably would have happened had I been drinking, albeit in more dramatic fashions. Life- at times- seemed insistent that I pick up the bottle to smooth some rough patches both personal and universal. 

I didn’t not drink because I was strong, or disciplined. But- for the first time in a long time- the sheer terror of total relapse wasn’t the cause for my not drinking either. I abstain because I’ve got enough shit to sift through and frankly I’ve come to kind of like my edges, plus I find just thinking about being hungover to be exhausting. 

(That said, I promise if I pick up the bottle between now and the next of these over-shares, I will exhaustively report back, much like I think people who post outrageous amounts of wedding photos on social media should be legally obligated to also post subsequent divorce papers.)

I’ve started to see my faults as something to be worked on, not a damnation- or something to be blindly defended, for that matter. Meditation has taught me that change isn’t just possible- it’s constant whether you want it to be or not. I miss a lot of who I was, but I certainly don’t miss the way I felt, and embracing the now only sharpens that appreciation. There has been pain and will be bad days, but the alternative simply doesn’t appeal to me anymore. I don’t laugh as much but I smile a lot more.

I’ll close with what you may have been thinking- why write this? The first reason should be self-evident: to get some hot, hot ass.* But for realsies, I share this because writing helps me give what I referred to last year as “the abyss” some semblance of shape. What was once the void is just now a really big, fucking mountain of labyrinthine design. And while not feeling understood has always been an issue of mine, so I genuinely appreciate it if you made it this far, its really the posting itself that’s the point. Secondly, I find the stigmatization of those with mental health issues, while much improved in recent years, to be one of the biggest plagues on modern society. Although I don’t live anything resembling a sweet life, I feel being brutally honest is at least my way of trying to combat that. Thirdly, I wanted to impress you with the fact I read Herman Melville’s 1851 classic Moby Dick**. Now, if you’ll excuse me the 2/5 of cake I’m staring at isn’t going to eat itself...

*Every blog’s raison d’etre 

** Great book!

[articlesofnote]

Thoughts on the 2020 election, saved for later

Originally as a facebook comment, and saved here for posterity.

So many threads to keep in hand, so many opinions to attempt to grok! L___ - you started this thread by giving substance to the thought that I've been mulling over in my own mind - to wit, that in terms of actual outcomes a Biden presidency will probably be functionally equivalent to a second Trump term.  From what I've seen - and I think at this point it should probably be explicitly stated by anyone having any kind of political discussion that "what I've seen" is mostly equivalent to "a highly curated list of headlines and hot Twitter takes that are engineered to a) fit my preconceived biases by agencies mostly out of my control; b) skewed heavily towards the inflammatory; and c) bracketing the discussion in ways that I don't always notice" - anyway, from what I've seen, this is absolutely a reasonable conclusion to draw. Responding to J___: it is certainly fair to say that Biden and Trump are miles apart in many respects, but to say that Biden "will be nothing like Trump" is, in my opinion, to focus too much on the style and less on the substance of their governance.  This is particularly true if, as you say (and I wholeheartedly, whole-souled-ly agree), the most important goal of our next president is "preventing the apocalypse" - which I take to be the already-present and ever-worsening climate crisis, with all of its attendant n-th order miseries.  We know that Trump could not care less, but what in Biden's record - not PR horseshit or campaign sloganeering or any no-accountability pabulum he might put out there - makes you think that he gives any more of a shit about "preventing the apocalypse" than Trump does?  And even if you're referring to some other apocalypse, I think this point still stands; Biden stands (proudly!) for the status quo power structure that created these problems to begin with.  If Trump is the rat in the kitchen, Biden is a termite in the foundation - the rat might seem more important, but it's not going to bring the house down. When it comes to the hypothetical Bernie presidency, you've got some pretty solid points; it's definitely fair to assume he wouldn't have had the political support that he needed to get his headline policies enacted, and in fact I suspect that even if he had won the nomination, he would have had a much rockier road to the election than us Bernie supporters assume.  In particular I think his choice of running mate would have been a huge hurdle to overcome - but why bother with moot points? G___ - I think you hit the nail on the head when you say that Biden doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell to beat Trump.  It's only a little bit of schadenfreude on my part to say that it's not even likely to be close; he's going to get absolutely wrecked in the general for various reasons that are only tangentially related to how he won the nomination.  Gotta disagree with you about violence being the only way to carry progressive ideas forward, as it seems like writing and organizing are also pretty important - but most important of all seems to be picking the right moment and the right allies.  And before you too deeply indulge any fantasies of carrying a rifle to the steps of the White House, remember that historically speaking it's the ones that are agitating for change who suffer, rather than inflict, the lion's share of the bloodshed, and that entrenched power structures are usually pretty capable of defending themselves against military force.  Your daughter is surely better off with you as a living role model for positive masculinity than as a dead abstraction.  If you're interested in learning more about why I think this, I stole most of these ideas from a book by Gene Sharp called "From Dictatorship to Democracy" - worth a read if anything I've said in this paragraph has been interesting. You're actually one of the few people I know who is going about revolution in the way I would consider "right," which is to say, "likely to actually succeed" - building localized resource production where most of the wealth gain is (ideally) kept in your hands rather than enriching those who would use that power against us.  I've very much enjoyed your posts about building community agricultural sustainability - that effort is more damaging to the toxicity of the status quo than any armed militancy could be.  Then again, the folks with guns will probably have the upper hand if they ever wanted to steal that wealth, directly or indirectly.  But this is getting rather far afield from the upcoming election - apologies for rambling. H___ makes a good point about federal judge appointments being worth electing Biden for; frankly, the Supreme Court is already conservative, RBG or no RBG, and Biden isn't going to be the one to add extra justices to make a larger-and-also-progressive SCOTUS.  However, such circuit court appointments as come up are damn important as well, and are an important part of building a truly progressive power base as K___ alluded to.  The Republicans did not reach their current summit of power - and they are absolutely more powerful, in the sense of being able to enact their policy and control the terms of the political discussion, than the Democrats are - without something like forty or fifty years of patient work, base-building, local victories, organizing, etc.  To ignore the structural aspects of political power as the Democrats so often seem to is a trap that I would hope progressives don't fall into. But, then again, the fate of the Bernie campaign does demonstrate that the Democrats understand political power and can marshal it effectively within their organization, more so even than the Republicans could in 2016 against Trump, which implies that their failure to do so in the policy arena is in fact intentional. Certainly they do seem to make a lot of political hay from the fact that they are consistently "the lesser of two evils" - gotta vote for harm reduction! gotta vote for our person, because their guy is literally the fucking worst! - which nevertheless still allows them to be pretty fuckin' bad. J__ and R___ - why in God's name are people so worried about Putin specifically, as though he were in some way uniquely worse than the Americans that Trump has around him?  Putin's bad, but he's in Russia; why not be worried that Mike Pence has Trump in his power, which is both a) much more worrisome and b) actually true? And, R___, I know I speak for myself (and perhaps a few others in this thread) when I say that it's Biden's long political career that makes it so hard to countenance voting for him.  You might say that it's not the years in the work, but the work in the years, that matter.  But, I am young - you must know more about his career than I do, if you're citing it as a reason to vote for him.  What has he done that I should respect him for?  About the best that I can say of him at this point is what K___ said - he's more (which is not to say very) susceptible to liberal thinking and he perhaps pays more attention to the progressive zeitgeist - that there is a chance he might, if he works at it, mitigate some of the harm done during the Trump presidency. I'm already behind the posts that have come in since I started writing this, so I'll stop here.  Apologies for any redundancy or lack of clarity, as well as the length - I had not the time to make it shorter, as the fellow once said.

[7r0773r]

Pilgrim at Tinker Creek by Annie Dillard

We don’t know what’s going on here. If these tremendous events are random combinations of matter run amok, the yield of millions of monkeys at millions of typewriters, then what is it in us, hammered out of those same typewriters, that they ignite? We don’t know. Our life is a faint tracing on the surface of mystery, like the idle, curved tunnels of leaf miners on the face of a leaf. We must somehow take a wider view, look at the whole landscape, really see it, and describe what’s going on here. Then we can at least wail the right question into the swaddling band of darkness, or, if it comes to that, choir the proper praise. (Heaven and Earth in Jest, p. 10)

***

I am an explorer, then, and I am also a stalker, or the instrument of the hunt itself. Certain Indians used to carve long grooves along the wooden shafts of their arrows. They called the grooves “lightning marks,” because they resembled the curved fissure lightning slices down the trunks of trees. The function of lightning marks is this: if the arrow fails to kill the game, blood from a deep wound will channel along the lightning mark, streak down the arrow shaft, and spatter to the ground, laying a trail dripped on broad-leaves, on stones, that the barefoot and trembling archer can follow into whatever deep or rare wilderness it leads. I am the arrow shaft, carved along my length by unexpected lights and gashes from the very sky, and this book is the straying trail of blood. (Heaven and Earth in Jest, p. 14)

***

When her doctor took her bandages off and led her into the garden, the girl who was no longer blind saw “the tree with the lights in it.” It was for this tree I searched through the peach orchards of summer, in the forests of fall and down winter and spring for years. Then one day I was walking along Tinker Creek thinking of nothing at all and I saw the tree with the lights in it. I saw the backyard cedar where the mourning doves roost charged and transfigured, each cell buzzing with flame. I stood on the grass with the lights in it, grass that was wholly fire, utterly focused and utterly dreamed. It was less like seeing than like being for the first time seen, knocked breathless by a powerful glance. The flood of fire abated, but I’m still spending the power. Gradually the lights went out in the cedar, the colors died, the cells unflamed and disappeared. I was still ringing. I had been my whole life a bell, and never knew it until at that moment I was lifted and struck. I have since only very rarely seen the tree with the lights in it. The vision comes and goes, mostly goes, but I live for it, for the moment when the mountains open and a new light roars in spate through the crack, and the mountains slam. (Seeing, p. 35)

***

This is the sort of stuff I read all winter. The books I read are like the stone men built by the Eskimos of the great desolate tundras west of Hudson’s Bay. They still build them today, according to Farley Mowat. An Eskimo traveling alone in flat barrens will heap round stones to the height of a man, travel till he can no longer see the beacon, and build another. So I travel mute among these books, these eyeless men and women that people the empty plain. I wake up thinking: What am I reading? What will I read next? I’m terrified that I’ll run out, that I will read through all I want to, and be forced to learn wildflowers at last, to keep awake. (Winter, p. 44)

***

When I was in elementary school, one of the teachers brought in a mantis egg case in a Mason jar. I watched the newly hatched mantises emerge and shed their skins; they were spidery and translucent, all over joints. They trailed from the egg case to the base of the Mason jar in a living bridge that looked like Arabic calligraphy, some baffling text from the Koran inscribed down the air by a fine hand. Over a period of several hours, during which time the teacher never summoned the nerve or the sense to release them, they ate each other until only two were left. Tiny legs were still kicking from the mouths of both. The two survivors grappled and sawed in the Mason jar; finally both died of injuries. I felt as though I myself should swallow the corpses, shutting my eyes and washing them down like jagged pills, so all that life wouldn’t be lost. (The Fixed, p. 56)

***

Nature is, above all, profligate. Don’t believe them when they tell you how economical and thrifty nature is, whose leaves return to the soil. Wouldn’t it be cheaper to leave them on the tree in the first place? This deciduous business alone is a radical scheme, the brainchild of a deranged manic-depressive with limitless capital. Extravagance! Nature will try anything once. This is what the sign of the insects says. No form is too gruesome, no behavior too grotesque. If you’re dealing with organic compounds, then let them combine. If it works, if it quickens, set it clacking in the grass; there’s always room for one more; you ain’t so handsome yourself. This is a spendthrift economy; though nothing is lost, all is spent. (The Fixed, p. 66)

***

This is it, I think, this is it, right now, the present, this empty gas station, here, this western wind, this tang of coffee on the tongue, and I am patting the puppy, I am watching the mountain. And the second I verbalize this awareness in my brain, I cease to see the mountain or feel the puppy. I am opaque, so much black asphalt. But at the same second, the second I know I’ve lost it, I also realize that the puppy is still squirming on his back under my hand. Nothing has changed for him. He draws his legs down to stretch the skin taut so he feels every fingertip’s stroke along his furred and arching side, his flank, his flung-back throat. I sip my coffee. I look at the mountain, which is still doing its tricks, as you look at a still-beautiful face belonging to a person who was once your lover in another country years ago: with fond nostalgia, and recognition, but no real feeling save a secret astonishment that you are now strangers. Thanks. For the memories. It is ironic that the one thing that all religions recognize as separating us from our creator—our very self-consciousness—is also the one thing that divides us from our fellow creatures. It was a bitter birthday present from evolution, cutting us off at both ends. I get in the car and drive home. (The Present, p. 80)

***

My mind branches and shoots like a tree. (The Present, p. 90)

***

If you analyze a molecule of chlorophyll itself, what you get is one hundred thirty-six atoms of hydrogen, carbon, oxygen, and nitrogen arranged in an exact and complex relationship around a central ring. At the ring’s center is a single atom of magnesium. Now: If you remove the atom of magnesium and in its exact place put an atom of iron, you get a molecule of hemoglobin. The iron atom combines with all the other atoms to make red blood. . . . (Intricacy, p. 127)

***

What if God has the same affectionate disregard for us that we have for barnacles? I don’t know if each barnacle larva is of itself unique and special, or if we the people are essentially as interchangeable as bricks. My brain is full of numbers; they swell and would split my skull like a shell. I examine the trapezoids of skin covering the back of my hands like blown dust motes moistened to clay. I have hatched, too, with millions of my kind, into a milky way that spreads from an unknown shore. I have seen the mantis’s abdomen dribbling out eggs in wet bubbles like tapioca pudding glued to a thorn. I have seen a film of a termite queen as big as my face, dead white and featureless, glistening with slime, throbbing and pulsing out rivers of globular eggs. Termite workers, who looked like tiny longshoremen unloading the Queen Mary, licked each egg as fast as it was extruded to prevent mold. The whole world is an incubator for incalculable numbers of eggs, each one coded minutely and ready to burst. (Fecundity, p. 169)

***

I have to look at the landscape of the blue-green world again. Just think: in all the clean beautiful reaches of the solar system, our planet alone is a blot; our planet alone has death. I have to acknowledge that the sea is a cup of death and the land is a stained altar stone. We the living are survivors huddled on flotsam, living on jetsam. We are escapees. We wake in terror, eat in hunger, sleep with a mouthful of blood. (Fecundity, p. 177)

***

Either this world, my mother, is a monster, or I myself am a freak. (Fecundity, p. 179)

***

Is this what it’s like, I thought then, and think now: a little blood here, a chomp there, and still we live, trampling the grass? Must everything whole be nibbled? Here was a new light on the intricate texture of things in the world, the actual plot of the present moment in time after the fall: the way we the living are nibbled and nibbling—not held aloft on a cloud in the air but bumbling pitted and scarred and broken through a frayed and beautiful land. (The Horns of the Altar, p. 230)

***

I am a frayed and nibbled survivor in a fallen world, and I am getting along. I am aging and eaten and have done my share of eating too. I am not washed and beautiful, in control of a shining world in which everything fits, but instead am wandering awed about on a splintered wreck I’ve come to care for, whose gnawed trees breathe a delicate air, whose bloodied and scarred creatures are my dearest companions, and whose beauty beats and shines not in its imperfections but overwhelmingly in spite of them, under the wind-rent clouds, upstream and down. Simone Weil says simply, “Let us love the country of here below. It is real; it offers resistance to love.” (The Horns of the Altar, p. 245)

***

I stood at the window, the bay window on which one summer a waxen-looking grasshopper had breathed puff puff, and thought, I won’t see this year again, not again so innocent; and longing wrapped round my throat like a scarf. (The Waters of Separation, p. 265)

[diabeticmemoirs]

SORRY KARL MARX: 4 ANIMALS THAT YOU THOUGHT WERE ALTRUISTIC BUT AREN’T

Altruism, we all think that we know what it means. You know, doing something good for someone else without some kind of a reward. Maybe donate to charity, or volunteer your time at a local shelter of some kind — human, animal, hexapod invertebrate (seriously, they call them bug hotels). That’s not exactly the case though. In fact, the real definition of altruism is a tad more specific than that.

First we have to talk fitness, and no I’m not talking about the ten minutes of yoga you did before collapsing on top of the body-shaped puddle of sweat still absorbing into the mat you purchased at the dollar store. In biology, fitness refers to how many babies a person can make, who can also get down and make a few of their own (thanks conservation science 201). And, using that definition, altruism is actually any behavior that an individual performs in order to increase the fitness of another, while causing a decrease in fitness to itself.

Now, Karl Marx was many things; philosopher, journalist, historian, political theorist, revolutionary socialist. But, one of his core ideas was this — human nature is essentially a state of it’s circumstances (Everything is your parents fault). Immanuel Kant and Thomas Hobbes argued that people were, at their core, selfish. Marx, on the other hand, said that outside of the social constraints of upper and lower class, people would prove to be self-less and help one another out — they would care about our species as a whole. Just like all of those examples of altruistic behavior in our cute and cuddly animal counterparts. I mean come on! We’ve all seen the viral videos of dogs adopting orphaned kittens. Obviously we should try to be more understanding and accepting. We should walk and talk just like the animals right?....Right? Well, no, not if we’re talking altruism.

Lemmings

No, I’m not talking about the green-haired, dimwitted, cartoon creatures who walk to their deaths in blue dresses that were made famous by DMA Design in 1991. I’m referring to the IRL version that also jump from cliffs and drown themselves in an attempt to control their own population size. That’s right folks! Altruistic mass suicide. It was actually a theory not too long ago. Disney even “documented” it in their 1958 film White Wilderness. Documented of course means that they took some lemmings, pushed them off of a cliff, and filmed it (Mickey Mouse for President 2020).

Reality is — that theory was sane when compared to earlier ones. During the 1530’s a geographer, by the name of Zeigler, suggested that lemmings spontaneously fell from the sky during stormy weather, and simply died off in the spring. What Zeigler hadn’t noticed was the population migrating up to the mountains in the spring to get their baby-making on...like really on. Lemmings reproduce so fast that they have their own unique population growth model.

Almost every species follows one of two predictive growth patterns, outside of extenuating circumstances of course. They either grow exponentially until they reach a carrying capacity, balancing out the population with the available resources; or they grow exponentially, far beyond the available resources, and eventually crash towards potential extinction (have you figured out which kind we are yet?....just saying). Lemmings, on the other hand, fluctuate up and down chaotically, not around a carrying capacity, for about four years before crashing to near extinction. Then they get up, brush themselves off, and start all over again.

They’re rodents, and like every other rodent, they mass produce children and then scatter away to new places when the population gets too big. But, unlike every other rodent, that has inconspicuous, neutral coloring and tends to flee and hide at the sight of a predator, a lemmings predatory defense behavior is simple; they ain’t gonna take no shit from no punk ass carnivore, and their colors say so (thug life). It’s almost like the flight portion of their fight or flight response was lebotomized from that portion of the brain (the amygdala...not that they asked Mr. Know-it-All), but that’s beside the point. Lemmings are mean, aggressive, far from altruistic little adrenaline junkies that migrate at full speed down mountain cliffs and across raging rivers, they’re just not all gonna make it. That’s the life. They like to ride. Fixed gear. No brakes. Can’t stop. Don’t want to, either (or was that Joseph Gordon-Levitt?).

Wolves

The great and noble wolf pack, consisting of the alpha, the beta, and the bottom of the proverbial barrel — the omega wolf. A perfect hierarchy of dominance behavior, where the toughest make it to the top. At least, that’s according to L. David Mech, one of the most prominent wolf experts in the U.S (and every episode of MTV’s adaptation of Teen Wolf). So who the hell are we to question it?

Let’s just assume that’s how it works for a moment, and one renegade wolf fights his way to power, dominating every other member of the pack with his or her underdog willpower and earning the top spot in more ways than one (where my bitches at?). Well it seems that, in the wild, that renegade top-dog has a soft spot for the young and injured.

Everyone gets a share at meal time. Even the ones who are too sick or injured to go on the hunt get an equal piece, and Mr. Alpha makes sure of that. Hooray altruism!!! Sharing resources definitely counts. Except it doesn’t. Not in this case. Because guess what, putting a bunch of strange wolves into a small, enclosed space isn’t the best way to understand what’s happening in the wild. Who knew?!

The truth is that Mr. Alpha is actually just a wolf that found Mrs. Alpha and decided to make their own little pack, the old fashioned way...sex, I’m talking about sexual intercourse. Wolf packs are just families; Mom, Dad, and all of their little kiddy wolves (Sibling rivalry gets a whole new meaning when you add claws and teeth). Once those pups grow up, they form small family units of their own and often build on the first pack. It’s like a family-reunion-camping-trip, just every second...of every single day...in the middle of untamed wilderness.

It’s called kin selection. Even grandchildren and cousins have twenty-five percent of the SAME GENES as we do. That’s right, you’re twenty-five percent identical to your first cousin. And, biology says that you should get as much of...well you...out there as you can. So, murdering said cousin for breaking your Xbox goes against your natural fitness. Sorry guys.

Apes

You know...us...and our closest living relatives. Those cute little chimpanzees and gorillas with their sign language skills. The ones that get far less cute when you add Mark Walhberg, James Franco, or a forty-five year old Charlton Heston to the mix.

They are like us in a lot of ways. Psychologist Robin Ian Macdonald Dunbar, with his enormous list of credentials and top seat at Oxford’s Department of Experimental Psychology (that’s the legit kind, not the wishy-washy one) writes an entire book on the similar social effects of grooming in apes and the affinity that humans seem to have for gossip. I mean, I don’t want to say anything about women who sit at a salon and exchange information while getting their overpriced nails done, or how they might compare to a troop of gorillas grooming each other...so I won’t...

Gossip, exchanging information, or picking and eating termites off of each others hairy backs, it isn’t kin selection or some mentally unstable rodent migration in this case. It isn’t altruistic either. It’s called reciprocity, “tit for tat,” you eat the bug off my back and I’ll eat the bug off yours. And, don’t take it lightly.

Reciprocity is the basis of human society. We barder, we trade, it happens at every level of civilization. There’s even a thing called reciprocal “concession” where a requester lowers their initial request, in order to make the other person feel obligated to concede to the second request (go ahead, look it up). It’s reverse psychology in board meeting. We haven’t gotten more “self-less” with our intelligence, we’ve just become more manipulative.

Birds

About ten percent of all bird species, in one way or another, express “cooperative breeding” — boom, statistic. So, what does that mean? Babysitting. You take care of someone else’s genetic Will and Testament, which wastes your time and energy and decreases your fitness. Done...altruism. And no, it isn’t always a relative.

So why doesn’t it qualify? Because these are the benefits…

A reduced chance of predation, increased foraging time, territory inheritance, higher survival rate of breeding females, and get this...the “helpers” simply become better parents when they do breed. And in the wild that’s important...because in the wild, children actually do get eaten by monsters.

These guys have weighed the costs and benefits of every tiny little behavior they do, and we have absolutely no clue what’s happening. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this — as a moderately liberal hippy myself, I’d love to think that all of our furry friends are looking out for one another — but the truth is, altruism doesn’t exist. Not in the natural world at least. We need to define our terms more accurately and stop getting caught up in this black and white, good versus evil trope. The world is vastly more complicated and that’s okay.

The only example I can come up with would be if a woman (let’s call her Sally) donates her egg to Amy, the scientists involved remove Sally’s DNA from it and put in Amy’s DNA, and then they proceed to fertilize it. Because it all comes down to the passing on of genetic material (the gooey stuff). Which may be possible soon, who knows. They just fertilized one female mouse with DNA from another (because men weren’t already useless enough).

[touristguidebuzz]

Meet the Team: The Many Faces of Nomadic Matt

From tech and coding to design to fixing bugs getting readers books when downloads fail to scheduling social media or running the forums, it takes a village to run this website. I simply couldn’t run the website, write, travel, eat, sleep, or anything in between if I didn’t have the support and help of an amazing group of people – and I think it’s time you formally met them all! So, without further ado, here’s team Nomadic Matt:

Erica

Erica has been working for me for over three and a half years and is my director of global operations i.e. right hand woman. She keeps this ship afloat. In her own words:

I grew up in Connecticut and went to school in Virginia. During a quarter-life crisis at age 21, I chose to finish my last year of college on an adventure in Qatar! From that moment on, my life revolved around traveling cheaply with the money I earned from waitressing. That budget got me to teach English in Isaan, Thailand, and South Korea; farm on St. Vincent and the Grenadines in the Caribbean; and volunteer in rural Zambia. At age 26, I returned home to Connecticut, determined to get a job in travel. Soon after, I met Nomadic Matt at a travel meet-up in NYC, and the rest is history.

I whole-heartedly believe that traveling makes friends of strangers, and the more friends there are in the world, the more peace there is in the world.

13 Facts about Me

At 15, I helped build a schoolhouse in Nicaragua.

Living in a termite clay hut without electricity or running water in Zambia for six months was probably one of the most trying (and simple), exciting (and boring), and perspective-shifting experiences of my life.

I’ve cut off my hair and donated it to Locks of Love, twice!

I once hunted for possums on the island of St. Vincent with a bunch of Rastafarians. We caught four and made soup.

In Costa Rica, I stayed at in a sustainable living community called Rancho Mastatal, where I learned how to farm yuca, make beer out of turmeric, and build a house out of cob.

When I was 15, John Stamos kissed my cheek after I saw him in Cabaret on Broadway.

I taught English in South Korea for 14 months and was able to easily save enough money for 21 months of non-stop travel.

This music video I made used to be one of the top hits when you searched for St. Vincent and the Grenadines.

In Zambia, my friend and I were given a live chicken as a present. We were vegetarians, so we traded it for a pair of second-hand jeans at the market.

I got 19 people (the students and teachers on the FLYTE trip) into an airport lounge for free. I think that’s a travel hacking record!

I’ve attended a Qatari princess’s wedding sporting mink eyelashes.

In Korea, I dated a guy who spoke no English and we basically communicated through drawing pictures and reciting American rap lyrics.

I think Matt spends a majority of his day editing out my exclamation points from my research, emails, newsletters, etc! (Matt says: This is very true.)

Christopher O.

Chris joined the team as the part-time manager of the forums back in 2015. Since then, he’s branched out into the Superstar Blogging program and our soon-to-be-launched community platform, Nomadic Network. In his own words:

I grew up in a small town in Ontario, Canada, and spent my formative years listening to punk rock, reading Star Wars novels, and generally getting up to no good. After ditching my lifelong plan to be a lawyer, I decided to give travel a try. I headed to Costa Rica on a whim and have never looked back! It wasn’t long after that trip that I took a break from university (where I was studying history and theatre) to move to a monastery in Japan in 2007. I’ve more or less been wandering around ever since. Some notable adventures include taking the Trans-Siberian Railway across Russia and Mongolia, walking the Camino de Santiago twice, and going on a 10-day road trip around Iceland with complete strangers. When I’m not traveling, I live in Sweden and can be found reading, writing, or struggling to improve at chess.

13 Facts about Me

I spent nine months living in Buddhist monasteries.

I lived in a tent for a year.

I was once stalked by a jaguar and chased by a crocodile — on the same trip.

I haven’t had alcohol in 13 years.

I’ve broken all my fingers and toes, and my nose three times, and I’ve fractured both my wrists.

I worked on an organic farm for 11 years.

I co-owned a restaurant in Canada.

I grew up next door to Avril Lavigne.

I once ate an entire nine-course meal (I was the only person there to eat everything!).

I played inter-mural Quidditch in high school and was our team’s Seeker.

I have a Star Wars tattoo.

I’ve been vegan for 12 years.

I have a scar from a fight that broke out over which Norse god was “the best.”

Chris R.

Chris, aka The Aussie Nomad, is a (kinda) former blogger who does all the tech and development work for the website. He keeps it running, fixes any errors you find, and deals with my constantly changing design desires. In his own words:

I’m living the good life in Western Australia by the beach with my amazing family. I got into the world of blogging after quitting my job, backpacking around Europe and, as all Aussies do, undertaking a working holiday in the UK. Like all of us who travel and fall in love with it, nobody wants to go home afterwards.

That adventure got me into creating a travel blog many years ago, which is how I first came to know Matt. I have since repurposed my IT skills from my old life and formed my own business to help out other bloggers with their websites.

13 Facts about Me

I love Belgian beer (and I even married a Belgian).

I’ve worked with Matt the longest out of anyone here. (Take that team!)

I took off to backpack Europe when I was 29.

I’m an advocate for Vegemite and believe all visitors to Australia must try this national treasure.

One of my favorite activities is to take a long road trip, especially with family and friends.

I have no idea how four-way stop signals in the U.S.A. don’t all end up as accidents.

I do not drink Fosters. It’s a terrible beer. No one in Australia actually drinks it.

I like to think of myself as an amateur photographer.

I failed kindergarten as I wouldn’t say goodbye to the teacher.

My first job was working in a supermarket.

I can’t sleep on a plane – no matter how long the flight is.

I can name every Thomas the Tank Engine character thanks to my son.

I don’t drink coffee or get people’s love for it. Tea all the way!

Raimee

Raimee is the newest team member and does all our social media. She schedules posts, tweaks my terrible photos so they look good on Instagram, builds our content calendar, and creates all our quote & Pinterest graphics! In her own words:

When I was just 14 years old, I took my first international trip to Honduras and Belize with my family. Ever since then, I’ve been hooked on experiencing new cultures, connecting with people from all walks of life, and learning about myself and the world through the power of travel! After graduating with a degree in advertising and marketing from Michigan State University and four years as a digital marketing specialist, I realized that corporate life was not for me. My insatiable need to experience the world beyond a desk led me to search for a job-related to travel. I’ve followed this blog for many years, and now I get to work for it remotely while I strategize, manage, and report on the social media accounts — and I love every second of it!

13 Facts about Me

I’m obsessed with Harry Potter. I’ve read each book at least 10 times, and, if I told you how many times, I’ve watched each of the movies, you probably wouldn’t believe me.

I once “hung out” with Daniel Radcliffe at a Red Wings game in Detroit, and actually kept my cool the entire time.

Visiting the Harry Potter studio tour in London was one of the best days of my life.

My mom was obsessed with the 80’s horror movie Evil Dead directed by Sam Raimi, so she named me after him.

After having visited about 30 countries, Iceland is still my favorite.

My biggest travel dream is to take a road trip around New Zealand!

The most fun I’ve had on a trip was on my first solo backpacking trip through Europe when I used Couchsurfing.

I used to play the saxophone.

I conquered my fear of heights by jumping off a cliff in Croatia — twice!

I love languages and was close to being fluent in German during college.

I’m terrified of flying.

In another life, I would have been a film director/producer. Maybe some day!

My favorite number is 13.

Nomadic Matt

And, finally, there’s me. You probably know a lot about me after nine and half years of blogging (sometimes I forget how long it’s been), but here’s a quick refresh:

Growing up in Boston, I was never a big traveler. I didn’t take my first trip overseas until 2004. That trip changed my life and opened me up to the possibilities the world had to offer. One year later, I went to Thailand, where I met five backpackers who inspired me to quit my job and travel the world. In 2006, I left for a yearlong backpacking trip — and have been “nomadic” ever since.

13 Facts about Me

I love politics as much as I love travel and will debate for the joy for it.

I love to cook — and I’m kinda good at it too!

When I was in high school, I was my state’s champ in “Magic: the Gathering.” I know — super nerdy, right? It got me a free trip NYC with my friend (who came in number two!).

I always worry about the future and often use my time back home to develop skills needed for the Zombie Apocalypse. Shout-out to my prepper friend Vanessa for teaching me about seeds!

I once met Paul Giamatti on the streets of NYC and he was as grumpy as I imagined.

I am an unabashed Taylor Swift fan and can’t wait for her new album!

Kevin Spacey is my favorite actor, and I’ve seen The Usual Suspects twenty times.

I believe aliens exist. It’s mathematically impossible they don’t.

I’m terrified of flying.

I learned to swing dance so I could throw myself a Gatsby-themed birthday party.

Both sides of my family came through Ellis Island and you can see their names on the wall where they list all the immigrants.

I used to be the head of a program by the Massachusetts Sierra Club that promoted energy efficiency.

I went to college to be a high school history teacher.

***Also, I’d like to acknowledge our part-timers too: Candice, who helps with admin and research; Richard, our fearless copyeditor (whose efforts I often ruin by changing posts last minute); Keith, our design genius; Brice and Julie, our user experience gurus; and Courtney, who keeps our charity, FLYTE, up in the air with her executive directing wizard ways!

So there you have it! The Nomadic Matt team! It’s weird to think this blog I started to simply be online résumé for freelance jobs now requires eleven people to run. I always thought the more systems, automation, products, and passive income I set up, the easier it would be. I could just sit on a beach. But it seems the more we do, the more we create, the more projects I tell the team we’re taking on, the more help we require. I guess that is the nature of the beast but I would have it no other way. I love what we do here. We help a lot of people realize their dreams.

And a guy couldn’t ask for better co-workers to help make that happen.

The post Meet the Team: The Many Faces of Nomadic Matt appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

[fadingfartconnoisseur]

Meet the Team: The Many Faces of Nomadic Matt

From tech and coding to design to fixing bugs getting readers books when downloads fail to scheduling social media or running the forums, it takes a village to run this website. I simply couldn’t run the website, write, travel, eat, sleep, or anything in between if I didn’t have the support and help of an amazing group of people – and I think it’s time you formally met them all! So, without further ado, here’s team Nomadic Matt:

Erica

Erica has been working for me for over three and a half years and is my director of global operations i.e. right hand woman. She keeps this ship afloat. In her own words:

I grew up in Connecticut and went to school in Virginia. During a quarter-life crisis at age 21, I chose to finish my last year of college on an adventure in Qatar! From that moment on, my life revolved around traveling cheaply with the money I earned from waitressing. That budget got me to teach English in Isaan, Thailand, and South Korea; farm on St. Vincent and the Grenadines in the Caribbean; and volunteer in rural Zambia. At age 26, I returned home to Connecticut, determined to get a job in travel. Soon after, I met Nomadic Matt at a travel meet-up in NYC, and the rest is history.

I whole-heartedly believe that traveling makes friends of strangers, and the more friends there are in the world, the more peace there is in the world.

13 Facts about Me

At 15, I helped build a schoolhouse in Nicaragua.

Living in a termite clay hut without electricity or running water in Zambia for six months was probably one of the most trying (and simple), exciting (and boring), and perspective-shifting experiences of my life.

I’ve cut off my hair and donated it to Locks of Love, twice!

I once hunted for possums on the island of St. Vincent with a bunch of Rastafarians. We caught four and made soup.

In Costa Rica, I stayed at in a sustainable living community called Rancho Mastatal, where I learned how to farm yuca, make beer out of turmeric, and build a house out of cob.

When I was 15, John Stamos kissed my cheek after I saw him in Cabaret on Broadway.

I taught English in South Korea for 14 months and was able to easily save enough money for 21 months of non-stop travel.

This music video I made used to be one of the top hits when you searched for St. Vincent and the Grenadines.

In Zambia, my friend and I were given a live chicken as a present. We were vegetarians, so we traded it for a pair of second-hand jeans at the market.

I got 19 people (the students and teachers on the FLYTE trip) into an airport lounge for free. I think that’s a travel hacking record!

I’ve attended a Qatari princess’s wedding sporting mink eyelashes.

In Korea, I dated a guy who spoke no English and we basically communicated through drawing pictures and reciting American rap lyrics.

I think Matt spends a majority of his day editing out my exclamation points from my research, emails, newsletters, etc! (Matt says: This is very true.)

Christopher O.

Chris joined the team as the part-time manager of the forums back in 2015. Since then, he’s branched out into the Superstar Blogging program and our soon-to-be-launched community platform, Nomadic Network. In his own words:

I grew up in a small town in Ontario, Canada, and spent my formative years listening to punk rock, reading Star Wars novels, and generally getting up to no good. After ditching my lifelong plan to be a lawyer, I decided to give travel a try. I headed to Costa Rica on a whim and have never looked back! It wasn’t long after that trip that I took a break from university (where I was studying history and theatre) to move to a monastery in Japan in 2007. I’ve more or less been wandering around ever since. Some notable adventures include taking the Trans-Siberian Railway across Russia and Mongolia, walking the Camino de Santiago twice, and going on a 10-day road trip around Iceland with complete strangers. When I’m not traveling, I live in Sweden and can be found reading, writing, or struggling to improve at chess.

13 Facts about Me

I spent nine months living in Buddhist monasteries.

I lived in a tent for a year.

I was once stalked by a jaguar and chased by a crocodile — on the same trip.

I haven’t had alcohol in 13 years.

I’ve broken all my fingers and toes, and my nose three times, and I’ve fractured both my wrists.

I worked on an organic farm for 11 years.

I co-owned a restaurant in Canada.

I grew up next door to Avril Lavigne.

I once ate an entire nine-course meal (I was the only person there to eat everything!).

I played inter-mural Quidditch in high school and was our team’s Seeker.

I have a Star Wars tattoo.

I’ve been vegan for 12 years.

I have a scar from a fight that broke out over which Norse god was “the best.”

Chris R.

Chris, aka The Aussie Nomad, is a (kinda) former blogger who does all the tech and development work for the website. He keeps it running, fixes any errors you find, and deals with my constantly changing design desires. In his own words:

I’m living the good life in Western Australia by the beach with my amazing family. I got into the world of blogging after quitting my job, backpacking around Europe and, as all Aussies do, undertaking a working holiday in the UK. Like all of us who travel and fall in love with it, nobody wants to go home afterwards.

That adventure got me into creating a travel blog many years ago, which is how I first came to know Matt. I have since repurposed my IT skills from my old life and formed my own business to help out other bloggers with their websites.

13 Facts about Me

I love Belgian beer (and I even married a Belgian).

I’ve worked with Matt the longest out of anyone here. (Take that team!)

I took off to backpack Europe when I was 29.

I’m an advocate for Vegemite and believe all visitors to Australia must try this national treasure.

One of my favorite activities is to take a long road trip, especially with family and friends.

I have no idea how four-way stop signals in the U.S.A. don’t all end up as accidents.

I do not drink Fosters. It’s a terrible beer. No one in Australia actually drinks it.

I like to think of myself as an amateur photographer.

I failed kindergarten as I wouldn’t say goodbye to the teacher.

My first job was working in a supermarket.

I can’t sleep on a plane – no matter how long the flight is.

I can name every Thomas the Tank Engine character thanks to my son.

I don’t drink coffee or get people’s love for it. Tea all the way!

Raimee

Raimee is the newest team member and does all our social media. She schedules posts, tweaks my terrible photos so they look good on Instagram, builds our content calendar, and creates all our quote & Pinterest graphics! In her own words:

When I was just 14 years old, I took my first international trip to Honduras and Belize with my family. Ever since then, I’ve been hooked on experiencing new cultures, connecting with people from all walks of life, and learning about myself and the world through the power of travel! After graduating with a degree in advertising and marketing from Michigan State University and four years as a digital marketing specialist, I realized that corporate life was not for me. My insatiable need to experience the world beyond a desk led me to search for a job-related to travel. I’ve followed this blog for many years, and now I get to work for it remotely while I strategize, manage, and report on the social media accounts — and I love every second of it!

13 Facts about Me

I’m obsessed with Harry Potter. I’ve read each book at least 10 times, and, if I told you how many times, I’ve watched each of the movies, you probably wouldn’t believe me.

I once “hung out” with Daniel Radcliffe at a Red Wings game in Detroit, and actually kept my cool the entire time.

Visiting the Harry Potter studio tour in London was one of the best days of my life.

My mom was obsessed with the 80’s horror movie Evil Dead directed by Sam Raimi, so she named me after him.

After having visited about 30 countries, Iceland is still my favorite.

My biggest travel dream is to take a road trip around New Zealand!

The most fun I’ve had on a trip was on my first solo backpacking trip through Europe when I used Couchsurfing.

I used to play the saxophone.

I conquered my fear of heights by jumping off a cliff in Croatia — twice!

I love languages and was close to being fluent in German during college.

I’m terrified of flying.

In another life, I would have been a film director/producer. Maybe some day!

My favorite number is 13.

Nomadic Matt

And, finally, there’s me. You probably know a lot about me after nine and half years of blogging (sometimes I forget how long it’s been), but here’s a quick refresh:

Growing up in Boston, I was never a big traveler. I didn’t take my first trip overseas until 2004. That trip changed my life and opened me up to the possibilities the world had to offer. One year later, I went to Thailand, where I met five backpackers who inspired me to quit my job and travel the world. In 2006, I left for a yearlong backpacking trip — and have been “nomadic” ever since.

13 Facts about Me

I love politics as much as I love travel and will debate for the joy for it.

I love to cook — and I’m kinda good at it too!

When I was in high school, I was my state’s champ in “Magic: the Gathering.” I know — super nerdy, right? It got me a free trip NYC with my friend (who came in number two!).

I always worry about the future and often use my time back home to develop skills needed for the Zombie Apocalypse. Shout-out to my prepper friend Vanessa for teaching me about seeds!

I once met Paul Giamatti on the streets of NYC and he was as grumpy as I imagined.

I am an unabashed Taylor Swift fan and can’t wait for her new album!

Kevin Spacey is my favorite actor, and I’ve seen The Usual Suspects twenty times.

I believe aliens exist. It’s mathematically impossible they don’t.

I’m terrified of flying.

I learned to swing dance so I could throw myself a Gatsby-themed birthday party.

Both sides of my family came through Ellis Island and you can see their names on the wall where they list all the immigrants.

I used to be the head of a program by the Massachusetts Sierra Club that promoted energy efficiency.

I went to college to be a high school history teacher.

***Also, I’d like to acknowledge our part-timers too: Candice, who helps with admin and research; Richard, our fearless copyeditor (whose efforts I often ruin by changing posts last minute); Keith, our design genius; Brice and Julie, our user experience gurus; and Courtney, who keeps our charity, FLYTE, up in the air with her executive directing wizard ways!

So there you have it! The Nomadic Matt team! It’s weird to think this blog I started to simply be online résumé for freelance jobs now requires eleven people to run. I always thought the more systems, automation, products, and passive income I set up, the easier it would be. I could just sit on a beach. But it seems the more we do, the more we create, the more projects I tell the team we’re taking on, the more help we require. I guess that is the nature of the beast but I would have it no other way. I love what we do here. We help a lot of people realize their dreams.

And a guy couldn’t ask for better co-workers to help make that happen.

The post Meet the Team: The Many Faces of Nomadic Matt appeared first on Nomadic Matt's Travel Site.

via Travel Blogs http://ift.tt/2w7dY8V

[theladyjstyle]

From tech and coding to design to fixing bugs getting readers books when downloads fail to scheduling social media or running the forums, it takes a village to run this website. I simply couldn’t run the website, write, travel, eat, sleep, or anything in between if I didn’t have the support and help of an amazing group of people – and I think it’s time you formally met them all! So, without further ado, here’s team Nomadic Matt:

Erica

Erica has been working for me for over three and a half years and is my director of global operations i.e. right hand woman. She keeps this ship afloat. In her own words:

I grew up in Connecticut and went to school in Virginia. During a quarter-life crisis at age 21, I chose to finish my last year of college on an adventure in Qatar! From that moment on, my life revolved around traveling cheaply with the money I earned from waitressing. That budget got me to teach English in Isaan, Thailand, and South Korea; farm on St. Vincent and the Grenadines in the Caribbean; and volunteer in rural Zambia. At age 26, I returned home to Connecticut, determined to get a job in travel. Soon after, I met Nomadic Matt at a travel meet-up in NYC, and the rest is history.

I whole-heartedly believe that traveling makes friends of strangers, and the more friends there are in the world, the more peace there is in the world.

13 Facts about Me

At 15, I helped build a schoolhouse in Nicaragua.

Living in a termite clay hut without electricity or running water in Zambia for six months was probably one of the most trying (and simple), exciting (and boring), and perspective-shifting experiences of my life.

I’ve cut off my hair and donated it to Locks of Love, twice!

I once hunted for possums on the island of St. Vincent with a bunch of Rastafarians. We caught four and made soup.

In Costa Rica, I stayed at in a sustainable living community called Rancho Mastatal, where I learned how to farm yuca, make beer out of turmeric, and build a house out of cob.

When I was 15, John Stamos kissed my cheek after I saw him in Cabaret on Broadway.

I taught English in South Korea for 14 months and was able to easily save enough money for 21 months of non-stop travel.

This music video I made used to be one of the top hits when you searched for St. Vincent and the Grenadines.

In Zambia, my friend and I were given a live chicken as a present. We were vegetarians, so we traded it for a pair of second-hand jeans at the market.

I got 19 people (the students and teachers on the FLYTE trip) into an airport lounge for free. I think that’s a travel hacking record!

I’ve attended a Qatari princess’s wedding sporting mink eyelashes.

In Korea, I dated a guy who spoke no English and we basically communicated through drawing pictures and reciting American rap lyrics.

I think Matt spends a majority of his day editing out my exclamation points from my research, emails, newsletters, etc! (Matt says: This is very true.)

Christopher O.

Chris joined the team as the part-time manager of the forums back in 2015. Since then, he’s branched out into the Superstar Blogging program and our soon-to-be-launched community platform, Nomadic Network. In his own words:

I grew up in a small town in Ontario, Canada, and spent my formative years listening to punk rock, reading Star Wars novels, and generally getting up to no good. After ditching my lifelong plan to be a lawyer, I decided to give travel a try. I headed to Costa Rica on a whim and have never looked back! It wasn’t long after that trip that I took a break from university (where I was studying history and theatre) to move to a monastery in Japan in 2007. I’ve more or less been wandering around ever since. Some notable adventures include taking the Trans-Siberian Railway across Russia and Mongolia, walking the Camino de Santiago twice, and going on a 10-day road trip around Iceland with complete strangers. When I’m not traveling, I live in Sweden and can be found reading, writing, or struggling to improve at chess.

13 Facts about Me

I spent nine months living in Buddhist monasteries.

I lived in a tent for a year.

I was once stalked by a jaguar and chased by a crocodile — on the same trip.

I haven’t had alcohol in 13 years.

I’ve broken all my fingers and toes, and my nose three times, and I’ve fractured both my wrists.

I worked on an organic farm for 11 years.

I co-owned a restaurant in Canada.

I grew up next door to Avril Lavigne.

I once ate an entire nine-course meal (I was the only person there to eat everything!).

I played inter-mural Quidditch in high school and was our team’s Seeker.

I have a Star Wars tattoo.

I’ve been vegan for 12 years.

I have a scar from a fight that broke out over which Norse god was “the best.”

Chris R.

Chris, aka The Aussie Nomad, is a (kinda) former blogger who does all the tech and development work for the website. He keeps it running, fixes any errors you find, and deals with my constantly changing design desires. In his own words:

I’m living the good life in Western Australia by the beach with my amazing family. I got into the world of blogging after quitting my job, backpacking around Europe and, as all Aussies do, undertaking a working holiday in the UK. Like all of us who travel and fall in love with it, nobody wants to go home afterwards.

That adventure got me into creating a travel blog many years ago, which is how I first came to know Matt. I have since repurposed my IT skills from my old life and formed my own business to help out other bloggers with their websites.

13 Facts about Me

I love Belgian beer (and I even married a Belgian).

I’ve worked with Matt the longest out of anyone here. (Take that team!)

I took off to backpack Europe when I was 29.

I’m an advocate for Vegemite and believe all visitors to Australia must try this national treasure.

One of my favorite activities is to take a long road trip, especially with family and friends.

I have no idea how four-way stop signals in the U.S.A. don’t all end up as accidents.

I do not drink Fosters. It’s a terrible beer. No one in Australia actually drinks it.

I like to think of myself as an amateur photographer.

I failed kindergarten as I wouldn’t say goodbye to the teacher.

My first job was working in a supermarket.

I can’t sleep on a plane – no matter how long the flight is.

I can name every Thomas the Tank Engine character thanks to my son.

I don’t drink coffee or get people’s love for it. Tea all the way!

Raimee

Raimee is the newest team member and does all our social media. She schedules posts, tweaks my terrible photos so they look good on Instagram, builds our content calendar, and creates all our quote & Pinterest graphics! In her own words:

When I was just 14 years old, I took my first international trip to Honduras and Belize with my family. Ever since then, I’ve been hooked on experiencing new cultures, connecting with people from all walks of life, and learning about myself and the world through the power of travel! After graduating with a degree in advertising and marketing from Michigan State University and four years as a digital marketing specialist, I realized that corporate life was not for me. My insatiable need to experience the world beyond a desk led me to search for a job-related to travel. I’ve followed this blog for many years, and now I get to work for it remotely while I strategize, manage, and report on the social media accounts — and I love every second of it!

13 Facts about Me

I’m obsessed with Harry Potter. I’ve read each book at least 10 times, and, if I told you how many times, I’ve watched each of the movies, you probably wouldn’t believe me.

I once “hung out” with Daniel Radcliffe at a Red Wings game in Detroit, and actually kept my cool the entire time.

Visiting the Harry Potter studio tour in London was one of the best days of my life.

My mom was obsessed with the 80’s horror movie Evil Dead directed by Sam Raimi, so she named me after him.

After having visited about 30 countries, Iceland is still my favorite.

My biggest travel dream is to take a road trip around New Zealand!

The most fun I’ve had on a trip was on my first solo backpacking trip through Europe when I using Couchsurfing.

I used to play the saxophone.

I conquered my fear of heights by jumping off a cliff in Croatia — twice!

I love languages and was close to being fluent in German during college.

I’m terrified of flying.

In another life, I would have been a film director/producer. Maybe some day!

My favorite number is 13.

Nomadic Matt

And, finally, there’s me. You probably know a lot about me after nine and half years of blogging (sometimes I forget how long it’s been), but here’s a quick refresh:

Growing up in Boston, I was never a big traveler. I didn’t take my first trip overseas until 2004. That trip changed my life and opened me up to the possibilities the world had to offer. One year later, I went to Thailand, where I met five backpackers who inspired me to quit my job and travel the world. In 2006, I left for a yearlong backpacking trip — and have been “nomadic” ever since.

13 Facts about Me

I love politics as much as I love travel and will debate for the joy for it.

I love to cook — and I’m kinda good at it too!

When I was in high school, I was my state’s champ in “Magic: the Gathering.” I know — super nerdy, right? It got me a free trip NYC with my friend (who came in number two!).

I always worry about the future and often use my time back home to develop skills needed for the Zombie Apocalypse. Shout-out to my prepper friend Vanessa for teaching me about seeds!

I once met Paul Giamatti on the streets of NYC and he was as grumpy as I imagined.

I am an unabashed Taylor Swift fan and can’t wait for her new album!

Kevin Spacey is my favorite actor, and I’ve seen The Usual Suspects twenty times.

I believe aliens exist. It’s mathematically impossible they don’t.

I’m terrified of flying.

I learned to swing dance so I could throw myself a Gatsby-themed birthday party.

Both sides of my family came through Ellis Island and you can see their names on the wall where they list all the immigrants.

I used to be the head of a program by the Massachusetts Sierra Club that promoted energy efficiency.

I went to college to be a high school history teacher.

***Also, I’d like to acknowledge our part-timers too: Candice, who helps with admin and research; Richard, our fearless copyeditor (whose efforts I often ruin by changing posts last minute); Keith, our design genius; Brice and Julie, our user experience gurus; and Courtney, who keeps our charity, FLYTE, up in the air with her executive directing wizard ways!

So there you have it! The Nomadic Matt team! It’s weird to think this blog I started to simply be online résumé for freelance jobs now requires eleven people to run. I always thought the more systems, automation, products, and passive income I set up, the easier it would be. I could just sit on a beach. But it seems the more we do, the more we create, the more projects I tell the team we’re taking on, the more help we require. I guess that is the nature of the beast but I would have it no other way. I love what we do here. We help a lot of people realize their dreams.

And a guy couldn’t ask for better co-workers to help make that happen.

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