#but i failed to consider that the faculty of engineering is right next to it which means annoying engineers usually hang out there

[antibayern]

me when i overhear a man’s rancid football take and there’s nothing i can do to shut him up because literally the only thing i know about said man is that he’s tasteless

[hermannsthumb]

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

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Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

[gumnut-logic]

John Tracy hated taking public transport.

He hated the cramped seats, the invasion of his personal space, the fact the bus stopped every few minutes to pick up more passengers and the noise.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

But the astrolabs were too far from the dorm to hike it or bike it, so bus it was.

He mapped out the most direct route, left early to avoid the crowds and handled it the best he could. Earphones helped and he never travelled without his tablet and a network connection.

He made do.

He made do for over a year. Every morning and every night.

The work was fascinating and he thoroughly enjoyed it. He considered getting a car, but it wasn’t practical and parking was non-existent, so he stuck with the bus.

Despite the fact he hated it.

Every trip he buried himself in his own world whether it be his work, research, a good book or even a movie. He shut the world out and more importantly anyone who sat next to him.

Sometimes this was not possible.

Because sometimes they spoke to him.

John had been brought up polite. His grandmother would have slapped his wrist if she found out he was ignoring people. So, he always replied. Often concisely, but always watching his manners.

That often opened the floodgates. Because if there was anything common between big cities it was the people who were lost in them, desperately alone in a sea of faces.

John liked being alone to a certain extent, but he was blessed with a close and large family.

Some people had no one.

So, ever so reluctantly, he found himself answering their call for help.

The first was Mrs Bucklin. She was a tiny woman, well dressed, but slightly scented with mothballs as if her clothes hadn’t been out of the closet in a long time.

She sat right beside him and immediately enquired as to what he was doing.

At the time he was coding a new game and her sharp voice startled him enough for his fingers to slip and enter a chain of commands he had not intended. He would have sworn if he was alone, but the program righted itself and the new commands, instead of corrupting and crashing the function, actually appeared to improve it. He frowned and hastily input some bridging structures so the code wouldn’t fragment, idly wondering if the error would improve the game, ruin it, have him need to rewrite the whole section or be the spark that would initiate sentience.

Great, his tablet would rise up and eat him while he was distracted by a random bus passenger.

She did apologise and he did reassure her that it was all okay in the hope she would let him be.

She didn’t.

He learnt she had three cats, a niece in another country (he didn’t gather which because the woman’s pronunciation defied translation), that she had lost her son in the Global Conflict, she liked his hair (that was a first) and that he looked like an intelligent young man.

He acknowledged her quietly and politely as he eyed his code and the results of an initial compile test. How did it do that?

Her cats were named Scottie, Gordy and Allie.

He did blink at that, but didn’t comment.

Eventually, she said goodbye and got off the bus at her stop.

He would have forgotten about her, except she sat next to him the next day and the day after that.

Apparently, this was her route to work, and he was such a polite young man.

Three weeks later she admitted he made her feel safe just by being there. She had been mugged three times in her life and public transport was as much a bane for her as it was for him.

He actively kept an eye out for her after that.

Gus was a different matter.

Gus didn’t have a home and he often rode the bus just for the air conditioning and comfort.

He sat on the other side of the walkway to John. He didn’t say much and would likely have never said anything if it hadn’t been for the gang of boys who decided to throw verbal potshots at him one day.

John had had an all-nighter with exams coming up, so he was cranky. His latest project had stalled – the same game he had been tackling when Mrs Bucklin had startled him. The core of the program had become a little unpredictable and he couldn’t work out why.

So, when a group of teenagers crawled to the back of the bus and started needling a fellow passenger, it was not only a situation where the innocent man appeared to need a bit of a rescue, but it also pissed John off.

There were four of them. Teenagers flocked in groups apparently. He’d never been one for that formation himself, but he knew of them, had encountered them and Virgil had kicked a few of their asses for him.

John was in college now.

He could kick his own fair share of ass quite happily.

“Leave the man alone, or I will call the police.” He raised his voice, but not his head, transmitting all the body language of how beneath his notice they were and how he might respond if they didn’t comply.

“Mind your own business, kook!”

There was always a brave one amongst the group, usually the ringleader, the head dickhead.

At least they were only teenagers.

This time he did look up and put all that communication theory into the coldest stare possible. “Excuse me?”

All four of them froze. Hell, they couldn’t be older than fifteen, somewhere between Gordy and Alan. If either of his brothers acted like this, there were three older brothers who would quite firmly re-educate them on proper conduct.

Not that he thought either of his younger brothers would do such a thing.

In any case, all four of them stared at him wide-eyed. The eldest swore and climbed out of his seat just as the bus pulled up at the next stop. He snarled at John as he stalked past, spitting profanities. His cohorts followed and they climbed off the bus.

It was lovely and quiet after that and John went back to tackling his misbehaving program.

“Thank you, sir.”

John blinked up at the unkempt man who had been the centre of the teenagers’ torment.

A small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Was this variable being changed by the program itself? How the hell could it do that?

He didn’t fail to notice after that incident that Gus, as he introduced himself the next time they met, always sat near John on his rides, morning or evening.

John met other people. Mrs Magarey and her three young children always needed a hand with her pram. John sometimes took advantage of this and stuck the pram in the footwell of the seat next to him so no-one could sit there.

That made Mrs Bucklin sit behind him and whisper her stories in his ear.

He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that either.

Two other students from his faculty took the same bus as well. Ridley was in the year behind him and always had a friend on the phone. She chattered a lot and he learnt to tune her out.

Well, until the day he boarded the bus and found her crying into her tablet.

She had lost her entire thesis in a computer crash. He was polite. He enquired and she answered, staring up at him as if she had never seen him before. Which was entirely possible. John didn’t like to draw attention to himself.

He accompanied her off the bus that day and delved into her damaged computer. He dug up her thesis and she gushed all over him, even crying into his sweater.

He hugged her awkwardly and wished her all the best.

After that, she always said hello and had a smile for him.

John smiled back, but his program was still not behaving. It acted as if it had a mind of its own and it was very distracting.

Mrs Bucklin said it sounded like cat number two, Gordy. Never behaving, but always loveable.

John stared at her when she said that, and wondered if she knew more than she was letting on.

The day Virgil landed in the seat beside him on the way to the labs startled him enough to drop his tablet.

“Hey, Johnny.”

He fumbled between the seats for the device. “Don’t call me Johnny.”

“Sorry.” But he could tell Virgil was anything but.

His fingers touched the cool metal of his tablet and he scrabbled for it. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a brother drop in on his brother to see how he is doing?”

John eyed him. If it was Scott sitting next to him or Gordon, he might have been suspicious of any double meaning his brother might be communicating. But this was Virgil and although the engineer had a sense of humour that could cut when necessary, this wasn’t his style.

“I guess he can. But why the bus?”

Virgil shrugged. “Didn’t catch you early enough. Barely caught the bus behind you. I thought your classes didn’t start until later.”

“They don’t.”

“Then why are you up so early?”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “Just avoiding the crowds, I guess.”

Virgil eyed him with a slightly worried frown.

“And who is this lovely young man who has taken my seat?”

Oh god.

Virgil stared up at Mrs Bucklin as she bustled in to sit behind them.

An internal sigh. “Mrs Bucklin, this is my brother Virgil.”

“Your brother?” She eyed Virgil as if inspecting him for sale. “Doesn’t look like you at all. Where’s the red hair?”

Virgil arched a dark eyebrow.

“Nevertheless, Mrs Bucklin, Virgil is my older brother.”

“Then how come we haven’t met before? You’ve been travelling this route for a year now and we haven’t seen hide or hair of him.” She continued to glare at Virgil as if he was a threat.

Virgil was shifting in his seat, his expression decidedly wary.

“Virgil has been assisting my father on a project. He’s an engineer. I’m unsure what he is doing here right now.”

“Hmph, well, in my opinion, he should have been here earlier.” She addressed Virgil directly. “Did you know your sweet little brother has been a bastion of this bus route, defending and assisting all?”

What?

John’s head shot up. “Mrs Bucklin-“

“Don’t you go all humble pie on me, young man. I saw what you did to those teenagers and how you help young Mollie every week. That girl is going to work herself into an early grave. And poor Gus, you’ve given him a new reason to try. Did you know he has enrolled himself in a course? Got himself a grant from the government and everything. Got help from that employment assistance group. Not to mention that doe-eyed young student who stares at you with love hearts floating about her head. I don’t know what you did for her, but I have no doubt she would do anything for you if you asked.” She turned back to Virgil, accusation in her eyes. “Why haven’t you been looking after your brother?”

Virgil’s wide eyes darted between John and the older woman.

John had no idea what to say.

“Well?” Mrs Bucklin’s glare was determined.

“Ah-“

“Is this man harassing you?”

John looked up to see Gus looming over Virgil.

You know, the Virgil who lifted weights that weighed more than his brothers on a daily basis.

John frowned. Gus had a new coat on and was looking much healthier than the last time he paid attention. “No, Gus. This is my older brother Virgil.”

And Virgil was subjected to another staring glare. “Doesn’t look like your brother.”

What?!

“I can assure you that he is indeed my caring older brother and he is not neglecting me in any way.”

Gus grunted, still glaring at Virgil. He nodded in John’s direction. “Make sure he eats more. He’s too skinny.”

That started Mrs Bucklin off again. “My goodness, yes. John you do not eat enough. Have you tried any of those recipes I recommended?”

Gus was still eyeing Virgil.

Virgil appeared to be regretting several recent life choices.

“I’m fine, Mrs Bucklin.” He raised his hands. “And both of you, Virgil is not responsible for my wellbeing.”

His tablet beeped. A glance and he found a text message from Ridley. You okay over there?

He looked up and found her at the other end of the bus staring back at him worriedly.

A sigh.

A flick of his fingers. I’m fine.

He turned back to Virgil who was literally cornered, only for his tablet to chime again.

 You free tonight?

Oh, for the love of-

“Guys, Virgil is my big brother. He looks after me. He cares. I’m fine. He’s here for a visit. I don’t know why yet. Stop glaring at him.”

Gus grunted again and wandered off to his seat. He didn’t stop eyeing John’s brother for a second.

Mrs Bucklin let off a slightly miffed sound before leaning back in her seat. “He better. Or I have a mind to bring Scottie with me next time. Or maybe Gordy. To teach him a lesson.”

What the hell?

“No need, Mrs Bucklin. I assure you.”

Virgil was staring at John as if he wasn’t sure what planet he was on.

John sighed.

Yeah, he hated public transport.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

His tablet pinged again. This time it was the program he was working on. It was claiming it was dawn despite the fact the sun had risen an hour ago. He let out an exasperated hiss.

Virgil was still staring at him.

Damn public transport.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

[solalunar-eclipse]

Scars You Can’t See -  Chapter 9

Chapter title: Final Blow

Word count: about 4000 words

Author’s Note: This was originally just going to be an apology for posting this chapter a week late, but now. Now @khinesthetic has made this wonderful, amazing piece of fanart for SYCS, so. This chapter is going to be their appreciation chapter. (Also, please check out the rest of their blog for more cool art!)

Warning for another panic attack on Shadow’s part. If I’ve written something badly in that section, please let me know.

First  | Previous  |  Next

...

Rouge paced back and forth in the old, tacky motel room that served as the current residence of Team Dark, the worn carpet muffling the clicking of her boots as she moved.

Shadow watched her through vaguely glazed-over eyes, thinking over the basic rudiments of a plan that the bat had laid out for them for the tenth time. The fortress they had in their sights was less than half an hour away- an easy drive compared to some of their extensive cross-country trips. Omega was given the job of getaway driver, despite his protests...unfortunately, a giant five-foot-tall robot was not exactly equipped for this level of stealth.

The two Mobians, then, would have to sneak into one of the most secure facilities on the planet, hack into some of their most secure files without tripping any alarms or otherwise having anybody notice, download all of those files onto their tablet, also without anyone realizing, and get out of said building alive.

This would have been an easy task, usually- the team would have taken it without reservations had it been an assignment from G.U.N. But now, Shadow and Rouge were both heavily underprepared and undersupplied, to say the absolute least. No briefings, no special equipment, and no backup besides Omega. Just them, their wits, and their powers.

And even assuming they survived and escaped capture on the spot...none of them dared to think about what their lives would be like afterwards, if everything went exactly as planned.

As it was, they had tried to get a full nights’ sleep, but they probably wouldn’t be able to get much more rest time than that if they hoped to stay ahead of G.U.N. and successfully complete the mission. So today was the only day to do it.

Right now, the team was just killing time until late afternoon. They thought (or rather hoped) that the guards would be a little more tired by that point, and if the mission took the right amount of time, they might even be able to escape into the night with relative ease. Rouge had planned it all out on the drive over, and sometimes Shadow was truly impressed by her level of tactical skill- especially since she had never had any sort of formal training throughout her line of work. 

Rouge really knew what she was doing.

As time passed, the team tried their best to remain sharp, but it seemed that even resting could become tiring after a while. Eventually, Omega stood up and looked down at both of them. “I have run some calculations. Your mental faculties will continue to deteriorate at a rapid pace if we remain in this room for much longer. This will in turn lower our possible chances of success. We must leave immediately so that our success rate does not fall further, considering it is already dismally low compared to most of our usual missions.”

Shadow frowned, rubbing his brow. Ordinarily, he would have responded to Omega by now, but at the moment, half of the robot’s words had barely even registered. Yet he shouldn’t even be able to get this tired, let alone suffer such consequences from a week or two on high alert.

“Ugh…” Rouge groaned, hauling herself upright. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m too worn out to worry about this anymore. We just do it, and what happens is what happens.”

“Agreed.” Shadow said simply, still trying to ignore the effects of his weariness.

Omega’s eyes turned into their ‘angry’ shapes, but it didn’t seem to be directed at them. “Your cortisol levels have been far above normal for over a week. This level of exposure is highly unhealthy. We must remedy this as soon as the mission is over.”

“Yeah.” Rouge muttered quietly. “If it’s ever over.”

“Studies show that negative thinking precludes negative results. The reverse is also true, for strange reasons unknown to me, as I am not organic. Cease your pessimistic comments, and we will drive to the G.U.N. Fortress immediately.” Omega said firmly, walking out the door. Shadow vaguely realized that the E-series robot had been taking charge more and more over these past few days, and that he’d also become a lot less...enthusiastic around the same time. 

While the hybrid didn’t know if Omega could be worried, the idea that he might be was just a little bit flattering.

…

The drive there was short, barely enough time for Shadow and Rouge to work themselves up into ‘mission mode’. All of the adrenaline that the former had felt last time was barely present now, replaced by a sort of frazzled sensation that made it feel as though every nerve in his body had been overused until it was barely even functional. 

They parked a long ways away to avoid the notice of its various high-tech security measures and just sat there for a second.

The team had been here so many times for various reasons: meetings, briefings, work parties...but this was going to be the first time they entered it illegally. (Or at least, it would be for Shadow. They both suspected that there wasn’t a well-known building in the country that Rouge hadn’t broken into, for kicks if nothing else.)

The robot left the engine running in case of an emergency, switching on his communicator. “Alert me if there are any problems and I will come help you. I will happily destroy this building for a distraction. Or to find you. Or even just for fun.” 

It seemed that Omega had still retained all of his violent tendencies, at least. 

The two rushed over to the entrance, making sure that the guards wouldn’t see them- a practiced maneuver at this point. Rouge carefully turned the two security cameras so that they faced the sky, all without setting off any alarms.

Shadow tucked himself into the niche that held the metal sliding door while Rouge tapped away on the holographic screen near the doorway. His suspicions about the bat having infiltrated this building in the past were confirmed when she whispered to herself, “Let’s see if the backdoor I left is still there...a-ha!” 

She typed in a code on the keypad: 4-8-6-7-8-9. At this point, the entire system automatically let her in- she even had the highest clearance to go with her fake account. Within moments, the door was unlocked with a quiet ‘whoosh’. (Ordinarily, there would have been at least five different checks to pass after this point to get inside, including fingerprint and retina scans.)

Rouge smirked at him before entering the building. “The code is ‘GUN SUX’, in case you’re wondering.”

Shadow could almost have laughed.

They didn’t need to sneak through the halls as much this time, since Shadow decided that it would be better to utilize a few Chaos Controls to get them past some particularly crowded sections. They couldn’t have made it past the ridiculous amounts of security measures- including automated gun turrets- otherwise. This fortress was one of the most protected places on the planet. There was a reason the President had been held there during the Black Arms invasion.

The twisted tangle of halls was specifically designed to confuse intruders, there were cameras to cover nearly all the blind spots, and guards passed every area by in two minute intervals. The hybrid thanked his lucky stars that he was with Rouge, since she seemed to be aware of every tiny flaw in the system, from a glitchy camera that hadn’t been replaced to which guards tended to slack off. He became more and more impressed with his friend’s skills each time she offered him a set of directions that worked without a hitch.

Once, they were nearly discovered, though. A pair of loud footsteps echoed around the metal corridors, sending both Rouge and Shadow into high alert. Quickly, the bat tugged him into an empty room, tucking them both behind a plain desk and out of sight.

“I guess G.U.N. actually switched up the guards for once, ‘cause this guy always used to be paired with another slacker,” she whispered as they walked by, completely oblivious to the two Mobians less than fifteen feet away. They were completely silent, unlike the guards at the old information warehouse- the fortress was much more important to G.U.N. and required a higher level of training and sophistication to maintain its security.

As soon as their steps had faded, the hybrid teleported them both to Rouge’s next location, which was even deeper in the complex. By now, they were several levels below the ground, but they still needed to travel farther to reach the secure servers that comprised G.U.N.’s major database.

Ordinarily, they would have used the elevator, but those didn’t have keypads, just card scanners. If any of the three had attempted to use their cards (which they wouldn’t have anyway, since the system kept track of who scanned their cards at what time) the entire complex would likely have gone into complete lockdown and they would have failed their mission.

Unfortunately, the excessive teleporting left Shadow’s Chaos stores running low, to say the absolute least. He dropped to his knees the second that they entered the main computer room, panting slightly as he leaned his head against the wall while staying out of sight. “You still gonna be good to take care of the rest, honey?” Rouge asked gently, brushing her fingers through the fur on his head. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to pass out on the floor and remain like this forever, but then he paused, bewildered.

“Why am I so tired? I was literally just resting half an hour ago, and now look at me.” he groaned, looking down at his power inhibitors. He hadn’t had access to a Chaos Emerald in ages, so maybe that was the problem? His fingers brushed over one of the golden rings as he considered taking them off- that would provide him with a boost of power…

“No.” Rouge said decisively, holding his wrist so that he couldn’t release the inhibitor. “I’m not having you passing out on me in the middle of our escape, alright? It’s too risky to do that right now.”

“Either way, I’m going to run out of energy soon- wouldn’t it be better to get some more strength?” Shadow asked, his eyes narrowing. 

She tightened her grip on his wrist briefly to make her point before releasing him. “As much as Omega wants to come in and blow this place up...no. There’s so much more that could go wrong, Shadow, and I’m not willing to risk that.” The bat folded her arms, asserting herself as the one in charge...which she always was.

Shadow glowered, frustrated both with himself and the general circumstances. However, he forced himself to listen to her orders, since she usually knew what she was doing- an impressive sign of respect for him. “In that case, I’ll barely be able to do more than a couple of Chaos Spears. You’ll have to move quickly, Rouge.”

They walked among the stacks of black plastic and tiny flickering lights, searching for one specific computer to link into. Within a minute, the bat had discovered exactly what she was looking for and plugged in a cheap second hand tablet that she’d bought with some more of their spare money.

This tall black piece of hardware was part of a stack all the way at the back of the room, shoved into a corner and covered in dust. It looked completely useless and outdated.

At least, if the viewer wasn’t one who could recognize that these models were actually newer than the rest. The dust, the placement, it was all designed to let the computers pass underneath the average person’s radar and keep G.U.N.’s most secret files under high security, multiple firewalls, and the latest in antivirus technology. 

Rouge, however, was by no means an average person.

Meanwhile, Shadow thanked any member of the pantheon that might be listening that they were getting the job done now. Their resources were running low, so he hoped that after this they could go hide somewhere and get a job to survive. Hiding wasn’t ordinarily his preferred reaction (it had never been his preferred reaction, honestly) but it was starting to sound an awful lot better than the current ball of stress that was his life.

“Alright, we’re in.” Rouge whispered quietly, having used her ‘all-access’ password to enter the system yet again. 

The hybrid peered over her shoulder, curious to see what kind of documents she would discover...only to find that most of it was very confusing, to say the least. There seemed to be no sense of organization, to the point where he could barely tell if it was on purpose or just done badly. As a relatively organized person himself, he quickly grew frustrated by the complete lack of any sort of pattern among the various files.

There was at least one part done purposefully, though, because the folder Rouge wanted to access (labeled ‘requisition forms’ in the middle of a video section...suspicious) was blocked by a passcode. The first two tries- TOWERS and CMNDR- didn’t work. 

The bat closed her eyes and bowed her head. To the untrained eye, she might have seemed like someone in defeat, giving up at the first sign of a struggle.

Shadow knew that she was just trying to focus and tap into her skills.

Eventually, she sighed resolutely. “Let’s give this one a go.” She typed in five familiar letters.

M-A-R-I-A.

It seemed that his sister had touched many lives forever, since it worked. Rouge clicked through a few of the files, her eyes widening with each one. Shadow was certain that his own were equal in size, watching as G.U.N. detained people for weeks without trials, arrested innocents doing perfectly legal things, and pulled many others over on the street and forced them to submit to searches without reason.

In short, hurting ordinary people who they were supposed to protect.

It truly felt as though something sick and twisted had taken root inside of the organization, indeed, that it had been allowed (even encouraged) to spread and grow until it choked the life out of every positive reason that had ever been part of G.U.N.’s founding. All that seemed to be left now was a paranoia-ridden, overly-violent military force with little to no conscience or accountability for its actions.

Eventually, the bat closed the folder, downloading the entire thing onto her device. “Let’s go already!” Shadow hissed, hating the idea of staying a moment longer than was absolutely necessary.

“No.” Rouge whispered. “We end this here. Now. Today.”

Then, she maneuvered the folders into a different part of the server, and smiled bitterly. “They can’t claim it’s faked very well if it comes from them.”

And then the master thief uploaded that entire section of their database onto the Internet, through G.U.N.’s website and every single one of their social media accounts, with one short sentence to accompany it: Doesn’t seem like you’re very good at your job, ‘Guardian Units of Nations’.

Shadow grabbed her by the arm as soon as she finished. “Alright, now come on! We have to go, they’ll figure it out soon enough!”

Rouge logged out and unplugged the tablet, and the two of them rushed to the door and peered out of the glass, waiting until the guards had passed. As they rushed outside, the bat remembered to close the door in absolute silence. Then they hurried down the hall, moving as quickly as they could. Rouge flew and Shadow skated to keep the noise level as low as possible, the faint hiss of Chaos energy and the occasional flap of wings the only sound they made as they ran.

They took basically the same route as before, only using a slightly longer path due to the hybrid’s low energy. It still went well at first, as they kept hidden whenever any guards came near. At any rate, there were no shouts of “intruders!” going off as they rushed upwards, through the halls, and towards the exit.

About halfway up a stairwell, though, several things happened in quick succession.

Alarms began to blare throughout the entire building, and red warning lights began to flash all over. The complex began to go into high alert, although the doors remained open to allow the soldiers to get from one place to another quickly. Although the two former agents couldn’t see it, they knew that all important rooms (including the main server area) would have a set of steel guards placed over them by now, so it was good that they had already completed most of their mission. “How did they figure it out that fast?” Rouge gasped, startled. 

That was when they heard the stomping of guards entering the stairwell, heading downwards towards the computer rooms- and their position.

Shadow stumbled on the stairs, the alarms and lights and those sounds triggering his most horrible memory of all. The raid on the ARK had already been brought forcibly to the surface recently, so it was still a particularly raw spot for him. He faintly felt his friend clasp his arm and begin to drag him forward and up, trying to keep him safe despite the walls of his own mind closing in around him. Remembering that he had to flee, the thought across both past and present situations of get out get out get out RIGHT NOW powered him enough to hold on back and even begin to pull her along.

A pair of guards heard him stumbling on the stairwell and began to fire at them as they ran, forcing the two to dodge bullets as they rushed up the stairs. Rouge flew the hedgehog directly up a level of steps before letting him drop and hit the stairwell running, since they didn’t have enough time for her to properly set him down. The gunfire only added to Shadow’s confusion- that and the dark metal walls of the next hall left him blinking and dazed, struggling to recall where he was...or when he was.

This...this is the Fortress, right? No...but that wiring on the walls…

He grabbed someone’s hand- Maria? Rouge? didn’t matter, he had to keep her safe either way- and rushed faster, faster, through the halls and up more stairs, dodged the gunfire, kept running- look there are some doors, why are there doors on the ARK? It looks like Mobius outside- doesn’t matter- we have to get out so let’s go-

They burst through the double doors, Shadow breaking the sound barrier as he did so while Rouge tried to ride the air currents he created as well as she could. It took all of her strength just to cling to his hand so that she wouldn’t be completely blown away by the force of his movement. 

Shadow vaguely heard the screech of car tires and heard Omega shout “I AM ON MY WAY. RUN.” as they blew past him.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his ears and he felt too hot and he could barely breathe, but he had to keep going. His legs were shaking but he pushed onwards through the difficulties, barely even thinking. 

He couldn’t even see the mountains or the sea. His entire world was just the ground ahead of him and the hand in his own.

He had to run.

Eventually, Shadow heard a whirring noise, turning his head to see a helicopter bearing down on them in the sky. The sight of something even more obviously impossible on the ARK than the doors or the grass shook him out of his confused memories slightly, only to leave him out of focus and disoriented. 

Figure it out later, right now you have to move!

Bullets began to spatter across the grass, blasting from double machine guns mounted on the helicopter, and he heard Rouge- yes, it was Rouge, not Maria- yell something along the lines of “What the actual hell?!”.

Shadow didn’t want to know how anyone had ever decided that chasing down two rogue agents, one of whom could break the speed of sound, with a helicopter spraying the entire area with deadly, aerodynamic pieces of steel was the right way to get them back. Or the smart way, honestly. Already, the helicopter’s fuel was running low, considering that their engine had to be supercharged to keep up even for this long.

He rushed into the nearby woods as it fell back, not stopping until they reached the base of the mountains nearby. They crouched underneath a rocky overhang, and Shadow slowly worked to come back to himself fully.

He had escaped with his companion this time…

His unfocused eyes slowly blinked and he shook his head slowly, trying to drive the lingering images from his head. “I’m here, hon, I’m here.” Rouge said softly, and his ears twitched, trying to shake the nagging feeling that this entire situation should be completely different.

“I gotcha, Shadow, but we’re going to have to move eventually...I can hear them starting a search party.” She scoffed. “Stupid of them to be so loud when they’re hunting a bat.”

The hybrid took one deep breath, and then another. “I’ll be alright.” he said quietly, his unwanted thoughts finally receding into the background enough to allow him to focus. He saw Rouge smile at him faintly, squeezing his shoulder once before giving him some space.

A minute or two later, a stick snapped to their left, and both of the highly skilled, rigorously trained Mobians shrieked (in an impressively high register for Shadow especially) and whirled around, ready to fight. Both relaxed, though, upon seeing that it was only Omega, who in turn gave them a quick once-over. “You are both a mess and G.U.N. will be here at any moment. They will begin to sweep this area soon and we must be far away when they do so.”

“Where do we go now?” Shadow asked quietly, his mental capacity strained nearly to its limit.

“Somewhere. Anywhere out of the way, where we can hide out until things quiet down.” Rouge sighed, her eyes downcast.

None of them were looking forward to what came next- a long wait until G.U.N. gave up searching for them, cut off from all of their friends, where they couldn’t go by their real names or enjoy their usual pastimes….

….and that was if they were lucky.

They got back into their car, again, and set off down the highway, again, looking for a place to hide.

Again.

(Shadow was tired of hiding. Sometimes he found himself wondering, as Rouge kept an eye out for nothing more than a sheltered area to pull their car into for the night, if it wouldn’t be better to just give up entirely...but the sheer idea of G.U.N. winning, especially of being put back into stasis, was too horrifying for him to bear.)

He’d rather suffer a lifetime of fear and of looking over shoulders if it meant he could spend it with Rouge and Omega than return to the endless frozen quiet of a stasis pod.

And as they pulled into the woods and began to cover their car with a decent amount of brush and leaves many hours and two states later, he almost felt a sort of resigned peace. Knowing that they had done what was right and that he would get to be with his two closest friends for a while longer was...not bad, all things considered. Sighing, he lay back in his chair, one hand linked with Rouge’s and Omega’s hand resting next to his ears.

They could hide together, at least.

…

In the morning, he woke up to shouting.

“This is the Guardian Units of Nations! Surrender peacefully or we fire!”

Rouge stared at him, her eyes wide.

Shadow was frozen in place- he didn’t think he could have moved had he tried.

Oh, chaos.

[annecoulmanross]

Bridgens/Peglar Egyptology AU

(for the @theterrorbingo square “modern AU” | word count: 1k fic + 1.5k AU details | rating: T | warnings: mild spooky; talk of mummies; description of a panic attack)

The Terrors are all members of the Classics (Greek & Roman Studies) department. The Erebites are all members of the Egyptology department. These two departments share the beautiful Barrow Hall building on the campus of their university, but they do NOT get along….

….until Henry Peglar, a first-year graduate student in Classics, decides that he wants to learn how to read Egyptian hieroglyphs. 

(Drabbles and AU info below the cut!) 

It turns out that most students who want to study hieroglyphs have already finished the introductory course, however, because Henry ends up in a tiny winter-term class with only two other students. The three “hieroglyph 101s” all show up a bit early to their first day of class, fumbling into a dimly-lit classroom in the basement of Barrow Hall, across from the archaeological store-rooms.

They exchange quick introductions while waiting for the instructor to arrive. Both of Henry’s classmates are undergraduate Egyptology majors: Tom Hartnell is a bright young freshman with a passion for Egyptian mummies (and, admittedly, a slightly spotty undergraduate record), and Henry Collins is a terribly anxious junior who recently switched majors from Engineering (“Please call me Collins,” he says, after Henry begins to comment that they share a name. “Everyone else already calls me Collins.”)

The moment of revelation for Henry Peglar, though, is when he first sets eyes on their instructor: a senior graduate student named John Bridgens, who walks in just a minute after the hour, with a thermos of what smells like mint tea.

John Bridgens looks almost mournful for a moment, his dark eyes soulful, a thick pea-coat sitting heavy on his shoulders (which he quickly shrugs off; it may be a chilly January outside, but Barrow Hall is toasty and warm). When John looks over to his students, though, he smiles, and his face is transformed: Henry feels like the sun has suddenly come out from behind the blustery clouds.

Henry quickly realizes that learning Egyptian won’t be like learning Greek or Latin, but fortunately John is a very good teacher. Even though John holds office hours at an ungodly hour of the morning, Henry shows up to every office hour with a bright smile and a long list of questions.

What Henry doesn’t yet know is that he’s in for the most exciting semester of his life…

(Featuring such hijinks as: John and his students Henry, Tom, and Collins get locked into the archaeological store-room with the mummies, in the dark! Henry and Tom Hartnell uncover a secret that could overturn the Egyptology department! Henry develops an unfortunate crush on his instructor! What could go wrong!)

+ 

“We’re Trapped in Here, Aren’t We?” (Bonus Drabble)

The four of them have now been locked in the basement, in the dark, for over an hour.

Collins is quietly freaking out, sitting on a storage crate in the corner of the main room of the museum storage space. Henry watches Tom Hartnell deftly trying to help Collins regulate his breathing to a pace approaching normal, with some success; Henry decides not to intervene.

“We’re trapped in here, aren’t we?” Collins asks. He doesn’t sound panicked anymore, just stressed; it’s an improvement.

Tom rubs Collins’s shoulder reassuringly, and says, “I don’t know for certain, but I’m not going to let it worry me – we’re going to be okay, alright?” Tom then turns to Henry Peglar and tilts his head, adding: “Eddie Hoar told me that there used to be a secret passage that ran between Barrow Hall and the library, and that the door opened up somewhere here in the storage-rooms. Maybe we can find it?”

Henry nods, flashes a grin that feels fake but must seem genuine in the low light of the storage-rooms’ emergency lighting, because Tom smiles back at him. “I’ll go check on John,” Henry says. “See if he doesn’t know anything about a tunnel.”

Slipping in between the shelves of Greek ceramics, Henry winds his way toward the back workroom where he left John Bridgens, who had been convinced that there must be an extra key somewhere in the workroom desk drawers.

Henry is so caught up in thoughts of tunnels that fails to notice the packing box sitting next to the shelves and he manages to trip right over it. He takes the fall hard, feeling the chilly linoleum under his now-aching arm, his eyes squeezed shut against the pain. When he opens his eyes, though, Henry feels a bolt of fear run though him – for a moment he thinks he’s gone blind, because he sees nothing but darkness. A moment later, the ancient emergency lights flicker back on, and that’s worse because Henry is face-to-face with the mummy.

Henry had forgotten that she was stored here, under the shelves of Egyptian faience. He distantly remembers Dr. Blanky pointing out “the Egyptian girl, our princess,” in her lovely painted coffin, on a tour through the storage rooms last year when he had been a prospective student – but the fact that she was down here (trapped with us, his mind whispers) had escaped his mind.

Shuddering, Henry pushes himself up from the cold floor and backs up against the wall as the lights keep flickering. He knows, he knows, that there’s nothing to fear here, but the sight of the girl’s skin, drawn tight against her skin, her eerie grimace, had shaken him.

“Henry?”

Henry jumps about a foot in the air, but it’s just John, peering out from the workroom door.

“Henry, are you okay?” John continues, his brow furrowed with worry.

Henry swallows. “Yup, yeah, just took a tumble.” He straightens up, tries to collect himself. “Did you find an extra key?” he asks John.

But John isn’t so easily dissuaded. “Are you sure you’re alright?” He steps up next to Henry, a hand hovering over the arm that Henry’s cradling to his chest (Henry’s certain it isn’t broken, but he knows it’ll be bruised a bit).

Henry looks up into John’s eyes and exhales softly to see the loving concern written there. John’s so close now, lifting a hand toward Henry’s cheek, and Henry wants this, wants to reach out and embrace; he finally feels his limbs stop shaking now that John’s here, even as his heart races and his face tilts up…

…. and that’s the moment when the emergency lights finally flicker their last, and the corridor goes dark as a tomb.

+

Some Background on the Humanities Departments of Barrow Hall

The Department of Classics

The Classics program at Barrow Hall is small but powerful. Most of the faculty get along well with each other, professionally, although they don’t socialize much. There aren’t many graduate students in the program, but most of the grad students they do have are quite active on the university campus.

Classics Faculty

Dr. Crozier is the department chair of the Classics program. He teaches early Roman history, with a focus on land surveying, and he takes a very scientific approach to his material.

Dr. Little is an associate professor who teaches Greek military history and gets very excited about ancient weapons. (“Like the shot that killed Leonidas at Thermopylae!”)

Dr. Hodgson is an associate professor who teaches Greek drama; he’s particularly obsessed with the tragedies of Euripides – the more ritualistic violence the better.

Dr. Irving is an assistant professor who teaches later Roman history, and can turn any conversation into a debate about the early history of Christianity. His most recent book was titled “Coming Out Christian in the Roman World: How the Followers of Jesus Made a Place in Caesar's Empire.” * Despite Irving’s own Christian faith and his social justice outreach work with the campus Queer Interfaith club, Irving’s a bit of a chronological traditionalist when it comes to academic research, and tends to dismiss any literature written after Augustine.

Drs. Peddie and MacDonald are actually part of the History Department, but because they teach Medieval Latin, they’re considered honorary members of the classics faculty. (MacDonald teaches a wildly popular undergraduate seminar – cross-listed with Classics and History – called “Witches, Ghosts, and Potions: Medical Mysteries in Medieval Europe.”)

Dr. Blanky is the exception to the “we hate the Egyptologists” rule – Thomas gets along quite well with a certain Dr. Reid, both of whom have a passion for film studies, and together they’ve organized a weekly historical film series for the undergrads. Dr. Reid’s top picks are old-school classics like Cleopatra (1963) and Julius Caesar (1953); Blanky, on the other hand, is partial to Gladiator (2000). He’s also the exception to the “this department doesn’t socialize rule,” being, himself, a long-time best friend of department chair Dr. Crozier.

Classics Grad Students

Thomas Jopson is an older graduate student – he’s just a breath away from receiving his PhD: Dr. Crozier, who has been supervising his thesis on the systems of enslavement in the Roman Republic and the lived experiences of Roman slaves, is extremely proud of Thomas’s sensitive eye for historical evidence. Thomas also works for the campus mental health office, leading a therapy group for adult children of those suffering from addiction.

Billie Gibson, another grad student, is part-way through writing his dissertation on the reception of Greek ideas about homosexuality in the Victorian period, under the supervision of a confused but supportive Dr. Irving. (“Isn’t this more of a History department topic?”)

“Hickey” started the PhD program at the same time as Billie, and he’s begun writing his thesis on cannibalistic imagery in Greek poetry with Dr. Hodgson. Everyone just calls him Hickey, and Henry Peglar hasn’t been able to figure out his full name (or whether “Hickey” is a first name or a last name, or even whether “Hickey” is part of his real name at all) because no one ever updates the Classics department website. Hickey is part of a student organization called the Dionysians, but they’re not listed on the university’s roster of sanctioned clubs, and no one seems to know what it is that they do, exactly.

Henry Peglar is the newest member of the department, a first-year grad student. He’s planning on studying depictions of ancient history in modern fiction, hopefully with Dr. Blanky, who also happens to be his first-year advisor.

The Department of Egyptology

The Egyptology program at Barrow Hall has been having some hiring problems in recent years. Not only did several older professors retire, but the young Dr. Gore decided to move into museum-work full-time and Dr. Fairholme was ‘poached’ by the rival Egyptology program at another university. As a result, the Department of Egyptology has been under-staffed, with too many grad students and too few professors, resulting in two controversial recent faculty hires.

Egyptology Faculty

Dr. John is the department chair of the Egyptology program. He teaches ancient Egyptian literature and has a rather old-fashioned perspective on middle Egyptian grammar.

Dr. Reid teaches courses on the history of archaeological discoveries in Egypt, and the culture of artifact (mis-)handling by European excavators. He’s friendly with Dr. Blanky in the Classics program, and he lovingly crafts discussion questions for the film-showings that he and Blanky run. (He’ll never admit it, but he secretly loves the 1999 Mummy movie.)

Dr. Stanley teaches classes on ancient Egyptian medicine. He’s known for his severe grading policies and for his impressive ability to ruin the fun of topic that involves things like magic spells and fever-demons and having sex with crocodiles.

Dr. Fitzjames is one of the two new faculty members, a dashing archaeologist with an impressive résumé of excavation in Egypt – although, as Dr. Crozier has wryly observed, some of his funding sources for those digs haven’t always been completely above-board.

Dr. Le Vesconte is the other new faculty member, an associate professor with an equally flashy history of excavation and publication. Rumor is that he and Dr. Fitzjames once found a live cheetah in an Egyptian tomb and tried to keep it as the excavation’s mascot.

Egyptology Grad Students

Edmund “Eddie” Hoar is a senior doctoral candidate, working dedicatedly on a massive dissertation about Egyptian stamps and seals. He’s been working with Dr. John because his old advisor recently retired, and with Eddie’s advisor gone, Eddie’s pretty much the only person on campus who knows his way around the dusty archaeological collection in the basement of Barrow Hall.

John Bridgens has been with the program about as long as Eddie, but he’s closer to finishing his thesis, a sprawling dissertation on Egyptian poetry under Dr. John’s supervision.

Charles “Freddie” Des Voeux is part-way through writing a thesis on Napoleon’s excavations in Egypt; his advisor is Dr. Reid. (He’s also roommates with Eddie Hoar, and the two of them are known as “(Fr)eddie” in the grad student group chat.)

Harry Goodsir is a first-year PhD student, who entered the program at the same time Henry Peglar started in Classics; the two of them met at the university-wide graduate student orientation, and Harry encouraged Henry to take hieroglyphs, which Harry had learned himself while he was an undergraduate, while volunteering with his siblings at an Egyptian museum in their hometown. Harry’s interested in Egyptian archaeology, hoping to study with Dr. Fitzjames and Dr. Le Vesconte, but there was a paperwork mix-up that placed Dr. Stanley as Harry’s first-year advisor (Harry is unhappy about it; Dr. Stanley is even more unhappy about it).

Members of Associated Departments in Nearby Ross Hall (& Their Drama)

Dr. James C. Ross is the co-chair of the anthropology program and a dear friend of Dr. Crozier in classics. Though he does have a complicated legacy with the university – being a descendent of the famous (if problematic) explorer, Sir John Ross, for whom Ross Hall is named – Dr. James is well-liked by his students and forward-thinking about his discipline.

Ross’s co-chair, Dr. Silna Kamookak, thinks Ross could stand to apply his anthropology to real-world problems a bit more intensively. Dr. Kamookak is a rising star in applied archaeology and she publishes on issues of museum collection ethics and heritage management; the graduate seminar she teaches on Inuit oral history documentation is known to be one of the best courses in the department.

Dr. Jane Franklin is the chair of English Literature; her research interests revolve around the writings of Charles Dickens. All the students in Barrow Hall call her “Dr. Jane,” and call her husband “Dr. John,” because neither would agree to let the other be called “Dr. Franklin.” A memo was circulated. It was messy.

Dr. Sophia Cracroft is an assistant professor in the History of Science department, and a frequent collaborator with Dr. Crozier in an ongoing interdisciplinary project about ancient cartography; although Dr. Cracroft has often tried to get Dr. John Franklin to permit a collaboration with the Egyptology department, Dr. John has always refused. Cracroft’s grad students say that it’s because Dr. John heard something “unsavory” about the relationship between Dr. Cracroft and Dr. Crozier. None of the grad students know what this “unsavory” thing is, but gossip ranges from the vanilla (an affair) to the bizarre (a papyrus smuggling ring).

Other Details

Goldner’s is a purveyor of textbooks of dubious quality. For some reason, all of the introductory language classes in both the Classics and Egyptology departments are always assigned Goldner’s textbooks, much to the students’ and instructors’ displeasure.

* “Coming Out Christian in the Roman World: How the Followers of Jesus Made a Place in Caesar's Empire,” is a real book! (It was not, however, written by John Irving.) I had a fantastic time reading it a few years ago – go check it out.  

[bombtimer]

Day 13: On excitement

There have been many excitements in my lifetime. They range from (as one of my friends think of me) superficial things to perhaps philosophical ones. Here we go.

1. Entering the bookstore

While one of my earliest excitement going to the bookstore was in Gramedia Sudirman, Yogyakarta, there is no less joy when I have to spend money in a bookstore. I remembered my aunt bought me an illustrative book of volcanoes while my cousin got the earthquake one, and we ate Dunkin’ Donuts afterwards. There was also a new bookstore opening, called Social Agency Bookstore, when upon its opening, they have many discounts, particularly on manga. I prefer Gramedia to Gunung Agung, as I think the latter’s collection is less. But the favourite retail bookstore in Indonesia has to be Togamas. Not only does it give you discounts, they also provide free plastic cover for the books you’ve just bought. I developed admiration for mas mbak penyampul since they work so fast and neatly. I tried to cover my books several times but they don’t come as perfect as ones done by mas mbak Togamas.

During my undergrad, I might have not immersed myself with books. I can only remember reading Murakami’s Norwegian Woods and 1Q84 (which is arguably one of the best romantic novels ever). And, of course, Are You Smart Enough to Work at Google. These books might motivate me to read books again after high school, and sure, I tried several Goodreads Challenges every year.

In the UK, I have Waterstones just in the corner of my campus. It is a four-storey building. All floors are carpeted so you will hear people trying not to stomp and walk quietly. Books related to my field are located on the third floor, where there is no lift. But there is a small spot when you could read there and even work on assignments. It is a quiet corner where you can see people taking a smoke outside the Faculty of Engineering. There is also a cafe with delicious cinnamon rolls on the first floor.

Second bookstore that captivates me is Cambridge University Press Bookshop. I was roaming on the streets when it started raining and accidentally I was just on the outside of this gem. The building is three-storey, and it is quite small for what is one of the prominent press bookshops in the world. It is also no wonder to not see a rack dedicated to urban planning, though surely it contains the geography section.

I was definitely left in awe when I visited Blackwell’s in Oxford. Another friend told me that I should go there since the collection is humongous. And when finally I went there, I thought it’s the biggest bookshop that I ever visited and it contains a specific floor for social science. The Oxford University Press Bookshop is even smaller than that of Cambridge, and I remember I was questioning how come this university does not have what I am looking for. Yet in Blackwell’s, even two bookshelves are dedicated to urban planning and Southeast Asia. I also found Pisani’s Indonesia Etc., along with workpieces of Sir Batty. I spent almost £120 along with a tote bag that shouts for “Yes, I’ve been to Oxford but no I’m not a student at Oxford Uni”. Maria and I spent a solid 2.5 hours wandering in silence looking for what we like; she even spent £200 on five books which cover all the possible materials for her dissertation. All hails Blackwell’s.

2. Going places with close friends

The memory started in 2014, when my undergrad friends went to my hometown and tried Dieng for the first time. It was in January, so we didn’t catch the sunrise at Sikunir. Though Wonosobo has a scenic view, it’s not much to do around here except eating and talking. 

I also consider the trip going back to Bandung with Bohokism after failing to say goodbye to Mira before she embarked for Stuttgart back in 2017. We had a really deep conversation where I finally did acknowledge my darkest times. It was also a start of something great because thanks to them, I also got motivated to be where I am today.

In the UK, I’m blessed to be surrounded by kind people. The one of trip memories started with a Bristol-Bath trip during the reading week in the first term. I happened to get acquainted with Hana and Aska, with Maria and Gineng also joined in. I remember the Cornish pasty that was so good I brought one to go. We wandered around Bristol and noticed the unicorn lightning rod on top of a building, and bought some Indomie and eggs to eat at our oh-so-comfy AirBnB. Afterwards we strolled on the dock and enjoyed the night breeze. The following day we went to an all-you-can-eat restaurant that gives a student discount so we could eat only for £10. We also had a photo session down in Bath Spa, as Hana is good with her camera. I also remember the bus going back to London when we sat by ourselves and did some Netflix and reading (clearly not me).

The next trip would be the Scotland trip. Some said that enjoying the highlands is better in winter (as in going to Morocco), and indeed it was true. We arrived in Edinburgh and climbed the hills and stopped by the Department of Theology of Edinburgh University and realised that every university in London doesn’t have a similar ambience. We also checked in to every Christmas market or Winter Wonderland in every city we’ve been to, as Marwa really loves mulled wine. Our mandatory photo was taken at a photobooth but we just didn’t print it.

We then proceeded to Glasgow and headed to the highlands. Like whoa. I have been seeing the mountainous scenery as I always live in the highlands but that doesn’t compare to what Scotsman see everyday. I also lived my childhood dream as finally I saw the mighty Loch Ness. It’s a sad thing that I couldn’t go to Isle of Skye, but that's alright since I remember having a really deep talk with Agita, Marwa, and Punyu at a hostel near Dundee city square. I couldn’t find Indomie so I had to eat local instant noodles which tasted horrible. We basically just read the Book of Questions and yeah I think that is what is making us closer afterwards. 

There were a lot of trips in between, but I have to emphasise my Cornwall trip with Albert, Maria, and Hana in September 2019. We were dying to enjoy the beach in the southwestern part of England. We rented a car with no insurance, where only Hana and Maria were able to drive the car smoothly. We packed lots of snacks and cooked in our small but comfy AirBnB. We went to St. Ives and enjoyed the beach and the drizzle. And the famous fish and chips. I always asked to stop for a chocolate twist and Maria and Hana would just sighed. Albert is always that curious guy who would end up falling but he didn’t. We also hung out at a beach bar where it was a family night, where the three of us had cider or beer while I stuck on soda and lime. We cooked every time and had only all-you-can-eat when we stopped by Portsmouth on the way back to London. We realised that we were so lavish that during the 3 days trip we spent almost 200 quids each.

In the end, I agree that it’s not about the destinations as they will be just them. It’s always about the journey, the talk, the snack, the “e e awas awas!”, the “pake duit lo dulu dong”, and the memories, particularly with these chaps.

3. Getting called upon the stage

One thing I just realised that I will have to lower my expectations if I want to get an award or something alike. I remember seeing my seniors getting called and put in front of all students and their parents during the national exam results in junior high. Ten students were called along with their parents. I thought, at that time, like whoa they are smart. In high schools, only the top three students from natural science and social science class got called to the stage. Along with opening the result of SNMPTN and Chevening. I was thinking that I’d just be having a real good time along with my friends during the graduation when suddenly I heard my test number getting declared. I remembered that I couldn’t believe that fact and saw Eriska just congratulate me. I thought I was done after delivering a speech as I was an ex-OSIS guy, but I have to say that that day was quite specially wrapped.

Another case is when I went to Shah Alam by myself, presenting the research findings back in November 2017. I was the only Indonesian presenter there. The faculty members of the university holding the conference said that they knew some of my lecturers. As the conference was about research methods, I wondered why several presenters didn’t emphasise the novelty of their methods. But among six key tracks of the conference, I was awarded The Best Paper in Urban Planning and Development track, where I also just couldn’t believe it yet I couldn’t contain my excitement of getting my work noticed. I remember Maria putting it simply “Gue tau lo pengen karya lo yang diliat orang, bukan nama lo. Like let your works speak for yourself”. And yes, she was obviously right.

[marwadiuniversity]

5 Things to Keep in Mind When Choosing a University

A shift from school to college is a big thing for a student, which comes with a lot of thinking. As choosing the right university is the most important decision for your future, you must consider some fundamental points before finalizing it. To make things easier, I have discussed 5 things to keep in mind before choosing a university in this article.

Once, the former Prime Minister of the United Kingdom, Benjamin Disraeli, said, and I quote, “A University should be a place of light, of liberty and of learning."  

And I feel there can be no statement truer than this because university life is all about this. You invest the most valuable years of life in a university intending to learn, enjoy the freedom to experiment and develop your personality. 

Choosing the right university is one of the most imperative decisions of your life. As selecting the right university can define your future. However, this selection process brings on a lot of stress and excitement. A lot of thinking needs to be done when it comes to finding out the right university. And along with academics, there are many things one should consider while selecting a university.

So, to make things a little easy for you, here are some points that I feel you should definitely put more priority on while researching for universities. 

So, let's begin.

College Credentials

The credibility of the university you have studied from extremely matters when interviewing for a job or considering different universities for further studies. So while researching the universities; you are interested in to make sure to check that they are accredited. It means that the university’s curriculum is reviewed by an officially licensed organization and has met the necessary educational standards. 

Apart from this, also check if the university is accredited with a NAAC A+ certificate or not. It is a certificate granted to the universities that assure qualitative education. You can also see if the university has won any awards like best college for engineering, MBA etc. It adds to the credibility of the university. 

 Academics

The most important thing to consider in the university you wish to go to is that it offers the course you are willing to pursue. The university should also give related subjects to the program chosen as it helps increase students learning. You should see the standards of faculties at the university. Universities with PhD faculties from recognized universities like IITs, VIT, NIT etc., must be preferred. 

Read about the course curriculum in detail, and see if the education provided through a hands-on learning approach and students have the opportunity to learn through internships, which help enhance their practical exposure.

 Extracurricular Activities

In addition to academics, there is a lot more to learn from a university. So without fail, enroll in a university that has lots of extracurricular activities. There should be different activities at the university, and they must match your interests. Because when you are involved in likeable extra activities, then you are a lot happier. And they play a significant role in developing your personality. 

So, firstly opt for a university with a lot of extracurricular activities. Secondly, see if those activities match up with your interests. For example, if you are a fitness enthusiast and there is no fitness club at the university, then that is going to be a loss of experience for you. 

 Campus Life

The university's environment links to the performance of the students. As the university you settle with will be a second home for you for the next 3-4 years, make sure the campus life there is a lot likeable. So, to check on it, visit the campus and explore everything. In case you are not from the city, then see what hostel facilities the university provides. 

On your visit to the campus, look at how is the infrastructure of the university. It will be good if the university is greener, as it ensures a healthy environment and brings in a lot of peace. Go to the canteen and try out the food there - because food is quintessential. Also, visit the library, the university must-have excellent library facilities. And for science aspirants, make sure you to see if the lab and computer facilities are advanced or not. 

 Academic Support

Other than education, you should also see if the university provides support services also. University should help you with good placements, learning and development centers etc. The learning centre must help students develop soft skills and prepare them for group discussions and interviews.

And these were the things that I think are the most important when you are planning to choose a college. You should keep in mind that the meaning of the right university differs from person to person. So, you have to find the one that is the best fit for your needs. 

In my view, you should run through the website of Marwadi University. I think MU has got all these pointers covered, and it also is certified with NAAC A+ grade, which is much required nowadays.

Let me know in comments your views on this article. 

Happy Learning!

Source: Medium

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John hated taking public transport

For @onereyofstarlight​ because she asked for Claret: Talk about a memorable experience on public transport.

As for me...

I’m with Johnny on this one. I needs my space :D

I hope you enjoy this. Younger!Tracys :D

-o-o-o-

John Tracy hated taking public transport.

He hated the cramped seats, the invasion of his personal space, the fact the bus stopped every few minutes to pick up more passengers and the noise.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

But the astrolabs were too far from the dorm to hike it or bike it, so bus it was.

He mapped out the most direct route, left early to avoid the crowds and handled it the best he could. Earphones helped and he never travelled without his tablet and a network connection.

He made do.

He made do for over a year. Every morning and every night.

The work was fascinating and he thoroughly enjoyed it. He considered getting a car, but it wasn’t practical and parking was non-existent, so he stuck with the bus.

Despite the fact he hated it.

Every trip he buried himself in his own world whether it be his work, research, a good book or even a movie. He shut the world out and more importantly anyone who sat next to him.

Sometimes this was not possible.

Because sometimes they spoke to him.

John had been brought up polite. His grandmother would have slapped his wrist if she found out he was ignoring people. So, he always replied. Often concisely, but always watching his manners.

That often opened the floodgates. Because if there was anything common between big cities it was the people who were lost in them, desperately alone in a sea of faces.

John liked being alone to a certain extent, but he was blessed with a close and large family.

Some people had no one.

So, ever so reluctantly, he found himself answering their call for help.

The first was Mrs Bucklin. She was a tiny woman, well dressed, but slightly scented with mothballs as if her clothes hadn’t been out of the closet in a long time.

She sat right beside him and immediately enquired as to what he was doing.

At the time he was coding a new game and her sharp voice startled him enough for his fingers to slip and enter a chain of commands he had not intended. He would have sworn if he was alone, but the program righted itself and the new commands, instead of corrupting and crashing the function, actually appeared to improve it. He frowned and hastily input some bridging structures so the code wouldn’t fragment, idly wondering if the error would improve the game, ruin it, have him need to rewrite the whole section or be the spark that would initiate sentience.

Great, his tablet would rise up and eat him while he was distracted by a random bus passenger.

She did apologise and he did reassure her that it was all okay in the hope she would let him be.

She didn’t.

He learnt she had three cats, a niece in another country (he didn’t gather which because the woman’s pronunciation defied translation), that she had lost her son in the Global Conflict, she liked his hair (that was a first) and that he looked like an intelligent young man.

He acknowledged her quietly and politely as he eyed his code and the results of an initial compile test. How did it do that?

Her cats were named Scottie, Gordy and Allie.

He did blink at that, but didn’t comment.

Eventually, she said goodbye and got off the bus at her stop.

He would have forgotten about her, except she sat next to him the next day and the day after that.

Apparently, this was her route to work, and he was such a polite young man.

Three weeks later she admitted he made her feel safe just by being there. She had been mugged three times in her life and public transport was as much a bane for her as it was for him.

He actively kept an eye out for her after that.

Gus was a different matter.

Gus didn’t have a home and he often rode the bus just for the air conditioning and comfort.

He sat on the other side of the walkway to John. He didn’t say much and would likely have never said anything if it hadn’t been for the gang of boys who decided to throw verbal potshots at him one day.

John had had an all-nighter with exams coming up, so he was cranky. His latest project had stalled – the same game he had been tackling when Mrs Bucklin had startled him. The core of the program had become a little unpredictable and he couldn’t work out why.

So, when a group of teenagers crawled to the back of the bus and started needling a fellow passenger, it was not only a situation where the innocent man appeared to need a bit of a rescue, but it also pissed John off.

There were four of them. Teenagers flocked in groups apparently. He’d never been one for that formation himself, but he knew of them, had encountered them and Virgil had kicked a few of their asses for him.

John was in college now.

He could kick his own fair share of ass quite happily.

“Leave the man alone, or I will call the police.” He raised his voice, but not his head, transmitting all the body language of how beneath his notice they were and how he might respond if they didn’t comply.

“Mind your own business, kook!”

There was always a brave one amongst the group, usually the ringleader, the head dickhead.

At least they were only teenagers.

This time he did look up and put all that communication theory into the coldest stare possible. “Excuse me?”

All four of them froze. Hell, they couldn’t be older than fifteen, somewhere between Gordy and Alan. If either of his brothers acted like this, there were three older brothers who would quite firmly re-educate them on proper conduct.

Not that he thought either of his younger brothers would do such a thing.

In any case, all four of them stared at him wide-eyed. The eldest swore and climbed out of his seat just as the bus pulled up at the next stop. He snarled at John as he stalked past, spitting profanities. His cohorts followed and they climbed off the bus.

It was lovely and quiet after that and John went back to tackling his misbehaving program.

“Thank you, sir.”

John blinked up at the unkempt man who had been the centre of the teenagers’ torment.

A small smile. “You’re welcome.”

Was this variable being changed by the program itself? How the hell could it do that?

He didn’t fail to notice after that incident that Gus, as he introduced himself the next time they met, always sat near John on his rides, morning or evening.

John met other people. Mrs Magarey and her three young children always needed a hand with her pram. John sometimes took advantage of this and stuck the pram in the footwell of the seat next to him so no-one could sit there.

That made Mrs Bucklin sit behind him and whisper her stories in his ear.

He wasn’t sure if he was comfortable with that either.

Two other students from his faculty took the same bus as well. Ridley was in the year behind him and always had a friend on the phone. She chattered a lot and he learnt to tune her out.

Well, until the day he boarded the bus and found her crying into her tablet.

She had lost her entire thesis in a computer crash. He was polite. He enquired and she answered, staring up at him as if she had never seen him before. Which was entirely possible. John didn’t like to draw attention to himself.

He accompanied her off the bus that day and delved into her damaged computer. He dug up her thesis and she gushed all over him, even crying into his sweater.

He hugged her awkwardly and wished her all the best.

After that, she always said hello and had a smile for him.

John smiled back, but his program was still not behaving. It acted as if it had a mind of its own and it was very distracting.

Mrs Bucklin said it sounded like cat number two, Gordy. Never behaving, but always loveable.

John stared at her when she said that, and wondered if she knew more than she was letting on.

The day Virgil landed in the seat beside him on the way to the labs startled him enough to drop his tablet.

“Hey, Johnny.”

He fumbled between the seats for the device. “Don’t call me Johnny.”

“Sorry.” But he could tell Virgil was anything but.

His fingers touched the cool metal of his tablet and he scrabbled for it. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a brother drop in on his brother to see how he is doing?”

John eyed him. If it was Scott sitting next to him or Gordon, he might have been suspicious of any double meaning his brother might be communicating. But this was Virgil and although the engineer had a sense of humour that could cut when necessary, this wasn’t his style.

“I guess he can. But why the bus?”

Virgil shrugged. “Didn’t catch you early enough. Barely caught the bus behind you. I thought your classes didn’t start until later.”

“They don’t.”

“Then why are you up so early?”

It was John’s turn to shrug. “Just avoiding the crowds, I guess.”

Virgil eyed him with a slightly worried frown.

“And who is this lovely young man who has taken my seat?”

Oh god.

Virgil stared up at Mrs Bucklin as she bustled in to sit behind them.

An internal sigh. “Mrs Bucklin, this is my brother Virgil.”

“Your brother?” She eyed Virgil as if inspecting him for sale. “Doesn’t look like you at all. Where’s the red hair?”

Virgil arched a dark eyebrow.

“Nevertheless, Mrs Bucklin, Virgil is my older brother.”

“Then how come we haven’t met before? You’ve been travelling this route for a year now and we haven’t seen hide or hair of him.” She continued to glare at Virgil as if he was a threat.

Virgil was shifting in his seat, his expression decidedly wary.

“Virgil has been assisting my father on a project. He’s an engineer. I’m unsure what he is doing here right now.”

“Hmph, well, in my opinion, he should have been here earlier.” She addressed Virgil directly. “Did you know your sweet little brother has been a bastion of this bus route, defending and assisting all?”

What?

John’s head shot up. “Mrs Bucklin-“

“Don’t you go all humble pie on me, young man. I saw what you did to those teenagers and how you help young Mollie every week. That girl is going to work herself into an early grave. And poor Gus, you’ve given him a new reason to try. Did you know he has enrolled himself in a course? Got himself a grant from the government and everything. Got help from that employment assistance group. Not to mention that doe-eyed young student who stares at you with love hearts floating about her head. I don’t know what you did for her, but I have no doubt she would do anything for you if you asked.” She turned back to Virgil, accusation in her eyes. “Why haven’t you been looking after your brother?”

Virgil’s wide eyes darted between John and the older woman.

John had no idea what to say.

“Well?” Mrs Bucklin’s glare was determined.

“Ah-“

“Is this man harassing you?”

John looked up to see Gus looming over Virgil.

You know, the Virgil who lifted weights that weighed more than his brothers on a daily basis.

John frowned. Gus had a new coat on and was looking much healthier than the last time he paid attention. “No, Gus. This is my older brother Virgil.”

And Virgil was subjected to another staring glare. “Doesn’t look like your brother.”

What?!

“I can assure you that he is indeed my caring older brother and he is not neglecting me in any way.”

Gus grunted, still glaring at Virgil. He nodded in John’s direction. “Make sure he eats more. He’s too skinny.”

That started Mrs Bucklin off again. “My goodness, yes. John you do not eat enough. Have you tried any of those recipes I recommended?”

Gus was still eyeing Virgil.

Virgil appeared to be regretting several recent life choices.

“I’m fine, Mrs Bucklin.” He raised his hands. “And both of you, Virgil is not responsible for my wellbeing.”

His tablet beeped. A glance and he found a text message from Ridley. You okay over there?

He looked up and found her at the other end of the bus staring back at him worriedly.

A sigh.

A flick of his fingers. I’m fine.

He turned back to Virgil who was literally cornered, only for his tablet to chime again.

You free tonight?

Oh, for the love of-

“Guys, Virgil is my big brother. He looks after me. He cares. I’m fine. He’s here for a visit. I don’t know why yet. Stop glaring at him.”

Gus grunted again and wandered off to his seat. He didn’t stop eyeing John’s brother for a second.

Mrs Bucklin let off a slightly miffed sound before leaning back in her seat. “He better. Or I have a mind to bring Scottie with me next time. Or maybe Gordy. To teach him a lesson.”

What the hell?

“No need, Mrs Bucklin. I assure you.”

Virgil was staring at John as if he wasn’t sure what planet he was on.

John sighed.

Yeah, he hated public transport.

It was stressful, annoying and far too full of people.

His tablet pinged again. This time it was the program he was working on. It was claiming it was dawn despite the fact the sun had risen an hour ago. He let out an exasperated hiss.

Virgil was still staring at him.

Damn public transport.

-o-o-o-

FIN.

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Japril Appreciation Week: Day 5 ⇒ AU or a scene you wish happened

slightly m rated? 

"Medicine, law, business, engineering, these are noble pursuits and necessary to sustain life. But poetry, beauty, romance, love, these are what we stay alive for." She paused, smiling graciously towards her class, "Does anyone want to tell me where that's from?" 

 It was her first official class and she was more than enthusiastic to start the classes this year. Classic literature; the subject that had enamored her since the first time she had studied it. Being the nerdy bookworm that she was a child, her nose in a book at every waking moment, literature had been her reprieve. Books took her away from her reality. In books, she had friends and she could be anyone she wanted to be. Plus, a subject where one had to read poetry and novels and short stories for school work? Yes please. It's what she did on a daily basis anyway. Her love for it had only grown and had eventually pushed her to pursue it academically, and after that professionally. 

 She was a published author of 2 bestselling free verse poetry books and had the absolute pleasure of lecturing at Columbia University as a senior lecturer of the literature department. She loved her work. She loved educating young children, see the spark in their eyes as they discover poets they relate to, novels that they can't put down and pieces of work that makes them lose hope in humanity and simultaneously gain it. John Keating had been right. The things beyond literature were all noble pursuits, necessary for sustenance, but literature was love, it was friendship, it was life. It was impertinent. 

 She pointed to a very pretty brunette in the front row, who was waving her hand enthusiastically, reminding her of herself.

 "Dead Poet's Society. It's the movie that convinced me to take this course." She replied, smiling widely. 

 "That's wonderful, Miss ..."

 "Hinks. Lora Hinks." 

 She smiled at the girl and continued on, "Everyone one of you had a book, movie, piece of poetry or even person that inspired you to consider this course. For me it was, as clichè as this may sound, Shakespeare. Romeo and Juliet to be precise. You see-" 

 She went on to explain her reasoning, reiterating the perfectly prepared speech she delivers in every first class, when she heard a small cough sound from behind her. She outwardly rolled her eyes, knowing exactly whom it was that had interrupted her. 

 "Professor Avery. What can I do for you?" She asked, false niceness oozing from her voice. 

"Professor Kepner, I am here to observe your class. Were you not made aware of my being here?" He replies, stepping into the classroom, earning a few rounds of gasps from students who had clearly being waiting for an opportunity to see their devastatingly handsome Dean once more. 

 April, having gotten used to people's reactions towards her colleague, rolled her eyes once more. 

 "No, actually, I wasn't made aware. So if you don't mind-" 

 "Oh well, must have slipped my mind." He says, his careless tone accompanied by a cold smile. 

 She could sense the students starting to understand that there was a hostile tension between the two, some cocking their eyebrows in confusion, unable to understand why their beautiful Dean had to be a jerk to the most loved member of the faculty. Professor Kepner's kindness was as popular knowledge as their Dean's cold, disengaged attitude. The latter seemingly more obvious with the way he was treating her. 

 "I'm sure it did." She muttered, although loud enough for everyone to hear. 

 "Well, Professor Kepner, carry on." He waved a hand, walking up the steps of the lecture halls and taking a seat in an empty row.

 "Um, yes, where was I? Okay, let's see ..." She was clearly flustered, her annoyance at his actions painstakingly clear. 

 "You were telling us how Shakespeare inspired you." Lora whispered.

 "Oh yes, thank you. Anyway-"

 "Quite forgetful, aren't we Professor?" 

 "No I am not. I am merely-"

 "Distracted? From the moment I walked in. Hm, I wonder why-"

 "There's no need to wonder, Professor. I was ... distracted, for a lack of a better word, because barging into a classroom unannounced is highly unprofessional. But I wonder why you forgot to inform me of your presence today. Old age, perhaps?" She remarked, smiling innocently at him. 

 She heard a few concealed snickers from the crowd although some students were too gob smacked, clearly wondering if she was insane enough to risk her career by back talking the Dean. 

 He wasn't by any means old. He was actually only 5 years her senior. However, his family having made considerable donations to the university overtime had ensured that by the time the old Dean had retired, he would be hired for the job, although he lacked the experience. She knew, whatever said and done, he hadn't wanted the job out of nepotism. She knew hating him for that reason was unwarranted. 

 "Continue." He merely said, and she grinned knowing she had won this one.

 "I actually hated Romeo and Juliet. It's true. I thought, God how stupid could they be? Dying for someone you knew all of 3 days? Falling in love to that capacity when you were 14? 16? No. So I came to the conclusion that Shakespeare was overrated." She stated, seeing a collective surprise for such a bold statement, even from the one person she was trying very hard to ignore. 

 "Until I realised, what if... what if Romeo and Juliet was actually a satirical commentary on lust filled teenage relationships? Not a love story at all, but a story about how insipid young love truly is. The possibility opened my mind to the realization that literature is yours to discover. You adapt it to fit your mold and I loved that." 

 She finished, looking on to see her student's allowing that interpretation to sink in. She loved it when she reached through to them. 

 "A bit of a cynic, aren't we?" Jackson asked, scoffing at her analysis.

 "I'm sorry, I almost forgot you were there for a minute," she replied, "and no, I am not a cynic. I more or so believe that Shakespeare is capable of portraying love better, take his-"

 "Sonnet 124? Let me not to the marriage?"

 She doesn't know why she's surprised. His brilliance wasn't a point of contention, it was even part of his charm. 

 "Yes, but-"

 "And you're saying teenagers can't feel that way, because?" He questioned, eyebrow raised and a cocky grin to boot. 

 "Because," she stammered, angry at herself for letting him rile her up, "Teenage relationships are transcendent. They are not made to last. They are lustful, driven strongly by hormones and rom-com expectations of romance." 

 "Well, aren't we bitter?" He says, eyebrows raised, standing up from his chair.

 "I'm not-I'm not bitter, I'm just being ... realistic." She feels the heat rise to her cheeks, mostly because she hates admitting to herself that he may be partially right. 

 "Hm, but you are. Let me guess, failed high school romance or ... boys scared you too much, Miss Kepner?" He teases, and she knows he's not being malicious because she knows he's addressing her virgin status she had kept until she'd met him, because there was no way he knew about her high school days. Maybe he does, she thought, maybe it was just that obvious to anyone. She just hadn't ever expected him to be one of them.

 So she strikes back, best way she knows how, even though she knows right now she's going to regret the moment she does.

 "Well you would know quite a lot about dating a teenager wouldn't you, Professor?" 

 The dead silence in the room doesn't help. She knows some of them had heard the rumours, and she can see their eyes widening at the boldness of her accusation and the curiousness of those who were unaware. 

 She doesn't let herself look at him, because she knows she screwed up, but then decides that she needs to know the extent of his anger to fully deduce the damage she's done.

 She can see a mixture of emotions in his perfect face. Suprise, anger, hurt and the worst of all, betrayal. She wants to run her fingers over his forehead and smooth the frown he's sporting although his eyes have changed colour like they also do depending on his mood. They're an angry black now and she knows she shouldn't have expected any less. 

 "I will see you at the meeting this evening, Professor." He finally says, exiting the room without a momentary glance her way. 

 She wants to run after him, aplogise furiously for what she said, let him know she only suspects the truth of that statement in her most insecure moments but quickly dispels it because she knows he's too good for it to be true. But she can't, she has a class awaiting her to continue to the lecture, maybe even comment on the situation and she's not ready to face him. She's hurt too.

 They only pretended to be snarky, so that no one would even suspect their alliance, which was formed one night, a couple of months back, when she had been in his office, late, surrounded by mountains of papers. It had been building up since she’d first met him at his welcome dinner. The sum of the looks shared and intense gazes held for too long was her skirt on the floor and the warmth of a fireplace next to her exposed skin.

 It was supposed to be easy, fun, nothing too overwhelming. Yet here she was, scared because she's found herself doing the one thing she said she wouldn't when she started sleeping with the Dean; fall for him and fall for him hard. 

She's pretty sure the approval for the arts department in her budget isn't an 'I forgive you.' She's not really sure what it is. Maybe it really doesn't have anything to do with her. Although, she knows that's not true. She knows he loves her enthusiasm for her subject and when it comes to approving the funds she rarely asks for, he's always been willing. Even before all of... this. Maybe it's a guilt trip. If it is, then mission accomplished. 

 "Hi, Izzie. Is Professor Avery free? I need to run some papers by him." She smiles warmly at his gorgeous secretary, who sits right outside her office in her beautiful pencil skirt and pink blouse that never creases. She's always been a slight insecure when it comes to her, but Izzie has always been warm, kind and loving. And if she'd ever thought about why her of all people would make such constant visits to the Dean she supposedly hated, she didn't let it show. 

 "Um, you know what, let me check." She smiles back, but April can tell she's not as willing to help her out as she usually is. Jackson is a good friend of hers, beyond the fact that they're colleagues. And he's her husband Alex's best friend. She'd understand her picking her loyalties. 

 She gets up and walks off, and April digs her heels into the carpeted floor, and runs her hands across the wooden desk. She feels the guilt coming back up again, and she pushes it down. She crossed a line, she knew that. But, she's hoping he forgives her, because she's really starting to need him to. 

 After what seems like a good 20 minutes or so, right before April decides that maybe it's all over, and she screwed everything up like she always does, Izzie's head pops out of the door. 

 "You can come in." She says, and holds the door open for her. 

 April walks into the room, familiar and warm, with the fireplace and the large mahogany desk she's very accustomed to, and the leather couch she's even more accustomed to. She glances at him and her heart races. He's sat at the desk, but he's not looking up from his paperwork. 

 "Thanks Izzie, you can go home. Tell Alex I'll drop by later." He says, still concentrating heavily on his work. 

 "Sure thing. Good night, boss," Izzie replies and turns towards her, "Professor Kepner." 

 April whispers a quick goodnight, and almost wants Izzie to turn back and stay here, but she walks out the door and closes it behind her. 

 She takes a deep breath and turns towards him. 

 "Leave the papers on my desk." He says, his usual kindness lost to a clipped tone. 

 "Um, okay." She walks towards him, hands in the 2 papers she brought with her as an excuse. She could've very well just ask her TA to hand them in. 

 She walks up to his desk, and she notices how he shoots her a quick look, but stares back down. She sighs, realizing this is probably how he's going to be for the rest of the night. Maybe she should've waited. 

 She opens her mouth to say her carefully planned apology, when he looks up at her all of a sudden. She's naked under his gaze, and this time he's not looking at her in desire. He's angry, and a little sad. 

 "Is that all?" 

 "Uh-"

 "Okay then, goodnight Professor Kepner." 

 He glances away from her as quickly as he looks at her, and she's back to awkwardly standing in front of his desk. She bows her head down, and turns away. There's no point to it now. 

 She walks back a few steps, and suddenly turns to him. She won't leave without at least an explanation. If she'd screwed it up, he needs to know why. 

 "Duckie." 

 He looks up at her, confused, wondering if she'd said anything at all. He raises a brow and April realizes that she just said one word and he probably thinks she's crazy.

 "That-that's what they called me. In high school. Duckie." She avoids his gaze, looking down at her hands, but she can tell he's listening. 

 So she continues, "It's for.... it's for ugly duckling. I had braces, and acne and I had no idea how to condition my hair for the longest time. I was.... duckie. So no, boys didn't like me. They didn't even look at me. I actually preferred that, really. Because when they did look at me, it was to let me know how unattractive they thought I was. Kids can be mean."

 She shrugs, "I am- was... duckie. It's not easy growing up like that. That's why I said what I said. I was just... hurt. And I lashed out. And I hurt you. I am so sorry." 

 She can't help that there's a few tears, and she quickly wipes them off, hoping he doesn't notice. She carried the darkness into her adulthood. She carried all that ugliness they put into her, even though now she might be deemed beautiful by their stupid, shallow standards. April didn't care anymore, but she still carried Duckie in her back pocket. 

 She finally lets herself look up, and she sees his face. His eyes narrowed, he looks like he's ready to attack someone. His forehead is creased into worry lines, and if she thinks his eyes were dark before, now she could see a storm brewing inside. 

 "I'll go then." She says, finally, noticing how he doesn't say anything in return. She did her best, after all. 

 "April." 

 His voice, stops her from walking any further. She pauses, wonders for a second if she made it up in his head, and takes a chance. She turns around and tentatively looks at him. 

 His eyes are much softer, the blue hue he gets when he's sad. 

 "Lock the door." He commands, and a part of her doesn't want to get too happy about this. What if he just wants privacy before he breaks up with her? 

 She walks towards the door, placing her hands on the knob and pushes the lock in. She takes a deep breath and wonders what to do next. 

 "Come here?" He asks this time, rather than commands and it makes her want to sprint towards him. 

 She nods her head, and takes small steps towards him. She steps around his desk and stands in front of his chair, watching him swivel around and face her. He stands up then. 

 His hands fall to hers, and he takes them in his. He brings them to his lips, and he softly kisses her knuckles. 

 "I'm sorry they did that to you." His voice is soft, and she can't help some of the tears that fall down her cheek. 

 She shrugs her shoulders and feels his thumbs swipe across her cheeks, wiping away her stray tears. She doesn't mean to cry about this. Especially not in front of him. And yet, it's him who tends to make her the most vulnerable. 

 "It's alright." She mumbles.

 "It's not, really." 

 He pulls her in then, and wraps his arms around her body, and she's a little surprised but eventually she sets her head on chest and wraps herself neatly around him. Like puzzle pieces, she thinks. 

 "April, you're-" He begins, but she cuts him off, placing a finger across his mouth, and lingering it there for just a second after he'd shut up. 

 "Not now." She tells him, "After." 

 He grins, and she realizes that he meant something very different to what she did. 

 She blushes, but looks up at him, her face determined, no longer shying away, "I'm sorry." 

 "It's okay," He says, nodding to confirm his words, "But I didn't... I would never-" 

 "I know that! Of course I know that! I was just... speaking out of my ass." She sighs, and then blushes because she's not even crude enough to say the word 'ass'. 

 "Well, it's a very cute ass, so you're forgiven." He teases, and she swats him, the blush deepening. 

 "I didn't care that you said it," He continues, pulling her against him, dropping his hands to her waist, "I cared that you thought I was that kind of a guy." 

 "I know you're not," She tells him, as he hooks his thumbs on the belt loops on her skirt, "You're...." 

 "What?" He whispers, as he leans his head down, placing a soft kiss on her earlobe.

 She gasps, momentarily losing her train of thought, "You're... a really good person." 

 "Yeah?" His voice is low against her ear and his hands drop to the edges of her skirt, scrunching up the material around his fists.

 "Yeah." 

 "I'm glad you think so." He says, turning her around. 

 She reaches her arms out to hold the sharp edge of the mahogany, the wood rough under her skin. He pulls her behind to meet his front, and she moans in preparation of what is to come. 

 "We need to tell people," She manages to squeeze out, even though his hands are moving across her lower body, angling her just the way he wants her. 

 "You know what they'll say right?" He asks her, and she nods. She's very well aware of the consequences of going public with him. It's the reason she's pushed it off for so long. 

 "I know, but... I don't care anymore." She breathes, as his hands roughly pull her up against him, her back colliding with his chest. 

 "The rumours will only get worse," He whispers, his breath tickling the back of her neck, as she pushes back into him. 

 "Let them. I don't want to pretend to hate you anymore, because I don't. Quite the opposite, actually."

 She can almost feel his grin. He loves it when she doesn't give a crap, when she's confident in them, when she's confident, period. 

 "I agree." He bends her fully over the desk, and she slides her hands forward, papers falling off into heaps of messes on the floor. She's usually neurotic, but she can never bring herself to care in these moments.

 "You know, Professor Kepner, I read poetry in my free time." 

 She hears the zip of his pants being pulled down, and a slight shuffling of material as they a soft thump follows with his pants hitting the carpet. 

 "Really?"

 She pretends not to have read his collections, in bed, at his place, after they've made love. 

 "She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies." 

 She chuckles breathlessly, unable to process the fact that he was murmuring Byron in her ears, while pulling down her panties. 

 "Jackson." She calls out for him, breath hitched, and teeth gritting against one another as he slips into her. 

 "Should I go on?" 

 "Please." 

THANK YOU FOR READING! 

[woundtwine39-blog]

Walking is LA’s future—but the city keeps designing streets for cars

Just off Seventh Street in Westlake, hundreds of elementary school students could be seen this week strolling freshly painted crosswalks, scooting past pastel planters made from tires, and sitting in colorful polka-dotted plazas set with yellow chairs and clusters of umbrellas. They were testing what should be LA’s street of the future.

Little Street is the latest project of the city’s Safe Routes to Schools, a program where “neighborhood-friendly streets” are being designed for 50 local schools. Over the last few years, the team has worked closely with students, faculty members, and parents to find out what will make families getting to school feel safer and more comfortable. This has meant adding kid-friendly bike lanes, widening sidewalks, and even closing parts of streets to cars. Testing the changes temporarily allows planners, engineers, and traffic safety officials to get feedback from families and tweak the designs before they’re implemented.

“This is really pioneering for the department,” says Safe Routes to Schools director Margot Ocañas. “It’s something that we’re hoping to scale.”

As illustrated by the families making their way to school along Little Street, walking transcends age, abilities, and income levels. It’s the one transportation mode that requires no fare pass, no down payment, no special equipment. Walking—and when I say walk, I also mean navigating the city using wheelchairs, strollers, and other mobility devices—is something that everyone does, every time they move around LA, even if part of that journey is in a car.

LA’s Safe Routes to Schools program is collaborating with schools all over the city on pop-up projects like Little Street to make getting to school safer for all students.

Alissa Walker

Walking is also the best way for LA to climate-proof its streets. As part of LA’s Green New Deal plan to eliminate emissions, 50 percent of all trips must be made by walking, biking, and transit by 2035. Yes, we need more trains, dedicated lanes for buses, and safer places to ride bikes and whatever shared mobility devices we’ll be riding in the future. But investing in walking is the most crucial investment a city can make to get people where they need to go, including onto those bikes, scooters, buses, and trains.

In 2018, walking, biking, and transit only made up 14 percent of LA’s trips, according to city estimates. Yet one-third of all vehicle trips are two miles or less, which means many of those shorter trips—to school, to the store, to a restaurant, to the park—could be easily made on foot. Building more housing in job-rich, amenity-rich areas means more of those places might be located closer together. When it comes to reducing emissions, this is what’s holding the city back.

According to a November report from the state’s Air Resources Board, every region in the state missed its emissions targets in 2018 because Californians are driving more.

“California will not achieve the necessary greenhouse gas emissions reductions to meet mandates for 2030 and beyond without significant changes to how communities and transportation systems are planned, funded and built,” the report says.

At the same time, LA’s air is getting worse. The American Lung Association’s annual report once again ranked LA worst for ozone pollution. LA now ranks eighth globally among large cities with new childhood asthma cases attributable to vehicles.

This sounds like an emergency, right? I haven’t even mentioned the 240 people killed traffic collisions in Los Angeles last year—more than the number of Angelenos killed by guns. So why isn’t LA taking more drastic measures to make the city more walkable?

Even on Los Angeles’s most “walkable” streets, like Abbot Kinney in Venice, the vast majority of road space is still dedicated to cars.

Liz Kuball

Around the world, a movement known as walk-first cities has been embraced by places that have successfully shifted more trips to walking. Much like the way that cities spent decades designing for cars, walk-first cities work to build pedestrian-focused networks, creating accessible walking routes between destinations that are shorter, safer, and more welcoming than those made for drivers.

The key to a walk-first city is to dictate universal infrastructural changes, according to Jemilah Magnusson, global communications director for the Institute for Transportation and Development Policy. “It shouldn’t be just one street, it should be the whole city,” she says.

Right now, LA has one “complete street,” Figueroa Street from Downtown to USC, which was originally designed to prioritize the movement of pedestrians. But over 10 years, the $20 million project was watered down, and the street remains car-centric.

A city-funded Complete Streets program was announced last year with the goal of overhauling six more streets to serve as models for how LA could better implement street reconstructions in the future. Yet, just days after his climate plan dropped, Mayor Eric Garcetti’s budget was released, recommending cutting the funding for the Complete Streets program by $10 million.

That would reduce the number of Complete Streets projects being proposed, and provide no additional funding in the budget for sidewalk repair. Instead, a new program, called the Failed Street Reconstruction Program, will get $25.1 million.

“It’s hard to reconcile the disconnect between the rhetoric for building our cities for the future, when we see a brand-new funding program that puts people driving cars and the status quo first—and leaves everyone else left behind,” says Jessica Meaney, executive director of Investing in Place. “This budget has reduced funding for complete streets and community engagement which doesn’t align with the goals or come close to funding the implementation of the mayor’s sustainability plan—or the Green New Deal.”

Los Angeles has the money to make these changes. The city has never had more money for transportation improvements. The funds from Measure M and Senate Bill 1 alone equal at least $2 billion dollars for regional transportation projects annually. Yet some Measure M and SB 1 money is still being used to widen roads for cars.

More of LA’s streets need to transform the way this block of Santa Monica’s Colorado Avenue did—making walkers feel safe and welcome.

Los Angeles has long been a member of C40, an international coalition of cities which work together on collective actions to reduce emissions. So when Garcetti says, “Our plan gives every other city in the country and the world a ‘greenprint’ to follow our lead,” he must know that’s not true. Most of the cities in the coalition are years, if not decades, ahead of Los Angeles. They are implementing congestion pricing, building out bike networks, and making streets car-free.

Many large U.S. cities have made sweeping walk-first proposals just in the last few weeks. Washington D.C. has introduced legislation that would ensure any street or sidewalk reconstruction prioritizes pedestrians. New York City introduced a similar bill that would make implementing pedestrian safety infrastructure mandatory citywide. Denver and Kansas City are moving forward with makeovers of their downtown streets, including replacing street parking and vehicular lanes with places to walk.

And through the National Association of City Transportation Officials, Atlanta, Philadelphia, Denver, Boston, and Minneapolis will each complete a major walking, biking or transit project that shows “measurable emissions reductions”—within the next 18 months.

The most frustrating part about LA’s climate plan is that these goals wouldn’t be necessary if the city had followed through on its existing plan to reduce LA’s reliance on cars. In 2015, the City Council approved the Mobility Plan 2035, a collaboration between the city’s transportation and planning departments, that contained strategies to reduce greenhouse gas emissions.

One of these strategies was overlaying the city with a series of car-free networks, including dedicated bus lanes and protected bike lanes. It also included new pedestrian-focused street design standards meant to connect a series of walkable, pedestrian-enhanced districts throughout the city.

“All implementation measures needed to achieve that level of reduction are in Mobility Plan 2035,” says Juan Matute, deputy director of the UCLA Institute of Transportation Studies.

But without the Mobility Plan, or the Complete Streets program, what strategy does the city have to efficiently reduce emissions on its streets?

Even the city’s sidewalk repair program is not necessarily making walking safer, more welcoming, or more convenient. It’s almost exclusively focused on the bare minimum of accessibility compliance: replacing broken pavement, installing ADA ramps, and in some cases, removing trees. Accessibility is critically important. But just fixing a broken sidewalk does not make a walk-first street.

To reduce LA’s reliance on fossil fuels, every single street will need to change dramatically. In the future, not “wanting” a road diet won’t be an option.

Street reconstruction is a once-in-a-generation occurrence in this city, and the changes being made to our streets will determine how they are used for decades.

LA’s Green New Deal calls on Angelenos to “drive six fewer miles” by 2050, but those figures are actually dependent on aggressive electric vehicle adoption. So it’s not just driving less or shifting half of LA’s trips away from cars, it’s also requiring that 80 percent of those cars are electric by 2030, and 100 percent by 2050. Considering that less than 2 percent of LA’s cars are electric right now, those are incredibly ambitious targets—unless LA starts reprioritizing its transportation investments right now.

But there’s another reason why we need to redesign our city for walking. If the city’s goal is for all vehicles to be electric by 2050, it is essentially setting a deadline for people who don’t have access to reliable walking, biking, and transit infrastructure to purchase a new electric car (or sign up for electric ride-hailing services). That will only exacerbate the existing inequity created by a century of driving, storing, and maintaining cars, which already makes LA’s housing pricier, commutes longer, and neighborhoods more fragmented.

To reduce LA’s reliance on fossil fuels, every single street will need to change dramatically, whether it’s by carving out dedicated bike lanes, installing electric vehicle chargers, or planting trees instead of street parking. In the future, not “wanting” a road diet won’t be an option. Investing in the people who are already using zero-emission transportation is the only truly zero-emission transportation solution—and it’s the only way LA can guarantee it can meet its climate goals.

By 2035, LA needs a network of safe, shaded, well-lit right-of-ways connecting people, parks, and transit throughout the city—a freeway system for people on foot. Greenways, parkways, promenades, esplanades, dotted with comfortable seats, native greenery, and street vendors on every block. In other words, Little Streets everywhere.

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Source: https://la.curbed.com/2019/5/15/18527824/walking-climate-emissions-solutions-los-angeles

[jimdroberts]

Britain, Brexit, and Zugzwang

There’s a saying in chess that describes a position whereby the player whose turn it is

Zugzwang should be Batman’s nemesis.

can’t make a move that won’t lose him the game, such a position is called, zugzwang. In British politics similar situations are called Brexit.

How did we get here?

Google images with a search for, “Brexit Timeline.” It results in an array of graphical representations and psychedelic colours of confusion illustrating just how the UK will  negotiate their way through the eight levels of hell. Each timeline is different and every timeline is about as accurate as a bumblebee with a machine gun, leaving me to deduce that nobody has the faintest idea what is going on.

Just look at the timelines, it’s madness I tell you!

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The Brexit Timeline – How Did We Get Here?

2010, Conservatives win a general election without a clear majority. The Conservatives form a coalition with the Liberal Democrats.

2015, In an attempt to win an outright majority, David Cameron pledges a referendum on Britain’s membership of the European Union (EU), despite the fact that he was pro-Europe. The Conservatives win an outright majority.

June 2016, Britain holds a referendum to decide whether it’s to remain a part of the (EU). Despite all media predictions, a majority of 51.9% of people vote to leave the EU. Within 24 hours David Cameron resigns as prime minister and like a leader of a banana republic, goes into exile on the French Riviera, where he settles down to write his memoir, also known as his excuse, the memoir fails to mention performing any sexual acts on the severed heads of pigs.

  “David Cameron announced he is stepping down in the wake of a vote, which should make me happy, but it doesn’t. It’s like catching an ice cream cone out of the air, because a child has been hit by a car. I’ll eat it! But it’s tainted somehow.” – John Oliver

June 2017, riding Following the departure of David Cameron, Theresa May mistakes a wave of national euphoria for what is actually a burgeoning sense of scorn, ridicule and contempt towards her. Failing to recognise this

Ever wondered what a person looks like having just been given £1 billion?

she calls a general election, not an easy thing to do given  the Fixed Term Parliament Act requiring five years between elections. Conservatives win the election, but take control of a hung parliament. To have a majority they form a coalition government with the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), a sort of stone-age sect of religous  zealots whom Theresa May gives £1 billion. Some called it a bribe, while others wanted to know where the magic money tree’s hidden. Despite the £1 billion pay off, the DUP consistently fail to support the prime minister on most Brexit votes. Still, whats £1 billion to a government preaching austerity?

March 2019, the Conservative Party tire of Theresa’s inability to make progress on brexit.

July 2019, members of the Conservative Party elect Boris Johnson as their leader and next prime minister.

Despite promising  the nation that, he’d rather die in a ditch than fail to leave the EU on

Brexit’s been one disappointment after another.

October 31st, 2019, Boris Johnson delivers on neither  Brexit, nor corpse in a ditch materialise. I wasn’t fussy, I’d have settled for a drain, trench, even a gutter. But no, the fat, flatulent, shaggy haired mop head lives on, and after what must have taken minutes of thought, decided to throw the decision back to the public in the form of a general election. Appealing to the same electorate, who in recent times has shown a proclivity to vote for the most chaotic scenario possible. I ask myself, why’s that trend going to stop? Leadership isn’t delegating the problem to everyone else, that’s scapegoating.

Boris hopes the ball lands on, erection.

Following the roulette disappointment, Boris disposes of his blond wig and thinks really hard about holding his erection.what to o next. fear of overheating his brain, Boris takes of his blond wig and decides whether or not to call an election.

Clowns to the Left of me, Jokers to the Right

So, come December 12th, who do you vote for. American cultural anthropologist, Margaret Mead famously said:

If you went to a restaurant, and the only choice you had was between a turd sandwiches or Jellied moose tongue, it wouldn’t be unreasonable for you to go looking for somewhere else to eat. Elections in the UK are like this, they offer no choice that you can enthusiastically endorse, just a choice of the lesser evil.

Apathy is a rational reaction to a system that no longer represents, hears or addresses the vast majority of people.  A system that is apathetic, in fact, to the needs of the people it was designed to serve. …’

Russell Brand – Guardian

It’s at this stage that people can get angry with the abstaining from voting argument, they remind you of how lucky we are to have a democracy. They’re quick to inform us that voting is the only time the poor have as much say as the wealthy. And if they’ve still failed to convince they’re likely to trundle out, the very old and very tired, it’s a civic duty; which it’s not. Jury service is the only the only civic responsibility in the U.K. No, democracy isn’t being asked to choose between two groups of equally incompetent people who will inevitably balls things up, just in slightly different ways.

Perhaps journalist, Heydon Prowse most accurately explains the trend in the results of recent elections and referenda in the west”

…vote, revolt, “turn voting into a protest too”

Heydon Prowse

We live in a system where only one of two political choices ends up running the country, but people now understand that neither does anything to make their lives any better. The underprivileged will remain underprivileged, the under paid won’t become better off, in fact relatively wages have stagnated for twenty years, and the uneducated, and unemployed will continue to seek solace by watching reality television.

In reality there’s only two choices:

Don’t vote, because none of the candidates are capable of doing the job; or

Go all in with Margaret Mead and choose the lesser of two evils in the hope that the one you pick might be capable screwing things up marginally less than the other choice.

The exhilaration what western democracies promise us.

So Who is the lesser of Two Evils?

It’s an interesting question, it comes down to choosing between an egotistical, nefarious, dishonest, man who can’t keep track of how many children he might have fathered, and a man who looks like he’s just crawled out from beneath your compost heap at the

Jeremy Corbyn whispers Karl Marx, and promises his turnips that the means of production will be shared between all the vegetables.

bottom of your garden, and then preaches anachronistic left wing dogma to your vegetable patch. For years I’ve given Corbyn the benefit of the doubt, thinking that he can’t possibly prescribe to the tenets of Marxism the media claim he does, but he’s never clarified just how far his socialist beliefs go. Might he turn into an English Pol Pot, force everyone to work in allotments as he engineers his agrarian utopia? It sounds stupid, but then again, nearly everything that’s come out of Westminster for the past five years has been stupid. But the peculiarities of the Labour party don’t stop with Corbyn, in fact it’s only the beginning. Corbyn’s shadow home secretary is Diane Abbott, a woman so spectacularly incompetent that she takes a calculator to bed so she can count the sheep. To appreciate how dimwitted Diane Abbot is, the video below shows the most spectacularly embarrassing interview by a senior politician that I’ve ever witnessed:

  So with Boris Johnson’s only opponent, resembling a cross between Lenin and Worzel Gummidge, and seemingly focused on winning the allotment vote of the UK, and with his sidekick displaying the mental faculties of sub-optimal kindergarten student, you would think that all Boris needs to do to win this election is stay alive until the morning of December 13th. If only it were that simple.

  Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson

Yes, that really is his name, dePfeffel. If it’s not right to judge a book by its cover, then it must be an even greater superficial objectification to judge a person by their name, but what the hell is a de Pfeffel? Sounds like a catastrophe in a patisserie in which the pretzel dough and the waffle  batter got mixed together and spawned the Antichrist of pastries, a de Pfeffel. No, it’s actually something far more sinister. The von Pfeffel family, after narrowly missing out on starring in, The Sound of Music, is a German, Bavarian, family of considerable  historical wealth and influence. Finding out any more about them is difficult, but doubtlessly you have a neurotic, conspiracy theorist friend who’ll soon get you up to speed.

If only Boris’ problems stopped at de Pfeffel.  He’s a renowned Islamaphobe, homophobe, adulterer, racist, and outright liar. In fact, he is quintessentially the British Donald Trump. The more ridiculous he behaves, the more support he gets. Johnson appeals to a disenfranchised electorate, as he appears to them to be a break from the norm. Let’s look at some of the most infamous dePfeffel moments.

In August 2018, Boris remarked that Muslim women who wear burkas resemble letter boxes. Note, that at the time he was Britain’s Foreign Secretary, a role requiring awareness of cultural nuances. Look I’m all for a joke, but… What kind of mind could consider that an appropriate thing to say?

Whilst in his position of Foreign Secretary, Boris intervened in the delicate situation of British-Iranian woman, Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe who was being held captive on charges of espionage. Boris stated that she wasn’t a spy, but  teaching journalism, something which she also wasn’t doing. During Boris’ time as Foreign Secretary, the conditions of Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe worsened, with her no longer being allowed to make telephone calls to her husband, and there now being great concern for her mental well-being.

In his column for the Daily Telegraph in 2002, Johnson described people from African Commonwealth countries in the following way, “It is said that the Queen has come to love the Commonwealth, partly because it supplies her with regular cheering crowds of flag-waving piccaninnies,” later he added to this mentioning, African people as having “watermelon smiles.” As I said, I like a joke, but racial slurs, well they’re just not funny.

Homophobia, in the past Johnson referred to gay marriage as being akin to humans marrying dogs. And infamously referred to gay men as tank-topped bumboys.

Boris Johnson is a survivor, he’ll say whatever it takes to climb the greasy pole, irregardless of what he says being true or not. You can’t get a more blatant example of his lies than the time he wrote one on the side of a bus. He was right in saying that the UK pays the EU 350 million pounds a week, but it takes into no account how much money the EU sends the UK per week, and how much money the UK saves with free trade with the EU.

.

Vote for Me – Righting the Wrongs

It’s a face of honesty, trust, sound judgment and leadership.

My manifesto is somewhat limited but at its core is righting wrongs through revenge. Essentially I would achieve this by displaying David Cameron’s head on a spike after it had been inserted into his own bottom. Whilst I freely admit that this does little to resolve the Brexit issue, I do believe it would give the country a much needed boost to morale.

The End Is Not Nigh

As an expat who’s lived outside the UK for almost twenty years, personally, I don’t care who wins the election and goes on to form a Rabelaisian government of idiots; I learnt the word Rabelaisian recently and I’m rather fond of it. I just hope that there’s something positive in this for everyone, which of course is impossible.  I still firmly believe what I thought the morning after the referendum; that Britain will never leave the EU. If the powers that be wanted to leave, then Britain would have left by now. Whomever wins this election is unlikely to win a majority, leaving the UK with a fragile coalition goverment once again. One thing I’m certain of, we can’t keep standing in the middle of the road, because when you do that you get hit by traffic from both directions, or worse, you could fall off your horse and cart.

In conclusion, this election will conclude nothing.

Explaining Brexit in five seconds, be like…

                                            Come December: Clowns to the left of me, Jokers to the right Here I am, stuck in a polling booth Without a clue what to do. Britain, Brexit, and Zugzwang There's a saying in chess that describes a position whereby the player whose turn it is…

[foodieworldmelbourne]

Education: Play catch-up on funds for state school students

Today in Australia private schools, mainly faith-based, spend five times more on capital projects a year than is spent on state schools. Much of this money comes from the federal budget. Why should the taxpayer fund Olympic-sized swimming pools, even hyperbaric chambers, for private school students? What has happened to "a fair go for all"? We need a government that changes the funding criteria and puts the educational needs of state school pupils first. A good education for all children must be a basic right and at the same level of excellence with access to the same facilities to generate learning. Politicians need to consider the meaning of a "secular society" and stop giving in to religious pressure groups. Meg Paul, Camberwell Testing system failing to make the grade Belinda Robinson makes a case for NAPLAN's usefulness to "parents, teachers, principals and education systems" ("NAPLAN the equivalent of weighing the baby", Comment, 13/5). As an educator, I have grave concerns over how NAPLAN has been used by private schools as a commercial tool to raise their marketability. School results are published on the Australian Curriculum, Assessment and Reporting Authority's My School website: an easy comparison tool that overlooks individual achievement. I've seen schools coach students in NAPLAN to raise these scores, despite being instructed not to. The My School website is the worst part of a broken standardised testing system: NAPLAN should be for parents, teachers and students, not for school marketing teams. David Owen, Northcote Schools should come clean on NAPLAN Children have become the distraught, innocent pawns in a dishonest NAPLAN scenario. That they should be made to feel anxious about NAPLAN is outrageous. Students should take comfort in the knowledge that the test has little to do with them. The test is not an educational tool it is a "political" one. Our students are being "conned' into believing that the test reflects on them it doesn't. The test is really about the teacher's performance (if truth be known and the school). As far as "performance" is concerned, it is all about securing enrolments and falsely elevating the status of your school. As a former principal, I can assure parents that NAPLAN results have nothing to do with your child's assessment for the year and results are of no concern to prospective employers (your teacher for the next year couldn't even care less). In an age when our students are experiencing significant anxiety, it is time for schools to be upfront and honest with their students. Noel Butterfield, Montmorency FORUMPerformance check We need an independent report before each election on the government's response to the recommendations of royal commissions held during its term in office. The parliamentary research service could prepare the report for release when an election is called. This would serve a non-partisan role like the budget office, to help voters judge a government's performance. Royal commissions typically arise when innocent people suffer from a systemic abuse of legal or moral rights. The report would help electors judge whether the government treats all citizens with equal concern and respect, which is different from its ability to manage the economy. We need to keep in mind the pressure on parties to neglect this duty and favour groups whose support is needed to win power, to do so when the risk is most relevant, and in a way likely to attract media and public attention. This will also help counter the practice whereby huge sums are spent on TV ads in the final campaign weeks, when debates become ugly and risk the divisive politics which have done so much damage in the US. It will remind us of our common values, and the need to respect them when pursuing political power. Max Atkinson, South Hobart, Tas Pork barrelling at its worst Democracy is broken when two highly paid men can run around selected areas of this country spending other people's money to buy their jobs ("The cash coast", 15/5). It would be nice to participate in this election, but our electorate is a safe bet for the incumbent, so our money is used to the benefit of others in a bid to grab votes. If there is any injustice at all in the removal of the payment of franking dividends, it is dwarfed by the widespread acceptance of the ongoing and long-term theft that is pork-barrelling. A journey on the Princes Highway from Geelong to Colac (through the marginal electorate of Corangamite) is a stark contrast to the journey on the same road from Colac to Warrnambool in the safe electorate of Wannon. Gary Sayer,Warrnambool Shameless use of our funds Pork barrelling has been with us for decades, but that doesn't mean we should shrug our collective shoulders and accept this flagrant waste of our precious taxpayer dollars. Both sides claim they are/will be prudent economic managers, but their actions speak far louder than their hollow words. Our taxes should be directed to those most in need or to projects that will give society the best return on investment. Instead, we see marginal seats prioritised in order to support shameless politicians to get elected. What a disgrace, and they wonder why we despise the lot of them. Stuart Chapman, Plenty Sort them out In their desire to be seen as good "blokes and sheilas", Australians often even-handedly damn all politicians as being alike. This election has confirmed they are not. There are indeed some appalling ones. But there are also many impressive, dedicated, hard-working people passionate about improving the lot of their fellow citizenry. So when we damn them all for the egregiousness and anomie of some, we provide no incentive to the great majority to keep doing their fine work. We also absolve ourselves of the need to take seriously this most important dimension of our social beings. Then indeed we deserve to be treated like sheep. Ramesh Rajan, Canterbury Nuclear nightmare When Clive Palmer spruiks nuclear power as low-cost, no emissions and lowering the cost of living, he ignores the reality. Ageing power plants in the US are closing as they can't compete financially. Nuclear plants are horrendously expensive to build and usually have cost blow-outs and massive delays just ask the French. And when they do get built they need huge government subsidies, as for Hinkley Point in the UK. As to emissions, a recent Climate Council report found them equivalent to gas, once uranium mining and other essentials are considered. They also produce highly radioactive waste that remains toxic for more than 10,000 years. Fukushima anyone? Finally, they are clearly linked with nuclear weapons so much so that in the US power companies are leveraging this argument to get further massive subsidies. Tell him he's dreaming. Dr Margaret Beavis, Medical Association for Prevention of War, Carlton Add-ons galore Nice one, Clive. But wait there's more! Free with every nuclear power plant comes an outback radioactive waste dump! Just think of the royalty crumbs from accepting the planet's radioactive waste. We'll even throw in a new physics faculty. And best of all, you can leave it for your great great-grandchildren to decontaminate Australia. Ronald Elliott, Sandringham Leave in experts hands There's a lot of misunderstanding over statements that renewables yield the cheapest electricity. There's no doubt they can when the sun shines and the wind blows but not at other times. So it's about time we restrict discussion to "reliable electricity", the stuff we, our hospitals, our jobs growth and the health of our economy need for us to hold our own in the world. Then we'll discover we can manage using an amount of unreliable renewables to lower our emissions but there is a limit, and it is this limit which should be central to scientific analysis. What about leaving this matter to engineers for our primary advice the people charged with designing, building and operating our electricity supply systems. Just as we do when it comes to medical matters. Gordon Thurlow, Launceston, Tas Forever lost "From promised land to wasteland" (13/5) alerts us to the demise of grassland habitat. For 12 years, I have travelled through the western grasslands between the You Yangs and Bacchus Marsh to the Brisbane Ranges. Although anecdotal, I have observed a number of changes. The rapid decline in native birds coincides with the Indian myna creeping kilometre by kilometre past the You Yangs. Two years ago, the mating wedge-tailed eagles and two juveniles had circled the head waters of Little River. This year, a flock of 35 sulphur-crested cockatoos had one juvenile. Families of birds are growing older, with too few juveniles to make up the numbers. At night, there are fewer frogs and small marsupials. The observable decline in native fauna and flora west of Melbourne is due to many factors of rapid urbanisation, hoofed "pets" on small blocks, industrialised agriculture in controlled environments and drought. The neglect and over stocking of native grasslands has led to uncontrolled serrated tussock, cape weed, thistles and gorse. The effects are now noticeable in the Brisbane Ranges, north of Anakie and south of Ballan. The diversity and numbers of native bees are down. There were no clouds of butterflies, no gatherings of moths, no dragonflies. The grasslands are a biological engine at the bottom of the food chain. The urban invasion of grasslands is becoming an irredeemable loss. Jane Renshaw, Parkville A low point Why is Victoria designing and setting a trap for high vehicles? Surely the road under the Montague Street bridge can be lowered. Why, at least, cannot we have a string of bells overhead for the vehicles to strike as a warning. How stupid, costly, inconvenient and dangerous it is to leave it as it is. Lance Ross, Kooyong Failing to kick goals I was disappointed, but not surprised, that AFL chiefs would be previewing the coming Adam Goodes documentary The Final Quarter ("Goodes preview for AFL chiefs", 14/5). The AFL seems to view the over-representation of Indigenous Australian players in the league as a sign of reconciliation. In 2015, Goodes brought to light an uncomfortable fact; that the AFL is not the progressive organisation that it believes itself to be. AFL chiefs went into defence mode, hastily mopping up the mess, rather than treating Indigenous players' experiences seriously and with respect by listening and learning from them. By calling a preview screening, the AFL readies itself for war, showing that nothing has changed. I am almost certain that they will continue to do nothing to acknowledge how the league has failed its Indigenous players. The AFL is more than happy to embrace Indigenous players, if they become living embodiments of reconciliation. Goodes unapologetically deviated from this symbol. By dismissing his concerns regarding racism and treating the new documentary as "controversial", the AFL sends a message. It is that people of colour, simply by vocalising their experiences, are over-reacting that they are the villains in the story. Yuki Horne-Okano, Eltham Odds stacked against them With VCAT's rejection of Darebin Council's opposition to an increase of 15 pokie machines at the Darebin RSL, we see yet again how difficult it is for local communities to resist the spread of misnamed "recreational" practices known to be harmful to individual and community well-being ("Council takes pokies fight to court", 15/5). Darebin had a strong public health case behind their decision to reject more pokie machines in their community. Pokies gambling occurs on an industrial scale in this state. Gambling harm costs Victoria $7billion a year. Of the $82 million poured into Darebin's pokie machines last year, almost $33million came from compulsive gamblers according to most recent and publicly available research. Costs include family breakdown, hungry and disadvantaged children, widespread physical and mental health issues, lost personal and community opportunities and, finally, suicides at least one a day. The arguments of the Victorian government and compromised community groups don't stack up. Kudos to Darebin Council for taking this decision to a higher court. You are speaking for many who don't have a voice. Kate Sommerville, Richmond Something fishy I feel for the kissing partners of the CBD journos who "wait with baited breath" for news of Julie Bishop (14/5). The Shakespearean phrase "bated breath" invokes the suspense and trepidation I suspect they were going for. Robert Lang, Toorak AND ANOTHER THING...The election Is John Howard running for office again? Why has he appeared in the media more often than most of Scott Morrison's ministers? Dean Wotherspoon, Northcote I'm old enough to remember the Yellow Pages (phone book). Seems old-man Clive is bringing them back. Myra Fisher, Brighton East I can go one better, Ron Hayton (Letters, 15/5). I used Clive's full-page ads to line my cat's litter tray. Rick Luther, Carnegie Well may we say "there will never be another Christopher Pyne" (15/5). And good riddance. A moderate who stood for nothing and fell for almost anything. Kevin Russell, Geelong Bit rich of Scott Morrison to proclaim that politics and religion should be not be mixed in this election when he let the cameras into his church. Rod Oaten, North Carlton If you disagree with me, you are guilty of hate speech. So sick of this undemocratic and unhealthy tide of opinion. Ian Mitchell, Rowville Maybe it's time to determine this matter of who is destined for Hell through our traditional Australian fallback process ... a royal commission. Barry Lamb, Heidelberg West Farewell, Doris Day, after a long life leaving memories for millions of us. Hello election day: "que sera, sera" indeed. Jenifer Nicholls, Armadale Roll on election day the mute button on the remote is wearing out. Vikki O'Neill, Ashburton Elsewhere All the chooks I've ever raised paced up and down noisily when they saw me in the mornings eager to leave their coop and range free during the day ("Do chickens like being free-range?", 15/5). Jan Kendall, Hawthorn Hooray for Angela Pippos ("It's no joke to muck up migrant names", Comment, 17/5). I have been called Lu-cresh-a, Lu-cray-sha, Lu-crotch-a, Lucia and just plain Lu all my life. Lucrezia Mecca, Brighton Most Viewed in National Loading https://www.theage.com.au/national/education-play-catchup-on-funds--for-state-school-students-20190515-h1efpb.html?ref=rss&utm_medium=rss&utm_source=rss_feed

[zipgrowth]

When Colleges Consider Outsourcing Online Programs, Calculations Can Get Complicated

A growing number of colleges are turning to for-profit companies to help them run their online programs, and to help finance them. These companies are known as online program managers, or OPMs.

The relationships can mean a clash of cultures. One college official recalled a meeting where the head of a popular OPM showed up wearing a gold chain and talking about the “cost of acquisition” of students. That focus on sales can be uncomfortable for traditional colleges, who prefer to talk about their nonprofit missions of preparing students to be good citizens.

Yet many colleges are in desperate need of attracting students to their online programs. At the University of Virginia, for instance, officials recently announced layoffs of 38 staff members due to low enrollments in online courses offered by its School of Continuing and Professional Studies.

“We are a giant, wonderful university with a large endowment. I love everybody I work with … but we’re not skilled in management techniques, just in general,” said Kristin Palmer, director of online learning for UVA.

So expect to see more colleges turn to these providers, said Michael Feldstein, a consultant and co-publisher of the popular e-Literate blog, who has long followed the OPM market. A survey released last week by The Chronicle of Higher Education and P3-EDU, a conference on public-private partnerships to be hosted by George Mason University, found that 42 percent of provosts, chief financial officers and presidents surveyed said that expanding online programs was the area they most considered turning to a private company to help with.

Last week EdSurge hosted an EdSurge Live online town hall with Palmer, of UVA, and Feldstein, to talk about when it makes sense to turn to OPMs, and when building your own programs may be the better solution. The session follows on a pair of articles in EdSurge last month, one co-written by an OPM leader making the case for the model, and another by Feldstein noting that while OPMs can be attractive, they may not be appropriate for every college.

Below are highlights of that conversation, which have been edited and condensed for clarity. Or listen in on the discussion here.

EdSurge: Where did these outsourcing companies known as OPMs come from?

Michael Feldstein: Going back, even to the 1970s, even pre-dating online, there’s always been two challenges to launching new programs: money and expertise at execution. It costs money to start up a new program, and it takes a lot of expertise. Some of that is getting students in the door, and some of it is just having the people who have the expertise and who aren’t busy doing other things. [Or your people running the program] have 16 other jobs, and this would be a 17th full time job. And there are a lot of things that are fairly technical in a running program that’s fully online.

Another way I heard somebody frame online program managers recently is as investors [since many front money to build the programs in exchange for a cut of tuition for the next decade or so.] That’s another way to think about them.

The University of Virginia does some work with OPMs and does some programs on its own, right?

Kristin Palmer: We’re currently partnered with Noodle Partners in our Data Science Institute. We partnered with them because it wasn’t officially a school when we decided to move their degree program online. They have no faculty, they don’t have any instructional designers. It was that outsourcing model of, “We need help, and we want a partner to provide and then help.”

We have had other experiences with partnerships that have totally gone south. Our undergraduate Commerce School was in a partnership with an OPM provider that we have terminated prematurely because of a communication guffaw. I don’t think we’ll ever work with that OPM provider again. I won’t say who it was, but that was a disaster.

Then we have other programs that are self-made. Some are successful, some are not. We just announced we’re laying off half of the individuals in our school for Continuing and Professional Studies by mid-May. It’s because enrollments down 68 percent. They have 13 different online programs in cybersecurity and project management, and a lot of fantastic programs, but they’re hosted locally. They don’t have marketing.

Can you say more about what went wrong with the OPM arrangement that failed, so others can learn from that lesson?

Palmer: Yeah, if you do go down the OPM route, you really have to make sure that there’s a cultural DNA match with your partner. We’ve seen in the conversations coming off of the article that Michael has written, and the other article, that we don’t really look at universities as a business, and OPMs are very much a business.

There can be some cultural clashing there, because they do marketing and they look at return on investment and cost per student acquisition. I think those are all valuable numbers to look at, but I think having that clear, open communication of what our expectations early on [is key]. What does success look like? What kind of numbers are we going to track? Where are we comfortable or uncomfortable?

Ours was a communication issue, where they reached out to people that they should not have reached out to, and it was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

But you say for another program, the OPM model is working. Is that because for the latest one you’re doing you didn’t have the staff to do it without a partner?

Palmer: I think we didn’t have a lot of options on that program. It was a priority for the provost’s office to move it online. We had the program existing, but to Michael’s point, the faculty that are helping out with that program, it’s job number 17. They’re already fully committed, they’re the faculty that everybody wants to have in their classes. Balancing how to pay that faculty, and our timelines, and having the structure of working with an OPM provider really helped on, “Okay, we’ve got a project manager, we’ve got instructional designers.” It was extremely helpful.

What questions should colleges ask as they consider partnering with an outside company to run online programs?

Feldstein: Outsourcing is associated in this country with outsourcing manufacturing jobs to Southeast Asia. In higher ed, the better analogy would be, “We outsource our LMS hosting to LMS companies.” [In that case, there are times when a college will say,] “Gee, there’s a third party that I would feel strongly, we’d be better off if someone else did that on a permanent basis and I’m okay if they make money on it.”

Second, when I look at the difference between paying someone a fee and paying someone a revenue share, are my concerns related to an emotional reaction? A reaction to the differences in how those affect the incentive structures to the way we develop and price our programs or a mix of those two?

More specifically, it feels icky to take student tuition and give a percentage of it to a for-profit company, even if the net result is something that’s good for the student. You have to get past that, if you’re someone who works at a university or somebody who feels committed to the mission.

That’s a different issue than saying, “You know, if we give a percentage of our revenue to a corporation for the long-term, that might affect how we think about providing tuition discounts to students, or which programs we decide to develop in the first place for online programs, because we’re only getting 50 percent rather than 100 percent.” There are complex financial calculations. You have to put on your green eye shades and figure out how those impact your decisions.

Palmer: We love discussing stuff. We are in the business of talking about ideas and bumping ideas off of each other, and coming up with ideas that other people don’t necessarily agree with and talking through them. We have these cultural conversations about what the university is even about. Is it job prep, or is it a well-rounded individual or is it creating new knowledge?

All of that’s totally legit, but 36 people in one of our schools found out on Friday that they’re going to have a job change that’s not anticipated, and that’s the reality. We are a giant, wonderful university with a large endowment. There are certainly challenging people, but I just love where I work and who I work with. But we’re not skilled in management techniques, just in general.

[Audience question from Kelvin Bentley, assistant vice president for digital learning innovation at University of West Florida]: I just wonder if OPMs’ time in the sun is limited, given that schools need to change from within to be more flexible and affordable, [as] online ed is such a saturated market already. Most schools that use a decent model for online, how will they be able to maintain quality over time of their courses and programs?

Palmer: We’re in a phase where we’re trying to adjust to our business and figure out how to serve lifelong learners. That framework for learning through your lifetime doesn’t exist right now. It is an evolving market, but it’s certainly nice to have the flexibility of working with a partner. We’ve been talking about revenue sharing, [but] there are also fee-based providers [that don’t require] a 10 year commitment with a 50 percent revenue share.

Feldstein: [The standard OPM model] was really engineered to solve a pretty well-defined problem. My impression is that, for those who have that problem, it solves that problem pretty well. I don’t think it’s going away anytime soon. In fact, I think the opposite is true. I think it has a long life, a long runway. [To succeed online,] you have to get much better at marketing, you have to get much better at differentiating, and quality is going to be one of those differentiators. Those are all things that OPMs sell on the ability to do.

Now, do they all deliver on those promises equally? Well, no. But that is something that some of them do quite well. Let’s also not forget that the United States is not the entire global market, either for students or for university clients.

When Colleges Consider Outsourcing Online Programs, Calculations Can Get Complicated published first on https://medium.com/@GetNewDLBusiness

[roseacisco]

Keeping artificial intelligence accountable to humans

Osonde Osoba Contributor

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Osonde Osoba is an engineer at the nonprofit, nonpartisan RAND Corporation and a member of the faculty of the Pardee RAND Graduate School.

As a teenager in Nigeria, I tried to build an artificial intelligence system. I was inspired by the same dream that motivated the pioneers in the field: That we could create an intelligence of pure logic and objectivity that would free humanity from human error and human foibles.

I was working with weak computer systems and intermittent electricity, and needless to say my AI project failed. Eighteen years later—as an engineer researching artificial intelligence, privacy and machine-learning algorithms—I’m seeing that so far, the premise that AI can free us from subjectivity or bias is also disappointing. We are creating intelligence in our own image. And that’s not a compliment.

Researchers have known for awhile that purportedly neutral algorithms can mirror or even accentuate racial, gender and other biases lurking in the data they are fed. Internet searches on names that are more often identified as belonging to black people were found to prompt search engines to generate ads for bailbondsmen. Algorithms used for job-searching were more likely to suggest higher-paying jobs to male searchers than female. Algorithms used in criminal justice also displayed bias.

Five years later, expunging algorithmic bias is turning out to be a tough problem. It takes careful work to comb through millions of sub-decisions to figure out why the algorithm reached the conclusion it did. And even when that is possible, it is not always clear which sub-decisions are the culprits.

Yet applications of these powerful technologies are advancing faster than the flaws can be addressed.

Recent research underscores this machine bias, showing that commercial facial-recognition systems excel at identifying light-skinned males, with an error rate of less than 1 percent. But if you’re a dark-skinned female, the chance you’ll be misidentified rises to almost 35 percent.

AI systems are often only as intelligent—and as fair—as the data used to train them. They use the patterns in the data they have been fed and apply them consistently to make future decisions. Consider an AI tasked with sorting the best nurses for a hospital to hire. If the AI has been fed historical data—profiles of excellent nurses who have mostly been female—it will tend to judge female candidates to be better fits. Algorithms need to be carefully designed to account for historical biases.

Occasionally, AI systems get food poisoning. The most famous case was Watson, the AI that first defeated humans in 2011 on the television game show “Jeopardy.” Watson’s masters at IBM needed to teach it language, including American slang, so they fed it the contents of the online Urban Dictionary. But after ingesting that colorful linguistic meal, Watson developed a swearing habit. It began to punctuate its responses with four-letter words.

We have to be careful what we feed our algorithms. Belatedly, companies now understand that they can’t train facial-recognition technology by mainly using photos of white men. But better training data alone won’t solve the underlying problem of making algorithms achieve fairness.

Algorithms can already tell you what you might want to read, who you might want to date and where you might find work. When they are able to advise on who gets hired, who receives a loan, or the length of a prison sentence, AI will have to be made more transparent—and more accountable and respectful of society’s values and norms.

Accountability begins with human oversight when AI is making sensitive decisions. In an unusual move, Microsoft president Brad Smith recently called for the U.S. government to consider requiring human oversight of facial-recognition technologies.

The next step is to disclose when humans are subject to decisions made by AI. Top-down government regulation may not be a feasible or desirable fix for algorithmic bias. But processes can be created that would allow people to appeal machine-made decisions—by appealing to humans. The EU’s new General Data Protection Regulation establishes the right for individuals to know and challenge automated decisions.

Today people who have been misidentified—whether in an airport or an employment data base—have no recourse. They might have been knowingly photographed for a driver’s license, or covertly filmed by a surveillance camera (which has a higher error rate.) They cannot know where their image is stored, whether it has been sold or who can access it. They have no way of knowing whether they have been harmed by erroneous data or unfair decisions.

Minorities are already disadvantaged by such immature technologies, and the burden they bear for the improved security of society at large is both inequitable and uncompensated. Engineers alone will not be able to address this. An AI system is like a very smart child just beginning to understand the complexities of discrimination.

To realize the dream I had as a teenager, of an AI that can free humans from bias instead of reinforcing bias, will require a range of experts and regulators to think more deeply not only about what AI can do, but what it should do—and then teach it how.