#facebook memories is great for 'hey remember that time over a decade ago when you were stupid'

[blujayonthewing]

[gazing into the middle distance] he was flirting with me.......

[hermannsthumb]

Could you please write #43 grandparents/neighbors one?

43. we’re having our family meal at my grandparents’ house this year so fingers crossed your parents still live next door and you grew up to be even hotter

from winter writing prompts here

oh god this one got so long. sorry everyone! thank you to @k-sci-janitor for the alien bit because it was so fucking funny

------------

Holidays have gotten a little weird to manage since Newt transformed into a fully-fledged adult with an apartment and a job and stuff, so while he hasn’t made it to the big Geiszler celebration in Germany every December since starting college out of elementary school, he still tries to make a point of dropping by his dad’s for dinner and a movie or something to fill his holiday quota. It’s fine by him; he loves his family, but they’re definitely overwhelming, and trying to submit final grades and work on syllabuses for the next semester all while distant relatives ruffle his hair and ask him when he’s going to hit his growth spurt is not his idea of a relaxing time. It’s a constant point of contention between him and his dad. This year more than most, apparently.

“Your grandmother misses you!” he tells Newt sadly over their Chinese takeout. “She calls me every week to ask how you are, and why you never visit with them. Every week.” He waves a fork at Newt. “You’re breaking her heart.”

“I’m in the lab, like, twenty-four-seven, dad,” Newt sighs. It’s a well-rehearsed conversation at this point, but it doesn’t get any less tiresome. Especially because he knows his dad is lying about the phone call thing—Newt is a great grandson and texts his grandmother plenty, thank you very much, he would know if he was breaking her heart. “I’m working straight through winter break this year. Seriously.”

“That’s what you did last year,” Newt’s dad says. “And the year before that…” Newt turns the volume up on the TV to cut his dad off before he can segue into the next part of his argument, which is (usually) that Newt needs to work on his personal life, maybe settle down, produce some grandkids of his own. Or at least adopt a cat. Also well-rehearsed.

He’s not sure why he says what he does next—maybe in a desperate attempt to distract his dad further. Maybe because of the sudden onslaught of childhood memories the mention of his grandparents’ house brought on. “Hey, do you remember that boy who used to live next door to grandma?” he says. “He had the weird haircut and always dressed kind of funny?” Old-fashioned, and a little too formal for the sort of things that little kids tend to do, climbing trees or playing in the mud—sweatervests and polished loafers and starched-white knee-highs.

Newt’s dad blinks at him. Newt half expects him to declare that Newt is nuts, and that he has no idea what he’s talking about, like this is one of those horror stories where the childhood friend turns out to be some ghost who died fifty years prior. The clothing would match up, he guesses. But he smiles in recognition a moment later. “You mean the Gottlieb boy?” he says.

“Gottlieb,” Newt echoes. It sounds familiar enough. “Hermann, I think. When I’d stay with grandma for the summer we would play together every day. I wonder what he’s doing now.” Hermann was a smart guy, a real geek like Newt; he used to carry a graphing calculator around in his pocket and build the most goddamn pristine model spacecrafts Newt had ever seen. Hermann’s dad shipped him off to a prestigious boarding school the last summer Newt spent there, when they were around twelve or so. Newt started at MIT not long after. “Dude’s probably designing rocket ships by now or something.”

“You could ask him yourself if you came with me,” Newt’s dad laughs. “The Gottliebs never moved away, and their children actually visit. I’m sure your Hermann visits, too.”

“Ha,” Newt says. “Yeah.”

It’s snowing by the time Newt and his dad finish their movie, and Newt (fearing his dad’s driving even in ideal conditions) declines the offer of a lift home to trudge his way through it to his T stop instead. It’s nice to have the chance to be alone with his thoughts, anyway, because he can’t seem to get funny little Hermann Gottlieb out of his head. What is he doing now?

A quick Facebook search on the train produces a few Hermann Gottliebs, but none of them promising—none of them have the brown eyes or strangely angular face (devoid of any baby fat even that young) Newt remembers, none of them are from the right German countryside, none of them went to a preppy English boarding school. Google (utilizing the information Newt does have) is a little more rewarding, and by the time Newt presses the button to request his stop, he’s scrounged up a decent amount of info: Hermann Gottlieb has a doctorate in astrophysics, Hermann Gottlieb publishes papers at a slightly terrifying rate, and Hermann Gottlieb turned out kinda hot.

As Newt stares down at a slightly grainy current photograph of his old friend—haircut and clothing unchanged, a cane in hand, some round librarian glasses perched on the end of his nose, wide mouth twisted into a scowl—he suddenly recalls another thing about Hermann Gottlieb: the summer Hermann was sent away to boarding school was the summer that Hermann kissed Newt goodbye, shyly and tearfully, under the shade of the tall maple tree in his yard. It was the last time Newt ever saw Hermann. It was Newt’s first kiss.

“Oh, boy,” Newt says.

He texts his dad when he gets back to his apartment. When do we leave?

Newt feels like the belle of the fucking ball when he steps into his grandparents’ house a week later, snow dusting his shoulders, small suitcase clenched in his hand. His cheeks are kissed; his scarf and hat and leather jacket are brushed off and tossed onto a coat rack; his hair is in parts smoothed down (too messy!) and ruffled (too flat!); he’s hugged more times than he has been in the entire last year, probably. “Still playing around with bugs in the dirt, eh, Newt?” his grandfather booms, tucking Newt into the crook of his arm with enough force to knock Newt’s glasses off.

“Actually,” Newt squeaks, scrambling for both what he remembers of his very rusty German, and his glasses before they can hit the ground, “entomology isn’t really my main focus at—”

“Newt’s studying jellyfish now,” Newt’s dad declares proudly. “He went on a diving expedition this July.”

“Diving? How exciting,” Newt’s grandmother says.

“Yeah,” Newt says. He pushes his glasses back on. “Yeah, it was fascinating, I was lucky to get the funding for it. You wouldn’t believe the sorts of—”

“Isn’t that dangerous?” Newt’s cousin says.

“My little Newt’s a daredevil!” Newt’s dad says.

“It’s not that dangerous,” Newt says. “As long as you’re—”

“What happened to that nice man your father said you were dating?” Newt’s grandfather says. “With the, the what was it, the poetry? The poet? We thought you’d bring him!”

Newt flushes. Trust his dad to talk up some random guy Newt dated in March like it was a long-term affair and not an elongated one-night stand that fizzled out after three weeks. Though maybe that one’s on Newt—it’s not like he mentioned the one-night stand part to his dad, after all. He definitely didn’t mention that the guy ended it with a poem, too. “We broke up,” he says, weakly. He wriggles out from the throng of the crowd. “Look, it’s so great seeing you all, but I’m actually, like, really tired, soooooo…?”

“Oh, of course you are,” Newt’s grandmother says. She pats his head. “What a long flight you must have had! We’ll send someone up for you for dinner—you can have your old guest room.”

“Cool,” Newt says.

He scurries up the stairs.

The guest room he slept in during those summers is almost exactly the way he remembers it, but a little dustier—the floral quilt on the bed, his grandma’s sewing table crammed into the corner, the bookcase stocked with a weird combination of kid’s books and illustrated encyclopedias that Newt used to pore over for hours as a kid, often with Hermann. Newt draws back the embroidered curtains and peers out the window at the Gottliebs’ snow-capped house next door. Hermann’s window was directly across from his. It still is, technically, though the curtains (these navy blue and embroidered with little constellations) are pulled tight, and Newt has a feeling that Hermann hasn’t set foot in his old room in well over a decade. Two decades, probably.

He remembers the one summer he showed Hermann how to make a soup can telephone, and they managed to string it all the way across between their windows before discovering it kinda didn’t work as well as Newt said it would. He remembers when Hermann’s dad banned him from the Gottlieb house for tracking water all over their front hallway after he and Hermann went wading in the creek, but it was really Hermann who did it, because he forgot to take his shoes off and they got soaked, and Newt just took the fall for it so Hermann wouldn’t get in trouble. And when Hermann asked Newt to play astronaut with him, and Newt insisted on being an alien and mimed the chestburster scene from Alien, and Hermann freaked out so bad he fell in a mud puddle and got grounded for ruining his clothing, and Newt got grounded for that and for watching Alien when he wasn’t supposed to, and they spent the following few days staring sadly out across at each other before Newt’s grandma finally got tired of his moping and sent him to work weeding the garden. He remembers knotting a little friendship bracelet for Hermann out of embroidery thread he found in his grandmother’s sewing basket and Hermann vowing to keep it until he died.

Newt’s half of the soup can phone is still on the windowsill, though the string snapped and crumbled apart years ago. He picks at the peeling Chicken Noodle label, so distracted that he almost doesn’t notice the light suddenly seeping through at the edges of Hermann’s curtains, or the way they’re pushed open—almost.

Hermann—real, live, adult Hermann, botched haircut and round glasses and all—stares out at Newt with a shocked expression on his face. Newt drops the can with a clatter.

Then he waves.

“Hey, Grandma?” Newt says, poking his head into the kitchen. Tonight’s dinner is a massive pot of soup boiling away on the stovetop, dessert a mountain of cookies and tiny pastries on serving platters on the counters. Newt hasn’t had food that looked this good since he moved out, to be honest. The intersection of Newt’s sad lack of cooking skills and his attempts at vegetarianism means he eats a lot of boxed mac-and-cheese and frozen Vegetable Lovers’ pizzas. “Are you—?"

“Oh, Newt!” Newt’s grandmother says. She sets down her wooden spoon. “Are you feeling rested, then?”

“Yeah,” Newt says. “Grandma, I was wondering, could I—uh—maybe run some food over to the Gottliebs? To be…neighborly? We just have so much, and—”

“That’s a wonderful idea,” Newt’s grandmother says. “They keep to themselves, mostly, but I can’t imagine they’d turn it down. You might even see your little friend again! What was his name? You were so fond of him.”

“Hermann,” Newt says, quickly shoving cookies into a red-lid plastic container. “Thanks, Grandma.”

He tucks the tupperware under his arm and nearly wipes out on the icy front path he runs to the Gottliebs’ so fast. Before he can so much as catch his breath and knock, their door swings open; Hermann, dressed in a tacky Hannukah sweater, arches an eyebrow at him. “I saw you sprint over here like a bloody madman,” he says, in blessed English. He must’ve remembered how shitty Newt’s German was when they were kids. “Hello, Newton. What’s so terribly important?”

His voice got deeper—expected—and he swapped out his German accent for an English one somewhere along the way. Probably at his stuffy boarding school. He also got taller—he’s got a few inches on Newt now, but Newt admits that’s not exactly hard. God, he’s even hotter in person. “Uh,” Newt says. Why is he here? Oh, right. He thrusts out the tupperware. “I brought some cookies over for you?”

Hermann peers down at the offering over his glasses. His forehead wrinkles. “How considerate,” he says. He pulls an olive-green parka on and steps out onto the porch, tugging the door shut behind him. He taps at a peeling porch swing with the end of his cane. “Just leave them there. Would you like to take a walk?”

It’s freezing, and snowing, but for some reason, a walk sounds like the best idea in the world right now. “Yes, please,” Newt says, and chucks the cookies onto the swing.

“I must say,” Hermann says, after their meandering walk around the Gottliebs’ yard takes them to the old maple tree. The branches are bare, but thick, and shield them from most of the falling snow. Hermann’s breath puffs out white in front of his angular face. The last time I stood here, Newt thinks, he kissed me. “I really did not expect to see you.”

“I didn’t expect to see you, either,” Newt admits. “From what I remember, you and your family weren’t—uh—well, very close. I didn’t think you’d be coming back to share in the holiday cheer with them, is what I mean.”

The corner of Hermann’s mouth twitches up. “That’s certainly one way of describing it. Yes, I suppose you’re right—my father is a bit of a bastard, isn’t he?” Newt laughs awkwardly, unsure whether to agree or attempt to weakly the defend a guy who openly hated him for being a bad influence on Hermann most of his childhood; he’s grateful when Hermann continues and saves him the choice. “This is the first year I’ve come home in a long while. My brother’s just had a daughter, you see, and I thought I should start getting used to playing uncle.”

“Oh, congrats,” Newt says. Hermann shrugs, and Newt has the distinct feeling that this is Hermann’s older brother, who used to dissemble Hermann’s telescope and hide the pieces around the house when Hermann annoyed him, and tattled on Newt and Hermann to Hermann’s parents the one time Newt snuck in to see Hermann after he got banned. He always made Newt thankful that he was an only child. “Same here, actually. Not the uncle thing—I mean I haven’t visited since I was in college. Too busy.”

“I know,” Hermann says, and then adds teasingly (in a way that makes color flood Newt’s cheeks and his heart beat just a little faster), “I’ve looked you up online. Er—quite a bit recently, in fact. I was curious. You’ve made quite the name for yourself, haven’t you, Dr. Geiszler?”

“I,” Newt squeaks, and then coughs. “I mean, I guess? I like…science.”

“I oughtn’t be surprised,” Hermann says. “You were always giving me bugs, and salamanders, and funny little frogs—”

Newt liked bugs, and salamanders, and frogs, but he liked Hermann more, and the gifts had a lot more to do with the latter than the former, because what kid wouldn’t want bugs or salamanders or frogs, right? Not that Hermann ever appreciated them—especially not the worms Newt would pluck from the sidewalks after rainstorms. He thinks he got grounded for that one, too, because his grandma wouldn’t believe that he really wasn’t trying to terrorize the poor Gottlieb boy. “And what about you?” Newt says. He pokes his elbow into Hermann’s side. “Dr. Gottlieb? Guess those model rockets paid off.”

(“No, Newton,” Hermann would snap at him on the rare occasions he would allow Newt to watch him piece one together, “the glue hasn’t dried yet. You have to be patient, or else it’ll fall apart.”)

“Not yet,” Hermann says, “but I hope soon.”

Hermann smiles at him. A snowflake catches in his eyelashes—his long, pretty, dark eyelashes. “Do you remember when you kissed me here?” Newt blurts out.

“It’s hardly the sort of thing I’d forget,” Hermann says. He reaches out and tucks a piece of Newt’s hair up into his hat. “I like your tattoos—I saw the photographs on your social media accounts. They suit you.” Newt wonders if this means Hermann saw the shirtless selfie he posted on Instagram. “I’m also pleased to see you’ve gotten your braces removed. It wasn’t a very pleasant experience last time.”

Then he leans in and kisses Newt. Again, technically. It’s so light and brief Newt hardly believes it even happened. Their glasses clack together, and when Hermann pulls away, he straightens out Newt’s.

“I confess,” Hermann says, “that I’m wholly pleased to see how you’ve turned out. I hope that wasn’t too forward of me. I’ve been thinking about doing it all night.”

“Jeez, dude,” Newt says, blinking at him, his head swimming just a little. Hermann looks smug. “Not, uh, not too forward. So. Uh. You wanna get dinner or something this week and catch up?”

Hermann snorts, and nods.

[scarluxia]

Let's talk about some Adventures I had in Phoenix, AZ in 2015. It came up in my FB Memories and even though I determined to let everything from last decade go, this one still rankles. I got "in trouble" with these people for being open about my experiences on my Facebook because, even though I hadn't mentioned names, they didn't like me "putting their business out there".

CW for ableism, depression, rejection sensitive dysphoria, and I'll try to put all that in the tags.

My partner, Loki (yes real name), and I had been urban camping in Portland, OR for about a month. It had gotten cold and rainy to the point where we couldn't safely stay living outdoors, and Loki's father (who didn't approve of me) had demanded he come back to California and live with Loki's uncle. He made it quite clear I was not welcome, so I ended up going to Arizona because I had a friend who was willing to put me up. She and I had known each other since 2008 and I figured I would be safe with her. At the time, Loki was much more easily influenced by what his family wanted, and we ended up having kind of a nasty set of conversations over whether he was abandoning me.

While in Portland, my wallet had been stolen so I had no ID or SS card. I had reported it stolen of course, but had received no response until I was leaving Arizona.

My friend in Arizona had two young sons, a husband, and a boyfriend. Now, I have some sensory issues that make it so I have a hard time being around children. High pitched noises hurt me to my bones, like, even now I have to leave the room if my son gets overly excited and starts shrieking.

I was sleeping on the couch in the living room, which was where the kids would go when they woke up and where the TVs and entertainment consoles were.

Anyway, they wanted me to contribute to the household and whatnot but I was severely depressed and I think I've provided all the context I can remember? If the rest of this doesn't make sense, please know that there was a part 1 but it came up in my Memories on a different day and i didn't think I would be rehashing it.

So I couldn't do work, couldn't do anything anyone had asked me to do to satisfaction because various things that did not, in fact, depend on me. Maybe I wasn't being enough of a ~team player~, I don't know. But anyway, I did my best with what I had. Sometimes, because of THE EXTREME FUCKING SENSORY ISSUES THAT COME WITH AUTISM, I would get overwhelmed by the kids screaming. Two little boys, barely school age, and their parents sat them in front of a TV and gave them controllers. That's it. They had toys in their room, sure, but they weren't getting outside. I suggested taking them out a couple times, but firstly, I didn't know the area and wasn't about to go out alone, and secondly, I can't split in half and I'm not in good shape, so even if I had known the area, I wouldn't have taken TWO small children outside to run around where they could run out of the designated area. I'm kind of anal that way, I guess. But Woman A (mum) and Man B ("uncle") never got off their arses to help me take them outside, and Man A was at work.

Oh, yes, parental interaction with the kids. Woman A loved her sons very much. But at their age (3 and 5), they both should have been toilet trained. They should have gotten at least two hours outside every day. They threw fits when they weren't allowed to play video games because, instead of games being a special treat that was earned with good behavior, they were toys carelessly tossed at the kids to keep them out of everyone's hair. Conversely, and bizarrely, reading to them WAS a special treat. The father woke up, played games, basically brushed off his kids, and went to work. Same when he got home for lunch, and he *ordered* us to have them in bed by the time he got home for good. The mum did somewhat interact with them, but mostly just wanted them out of her hair. I wasn't so nice because I'm not good with kids in general and also loud screeching HURTS, IT HURTS IT HURTS MAKE IT STOP. (Same with snoring, or any noise made when I want to sleep.) This isn't me being a ~diva~, it is an actual manifestation of a mental disability.

Woman A was of the opinion that "everyone who lives in a house with kids automatically becomes a coparent", maybe because she wasn't willing to actually parent her kids herself.

Note from the future: I still disagree with the idea that "anyone who lives in a house with kids is automatically a co-parent". Parent your own kids. I don't expect my dad to parent my son when we go visit him and he made it quite clear when I was pregnant that he would not take on a co-parenting role (because his wives 30-50 years ago had handled the babies and he doesn't really know how to calm them down beyond entertaining them)

She got a really bitchy look on her face whenever I (who have been around children, especially TROUBLED children, all my life) made any sort of suggestion. Well sorry, lady, but it's not like you're doing such a great job with them. Y'all act like you barely want anything to do with them. Like they're cute and little and fun to snuggle, but actually teaching them anything? Forget about it, just toss em a controller and hope they don't kill each other in the game or real life. Meanwhile, they have no outlet for their natural physical energy, no real outlet for their curiosity. They're going to grow up stupid and sedentary, with "no one paid attention to me during childhood except when it was convenient for THEM" to deal with. The older kid recently got on meds for a condition that, from what I observed, was likely much more nurture than nature. And what everyone ate, my God, those kids were the only non-overweight people in the house, and it's little wonder! I bought ACTUAL NUTRITIONAL food for everyone, and the adults look at me like I'm from some demon dimension. I made a light comment about how I'd never eaten anything like what they had growing up. You know, boxed potatoes, veggies out of a can, white bread, sugary peanut butter. And Woman A was like, "well YOU don't have kids."

Um, no, but my father did.

I have a kid now, am working part time at min. wage because my boss sees my performance as so-so (plus she's been forced to give me a raise every time the County of Where I Live raises the minimum), in a single-income household, on as much Family With Kids welfare as My County will allow, and I still wouldn't feed my kid that crap LOL

Spoiler alert: they made me use all my food stamps on their household and then kicked me out later that month so... When I bought food I bought HEALTHY food, like, I've been on food stamps my entire life... Also, WIC specifically pays for WHEAT bread, fruits & veggies, and they do let you get peanut butter without sugar so idk what was going on there with them.

My father was a SINGLE PARENT raising a daughter in America after 20 years of living in Europe and raising kids with his previous wives. Well, up until the divorces, anyway. I was the only kid he ever got to keep. He told me things about how the others had been raised compared to how I was raised, and I saw the outcomes of different parenting styles in my peers as well. My father was a very poor man whose trade had been outsourced and who struggled to support us for years. And yet, we never went hungry, and he never fed me boxed potatoes. Never fed me sugary peanut butter, white bread, or veggies out of a can.

Ok I understand canned veggies are better than no veggies, and not everyone can get fresh, but you CAN get frozen in AZ. I always had fresh or frozen growing up.

It wasn't because we were living in the lap of luxury. It's because...

HE FUCKING VALUED OUR HEALTH OVER CONVENIENT, CRAPPY, NUTRIENT-FREE FOOD!!!! This is not a difficult concept. He ALSO read to me every night, despite having what I now realise was a very grueling day at work just to put said healthy food on the table. I didn't get to watch TV or play computer games (edu-tainment, the only kind I was allowed) until after all my homework was done. I can't remember if I was a particularly active child, but I'm sure I had the OPTION!!!! TO GO OUT.

Meanwhile, when I was at various stages of my life, I met kids whose parents shunted them from guardian to guardian because they didn't want to deal with them, kids whose parents were kind and supportive but rubbish at enforcing discipline, kids whose parents were abusive in every kind of way, and kids whose parents did their best.

You know, I wasn't raised perfectly. My upbringing lacked social grace and included some toxic ideas about womanhood that I've only been learning to overcome recently in my adulthood. But DON'T FUCKING ACT LIKE I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT RAISING KIDS JUST BECAUSE I DON'T CURRENTLY HAVE ANY. I have my own life, the lives of my peers, and a wonderful online community of new parents raising children in kind and socially aware ways, to draw inspiration from. I can go to any one of them, and to my own parents, and ask "hey does X seem weird to you?" And they'll give me their honest opinion, which *is valuable*. I have even mapped out a general idea of how to get through some parts of my children's lives, and I'm not even planning to have kids for at least another few years. I mean, honestly, it used to be "I don't want kids ever", but dear gosh, if I can have any part of raising someone in a manner that defies procrastination culture, entitlement culture, and everything wrong with the way my husband and I were raised, maybe it wouldn't be a complete horror. If I can ensure that not all hope for the next generation is lost, hey.

Anyway, I've gone off topic...

I also had some issues with the men. Man B just didn't seem to like anything ever. I had no idea what Woman A saw in him. I remember one time he tried to tell me, a Christian, that I can't tell people what a "real Christian" is because it ~invalidates their identity~. Excuse me, no. It doesn't work that way. There are things that Christ taught, and anyone who blatantly goes against them IN THE NAME OF CHRISTIANITY, IS NOT A REAL CHRISTIAN. And yes, I realise this entire rant has been very judgey and technically I'm not supposed to do that either, but it's not like I'm saying they're going to Hell. Just that their kids are going to be sluggish and stupid, and I can't understand how these people have the gumption to try to lecture anyone else about life when they're not even TRYING to get their own lives together.

Yeah so they tried to lecture me about how I was "letting" Loki mistreat me and how I cared more about "socializing" with my estranged husband (I have separation anxiety) than helping around the house e_e They also implied I used depression as an excuse to be lazy.

Man B was supposedly "super employable." Well, okay, even though his "job hunt" seemed to consist more of sitting around playing video games, he was larger than my father (who is 6 ft tall with a protruding gut and weighs 240 lbs at last count) (My father and I are both 60 lbs above our ideal weights. But we're working on it!), and never seemed to get past the phone-screening process.

Now, Woman A told me that Man B was looking for work and that her family and some friends looked down on him for being a freeloader. Probably because she was anxious about me thinking the same. But here's the thing: I wouldn't have cared. Honestly. If you want to sit around playing games all day in your married girlfriend's apartment with her and her husband playing video games all day, go right ahead. If you want to bake three potatoes at a time and take them back to your room for a snack, hey, more power to you. But don't piss out the window and call it rain.

I don't care how employable you are, where you live, who you're living with, or what your lifestyle is like. It doesn't affect me in any way. But don't act like you're doing something you're not just to appease someone's judgmental family. That doesn't ever end well.

Now, see, I clearly have a problem with people who do that. I don't hide many aspects of myself, though I will refuse to answer a question if I feel it's none of someone's business or if they're just asking it to be a judgmental asshole. I refuse to compromise myself or my safe space to accommodate someone who can't make peace with who they are. Hell, you know me! You know my show!

Wait, this is Tumblr, so you might not know my show. It's a YouTube storyboard dedicated to processing and mocking some spiritual and psychological abuse I've undergone in my life. On Facebook, it was one of the things I was known for at the time because I was constantly posting clips and art, and trying to recruit voice actors.

I sell anyone out who I catch lying to me about anything! That's nothing new! And these people knew that about me. For SEVEN. FUCKING. YEARS.

So anyway. Woman A has a lot of great short term goals but no actual follow through because "I'm just not in the mood right now." No judgment there. I've totally been there. The only problem is when it gets ME in trouble.

"Let's walk the dog." "I'm not in the mood." Okay, then the dog doesn't get walked because I can't figure out my way around the place alone.

"Let's do the dishes." Woman A doesn't let me know when the washer stopped. Okay. Then the rest of the dishes don't get washed.

"Let's take the kids outside." "No I'm too tired." Okay, then they're going to be RUNNING AROUND THE APARTMENT SCREAMING WHICH MY EARS CANNOT FUCKING HANDLE so bye I'm just gonna borrow your room and isolate myself for a bit.

"Let's go to the gym!" "Maybe later." But later never comes.

Do you see where I'm going here? As for the men, they BOTH complain that they're "doing too much" around the house. Okay, probably fair for Man A, who works full time and deserves to come home to a clean house. But Man B. Wtf. You literally do nothing, except when you do, and when you do, we're meant to throw you a parade? That's not how adulthood works, or so I've heard.

Note: All three of these people are older than me. I was 24? at the time, fresh out of trade school, on my own for the first time in my life. (Maybe 2nd? I ran away when I was 17 but ended up with my grandparents so idk if that counts.) Woman A was 26 at the time and had been married since 2008, had experience with office work and parenthood, etc. Both men were older than her. I was a chronological adult with the life experience of a teenager, so I felt comfortable saying that.

So did I mention that I'm sleeping in the living room during this stay? And the adults don't go to bed until like 2 AM, which means, because of my disability, wherein I cannot sleep if there's any sort of non-ambient noise, *I* don't get to sleep until AFTER 2 AM. And the kids? They come in the living room screaming at 6 AM. Yep. Okay. Living on 4 hours of sleep, for the mathematically challenged. That and dealing with the emotional turmoil of being separated from my husband when I've got high separation anxiety in the first place. All my pain, everything, it's up to 11. and I'm supposed to contribute but there's not really anything that allows me to contribute.

So what do they do? They ambush me. Call a "family meeting" to tell me absolutely everything that's wrong with me, after WEEKS of telling me what a big help I am and how grateful they are to have me around. Tell me I'm letting my "social life" get in the way of me helping around the house. Hmm. Social life. You mean, VENTING IN MY SAFE SPACE (Facebook, no names named) AND TRYING TO MEND THINGS WITH MY HUSBAND??????????????? Okay. Well since you guys treat your woman like shit, you clearly don't understand or appreciate devotion to one's spouse. Seriously. Woman A told me she used to have extreme separation anxiety with Man A, and that he would brush off her emotions as irrelevant. Her solution was to make it a poly relationship and take a lover WHO TREATS HER THE EXACT SAME WAY. I'm serious. She got no emotional support from either of them. They basically just threw pills at her and trained her to lie down until her feelings went away.

And she had the gall to lecture me (24 at the time) about how Loki (19 at the time & from a pretty horrific family) treated me. LOL ok. Log. Splinter.

As she knew, I'm monogamous. I do have some opinions on polyamoury based on individuals I've gotten to know who are in those types of relationships, but those opinions are irrelevant to this series of rants. Except one, which is pertinent: if you're going to take another lover, they should provide something that your existing lover(s) don't. If you're suffering from low emotional support and you just find someone else who doesn't emotionally support you and who treats you like a child who can't be trusted??? What are you even DOING? Like, she told me NEITHER of her men trust her judgment. What the fuck is a relationship without trust? And don't even try "dick too bomb" as an excuse when you tell me you haven't gotten laid in months and your husband is using your condoms on Woman B.

They don't support you. They don't trust you. And yet YOU'RE telling ME that things with my husband won't get better unless I follow your lead and take another lover? HELL TO THE NO. My husband has his faults, but if I tell him Person X can be trusted, he believes me.

Except for his ex-girlfriend whom he tried to add to our relationship when he tried to be poly, months later. That went Badly.

Or maybe he just knows I'll deal with them myself, with my hot, hot temper, if they turn out not to be trustworthy. He also doesn't treat me LIKE A CHILD. And while I sometimes point at things and make small motions when I can't physically talk, or sometimes even use baby talk when I'm feeling cutesy, I DON'T POINT AT A PIECE OF PAPER AND GO "THE CARRRRRR!!!!" IN AN INCREASINGLY HIGHER PITCH BECAUSE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO SAY, "Honey, I think we missed the car payment this month. Can you double check while the agent has you on hold, please?"

Okay, being a dick about losing words due to stress was not my finest moment, but at the time, I was just so appalled by how they treated her and how she allowed them to treat me.

So basically these adults who are nowhere near having their lives together, and aren't even really trying, put me on blast for not having everything running perfectly when THEY expected it to.

Let's reiterate. I couldn't get a job because I had no ID or social security card. I was waiting for them to be returned to me. I couldn't walk the kids or the dog, go to the gym, or complete all the household chores because no one would guide me. I need that guidance because of various components of my disability, which I really hate admitting to because I'm super fucking prideful, but I figured hey, she's not neurotypical either. These people will understand.

Their response when I brought this up? "You're an adult. You should know better." Sure, okay. But you should know that a child ought to be potty trained before he turns 5, or even 3; that kids need to run around, are entitled to their parents' attention and consistent discipline, and need!!! healthy!!!! food!!!!

Oh, discipline! So, she would send Older Boy to his room over misbehaving. But rather than enforce time-out, she'd go, "oh, I think I'm being too haaaard on him," and just... Relinquish. He's not about to learn anything that way, ma'am.

They called me trying to reconnect with the person I love more than almost anyone on this earth "obsessing over your social life". Well again, you treat your woman like shit, so MAYBE my undying devotion to the person I love goes a LITTLE bit over your head.

They told me that the household should be my first priority. Except no, because I am an autonomous person and my FIRST PRIORITY is, was, and ever has been the love of my life, whomever that may be at the time. That is 70% of my personality. I'm pretty sure anyone who had ever met me can vouch for my extreme devotion, and this woman had known me for SEVEN. YEARS. I'm not going to throw away 70% of myself to do an impossible task that no one will help me with.

They told me a lot of things I wasn't doing right, and for those of you who also struggle with anxiety and depression, you know that being told for weeks that everything is okay and you're so great and so helpful, and then being told that you're rubbish at everything... You know that that is hurtful. Devastating, even. I wanted to kill myself. I said that. I said that and expressed my feelings about some other things, in my safe space, without naming any names.

And even though I was posting in my safe space, I was polite about it. I was as gentle and rational as possible. I wasn't calling anyone out. Not like I am now. I wasn't trying to lead a witch hunt. I was just overwhelmed and trying to express my feelings. Trying to get myself not to kill myself. I had to tell myself over and over again that it's not what Loki would want for me.

In the morning, they woke me up and kicked me out. Said it was rude for me to say I don't care about their household. I never, NEVER said that. I said "Loki is my first priority." Something along the lines of "that's just how I am and I shouldn't be vilified for it." That doesn't mean I DON'T CARE ABOUT ANYTHING ELSE. IT JUST MEANS THAT MY PRIORITIES WILL *NEVER* BE WHAT SOMEONE ELSE WANTS THEM TO BE. I AM A PERSON. I HAVE THE RIGHT TO DECIDE WHAT TO PRIORITISE, AND I HAVE THE RIGHT TO LOVE MY HUSBAND!!!

I MEAN, FOR FUCK'S SAKE. MY NAME IS *SIGYN*. WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU IGNORANT ASSHOLES EXPECT?! WHY THE HELL SHOULD YOU HAVE FELT THREATENED BY ME SAYING ANYTHING IF I DIDN'T NAME NAMES AND WAS ACTUALLY RATIONAL? IF YOU SAW THIS, *MAYBE* YOU WOULD HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE PISSY, BUT NOT THEN!

They kicked me out after having asked me to buy them all food. I had used up all my food stamps. Because I hadn't anticipated this at all. I hadn't known they would take such offence to my existence, to my ways. To the fact that I value the man I married more than I value... Whatever they wanted me to value, I guess.

Fun fact: I ended up in a women's shelter after this, and one woman told me to actually kill myself because she was tired of hearing me cry at night.

They said I hadn't made any effort to get my life on track. Because I can just snap my fingers and make my ID appear. Because I can just manifest the money for a replacement. They said all these things that left me almost unable to breathe, in retaliation for me posting that I was suicidal.

Later, Woman A told me that this had been a long time coming and that they were trying to make room for Woman B and Woman C, both of whom were willing to have sex with the men, which is something that I would not. I feel the first woman I met at the shelter was accurate when she said they basically kicked me out because I wouldn't sleep with them.

I also later found out that my ID and SS card had been returned to sender. The Portland PD called me and told me. So my father came to the conclusion that the people I had been staying with sabotaged me from the start. For a while, I didn't feel it, but last night I dreamed about it, and the dream made me angry. I didn't deserve to be treated that way. And I really had to get all this off my chest, so for those of you who didn't immediately whip out your tiny violins, thank you.

[chelsmcd]

10 Years... 10 freakin years...

The end of a decade has come... Where does time go? How does it seemingly go by so quickly?  

How many of us can clearly remember 2010? Or, more accurately, the end of 2009 and getting ready to ring in the new year?  I can tell you, my life now, is definitely not where I thought it would be at this time 10 years ago.  To be honest, it took some serious thought to try and figure out all the things that have happened in the last 10 years, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t look to Facebook for some help (thank you young Chelsea... for documenting almost EVERYTHING you did).

10 years ago... I was living in Pickering at my mom’s place, I think this was for “financial” reasons, but also, it was just easier.  I had only lived away for 4ish years, but was back under her roof, her rules (luckily I had very few rules... I still like to brag I was never given a curfew as a kid, there were only a couple of “Chelsea... this is too late to be coming home” run ins).  

10 years ago... I had no worries, no responsibilities, nothing tying me to anyone or anywhere.  I was, for all intents and purposes... very free, and a very free spirit.

9 years ago, I was working for a Trampoline company.  Insert all the bad dad jokes here: it was really up and down, we had bad days but we’d always rebound, yadda yadda yada.  I was also running my side hustle of working with a race car team (scroll through some old posts on here to find the videos I used to make... man... we had some good times! Some great friends have been made).

9 years ago, I was getting by, living life, earning a salary, hanging with friends and just doing whatever I wanted.  Life wasn’t challenging, but it also wasn’t overly fulfilling. I’m 3 years out of University, I’m doing OK, having fun.  But I wasn’t... genuinely happy.  Not with what I was doing anyway. I was young, I was, perhaps naive to what the world ahead of me held, but hey, these are my glory years... what does it matter anyway?  My biggest issue was paying my car insurance and having the right outfit for my next night out. 

8 years ago, I feel like I finally started my life.  Like I started, as an adult, and started making decisions based on what was right for me, and not necessarily cool and fun right now.  8 years ago, in 2011, I took a chance on me (at the encouragement of one unwaveringly supportive mom) - I moved to Cornwall to start in the radio world.  The fear in that move was rivaled by the excitement of what could be.  It wasn’t my first time living away (although this was the furthest), it wasn’t the first time being responsible for paying rent (and thankfully, this was the cheapest), it wasn’t the first time for a lot of things - but it was the first time I felt like I was finally choosing me and my path over what was convenient.  It turned out to be where my life, and I’d say my career path really began.  This was the first dive into media - where I would get a chance to be ‘on air’ - those words still hold weight for me.  Being... ON... AIR.  Someone saw something in me, and while it was maybe 3 times per hour over 3 hours x 2 days a week... it was SOMETHING!  

While I didn’t know it... that decision 8 years ago, led to some major moves 7 years ago.  When I moved again, to a place that would steal my heart.

7 years ago, I moved to Kingston and started co-hosting the morning show there. Whoda thunk I’d be a morning show host? Buzz and I had an amazing couple of years together. While we were in very different spots in our career paths, I felt like any road bump I hit, he was there to offer support, guidance, and in some instances ride on through with me.  Buzz - I don’t know if you’ll read this, but thank you, thank you for being an ally, a friend, a mentor and all around great human.  I know this decade has had its ups and definitely its hardest moments no one would ever wish upon someone.  We don’t keep in touch as much as I thought we would, but I have so much respect for you and how you’ve handled the past few years specifically.  Your strength is inspiring.

6 years ago I started in sports “officially”.  Who knew how much this would impact my future? Who knew that would bring my back to Toronto (but that’s  a story for another year)?  As an in-arena host for a Junior Hockey Team... life was fun! I was on air doing the morning show during the week, napping, and hosting hockey games on the weekends.  Wahoo.  2013 - you were a good year.  You were also the year, and I’m sure anyone reading this that has been around for a while will remember, the #BTheFace contest?   2013 was the year I was one of 4 winners of the Mercedes.  The year we held an awesome party in a dealership in Vaughn where the roof literally caught fire, where I got to go behind the Scenes at Cats, where I got to check out Fashion Week and interview Jeanne Beker.. so many fun memories in 2013.  Maybe the best year of the decade?  May. Be.

5 years ago, I left morning radio, and took a risk on a start up gig, but now... on air ON CAMERA!! People would get to SEE ME!?! I’ve always kind of owned I love the spotlight... and this was no different.  This was a great year, from rapelling off buildings, to driving a poker boat, to joining the police at the shooting range (apparently I’m not too bad with a shotgun FYI), to baking cookies in a fire training facility - I experienced SO many fun things.  And let’s not forget skydiving?!  While I have some wonderful friends who I just hit it off with when I arrived in Kingston (ahem.. looking at you Andi), I think this was the year I also made some valuable friendships that have transcended some time.  Keenan... Andrew - you two are gems.  Absolute gems, and I’m so thankful we still keep in touch.  Heck, Keenan, I think for you, Skydiving changed your life path!!  Andrew - you got a mover out of it years later!  Guys - I am so grateful for your friendship and the memories we’ve had along the way.  Keen, I won’t go into any of the jokes or the memories.... because there truly are WAY to many (but.. like... jam jams).

4 years ago was a big one  - it’s when I admitted I no longer needed the spotlight and accepted the biggest change in the career, leaving media and stepping fulltime into sports.  I know some of my friends from elementary/high school still look at me and think “What are YOU doing in sports?”  - this is not me.  I was not athletic, I was not into sports, but hey... my passion for entertainment (as I later learned) is what brings me fulfillment each and every day. Also... ummm bought a house.  So there’s that (hello highwaisted, stretchy big girl pants).

3 years ago was probably my toughest year of the decade.  Both personally and professionally a lot of challenges, a lot of lessons learned and a year I believe I was happy to close the books on.  While I look back now and can find the silver lining of the person it helped shaped me to be, it was a tough year to live through, and it was a year that forced me to make some decisions and start making some changes so that...

2 years ago... I came back to Toronto.  To start full time in Football.  FOOTBALL!? Now, my dear grandma and great uncle were always Argos & Pinball fans, but for me, it wasn’t something I was passionate about.  Entertainment was the passion, and with a background in sales and game entertainment - I snagged a really neat role with the CFL.  A role that allowed me to travel across the country, a role that expanded my knowledge of sports, a role that helped me feel more fulfilled, more satisfied and see my own opportunity for growth.

While 2018 and 2019 have been busy with a few more nights spent in hotels, a few more pounds on the ol’ bod, a few new friends, a few new hobbies and a heck of a lot of growth, I’m looking forward to the new year.

As I flip the calendar - There are a few things I’m living this year, maybe this decade by... they include lessons I’ve learned on my own, some are advice from others - but all are, in my opinion, worth a moment of reflection.

1. Stay Humble, Hustle Hard : I always have a side hustle it seems.  This past summer I was working in Basketball to expand my skill set.  I don’t know that I will ever need to call upon it, but it’s another sport, another role, another area for growth.  It’s also opportunity for networking, building that professional base.  Not all hustling will be for financial reasons.  Sometimes - the hustle is going to be hard, challenging and require sacrifices... but sometimes, those big sacrifices have the biggest payoff (and sometimes, let’s just be honest, they don’t... but that’s OK too).

2. You have 2 ears and 1 mouth, use them in proportion : I’m a loud mouth, I talk a lot, we all know this, it is not a surprise.  A big lesson the past couple of years was to learn to sit down and listen.  I don’t need to be the first to speak, in fact, sometimes, just listening means you get to learn so much more.You get to hear everyone’s opinions, positions, points of view - and that may lend itself to inform your own position.  Nothing is wrong with not having all the answers right away.  For anyone a little younger, starting out in their career - I urge you to take this one to heart.  Do not confuse this with me suggesting you should not speak up in meetings - but I encourage you to listen a little longer before you do.

3. You’ll never regret the things you do, as much as the things you don’t : in other words, be glad you did something, don’t wish you had done it.  You can not go back and gain an experience once it’s gone.  This is the year for all the 20-20 vision jokes - but we all have 20/20 hindsight.. we all have those moments we wished we had seized, those moments we look back and say “ugh... if only...” I had said yes, I had more time, I knew then what I know now.  Carpe that diem.  Don’t let the world, your moments, your life pass you by. 

4. Settle for nothing less than you are worth : You get to choose what you bring into your life.  You choose your job (I assume you applied for it didn’t you?), you choose where you live, you choose who you are friends with.  YOU.  You are in control of what you bring into your life, how you are treated and how you treat others.  In the professional realm, the company will look out for their bottom line, you need to look out for yours. Be your own advocate. In the personal world, this could be a boyfriend/girlfriend, this could be friends, this could be where you spend your spare time, but you deserve nothing less than what you want to work for.  Don’t be a victim of your life.  Be the champion of it. 

Wake up. Choose to live your most fulfilling life, your most challenging life, your most rewarding life. Choose yourself. But remember - these are your choices, your responsibility to own, your effort to put forth. No one is lucky in life.  There are just those who work, and those who work harder.  I try to choose to be the latter.  It’s led to some great opportunities in life so far, and I hope for many more.

Happy New Year friends.  Cheers to 2020, cheers to a new decade - and cheers to the best self, we each get to choose.

[xraytwo]

How I Learned to Miss Donna Summer

This whole story begins a couple weeks ago. That’s when the Target commercial starts playing the song, "I Feel Love", which is apparently a remake by Sam Smith (a little more on that later).  Time to go mining Youtube and find the original song. Found it and thought it would make a good post to my Facebook page, which I did last Monday.

But then, an enlightening journey starts to unfold. Youtube always side posts 'similar' videos as a "Hey, check these out".  Lots of stuff by Donna Summer. There were a lot of songs I hadn't heard in eons, and some I wasn't sure having ever heard at all. So, the trip down memory lane begins. There was an early song "Love to Love You Baby" which I had not heard and had caused a bit of controversy back in the day. I kept clicking on studio and live music videos. And soon started to realize something. That VOICE! She was amazing. Power, emotion, range, consistent perfection. And she made it all look oh so effortless. How the hell did I miss this for forty plus years!!! Her voice was not just a studio creation. The woman had serious pipes. Her live performances are just flawless. They sound exactly like the recordings. Find a live performance of "McArthur Park" (there are quite a few on Youtube) and listen to it. If your not touched, you have no heart .. or soul .. or both. I have heard her do covers of Beatles songs, Moody Blues songs, some Country songs and Gospel. She really could do it all and sound powerful, emotional, flawless and perfect with all the range. She wasn’t just the ‘Queen of Disco’, a label she really wasn’t too fond of, as she felt it limited her. She had to be one of the most gifted singers. She was a consummate performer with great stage presence.

Now, time to go deeper down the rabbit hole. Videos of interviews she had done over the years also pop up. Some early ones from American Bandstand (remember that). A lot from Europe. For those that may not know, before she broke big, she went to Germany to perform in ‘Hair’, which is where she met some of the people she worked with on the early records. She actually had a great sense of humor,  which was used to great effect. Even to disarm. Apparently, in early days, she was always chosen as the comic relief. Always very charming in her interviews. The video of her shopping for a home in Nashville is pretty funny.

And something else from her interviews. She comes across as a very genuine person. A couple of times she is asked what advice she has for new performers. “Get a good lawyer and save your money”. Great advice for performers and the rest of us. Another interview asks what she wants to be remembered for. “That she made people happy”. If that's a metric for success, she was one of the richest people. You can always tell when someone is ‘playing’ at being genuine. She wasn’t. There are a couple times where her inner ‘celebrity’ comes out, but those are the exceptions rather than the rule. Reading the comments on these video’s, she was adored by countless many.

So, how does the title tie into this story? First, I grew up a child of the very late 70’s and early 80’s that was mostly into rock music (I dare not say hair metal), after her big heyday. Disco was not really my thing. My brother did take me to go see ‘Thank God it’s Friday” which is probably the first time I heard “Last Dance”. My main memory of that film was that she seemed to be the big name attached but didn’t show up until near the end (fuzzy memory, it’s been like forty years). The first song I remember hearing on the radio (no pun) was “Hot Stuff”, while eating lunch on a school trip. There were other songs over the years “Bad Girls”, “The Wanderer”, “She Works Hard for the Money”, “This Time I Know It’s for Real”. But I was a rocker, I would hear these songs but didn’t listen to them. Knew she was highly regarded, but her music wasn’t really in my wheel house.

Then, May 0f 2012. The news of her passing. There had been nothing about her illness and no one was expecting. Her passing hits a lot of people very hard. But for me, yes, it’s always sad when someone dies, but it was just a news story. And like most news stories, they go by and soon fade away.

And now we come back to a Target commercial with a song from the past that took me down a road I was not expecting to walk. I learned she was a world class vocalist, one of the greatest. I learned she was a kind, charming, humorous and grounded person. I learned she had legions of adoring fans and she adored them back. I learned she touched lives all around her, those that she knew and millions more she did not.  

I learned to miss Donna Summer.

I understand why many people were sad at her passing. I understand why many people miss her talent. I understand how she touched so many. I understand that many people lost a part of their lives on a day in May of 2012.

I now understand what she meant to them.

Ironically, one of the last videos I watched was part of the last performance she gave. It was only a few months before she passed, and undoubtedly, suffering from cancer at that point. But she belted out “On the Radio” with all the power, emotion, range and perfection as she had decades earlier. She still had it. That impressed me and, in retrospect, made me sad, knowing she would soon no longer be with us. Her voice never wavered for all of her career. Even near the end. Her voice remained powerful, emotional, perfect with all that range. That is amazing in and of itself. How the hell did I miss this for forty plus years???

I’ve only discovered but a wee bit about the woman. But from listening to (and not just hearing) her music, reading fan comments and comments from people who actually knew her, she seemed like someone that would make a really good friend. Not that I ever was or would have been, lol. She was kind, warm, funny and grounded. If there is an afterlife, and I make it there, she would be someone I would like to meet. But it’s a good thing the afterlife lasts an eternity, because I imagine the line to meet her is universally long. Better get a ticket as soon as I arrive.

I must confess, the further I walked down this road and the more I read, watched and learned, I would become sad, knowing what was to transpire. I felt like I had gained and lost a friend within the span of a week. In one interview, she was talking about how she wanted to keep singing into her 90's. And that was heartbreaking. But she left a lot for us to listen to. A legacy that'll last far into the future.

Oh yeah, there is that Sam Smith cover of “I Feel Love”. Also one of the last videos I watched. The vocals mimicked the original pretty well and the technical aspects of the song are very well done. In and of itself, the cover is fine. I started scrolling down the comments afterward and noticed one that stated they were some parts of the song they liked, but that it lacked .. something. To which I replied, “It lacks Donna Summer.”

That’s how I learned to miss Donna Summer.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Donna_Summer

LaDonna Adrian Gaines (1948-2012)

Dec 10, 2019

A followup "Why I Still Miss Donna Summer" : https://xraytwo.tumblr.com/post/616556114955403264/another-longer-read-indulge-me-why-i-still

[abstractanalogue]

Lexicon of Sound review & interview

As I was trying to listen to hypnagogia by Dublin’s Lexicon of Sound it struck me how revolutionary it is to be making ambient music these days. This is an album that has to be listened to without distractions, preferably on your own, on reasonable speakers and in a comfortable room. Not as I at first impatiently tried to do in the car rushing to work, changing back and forth to the latest news on Morning Ireland while skipping around the CD. Also, sadly for me not on the LOS Bandcamp page either as this entailed computer speakers and other pages open on my browser to pull my attention away. The world we live in is fast and we need to do a lot to keep up, to switch off (something I normally do in nature) is essential of course and this album offers you that chance too if you give it the time and respect it deserves.

hypnagogia is actually Colm Fitzpatrick's fifth album since he began to use this as a moniker in 2018. I've interviewed him below and I'm so glad I contacted him directly as I needed to get a sense of who the person is behind this very pure music. I had come across his music before but really this was just his bass playing in The Sewing Room. In fact I wrote a piece about them for AA here. I kind of knew he had been in Hey Paulette in the 1980s but this was really before my time. He has also been involved with Villa R and I Am The Waltons, two bands I'm actually not familiar with.

It seems like Lexicon of Sound is the music he has wanted to make his whole life and I'm very glad he has reached that goal. I want to incorporate a review into this piece so bear with me until you get to his own words (be sure to play the track from it above). 

Hypnagogia is the transitional state of consciousness between wakefulness and sleep which we are all familiar with, even though we might not know the term for it. One of my favourite acts Dopplereffekt have already used this as a release title so I did have an idea what the concept for the album might be. This in-between state very much makes sense (to me) on the brief opening 'The Omadon', which skews our musical expectations with its disjointed medley (from everyday life?) but reality is already behind us as 'Calling Mumba Devi' quickly envelopes us in its lush sound and we hear what might be a confused Japanese man on some kind of internal answering machine. 'Doctor Mesmer' brings us even further away from wakefulness, somewhere deep in space with tinges of Brian Eno, which is a great thing to have tinges of. A long time ago I read a book The Wizard from Vienna (1975) all about Dr. Mesmer and the hypnotic state he could put his patients in. I don't believe he was a charlatan, he just cured his patients the only way he knew how and came up with a theory that was false. 

By the time we reach the title track (the biggie at over 10 mins) it’s feeling much more oceanic and long enough to truly get lost in. 'All At Sea' might be my favourite track with it’s more optimistic rising tones. These long sustained notes hover eternally, this is the sound of forever. ‘Saint Agatha's Bells' is the only one for me that could pass as New Age but so what, play it when you next do some yoga and it will work a treat. It’s those damn Tibetan bowls, very hard to hear without thinking of a YouTube meditation video. 'Abdul's Android' is probably my second favourite and has an electronic Eastern sheen to it that sounds so modern. In a parallel universe or maybe even this one, it could be the theme tune to a future Bladerunner. 'Dark Paradise' is some kind of sinister step carefully moment just before you wake and another potentially good movie scene soundtrack. 'Exit 13' and we are almost out, a return to the confused Japanese man as guitar textures enter for the first time and it's a very beautiful thing indeed. Definitely an album for me to return to.

Where does your interest in ambient music come from?

It started in the early nineties when I was in my mid 20s. I have a terrible memory, but for some reason I have a good recollection of this. Hey Paulette had broken up a few years previously, and I was by that time playing with “I Am The Waltons” a grungy, loud alternative pop band. The singer in the band, Aiden, told me one of his favourite artists that he was listening to at the time was Harold Budd, who I had never heard of. He said I should check him out. I'm not sure how he figured I would like Harold’s music but he was right, I loved it. So it kind of grew from there. I started collecting Harold Budd’s albums and through his collaborations I discovered Brian Eno and started collecting his albums, you will see a pattern emerging here ! I moved on to Steve Roach, Tom Heasley (Ambient Trombone !)  Wendy Carlos and John Foxx amongst others. So I've been listening to that kind of music for close to 30 years I guess.

Do you miss writing in a more collaborative song based form as you did in Hey Paulette and The Sewing Room, which do you prefer?

No, I much prefer working alone. I have come to realise this over the years. When I was playing in bands all those years ago, I never thought of myself as a songwriter, and I never thought I would ever become one. The way it worked in all the bands I played in, was that the guitarist and the singer would write the songs, the rest of us (Drums, Bass, other guitarists etc) would add our piece to it, that's it. If it worked out and we all liked it we would keep it. On a rare occasion some songs would come to fruition from jamming, but it was rarely a productive way of songwriting for any of the bands I was in. Two notable exceptions to this were Drugfree from The Sewing Room, and also Fear of Parked Cars from I Am The Waltons, I remember these tracks being a true group effort.

You are already up to release number nine of LOS. Instrumental music can be tricky to edit and differentiate tracks from each other and have each album stand out.

I can get a bit defensive when people say I have released so much music in such a short time. Maybe I'm being a bit paranoid but I start thinking people are saying to themselves “It can’t be much good, he has released all this music in about one year !” and I worry that maybe they won’t take it seriously. But I'm very serious about my music. I'm usually a bit tongue in cheek about it when I talk about it on Facebook or Twitter, which does not help but that's just my personality I think. I guess this is a good opportunity to explain how I got to record and release so much music in apparently so little time. In 2017 I decided to convert my little attic in my house into a place to store my basses and gear etc. In this small house, there are myself, my wife Bernie and our son Joseph and all his toys, so space is at a premium ! By the start of 2018 I had the attic looking really good, Velux window in, wooden floor down, carpeted walls, mood lighting, nice laptop for recording, and the obligatory Persian rug. I said to myself this is a really cool little space where I can have all my gear set up permanently. 

In parallel to all this going on I knew I wanted to start writing and recording music again, I had been away from it for decades and I had a lot of ideas built up inside that I wanted to express, and building the studio only affirmed these feelings. Also going on at this time was the fact that I had taken a break from full time work, an opportunity came along and I grabbed it, it meant I had more free time on my hands. The fact that I had all my gear permanently set up now and I could escape to my little studio at any time I wanted, day or night was a real boon. All these events coming together let me be super productive and do it all at home for free. The kind of music I make lends itself to this kind of home setup, no drum kits, PA, or amps needed ! So from the Spring of 2018 I started working, and I found the ideas and sounds just flooded out, it was a great feeling. As I went along I learned more about the recording process and refined my workflow. Month by month I would buy more outboard gear, keyboards, guitars, effects etc to add to my arsenal of sound making equipment. It was in the summer of 2020 that I decided to put all I had done up to that time up on all the streaming platforms. My Nephew Daniel is a musician and he told me about Distrokid. It was a cheap, painless, easy way to get my music up on all the streaming platforms, so I went ahead and released the first 6 albums around June and July of 2020 I think. That was 2 years of solid work. I have done 1 Album and 2 EP’s since then over the last year. Lockdown has also helped in that regard.

What are you working from as a starting point with your albums/musical pieces, the sound itself or an idea? How do you know when you have strayed into 'New Age' territory or does that bother you?

It depends, sometimes I start with a word or phrase, sometimes an image, and sometimes a scenario. I think it's important to have some kind of a seed of an idea in your head before you start something new, otherwise you're wasting your time and you will flounder. I think to myself, what would this situation or place or feeling sound like ? Some of my albums are obviously thematic. Longwave came about because of my love of radio, especially AM radio. My eldest sisters used to tune in to Radio Luxembourg on a Grundig portable in the 1970s on a Friday or Saturday night while they were getting ready to go out. I remember it vividly. Later in the 80s and 90s it was my turn to tune in to BBC1 and John Peel via AM to listen to him playing Hey Paulette or The Sewing Room. The Lighthouse is another obviously thematic album stemming from my love of the sea and er…. Lighthouses ! I've always loved them and find them to be spiritual and magical places for me. If someone wants to call it New Age I don't care, I'm just happy they are listening to it.

Do you have plans to take Lexicon of Sound onto the live stage in the future?

This is a short answer, and that is no. I don't think ambient music or musical soundscapes translate well into the live environment. People will talk, go to the bar, make noise etc, it just would not work for me. I want people to hear my music in the best possible scenario, sitting down, listening to it on a CD, on a good pair of headphones. I suffer quite badly with anxiety also, so if I was to perform live any venue I would go to would not have enough toilet paper in stock to cope with my situation.

What are you using to generate your sounds, are there guitars in there? 

I try to make my sounds sound original and made from scratch, no sound I record is off the shelf. Yes, I have recently started using guitars, although I am by no means a guitarist. That is an area I have yet to venture into fully. I have 2 old 80s keyboards specifically chosen for their ease of use and the fact they also offer full control of the sound wave generated, all with real time control in the form of knobs and sliders, no scrolling through menus etc. For me, it needs to be simple and fast. The same goes for effects, I use high quality guitar pedals that offer studio quality sound but the interface needs to be fully manual, again knobs and sliders all the way, and the pedal is a perfect format for that. I have other sound generating tools in software format where you can quite radically alter any given sound or sample. I also have some other rather unusual sound generators in hardware form that are quite unique, which I have collected from boutique makers over recent years. Then I have my bass guitars of course which I rarely use actually, with the exception of tracks like Dark Paradise and Exit 13 where they are heavily effected but are the main instrument in the track.

How important is the physical format for music? What made you decide to release all LOS albums as CDs. 

The physical format is vital for me. An album is not released unless it's on CD or Vinyl as far as I'm concerned. I need to hold a physical object in my hand, and be able to look at it, keep it, and collect them.

What is next in the series/pipeline?

Next for me is a break from writing and recording to curate and promote my music. I will be releasing all albums and EP’s on CD over the next 18 months on my own label, Lighthouse Records, so that's an ongoing thing starting with this album (hypnagogia) I need to start promoting my music, getting more airplay, getting more album reviews and Interviews like this I guess. It's the one thing I have neglected up until now. I find myself looking abroad more often than not in that regard. I have always found the Irish music scene on the whole to be a bit incestuous, clicky and small to be brutally honest. I'm in the process of drawing up various kinds of lists of people and media outlets, radio stations etc around the world to send my music to. All of that is going to keep me very busy for a while. Then maybe next year, I'll start venturing up into my tiny attic studio again, and try to make some new sounds and paint a few more sonic landscapes that hopefully some people will enjoy.

You can sample and order Lexicon of Sound’s latest releases hypnagogia and Edge of the World EP and more on Bandcamp. Until 2022 he will gradually be releasing all of the LOS albums and EPs on CD on his own Lighthouse Records. Follow him on Twitter here.

[destinationweddinganovel]

Early October 2016 - The Date From Hell

MARISSA

I step into Alfredo’s Eatery and shudder. The décor is so outdated it could pass for Retro. Almost. I look around for anyone staring expectantly at me, fearing my dinner date is going to be just as bad. I haven’t seen Robert since high school. A lot can change in fifteen-odd years. A man waves at me from the table for two and I fight the urge to duck back out. Wow, he did not age well! He has half the hair and twice the paunch as the Robert I thought I was meeting tonight. He looks more like Robert’s dad than the cute football player in my grade twelve economics class. What the hell happened to him?

“Hi … Marissa?”

“Yes,” I say, hesitating.

“You’re looking good these days. Come a long way since those braces in eighth grade.” Gemma’s husband insisted we’d be a great match. Shows what he knows. “You should go back to having bangs, though. Just because Suzie accused you of copying her doesn’t mean they didn’t suit you.”

Ah, yes, Suzie, who chased after Gavin the entire time I was seeing him, is totally who I want to reminisce about. Thanks for the reminder. I shrug. “I don’t remember her.”

“Hey, how about when you and Gemma used to stalk Daniel? Turns out he’s a flaming fag.”

What! I can’t believe he just said that! I don’t remember him being outright offensive. Holy Jeez. Everyone knew Daniel was gay. So what? Most of my blog readers think I make up all my date-from-hell stories. I wish! Already feeling stupid for coming here, I glance around at the gaudy plastic flowers on the arbourite tables, chintzy curtains not quite covering floor-to-ceiling windows, then at the threadbare carpet. Ugh. It’s impossible to tell where the blue-green pattern ends and the ground-in stains begin.

The double-doors from the kitchen burst open. A gum-snapping waitress heads our way followed by a tinny tomato smell. She delivers plates of soupy lasagne to a neighbouring table. The salads are piles of iceberg lettuce topped with shavings of purple cabbage. This is insane. The only thing keeping me here is my own cowardice. (And a new subject to blog about. I haven’t updated my site for months.)

“Listen,” I say, torturing my brain for one of Gemma’s ready-made excuses. Lack of practice makes me a terrible liar but I cannot take a whole meal with this guy. Especially in this restaurant. “My grandmother’s visiting from Mexico. I totally forgot. We’re supposed to … meet up for dinner and …”

He stares at me blankly, though I catch a glint in his eye. I almost wonder if he met up with me only so he could tell all his friends about how pathetic my life has turned out. So many people are dying to know why I came back to Dorchester, but it’s none of their damned business. “I thought it’d be better to cancel in person. I’m so sorry. Good to see you again, Robert, but I’ve gotta go!”

I bolt out onto Fort Street like I’ve been shot from a crossbow. I don’t even remember pushing the door open. My eyes sting as a life of failed relationships, bad dates, and endless missed chances pile into my memory like old student loan debt. The friends who schemed like Machiavelli are living perfect Facebook lives while I’m back in the same old town I’d tried leaving behind over a decade ago. Thirty-five, single, and stuck in a dead-end job. Men complain nice guys finish last, well so do nice girls!

Okay, deep breath. I still have a few good friends, my parents are healthy, and I look young for my age. I am also overjoyed to be away from the maddening crowds and two-hour subway commutes. There. Slowly I’m convincing myself I made the right choice. I turn onto Genesee Road and text a reply to Gemma, who said she’d be at our favourite old haunt, the Black Cadillac Lounge. Maybe my night won’t be a total bust. And then I reach the entrance marked with a chalky sandwich board sign.

It’s Karaoke night.

The same failed rock stars performing the same lame tunes over and over remind me why I left this town to begin with. I would have stayed away if Brooklyn rents were less insane. Or Connor less of a lying, cheating scumbag. Or if a client hadn’t royally fucked me over. I try not to rake over past mistakes, but it’s hard. Meanwhile a woman’s singing Smells Like Teen Spirit as if it were Madame Butterfly. For all I know that’s the highlight of her week. This is Dorchester, after all.

“Hah! You did go to Alfredo’s. Was he as bad as the restaurant?” Gemma appears on the sidewalk and takes a drag from her vape pipe. If only I could look like her. I’ve always wished I had wider eyes, raven hair, more prominent cheekbones. She’s also mastered all the expressions needed for dealing with jerks and dumbasses in life. Before she was married, this way of crinkling her nose and narrowing her eyes made any creep back off. Now she just shows them her ring finger like it’s the middle one.

“On my blog, he’s going to be ‘the pustule’.” The worse the prospective Romeo, the worse the name I give him, as my three dozen Dating in Dorchester fans have come to expect. I’ve noticed a trend: the suckier my experience, the more readers stick around. When a date goes well, they drop off. They must love it when I suffer. Maybe I turned down the wrong boy in seventh grade and even he’s long forgotten me, but the hex remains. Karma isn’t a bitch. She bears a grudge for eternity.

I then fill Gemma in. “I told Doug he’s a woman-hating dick. He never listens,” is her response. “You should join a co-ed league. Or come with us to a football game!”

“I hate sports. I want a guy with similar interests, at least.”

“Come inside then, there are tons of single men out tonight.” She hauls the door open to a sea of cheap fedoras and Paul Bunyan beards. Tonight, this place is the ninth circle of Hipster Hell.

“Kind of a young crowd, don’t you think?” I also see way too many man buns in here. She gives me that frog look, where her eyes bug out and her mouth forms a wide, thin line. “Fine,” I huff. We wend our way to where Pierre and Steph guard two empty seats. The wannabe soprano has finished and the singer who just started is actually good. While pulling in my chair, I glance up at the man on stage.

Omigod is he ever gorgeous. Wow.

The room shifts and the light takes on a warm sparkle. He has the look of a boy band idol all grown up, with his hair combed up away from his face. Unlike most of the men in this dump serving Coors Light at micro-brew prices, he wears a fitted suit. Maybe there isn’t such a thing as love at first sight, but there is definitely magic. I can feel it in the air, sizzling around me. He leans against the microphone stand as if it’s a long-lost lover. He smiles. His teeth are perfect. Under the theatre lights his wide, deep set eyes are the most incredible shade of––

Speaker feedback pierces my reverie, shattering it like a bullet through crystal. “Thank you, Alex. Always a treat to have you here. Your song choice, not so much.” DJ Pete takes the microphone from him. “Next up is Tammy. Where are you, Tam-may.”

Alex. I watch him head to the bar. Rising out of my seat, I clutch the straps of my purse and freeze. A guy this hot has to be taken. Especially in this Podunk town where people marry fresh out of high school. Never mind, I have nothing to lose except for a little pride. I sling my purse onto my shoulder and worm my way to the bar. I take a sidelong glance at Alex, not wanting to be too obvious I’m checking him out. With each look I steal, I notice something else I like. Nice shoes, black leather with a slightly pointed toe. His body is lean, athletic. His nose is perfectly straight with a smattering of freckles.

“You and your dumb songs,” Matt says while pouring my mystery man’s rye and ginger. Still tending bar after all these years. “I know you got better taste than that. I seen your CD collection!”

“You’ve also seen the inside of my fridge. Lots of cheese,” Alex says, grinning and drumming his fingers on the bar. Damn, he’s cute. Okay, breathe. I can do this. He seems nice.

“I don’t see you around so much these days,” Matt says.

“Hard to get out lately,” Alex says, darkness clouding his sunny smile. “Work. Things. You know.”

Matt takes Alex’s twenty and slaps his change on the bar. “Say hi to Chris for me!”

A musky, ambrosial scent wafts in the air. Taking a deep breath to settle my nerves, I lift my hand to tap his shoulder and––

“Hell-o, Marissa!” Josh grins, showing all of his teeth. “I knew you were back! I called your parents’ and they said you were still in Manhattan. So I said, ‘Really? I could swear I saw her in the Walgreens on Lincoln last week!’”

“So they did.” Perfect, just perfect. I’ve been avoiding Josh ever since I got back to Dorchester. This is what I get for sleeping with a guy because I felt sorry for him, just once, twelve years ago. I sigh as I watch Alex sidle around to the far side of the bar. He begins chatting to a guy wearing baggy jeans and a Buffalo Sabres hoodie. A ropey gold chain hangs down his hairy neck. Dorchester’s uniform.

“So what are you up to this weekend?”  

I sigh, my eyes fixed on Alex. “I’m helping a friend shop for a new couch.”

“What about next weekend? Oh wait, then we’re getting close to Christmas. I spend it with my sister’s family in Ellicottville. They have a condo there. You could come! We can hit the slopes or—”

“I’m more of a beach person. I can’t stand the cold.” I wish he’d get the hint already.

“My grandparents live in Naples. The one in Florida. Most people think Italy. Naples is on the gulf side. The water at the beach is shallow so even in January the water is warm and last year I …”

Enough zoning out boring men because I’m too nice to tell them to buzz off. I’d sooner live out my days in a homeless shelter than settle down with this dork. I begin making my way toward Alex and a hand clasps my arm. “Hey, it’s rude to wander off in the middle of a conversation!”

“My friend’s heading out and I …” My heart sinks as I watch Alex pushing his way toward the exit.

“Hey. Buddy. Leave her alone. She obviously has zero interest in talking to you.”

Hurray, it’s my knight in shining … Sabres hoodie. Josh lumbers off, muttering douchebag as he gets out of earshot. “Thanks,” I say, forcing a smile. This is the story of my life the past two years: fending off men I’m totally unattracted to, and invisible to the ones I like.

“Don’t worry, I’m married.” He holds up his pudgy hand for me to see his wide gold wedding band. “That clown used to hassle my sister all the time. My name’s Reggie.”

“Thank you, Reggie.” So I can be a little presumptuous.

“Every Thursday is my boy’s night out and the wife does her thing on Saturdays. It helps I’m with Alex ninety percent of the time. We’ve been buddies since the second grade.”

Alex. I have the same sick feeling you get when you reach the top of the roller coaster and it’s about to drop straight down. “Was he the guy in a suit, who was up on stage earlier?”

“Yup. Always in a suit. Most of the time he’s just getting off work. His career keeps him crazy busy, too busy to meet very many people.”

“Is that so?” My phone buzzes. Gemma texted, wishing me luck. She means well, but she’s clueless.

“What are you drinking?” Reggie elbows me, smiling slyly. “I saw you earlier. Checking out the ‘guy in the suit’.”

My face burns with embarrassment as he eyes me up and down.

“He likes his brunettes you know. You’re also a good height, keep yourself slim. You wouldn’t think a guy like him as trouble meeting women, but he’s kinda shy. Very shy, actually.”

I’m not that slim, but it’s nice of him to say so. A newer bartender wipes down the counter and asks, “Can I get you anything?”

“I’ll have another.” Reggie widens his eyes, points at me and says, “You?”

“A cranberry and vodka,” I say, doing my best to keep my grin subtle. Inside, I’m bursting, and dying to find out more. Finally my luck may be turning around and screw it, for once I am going to let myself get my hopes up. Enough Roberts and Joshes, I deserve better.  

[jackcliu]

On tokens, markets, and a path to a real-time economy

Two years ago on March 1, 2019, I posted a Letter to my future self to the Bitcoin blockchain. This is the story of that letter, one where I didn’t write a word, and how two years later, the dream is still alive. There is an actual path with tokens and markets to make utopia a reality, and my case for what that might look like. 



About a month prior to March 1, 2019, I had privately begun telling my close friends, colleagues, and family that I was going to be making a significant career and life change and dedicate the next chapter of my career towards building exclusively for the Bitcoin SV blockchain. You can guess the confused looks and concerns people had about what it was I was doing. Did I lose my mind? To be fair, I still get those messages today. I knew what I had envisioned when I first read the white paper back in 2013 and somewhere along that journey, the crypto industry had taken a path that veered dramatically from the one I had imagined. With Bitcoin having course corrected twice already via hard forks, I wanted and needed a guiding compass - a North Star. That’s when I had the idea to write a letter to my future self.

I confided in one of my best friends, Jackie to help me write it. It was a busy month for me, my mind was all over the place and I needed help. Over two afternoons, I shared with Jackie what I wanted to say, what was the possible world that I imagined. To her I must have been repeating myself since she and many of my friends had heard this for a decade. The future would bring Proof of Work from a term to describe a computer science thing to one that would describe the workings of the entire global economy and drive a seismic shift in how value was created and how we humans would interact and cooperate with one another. I wanted her to include a thank you to some people who helped me along the way - titans of the industry whom I was fortunate to cross paths and work with. Jesse Powell, gave me my first job at Kraken. CZ hired me to OKCoin in 2014. Star believed in me and gave me so many growth opportunities. At Circle, I worked with my long time friend Dan, who would go on to create CMS. A few days later, Jackie sent me a draft. I was pretty shocked at first, thinking hey this doesn’t even say Bitcoin in it. Where are all the names I wanted to include. Then I read it another time and when she asked if I wanted any changes or if the approach was right, I said, “Let’s not change a single word”. It was different, it was exceptional, to me it was perfect. I sent the letter internally as part of my Circle resignation email, flew off to San Antonio with my parents to watch the retirement ceremony of my favourite basketball player Manu Ginobili, and then a month later on April Fools Day, RelayX was launched.

Having this Letter out there has served me well. Nobody could have expected the course of events of the past two years both within BitCoin, and the world at large. Politics, COVID-19, money-printing, delistings, court cases, you name it. Without it as an anchor, I might have lost sight of the bigger picture. If you would have asked me then what BitCoin would look like today, I would have predicted a 100x rosier picture than the current situation. Despite most of the boom in the cryptocurrency industry having not occurred on the Bitcoin SV blockchain, the rapid adoption of blockchain and digital currencies from NFTs to DeFi, to institutions putting BTC on the balance sheet shows the underlying movement is in full force. Just this week, I watched sharpshooter JJ Redick utter the words “non fungible token, and blockchain technology” on his podcast talking about NBA Topshot. That’s incredible.

In the letter are the words - “Your world will be frictionless and marked by truth, freedom and fairness. Your world will truly be one that is defined by human imagination and honest work.”

I am making the case for tokens as the critical solution to a real-time economy. I want to break the spell of the narrow definition of tokens that has bounded the Bitcoin SV ecosystem. For much of the past two years, there appears to be two camps in BSV when it comes to tokens. The dominant one being we want only regulated tokens, security tokens, tokens backed by real assets, with real utility, that real businesses and enterprises can use to make their businesses more efficient. The other, perhaps out of jealousy for what’s going on in other blockchains being let’s just port those Ethereum ERC20’s over and let it run wild for it might pump the BSV price! Funny thing is neither has happened as developers are busy debating whether tokens should be on layer 0 or layer 1 or layer 100 but that’s a topic for another day. Both views are myopic. 



Tokens are going to be a much bigger deal on BitCoin than anyone might imagine. 

How many websites are there on the internet? I looked it up recently and the answer is 1.7Bn. How many token contracts are there on the Ethereum chain? The answer is 350,000. 



Websites are kind of hard to set up - you have to purchase a domain name, at least use a website template creator, and there isn’t that much use for getting one for the average person. Not when you can have an Instagram page, a Facebook account, a Twitter handle, a Medium blog without having your own site. Yet there are 1.7Bn of them! Ethereum tokens are prohibitively expensive mining fee wise to generate. Out of interest, I asked one of the devs who minted the original USDC contract during my days at Circle to find the transaction. It cost 0.44 ETH. At today’s prices that’s well over $500 to create a token. Yet there are 350,000 contracts!



I would wager there will be over 100Bn unique tokens on BitCoin and I’d guess higher but I don’t want to be outside the bounds of the very Overton window I’m creating.

It takes a few seconds to issue a token on BitCoin and at current mining fees, less than a tenth of a cent to issue. If I’m a store owner, I might issue a different gift card a week for the various deals I have going on. If I’m an artist, a different NFT for each piece of artwork. Neither the store owner nor the artist needs more than one website and you start to see the math.

If reading this, you still think tokens are going to be contained to some narrow definition of ‘security’ tokens, or NASDAQ like tokens, or fiat currency tokens, realise it’s like saying the internet will only have The New York Times or CNN or some licensed officially approved site. It’s ok if not every account on Instagram is world class photography. Not every Twitter account is going to be insightful (that’s clear) and that’s ok. In a world of 100Bn unique tokens, You bet there’s going to be a great deal of useless ones and a pretty large number of scams. Just like there are websites that are phishing for your passwords, websites with illegal content, and websites with viruses in them. Over time, services emerged to protect you by blocking, or warning you about potentially dangerous websites.

What’s the bigger picture and what do tokens have to do with a real-time economy? I’ve made the case for there being a ton of tokens. Does that mean it’s just going to be a Coinmarketcap with a lot more pages? An exchange with a lot more trading pairs? No, a lot more exciting than that.

A world with 100Bn tokens means every single asset, service, good, company, project, video, post and many more abstract things than one can imagine is going to have a dynamic, live price. It’s not about the tokens, it’s about the markets. Today, you visit a restaurant and you check Yelp to see if has a good review. BSV entrepreneurs are making some new review site but with reviews posted on the blockchain thinking this is the problem that needs solving. “Immutable reviews”. Much more valuable than a review or immutable review however is if this particular restaurant’s loyalty token is trading at a premium to the other one next door. There’s actually money on the line. Then after eating, instead of being a foodie with a blog and an Instagram to hype up such restaurant, if you’ve got that talent for knowing what’s going to be the next hot restaurant, you can just buy on the open market more of the restaurant’s tokens. Yes, a local foodie just became an crypto trader. Now you profit when you promote the restaurant on your blog. The chef who started that restaurant instead of using Groupon to attract an initial set of customers who have no loyalty to you, can instead issue 10,000 tokens, where each dish costs 100 tokens. Pretty soon if your food is delicious, those token prices are going to jump. Think Global, Live Local is not just going to do good, it’s going to now make you rich. 



I grew up in a lower middle class first generation immigrant family. I remember being a teenager in those years where oil prices were very volatile as the world approached the idea of “Peak Oil”. We would sometimes drive by a gas station one day where prices were a few cents cheaper than the day before, and even though the tank was half full, we filled up. Other days, the warning light would be on, but we held off for another day to fill up the tank in hopes prices would come down. Is this speculation on oil prices bad? Another fun memory I had was going grocery shopping with my folks and my favourite cookies were the Chip Ahoy Crunchy chocolate. Eating those with milk is probably half the reason for my height. Once in a while they would be on sale but next to them were the No-Name brand versions of the same cookies. Chip Ahoys were definitely better but were they $2/100grams better? No. We would calculate every time to decide which we would buy. Is this speculation on cookie price bad? How come other goods and services in the economy didn’t fluctuate in price? That’s what’s always fascinated me. I knew they would if they could. With Bitcoin, it was possible.

Tokens on Bitcoin with the perpetual scaling design of Bitcoin where it isn’t the holder that’s rewarded (Proof of Stake) but rather those contributing to scaling the network (Proof of Work) will lead to the formation of markets where markets were too inefficient to exist - unlocking trillions of value in the process. 



A fully tokenised economy makes everything efficient, fair, honest, and real-time. I don’t mean efficient like fast transactions or cheap mining fees. It’s the economy that will be efficient. You won’t need to be a big grocery chain or a big oil company or big tech company with financial analysts, and big data and machine learning folks in order to know what to set the price of a Chips Ahoy or a Gallon of oil or surge pricing on a taxi ride. It’ll be orders of magnitudes better than that and for every person on earth because it’s all going to be open, issuable, transferable, tradeable. You won’t be checking page 978,950 of Coinmarketcap. You won’t be scrolling to AHOY/USDT on an exchange. I predict all of this will happen without you realising that it did and all our lives will improve as a result.

For those who immediately think of the regulatory ramifications of this, I’ve thought the same. In 2015, while leading OKCoin, I led our initiative to become the first international benefactors of Coin Center - the industry body working with regulators and governments. I am a minority seed round investor in Chainalysis which looks for criminal activity onchain. I look forward to working with all those who would like to embrace innovation while having an eye on ensuring an orderly, legal transition to this future.

I could not be more excited to support the emerging token projects on BitCoin, through building products, investment, advice, or even in spirit. 

Bitcoin is plumbing - just plumbing where billions of trades and speculation down to the satoshi will be happening every second.












[alleyblack2-blog]

14 Great Philly Restaurants We Wish Hadn’t Closed

Food & Drink

From long-lived greasy spoons to concepts from hotshot chefs who flamed out, we're remembering these much-loved spots taken from us too soon.

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Little Pete’s Diner

Philly has been in the midst of a long-lived restaurant boom that shows no signs of slowing. But amid the onslaught of new restaurants opening all over the city year after year, there are the fallen soldiers: old-school spots that got priced out due to rising rents, hotshot chefs whose ambition outstripped their business sense (or maybe just their luck), and concepts that made great food but, for whatever reason, just didn’t take. They live on in the form of dead Yelp pages and in our memories. Here’s a list of some of the bygone Philadelphia restaurants we miss the most.

Kanella South | Facebook

The Cooler Kanella

Kanella South Closed in: 2018 With Kanella South, it finally felt like Konstantinos Pitsillides finally had the right tools — a spit, a wood-burning oven — to really show off his skills. The Queen Village space was just gorgeous, too. But tax issues forced the spot to close earlier this year, which is a shame — Philly’s Greek scene is in something of a shambles (though we’re optimistic about the upcoming Koukouzeli), so it was exciting to see a concept pushing the envelope. Luckily, you can still get that Cypriot goodness at Kanella Grill at 10th and Spruce.

The Everyman Diner

Little Pete’s Closed in: 2017 The iconic 24-hour diner at 17th and Chancellor was one of the dwindling number of places in the heart of Center City where folks from all walks of life could congregate over a plate of scrapple or corned beef. Accessible, welcoming spots like Little Pete’s pump the lifeblood of a city, and it seems like there are fewer and fewer of them every year. Now, we’ll have the opposite — a luxury hotel erected by New York developers — on a spot that many Philadelphians consider hallowed ground.

The Italian Spot That Felt Like Italy

Modo Mio Closed in: 2017 Peter McAndrews’s Modo Mio didn’t feel like an Italian restaurant — it felt like eating in Italy. It helped put Girard Avenue on the city’s dining radar a decade ago, and that highly affordable, Best of Philly-worthy tasting menu was a crazy good deal (and just crazy good). But problems with the logistics of the space and rent hikes got to be too much for the chef, who’s still got Paesano’s, Monsu, and Heffe Tacos. At least another great concept took Modo Mio’s place at 2nd and Girard: Cadence, our pick for 2018’s Best Farm-to-Table Restaurant.

The Soul Food Dive Bar

Elena’s Soul Lounge Closed in: 2012 According to neighborhood lore, the West Philly building home to Elena’s Soul had housed a bar or nightclub continuously for 104 years before a fire on Christmas Eve in 2012 consumed the building. In its last incarnation, old heads from the Leroy’s Showcase Lounge days drank alongside members of the queer punk bands playing shows upstairs. It was the kind of spot where everyone felt at home, the drinks were cheap, and the food was simple but delicious. Booker’s has filled the soul food void in the neighborhood with its upscale take, but there’s nothing quite like enjoying a Citywide alongside a platter of top-notch fried chicken, collards, and candied yams in a dark bar with your neighbors belting karaoke in the background.

The Fat Ham’s hot chicken | Photo by Vanessa Beahn

The Spot That Nailed Southern Dining

The Fat Ham Closed in: 2017 We’ll always love the Fat Ham for its hot chicken, but the memories are bittersweet: chef-owner Kevin Sbraga’s empire grew too big too quickly, and not long after the flagship Fat Ham shuttered, the rest of his concepts went with it. Now, the chef is attached to the upcoming Fitler Club, and yet another concept, Tipsy Bistro, has opened in the Fat Ham’s former home.

The Petite Portuguese BYO

Koo Zee Doo Closed in: 2013 A 50 Best Restaurants-worthy (rare) Portuguese restaurant in Northern Liberties (rarer) run by a James Beard Award-nominated chef (yep)? How could we not love this place? But after three and a half years, slow weeknights at Koo Zee Doo prompted owners Carla Gonçalves and David Gilbert to close down. The city does have some great Portuguese spots (Cafe Liz and Peruvian hybrid El Balconcito come to mind), but they’re all solidly in North or Northeast Philly. Here’s hoping another Portuguese concept can make it work downtown someday soon.

The Pseudo-BYO from Jose Garces

Garces Trading Co. Closed in: 2018 Before beer and wine were in grocery stores around Philly, there was Garces Trading, a BYO with a then-exciting (and beautiful) wine cellar inside the restaurant, which specialized in gourmet goods and sandwiches with the celebrity chef’s signature touch. But the retail counter was nixed and replaced with a full-service bar 2013 — and earlier this year, the concept became one of the surprisingly few casualties in Garces Group’s recent restructuring due to outstanding debts.

Khmer Kitchen | Photo by Alex Tewfik

The Best Cambodian Spot in Philly

Khmer Kitchen Closed in: 2018 This family-run BYO in Pennsport repped Cambodian cuisine, broadening the scope of the city’s dining scene and serving incredible chicken curry and pleah (spicy raw beef salad with lime, peanuts, and fresh mint) in the process. Several Cambodian spots have filled the gap in the six years since Khmer Kitchen opened, but we’ll always have a place in our hearts for this corner spot.

The Original Chef-y BYO

Django Closed in: 2008 Before there was Aimee Olexy and Stephen Starr — as successful a restaurant business partnership as the city has ever seen — there was Aimee Olexy and Bryan Sikora, chef and Olexy’s then-husband. Django’s homespun chic vibe and killer cheese plate  signaled what was to come. Both Olexy and Sikora have since gone on to better things: he owns concepts in Wilmington and Kennett Square, and she’s become an iconic restaurateur in Philly.

The Farm-to-Table OG

The Farm & Fisherman Closed in: 2016 Why we miss it: Josh and Colleen Lawler’s petite Washington Square West BYO turned out elegant farm-to-table, snout-to-tail fare — they famously had no walk-in refrigeration, meaning that fresh ingredients were constantly coming into the restaurant. Remember when farm-to-table was an exciting new thing rather than a Portlandia punchline? We do, and it was great. But the Lawlers outgrew their downtown space and chose to retool and relocate their farm-fresh ethos to the suburbs. There are now two Farm & Fisherman Taverns, one in Horsham and one in Cherry Hill.

The Midcentury Greasy Spoon

Snow White Closed in: 2011 Philly has lost a lot of its great diners in recent years. Yeah, there’s Delco and Jersey on either side of the city, but still — a major American city needs the accessibility, affordability, and history that a solid long-lived diner can provide. Snow White’s space at 2nd and Market was reopened under the same ownership as Revolution House, a kid-friendly yet upscale spot for pizza, beer, and pub grub, but it just doesn’t have the same cachet.

Taco Angeleno | Facebook

The Great Taco Cart in — Sigh — West Philly

Taco Angeleno Closed in: 2018 West Philly’s lack of great pizza and Mexican fare is widely acknowledged (hey, South Philly has tons of both and is just a quick ride over the Gray’s Ferry bridge). But Taco Angeleno’s straightforward, L.A.-style tacos — flavorful slow-braised meats, a simple toppings bar of chopped onion, radish, cilantro and curtido, and seitan for vegetarians — this is West Philly, after all — filled that void. Owner Vanessa Jerolmack kept prices affordable and turned a once-vacant lot into a family-friendly seasonal  gathering place for the neighborhood, but she made the tough choice to not reopen for the summer season this year. At the same time, she hinted that her taco cart might be back in some form in the future, so we’re holding out hope. 

The Upscale Peruvian Spot

Chifa Closed in: 2013 At Chifa, Jose Garces focused on the relationship between Peruvian cuisine and its Cantonese influence, putting yuca fries, lomo saltado, soup dumplings, and scallion pancakes all on one glorious menu. But Chifa was also the first Garces restaurant to falter, closing after four years in business. Whether that was a sign of things to come with the celebrity chef — Chifa was eventually replaced with Cuban diner Rosa Bianca, another concept that didn’t take — or it just opened a decade or so before its time, it would have been nice for Peruvian fare to take hold in the city back then.

The Neighborhood Hangout

Mémé Closed in: 2012 A beloved neighborhood spot (Fitler Square) serving quality New American fare is a beautiful thing. And apparently, making killer fried chicken will make folks fondly remember your restaurant for years after it folds. After closing Mémé, chef-owner David Katz has been a culinary director at Honeygrow and is now spearheading Capogiro’s nationwide expansion. And the space at 22nd and Spruce became Fitler Dining Room, which was then transformed into its current occupant, Trattoria Carina — another beloved neighborhood spot.

Source: https://www.phillymag.com/foobooz/2018/09/26/best-closed-restaurants-philadelphia/

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REVIEW

One Tough Cowboy by Lora Leigh & Veronica Chadwick

Moving Violation Book #1

Action-packed suspense-filled murder mystery with a spicy romance running through the story...fun read that kept me up way past my bedtime.

Samantha left Deerhaven over a decade ago but has returned to bury her aunt and also find out who killed her. She has a job in Detroit on the police force and has taken a couple of weeks of to see if she can find the murderer. There have actually been three possible murders in town of people who were close friends and Sheriff Hunter Steele smells something fishy going on.

Samantha was young and a thorn in Hunter’s side before she left but she is all grown up now and the chemistry is strong and potent. They agree to look for the murderer and find out what is wrong in town and as they do so they grow closer every minute. This story has corruption, drug and human trafficking, terrorists, abuse, a stalker and a HEA for Samantha and Hunter but FIRST they have to get out of a sticky situation with the help of a few other law enforcement personnel.

The story never really said who the murderer was though the reason why the people were killed is made known and, the young child heard in the back of a camper was never mentioned as found or not so there were a few loose ends that were not tied up in a bow...perhaps they will be when the next book comes out with Jacob, an interesting man indeed, the star in his own book.

Thank you to NetGalley and St. Martin’s Press for the ARC – This is my honest review.

4-5 Stars

ABOUT ONE TOUGH COWBOY:

First in a brand-new series from #1 New York Times bestselling author Lora Leigh and Veronica Chadwick about one man’s pursuit of justice—and unbridled desire. LAW AND ORDER.

For as long as Samantha can remember, Hunter—a man as strong as steel, with a heart of gold—has been her hero. It came as no surprise to Samantha when she found out that the ranch-hardened cowboy who always protected her from bullies went on to become the town’s sheriff. What does surprise her is how incredibly hot he still is. And how much she still wants him… PRIDE AND PASSION And, lo and behold, Hunter still has feelings for Samantha. The long-smoldering heat of their innocent flirtation has grown into a full-raging fire. But when tragedy strikes, and their small-town community is shattered, Hunter vows to do everything he can to keep his childhood sweetheart safe. But can Samantha trust that Hunter has her best interests at heart…and that, after all these years, his love is true?

EXCERPT

He hadn’t changed much. He seemed bigger, his shoulders broader. His signature thick, black hair was cut in a shorter style. As he got closer, Samantha noticed his face had changed quite a bit. Any boyish softness he’d once had was all gone and had been replaced with hard planes and angles, except for his full, well-defined lips. There were fine laugh lines fanning out from the corners of his steel gray eyes. Those eyes were more intense, hard. The easy laughter that lit them when he was younger seemed to be gone.

“Ms. Bell.” He nodded in greeting to the diminutive lady.

“Good of you to come by, Sheriff. Little Samantha is handlin’ all this by herself.” She winked and patted his arm. “She could use a little help, I’m thinkin’.”

Samantha wanted to walk away. She also wanted to throw her arms around Hunter and hold on for dear life. Not just because he still made her heart pound, but because he was a part of her life she thought she’d lost. She wanted to hold on to a stable, warm part of her past where she was happy and safe. Seeing him again brought those memories and emotions all rushing back. “Hey, Sam.” The smooth, deep bass of his voice was

quiet and soothing.

“Hey, Hunter.” His name left her lips with more com- posure than she felt.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to the funeral, but I wanted to come by to extend my condolences, and to see how you’re doin’.” He stepped closer and rubbed her bare upper arm. “You holdin’ up okay?” His hand, a bit rough and callused from real work, was warm, reassuring.

She crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m okay, Hunter, thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Everyone brought food. The dining room table is overflowing. Help yourself.”

He followed her through the living room to the din- ing room. She turned and almost jumped back. He was standing inches away, looking down at her. His brows furrowed, his gaze sharply assessing her. He smelled in- credible, and he stood so close she could feel the heat from his body.

She opened her mouth to say something but forgot what she wanted to say. She must look completely ignorant gaping up at him like that.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Sympathy and con- cern shadowed his expression, softening the harsher lines of his face.

“It’s been a long day. I’m fine, really.” She was a bas- ket case, and not just because of her aunt’s death.

Hunter gave her a gentle smile and pulled out a chair. “No doubt. Sit and talk to me for a while. I haven’t seen you in what? Ten years?”

Samantha welcomed the chance to get off her feet and get away from the crowd for a bit. “Yeah, about ten years, I think.”

He pulled out the chair beside her, turned it toward her, and sat, staring at her solemnly. “I’m real sorry about Dottie.”

“Me too.” She looked into his eyes, assessing whether she could or should continue. “I really didn’t get enough time with her. I’ll always regret that.”

Hunter shook his head. “Sam, you know Dottie thought the world of you. She knew you loved her and she loved you.”

Had she? Samantha couldn’t help but question the ob- servation. School, her career, and far too many emo- tions had seemed to always get in the way of returning to Deerhaven.

“Yes, I know, but I look around at these people and think of how some of them probably knew her even better than I did, her own niece.” Samantha frowned and gestured toward a blue-haired woman sitting on the couch sobbing, clutching another woman’s hand. “Mrs. Holt is devastated.”

She obviously had not talked to her aunt on the phone enough either, because Dottie had never mentioned the other woman.

A small smile touched Hunter’s far-too-sensual lips as he lowered his head and leaned closer. “Sam, Irene Holt never even met Dottie. She attends any and all fu- nerals and wails and carries on like that at every one of ’em.” Amusement touching his gaze.

Samantha looked at him incredulously until he raised his hand and said, “Hand to God. Every one of ’em.”

“Wow.” No wonder her aunt Dottie had never men- tioned the other woman.

“Yep.” Hunter’s smile broadened. “As for the rest of them, they’re just being neighborly or nosy. Most of ’em still remember your family and you. You were pretty hard to forget . . . Pixie Pest.” His brows lifted playfully. Teasingly.

Samantha narrowed her eyes. “Ugh. That nickname.

I don’t know which is worse, that or Sami Jo.”

She protested it. Just as she always had. That flare of warmth she felt whenever it passed his lips was still there, though.

“You earned it.”

“Psh, whatever.” She’d actually worked at it at the time.

Hunter chuckled and she nearly sighed. Lord, she’d missed his laugh, his smile, even the way he’d tease her. She’d missed him.

“Aw, you know I was always fond of you, Pixie. You were a great kid, even if you were a pest that was con- stantly following me around and giving my girlfriends hell.”

She had been such a tomboy with wild, young girl fantasies of being swept off her feet by the cutest boy in Deerhaven, or the whole wide world, for that matter. He’d called her his Pixie Pest whenever he’d seen her and tugged at her long, tangled hair.

“I’m not a kid anymore.” She held his gaze and couldn’t imagine how she’d gotten so bold.

Hunter’s gaze traveled over her body, a single black brow arching slowly in acknowledgment. “I’ve noticed. I’m trying really hard to remember what a pain in the ass you used to be.”

Samantha lifted a brow. “I can still be a pain in the ass.”

“I bet you can.” The look in his eyes was making her feel way too hot, way too needy.

She didn’t want to go there. Not now. After Tom No- vak, the very last thing she needed was another relation- ship. Besides all that, she was here to get answers, not to get laid.

Clearing her throat again, she changed the subject to the one on which she had to keep her focus. “Hunter, what really happened to Aunt Dottie?”

ABOUT THE AUTHORS:

#1 New York Times bestseller Lora Leigh is the author of the Navy SEALS, the Breeds, the Elite Ops, the Callahans, the Bound Hearts, and the Nauti series.

Veronica Chadwick started storytelling when she was a little girl. She was first published in 2004. She lives in Tennessee with three cats, a very spoiled Shih Tzu and two grand dogs. When she’s not writing, she’s hanging out with friends, reading or badly playing video games.

Buy this book: https://us.macmillan.com/books/9781250309488

Author website: https://loraleigh.com/

Author Twitter: @LoraLeigh_1

   @RoniChadwick

Author Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/loraleighauthor/

SMP Romance Twitter: @SMPRomance or @heroesnhearts

SMP Romance Website: https://heroesandheartbreakers.com/

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New Post has been published on http://simplemlmsponsoring.com/attraction-marketing-formula/attraction-marketing/3-steps-to-making-your-new-years-resolution-ideas-stick/

3 Steps to Making Your New Years Resolution Ideas Stick!

It’s that time again!

If you’re anything like most folks, January 1st always brings big aspirations about what’s possible the coming year.

Maybe you’ll…

Hit the gym and lose 15 pounds?

Quit smoking, TV, or carbs?

Spend less time on your phone or Facebook?

Write the next great American novel?

Get your business massively into the black?

Whatever fresh start you’ve got in your sights, I’ve got some sobering news…

New Year’s resolutions are a complete waste of time!

You’ve probably observed the annual pattern of short-lived good intentions over the years, but here are the stats…

According to a recent study from the University of Scranton, only 8% of all people actually achieve their New Year’s resolutions.

The other 92%?

Well, not to sound harsh, but if you could ask each of them personally, they’d surely tell you they couldn’t drop those stubborn 15 pounds because “the gym was always too crowded”; or they’d come up with clever rationalizations to explain how they were always “too busy to read for 30 minutes before bed every night.”

And hey, we’ve all found ourselves making resolutions every year just to see them fade away as time goes by (I’m as guilty as anyone else!)

In fact, most of us are unable to keep up with our resolutions past the first few days of the year…

Studies have shown that close to 70% of people who’ve made New Year’s resolutions will have abandoned them within the first two weeks!

So what’s the difference between those who actually achieve their goals, and those who keep making excuses?

What keeps pushing us off course whenever we THINK we’re on the right track to reaching our goals?

What separates the doers from the dreamers?

You might want to sit down for this one, because…

Your brain is getting in the way of your success!

More specifically, a part of our brain called the “basal ganglia,” which is in charge of certain motor functions, pattern recognition, procedural learning, and, most importantly:

Habit-forming behaviors.

Humans are hardwired to resist changes to our behavior; it’s simply part of our nature.

“Between the great things we cannot do, and the small things we will not do, the danger is that we shall do nothing.” —Adolphe Monod

Now, don’t get me wrong…

This doesn’t mean all your resolutions are doomed from the start.

It just means you’ll have to tackle them from a different angle, one that’s more in-tune with your biochemistry.

Lasting change can only be achieved through the power of HABITS

Those who fail have their minds completely set on these “specific goals,” but they are not aware of the small changes that need to take place in order to actually succeed.

And what’s even worse, this failure to achieve goals plagues every aspect of our lives, from our relationships with friends and family, to our day jobs, and our online businesses!

This might sound cliché, but humans are creatures of habit!

Literally.

Successful people are simply those with successful habits. —Brian Tracy

In his best-selling book, The Power of Habit, author Charles Duhigg tells the story of “Eugene”—a man whose brain was so damaged by a viral infection that he survived with only his short-term memory, and the memories of his life prior to the infection.

That’s a pretty tough situation, but something interesting happened in the final decades of Eugene’s life, when he and his wife moved to be closer to their children.

If asked to draw a simple map of his new home or neighborhood, he couldn’t do it, since he had absolutely no memory of this new location.

However, he was able to successfully navigate his way around their home, find items in the cupboards with ease, and even take a stroll around the neighborhood…as long as NOTHING changed along his route.

So how was he able to do this with absolutely no memory?

The short answer is: the virus didn’t damage his basal ganglia!

Eugene was basically living day to day on “autopilot.”

…much like when you can’t remember if you locked the door—you did, of course, you just can’t remember because you were “sleepwalking” through a well-established routine!

By studying Eugene’s unique condition, researchers came to this conclusion:

You are literally little more than the repetition of your behaviors.

In fact, research shows that over 40% of all our daily activities are simply routines that require little conscious thought.

Thus, if you’re truly motivated to create different results in your life, it’s imperative that you break bad habits and replace them with good ones.

But how do we get rid of those age-old habits?

The process starts with an audit

Dreamers fantasize about the rewards while doers must first understand where they currently are to figure out where they want to go, and how to get there.

We are all susceptible to our bad habits.

It is easier to prevent bad habits than to break them. —Benjamin Franklin

I’ll give you a personal example: a couple of years ago I catalogued my routine and found that I was falling far short of what I deemed acceptable…

You might ask yourself similar questions:

How much am I exercising?

How well am I eating?

How much am I reading?

How often am I creating content for my business?

How often am I using social media for network marketing (instead of personal entertainment)?

During my audit, I found that…

I wasn’t exercising regularly

I was eating out far too much

I’d not read nearly enough books in the past 12 months

And I wasn’t creating an acceptable output of content

Does this sound familiar?

Audit your own routine and identify the habits you’d like to replace.

“If you focus on results, you will never change. If you focus on change, you will get results.” —Jack Dixon

Once you’ve got a clear picture of where you’re at and where you want to go, it’s time to take a look at…

The science of habit formation

In The Power of Habit, Duhigg describes the three-step neurological process that forms habit: the cue, the routine, and the reward.

What Duhigg calls the “Habit Loop” starts with the…

Cue, an event that triggers your brain to react on autopilot through one of your habits; then, an emotional, physical or mental…

Routine follows; and finally, the…

Reward is presented, which helps the brain decide whether a particular “Habit Loop” is worth remembering or not.

The first step towards replacing harmful habits is choosing a cue that will trigger an effective response.

It could be anything from a simple note on your refrigerator to something more complicated like setting a radio alarm clock to a specific station that will get you on board a particular train of thought that will ultimately lead to you take action.

Let’s say your goal is to get into the habit of jogging 30 minutes every morning.

What would remind you to go jogging?

Setting an alarm on your cell phone?

Hanging a poster of a professional athlete on your wall?

Leaving your running shoes on the floor, next to your bed, so you literally stumble over them every morning?

You can try different cues, and experiment with any combination of them.

The goal is to figure out what works for you!

The reward within your particular Habit Loop needs to provide immediate and undeniable motivation, so that you’ll immediately start to yearn for it the second you come in contact with your cue.

Think about what motivates you.

Whether it’s a fine piece of chocolate waiting for you when you get home from jogging…

An episode of your favorite sitcom just waiting on your DVR for you to press play…

Or that collection of funny cat videos you’ve watched over and over, but still manages to crack you up every single time.

This step can be a bit tricky, especially since a time may come when you are no longer properly motivated by such a reward, which might lead you astray.

After a few days of executing your Habit Loop, you should ask yourself if you still crave the reward you’ve chosen.

If not, then it’s time to choose a new reward in order to continue building a powerful habit.

With your cue and reward in place, it’s time for action!

Execute your routine as part of your Habit Loop, and truly commit to your plan.

You could even put your plan in writing in order to really hammer it into your brain. It could be something like:

“Whenever I see [insert CUE here], I will [insert ROUTINE here], to get [insert reward here]”

Specifically, if we go back to the example of jogging…

“Whenever I see my running shoes next to my bed, I will go jogging, to get that delicious piece of chocolate.”

You get the idea…

You can adopt any new habit whenever you want…you just have to set your mind to it.

Now, in order to “stay with the program,” and continue to build favorable habits, it’s always a good idea to…

Set actionable, quantifiable goals

Dreamers imagine themselves reaching

their goals with one giant leap, while

doers realize the road to success is

comprised of smaller, gradual steps.

One of the concepts of goal-setting that has become increasingly popular over the past few years is the SMART acronym, which basically states that in order to successfully reach objectives, your goals should be…

Specific

Measurable

Achievable

Realistic

Time-based

There’s just one problem with this popular methodology, however.

“There is no greater mistake than to try to leap an abyss in two jumps.” —David Lloyd George

You see, while certain aspects of SMART goals are spot-on—such as setting specific, measurable, and time-based objectives—it fails when you ask if your goals are achievable and realistic, because those questions will cause you to look at your past experiences and inevitably limit your possibilities.

Think about it: if you’ve got a “moonshot” goal, how are you to determine whether it’s actually achievable and realistic for you?

After all, who’s more qualified to set, say, your fitness goals and timelines, you or a personal trainer?

Make sense?

This is the primary benefit of having a coach to work with you to achieve your goals: you could easily be the worst judge of your own potential.

So be aware of the biases you have based on your past, and don’t limit your possibilities based on them.

Now, another important consideration to be mindful of is this…

Staying motivated can be tricky

Staying motivated is extremely important, particularly when building new habits.

Teresa Amabile, a professor at Harvard Business School, discovered the primary forces of motivation after studying hundreds of employees at over half a dozen major companies.

Her recommendation for the most effective motivational tool?

Keeping a daily journal.

Here’s why…

Doing meaningful work is one of the biggest drivers of motivation.

“Motivation is when your dreams put on work clothes.” —Unknown

It’s been proven to be more important than any monetary reward, shockingly enough.

And the trick to creating meaning in even the most mundane is progress.

You deal with setbacks and negativity as part of your daily life.

However, by keeping a daily chronicle of progress towards your goals, you’ll be able to reflect on the positives, however small, which will elicit feelings of accomplishment and fulfillment.

Here’s an idea…

Why not think of these feelings as the reward within a new Habit Loop in order to become a more productive person?

To stay motivated, record your progress consistently.

“People often say motivation doesn’t last. Neither does bathing—that’s why we recommend it daily.” —Zig Ziglar

The most effective mode of journaling is to recollect and capture what you achieved over the course of your day.

These are your trophies.

Hang ‘em up to admire!

To sum things up…

I’d like to recap some of the key points we’ve covered here today:

Humans are creatures of habit, and therefore hardwired to resist change.

To defeat our human nature and achieve our goals, we need to replace harmful habits with good ones.

New habits are formed through the “Habit Loop”: the cue, the reward, and the routine.

The changes you wish to make to your behavior should be specific, measurable, and time-based.

Tracking your progress through a journal will help you stay motivated.

We all have dreams and aspirations, and making them a reality is just a matter of plotting a specific course and using every available resource to stay on it.

Turn yourself into a “doer,” or your dreams will end up in the sewer

Doers and dreamers are not that different from each other; they are both driven by a genuine desire to make a change.

Hey, the world is your oyster!

YOU must decide if you’re a dreamer—perfectly content with fantasizing about the treasures hidden all over the globe, but never actually setting sail to find them…

Or a doer—looking to get more out of life, and willing to do whatever it takes, even if it means venturing into unknown territories and facing seemingly unbeatable odds.

Here’s the thing…

A dreamer’s ship will end up dead in the water, while a doer will harness the power of the wind to sail smoothly towards success..

The clock is ticking!

In a few more days, this week will be over.

Then, before you know it, this month will be done with.

And next thing you know, this year will zip by even faster than last year.

Come December 31st…

You’ll be either celebrating some big accomplishments, or looking back at another year of mediocre results, without a whole lot to brag about, still hoping next year will be better.

Unfortunately, most people will be in the latter camp.

Because as the old adage goes…

If ya keep doing the same thing over and over again, you’ll keep gettin’ the same results.

So, the big question is…

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[xturtletrashx]

Devil’s Dance Floor - Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I don’t own Uncharted, blah blah blah, you know how it goes.  I do own my OCs though.  This fic in its entirety can be read on AO3 here or you can find the other eleven parts here.   

This is a shorter chapter that probably could have been rolled into the previous one but my ability to plot is sort of shit, so whatevs.  Sorry for the huge delay in finishing it; between holidays and general busy-ness, my writing time was crippled.

Graphic and title pic was made by me, all other pics aren’t mine.  If one belongs to you, please let me know and I’ll either credit or remove.

Chapter 12: The Color of Insanity

It was almost deja vu, sitting at a polished bar with Rafe next to him, the tropical heat hanging around them both as they drank, but this time Sam was careful to keep his arm from brushing his companion's and far more conscious of just how much he was drinking, even if Rafe was rather freely tossing them back.  It was a similar situation though, enough so to make Sam uncomfortable with the way Rafe was eyeing a pair of blonde tourists across the bar, and bringing into stark relief just how much had changed in the last thirteen years.  

Those years had been far kinder to Rafe, his countenance still just as handsome as ever, though Sam could clearly see the proof of aging in the lines around his slightly glassy eyes; his shoulders were a little wider, his middle maybe a bit softer than the lean muscles Sam distinctly remembered.  He glanced at Rafe, brown eyes sliding up to the fresh scar nestled amongst the hair he'd brushed back from his face.  Ironic that Sam had given him that scar scant weeks ago when Rafe had been trying to get him to go somewhere tropical with him and now here they were, though in Nassau rather than Miami . . .

"Waste of time," Rafe huffed, breaking the short silence that had fallen over them.

"Hm?" Sam's eyebrows lifted in question, but he didn't look up from slipping a cigarette out of the nearly empty pack until Rafe's fingertips touching the back of his hand stopped the action.  Sam blinked, eyes going to Rafe to find him waving down the bartender.

"Can we get a couple of those Bahiba cigars I've heard so much about?"

"Of course, sir," the bartender nodded.

"And whatever rum you usually pair with them," Rafe added before the man could disappear.

Rafe's hand was still on Sam's, stopping him from either finishing the motion of pulling the cig out or sliding it back into the pack, and dimly Sam noticed how warm his fingers were - and with that unbidden realization came the pressing need to bat Rafe's hand aside and break the contact.  

Rafe took the not-so subtle hint, pulling his hand back and draining the last of his beer without a word.  

"What were you saying before?" Sam prompted, tucking the cigs back into the breast pocket of his tee shirt in favor of the promise of a cigar.  

"The map," Rafe continued with an edge of frustration in his voice.  "It was a waste of time."  

Sam didn't completely agree with that but he couldn't wholly disagree either.  He could have spent the last day and a half wrapped up in Simone rather than sitting through an eleven hour flight, painfully boring negotiations as Rafe pulled a shit load of strings for them to examine Avery's map outside of the case, only for it all to be a dead end.  But, it had definitely been worth it.  

Sam shrugged, "It was cool though."  He'd felt a very real sense of wonder at being able to hold in his hands an oiled and tattered piece of parchment that Avery himself had once held.  

"Yeah," Rafe agreed with a sullen pout.  "I guess."  

Rafe hadn't felt that same sense of wonder - or if he had, he certainly hadn't made any overt noises that hinted at it.  Which was sort of understandable, actually.  Rafe had been doing this for over a decade, hitting one wall after the next, and hadn't had the thirteen year hiatus Sam'd had.  He was coming into all of this with a fresh enthusiasm that Rafe had long since lost.

The bartender returned then and the exchange was once again paused until they were both puffing away at expensive cigars that had been hand rolled right here in this very hotel - that very afternoon, the bartender told them.  

"Shit, that's good," Sam sighed, leaning back on the high-backed bar stool and savoring the taste, enhanced as it was by the accompanying rum.  

"When was the last time you had a good cigar?" Rafe asked, his tone conversational and relaxed as he leaned back in his own chair, nearly mirroring Sam's posture.

"A good one?" Sam asked with a laugh.  "Never."  Rafe's question dredged up memories that kept a wistful smile on his face as he continued, answering the question for real this time, "Been at least fifteen years."  He chuckled.  "I used to steal them from Victor just to see 'im get his panties all in a twist over it."

Rafe laughed and Sam found himself smiling in response, enjoying the sound of it.  He'd nearly forgotten what Rafe sounded like when he wasn't being a smug asshole.  

"Did his mustache do that bristly thing?" Rafe asked, bringing the cigar up and wiggling it under his nose in a fair impression of a surly Victor.  

Sam laughed, "Are you kiddin' me?  Of course it did!  Y'know, I used to pull that shit with him just to see his mustache get all bristly!"  He shook his head, still chuckling a bit, "Nathan used to get so pissed at me . . ."

There was the slightest shift in the air of their tiny corner of the bar and Sam glanced at Rafe in time to see the smile slip from his face, the amusement fade from his eyes, and the motion of lifting the glass to his lips couldn't quite hide it.  

Touchy subject, his brother, and Sam cleared his throat, subtly shifting his weight on the barstool as the awkward silence settled between them.  A change of subject was in order, but there was a part of Sam that didn't want to change the subject.  He hadn't been able to talk about his brother at all since his release and, if his Facebook stalking was any indication, it was seriously eating at him . . .

Fuck it.

"What's Nathan been up to, anyway?"

Rafe's scoff was distinctly bitter and he took another long draught of his rum.  "No offense," he said, casting a glance in Sam's direction, "but fuck Nathan."  

Okay, so that wasn't completely unexpected.

"He left me high and dry on this whole Avery thing after you got shot.  Which, you know," Rafe made a vague gesture with his cigar, "I get that.  Neither of us were at our best.  He was trying to come to terms with your death and I was . . ."  

Sam's eyebrows lifted, "You were what?"

Rafe sighed, lapsing into silence, and Sam watched as his eyes went back to the two blondes across the bar.  "Sam, I wasn't exactly happy about you getting shot," he admitted after a moment, not looking at him.  "I guess I was mourning in my own way too."  

Sam wasn't sure why but it came as a surprise that Rafe had felt anything when he'd 'died'; maybe because he'd always considered Rafe to be rather, well, emotionally stunted.  Sam had sort of expected that Rafe had just shrugged and been like sucks I didn't get to tap that.  But just because Rafe had been mourning his loss didn't mean that it was because he'd accepted any sort of responsibility for what had ultimately happened.  And wasn't that what Sam wanted?  Some admittance of guilt or fault?

Rafe waved the cigar again, as if brushing aside the topic, and the gesture brought Sam's full attention back to the other man as he continued.  "Nate left me and then started doing this shit with Victor full time instead."  Rafe sneered, "Treasure hunting.  Thieves, more like."  

"So how'd he make out?" Sam asked, the tightness in his voice betraying his irritation at Rafe's words.  He wanted to defend his brother - it was instinct to do just that - but he also wanted to hear this and that meant biting his tongue until he couldn't any longer.  

Rafe snickered at that, his glower smoothing out a bit.  "Not great.  I mean, he found stuff.  Went up against Zoran Lazarević - you know, the Serbian warlord? - supposedly discovered a few lost cities.  Shambala and Iram of the Pillars . . ."

Sam didn't know who Zoran Lazarević was but it didn't stop the proud smile that appeared on his face.  "No shit," he laughed.

"I mean, supposedly," Rafe emphasized, as if he didn't believe a word of it.  "He's retired now, I guess.  Married and settled down."  

Sam nodded, unsure of what to say to that.  Instead, he sipped at his rum again and then, a moment later, cleared his throat.  "You ever, I dunno, consider askin' if he wants to join us?"

Rafe's eyes snapped to Sam, dark with sudden hostility, "Fuck Nathan, I said, Sam, and I meant it."

Sam's hands came up in a defensive gesture, "Okay, hey, I get that," he said quickly, not wanting to turn this into yet another fight.  "Things didn't end well with you two--"

"Putting it lightly," Rafe grumbled, tossing back the last of his rum and then gesturing for the bartender to fill 'im up again.  He turned back to Sam suddenly, pointing toward him with the cigar, "We're doing this, Sam.  You and I.  This time I'm getting the credit."

"Yeah, I know," Sam agreed, warily.  "We talked about all this.  I was just askin', okay?"

"Well maybe don't, next time," Rafe snapped.

***

"What shall we do with a - hic - drunken sailor?  What shallwedo with a drunken shailor?  What should we--Sam, yer not singin' . . ."

"Sure I am," Sam indulged as, hours later, he steered Rafe down the hallway with a hand on his shoulder, then picked up where he'd left off.  "Way hay and up she rises!"

"Way hay an'yup she rises!" Rafe slurred, footsteps slowing just a bit as he weaved in the general direction of their waiting rooms.

"Right here," Sam said, giving up the sea shanty so he could bodily maneuver his companion past a pair of passing tourists, giving them a slightly apologetic shrug.  "What'd you do with your key?" he asked, patting down Rafe's pockets as he slumped back against the wall.

"Key?"  Rafe blinked at him.  "Wha' key?  Oh, f'my room?"

"Yes, for your room," Sam sighed, hand finding the bulge of a wallet in the back pocket of Rafe's jeans and tugging it to freedom.  "You're not sleepin' in min--"

The words were abruptly cut off as suddenly he was pulled off balance, Rafe's hands pulling him closer so he could press his lips against Sam's in a sloppy kiss.  It was unexpected, messy and unsolicited, and Sam found himself frozen in place with one hand braced on the wall and his brain struggling to catch up with what was happening.  The scrape of stubble along his lower lip seemed to jumpstart his stalled brain and Sam jerked backwards, struggling for a moment against Rafe's eager grip.

"What the fuck, Rafe?" he snapped, backing further away until he felt the back of his tee-shirt brush the wall behind him.  He glared at the man standing across from him, reaching up to wipe his mouth, but the look on Rafe's face had him far more off-balance than the kiss did.  There was something close to remorse there, an expression Sam had never seen on the other man.

"I know I don't know how'tashow it right," Rafe said, eyebrows knitting in earnest sincerity, "but I missed you, Sam.  And I jus-I jus' wanted t'kiss you."

Sam stared across the small distance separating them, the span of a hallway, and had not a single clue what to say to that.  Once again, he was standing in a hotel, utterly speechless after having a Rafe-bomb dropped on him, and Sam could only shake his head and let out a humorless chuckle.  "What do you do with a drunken sailor, Rafe?" he asked, flipping open the wallet and pulling out the key card.  

"Make 'im walk th'plank?" Rafe asked, weakly.  

What?  Sam shook his head.  Those weren't even the lyrics.  "Naw," Sam answered as he crossed the hallway and slipped the card into the reader.  The door popped open, revealing the nicest room they'd had available at such short notice.  "Make him go to bed," he finished, reaching out to catch Rafe's arm and guide him inside despite the weak protests.  The door latched behind them, leaving the room in darkness save for the mix of moonlight and streetlights streaming through the windows.

Rafe's hands seemed to be moving of their own accord, one reaching for Sam's middle, brushing along the scars there under his tee, but when the backs of his knees hit the bed he was quick to sit and even quicker to lie back across it.

"Get some sleep," Sam said tiredly, turning and starting for the door only to pause as Rafe called softly after him.  "What?"  The word came out short, cranky with his need to be away from Rafe just then but Sam wasn't about to apologize for it.  Shit, what were the chances that Rafe would even remember this tomorrow?

"Can I see where'ya got shot?"

Sam's eyebrows twitched upward in surprise but he sighed and lifted the hem of his shirt.  He wasn't shy about the scars, not anymore, but the way that Rafe, with his bloodshot eyes, just stared at them made him uncomfortable.  

It wasn't until he'd smoothed the shirt back down over his midsection did Rafe's eyes finally lift to Sam's face and he broke the silence: "I'm sorry tha'happened t'you."

Sam found himself nodding, a hint of another sigh there on his lips, but all he said was, "Get some sleep, Rafe.  We have a plane to catch in the morning."  And then he made his escape.

[timeoftstretched]

Through the Lens of Loss

Last Tuesday, my grandmother Ruth Phaff – mother of 6, grandmother of 19, great-grandmother of 38 – died at age 89.  Just a few months ago she was diagnosed with stage four lung cancer which, given that she was never a smoker, she took to mean simply that her time was up.  She chose not to put herself through arduous treatments, went almost immediately on hospice, and decided to spend all the time she could with her family and friends, however long that might last.

During that time I made a couple visits up to Albany, but also saw, via Facebook, of course, photos of visits from so many other relatives.  There were near-weekly brunches at her house, where various family and friends gathered to enjoy mimosas and French toast casseroles.  Pretty good victory lap.

I got to see her the day before she died.  I had flown in last-minute on the tail end of a vacation so I could sit with her for a while.  By this point she was in and out of consciousness, but more than once she’d rouse, see me, and go, “Hey, Em.”  To have been there: what a blessing.  Just two days later I was heading back to Albany for her funeral and the beginning of shiva.

I got the idea that I wanted to write something when I was back at home for that one day.  Or more specifically, I wanted to write a sonnet, or two.  I’ve been writing sonnets for years, having first been exposed to them in high school (Shakespeare’s love sonnets, of course!), and having fairly consistently returned to them over the last decade. As I later told all the people who gathered at Grandma’s funeral, as a lawyer, the strict rules of the sonnet “feel like a big hug, which is comforting.”  Frankly, if my deep seated and longstanding affinity for sonnets isn’t the most clear-cut commentary on my personality, I don’t know what is.  I got to writing on the long drive from DC with my dad.  I couldn’t fit all I wanted to say into one (just fourteen lines!  Too little, too restrictive), so this pair is what I wrote, and read, at the funeral:

Writing has always been therapeutic, and poetry especially so.  There’s something about pushing my thoughts, feelings, and memories into a precise (or imprecise) structure that accelerates how I process them.  Here, I wanted to reflect on who Ruth Phaff was as a (wonderful) human, but also bask in the memories I have of her and her surroundings; for us grandchildren, Lake George was the backdrop to so many summers, and likely our formative memories of Ruth and Leo.  I wanted to dig into that.

Pulling those memories isn’t easy; I don’t walk around every day with the image of Smokey the cat batting my ankles from behind the open-backed stairs, or the feel of the warm wood of the dock, or the breathless freedom of bolting from whatever older cousin would chase me through the technicolor gardens, or the way Grandpa facilely would tear a worm in half to load up onto a hook, or the gaggle of kids huddled in front of the old TV watching older videotapes of the Muppets, or the white noise of the waves lapping up against the sea wall that would greet you every morning.  I had to dig.  Digging was like opening up a favorite book I hadn’t had the occasion to read in years.  Digging hurts; there’s so much there, so impossible to remember all of it, and at the same time the pain of knowledge that nothing will be quite like that again (the house, the childhood, the time), and I wish I had more.

But through this process of pulling, and then melding my memories to fit a script, I came out the other side feeling cleaner, and lighter.  And feeling like life is so short, but also so, so long, because those memories feel like a lifetime ago.

After the funeral, a couple of attendees said things like, “That was a lovely tribute,” which is nice, thank you, but of course, not the point.  The more poignant feedback I received was from my brother: “She really didn’t want us in the kitchen, did she?  That’s why she had that cookie jar at the end of the counter.  I think it’s because I would always go in there and eat everything.”  (I responded that, when she made mashed potatoes, which was often, and my most favorite food, I would go in there to steal samples, too.)

I overheard, and participated in, this same ritual amongst the six kids, first trading stories amongst themselves with the Rabbi present, and then in a continuous flow over the next days.

It’s funny, what we each choose to retain.  And funnier, and sad, that we don’t choose to throw our respective retentions on the table more often.

Death is sad, and it is heavy.  But to the extent it prompts us to sit together and trade the beautiful pictures we hold in our heads, to patch the holes in each other’s faulty memories, to add more color to the years we’ve spent together, to permit each other to serve as partial kaleidoscopes who separately can’t show the whole reflection but together scan a complete horizon—loss retains a whole lot of light and lightness.  Loss reminds us we’ve all seen so much (even the young ones!).  And loss even makes us laugh.

I often describe post-death rituals as “being in the trenches.”  (Unfortunately, having done this three times in the last 18 months (twice this summer!), it’s feeling familiar, and characterizable.)  There’s so much to do, the outside world goes quiet, and you’re enduring alongside comrades you didn’t choose.  But the days following our loss of Grandma didn’t feel like the dark kind of trench, putrid and unpleasant, dripping with condensation, simply enduring.  It felt more like we were locked into a bright Neverland, colorful and joyful, but for the absence of one human we all wished could have been there, too.

We’re all returning to life now, shiva having been completed.  All six of Ruth and Leo’s kids (my mom, aunts, and uncles) spent an entire week in that Neverland, in an unusually long stretch of time together, given they’ve scattered across continents.  I hear this week was unbelievably moving and meaningful for all of them.

So what I’m taking, moving forward, is this: dig deep into your stories together while everyone’s still here to hear them.  Find the people in the world who are yours, but also never forget those who were there from the start, and create space to be together not just in times of sadness, but also in times of simcha — happiness.  Above all else, my grandmother valued family (that’s why she birthed such a big one), and laughter.  Hold both close every day you’re here.  There’s just so much to love, and, even now, so many reasons to smile.