#i am good at spanish but i need another credit apparently so french it is

[starplatinumnun]

born to go to school forced to take french classes for a course credit

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Legacy - Chapter 63

The sun was high in the sky, illuminating the sails of the ship from behind. Mexico could see every details of the stitching, which was in perfect straight lines. Though he did not know naval matters well, it seemed tidy to him.

Mexico was standing on the deck of one of his own ships, trying to ascertain how prepared he was to face a Spanish threat in the gulf. He knew that the attack was coming, since he had effectively guaranteed it with his conversation with Spain. 

He had no regrets about what he had said and what he had done; there had been no other option. He could never have accepted any of Spain’s advances, even if it had made more battles a certainty. The best he could do in the moment was to prepare.

There was not much of a navy to be had, even if there were merchant vessels that could be commandeered for the good of the country.

There was a problem that Mexico could not imagine an easy solution to: If they chose to requisition merchants or privateers, then it would mean that there would be even less certainty of trade.

Trade had already ground to a halt during the war, and the threat of Spanish ships just beyond his own territorial waters meant that many were not willing to take the risk. It was apparent to him that Spain was trying to strangle any avenue for him to support himself so that he would have no choice but to return. But, dislodging the Spanish presence would end that threat.

As Mexico looked from the sail to the rigging, he continued to contemplate how to solve the puzzle. The rigging looked like a spider’s web to him, and it felt as incomprehensible to him as his present problems. 

In all the years that he had gone back and forth between his own land and Madrid, he could not think of a time when he had looked up at the shape of a ship’s sails or the way that its rigging was knotted.

It had never been something that had interested him, and Spain had never taught him anything about it. He remembered that Portugal had always said that Spain was no sailor.

His own ineptitude meant that Mexico had never learned much about it. So, Mexico was not even certain what he was looking at. It could have been completely wrong, and he would have hardly known the difference.

This inspection felt like a way to busy himself with something that felt productive. But, it was having the opposite effect.

It felt like he had a very small number of ships, many of which needed to be devoted to commerce. He would have to choose one or the other, and it felt like he was choosing destruction by one means or another. He had to choose between an immediate shortfall or a slow weakening.

He drew in a long breath of sea air through his nose. He turned his eyes away from the rigging and scanned down the deck. The captain was looking at him with something like akin to carefully hidden concern.

He knew that Mexico was an officer under the emperor’s orders who was inspecting his ship. He had said nothing about how young Mexico looked, though the thought must have certainly crossed his mind. Mexico knew it was his apparent position of power that kept the sailors and the captain from saying anything to him.

Nominally, Santa Anna suggested that he should undertake an inspection as a way to establish what forces they had to fight Spain. But, Mexico felt like he had suggested it as a way to keep himself busy.

He turned to the captain, who said, “Does everything look like it is in order?” Mexico lied, “Yes, it does.”

He couldn’t have known for sure, so he had to put some faith in the idea that everything was correct. At least the deck was reflecting the overhead sunlight. That must have taken some disciplined scrubbing. The sailors also seemed ready to fight at a moment’s notice. That was reassuring enough.

He turned to the captain and asked, “Are you prepared to fight? We may need to call upon you soon.”

The man took a moment to look at his men and then over the horizon, like he was measuring the threat beyond it. Then he looked back to Mexico and said, “I am. Though I do not know if we have the numbers. You can be sure that we will fight with all we can, but there is a fleet coming.”

Mexico nodded in agreement, and said, “The emperor is aware of that and is working for a solution.”

It was half a lie. He had received a letter from Iturbide the night before, and it had hinted at making plans for rebuffing an invasion. The lack of details had been frustrating, because it felt like Iturbide was still keeping him in the dark. But, it had been clear that he was aware of the Spanish threat, and was preparing. That was all Mexico could ask for in the moment.

Mexico had also noticed that the emperor had taken an affectionate tone in the letter, which had surprised him. Iturbide had seemed eager to send him to Veracruz. However, after Mexico had been in Veracruz for a month, there seemed to be some tenderness.

He wondered if the distance had erased the memory of their last fight, and Iturbide was desiring some reconciliation. A more cynical part of his mind dismissed the possibility.

The emperor was capable of lying well, and Mexico was acutely aware that this may be a show of affection to manipulate him. He couldn’t help but wonder if Iturbide felt any real loyalty to him, or if it had been theater to win the crown.

“Sir?”, the captain brought him back to the present, as his mind had slipped to Iturbide and stayed there for a moment too long.

Mexico gave him an approving look and said, “You are doing good work, captain. Continue as you have been.” Then he took a deep breath and prepared himself to perform the same act on several more ships before he returned to Santa Anna.

He sat across the table from Santa Anna, trying to read the other’s expression. What Mexico could report to him about the state of the navy seemed to be good news. But, Santa Anna seemed to have a permanent half smirk on his face, like he knew some very amusing secret that the world did not yet knew.

Santa Anna said, “I am glad to hear it. We will need all of the ships we can get to defend ourselves. Unless the French really decimated the Spanish fleet.”

Mexico had not gotten enough news from Europe to know, since he did not have a good source of information. He had heard that the war with France had weakened Spain, but it was hard to guess what that meant. He responded, “For now, we should assume that he has the strength he had before the war.”

Mexico waited for some concern to appear in the other’s face, but it did not. Instead, he saw nothing but a sense of quiet confidence.

Santa Anna said, “How fortunate it is that you have me then. I am certain that I am a brilliant enough commander to defend you.”

Mexico raised his eyebrow and said, “Are you sure of that?”

Santa Anna smirked as he responded, “I am. Once I win, I am going to commission a portrait of myself as a hero.” Santa Anna added, “You can imagine it, can’t you? Me as your glorious protector.”

 Mexico couldn’t help but chuckle. He replied, in a tone that was almost light, “That could happen. Or the emperor will remove you before that, and there will be no glory for you. That would end your plans.”

He was amused by it all, and the seemingly boundless confidence. The mortal raised one of his eyebrows suggestively and said, “Oh, do not assume that I am that easy to get rid of.”

He gave Mexico a charming smile and added, “I have decided that I am devoted to you.”

Mexico scoffed. He didn’t believe that for even a moment. It seemed to him that a man like Santa Anna would never feel true loyalty. It was beyond him, Mexico was sure. But, he could not guess who felt real loyalty if he had been wrong about Guerrero.

Mexico said, “I think you are devoted to the fame and fortune.” Santa Anna replied with the same charming smile, “I think that the two can go hand in hand. I can show you that I have the talent.”

Mexico thought that almost sounded like he was planning some glorious action. He said, “Did the emperor give you any orders?”

He had no idea what Iturbide was planning, but it seemed evident to him that it would never include Santa Anna. The mortal replied, “I received a letter today. The emperor says that I am free to act if I see an opportunity. He is giving me the latitude to act.”

Mexico thought to himself, More rope to hang yourself with. He could see the logic as clearly as if Iturbide had told him. If Santa Anna succeeded, then Iturbide could claim that he had given him the ability to act. If he failed, then Iturbide would have better grounds to dismiss him as an incompetent commander. Either way, he could take credit for the outcome.

A weariness set in as Mexico thought about it. He felt so bitterly tired of these political games and Iturbide’s willingness to engage in them.

He was frustrated that Victoria and Guerrero were willing to put him at risk for a political victory over the empire. But, it seemed that the emperor was little better. He was leaving the defense of a key port city in the hands of a man that he did not trust for the sake of proving a political point.

Mexico thought bitterly that mortals were capable of thinking of nothing else. It was strange and exhausting to see these men in power fight, when it felt like Spain was drawing closer by the day.

if anything, Santa Anna’s self centered charmed seemed refreshing. It was clear where he stood, and what could be used to sway him.

Mexico took a deep breath, and tried to think of any response. But, he felt like the days of sleepless nights were hitting him in the moment. He said, “I am tired. The inspections today were exhausting, though I would say that they were satisfactory. I can give you more details in the morning. I am going to go to retire for the night.”

He hoped that he would be able to leave with that excuse alone. Surely the man would understand that a day of looking at ships and talking to captains would be tiring, though that was not the reason Mexico felt so tired.

He felt like he needed a moment alone to think, and then to sleep until this terrible exhaustion faded. Santa Anna nodded and said, “Get your rest. I am planning an attack to show the Spanish that we will not let them dictate when and where we fight. You will need to be well rested when I choose to make my move.”

Mexico nodded, as though he agreed with the idea. But, he had his own trepidation about Santa Anna acting on his own. He would have to hope that the man was as talented as a commander as he claimed. He stood and gave his commander one last inclination of his head before leaving.

Once he was in his room, and the door was firmly closed, he let out a sigh.

Closing the door felt like momentarily shutting out the headache of politics. It was momentary, but it was a reprieve. As long as he was here, there was no pressure to solve the problem of the continuation of the empire.

If he desired, he could simply sink into the pillows and forget them all. It was incredibly tempting to do exactly that and block out the world. He could pretend that Santa Anna wasn’t only a few rooms away.

But, that felt incredibly childish, like he was running from the problem. Even if he was tired, there was still work to do.

He walked to the desk, and picked up the letter from Iturbide again. He had read it over twice quickly the night before, looking for some explanation of his plan.

He felt like he should read it over again, in case there was anything he missed. He took the letter to bed with him, laying back against the pile of pillows. As he skimmed through the letter again, he was struck again by the tone of it.

It started with “Alejandro, My dear empire.” Then it descended into flattery, about how he missed Mexico’s presence deeply. There was the ambiguous sentence, “If it comes to battle, I know that you will fight well as you always have. I know that you are singularly talented.”

It seemed to him that Iturbide was trying to frame the choice to send Mexico to Veracruz as a credit to Mexico’s skill in battle. It was the kind of flattery that he knew was empty, but it also did feel somewhat validating that Iturbide was trying.

It was a marked difference from the tense reception he had gotten when he had left. He knew it was possible that it was all just a ploy to get back in his good graces. But, he preferred it to the barely concealed tension between himself and his emperor.

The tone aside, the end of the letter was the most interesting to him. Iturbide could not have been more clear in his wording. He stated, “I am only asking you to endure Santa Anna until I can secure another commander for the position in Veracruz. If you suspect that he is disloyal to me, then send a convert letter to me and I will deal with him. We will secure the future of the empire together.”

Mexico felt strange reading the words. As far as he knew, Santa Anna had not been disloyal to the empire, though Mexico had already planted the seeds for him to be. So, there was nothing to tell Iturbide about.

The emperor had not bothered to ask about Mexico’s own loyalty. Mexico could read it as an attestation to his absolute faith in his country. But, he was not so foolish.

Iturbide had more reason to suspect him than Santa Anna, since he was the one who was invested in the insurgents already. Even if Iturbide thought that there was a rift between him and Guerrero, he had reasons to suspect Mexico would be drawn back to the side of his old commanders. Unless he was really under the impression that by making sure Mexico was invested in spying on Santa Anna he was also making him more a part of the imperial regime.

He could imagine Santa Anna receiving a similar letter that directed him to look for signs of disloyalty in Mexico’s behavior. The question was whether Santa Anna would do so, or if he had even noticed. He seemed so preoccupied with himself and his plans that Mexico doubted that he had even noticed that his country had met with Victoria.

Mexico felt like it was reasonable to assume for the moment that Iturbide did not suspect anything that he had been doing. If he could keep Santa Anna in doubt about the emperor’s intention, then he could be certain that his actions would continue to be unknown to the emperor.

He read the end of the letter again and tried to decide what to do. If he could expect that Santa Anna was going to be replaced, then he wondered if it would be best to frustrate Santa Anna’s efforts to prepare for battle.

If he could succeed, then it would make him a popular commander, which would make him harder to remove. But, on the other hand, Mexico did not feel like he should aid Iturbide’s schemes.

He decided that he would do nothing to stop it.

Spain would take advantage of anything that he could, and he would certainly seize the opportunity if he thought there was disunity between Mexico’s leaders. It would be smart to take the initiative before Spain suspected that there was some reason for the delay.

Mexico knew that it was all contingent on being able to have the numbers to take that initiative. Without knowing what he would be able to muster on his side, or what kind of numbers Spain could still command, it would be difficult to plan any sort of attack.

Mexico put the letter aside and then rubbed his forehead where there was a headache blooming. He had no idea how to fix this myriad of problems, and the stress was beginning to effect him.

He knew that he should sleep, and it would make him feel better. He felt the longing to sleep next to someone. It felt desperately lonely to be by himself trying to solve these problems.

He knew who he missed, whose broad chest he wanted to cuddle against and sleep. He refused to think his name at all, because the yearning felt like weakness.

The worst, unbidden thought occurred to him. He had a way to contact Victoria, and Victoria almost certainly knew how to contact Guerrero. That thought led him to realize that he hadn’t tried to write to Guerrero at all.

After the man left, he had thought of contact as completely lost. But, given what he knew about Iturbide’s role in keeping Guerrero out of government, it seemed that he should have tried.

Guerrero had not abandoned him, it seemed. Victoria had even made it sound like Guerrero was keeping their relationship secret, even though he had reasons to be angry.

Mexico bit his lower lip and felt momentarily like he had been in the wrong. He missed Guerrero, and he knew he was missing a man who had lied to him. He felt guilty for shutting the man out so firmly, when it had all been based on his initial reaction.

He closed his eyes. The feelings were overwhelming, and he wanted them to stop. Thinking about his personal feelings in a moment when there was a political crisis was selfish, but he could not make them stop. The only thing that cut off the spiraling thoughts was sleep finally overtaking him.

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

Mexico was sitting in the small library trying to think through the same problems he had the night before. He had found a chess board and had put it on the table.

He took the chess pieces out of a velvet bag one at a time and placed them on the board like he was setting up a game. There was no one to play with, but it felt like something to do while he tried to think through his next move.

He felt like what he had on his own would not be enough to fight Spain, and most certainly not at sea.

He placed a pawn on the board, and thought about the options. He needed some kind of alliance to bolster his position and make Spain reconsider his aggression.

America had recognized him as a country, but had stopped short of offering actual aid of any sort. The thought of asking America for help did not appeal to him at all. He only had to think of the struggle of getting the blonde to leave his bed to convince himself that America should be a last resort. He did not need to spend time negotiating with America in the bedroom for support.

He placed another pawn on the board with a dull thud. There had to be another option. When he had rebelled, England had been willing to help fund him, but he didn’t think he could be certain of the same kind of support for a second time. Given the war in Europe, he wasn’t certain that England even had the money to spare. And given that England barely knew him, or had reason to continue his support, it was unlikely that he could help.

Mexico started laying down the back row of pieces, starting with the rooks. England had also not yet made any statement that indicted that he was going to recognize Mexico as a country. That made Mexico certain enough that England would not be a reliable ally.

He finished setting his own side of the board and started working on the other. In his mind, he was trying to think of Spain’s enemies, and which of them would be willing to take a chance on providing him with money or ships.

He could be certain that the rest of Spain’s former colonies could be counted as his enemies, but Mexico knew none of them liked him enough to back him. He was certain that Peru’s offer at the beginning of the wars had never been an offer of sincere solidarity. It had been a way to get Spain out of the way by giving him a better target. It had been like throwing Mexico in front of the raging bull to avoid the horns themselves.

Mexico let out a long sigh as he continued to place the pieces. He knew he couldn't count on the other former colonies. They had hated him when he was Spain’s favorite, and they would do little to protect him from Spain’s aggression.

If Cuba was in any position to aid him, then he might have been the last friend Mexico could count on. But, he was still a colony, unless there had been some push for freedom that Mexico didn't know about.

The thought that came next was that France was Spain’s greatest enemy. But, he knew that he could not turn to France.

He had already made vague promises to France that he did not intend to keep. Going to France would likely mean that France would expect him to fulfill those promises.

As Mexico finished filling the board, he realized that he couldn’t think of another enemy. He knew that Spain had never been interested in making friends with other empires, but that did not mean Mexico could solicit aid from his enemies. It felt like his options for support were running dry, and it was the moment he most needed it.

Relying on mortals was clearly not an option for him. They all seemed to have their own ideas of what needed to be done, and all of their reasons seemed selfish to him.

He felt like he should have known that his problem in time would have been his lack of friends.  He turned his mind away from the problem and glanced across the table.

He wished that there was someone there to play a game of chess with. He was smart enough not to wish that Spain was his opponent, though Spain had been the one who he would usually play again. He had played a few games with Guerrero during the war, but he also knew that he couldn’t long for Guerrero.

There was an ache in his heart at how alone he really felt. All those who he may have counted on were gone, and he couldn’t even find a partner for chess.

He let out a long sigh and put a hand to his head. He was about to let himself give into despair when he heard the door open.

He looked up to see one of the couriers standing there. He expected that there was either a message from Santa Anna or another from Iturbide.

He asked, “What is it?” The courier replied, “There’s a man here to see you.”

Mexico doubted that there was anyone visiting him who could be of consequence. He asked, “Are you certain that they are not here for the commander? Did he ask for me specifically?”

He tried to think of who it could even be. Spain would not be so bold as to come to him directly. The mortal responded with a nod and said, “He said that he wanted to speak to you, and that it is an urgent matter that he would like to discuss.”

Mexico sat back in the chair and said, “What does he look like?”

The answer would let him know if the mysterious visitor was. The man replied, “He’s blonde, and very tall.”

So, America had decided to take the choice away from him and return. Mexico felt like he should have expected as much and be grateful for aid if it was offered.

He stood up and said, “Take me to him.”

He adjusted the front of his jacket and hoped that America would be suitably impressed. He had not seemed hard to charm before. Mexico was certain that he would have to do exactly that: charm America into offering whatever resources he could.

But, the figure in the foyer stopped all of those thoughts. Even from a distance, he knew that the person was too tall to be America. The blonde hair was also longer, and the uniform was wrong for the American navy.

Mexico felt the frustrating sense that he knew the tall man standing in his foyer, but he couldn't quite place him.

Then the blonde smiled at him and a memory came back to him. It was an old one of court life, when he had to be very young. He remembered a man who had once been a part of the empire, but who had left when Mexico was still small.

Mexico said, without really thinking, “Oh, it’s you!”

As soon as it left his mouth, he was certain that it was not formal in the way that it should be. It was no way to greet a delegate from another country. But the other simply said, “I was worried that you wouldn’t remember me.”

Mexico shook his head, “I do remember you.” The blonde said, “Well, I will introduce myself for the sake of formality.”

He extended his hand and said, “Johann van Dijk. The Kingdom of the Netherlands.”

Mexico took his hand firmly in his own and said, offering his own name back out of politeness, “Alejandro Garcia Hidalgo.”

The name felt brand new as it rolled off his tongue, since he had only adopted it after the independence.

The Dutchman smirked knowingly and said, "You aren’t using his surname anymore." Mexico replied, “No, I’m not. I don’t want anything to do with him.”

He saw a look in the Netherlands’ eyes like a kind of understanding. For a moment, he felt like someone understood his decision without explanation.

He said, trying to focus on the needs of the moment, “I am glad to see you, but I was told that you had something urgent to discuss with me.”

Knowing that the visitor was the Netherlands, and not America made Mexico reconsider whether he was still able to ask for aid.

He hadn’t said a word to the Netherlands since he was a child. Spain had always insisted that the Netherlands was a traitor and should be ostracized as such. He wasn’t sure if he could ask for anything at all from him, since he felt like a kind of estranged relative.

The blonde said, “I do. I also have some advice, but I would like to talk to you in private.”

It was an unsubtle reference to Santa Anna’s courier, who was still standing behind Mexico. It was easy enough to know what to do. Mexico said, “Of course. We can talk in the library.”

He knew that the room would offer relative privacy, and he was intrigued by the prospect of whatever the Netherlands had to offer.

As they walked to the library, it occurred to him that the Netherlands had come all the way from Europe personally. Whatever this urgent discussion was, it was worth making a long trip to deliver.

Mexico closed the door and turned to the other man. The Netherlands said with no preamble, “You need ships and I have them.”

Mexico blinked twice quietly out of surprise. He had thought he would have to ask earnestly for any help. But this was offered so quickly that he wasn’t sure how to react to it.

He recovered and said, “You can’t possibly be offering me your navy.”

The blonde shook his head and said, “I unfortunately cannot. But, I am a neutral country and I can transport your commercial goods. You will need that to avoid getting stifled by Antonio. He will try to starve you into giving in. I would rather not see that happen.”

Mexico knew the answer immediately. He needed to have some aid, and being able to protect his commerce would be invaluable. The Netherlands continued, “That will make your own ships more available for defense.”

Mexico was grateful for the offer, but he found himself staring at the tall European waiting for a demand. This seemed to be aid offered with no conditions, and nothing was ever so simple.

He said, trying to get some clarification, “I would be happy to accept that. But why are you offering me this?”

The man raised one eyebrow and said, “It doesn’t make sense to you, does it? You expect everyone to want to take from you the same way Antonio does?”

Mexico nodded, slightly taken aback by the blunt delivery. He replied, “Well yes, I expect you want something in exchange for your help.”

He noticed that The Netherlands had started looking around at the books like he was interested in what Mexico had been reading. He said, looking at the book shelves, “I want Antonio to not get what he wants. That is enough for me. If I can spite him, then it will be worth my effort.”

Mexico tried to remember the details of the grievances between Spain and the Netherlands, and couldn’t quite summon the details to mind. Perhaps Spain had chosen not to tell him.

He watched for a quiet moment as the Netherlands was looking through the books. He didn’t remember the man being so tall, but he had been a child when they last interacted. And things looked different through child eyes.

Then, he said, “And what was the advice you wanted to give me?” Mexico felt like he would be willing to give the Dutchman any time he wanted in exchange for what he was already being offered.

He could already imagine the way that it solved all of his issues with ships. With his own ships free to defend his ports, it improved his odds against Spain considerably.

He owed the Dutchman at least a listening ear after such a generous offer. The Netherlands turned away from the bookshelf and fixed his gaze on Mexico. Then he said, “I am the only person who has ever successfully left Antonio’s empire. I know what it is like.”

Mexico bit his inner lip as he contemplated. He felt like the answer should have been obvious to him. He asked, “And what should I do?”

The blonde sighed and said, “It’s not going to be easy, and I am sure you know that already. You will have to be prepared for a long fight. Antonio bled me dry for eighty years. You have wounded his pride, and he will do anything to force you to come back. He sees it as an issue of pride.”

Mexico had known about the long struggle Spain had to retain the Netherlands. He had not been privy to Spain’s thoughts at the time, but he had been aware that it was happening.

He hadn’t thought of how it mirrored his own situation. Spain hadn't respected the peace treaty in that case either.

He said, “I am going to fight him with whatever I have.”

It sounded hollow, since he had no other choice. But it still earned him a look of warm approval. The other responded, “I am sure you are. I was impressed that you fought him for this past decade. I am certain he will drag you through another decade at least.”

Mexico felt momentarily glad that he could make the Netherlands proud. The Dutchman paused for only a moment before saying, “And another piece of advice I would offer is to know what you want from your independence."

That caused Mexico to pause and look at him like he didn’t quite understand. He knew that he wanted independence, and that had been the reason he had endured such a long war. He asked, “What do you mean?”

He was not certain that he could be any clearer in his intentions, so the advice didn’t seem at all necessary. Mexico felt almost like it was patronizing.

But, the Netherlands replied, “While I don’t know what you are thinking, I can speak for my own experience. I wanted to escape Antonio’s control so badly that I didn't think about what I wanted to be once I was independent. I hadn’t given it a single thought since I was putting my energy into leaving the empire.”

He stepped closer and kept his gaze on Mexico and said, “This is what I wanted to tell you in confidence, since your leaders will not like what I am going to tell you. But, you must decide what kind of government you want and pursue it. Mortals will all try to push you towards their own ideals. They will have their convictions, and they will tear you in different contradictory directions.”

Mexico felt like he understood, and it was disconcerting to hear his own experience spoken by someone else. He had thought that he had encountered particularly stubborn politicians. But it seemed that it was not unique to him.

The Netherlands continued, “Monarchists and republicans turned my independence into a civil war, and I hope you are able to escape that fate.”

Mexico felt himself biting his lip again. He knew he should maintain an unaffected facade, but this also felt like an opportunity to talk to someone who might understand.

The other’s blue eyes were reassuring enough, and he knew that the feeling of trust was coming from his good memories of the Netherlands from his childhood. But the man had not felt like a threat to him when he had just arrived in Spain, and he still did not feel like a threat.

Mexico knew the feeling was not entirely rational, but decided to take the chance anyway, and he said, “It has already started. They all want something different from me.”

The blonde nodded and then walked over to one of the chairs. He put his elbows on his knees, which gave the impression that he wanted to have a very serious conversation. He said, speaking in the tone of a patient tutor, “And what do you want?”

Mexico wasn't sure how to answer. He wanted the security of an established government, which Iturbide was offering to him. But, he felt a strong pull towards Victoria and Guerrero, and the kind of government they were offering him.

He also remembered what Morelos said about not trusting that much power to one man, and in theory he agreed. They were all proving how unreliable one mortal man could be.

Mexico said, intentionally evading the question, “I want Tony to accept that I am independent.” The Netherlands heard his implication and said, “And after that?”

Mexico didn’t have a prepared answer, so he said, “I don’t know. I want whatever will keep him away.”

The other nodded like he understood. He replied, “You don't need to answer that question for me. You should answer it for yourself before men try to tell you what you want.”

He paused before adding, “I will not tell you what to do. But, for what it is worth, I think you should consider a republic. You and I both know that monarchies are flawed. The Spanish monarchs were half mad. trusting your people isn't easy, but it is worth it.”

Mexico decide to take the chair across from him. The man had certainly given him a lot to think about. He said, “I think you have given me more than I could ever repay. You must want something in return.”

The blonde leaned toward him and said, “As I said, I want nothing from you. I want you to live well away from Antonio, since I know what losing you will do to him. He’ll be ruined as an empire. I could think of nothing I want more.”

Mexico saw the shadow as his jaw clenched on the words, and heard the angry snarl in his voice. He had never imagined that such animosity existed between Spain and the Netherlands. If he had known it earlier, he would have exploited it.

But as it was, he was glad that he had someone who was willing to help him when he needed it. He said, “If you are willing to tell me, there is something else I want to ask.”

The Netherlands’ grimace turned back into a small smile and he replied, “Go ahead. I’ll tell you whatever I know."

Mexico nodded. He knew that a European would have a better idea of how badly the war had effected Spain. It was what he most needed to know. He asked, “How badly was Tony's army and navy hurt by the war with France? I need to know what he has left.”

The blonde took a moment to think, and it looked like he was contemplating thoroughly. Then he said, “Well, I am not certain. But I know that he had a hard fight with France. He was fighting him with everything he had, and trying to maintain his hold on you at the same time. So, I think that he must have very little left. But, I think that you should know that his guerrilla warfare endeared him to much of the rest of the continent. It has frustrated for me to hear many praise his bravery in the face of French occupation.”

Mexico could not imagine how Spain had shown himself to be brave when he was busy inflicting repression on his colonies. No one would be sympathetic to Spain if they had seen what he had done to Hidalgo.

He understood what the other was saying though, and it was a prudent warning. He said, “So, you think I’ll find less help from Europe?”

The blonde nodded with a regretful look on his face. He replied, “Sadly, he’s gotten sympathy, and very few people are willing to turn on him.”

Mexico sighed to himself. He wished that they all realized how much Spain was manipulating them all. One act of heroism did not absolve him of anything.

Mexico nodded to himself and noted that he was lucky for the Netherlands coming to his aid. Unprompted, the blonde said, “They act like he wasn’t saved by his brother’s relationship with England.”

Mexico looked up at him questioningly and said, “What? What did Phillip do?”

He felt an unexpected twinge at the thought of Portugal. He hadn’t thought of him in years, and he was suddenly missed the comforting, mentoring presence. He should have sent a letter to Portugal since he had become independent.

He had very little idea what the Netherlands was talking about. He had seen Portugal and England together before, but never questioned their closeness.

But, the smirk on the blonde’s face and his frank language told him it was something very different. The Netherlands smirked again and said, “He convinced his lover to help Antonio free himself from Francis. Arthur never would have been willing to do it without the promise of those sweet green eyes.”

Mexico smirked to himself. He had never thought of it, but it didn’t surprise him that Portugal had a love life. Anyone would have been lucky to have him.  He said, “I had no idea that Arthur felt that way about Phillip.”

The other said with a very knowing look, “From what I heard, Antonio didn’t either. It was a shock to him.”

Mexico could imagine the look of inevitable shock and rage that must have been of Spain’s face. How it must have hurt that his brother was dating his mortal enemy. There were very few people that Spain hated more than England.

Mexico was amused at the very least. He said, “You should stay the night. It must have been a long journey.” The other replied with a smile, "I would be glad to.”

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

After a long night and a short goodbye, Mexico found himself wandering along the shore thinking about the question the Netherlands had put to him. He had thought about it through the whole of dinner and the night after that.

He had laid awake trying to figure out which of his thoughts belonged to Morelos or Hidalgo or Guerrero, and which were his own.

He looked out at the ocean and tried to make sense of what had been circling in his mind for hours. He thought about what the other country had said about trusting his people. He had said that individual people could be easily fooled, but the people on the whole would make good decisions.

it reminded him of what Morelos had said to him years ago. It had sounded convincing to him at the time, and he wasn’t sure when he had become so skeptical of the idea of democracy.

He could have no guarantee of who would be president if he did throw his effort behind a republic. When Morelos was his general, it seemed like it was a near certainty that he would become the head of state. In that case it had seemed like he could trust the president.

He glanced around at the people on the street. Could he be certain that any of them would make the right decision? Then, a nagging voice asked if he could be trusted to make that choice on his own.

He had chosen wrong so far in choosing to back Iturbide’s bid for the crown.

He contemplated as he walked, now turning back to return to the base of operations. If he could just come to a conclusion in his own mind, then he could act on it.

He turned his mind back to the question of whether anyone could be trusted to decide his leader. He had no certainty of who he would end up with after the masses decided.

If he could be certain that it would be Victoria, he would agree to it. The man was level headed enough that he would serve well as a leader, and Mexico would be willing to support him. But, there was no assurance that a vote would lead to Victoria having power.

There was an unpleasant shiver down his spine as he thought of the concept of Guerrero becoming president. He did not want to be forced to spend time with a man who had lied to him. He was no longer certain of what Guerrero had felt or meant. It was clear to him that some of it had been Iturbide’s manipulations, but that did not mean that Guerrero had been sincere either.

It was not so hard to believe that the people would choose Guerrero, since he was a war hero and was well loved. He was an easy man to love.

Mexico stopped his own train of thought there, trying not to allow it to reach its natural end.

But, on the other hand, he could be certain of who he would be dealing with if he chose the monarchy. It would be Iturbide, who he felt more and more alienated from by the day.

Then it would be his son who would take the throne. Mexico did not want to pass judgement on a boy when he was still young. But, the boy had fainted when he had heard about his father’s new position.

It didn’t seem that he had the constitution for leadership, and that the prospect scared him. His fainting seemed to indicate that he was scared of the idea on being the crown prince. Perhaps it was kind to relieve him of the burden.

Mexico sighed to himself as he saw the door again. He could see the direction that his own thoughts was going, and it seemed so obvious that he felt like he had been ridiculous for meditating on it for so long.

He knew that he was at least willing to give Victoria a chance to explain his plan for how to create a republic. He did not have to agree, not quite yet.

But, as he reached the door to the library, he had an idea for the letter he needed to write. Once that was done, it would be a simple matter of finding a boy in the market and returning a pocket dictionary with a certain letter folded in its pages.

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

Mexico came back from the market with a self satisfied smiled on his face. He felt like he was finally doing what Morelos had wanted from him, and had believed him capable of. It was nothing solid yet, but losing the weight of deliberation made him feel much better.

“You seem quite pleased about something.”

Mexico turned to see that Santa Anna had been watching the door as he came in, like he had been anxiously waiting for him to return. If Mexico thought Santa Anna had any loyalty to the emperor, he would have been worried that he had seen him.

But, he was certain that Santa Anna was not looking at him with accusation. He was especially certain of it when Santa Anna smirked at him and said, “I hope you aren’t about to tell me that the Spanish fleet has mysteriously vanished. I have the most brilliant plan to rid us of them.”

Mexico walked over to him, trying to act like he hadn’t been planning any sort of rebellion hours before. He said, “I don’t think they have. But, I don’t think I would be able to see that from here. If they were in the harbor, it would be easier to know what we are facing.”

Santa Anna replied, “No, that would be far too easy. I would be very impressed if you could see all the way to Havana.” 

Mexico was surprised to hear that, though it should have been obvious to him that Cuba would be the easiest place to prepare the attack. He responded, “How do you know they are in Havana?”

He met the mortal’s eyes and momentarily felt like he believed in Santa Anna’s strange confidence. It should seem absurd, but the completely frank and certain delivery was convincing.

Santa Anna placed one hand on Mexico’s back and guided him to a table where there was a map laid out, “I have my sources. Let me show you what I am thinking."

Mexico replied, trying not to sound too cynical, though he doubted that everything would be as simple as Santa Anna was making it sound. It wouldn’t be, if Spain had any strategy at all. He said, “I don’t suppose you have any idea how many ships he has? Did your source tell you that?”

It was critical information, and he was certain that it would be essential in planning a defense. He was hoping that whatever Santa Anna was able to know would fill that gap. All that the Netherlands had been able to tell him for sure was that Spain’s ability to wage war was far less than it had been before the war with France. But, he had not known anything specific about the numbers.

The Netherlands had already given Mexico so much without asking for anything. He wouldn’t ask for more.

Santa Anna shook his head, “Unfortunately, I do not. My source only saw that they were going to Havana. It would make our lives easier if we knew.”

He turned to the map and placed a marker in Havana. He met Mexico’s eyes and said, “We know that they are massing their fleet there.”

He pointed to the map, like it was unclear when he meant. Mexico nodded anyway, because he would rather that Santa Anna got to the point.

The mortal continued, “We don't have the numbers to take the fight all the way to Cuba. But, thanks to your Dutch friend, we have the ships to have scouts to watch their position. The moment we know that they are going to attack, we will mount a defense at a bottleneck.”

He pointed to a spot in the harbor where ships would have to pass in very close. Mexico understood his reasoning, since it would be easier to make up for any disparity of numbers if they set the terms of engagement.

He said, with slight amusement, "You're planning a trap? How dishonorable of you.”

He knew that his tone was not serious. Santa Anna responded with an amused smile, “Would you rather be honorable or be victorious?”

Mexico smiled back and said, “I think you know the answer to that.”

He felt distinctly aware of Santa Anna’s hand on his back as the man replied, “I think I understand you completely.”

Mexico took another glance at the map and tried not to think about the hand on his back. It wasn’t entirely necessary and he decided not to contemplate it. Instead, he said, “You nearly have me convinced of your brilliance, commander.” Santa Anna said, almost sweetly, “You can call me Antonio.”

Though the man meant well, Mexico felt like he couldn’t get that name to roll off of his tongue without thinking of Spain. But, he didn’t want to admit to that yet. He said, “Let’s not be too familiar yet.”

He turned his gaze intentionally back to the map so he didn’t have to see how Santa Anna was looking at him. He then said, “So, all we need to do now is wait.”

The mortal replied, “Yes, and I suspect it will not be long.”

He then added, with another knowing smile, “Even if it does, I will refuse to be removed by the emperor.”

Mexico scoffed, amused by the brazen statement. He could not imagine that Santa Anna would have any choice if it came to that. Iturbide would not take no as an answer if he issued an order.

Mexico said, “And how are you going to do that?”

He was amused to see what kind of answer the man would give. Santa Anna said, as casually as he said anything else, “I have my own soldiers who are loyal to me.”

Mexico raised his eyebrow in mock surprise. He said, “That sounds like treason.”

Any man with a sense of shame would have taken the opportunity to pretend that the statement was a joke. But Santa Anna seemed to make no such retreat. Instead he said, “Well, let’s keep that between us then. You don’t tell anyone what I just said, and I won’t question where you were today. Does that sound like a deal?”

Mexico thought for a brief moment that he had the proof Iturbide wanted. He could have easily written a letter to Iturbide, and won the man’s trust and esteem.

But, as he looked at Santa Anna, he felt no desire to do it. He had nothing to gain from it, and it would only lose him a commander. He already knew that he was not going to say anything about it to the emperor. Mexico replied, “I think we do.”

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

There was a folded piece of paper on the side table by Mexico’s bed that he was sure had not been there before he left. It caught his eye as soon as he entered the room like an unbidden intruder.

It was folded neatly like a letter, and by all appearances that’s what it was. But it was strange to him that it would be left without anyone telling him.

He glanced around like he was about to see a courier leaving. But there was no one there, and he was left with the puzzling question of where the letter had come from.

Perhaps they had brought the letter when he had been delivering his letter for Victoria, and there had been no opportunity for a discussion.

He picked it up and turned the paper in his hand, looking for any clue who it was from. But there was nothing more than a scribbled name on the outside. It was Mexico’s name, in a handwriting that he felt like he knew. But it couldn’t possibly be from the person he thought it was.

He opened it, and immediately knew who had written it before he even saw the signature. Cuba’s handwriting would always be familiar to him, even if this looked like it had been composed in secret. It was rushed and the words blurred together at points.

Mexico could imagine him so clearly in his mind’s eye. He imagined Cuba standing at the harbor scribbling notes about the numbers of ships.

The idea brought unbidden tears to Mexico’s eyes. He felt so touched by the thought that his friend would be willing to take that risk for him. They were far apart, and it had been years since they had even spoken last. But, despite all of that, Cuba had chosen to send him a letter.

Mexico’s heart ached, and he could feel the sting of tears in his eyes. He was certain that if Spain had found out that Cuba was taking any notes about the ships at all there would have been swift and brutal punishment.

If he could guess from the last time he had seen Spain that the man’s temper was certainly more volatile than usual. And no one would accuse him of being a level headed man even when he was in a good mood.

Mexico knew the risk that Cuba was taking, and he wished profoundly that he was able to thank him. He read through the rest of the letter, occasionally having to stop and puzzle through the messy letters.

It was a remarkably complete description of the Spanish fleet in Havana, down to the kind of each ship and their state of repair. Based on the description, it sounded like Spain had rushed repairs on several ships that had been involved in the war with France. Those would be weak, and easy to sink if Mexico was careful.

It also seemed that Spain’s naval capacity had definitely reduced, though only a fool would think it would be an easy fight. It was all the information that Mexico had been missing, and he couldn’t quite imagine how he had such luck.

Mexico put his free hand to his chest, over his heart. This must have taken enormous effort and care to write, and Mexico felt like he didn’t deserve this from a friend who he had not been close to for years.

He could also imagine how difficult it had been to sneak it across the gulf and to him. He wished he knew what kind of subterfuge it had taken for this letter to appear in his room without a trace of who had brought it.

He reached the bottom of the letter, and his heart hurt as he read the last few lines. They said, “From what I’ve heard, it sounds like you have a week or two to prepare. I wish you luck, my friend. I could not be more proud of you. I hope we can see each other again under better circumstances.”

Mexico wished he could do anything to express his gratitude for the warning and the information. He wished he could hug Cuba like he would have when they were children.

He folded the letter carefully, certain that he would keep it until he could see Cuba again. Then he raised it his lips and placed a soft kiss on the paper. He added softly, “Thank you, Carlos.”

[ishakzander]

‹ RAMI MALEK, HE/HIM, CISMALE, ASEXUAL. ›  ISHAK ZANDER is the THIRTY-SEVEN year old THAT CAME TO beaver creek, colorado, hired to work as a PASTRY CHEF in the manor. when a friend asked them what they thought of the manor they said,  ❝ TO THE DEVIL WITH FALSE MODESTY. ❞ they claim CARRIE is their favorite scary movie, and if they were to die in a horror film they would HAVE SENT A GOODBYE VOICEMAIL TO THEIR FAMILY BEFORE BEING BURIED ALIVE. their fears include SUFFOCATION, HOSPITALS and SNAKES, and they don’t know we know, but… HE WAS INVOLVED IN A REVENGE PORN IN HIGH SCHOOL. ‹ STAFF OF THE MANOR, Pastry Chef. ›

hey hey hey! tis me again, aren, and i’m back with a second muse! and here we go...

STATS—

NAME: Ishak Khalil Zander BIRTHPLACE: Denver, Colorado HOMETOWN: Denver, Colorado DOB: September 28 ZODIAC: Libra AGE: 37 HEIGHT: 5’10 (1.78 m) WEIGHT: 70 kg (154 lbs) HAIR: Black EYES: Green S/R ORIENTATION: Asexual / Demiromantic OCCUPATION(S): Pastry chef. Sous chef (former). Executive pastry chef (former).

Name pronounced as EE-SHAK or ISH-AK.

Egyptian. With some Greek lineage.

Youngest of two; has an older brother.

Majored in Cultural Studies.

After graduating from college, he went and studied in Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, France.

Can speak fluent French, colloquial Egyptian-Arabic, basic Spanish.

An absolute optimist.

His five favorite food groups? Cake, chocolate, macaron, cheese and wine.

Believes in superstition.

200% foodie.

A perfectionist, especially when it comes to his craft.

Catch him snowboarding or hiking during his rare-free time/off days.

Awkward when it comes to technology.

Interned, worked for and was mentored by Wolfgang Puck.

Was the First Family’s executive pastry chef throughout President Obama’s term. (This totally happened in this universe OKAY.)

Then, he moved back to Denver, CO – reunited with his family, and worked as a pastry chef for The Mandalorian. (Yes, I borrowed this from SW but shhh it’s easier for me to remember lmao.)

Come 2018, a job post for the Crenshaw Manor was forwarded to him via email; the pastry chef position. He applied and was hired.

Despite his overall sunny, outgoing, positive disposition… he can be snappy (esp in the kitchen), snarky (don’t bad-mouth immigrants, ever), insensitive (refer to snappy lol).

He’s heard of all the ghost stories and lore concerning the Manor™. He will neither confirm nor deny, but he’s got lots to tell if you’re up for a good story (or some urban myths).

As for his secret, while he wasn’t present when the event took place, he was pressured and manipulated into posting the video online by people he, at the time, thought were his friends. A flagrant outcome, a divisive fallout, and disciplinary actions were taken.

FEARS

SUFFOCATION: He got locked up in a closet when he was little when the fear mounted (and it was dark) and suddenly, he was unable to breathe. HOSPITALS: While he can count the number of times he’s been in a hospital, most had to do with death. He’s lost a cousin, an uncle, a close friend and a co-worker. Want to know what these four have in common? They all died at precisely 3 AM yet different calendar dates and the cause of death were all undetermined. Oh, and mirrors were found shattered in the restrooms. SNAKES: Because they slither and crawl and no thank you fjkvjdfksfbnkj

BIO

Sometimes you watch old videos of yourself. The ones were taken by your older brother, by your mom. There’s something subjective about them, the camera angles, and the crisp sound, your own voice sounding so young. Your mom video calls every now and then when she’s not busy with the restaurant, you are in desperate need of a haircut or a shave, and when you see for yourself you call her back just to agree, to have that good ‘ol mother and son fun banter. You’re good friends with your dad, you’re his confidant. You look up to your brother because he’s quite the role model, he’s fun and witty and everything you’ve aspired to be.

Your childhood was good. You’re the son of Egyptian immigrants. Your father’s a biochemist, and your mother’s a chef; you clearly took after the latter, although you took a lot from the former, too. You’re appreciative and passionate about your roots, proud of your culture. You had good friends, participated in activities in and out of school.

High school was another world, you felt alienated for a season, had to adjust. But you found your place, found your friends. At least, you thought you did. You felt safe, well-liked, ever the social butterfly. Your brother warned you about certain friends, how they never felt right, how they looked at you differently. Of course, you elected to ignore his advice. And then something happened—

It wasn’t the same, you’ve changed. You grew up overnight, forced to face your demons and to deal. Your name was cleared, sure, and your family still loves you. Always have, and they never looked at you any different. They still trust you, they believe in you. Your real friends? They’re a small group, and they stayed—you’re thankful. You’re forgiven, but you’ll never forget. You went to a different high school once the semester’s ended.

College was fun. Your first fling, your first relationship, first drag of mary-jane, first unofficial cook-off. A lot of firsts. Oh, and apparently, you’re now a damn-good cook, quite the baker. One of your best friends questioned why you’re not pursuing Culinary Arts, and you jokingly told him it’s because you want to go to all the free parties and concerts first. You graduated with honors, your family’s proud. You feel good. Still, you felt unaccomplished.

Paris was something else. You wondered how you’ll fit in, how you’ll pull through. But you fucking did. Despite the odds, scheming, and competitive classmates. You’re on top of your class, lauded by your peers and teachers. That’s right, you’re feeling accomplished now.

You started off as a sous chef, a tall task. However, you’re excellent under pressure, you’re damn good at what you do. You’ve faced adversity (dissatisfied customers and foodies), felt a surge of pride (executive chefs and critiques praising your work), humbled (your family and roots are being credited for your skills, your upbringing).

Being the executive pastry chef for the First Family’s a highlight of your life. You didn’t think it was possible, but it happened. It was the First Lady who recommended you when she and her daughters dined at one of Wolfgang Puck’s restaurants. Up to this day, it still feels surreal.

You go back to Colorado once President Obama’s concluded his final term, full of sound and happy memories, friendships, an experience unlike any other. Then, you take up the pastry chef post for a well-known shop, the owner’s a family friend, and personally asked you to fill the spot.

Now comes a new chapter.

You’re now the pastry chef for the Crenshaw Manor. You’re familiar with the stories, the gossip, and everything else in between. You’re familiar with the silence, eerie, and bone-chilling. You hear the whispers, the voices. You’ve seen the figures, have photographic evidence. But you dare not disrupt the balance.

You follow the protocol because you value your post.

Wanted Connections

I don’t have anything specific fbsjjkvjkakbjka

Throw anything at me or let’s brain storm!

I also don’t kind going off chemistry and going with the flow!

Find me on disco or IM here!

[wellntruly]

THE YOUNG POPE - 1x05

@memory-for-trifles has caught up with The Young Pope and I just need to share some of her own live-blogging with you because I lost it:

“I’ve always been good at taking notes” God is up there like “wut, my son”

“What is the Cardinal Secretary of State doing?” “HIS BEST,” I say aloud to my TV

“homely girl” orphans are never young

Men love it when women are bad at roller skating

Me @ the Pope: girl, whatever, Jesus wept

Is the kangaroo like......God......

Noooo don’t send gentle Father Aesop out to the wolves, he can’t fit all those stuffed animals into a carry-on

And with that, we continue!!!! With The Young Pope!!!!!!!1!!! A gift show.

Young Pope Bloggin’ No. 5

I straight-up can’t get over these Hippie Parents looks. look at them. they’re like if a Renaissance religious painting met Wes Anderson making a Woodstock movie.

omg the song over the credits is different this time! man this show owes nobody nothin’, they will do what they please

anyway speaking of looks! still not over this either or at all

I’ve looked it up and this actress is French—I have decided Esther is also French! it would explain why all the Italian and Spanish cardinals speak English to her, that apparently being the Vatican lingua franca. it would not explain why I had not pegged her accent as French until now

lord love Esther “Tits Out For God”

wonderful that these nerds think they’re subtle while they gather in open sight taking photos with a completely unmuffled shutter

wow are you getting all this Father Chuckles because this is a gr8 monologue

whoooo’s house is this, wow, what is going on I’m delighted!

Cardinal Marc Evan Jackson: “You were just a jerk, and now you’ve become the Pope.” Lenny: [laughs, loves him]

the Papal Butler staring at Mary’s scandalous sleep shirt I am dying

hah they broke out together, her boys

Voiello, the Cardinal Secretary of State, has three cellphones. they all have a case featuring a soccer player.

does Cardinal Voiello suddenly, or perhaps not suddenly, have a crush on Sister Mary!

I…cannot believe Lenny is unknowingly playing the Cyrano to Voiello right now

ohhh my god he just tells her he got all this from Lenny! goddamnit Voiello I love you, you always keep me on my toes

did they walk into a hotel and ask to buy cigarettes? you cloistered idiots!

“We’re not priests. Have you ever seen two priests wearing tracksuits?” well I’ve seen sumthin

Escort: “Did you know I have clients who insist I’m proof of the existence of God? But they’re wrong. They see me, because they can’t see far.” Lenny: “..do u need a job”

okay, sincerely, half the scenes of this show seem like they’re going to be one of those things you know, and then they’ll just do ENTIRELY another thing and I’m grinning like delighted child

if that’s the kind of house orphanage custodians live in, I have a career path change I need to work out

for y’all’s bffl use

talking about childhood secrets on this old bridge in the middle of the night, look at this ~romantic friendship~

Cardinal Dussolier’s tracksuit is Lacoste

would Andrew also have lost his parents, since he too was at the orphanage?

aw, this is cute. Sister Ma and her saintly no-good sons, come home again.

amazing. just love nun intramurals.

omg, peace be on your heart, Father Aesop, let him not stress you Father!

I have zero questions about the Vatican-branded wooden crates that get regularly air dropped in to this helicopter pad, this just seems fine to me

we all know the other secret is that he just has PILES and piles of stuffed animals

IRL SCREAM. I was so unprepared for the camera angle reveal that Lenny is literally walking SEVERAL FEET ABOVE Voiello for this take-down!!!! #HIGH GROUND

imagine being like I need to have a meeting with my coworkers, and booking the Sistine Chapel like a conference room

------- “Sexy And I Know It” is playing. I had forgotten that I knew this. I...caNNOT

oh next level pageantry, look at this bitch

wow I didn’t know the sides of the Sistine Chapel were trompe l’oeil curtains, that’s kinda…huh ...tacky? [is struck down by the ghost of pissed Michaelangelo]

amazing that Lenny has predicated his entire papacy on how neat he thinks it is that no one knows who that asshole Banksy is

look at this fucking decked out Catholic imp, rolling down his EXCLUSIVITY DECREES. he’s like a faerie king setting his Facebook event as INVITE ONLY.

“There is nothing outside your obedience to Pius XIII. Nothing except Hell. A Hell you may know nothing about. But I do. Because I built it.” haha holy shit!

wow he looked so young for a moment there, when Cardinal Spencer kneeled to kiss his foot

Dussolier cannot but walk with this casual leonine ease even in the most weighted and strained environments, what the heck my guy

[laughing] it’s such a delight how homoerotic this relaysh has become, especially like, right now, in this of all moments

slipper kink

blessed balls oh what the fuck, I am cryying

is he gonna have the stigmata goatherd taken out or

NO ONE EXPECTS THE PAPAL IMPOSITION

also do u see: they’re inside a small door

Pope Notes

[riding-alpacas]

Buenos Aires

The first stop of my trip is done and it was a promising start. Vancouver waved goodbye as only Vancouver can: With grey skies and plenty of rain. But a bit more than 24 hours and two stopovers later Argentina welcomed me with bright sunshine on a hot afternoon. Oh how much I missed this. The remainder of my first day turned out to be pretty lousy but in hindsight I blame my extreme fatigue for that (I didn't catch any sleep during the flight).

First thing I wanted to do after I checked in to my hostel was to get some cash and buy some food. The first two ATMs I tried didn't give me any money though. Everything on the screen was in Spanish, so I didn't really understand what the error message was saying. No problem I thought, then I'll pay for my food with my credit card. The first supermarket I went to didn't accept my Visa though and I had to leave confused, hungry and still empty-handed. Fortunately I managed to find one that did - but the process was quite laborious: They had to see my passport and didn't have these fancy electronic machines to transact the payment. I had to sign a receipt instead. This wasn't a surprise to me, I've read about this procedure before. But going through it for the first time when you're basically just buying some bread and butter just changes your perception. I was tired, I was overwhelmed, I just went to bed and hoped things would get better. Luckily they did.

There weren't many people in the hostel, but I managed to find a guy who explained the money situation in Argentina a little bit to me. Skip a few paragraphs if you don't wanna know. First of all, in Argentina cash is king (am I back in Germany?). Also the country is suffering from inflation - a lot. As a result, locals try to save their money in US dollars. All this shemozzle means that a few things are happening:

ATMs regularly run out of money during the day

You can't withdraw more than 4,000 pesos in one transaction (currently equals AUD 100 or 60 EUR)

You can't withdraw more than 8,000 pesos in one day

You are being charged between 300 and 600 pesos for every withdrawal (thankfully my Australian bank rebates these fees)

The government is making it hard for locals to exchange money and there are a lot of limitations in place

On top of that out of the two ATM networks here, one simply won't give me any cash. Ever. I tried many times. So far with the other ATM network my success rate was 50-50. I also found out that quite a few places actually accept credit card payments. You simply need to know where to go. My strategy now is to do little payments in cash and larger payments with credit card and I generally try to stay away from Argentine pesos as much as possible. You feel SO much better once you understand this stuff and can put a strategy in place.

Let's get back to Buenos Aires - the Paris of South America. This is actually true, a lot of buildings look very European and the majority of them look very French to me. The reason for that is quite funny, too: During it's best time (Argentina was the third richest country once), people wanted to differentiate themselves from all the other cities in South America. The rich travelled to Europe on a regular basis and when they came back, they tore down their buildings and decided to replicate all sorts of things they saw in Italy or France.

Teatro Colón

Well, rich humans just do super weird things when they are bored and it's quite apparent here when you dive a little into the history of this city. The most spectacular story I came across was the one about the church Basílica del Santísimo Sacramento. First of all only European material was used to build it. 100%. Every doorknob came all the way across the ocean. Then there is the motivation behind it: Mercedes Castellanos de Anchorena really, really wanted to be noble - nobody in Argentina was noble at that time. So she decided to build this church just across the road from where she was living in a decadent palace. She gave it to the church and ding - the Pope granted her a noble title. But the crazy story doesn't stop there. There was another rich woman called Corina Kavanagh who was the lover of one of Mercedes' brothers. Apparently Mercedes prevented them from getting married. Corina wasn't happy about that and she knew that Mercedes loved to see that church of hers from her balcony. So Corina went and bought the land right in front of the church, decided to put a high apartment building on it and block the view for Mercedes. At that time, this building was also the highest building in South America and became quite an iconic landmark for Buenos Aires. Revenge is a dish best served cold.

A church that makes you noble

I spent three days in total in the capital and it turned out to be the right amount of time. The city is quite big, very modern and I walked most of the time. First I explored San Telmo which is the oldest part of Buenos Aires. Lots of cafes and antique shops can be found on these old cobblestone streets. I also found some nice street art and the narrowest home - not wider than two doors basically. And it’s called La Casa Mínima. Spanish can be quite amusing.

Tiny house - not a new phenomenon

I continued strolling along Plaza de Mayo which is THE city square. On one end you find a big pink building which one might know from a speech held by a person called Madonna Evita.

Casa Rosada

For the rest of the day I decided to walk along a famous shopping street in the quest for one my most important purchase of the whole trip: A new pair of Havaianas. After finding them, I finished the afternoon with my first dulce de leche ice cream. Spoiler: There will be an extra paragraph about the food.

On day two I was mainly exploring Recoleta. This is where the posh people live and it was by far the cleanest area in Buenos Aires. It's also where I picked up the stories above. I learned a lot about the Falklands war, too and it made me hate Margaret Thatcher even more. The whole thing is still an important topic for Argentinians and during elections candidates are still being asked what their position is in regards to the Islas Malvinas. That whole conflict and how it came about left a huge scar in the nation's heart and it's still far from being processed.

I finished the day checking out the famous Recoleta cemetery. It was cruel and impressive at the same time. I'm always amazed when I go to cemeteries outside of Germany, they are usually so different. I think the correct term to use is "monumental cemetery", whilst in Germany "lawn cemeteries" are more common. Similar to what I've seen in Paris and London this cemetery is structured like a little town with street names and stuff. There are impressive monuments everywhere, some in really good shape, others sadly falling apart. Of course I had to go to Evita's grave which is actually quite easy to find - don't let tour operators fool you. Yes, there are cemetery tours up to 2 hours long. Now to the cruel part: I did a little research into how the remains of Evita and the national hero José de San Martín (there are statues of him everywhere) were treated and boy oh boy, humans can be so shitty to each other. Even when they're already dead. Both of them were basically constantly moved around, buried upside down, their coffins put in an angle... and all because they believed in things or did things in their life that other people didn't approve of.

I see dead people

On my last day I went North and explored the neighbourhood of Palermo. Apart from the usual stuff (shopping, restaurants, cafes...) there were also two museum in this area that sounded interesting: The Evita museum and a place called MALBA. The Evita museum obviously gives you a deep insight into Eva Peron's life. Very informative and nicely done. MALBA is an art museum in a pretty cool building. One of the exhibitions was quite interactive and fun.

MALBA

One of the things I missed the most on all three days was water! I have no idea how the citizens of Buenos Aires survive these hot summers without access to a natural body of water. There were some little pools that were totally crowded and even though it looks like the city would be by the sea, it's actually at the mouth of River Plate which is definitely not feasible for swimming as it is super silty.

One of the last things I have to write about is the food. I was looking forward to try the Argentine cuisine and so far I haven't been disappointed at all. In fact, if I continue eating like I did in the last few days I will very soon look like the guy in the illustration. This is the stuff I've tried so far:

Steak My favourite cut so far is called bife de chorizo. They sometimes put egg on it which makes we wonder if the dish then qualifies as breakfast.

Yum!

Pizza The difference to Italian pizza is that Argentinians like to put loads and loads of cheese and olives on their pizza. As a person who usually puts extra cheese on their frozen pizza, I surely won't complain about this.

Empanada Should be renamed to "pockets of gold". Small, fried dough pockets stuffed  with... well... meat! Prepare me a bath of Empanadas and I will swim in it the whole day.

Helado Argentinian ice cream. Coming from a country where I was struggling to find really good ice cream, pretty much every ice cream I had in Buenos Aires so far was a gazillion times better.

Also yum!

Alfajores A type of biscuit: Dulce de leche sandwiched between two crumbly cookies. Not my favourite but still a lot better than bloody Oreos.

Medialunas Like a croissant but a bit smaller and denser. I think I prefer them over croissants because they are less messy.

Mate (the tea) I'm not entirely sure yet what I should think about this drink. It will surely get a separate blog post at some point as it it closely linked to a whole social event with a mate etiquette etc. Stay tuned!

Short version: I think I'm in food heaven and it will be hard to continue with my one or two veggie days a week strategy. There is still a lot more to try and I can't wait to participate in my first Asado.

Tango tango

All in all I would say that I enjoyed my time in Buenos Aires. I felt pretty safe, the weather was great and the food was to die for. It would have been nice to have a few more people in the hostel (on my last day we were down to three) but this will probably change now that I'm on my way to Patagonia where it's peak season. I'll be in cold Ushuaia for a week or so before gradually going up North again.

[afrojonathan]

Day 24: Fes and Chefchaouen, Morocco

Another big day here, even if it was bifurcated into a Fes morning and a Chefchaouen evening.

I got moving early to take some photos of side streets in the Fes medina that I absolutely loved, but didn’t look as resplendent (nod to Brett Cluff) at night. I also went to the oldest library (attached to that Mosque I errantly entered yesterday) to see if I could get myself in today. There was a different guard, but seemed very dismissive (I couldn’t tell if it was closed or he just didn’t want to let me in - I’m presuming the latter. The internets were unclear whether I would be able to make it in or not, so, worth a try). A local heard my fruitless conversation, and took me to a nearby medersa (old university) that I thought was going to be that library (but perhaps a different entrance). It wasn’t, but I don’t think he was hustling me, I think he thought I was looking for this. I gave him 10 dirhams, admired the architecture in this tiny place, and then headed back to the riad for the comically large breakfast. I even tried to tell them to bring me less, to no avail.

The manager of the riad was nice enough to come help me flag a cab to the bus station, as well as get me a great price (2 bucks, as opposed to 3). He went to give me a kiss on each cheek, which I roundly botched, but we kind of made it happen. (Also, my brother says the Swiss do 3, [which just seems to fit his need for affection and is unclear if true] so I had that in my head during the whole exchange).

The bus station was as unpleasant as any bus station, no more no less. The ride was bumpy and kind of nauseating, but otherwise uneventful.

As we pulled in to Chefchaouen, I saw the mountainous blue-splashed landscape, and knew this place was going to be special. Upon checking in (entirely in Spanish), I realized my apartment was on a pretty iconic street here. Note the steps with the colored pots below. I’m sure I ruined more than a few photos popping out of the apartment, as there was always a line of folks taking photos here.

Intent on making the most of the remaining few hours of sunlight, I walked through the very manageable medina. Things are are pretty relaxed comparatively, which is a welcome change.

I had dinner on the roof terrace of the Clock Cafe, where there was someone playing a guitar-like instrument, and someone singing. It would have been awesome, except 3 teens sitting near me were playing music on their phone and generally being super annoying. Apparently my frosty looks whenever they played music weren’t being recognized. I debated between couscous and a camel burger, and went with couscous. I should have gone with the camel burger. THAT’S IT THIS TRIP IS A BUST.

After meandering around quite a bunch more, I saw a shop that was only lit with candles, and the light was wonderfully reflected with the shop’s many geodes. I walked by it twice, and something finally compelled me to go in. I sure am glad I did.

I perused the geodes and shells that were on display, in this small, cavernous and sexy space. It was definitely the coolest shop I had seen in all the medinas. As Spanish is spoken fairly prevalently here, I spoke mostly in Spanish with Ibrahim, the owner. There was an older French woman Carole in the shop as well, and though I eventually asked, I never really understood their dynamic (and they gave a coy answer about the world being a small place). I eventually bought something there, and as I was out the door, I popped back in to take one more photo. Ibrahim invited me to sit with him and Carole to have some slightly hallucinogenic kif, which is smoked out of a long, thin pipe (I believe it is legal here, based on my readings). I originally declined and went to leave, and then my brain just said “why wouldn’t you embrace this foreign experience, Jonathan?”

The three of us passed it around and chatted in Spanish, English and a wee bit of French. We talked about travel, humanity, kindness, our homes, etc. Ibrahim even brought me some delicious COLD tea (finally! Something other than scalding hot tea in these hot Moroccan days!) I think the cold tea maaaay have gotten me sick, but more on that later. This was one of those moments (and I told them this) that you dream of as a solo traveler. Off the beaten path, chatting with locals, partaking in local customs. Eventually a younger French woman Claire joined us, though I wasn’t clear on her connection to the others.

At one point, I heard lots of car horns and general cacophony, and asked what they thought it was. A wedding, I was told. I joked about American weddings (and how I’m so popular at them 💁‍♀️), and I talked about how I can’t imagine a wedding without alcohol. “How do the weird uncles get on the dance floor then?” I mused, to their enjoyment. After feeling I had stayed a good amount of time (and being mindful to not overstay), I politely excused myself and walked back into the main part of the medina in a bit of a haze.

I somehow ended up right in the thick of the cacophony from before, as it seemed half the Town was marching and celebrating this wedding. I stopped at a corner right as the groom (presumably) walked by carrying a...actually I don’t know the word...a covered throne thing? I assumed the bride was in it. I marched along with the wedding for awhile, and no one seemed to mind (I’m giving credit to the keffiyeh!) They were chanting the same things, and quietly joined in. I walked with them for about 5 minutes, but I had another goal in mind.

I took off deep into the Moroccan night, following a rumor towards a bar. All I wanted these last few days was an ice cold crispy boy.

Wandering the darkened streets of Chefchaouen, I eventually came across a waterfall. I decided I’d come back and check it out in the day, especially because there seemed to be some people lurking in the shadows. After going to the completely wrong place and asking for a beer (of which I think I offended greatly), I found my way towards the (actual) bar OumRabie. On the way, I wound up again amongst the wedding, this time a line of endless cars with people hanging out the sides, cheering, honking, etc. I danced along to the music as I made my way to the bar. I also thought how weird it was that everyone was driving post-wedding, and then remembered that no one would have been drinking there.

The bar: what a site to behold. It was similar to the worst dive bars in NY (Holland Bar near Port Authority comes to mind), plus people were just ripping butts. It felt like nothing had changed in here since the late 80’s. I sat at the bar and chatted with the server in Spanish, all the while a Yanni YouTube playlist was being broadcast. The other grizzled patrons were in RAPT attention with the Yanni, and truth be told, so was I. I had a Casabalanca, a Flag Special and a Stork. They were damn fine beers on a sweaty summer night. Around 1am I decided I had smelled enough smoke and wasn’t really looking to get dinged up, so I walked the 20 minutes back through the quiet and slightly spooky medina, reveling in the experiences of the day.

[dybdahltravels]

Bonjour from Casablanca, Morocco

March 18, 2019

Bonjour!!  We arrived late last night in Casablanca Morocco or Maroc - as it is called by the people who live here.  Anyway,  it was quite an adventure on a very small and very old airplane - but we got here safe and sound.  My gluten-free dinner was a banana and a kiwi - with no way to cut or peal the kiwi and no napkin - BUT both the banana and the kiwi were indeed gluten-free - so I’m not really complaining (much.)  My biggest worry was about food - Mark’s was that the airplane was about 50 years old (Mark’s attempt at hyperbole) - but it was all good.

We had barely gotten off the plane when I received a phone call from our guide in Morocco, Zouhair Aarab  He welcomed us to Morocco, got the name of our hotel, contacted the hotel to see if a shuttle was available then called me back. - sorry, no shuttle. Then he guided us through the airport to an ATM and to a cab - all on the phone.  He told us how much the cab should cost and wished us well.  He called again about a hour later just to make sure we were comfortable in our hotel and although he is really not our tour guide for another 2 days - encouraged me to call  for ANYTHING - directions, restaurant suggestions, activities, history - anything that would be helpful.  I like this guy already!!

The Moroccan Dirham is the currency of Morocco and $1.00 = 9.58 Dirham so in my mind 1 dirham is 10 cents.  Move the decimal point - easy-peasy.   But still when our guide said that the taxi ride would not exceed 650 dirhams - my brain freaked.  The airport was an hour from our hotel - so $65 didn’t seem unreasonable but 650 dirhams - NO FREAKING WAY!!  But I was tired and I expect things will get easier….  I hope.  When we were getting the money from the ATM we had to pick the amount and when Mark picked 2,000 dirhams I thought he was nuts - but now - less tired - I think we will need more than $200 for the next month.  Sigh…. The sign for a Dirham is DH, FYI and our cab ride cost 600 DH.

Although our taxi driver did not initially know where our hotel was - I stumbled on a gem of a hotel.  But our taxi driver freaked me out - more than once.  The first time was when I handed him the address of the hotel and he explained in French, that he didn’t have his glasses so he couldn’t read.  (I’m thinking - AND MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T BE DRIVING EITHER!!!! ) But that wasn’t all - we are careening down the expressway, when suddenly he exits into nothingness.  I think - THIS IS IT!!  “Two tourists hijacked by a taxi driver and slaughtered for  credit cards “- but being tired causes one’s mind to go a little crazy and he pointed to the expressway as we went over it - and all the traffic was completely stopped.  He explained - in French - that we were going a different way to avoid the traffic problem (I think that is what he said - my French is a little shaky.  But I  know he didn’t say - Prepare to die dirty Americans and give me your credit cards - because I had been working on that sentence in French since we exited the expressway.)  Phew!  So it turned out that this guy was a great guy - friendly and willing to help me communicate in my crappy French.  And the next thing I knew we pulled up in front of the hotel.

We are staying at a place called La Doge and when we walked in - we thought - oops - this is WAY over our pay grade - BUT I had already paid for it and it was reasonable and quite a bit cheaper than the place we are staying with our tour group beginning on Tuesday night.

We were welcomed and escorted to our room that had a welcome plate of fruit, chocolates on the pillows and beautiful fresh flowers.  The name of our room is the Coco Chanel room - no number here.  It is simply elegant.  The walls are covered in padded fabric - every inch of the 12 feet tall walls.  The entire building is Art Deco and we have furniture in our room - and in the entry room that leads into our “salle de bains” or our “chambre”  (bathroom & bedroom) one would not see that in those hotel re-sale places.  These are beautiful and unique pieces - highlighted by several pictures of Coco Chanel

Our bathroom is black marble with a very cool clawfoot bathtub (that is soooooo dangerously slippery  - we can’t believe it) but beautiful.  And of course we have a heated towel rack.

So in a place like this - can one possibly find anything to complain about?  Why, yes I can!   I happen to LOVE a top sheet and I have discovered that the top sheet is not well-loved or a "gotta-have” in many countries.   Although after only one experience I cannot definitely conclude that the entire country does NOT love the top sheet - I can conclude that Le Doge is not a fan.  Happily for us - I pack a sheet.  So, all is well - but what is it with the no top sheet?

After a good nights rest and a very French "petite dejuener” (breakfast) in the breakfast room (pinkie up!!) we decided to take a walk to explore this new city. 

Today is cloudy and that is the first day since we left Michigan than we had a cloudy day.  Construction is everywhere - at least where we walked - and where they are not redoing the sidewalks or the roads - they should be.  The city is noisy and dirty.  This is NOT Tokyo - where you could NEVER find one teeny piece of trash.  Horns are constantly honking and crossing the road is like taking your life in your hands.  If you want to cross - just step out and cross.  OMG!!!  

One of the things we really loved about Santa Cruz de Tenerife was that many of the streets were pedestrian only.  It is a great walking town.  Walking here in Casablanca - at least in the area by our hotel - is a lot like Russian roulette - from my perspective.  Pedestrians share the sidewalk with work trucks parked 2 deep, piles of gravel spilling into the streets and the sidewalks are packed with people who simply step around all this into the streets to join the sidewalks whenever they re-appear.  

I am aware that Mark & I didn’t have a good idea of the area nor an agenda that had to be completed so we were just moseying and observing while everyone else was doing what they came to do.  We did discover a HUGE skateboard park - but not much was happening there since it was a school day and mid morning.  I’m guessing that sucker will be hopping later today.

The other observation I made was that Mark and I were ABSOLUTELY the only people with short sleeves.  THE ONLY ones - despite the lovely warm weather.   We saw lots and lots of people, but no short sleeves or shorts.  We saw people in jeans and sweatshirts, in sweatpants and sweaters, some women wearing headscarves and others not.  Some of the women wearing the headscarves or hijab - were in jeans and some had on an abaya  which is a long loosely fitted garment that covers everything. We saw women wearing black niqab  - the veil that covers everything except the eyes and the first woman I saw was also wearing a baby in a front pack as well.   :) We saw women who have beautifully colored abayas and color coordinated hijabs and we saw women who apparently didn’t know matching things might be a good idea.  

We saw gym shoes and stillettos, dress shoes and the traditional Arabic shoes - I’m not sure what they are called - but I bet I will know soon.  But we did NOT see short sleeves.  We also did not see anyone wearing a burqa  - the wrap that covers everything and has netting over the eyes allowing the woman to see out - but preventing others from seeing in.    I don’t know if we will see anyone wearing that - but we might - I have certainly seen women wearing it in Detroit. Anyway - we returned to our lovely room and it was Mark’s turn to wash our laundry in the lovely clawfoot tub.  We have lines strung all over and we are just hanging out until we are ready to head out for a late lunch/early dinner giving me a chance to write.  We will head out in an hour or so - but I will be wearing long sleeves and long pants.  I’m a quick learner.

I read a little bit about the Moroccan Monarchy and discovered the King Mohammed VI was born in 1963 and has several college degrees including a PhD in Legal Studies.  Additionally speaks Arabic, Berber, English, French, and Spanish.  His family, the Alaouites, has been in power since 1664 despite the colonization by Spain and France.  In 1956 Morocco became an independent country.  HM (His Majesty) Mohammed VI has championed many reforms including ones that give women more rights - which makes sense to me - but has been greatly opposed by conservative Muslim groups.  Life is not necessarily easy even if you are King, I guess.

We haven’t seen the Casablanca’s Medina (the ancient city) or the Suk (the market) but we will be doing that with our guide - if I don’t get run over trying to get there.   Then - of course - there is Rick’s Cafe :) "Here’s looking at you, kid"

Stay tuned.

[not-a-realexchangeblog]

Eurovision 2016 vs. 2017

Ok I know I’m already a little extra about Eurovision, but I really wanted to make this comparison between last year’s entries vs this year’s, mostly to organize my thoughts about the 2017 contest. Eurovision mutuals feel free to hmu with your opinions! (my top out of the 2016 and 2017 entries for each country will be bolded) (Also I stole this idea from @eurosong )

Albania: Fairytale vs World

Alright I think we can all agree that both of these songs should’ve skipped the Albanian to English revamp. Both were pretty mediocre in English, but I think I can get behind Lindita as being the better vocalist here. 

Armenia: LoveWave vs Fly with Me 

Will Fly with Me make any of my Spotify playlists? No probably not. But I have to appreciate Armenia’s attempt to produce an entry that honors both Armenian and East Asian cultural elements. It’s going to be one of the more interesting acts in Kyiv that’s for sure. 

Australia: Sound of Silence vs Don’t Come Easy

This decision was pretty easy, and not because I was a fan of Dami or her act. Don’t Come Easy is ridiculously bland and just makes me kind of sad watching it.

Austria: Loin d’ici vs Running on Air

Good thing we can count on Austria for songs with cutesy lyrics that don’t cut deep in any way whatsoever. Running on Air however is considerably less repetitive than Loin d’ici. Though I wanted to like Loin d’ici for the sole fact it was in French, the children’s book-esque staging and lyrics left me bitter it made it to the finals. 

Azerbaijan: Miracle vs Skeletons

Ok so I originally really liked the video for Miracle and had Samra easily in my top 10. Then she performed it live at the semis and made me want to put my ears out of their misery- one of my biggest ESC 2016 disappointments. If Dihaj can sing Skeletons live better than my cat could, it’s the clear winner of the two. 

Belarus: Help you fly vs Historyja majgo zyccia

The most clear choice I made on this entire list. To me Naviband brings such a modern folk feel to Eurovision that we haven’t seen from anyone else this year and their use of Belarusian saved Slavic language from extinction in the contest. Maybe if ESC had approved Ivan’s live wolves last year I would’ve felt more nostalgic towards his act too? 

Belgium: What’s the pressure vs City Lights

City Lights hands down. Belgium decided in one year that they decided to advance 4 decades in musical style. I guess what was cringiest about What’s the Pressure to me was that it couldn’t quite decide what era it belonged to. If you’re going to bring disco garbage to Eurovision at least commit to it. 

Bulgaria: If love was a crime vs Beautiful Mess

Honestly, If Love was a Crime’s performance in the finals shocked me. I think its upbeat style was superior to Bulgaria’s entry this year, though I have to admit I wasn’t a fan. Possibly because it took me 6 months to  figure out that she was saying  дай ми любовта in Bulgarian as opposed to incomprehensible English.

Croatia: Lighthouse vs My Friend

Feel like I’m comparing apples to oranges here, but for me the bronchitis, hair and wardrobe disaster edges out the Italian opera/English pop worst of both worlds act. 

Cyprus: Alter Ego vs Gravity

Not gonna lie, I still listen to Alter Ego. Back in 2016 I knew it wasn’t the style for Eurovision, but at least it was ORIGINAL. Gravity isn’t as bad as the Youtube comments would suggest, but it’s definitely a step back for Cyprus when it comes to originality. 

Czechia: I Stand vs My Turn

Both are garbage. But props to Czechia for finally qualifying. 

Denmark: Soldiers of Love vs Where I Am

A bit of a hard choice. I’m always down for a boy band though, and to me, Lighthouse X beats out the screecher from Down Under. 

Estonia: Play vs Verona

Unpopular opinion: Juri wasn’t ripped off. Though I didn’t want him in the grand finals, he’s still better than the toxic duo Estonia promoted this year. 

Finland: Sing it away vs Blackbird

At least Sing it Away was fun ?  Finland is not performing to the best of their potential. Regardless of whether Blackbird’s “staging is amazing”, its lack of climax and generally disappointing vocals will 100% keep it in the semis. 

France: J’ai cherché vs Requiem

Frankly both are incredible and Eurovision is one of the only things I love about France. (Requiem would’ve been my winner had it not been for the English chorus no one asked for)

Georgia: Midnight Gold vs Keep the Faith

Unpopular opinion #2: Keep the Faith is in my Top 3 for 2017. I really do not understand the hate Tako gets- I think her song has an amazing message and outstanding vocals (that will hopefully be a little less screechy in the semis). When this song inevitabley does not qualify for the finals, I will lose hope in ESC. 

Germany: Ghost vs Perfect Life

Unpopular opinion #57584948: I vibed with Ghost. Is it my proudest confession? nope. Perfect Life SCREAMS Black Smoke 2015 and we know how that went. 

Greece: Utopian Land vs This is Love

Utopian Land was gross, but its one saving grace was the Greek lyrics. This is Love sounds like it came off the credits of a live action Disney film that flopped hard. That being said, I’m not buying Greece’s “safe” selection to get back into the finals this year. 

Hungary: Pioneer vs Origo

I’m convinced that if I had smoked 5 packs a day and hit the gyms leading up to Eurovision 2016, I could’ve out-performed Freddie. Origo isn’t exactly the shining beacon of Eurovision multilingualism for me, but the Balkan musical elements help detract from the awkward voice and rap. 

Iceland: Here them calling vs Paper 

Here them calling didn’t deserve the finals and neither does Paper. Paper’s lyrics are not “deep” “next level” or “misunderstood”, there were way better lyrics to be written to speak up about emotional health. trust me. 

Ireland: Sunlight vs Dying to Try

Honestly I don’t care enough to take a strong stance. I don’t know how Ireland did it in the 90′s because now they are ~Forgettable~

Israel: Made of Stars vs I Feel Alive 

I loved Hovi. His song and vocal abilities were incredible. Personally would’ve ditched the unnecessary ring prop/backup dancers that killed the live performance. Israel is another country that rarely fails me at Eurovision, and I’m excited for Imri Ziv this year. 

Italy: No degree of separation vs Occidentali’s Karma

No Degree of Separation was one of the songs that gradually grew on me last year and I was rooting for Francesca in the finals. Her nervous stage presence is what puts Occidentali’s Karma on top for me. Occidentali’s Karma really embodies the spirit of Eurovision this year, but I’m curious to see how Francesco deals with the clunky verse two black hole. 

Latvia: Heartbeat vs Line 

Didn’t think Heartbeat deserved the finals last year but it sure as hell deserved it more than Line does. Line is not cool creepy, it’s just creepy. I’m predicting another sub-par year for the Baltics. 

Lithuania: I’ve been waiting for this night vs Rain of Revolution 

Despite my apathy towards the Baltic countries, Donny was by far the act that grew on me the most last year. I might’ve reluctantly subjected myself to I’ve Been Waiting for This Night only a handful of times before the finals, but I must admit I’ve listened to it since. 12 points from me for the flip on stage. 

Macedonia: Dona vs Dance Alone 

KALIOPI IS MY QUEEN AND I CRIED WHEN EUROPE CRUSHED HER HOPES AND DREAMS

Malta: Walk on water vs Breathlessly 

Props for performing Walk on Water while prego? Also, Breathlessly is arguably the most boring ballad of 2017

Moldova: Falling Stars vs Hey, Mamma! 

The only redeeming quality of Hey, Momma! is that Epic Sax Guy is back. Luckily, that’s one more redeeming quality than Moldova’s last entry had. 

Montenegro: The Real Thing vs Space  

I refuse to even rank these because both are total shit and Montenegro should go back to producing cultural gems or just drop out of Eurovision. 

Netherlands: Slow down vs Lights and Shadows  

Have to go with Douwe Bob on this one. Slow Down was one of my favorites all of last year and The Netherlands have proven that country can work at Eurovision. Lights and Shadows could rival it for me, but this depends a lot on the staging and live performance (I wasn’t a fan of the artistic choices made in the video). 

Norway: Icebreaker vs Grab the Moment  

Not sure how I feel about the bridge to Grab the Moment, but almost anything is better than Icebreaker. 

Poland: Color of your life vs Flashlight  

Polish Jesus brought life to Eurovision last year and I am forever grateful. Flashlight is another boring balad but will do well bc Poland. 

Portugal: Há um mar que nos separa vs Amar pelos dois

My buddy Salvador got lucky here because although I enjoy the song, his stage presence is by far the most uncomfortable I’ve seen. I’ll probably close my eyes for the semis. 

Romania: Moment of Silence vs Yodel It!  

1. Romania’s disqualification last year was a tragedy 2. No one asked for Rap/Yodel fusion and it’s as shitty as it sounds

Russia: You are the only one vs Flame Is Burning  

Glad Russia viewed using a disabled person as a shield against booing as higher of a priority than sending another quality act this year  

San Marino: I didn’t know vs Spirit of the Night  

At least Serhat was bad in an endearing kind of way. San Marino needs to stick with the ironically awful acts. 

Serbia: Shelter vs In Too Deep  

Shelter is the superior performance here, but I’m still waiting for another Marija Serifovic

Slovenia: Blue and red vs On My Way  

I’ll take the Slovenian Taylor Swift knockoff over the Sloevnian sexual predator any day. I’m also ashamed to be Slovenian. 

Spain: Say yay! vs Do It for Your Lover

 Do It for Your Lover is bad but not

that

bad. Say Yay! hurt my ears right at the first chorus. An entirely Spanish entry would be my preference, but apparently the Spanish jury doesn’t feel the same way. 

Sweden: If I were sorry vs I Can’t Go On

I guess I never got hit by the Frans train last year. Sweden sends the most basic, mainstream songs to Eurovision year after year and somehow does well. These two songs are no exception. 

Switzerland: Last of our kind vs Apollo  

Anything over Last of our Kind and whatever the hell her dance was. On the other hand, maybe it was the kind of comedic relief we need out of Eurovision. I’m personally not a fan of Apollo but I think it will probably do well. 

Ukraine:1944 vs Time

Hard choice, but in the end, 1944 was a winner. I was a huge fan of 1944 all the way (mostly because of the Tatar) but I am also a fan of Time. In a year with so many ballads (both good and bad), Time will certainly stick out and I wish them the best. 

United Kingdom:You’re not alone vs Never Give Up on You

You’re Not Alone was at least cute and cheesy. Never GIve Up on You is only a cheesy and fake ballad. Both songs manage to get stuck in your head, but not necessarily in a good way. 

[things-considered-blog1]

My Little Client

It is not long into my exchange that I realize I should try and find part-time work to fund my travels, groceries, and other things. One of my friends suggests I post an ad on a French website called leboncoin, which, for you Canadians out there, is essentially kijiji.

I draft the ad and have two French friends read it over, and it is something along the lines of, “My name is Marisa, I am Canadian, I can teach you English, please hire me.” The accompanying logo is painfully cheesy: I have added a google image of a French flag crossed with a Canadian one captioned by the words, “EASY ENGLISH”.

Quite a while after I post the ad I receive an email from a woman who is looking for someone to help her daughter with English conversation. I am elated. I call her back, trying desperately to come across as professional even though I am very aware of my accent and have rehearsed the conversation in my head beforehand.

My little client is 14 years old, adorable, and extremely dedicated to the language. I decide instantly to only teach her relevant things, to make sure she can get by in a store or restaurant or meeting a new friend. I dive headfirst into our courses, drafting a lesson plan and conducting role plays. We analyze scenes from “Friends” and “Forrest Gump,” we discuss the lyrics from John Lennon’s “Imagine.” We do read alouds and rehearse the elusive “th” sound in English.

I make sure she knows expressions I wish I knew before coming to France. One of our first role plays takes place in a store.

“If someone in a store asks you if they can help you with anything,” I point out, “you might say, ‘I’m just browsing, thanks,’ or ‘Actually, yes, do you have this in my size?’ or  ‘Do you have this in a small?’ or ‘Do you have this in red’?”

On the way back from my first lesson, I message my mother and tell her: “Teaching is rewarding but so difficult. How do you do it?”

“Of course, it’s not all perfect,” she says. “But the kids make me laugh. It’s never boring. Never the same.”

Before I came to France, I did not know I spoke English

Well, part of me knew, I guess. But like most people, I didn’t think about it on a daily basis. When I put pencil to paper in class, I didn’t say to myself, Here I am, about to write in English. I would simply think, Here I am, about to write.English has never really been a language to me. It is, rather, a way to exist. It is the words I speak and the songs I sing and the books I buried myself in throughout my childhood.

And now I am extremely aware of the fact I “speak English.” I am aware of the absurdity of words like “crosswalk” and “milk”. I am aware of English’s strange intonation.

A language is a lot more than a language. It is culture, it is music, it is art. And in learning French you assume parts of this French identity; the people, a way of seeing the world, and to a lesser extent, the wine, the cheese. I try to impart this information—which I feel for some reason is crucial—to my little student.

Look at All the Cats

I meet one of my closest friends while taking out my garbage. He is standing on the step, smoking.

“So many cats here,” I try in French, just to make conversation. I am attempting to point out the unusually high number of cats that populate the residence complex.

“What?” he says. My French was not clear.

“A lot of cats,” I try again. “Many cats.”

“What?”

“Cats,” I relent.

We get to talking and then suddenly we are friends. He is from Morocco and speaks four languages—Arabic, French, English, and Spanish—fluently, a quality uncommon where I am from but apparently extremely common here. We drink sweet tea and discuss this country and the language and the administration. Soon enough, another one of his friends joins us. I am telling the two of them about one of my proudest purchases here, a microwave that doubles as an oven.

“This one here bought the worst oven you’ve ever seen,” he says, pointing at his friend.

“Yes,” his friend sighs. “It can only hold—how do you say in English? Deux tiers of a pizza.”

“Two thirds,” I say.

“Right. Two thirds. But actually, this is great.”

“How?” I ask.

“I try to reheat my pizza and it doesn’t fit. The remaining third goes back in the fridge. Better for my health,” he says, grinning.

I smile. It is student struggle at its best: celebrating when things work; laughing it off when they don’t.

Mareezah

I pronounce my name, in French, now, when I introduce myself to people, but it doesn’t seem part of me. In the works I have studied, the writings of Eva Hoffman come to mind.

She recounts in her memoirs the impact of the Anglicization of her and her sisters’ names:

Our Polish names didn’t refer to us; they were as surely us as our eyes or hands. These new appellations, which we ourselves can’t yet pronounce, are not us. They are identification tags, disembodied signs pointing to objects that happen to be my sister and myself. We walk to our seats, into a roomful of unknown faces, with names that make us strangers to ourselves (Hoffman 105, Lost in Translation).

European English

An unexpected result of my time in France is my acquisition of English English, because most of the people I spend time with are from England.

Instead of saying that something is a good idea, I want to say, now, that it is a “good shout.”

Instead of the “washroom” I ask for the “toilet.”

I live in a “flat,” now, not an “apartment”.

Recently, I wanted to say, “the store closes at 8:30,” and felt, on the tip of my tongue, “the shop shuts at half-eight.”

Are you Chinese or Something?

To get to my English student, I must take a bus 20ish minutes out of town. A group of elementary schoolers filter onto the bus and occupy every free seat. Two little girls crunch into the seat next to me.

“It’s okay, there’s enough space,” I tell them in French (or what I think is French.)

One of the little girls cocks an eyebrow at me. She has a brown, curly ponytail and is probably around four years old. “Are you Chinese or something?”

“No,” I laugh. “I’m English.”

She gives her supervisor—a lanky guy who can’t be more the fifteen years old—the side-eye. She says to him, “Because I didn’t understand anythingshe said…”

Her supervisor is visibly cringing, eyes wide, placing a finger over his lips in the hopes of getting her to quiet down.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, and it really is.

When I get off the bus, I am smiling. I say, “Merci-aurevwah,” to the bus driver, the same way I’ve heard French people saying it when getting off the bus. “Thanks-goodbye,” as though it is one word.

The People You Meet

A French friend once told me she loves this blog, but that it seems I have had many bad experiences.

I wouldn’t call them bad, actually. I think every experience is interesting—and I like the neutrality of this word, ‘interesting’.

At its best, the exchange has me dancing in the living room of my friend’s apartment to the pop-funk of Amadou and Miriam, a blind, middle-aged Senegalese pop duo. At its worst, it has me shaking with anger at the front desk of my residence, because the concierge has seen me, but has not greeted me, letting my uneasy “Bonjour” hover between us like stale air.

The exchange is rife with mild frustrations. In the first weeks, I bought little desserts when I really wanted yogurt, an indoor broom instead of an outdoor one, pillows that were too big

for my pillowcases, strange cheese that was too strong, and finally, citrus tea instead of black how I like it, just because I did not know what the word agrumes on the package meant.

If I had to describe this exchange, I would say while it is sometimes bad and sometimes good, it is always interesting.

There is one thing that is missing in this blog, and it is the people. I keep them faceless and nameless so as not to offend them, but the reality is that it is the people who populate this exchange. It is the people that make it exciting and tense and different. Sometimes I feel the urge to write about my friend with the flared jeans and studded backpack; my friend who wears paisley print pants and believes that everything and everyone she meets is “just lovely”; my red-faced professor who swore that anyone who turned in their project 10 seconds late will receive a fail grade, no exceptions; my friend who shares the same deadpan sense of humour I do, and always makes me grin without fail.

Every time I meet someone amazing (as so many of them are) I experience a small heartbreak, like small cuts on your hands that you don’t realize are there until you run them under hot water. Because I know that for every good person there will eventually be a goodbye, because I am not from here, and when I leave, I may not be back for a while.

The Rental

My first ever rental car is a white Toyota Yaris. It took much time and effort to get my hands on.

After having been turned away from nearly every rental agency at the Marseille airport, my friends and I write a list of all the requirements we have been presented in order to find the one company that will rent to us. The list is something like: do we need an international drivers’ license, is there a young driver fee, do you need my passport, do you need my credit card, will you rent to me if I am only 20, how many years do you need to have on your license, do you have five-seaters, do we need to fill up the gas before coming back, how much is that total?

We reserve a car and I realize, at the last possible minute, that Europeans tend to drive standard. I can only drive automatic. It is too late to get refunded and I have already paid 44 euros (around 60 CDN) for a car I cannot drive.

My friends and I are determined. We go to the agency and very nicely ask them for a refund, which we actually manage to get. Then we go next door to Europcar, who has automatics and will rent to 20-year-olds.

The car is an electric and makes no sound when you turn it on. Once behind the wheel, I panic, and wonder if I will remember how to drive, but of course everything is fine. The roads are narrower than I am used to and I drive well below the speed limit, but when I hit the minimum speed, 110, 130—I feel like I am hurtling down the road at the speed of light.

I tell myself to calm down and keep driving. To slow my heartrate, I try to think of how proud my father would be that I am doing this, that I am driving somewhere I am not familiar with. My younger sister is one of the most intuitive drivers I know, so I pretend she is next to me, telling me, “It’s alright, Mar.” I pretend she is standing outside the when I park, easing me into the spot with clear gestures.

I remind myself how similar the roads are to those in Toronto, (aside from their narrowness and hairpin turns, of course.) This is not so different, I tell myself.

At the Beach

When we finally get to Port Miou at the Calanques, I stumble out of the car in relief.

We wade into water that is blue and clear—and freezing cold. “I’m from the Caribbean,” I point out to my friends, grinning. “You call this a beach?” I ease myself into water anyway. The saltwater taste on my lips makes me feel like I am home.

It is only later, when we are sitting on a wall high above the sea that we realize the trip was worth it; the views are stunning. We toss pebbles down the cliffside so that they can reach where we cannot. We watch men fish at the base of the hill and wonder how they got down there. I know, then, that when we drive back I will be more comfortable and that things will be better, and they are.

We wave at unknown sailors on a ship turning into the quay. They wave back.

“I love people,” my friend points out, vaguely. “Two sets of strangers, waving at one another.”

Far below, the water collides with the cliffs, creating white foam. This extreme display of force holds my gaze. I look out at where the ocean blurs into the horizon, feeling like we are on the edge of the world, straddling the fine line between order and chaos.

MC

[endorsereviews]

Tony Laidig – Public Domain Education Hacks

Tony Laidig – Public Domain Education Hacks

“Capitalize on One of the Fastest-Growing Publishing Categories on the Planet and Join the Educational Content Revolution.” NOW Is the Time to Jump in on This Massive Publishing Opportunity! From the Desk of Tony Laidig… re: The Times are Changing Once Again… As product creators and publishers, we live in exciting times! The past few years have brought massive change to industries that we thought were immovable. Not too long ago, it was nearly impossible for the average person like you and me to… Publish our own book without a publisher. Now we can! Produce our own television show without a network. Now we can! Film our own movies without Hollywood. Now we can! Record our own albums without record companies. Now we can! Create our own physical products without manufacturing companies. Now we can! And NOW we are witnessing the fall of another huge market…the Education Market! As education concerns continue to grow exponentially among parents, their choice is becoming more and more apparent…to homeschool or supplement their child’s education. The numbers are staggering! Here are the numbers of Homeschooled children JUST in the US alone: YEAR 1999 2003 2007 2015 2017 # Children Homeschooled in U.S. 875,000 1,160,000 1,535,000 1,770,000 2,300,000 In essence, parents are “hacking” their children’s education by taking control of it. Who better to understand the strengths of their children so they can custom-tailor their child’s learning experience…especially in the face of the failing “standardized” models currently presented in our schools. We are facing a changing world that is looking for and needs people who are creative and entrepreneurial. It’s nearly impossible to develop those skills in our children with a system that just tells kids what to do all day. Change has been long overdue and the best part is that YOU and I can be active participants in that change!

Don’t get me wrong…I love and appreciate teachers! Their job is one of the most undervalued and underpaid professions that exists! However, that doesn’t mean that change should not take place…and I’m sure many of them would agree!

What This “Revolution” Means for You and Me! These changes to our education system are not going away or slowing down. I’ve been following this trend for nearly 15 years (since my ex-wife and I homeschooled our own daughters) and even more closely over the past 5 years as POD publishing technologies have continued to develop and increase in quality and distribution. One of the BIGGEST driving factors in this massive movement is the desire and need to customize and individualize education. For instance, when my girls were being homeschooled, my daughter, Ashlea, wanted to learn another language but had no desire to learn Spanish, French or the other commonly taught languages. She wanted to learn Cherokee. In public school that would be impossible…and it was a challenge even in homeschooling. Why? Because there wasn’t formal curriculum to learn Cherokee! We were ultimately able to get the info she needed to gain credits for Cherokee…and she took it for 4 years! Ashlea ended up graduating a year early with honors. What we do NOT need are more textbooks, but rather, more focused modules on topics our children want to learn about. And therein lies the opportunity for you and me! Perhaps You’re Thinking… I’m not a teacher! The good news is that you don’t need to be. There are no college requirements for creating educational materials. And the publishing process is just like ANY other type of book. I don’t know how to develop curriculum. You don’t need to! That work has already been done for you by qualified professionals! I will show you where to find the content you need and how to turn it into unique new learning opportunities. It’s all right in the Public Domain waiting for you! I have no idea what topics to choose. There are countless topics to choose from. You aren’t creating textbooks. You want to focus on topic and age-specific content. Subjects include (but aren’t limited to) math, science, reading, spelling, etc. And more specifically, topics like counting, weather, frogs, readers, etc. The educational resources available to us to create materials for this market are staggering…if you know where to find them and what to do with them. If you think about it, however, much of the information parents want to teach their children is actually still the same as it has been for decades! Addition and subtraction are still the same. Vocabulary is still the same. Animals are still the same. Numbers and letters are still the same. Colors are still the same. Nature and weather are still the same. States and capitals are still the same. Most countries are still the same. Our task is to simply present it in a new way. And with today’s technology, some proven content and a little creativity, we (you and me) can do just that!

Introducing…“Public Domain Education Hacks” In this BRAND-NEW Public Domain Workshop, you will discover how you can easily tap into the Billion Dollar Education market by creating your OWN books and products using Proven Content from the Public Domain and other sources! Here is what we will be covering during this live Workshop: The best types of educational books and materials to create. What STREAM is and why you must pay attention to it! A comprehensive list of popular topics and subject to consider for the education market. Which age groups are the best for educational materials. Where to find the best educational content to use in your books and products. Catering to the educational goals of homeschooling parents. How to design and layout your books for maximum sales. The most important sales channels to get your books into the homeschool and supplemental education markets. And much more! During the workshop, I’ll be revealing how Kristen and I are plugging into this market in a really big way, the strategies we’re using to increase our own product development, the types of content we are using personally (Public Domain-based of course) and more! You will also see the big picture of how nearly everything we’ve taught for the past few years was leading to THIS training…this market is THAT HUGE! This is honestly going to be an exciting training that you definitely do NOT want to miss! Your Investment TODAY… This workshop will easily share enough value and insights to justify a $297 price point…but I also recognize the importance of getting this information into as many of your hands as possible. This is a young and steadily growing market and NOW is the time to take action to ride the wave. And unlike the fading Coloring Book trend, the demand for quality Educational Materials are going to increase exponentially in the coming years. This isn’t a trend, it’s a movement. For those reasons and others, I am positioning this workshop so that YOU can make an EASY buying decision, which is why I have decided to decrease the Introductory Pricing to… Just $97 Your Wise Investment TODAY includes: Ongoing Access to ALL Video Replays and Materials Training Slides PDF from All Three Modules BONUS: Dedicated Education Hacks Facebook Group BONUS: Copyright Research Training BONUS: Book Layout 101 Video Training BONUS: Cover Design for Print Books BONUS: 70+ Public Domain Photo Sites Resource Guide

Tony Laidig – Public Domain Education Hacks posted first on premiumwarezstore.blogspot.com

[sublimedeal]

Tony Laidig – Public Domain Education Hacks

Tony Laidig – Public Domain Education Hacks

“Capitalize on One of the Fastest-Growing Publishing Categories on the Planet and Join the Educational Content Revolution.” NOW Is the Time to Jump in on This Massive Publishing Opportunity! From the Desk of Tony Laidig… re: The Times are Changing Once Again… As product creators and publishers, we live in exciting times! The past few years have brought massive change to industries that we thought were immovable. Not too long ago, it was nearly impossible for the average person like you and me to… Publish our own book without a publisher. Now we can! Produce our own television show without a network. Now we can! Film our own movies without Hollywood. Now we can! Record our own albums without record companies. Now we can! Create our own physical products without manufacturing companies. Now we can! And NOW we are witnessing the fall of another huge market…the Education Market! As education concerns continue to grow exponentially among parents, their choice is becoming more and more apparent…to homeschool or supplement their child’s education. The numbers are staggering! Here are the numbers of Homeschooled children JUST in the US alone: YEAR 1999 2003 2007 2015 2017 # Children Homeschooled in U.S. 875,000 1,160,000 1,535,000 1,770,000 2,300,000 In essence, parents are “hacking” their children’s education by taking control of it. Who better to understand the strengths of their children so they can custom-tailor their child’s learning experience…especially in the face of the failing “standardized” models currently presented in our schools. We are facing a changing world that is looking for and needs people who are creative and entrepreneurial. It’s nearly impossible to develop those skills in our children with a system that just tells kids what to do all day. Change has been long overdue and the best part is that YOU and I can be active participants in that change!

Don’t get me wrong…I love and appreciate teachers! Their job is one of the most undervalued and underpaid professions that exists! However, that doesn’t mean that change should not take place…and I’m sure many of them would agree!

What This “Revolution” Means for You and Me! These changes to our education system are not going away or slowing down. I’ve been following this trend for nearly 15 years (since my ex-wife and I homeschooled our own daughters) and even more closely over the past 5 years as POD publishing technologies have continued to develop and increase in quality and distribution. One of the BIGGEST driving factors in this massive movement is the desire and need to customize and individualize education. For instance, when my girls were being homeschooled, my daughter, Ashlea, wanted to learn another language but had no desire to learn Spanish, French or the other commonly taught languages. She wanted to learn Cherokee. In public school that would be impossible…and it was a challenge even in homeschooling. Why? Because there wasn’t formal curriculum to learn Cherokee! We were ultimately able to get the info she needed to gain credits for Cherokee…and she took it for 4 years! Ashlea ended up graduating a year early with honors. What we do NOT need are more textbooks, but rather, more focused modules on topics our children want to learn about. And therein lies the opportunity for you and me! Perhaps You’re Thinking… I’m not a teacher! The good news is that you don’t need to be. There are no college requirements for creating educational materials. And the publishing process is just like ANY other type of book. I don’t know how to develop curriculum. You don’t need to! That work has already been done for you by qualified professionals! I will show you where to find the content you need and how to turn it into unique new learning opportunities. It’s all right in the Public Domain waiting for you! I have no idea what topics to choose. There are countless topics to choose from. You aren’t creating textbooks. You want to focus on topic and age-specific content. Subjects include (but aren’t limited to) math, science, reading, spelling, etc. And more specifically, topics like counting, weather, frogs, readers, etc. The educational resources available to us to create materials for this market are staggering…if you know where to find them and what to do with them. If you think about it, however, much of the information parents want to teach their children is actually still the same as it has been for decades! Addition and subtraction are still the same. Vocabulary is still the same. Animals are still the same. Numbers and letters are still the same. Colors are still the same. Nature and weather are still the same. States and capitals are still the same. Most countries are still the same. Our task is to simply present it in a new way. And with today’s technology, some proven content and a little creativity, we (you and me) can do just that!

Introducing…“Public Domain Education Hacks” In this BRAND-NEW Public Domain Workshop, you will discover how you can easily tap into the Billion Dollar Education market by creating your OWN books and products using Proven Content from the Public Domain and other sources! Here is what we will be covering during this live Workshop: The best types of educational books and materials to create. What STREAM is and why you must pay attention to it! A comprehensive list of popular topics and subject to consider for the education market. Which age groups are the best for educational materials. Where to find the best educational content to use in your books and products. Catering to the educational goals of homeschooling parents. How to design and layout your books for maximum sales. The most important sales channels to get your books into the homeschool and supplemental education markets. And much more! During the workshop, I’ll be revealing how Kristen and I are plugging into this market in a really big way, the strategies we’re using to increase our own product development, the types of content we are using personally (Public Domain-based of course) and more! You will also see the big picture of how nearly everything we’ve taught for the past few years was leading to THIS training…this market is THAT HUGE! This is honestly going to be an exciting training that you definitely do NOT want to miss! Your Investment TODAY… This workshop will easily share enough value and insights to justify a $297 price point…but I also recognize the importance of getting this information into as many of your hands as possible. This is a young and steadily growing market and NOW is the time to take action to ride the wave. And unlike the fading Coloring Book trend, the demand for quality Educational Materials are going to increase exponentially in the coming years. This isn’t a trend, it’s a movement. For those reasons and others, I am positioning this workshop so that YOU can make an EASY buying decision, which is why I have decided to decrease the Introductory Pricing to… Just $97 Your Wise Investment TODAY includes: Ongoing Access to ALL Video Replays and Materials Training Slides PDF from All Three Modules BONUS: Dedicated Education Hacks Facebook Group BONUS: Copyright Research Training BONUS: Book Layout 101 Video Training BONUS: Cover Design for Print Books BONUS: 70+ Public Domain Photo Sites Resource Guide

Tony Laidig – Public Domain Education Hacks published first on http://ift.tt/2qxBbOD