#instead of straight up saying our political strategy for the next four years

[mangled-by-disuse]

listening to radio 4 news and losing my fucking mind

"what if Donald Trump tells us to put money we don't have into defence spending?" "what if Trump won't give the UK special treatment on tariffs?" "what if he won't accept Mandelson as our ambassador?" "what if he asks us to cut ties with Chinese markets?" "what if he won't call us his special relationship sugar baby in his state address?"

what if a single member of the political establishment spat out the star-spangled cock long enough to tell Donald Trump no? what if instead of staying in a special relationship that only one side thinks exists, we pursued other alliances and markets just a little? what if you grew a fucking spine? what then?

[scarletsaphire]

Danny, newly added to the cheer team (mostly) against his will, is attending his first lock in with the girls. It's a lot more fun than he expected.

--

4th fic for @phicphight, with this one going to @lavendarlily and @lonelygrayrose, with a special shout out to @hannahmanderr because she asked politely. Prompts used will be at the end!

Danny had accepted that he didn't get much control over his life. Ever since he'd died, he was getting pulled one way or another for ghost fights or school or family stuff. It really came to its worst point went he'd been more or less bullied into joining the cheer team. Sam and Tucker were not help; they thought it was hilarious.

It did mean that the already minuscule amount of free time he had was filled with practice, or games, or other team building exercises. Like right now; the annual lock in for the cheer team, hosted in Casper High one and only cafeteria. Really pulling out all the stops.

Danny had been dreading it since it was announced two weeks ago; knowing his luck, there would be some kind of ghost attack, and then he'd have to play the whole "Oh I've been here the whole time!" game. And if that didn't happen, he'd be stuck in the cafeteria with the cheer leader girls for twelve hours straight! Sure, they were nice enough, especially since he joined the team, but that didn't mean they were friends!

It had only taken an hour for Danny to change his opinion.

The parent chaperone very clearly did not care about what they got up to, provided no one broke a bone or stole something where she could see. This allowed them to roll all of the tables off the walls of the cafeteria and construct a complicated and completely unsafe obstacle course for them to run through.

The first two girls had already given it their best shot; the first one, Abigail, who Danny had never seen without bows in her hair, had made it pretty far for being the first one through, but her hair had gotten tangled in one of the wheels, and the official score keeper (who was, of course, Paulina) gave her a DNF. She was currently off to the side with Star, getting her tied back into a braid and watching the spectacle.

The second girl, Brittany, had finished, if her time was a bit sad. "I don't want a repeat of that!" she'd said while the rest of  them teased her about her terrible performance. "I just got these braids put in on Monday, and I am not spending another four hours to get them redone!"

They were going in alphabetical order, so that meant Danny was next up. He lifted his arms above his head to stretch while he analyzed the course.

They'd done a pretty good job, if he did say so himself. There were several tables that he would need to go under, several he'd need to jump, and one they'd set up to require jumping on the seats instead of on the table. A bit rudimentary, sure, but it worked for their purposes.

"So, Danny Fenton," Paulina said, holding her water bottle out towards him like a microphone. "As the only boy on the team, you have quite the reputation to try and uphold. Do you have a strategy going into this?"

Danny flashed her a grin he normally saved for when he was Phantom. "Course I do."

Paulina returned the smile, and leaned in closer. "And what would that be?"

"And spoil the surprise? Not a chance."

Paulina laughed, leaning back on her seat of backpacks, blankets, and pillows. "You're setting high expectations, Fenton. You ready?"

Danny nodded, settling into a running stance.

"Three, two, one, go!"

He started running to the cheers of his teammates.He hadn't lied; he did have a strategy, and it didn't involve any kind of ghost powers. He wouldn't need them.

Danny had spent the better part of two years dodging bullets, ray beams, fire, boomerangs, bazookas, and about a dozen other, faster, much more painful objects. Two years honing reaction speed, flexibility, and spatial awareness, all of which would help him decimate the past two times, and anyone else who wanted to race after him.

Okay, maybe the practice part did involve ghost powers, but he wouldn't be using any now.

He vaulted over the first table cleanly, chaining the momentum to roll underneath the next table in one fluid motion. He came to his feet already running, ready to vault over the next two tables. In what felt like a heartbeat, he was already at the end obstacle, where he'd have to hop back and forth on the seats without touching the table; if he touched it, that would mean an immediate disqualification.

It didn't prove to be any more difficult than any other obstacle had been, although it was significantly slower. Danny leapt off of the final seat straight into a backflip, landing perfectly on his feet.

That part wasn't required; he just felt like flexing a little.

His grand finish was met with the roaring applause of the eight girls; Abigail had even started whistling, much to Star's annoyance, as she was still trying to fix her hair.

"And that is two minutes and twenty seven seconds!" Paulina called from her makeshift chair.

"Damn!" Alysha said. "That is going to be a tough time to beat!"

"Thank you, thank you," Danny said, taking an exaggerated bow. "I'll be here all night."

Alysha shoved his shoulder even while she laughed.

Danny made his way back to the spot he'd claimed, a little bit to the side of Paulina's seat.

"I am so happy we recruited you," she said as he sat down.

"Yeah," Danny agreed. "I am too."

As surprising as it was, it was true. Maybe he'd originally gotten the spot because of his ghost fighting and powers, but it had quickly become the only (mostly) ghost free thing he had. He'd never gotten that kind of luxury at home, and while he loved Sam and Tucker to death, it was way to easy for their hangouts to become patrols or planning patrols. Or homework, but that didn't count.

There was the additional fact that being on the cheer team had made Danny's life easier at school; the teacher's were more lenient with schoolwork, he had a different group of people he could sit with if Sam and Tucker were out sick, or if they got absorbed in their infamous debates, and everyone was just so much nicer to him.

Even Dash had stopped with the bullying, and after a couple stilted conversations and an emotionally charged apology that was leagues beyond what he'd thought Dash capable of, Danny would be willing to call them friends.

Definitely just friends though. It didn't matter that Tucker had caught him staring at Dash several times during lunch or that he got all flustered whenever they ended up in the locker room together. That was a coincidence. 

Just like Danny had expected, none of the girls came even close to his time. Star got a strong second place at three minutes flat, which was very impressive on its own, but his natural talent and years of practice held him high above the rest.

"You have to tell us how you did that," Aubrey said, jutting out her bottom lip. It was the same look she gave Coach Tetslaff every time she tried to extend practice.

Unfortunately for her, it worked just as well on Danny as it did on Coach. "Yeah, sure. Right after I tell you how I handle flying so well."

"Ugh." Aubrey flopped forward into a heap on the table. "You are. So mean."

The sound of a cellphone ringing cut off whatever Danny was going to say next. The team glanced back at the chaperone, who had settled in a corner of the room with a laptop, a thermos Danny swore was full of hard liquor, and headphones. They all sat in silence as she answered the phone.

"Hello? Uhuh. Yeah, I'll be right up. Everything should already be paid for, right? Good." She hung up the phone with a snap and stood from her spot. "Pizza's here. You kids sit tight, I'll be right back."

The group stayed quiet until her footsteps disappeared down the hallway outside of the door, before everyone shared a conspiratory look. Everyone but Danny, that is.

"Uh... what did I miss?" Danny asked.

Aubrey and Abigail stood up, one moving to the window of the door, the other to the chaperone's bag. The other girls all shared the same look again. 

"Did nobody tell you?" Dakota asked.

Danny ran over the incredibly short list of things he'd been told about the lock in, which was basically just that it was a lock in, before shaking his head. "Tell me what?"

"Oh, Ms. Pachelli is a total drunk," Paulina said. "I'm sure you've noticed its not apple juice in her thermos?"

Danny nodded his head.

"Well, that's not enough to last her a whole night, even on a good day, and dealing with us is never a good day in her books." Paulina studied her fingernails while Abigail fished a bottle of whiskey out of her backpack. "So, every year we switch out her spare bottle for one of Abby's parents' old empty ones."

Sure enough, Abigail pulled out an identical bottle from Ms. Pachelli's bag.

"And... you don't get in trouble for that?"

The rest of team all giggled. "Please," Star said dismissively. "She barely cares about us to begin with, and if she tries to get us in trouble, she'd have to admit she has a problem."

"She's coming," Aubrey hissed from the door, and Abigail made a dash back to her backpack. By the time Ms. Pachelli was back in the room, three steaming pizza pies in hand, the whole team was doing a perfect imitation of teenagers who weren't up to anything.

"It'll be over here when you girls are hungry," she said, setting them down where food was normally served. "Uh. You girls and Danny." She amended when she turned around to see them all pointing at him, a habit they'd developed with Coach Tetslaff. Ms. Pachelli settled back down in her corner, taking one, long swig from her thermos, and putting her headphones back on.

The rest of the team

"She'll fall asleep soon," Dakota whispered to Danny. "That's when the real party starts."

Sure enough, it had barely passed 1 AM before Ms. Pachelli had dozed off and the team was left completely unsupervised. Brittany went to make sure she was sleep, and after fiddling with the headphones, she shot a thumbs up at the group. Abigail pulled the bottle back out to the cheers of the team.

"It's time for the real party to get started!" Dakota called.

"Don't we need to stay quiet?" Danny asked.

Star shook her head. "Nah, she's got some video playing in the background. I don't even think a ghost attack would be loud enough to wake her."

"I think its flat earth videos this time," Brittany added. "Definitely looked like it from what I saw, at least."

Danny rolled his eyes. "Why is she even here? If she sucks and also hates all of you-" he ignored whoever called out "She hates you too!" "-why does she volunteer to do it?"

"We ask for her by name," Abigail said, passing the now opened bottle to Paulina.

Paulina took a swig straight from the container before passing it on to Brittany. "That, and if she didn't volunteer for this, she'd have to actually do something at any of the other events the school hosts. She's part of the PTA." 

"Ok, but that doesn't explain why she has to be on the PTA," Danny pointed out.

"Uh, duh, she's Derreck's mom. You can't have a kid in as many extracurriculars as he's in and not be on the PTA," Star said.

"I guess," Danny agreed. He still didn't really understand, but he also didn't want to spend the whole night asking about Ms. Pachelli's life. Besides, the bottle had reached him. He took a small sip from the bottle, and pulled a face at the unexpected burn.

The girls laughed.

"First time tasting alcohol?" Audrey teased, taking the bottle from his hands.

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. "It's not the first time. I just. Didn't expect it to taste like that."

The girls all shared a look before laughing harder.

"It is going to be a fun night," Paulina said, a mischievous smile on her face.

--

Danny wasn't sure what time it was anymore. He knew that a couple of the girls had conked out, with Aubrey being the first to fall about an hour ago. He knew that he wasn't getting any sleep tonight, and from the looks of it, neither was Dakota, who was blasting music from her phone and dancing on one of the tables. She'd been the one to hog most of the bottle.

Not that Danny was complaining; he was definitely not sober, although he couldn't say whether he was tipsy or drunk or somewhere in between or another word he wasn't privy to. Either way, he was drunk enough that he'd agreed to let Paulina and Star do his makeup, something he would never have agreed to without the help of the whiskey.

"Stop moving," Star said, holding him by the shoulders and looking into his eyes, as if she could psychically control him into not moving. Jokes on her, Danny knew how mind control worked, and it was only sometimes like that. "Or else we're gonna-" she hiccoughed, then continued as if nothing had happened, "-mess up your makeup."

"Yeah," Paulina said. "And you don't want to look like a mess for Dash, do you?"

Danny snapped his head towards her, nearly poking his own eye out with the makeup applicator she was using.

"Stooop!" Star said, turning his head back towards her.

Danny obeyed, but he turned his eyes to look at Paulina. "Why would I care about what Dash thinks?"

He could just barely make out her flat stare from the corner of his vision. "Because you like him?"

"I do not!" Danny protested.

Star giggled while Paulina talked over her. "Danny, we have eyes, you know. And we've seen yours wandering to him every time he's anywhere near you."

Danny opened his mouth to protest, but Star pushed it shut. "Nuh uh. Lipstick first." He tried again, but was met with the same result. "I will smear this all over your teeth do not test me Fenton." This time, Danny obeyed.

 By the time he had finished, his initial protests had already died out. It wasn't like they were wrong; he just hadn't realized he'd been so obvious about it. "Fine. I might have a little crush."

"Well if by "little crush" you mean that you're head over heels in love with my best friend, then yeah, I know you have a little crush on him."

"Hey!" Star cried. "I thought I was your best friend?"

"Best boy friend," Paulina corrected. "But not boyfriend boyfriend. We tried dating, but he's not interested in me. Which, you know, I was insulted with originally, but he's just not into any girls, so the fact that he was into me enough to try dating is a win."

"So, he likes-"

"Boys, yeah."

"Which means you have a chance," Paulina added. "But only if you sit still and let us make you look pretty!"

Danny really didn't think he had been moving around all that much, but he made sure to sit even stiller now.

"You're gonna need to be the one who asks him out."

Star nodded. "He's worried about doing something wrong, cause he was so mean to you before." Star paused at Paulina's glare. "Oh. Was that a part I wasn't supposed to share?"

"Yes," Paulina said, annoyed. "But it's too late now."

"Wait, hold on, what?"

"Oh, he likes you too," Paulina said. "It's gotten kind of annoying, listening to him go on and on about how 'cool' you look doing flips and everything."

Danny felt his face heating up more. "I mean. I just. I don't really know how to ask someone out?"

"Oh trust me, I know," Paulina laughed. "Don't think I've forgotten all the shit you pulled during freshman year."

Danny's face burned even hotter.

"Polly, you're embarrassing him!" Star said, but she couldn't stop a giggle of her own. "We're supposed to be helping!"

"I know, I know, but I can't help it!" Paulina said, her laughter dying out.

"You two planned this?" Danny asked incredulously.

"I mean, we didn't not plan it?" Star replied.

"No, we planned it," Paulina corrected. "I think Abigail even put it on her itinerary, but she fell asleep, like a loser."

Star giggled again. "So we're taking over!"

"You've got to be more confident, flaco. You get all blushy and stutter, and give up halfway through, and while that's adorable, it's not going to work if you want results."

"We've seen you on the field, we know you can do it, so don't try to deny it," Star added.

"But that's an entirely different thing!"

"It's not that different," Paulina said.

 Star ignored her. "Then just pretend you're on the field! Put on a good show for him, and I guarantee he'll be drooling all over you. Just like he is during the games."

"He is not drooling about me during the games."

"Oh, he so is," Star countered. "You remember the game you first debuted?"

Danny nodded; while he'd done fine, the actual game had been a bit of a shit show. Casper High had lost, fourteen to nothing.

"Dash only fumbled that because he was so distracted by you," Paulina said. "Tripped right over his own feet, cost us the first points of the game, and it was all down hill from there. If you can do that when you aren't even trying, imagine what you can do to him when you are."

"I think we're done here," Star said, withdrawing from Danny.

"I think we've outdone ourselves," Paulina said, angling his face to admire their work. She grabbed a small mirror from her pocket and passed it over to him. "What do you think?"

He looked surprisingly good, much better than he expected considering the fact he was a boy and that the people doing his makeup were at least a little drunk.

"It looks good," Danny agreed.

"No," Star protested. "You look good, and you need to take that vibe with you when you ask Dash out tomorrow."

"Who said anything about tomorrow?"

"We did," Paulina said. "Because tomorrow, we're going to be dragging him with us to the park and finding a convenient excuse to leave him there alone."

"You're gonna swoop in, and you're gonna ask him out and save him from having to deal with us all day."

"Trust us. It'll be perfect."

"I don't-"

"Shh." Star put her finger over Danny's lips. "We're doing this, whether you show up or not."

"Which means we need our rest, and you need your beauty sleep."

"So shoo while we clean up."

Danny didn't really know what else to do besides walk back to his pile of stuff and get comfortable.

He guessed he was going to the park sometime tomorrow. He hadn't been planning on it, but that was ok. He was used to that.

--

Prompts:

LonelyGrayRose - "Well if by "little crush" you mean that you're head over heels in love with our best friend, then yeah, I know you have a little crush on [him/her]" lavendarlily - Who knew Danny Fenton was so agile? Paulina makes it her personal mission to get him on the cheer squad.

[back-and-totheleft]

Oliver Stone Settles the Score with Cannes Debut ‘JFK Revisited,’ Feels Unappreciated at Home

When you think reliable narrator, Oliver Stone doesn’t exactly come to mind. Since his start as a director in the 1970s, the lightning-rod filmmaker, now 74, has leaned into fiction narratives with political points of view, from “Salvador,” “Wall Street,” and “W.” to Best Director Oscar-winners “Platoon” and “Born on the Fourth of July.” His last Oscar nomination came in 1996, for “Nixon,” arguably his peak of high regard in Hollywood. It’s hard to recall that in 1992, controversial global smash “JFK” earned three Oscar nominations including Best Picture.

Times change, and Stone’s complex historic and global point of view is far more layered and nuanced than current American partisanship will accept. That’s why the Yale-grad-turned-Vietnam-vet has managed to alienate folks on every side of the political spectrum, including accusations of promulgating violence with “Natural Born Killers,” promoting a whistleblower in “Snowden,” and conducting friendly documentary interviews with dictators, Cuba’s Fidel Castro in “Comandante” (2003) and more recently Russia’s Vladimir Putin (Showtime’s four-part “The Putin Interviews”).

“Many people are scared and touchy,” said Stone’s long-term backer, Argentinian producer Fernando Sulichin (“Alexander,” “Savages”), “because he goes to talk openly to big powerful people who are not liked in the West and gets their point of view. He does that as an exploration. If you have a chance to speak to these people, they will be judged by history. For example, Nelson Mandela and the NSA were declared a terrorist organization, then 20 years later he’s the savior Nelson Mandela. It’s an overview of the geopolitical system, [Stone] is not affiliated. And everything is coherent within a historical time frame; it’s a historical approach to modern reality that is not made by the people in the political world of the newspapers.”

So when it comes to setting the record straight on who killed President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963, in that motorcade in Dallas, Texas, Stone might not seem the most objective documentarian to tell that story. After all, isn’t he just trying to prove the same conspiracy theories he put forward in “JFK” almost 30 years ago, that got him in hot water at the time? “Of course,” he told me at Cannes, where he world-premiered and launched world sales on documentary “JFK Revisited: Through the Looking Glass,” which he finished during the pandemic. “To make this documentary is to prove our case. We proved it as far as possible. There is no absolute proof.”

When producer Rob Wilson proposed the idea of returning to the shooting of JFK, Stone decided it was important to bring multi-generations up to speed on what really happened back in 1963. At first, Stone pitched four one-hour episodes for television, but no sale. So he fashioned a two-hour movie instead, completed, along with his recent memoir, during the pandemic. “The 1991 movie was a dramatization, nothing wrong with it,” he said “I got nailed by people, literalists, saying Stone made up this and that, like, Kevin Bacon was an amalgam of five homosexual characters in New Orleans.”

For “JFK Revisited,” Stone leaned on a screenplay based on facts, culled by indefatigable Kennedy researcher and autodidact James DiEugenio, who deconstructed two assassination tomes published after the release of “JFK” — Gerald Posner’s “Case Closed: Lee Harvey Oswald and the Assassination of JFK” (1993), and Vincent Bugliosi’s “Reclaiming History: The Assassination of President John F. Kennedy” (2007). Stone also wanted to assemble all the primary evidence that has been declassified and revealed in the last decades, from the initial Warren Commission Report to subsequent government investigations that undermine many of the Warren Commission’s findings.

“When the 50th anniversary rolled around,” said Stone, “I was depressed that even the networks and print outlets were ignoring alternate theories on the Warren Commission. You’d have thought it was the Bible. It was a cover-up whitewash.”

DiEugenio had read every text about the assassination, Stone said: “He went after everything. The script was wonkish. Rob and I simplified it.” While one could argue with Stone’s choice to add to his own narration the familiar voices of Whoopi Goldberg and Donald Sutherland (who starred in “JFK”), nonetheless the movie makes a persuasive argument against the Warren Commission’s lone gunman theory, which had Lee Harvey Oswald fire a “magic bullet” that passed through Kennedy’s body in multiple unlikely locations, and was mysteriously found in an untarnished state. “JFK Revisited” persuasively argues for a conspiracy theory involving multiple players and makes a cohesive case that two rogue arms of government, the FBI and the CIA, both contributed misleading evidence to the Warren Commission, which overlooked evidence that was subsequently unveiled.

And the movie is unabashedly pro-Kennedy. “Kennedy was a true true warrior for peace, he did not want proliferation,” said Stone at the Cannes press conference, “a great American leader. Had he succeeded we would be in a whole different place.” And if the assassination had happened in an age of mobile cameras, the investigation would have gone very differently, too. “But what is the absolute truth? We don’t have it. History itself is up for grabs.”

Stone sees Kennedy as the last president to question the power of the entrenched and well-funded military industrial complex, the FBI and the CIA — which may explain why he often seems sympathetic to Donald Trump. As far as Stone is concerned, George W. Bush was a much worse president. “He led us into the war on terror,” he said. “The Liberal movement changed after September 11, 2001, became super-patriotic, identifying America as an oppressed nation, because it was attacked by terrorists — as if we hadn’t committed acts of terrorism abroad ourselves. 2001 was a payback for a lot of stuff we’d done.”

Next up: “Starpower,” a clean energy eco-documentary. “I’m looking to global interests,” said Stone. “We have to realize energy is an international issue. A lot of businessmen are progressive when it comes to energy. It’s not political, it’s beyond that. With energy and climate change, we’re looking at the danger of carbon dioxide emissions in the atmosphere. It’s crucial we solve that problem by 2050. The Russians and Chinese are doing a lot of work with new energy, and the U.S. is doing it at a smaller level with less government support. I believe that a world of peace and coexistence is more crucial than anything.”

And Stone worries that Netflix algorithms that predict what moviegoers want to see preclude greenlighting the kind of movies that made his career. “I always believe that if you build it they will come,” he said. “I struggled to make my first films, like ‘Salvador.’ I don’t think anyone could question military strategy today like I could in ‘Platoon.’ An algorithm couldn’t predict who would come to ‘Platoon’ or ‘Born on the Fourth of July,’ which both took 10 years to make. The film dictates the audience. If it’s good, it brings the audience. Algorithms don’t work that way.”

The director also fears that Americans aren’t getting the full story via their news media, with censorship on the rise. He sees himself being funded by more international outlets than domestic ones. While “JFK Revisited” scored favorable early reviews and strong international sales, North American distribution is still up for grabs. “If this movie is not shown in America,” said Stone, “something is wrong with our system.”

-Anne Thompson, IndieWire, Jul 24 2021 [x]

[autumnslance]

((Originally begun as response to a prompt (that ended up another entirely), this got away from me and became it’s own thing. Since it’s a FFXIV Write 2020 freebie day, time to finally yeet this draft out after sitting on it too long. Also below the cut for those who prefer Tumblr.))

“We have time before these negotiations resume,” Merlwyb said. “I suggest we stretch our legs and clear our heads before meeting with the Emperor again, now we have a firmer strategy.” The others readily agreed.

Nanamo grabbed Alisaie’s attention about another matter, leaving Aeryn free to slip outside. She waved past the Alliance guards to go a short way down the path to a small, rocky clearing she had noticed earlier. Both forces’ camps sat on either side, but straight forward were the dark hills and valleys of Ghimlyt. Not the most calming or picturesque view she had ever beheld, but more open and empty than a tent full of politicians and soldiers.

The footfall of a man in heavy armor was unmistakable, and she looked back to see who had followed, blinking in surprise at an unaccompanied Emperor Varis, his guards left several yalms away. “I had hoped for a chance to speak privately,” he said.

Aeryn stood stiffly, watching him. “I wondered at your request for my presence. I’m not much for politics—my skills lie elsewhere.”

“I am well aware.” He tromped up alongside her, his own gaze looking over the landscape. “I wanted to take more of your measure, given our last meeting was cut short.”

Aeryn shrugged. She turned back to the scenery.

Varis frowned. “No accusation or rejoinders? Or have you learned the futility of such from your leaders?”

She disliked how he said that, but kept herself neutral. “There’s no point. We were both there.” Her Echo caught a whisper, as she remembered who else had been in Ok’Zundu that day. “But you weren’t there,” she added quietly. “When we faced Zurvan.”

It was his turn to stiffen and Aeryn almost found that impressive, given how rigid the man already was by nature. “I have heard the tale from my soldiers. But I would hear it from you, eikon slayer.”

“We fought back and forth across Azys Lla in the course of our research into the Warring Triad,” Aeryn began bluntly. “As we did, it became apparent that the failsafes the Allagans built into the facility had been purposely sabotaged from the beginning, to allow the imprisoned eikons their freedom. A plot of the goddess Sophia’s followers, hoping to rain her and Bahamut’s wrath both upon the old empire. That didn’t happen, and so they waited for four thousand years.”

“Until the Archbishop’s foolhardiness woke them, and drew our attentions to Azys Lla and its potential,” he said.

“Its nightmares,” she answered. “The creatures and machina remaining are twisted. Little good can come from what torments they inflicted on others.”

“Perhaps you are lacking imagination. A debate for another time,” Varis continued, almost hurriedly as she glowered up at him. “I wish to know about Zurvan, not the lesser creations of Allag.”

Aeryn grit her teeth and gazed out across the fields again. “The archons set wards to keep Garlean soldiers out of the facility. But the damage done by Sophia’s minions had been enough. Even only half-awake, the Demon’s power broke our wards.”

She looked to Varis again. “That’s when van Hydrus came to us. Our prior clashes had ended in stalemate and escape. That time, he asked for our aid. His soldiers were struggling to keep Zurvan’s minions from waking their master, despite the risk to their own minds—and when we arrived, many had been turned, fighting their own squad mates.”

 The floors slick with blood, the screaming sounds of those centaur-like beings, the guttural roar of the eikon itself as it half-woke, Regula’s weapon cleaved in twain…

“How did Regula die?” Varis asked when she was quiet for too long.

Aeryn took a moment to clear her throat. “There were...aether collectors, to feed Zurvan and grant him strength. We had to disable them. But only three of us could get close: myself, another Scion with the Echo, and a boy who also bears the Blessing—our expert on the Warring Triad.” She noted his ever-deepening frown but continued.

“The archons tended to the wounded, trying to get as many as possible away from the eikon. Krile and I fought our way through and broke our generators, but Unukalhai was hesitant. For all his knowledge and skill, he’s still a child. So the Legatus dove into the fray to protect the boy and destroy the generator. Which he did--But Zurvan had awoken enough to take a swing to defend his thralls. His sword broke Regula’s. And…” Aeryn stopped, realizing she was hugging herself as she remembered.

Before Varis could speak she continued, letting her arms drop to her sides. “His last words were that he believed the Echo to be the only true way to destroy eikons, and so judged Unukalhai’s life more valuable than his own. He...spoke of you, what you did for him, and how he gladly gave his all in service. And he bade us complete our mission, end Zurvan’s threat.” She met Varis’ cold, dark gaze. “So I did.”

They were silent for a long moment. “Thank you,” the emperor finally replied. “The reports said much the same.”

“You thought I would lie about what happened?”

“No. All reports name you an honest woman. As I said: I simply wished to hear it from you.”

“I...I am sorry. For...I wish things had turned out differently.”

“Perhaps next time you won’t take a child onto a battlefield.”

She frowned up at him. “Believe me; I didn’t want to. But we don’t have a choice. And you don’t know all the circumstances. Unukalhai’s no ordinary boy.”

“But he is a boy. Unused to battle, and so one of our best, my onl--” Varis paused, taking a breath to collect himself. “You wonder why we call you savages, when you justify such.”

Aeryn bristled. “You have no room to talk. The empire’s no stranger to child soldiers--but I suppose they don’t matter if they aren’t Garlean.” She bit her tongue before mentioning the Resonatorium.

His lips pulled back in a sort of grin. “There’s the anger I expected. Nor are you above the same tit-for-tat as your leaders after all.”

“We can spit facts at one another all day. It doesn’t change anything.” Aeryn clenched her fists to stop their trembling--and the urge to throw a punch. That would be a helluva thing to do at a negotiation. Her eyes snapped up to his again. “Or are you trying to goad me?”

“Hrmph. No,” he said emphatically, and she believed him. “But we should each return to our respective camps, and make preparations for said negotiations to continue.”

Aeryn took a shaky breath as she stepped back. She did not trust herself to speak--she had no conscious idea what to say--so merely nodded, not looking away from him.

After a long, awkward moment, he finally broke eye contact and turned, stalking back to his guards, armor clinking with each weighty step. Aeryn waited until he was out of sight before returning to the Alliance side.

Lyse was waiting for her near the large tent set up for the parley. “There you are!” She exclaimed, relieved. “Were you talking to Varis just now? Or was I imagining things?”

Aeryn shook her head. “Not imagining. He was asking about Regula van Hydrus, and the Warring Triad.”

“The legatus of the VIth Legion?” Lyse looked down. “Honestly, I’d forgotten; you ended up working with him in the end, right? He saved Unukalhai.”

“And I told the emperor so,” Aeryn admitted. “According to some of Regula’s soldiers, he was Varis’ friend.” She frowned, looking toward the Garlean lines. “Maybe his only one.”

“Don’t tell me you’re feeling sorry for ‘His Radiance’?”

Aeryn scoffed. “Hardly. More...understanding, I think. Or trying to. What would that do to a person; to have only one other that you could trust and rely on?”

“And then lose them?” Lyse finished. They exchanged concerned looks, before Lyse let out a deep breath. “I think that’s enough sympathizing with the devil for one day. Come on; the others are waiting.”

The Alliance representatives were stunned by Varis’ candor and zealous proclamations. Aeryn could barely hear the others' responses, thinking instead of Gaius Baelsar’s own impassioned speech as they had ridden the lift down to the Ultima Weapon.

He had called Eorzea a land riddled with falsehoods, lies propped up by weak leaders to placate a weaker populace. But if what Varis said about the first emperor--his own grandfather!--was true, if everything about the Imperial agenda was just another scheme of the Paragons...

Nanamo’s certain voice began to cut through the haze. Aeryn focused on the Sultana, her own surprise giving way to pride in the young ruler, how far she had come since their first meeting under the Sultantree.

“And you, Warrior of Light?” the Emperor demanded. “Would you refuse me as well?”

Aeryn felt everyone’s eyes turn her way. She wished they wouldn’t; the attention was as smothering as an Ul’dahn heatwave.

She met Varis’ gaze. “Your prize is a lie and your masters demons,” she said bluntly. “I’ll stop you and the Ascians--no matter what.”

He sneered. “I thought you had more sense. Don’t you see? Regula was right! The Echo is crucial not only to ridding the world of eikons, but in saving it entirely--returning it to its original, natural state. That is what the Ascians mean--and what they fear in you.”

Aeryn glared. “Regula died because he believed another’s life worth more than his own--his last words were of service, of stopping the eikons and their followers from causing a Calamity, not helping them bring more about! If you think after all we’ve struggled through and accomplished, that I would ever agree to mass murder, then you didn’t ‘take my measure’ at all. I’ll defend Eorzea--this entire world--from your madness with everything I have.”

It was more than she usually said at such meetings, and she felt her friends’ eyes on her even as she and Varis glared at one another.

“It would seem the Alliance is of one mind on this matter,” Nanamo said firmly.

The meeting ended as Aeryn had assumed--despite all hope--that it would. She kept her eyes on Varis until he had swept out to bring the Empire's hammer down upon Eorzea for their defiance.

She wished, once again, that events in Azys Lla had ended differently. Perhaps losing his singular friend had left Varis no one else to discuss matters with, had left him open to the Ascians’ manipulations and the wild idea that any scheme was worth it to defeat them at their own game.

Thinking back to the empty bodies currently in the Rising Stones’ infirmary, Aeryn could almost understand such desperation.

Almost.

She joined her comrades as they prepared for war.

[momorabu]

Code Realize Playthrough - Fran’s Route - Chapter 12: Calamity

Warning: Spoilers. Image heavy post.

This chapter has no new CG so we’ll just have to make do with a nice-smiling Fran as the cover chapter~ XD The story is getting more and more intense as we made our way towards the end, but there are still one or two sweet moments.

Next chapter will be the finale~! I’m looking forward to writing that out~ ^^

Time counts down to 6 hours left.

Cardia and Fran were making their escape away from Twilight, but with Fran being weak to the point that Cardia had to help him to move along, it would be a matter of time before they were being caught up. Fran suggested that he would be a decoy to distract Twilight while Cardia escaped joining Lupin and the others, but Cardia stopped him instead and told him that she had thought of herself being a monster, and if that time comes... she would choose to take her own life. For her, it’s important to be with Fran as much as possible and thus she decided that she shall stay with him and not abandon him. And what goes on, is sort of like a confession from Cardia to Fran:

(Awww~ >////<)

Fran blushed and mumbled something about love, which Cardia thought hard about it and decided that she shall tell Fran right at the moment she loves him XD (I do envy Cardia for being so straight forward in her feelings at this moment O////O)

But Fran showed a glum face and replied that he doesn’t deserve to be loved. But.... apparently, Cardia gave quite a cute answer~

(How can you reject her after she confessed to you like this? Fran blushing like this is really adorable too~ >////<)

Fran was about to reply to Cardia when... who was to appear to destroy the atmosphere other than Twilight? =w=“ Aleister appeared too, and remarked that the Twilight is here under the Queen’s order, passing on the message from her that if Fran obtained Zicterium for them, she will let both Cardia and him go. Twilight had already known of someone who was related to the project in creating Zicterium, but when they arrived at the man’s house, they realised that the information had already been removed and deduced that Lupin and the others had already obtained them - handwritten notes which contained the location where Zicterium were being hidden. 

To force Fran to obtain the Zicterium, Cardia was being held as a hostage by Twilight, giving Fran four hours to locate the Zicterium, and if he failed to do so, Cardia would be killed, as a “safety prevention” that she would get turned into a monster. Though Fran confronted Aleister that the Queen would definitely want to keep Cardia alive as a weapon, Aleister coolly revealed that he had not planned to obey the Queen’s instructions anyway. In the end, Fran had no choice but to obey Twilight and the Queen’s instructions, and a tracking device was put onto him to keep his whereabouts, warning Fran that he would also be under surveillance to prevent him from doing anything funny. 

(I seriously don’t think to beg for help is going to be of much use at this moment so...)

Cardia tried to assure Fran to go find the Zicterium and not worry about her and instead wanted him to destroy the Zicterium once he had found them, even if Aleister warned her that she would eventually become a monster without it. Though Cardia appeared that she did not care about her life and will put an end to her life if the inevitable happens, Fran gave his word that he would find the Zicterium, warning Aleister not to harm her.

(This is probably very important to take note of in the later part of the game. Trust may or may not make things turn out right in the end...)

Cardia had tried to take her own life, by throwing herself at the blade which the Twilight member was holding against her throat, but ultimately failed to do so. Fran promised that he would come back to her and begged her not to give up on her life so easily just yet. (Damn, I’m a bit sad to know that Cardia actually attempted to commit suicide when Fran was still there. It’s too early to give up! ><”)

From here on, the story continued on in Fran’s point of view:

An hour after the confrontation with Twilight, Fran found himself running along the streets of London. With only three hours left to find Zicterium, it seems that there isn’t enough time to think up of a strategy to work against Twilight, but it’s still too soon to give up yet. Fran knew that there isn’t any guarantee that they would make it out alive even if he had brought the Zicterium to Twilight, but he had no choice but to do that now, in order to save Cardia.

(It’s interesting to see from Fran’s point of view for this scene, where we actually get to see Cardia appear as a character.)

Knowing that Aleister had planned to use Zicterium as a weapon, Fran’s nightmare from two years ago was going to come true all over again, and he isn’t going to let that happen. His plan was ultimately to find Zicterium and destroys it, but memories of Cardia filled his head and he knew that he had to save her, while still destroying Zicterium, though the logical part of his brain told him that this was not possible.

Fran ran until he arrived at the meeting spot where he saw Van waiting for him. He remarked that Impey had gotten worried about the explosion and went looking for Fran and Cardia, and the rest had continued onto the location of Zicterium since it had been written down on the researcher’s notes even though the person himself was already dead by the time they went to his house. 

Noticing that Cardia was not with Fran, Van asked him why was he alone. Fran knew that he should not say anything suspicious since he knew that Twilight was watching him, and thus told a fake reason to Van while using his finger to drum out a morse code revealing the real reason at the same time. 

(I have to say that this is my first time seeing Van looking so surprised XD)

From Van’s slight expression changes, Fran knew that he had already realised what was going on, and begged Van to tell him about the location where Zicterium was kept (since ultimately he needs it to save Cardia). Van told him the location and asked Fran to keep up with him as they ran towards there. 

Time count down to 4 hours left. 

The story goes back to Cardia’s point of view, where she found herself being tied up on a chair and thus could not move. Even her hands were tied up to the point that she can’t remove her gloves to melt the rope using her poison. (Wow, the villains were actually detailed and careful to this degree OWO)

Aleister entered the room, being all polite and asking Cardia on her body condition, but after some chit-chat, he revealed that Fran had already figured out where the Zicterium was being kept, and that he had also sent some of his Twilight agents to the location, since he had not planned for Fran to bring Zicterium to him anyway, knowing that even if Fran wanted to, the rest of the group may not agree to it. He soon left the room, but not without some remarks of how “alive” Cardia was even though she was supposed to be just a “doll”, wondering whether she was pretending to be angry. (Who will do that at a point like this? =w=“) After Aleister left the room, Cardia could sense her condition gradually worsening, and know that she might not be able to move much any longer.

(At this point, a choice was given and... stupid me believing to wait for Fran to come back with the Zicterium, chose to wait. Cardia started feeling really dizzy and having a headache to the point she collapsed and knowing that her body is changing to a monster... and she lost her conscious. And I ended with a bad end. Welp, that was a fast ending D:)

(Luckily, there’s always a second chance~!)

Knowing that her being kept captive will only prevent Fran’s progress and put the group into a disadvantage if they were being attacked by Twilight, Cardia decided to make a run herself. She decided to scratch her wrist with something sharp in this room and use her blood to melt the rope, but when she finally managed to do it, she realised something strange... her blood isn’t melting off the rope like it used to! She wondered whether the poison had weakened as part of the Horologium’s transformation, but managed to stay calm in the end as she tried to untie the rope herself using what Lupin had taught her. She finally managed to free herself, and seeing that she had just three hours left before she transformed, she quickly made her escape out of the house she was being kept captive in, shattering the window and jumping out of it.

Unfortunately, Cardia soon met a Twilight member outside of the house as she jumped out, but managed to knock him out with the techniques she had learned from Van, taking a dagger from him too in the meantime. (The reason why she took a dagger is to use it to kill herself if it’s needed. Cardia... TWT)

As Cardia tried to run away, she found herself surrounded by Twilight members. Luckily, Impey had arrived with the Ornithopter and grabbed Cardia away from them. (Yeah~~! Thanks, Impey~!)

(It feels like it’s been so long since I’ve heard Impey said anything like this~ Probably because I’ve dragging out this route for so long ^^;)

Cardia filled Impey in quickly about the current situation, and they both made their way there just so that Cardia can assure the others that she’s safe now.

The story changed to Fran’s point of view.

As Van and he arrived at the location where Zicterium was said to be hidden, he looked at his watch and realised that there are only three hours left till the Horologium transforms, and that would mean there’s only one hour left before Aleister would kill Cardia. They soon meet up with Lupin and Saint there, where Lupin sighed and commented that they’re currently stuck since they can’t move past the huge doors at the end. 

While Fran was giving the fake explanation about Cardia to the others, Van passed on the real message using morse code once again. (Wow... did all of them learned morse code and could understand it already? OWO) But soon, Twilight had arrived at this place and started attacking them. Since it seems like Twilight wasn’t holding up their end to the bargain, Van suggested that they fought back, but Fran was worried about antagonizing them since he knew that Cardia was in their hands. He tried to think up of a plan where they can gain an upper hand and noticing the transmitter on his clothing where Aleister was using to keep tabs on him, a plan started to form in his head as he asked Van regarding the chain of command in Twilight. 

Knowing from Van that the Twilight soldiers were still able to relay information to Aleister even if he isn’t here, Fran decided to shout out to them that he wanted to negotiate with Aleister, declaring that they had a trump card and that Aleister won’t be able to access Zicterium without it. As expected, the soldiers ceased their attacks, while Fran continued on that he knew how to decipher the trick to access the room, and if Aleister killed them here, he would never be able to decipher it within two hours and get accessed to the Zicterium. Though Aleister threatened Fran again that he had Cardia in his hands, Fran was not scared and said that both he and she were already prepared to die anyway. Part of it was a lie actually since Fran had no idea how to decipher the trick to the hidden room yet, but all he can do now was to cease fighting to buy for more time before the Horologium finishes transforming. 

Aleister finally agreed to negotiate with Fran, and Fran wanted Twilight to bring Cardia here so that they can make sure she’s safe before they open the door. But Aleister refused, telling him that he would dispose Cardia and also kill all of them instead since he doesn’t want to take a risky bet. (My bet is Cardia wasn’t even there anymore so he can’t bring her to where Fran was if he wanted to =w=“). As the group resumed their battle with Twilight once again, Fran heard a familiar voice he felt that he hasn’t listened to for a long time...

(Yeah~! Cardia is here, along with Impey~ I have to admit they look kind of good together here XD)

Fran hurriedly ran to her asking her how she managed to make her escape. Now that the group was reunited, Impey joined Van and the others to battle against Twilight.

(Though while they were battling, Fran was hugging Cardia and telling her how glad he was that she was safe. And here’s how Cardia looks like when she blushed in front of Fran. Awww~)

Fran declared to Aleister that the latter had lost. But Aleister simply smiled as he stepped away from his communication device in the mansion. Realising that Twilight had been surrounded by the military as Queen, Aleister decided that he shall end Twilight today, by killing his own men and even the Queen’s troops as he made his escape... 

(Hmm... I wonder if we would ever see Aleister made an appearance someday...)

Time counts down to 1 hour left.

The military had also arrived at the location where Fran and others were at, with Leonhardt leading them to destroy Twilight. While Twilight’s soldiers were good at combat, the military was too, and soon Twilight was put under control by them. 

Though the military had come to get rid of Twilight which was a good thing for Fran and others, it didn’t seem like they were here to help them. The soldiers quickly surrounded them, with Leonhardt warning them not to move as the soldiers would shoot them if they had shown any resistance. Van cautioned the group to be careful since, in Van’s eyes, Leonhardt was a very strong and powerful soldier.

Suddenly, Queen Victoria made an appearance as well, thanking Fran and the others for keeping Twilight distracted, so that none of her soldiers was harmed. Van realised that they were being used as a bait all this while to cause trouble with Twilight, to which Victoria explained that she had been keeping an eye on Aleister and noticed that he was being rebellious, and knowing that danger that Cardia could cause if she were to fall into the “wrong” hands, she decided to take this matter into her own hands in the end.

Victoria explained that she had let Cardia and Fran escaped from the palace since she had wanted them to “roam free”, to help them locate this place where Zicterium was being kept. Cardia asked her whether she had intended to continue on with her plan involving terrorism, to which Victoria calmly replied that in order to let Britain continues to survive, she needed a war to break out right now, and claimed that for that to happen, she just need to a little bit of Zicterium and sacrifice. Obviously that “little bit” was actually alot of deaths and it greatly pissed Fran off when he saw how Victoria had belittled them.

Victoria once again explained on how Britain would be caught up in terms of technology in ten to twenty years, and how the other nations had hated them and would definitely trample on them when it comes to war by that time. Thus she wanted to get a head start on putting all the other nations under her control by declaring war now. Saint actually agreed with her, though it’s a half-agree, and told the Queen that she’s only looking at a part of nation when she thought up of her plan.

Victoria wasn’t glad to hear that her reasoning was very one-sided, determined that thinking from Britain’s standpoint was what she’s supposed to do. She then decided to reveal to Fran and the others that the facility they were at now was, in fact, a weapon itself, a device that could spread Zicterium across the entire country. In fact, this was what Victoria had been searching for a long time, and was determined that to start a world war right now, she had to activate the device and sacrifice the entire London, thus causing hatred among the people to fuel it.

(I don’t know why but I find it scary yet sad that Victoria could smile when she knew that she’s being a villain and was willing to carry out her plans at all cost...)

Cardia had found it scary that Victoria had spoken with so much confidence about her plan and was sure that it would succeed, even if she knew that she would die from this plan. For her, the plan would be even better if she was being sacrificed, and even calmly said that she had already made arrangements on the rest of her plans would proceed smoothly after her death. For Victoria, she doesn’t even plan to mourn on her own death and seems that she just wanted to bring an end to her duties as the Queen.

Fran didn’t care about what Victoria had said though, he didn’t believe in her logic, and didn’t want innocent people to be killed as part of the plan, to which Victoria expressed her envy to him that he was able to stand up for his own justice and wished she had the choice, slightly revealing her emotions that she didn’t want to take such a huge responsibility actually...

But, she soon changed the topic and told Fran that she knew what he had told Aleister was a bluff since she knew how to open the doors here, holding up the pendant that once belonged to Finis. (Finis had been gone for so long in this route that I almost forgot about his existence =w=“) Activating the pendant, she managed to open the doors, revealing a new and eerie path before them.

Victoria also revealed that she knew that Cardia needed Zicterium to cure herself and that if Cardia was to transform into a monster, even Zicterium won’t be able to cause any damage to her. Thus, she wanted to cooperate with her to help prevent Cardia to be transformed into a monster, though once everything is over here, she would have to be under the government’s protection, and became one of the Queen’s weapon. 

Cardia knew that she might get dissected by researchers, and would be taken advantage by Victoria to be used as a weapon if she had gone with her. But if she doesn’t, there’s a high chance that her own poison will end up destroying the whole of London and killing all of her friends, wondering what she should do at this point of time. But the Queen ended up giving them just two choices, surrender Cardia to them so only she gets to survive, or all of them would have to die together. Cardia refused to obey her, saying that it would be worthless if she’s the only one who gets to survive alone and wanted to stay with them until the very end.

Since Cardia had made her choice, Victoria decided that they shall all be killed and summoned her soldiers to fight them, while Leonhardt and she made their way down the path to where the Zicterium device was being kept. However, Fran told Cardia to go off together to where the Queen had gone since ultimately, he wanted to cure Cardia of her poison. Cardia was mad that Fran had intended for her to be the only survivor, but Fran sadly explained to her that though all this while he had intended to destroy Zicterium to run away from his crimes, he realised that Zicterium was required to save her and if he destroys it, he would also be destroying a future he wanted to have with her. Fran knew that the Queen’s plans will only generate more hatred and war in the future, so he still wants to stop her, while still saving Cardia at the same time. He isn’t going to give anything up and would try to attain both of his goals, thus, wanting Cardia not to give up on her life too and come with him 

(How can you say no to this face though >////<)

With Cardia agreeing to go with him, Lupin teased them for declaring their love for each other at such a moment and asked them to go ahead, since the rest of them had their back and will take care of things here.

(I just love these guys’ friendship with each other~ <3)

And thus, Fran and Cardia ran off, holding hands with each other, and Cardia thought that while others may think of Fran as a timid guy usually, she found him really assuring at this moment. (Awww~)

[chiseler]

Myrna Loy: Keeping Cool

If an actor is said to be “underplaying,” what does that mean exactly? It might mean not doing the obvious thing and not displaying the obvious emotion. Or it might mean feeling various emotions but holding them back and only sharing a tiny portion of them. This is a risky strategy, because most audiences might just think you can’t “act,” at least not in the expected way. When Myrna Loy made The Rains Came (1939), she was thirty-four years old and an established star. The film is what used to be called a “well-mounted” production, filled with dramatic incident and exotic settings and lots of extras and love crises and natural disasters. The role of Lady Edwina Esketh, a dissolute, promiscuous noblewoman who redeems herself through sacrifice and love, would seem to provide a juicy opportunity for showboating. It’s easy to imagine Bette Davis in the role, her eyes popping with restless desire. Whereas Loy had the kind of eyes that always seemed half-closed even when they weren’t.

Loy’s playing of Lady Esketh is cool, modest, almost non-committal, and this approach can seem alienating at first, but if you focus closely on what she’s doing, her under-the-radar work starts to pay dividends. The film’s producer Darryl Zanuck called her into his office midway through the shooting and complained about her performance, but Loy stuck to her own interpretation. She was known for her dry handling of light comedy, high comedy, even farce, and she refuses to play Lady Esketh full out as temperamental or mercurial, as practically any other actress of her time would have done. Instead, Loy keeps her cards close to her vest and lets her knowing attitude do the rest. Her expressive voice is light and almost fey, but very grounded, with ringing intonations, and this makes it different from a huskier yet more vacillating voice like Jean Arthur’s.

Even when Lady Esketh changes her tune, Loy doesn’t go all Noble. In fact, underneath the self-sacrifice her Lady Esketh seems to be as flip and above-it-all as ever, somehow, and this works well for the film. “I hate scenes,” she tells her lover George Brent, and this would be a laugh line for a Davis or a Joan Crawford, but Loy is an actress who actually does hate “scenes” or drama. She’s basically detached, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have feelings. It’s just that she doesn’t parade them around as other performers do.

This instinct Loy had for underplaying didn’t always work out so well. In Parnell (1937), Loy and Clark Gable do a lot of walking around and talking quietly to each other, and they come off like zombies in period dress. But her moderation in many other films was so unusual and original that Loy fashioned her very own type of screen character. She was almost never a working girl, but more usually a wife, a mistress, a lady with money and time for play, so fetching that she got away with lots of nose wrinkling and eyelash fluttering without ever seeming coy.

As a young girl, Loy had seen Eleonora Duse on the stage, and she had admired the restraint of that fabled actress. “Oh, I could have cried all over the place in many of my films, but it just didn’t feel right,” she said in her charming 1987 memoir, Being and Becoming. “The audience loses respect for the character. It seems that instinctively I’ve done this kind of underplaying a good deal in my work. That brand of acting had impressed me since first seeing Duse. She had an inner light, you see; you’ve got to have it…You can’t be thinking about how many people you’re having for dinner.” According to Loy in her book, nearly all of her leading men and many of the other men she met developed crushes on her, and that’s understandable. She had the damndest nose, turned up at the end and elaborately structured, and that reserved, hard-to-get manner that promised the deepest bliss if you could melt some of her reserve.

Loy was born in Montana, and she began her career early as a dancer in live prologues for silent films. She was an extra in the original Ben-Hur (1925), and for the next nine years she made eighty-odd movies, mostly in bits. As a maid in Ernst Lubitsch’s So This Is Paris (1926), Loy just walks across a room. She’s a lady in waiting to Lucrezia Borgia in Don Juan (1926) and a chorus girl in the first talking movie, The Jazz Singer (1927), and she was continually cast as vamps and tramps, often of Chinese, Latin or all-purpose “foreign” extraction.

In her first full talkie, The Desert Song (1929), Loy plays Azuri: “That name means tiger claws!” she informs us, in a hilariously BEEG! accent that she came up with herself. She’s very sexy in that movie, but she’s also making a kind of joke of sex, and this campy attitude also informs her Yasmini in John Ford’s The Black Watch (1929) and her gypsy temptress Nubi in The Squall (1929). Loy is enjoyably over the top in these roles and in some of her other vamp parts of this time, and she worked so often in this exaggerated fashion that maybe she was just all tired-out by the time she became a star in 1934 with The Thin Man, and so she made a low-key style out of this tiredness.

Loy is a hoot in The Truth About Youth (1930) as a gold-digging singer with a temper, and she was time-stoppingly lovely in her brief role in Ford’s Arrowsmith (1931). She had one promising scene with Robert Young in New Morals for Old (1932), but then the film drops her entirely. Loy steals Rouben Mamoulian’s Love Me Tonight (1932) with just a couple of naughty lines, socking them home in an attention-getting way that’s rather far removed from her later laidback delivery, but she was still being cast as vixens in racist concoctions like The Mask of Fu Manchu (1932), where her Fah Lo See delights in having men whipped, and Thirteen Women (1932), where her hypnotic half-caste takes methodical revenge on a bunch of sorority girls who spurned her. It must have taken much stamina and patience to wait out all these years and all these small and unworthy parts. She had a lead in a modern dress version of Vanity Fair (1932), which was shot in ten days at a poverty row studio, sometimes from 4AM to 4AM. Loy does an intriguingly subdued Becky Sharp, but maybe she was too exhausted to play it any other way.

The speedy director W.S. Van Dyke took her in hand in 1933 at MGM, and her parts began to improve. She thrived with John Barrymore in the sophisticated comedy Topaze (1933), and she fell in with her best partner, William Powell, in Manhattan Melodrama (1934), where she also tussled with Clark Gable. The Thin Man was made by Van Dyke in sixteen days, and it set up a long-running formula for Powell and Loy that proved irresistible. As Nick and Nora Charles, a private detective and his heiress wife, Powell and Loy struck up a bantering attitude with each other that still feels like a fresh and attainable ideal of marriage.

The mystery plots of their six Thin Man films were usually perfunctory, but that didn’t matter because audiences really came to see Nick and Nora verbally jousting and keeping each other entertained. Just listening to them is a pleasure: Powell with his deep, plummy voice and Loy with her bright, high, tinkling one. “They hit that wonderful note because he always did a wee bit too much and she underdid it, creating a grace, a charm, a chemistry,” observed George Cukor.

Nick and Nora are party people, and the running gag in their films is that they always want to get a rest or take a break but they never seem to, and that suits Loy’s Nora just fine. She married Nick for excitement and great sex and teasing that always goes right up to the edge of being dangerous but never topples over into hurt feelings (it did just one time, in After the Thin Man (1936), when Nick drunkenly mentions making a mistake and Nora for a brief moment thinks he means he was mistaken in marrying her because her family is so stuffy). Nora can be slightly dizzy, but she is also flexible and tough. “There’s a girl with hair on her chest!” says a cop in The Thin Man, after Nick and Nora have just gotten out of a scary scrape with a gunman and she comes out blithely crying for more action.

As she watches Nick shooting the ornaments off their Christmas tree in The Thin Man, Loy shoots Powell an only semi-loving “You are beyond belief” look, a very modern kind of juicily sarcastic look that is also in some sense unreadable. Nora’s love for Nick is a private and multi-leveled thing, and Loy will only reveal a small bit of it. They both see the fun or absurdity in practically any situation, even things that would irritate most of us. “We were married three years before he told me he loved me,” Nora says in The Thin Man Goes Home (1944), and she relates this in an admiring way, because they both like to avoid the obvious, or look askance at it.

The seven or so other films Loy made with Powell were often ordinary, but they were always redeemed by their give-and-take, their rapport, his two-drinks-in silliness and her quizzical, nearly deadpan reaction to him. Loy is at her peak in Libeled Lady (1936), playing a quasi-bitch in the first half but then softening beautifully when she falls for Powell. It’s clear that she’s a former dancer because she always moves gracefully, and distinctively: there’s a difference between the louche posture of her call girl in Penthouse (1933) and the ramrod straight posture of her rich playgirl in Libeled Lady, which suffers from unimaginative direction from Jack Conway. Loy too seldom worked with top directors. She’s at her womanly best in Test Pilot (1938) with Gable and Spencer Tracy, and she brought all of her tenderness to the smallish role of the wife in her most famous movie, William Wyler’s The Best Years of Our Lives (1946), but it seems a shame that she never worked at length for Lubitsch, or Preston Sturges, or Howard Hawks.

As an older woman, Loy concentrated on progressive politics as her career wound down. She played one hilariously timed scene where she fussily picks paint colors in Mr. Blandings Builds His Dream House (1948), but she had little chemistry with Cary Grant, who needed a more extreme woman to react to. Loy was a mother and feminist heroine in Belles on Their Toes (1952) and she worked in a more histrionic vein in Lonelyhearts (1959) and From the Terrace (1960), proving that she could play this way if she wanted to, but it isn’t much fun seeing her argue with a nasty Robert Ryan or stumble around drunk as Paul Newman’s mother, so far from her usual context.

She worked on stage and bowed out gracefully with Summer Solstice (1981), a short teleplay about an aged married couple where she was still teasing and fun loving with her mate, Henry Fonda. They called Loy the perfect wife, but her own four marriages didn’t work out, and the second one, to rental car heir John Hertz, Jr., was particularly bad. Hertz gave her a black eye once, and surely there is a special place reserved in hell for the man who gave Myrna Loy a black eye. As so often with these stars, real life did not live up to screen life, and she herself did not get enough of the pleasure that she gave to us.

Loy was one of the rare stars who seems to have been much like the person we see on screen: tolerant, sophisticated, nice without being sugary, dignified without being rigid, treating life with amused sang-froid. She was the sexiest and smartest of role models, all the more attractive and suggestive for keeping so many things to herself.

by Dan Callahan

[stormspe]

New Girl

This is pretty rough and unedited, but I wanted to post it before midnight because it’s my girl Whitley’s birthday today and I had to celebrate somehow. I always kinda wondered why Whitley became friends with Yuko, Yuki, and Maya, and I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships lately, so...here’s a piece that’s all about finding a friend.

It had been a disastrous first day for Whitley.

She had only just introduced herself to the class when the teacher, Mr. Cheren, announced that the class would be having a Pokemon battle tournament. She expected that there would be Pokemon battles at the Trainers’ School, but on her first day? Just her luck.

Whitley hadn’t been trying very hard in her first two battles, but it turned out that she didn’t need to. Her first two opponents were ridiculously weak. Then, her final opponent had been relying on an advanced strategy to use Sigilyph’s Psycho Shift to pass off the badly poisoned status condition to the opposing Pokemon. However, Foongy’s immunity to being poisoned threw her off her game, and Whitley got so excited by accidentally outsmarting her opponent that she forgot to try to lose.

So she’d won the girls’ tournament, and her prize? A Pokedex. As if learning to be a Pokemon Trainer wasn’t bad enough, now she was tasked with filling the device that was the epitome of everything that N stood against. Her only consolation was that it didn’t seem like her classmates resented her for winning the tournament…yet.

But even if they didn’t resent her, would they actually want to be friends with her? Whitley didn’t know how to make friends; she had been hoping that one of the other girls would invite her into their friend group. Either that or try to befriend her roommate…but she’d been given a single room, so that was out of the question.

She was so not looking forward to tomorrow.

Tomorrow came, and along with it their first class of the day: status condition studies, with Mr. Otoha. Whitley made sure to arrive early so she could have her choice of seating, and she made a beeline for an empty desk in the back of the room. Hopefully, she wouldn’t draw unwanted attention back here.

Unfortunately, it was not to be. As more students filtered into the classroom, one girl looked straight at Whitley and headed towards her. Whitley ducked her head and pretended to be immensely interested in the schedule on her desk, hoping the girl would ignore her. It didn’t work.

“Hey! Whitley, right?”

Whitley slowly drew her head up and made eye contact with the girl, who had sat down at the desk in front of Whitley. She was blonde and had her hair in a ponytail, and she wore a blue visor with a blue-and-white T-shirt. All in all, Whitley judged her to be the sporty, athletic type.

“Um…yeah,” Whitley said in response to her question.

“Cool! I just wanted to say congrats on winning the tournament yesterday,” the girl said, grinning widely. “I’m Yuki, by the way. Nice to meet you!”

“Um, nice to meet you too,” Whitley replied.

“Hey, so I was wondering, do you want to have lunch with me and my friends today?” Yuki asked.

“I, um…what?” Whitley stammered. It was exactly what she had wanted, and yet it was so sudden. It seemed almost too good to be true.

Before Yuki could respond, another girl approached them from behind. “Yuki, you’re in my seat,” the girl said, folding her arms crossly. She had short brown hair and wore a white wrap shirt, and Whitley recognized her as her final opponent from the previous day’s tournament.

Yuki rolled her eyes. “There aren’t assigned seats here, Ellie,” she said, but she stood up and let the other girl have the seat anyways. Then she turned back to Whitley. “So, what do you say? Lunch or nah?”

Whitley blinked a couple of times, but eventually nodded. It was what she’d wanted, anyways. “Great! Meet me in the caf. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the girls there.”

As Yuki walked back up the aisle to a different seat, the girl in front of Whitley turned around to face her. “Hey. I’m Ellie,” she said. She glanced briefly in Yuki’s direction before leaning an arm on Whitley’s desk and saying in a low voice, “Just between you and me, you do not want to be friends with Yuki and those girls. They’re shallow, and they don’t take battling seriously at all.” Ellie paused thoughtfully. “If you want to hang out with someone worth your while, meet me in the library at lunch. You can eat in there, and it’s much quieter than the cafeteria. It’s right across from it; you can’t miss it.”

Whitley nodded slowly as Ellie turned back to the front of the classroom. She couldn’t believe her luck now – in the span of just a few minutes, two different people invited her to have lunch with them. Maybe she was wrong to think that her peers would resent her for winning the tournament. So now she was faced with a different problem: which invitation should she accept?

Ellie obviously didn’t hold Yuki and her friends in high esteem. But the reasons why Ellie didn’t like them – “shallow” and “don’t take battling seriously at all” – seemed kind of comforting to Whitley. In fact, Ellie’s opinion of them reminded her of a comment she’d overheard one of the guys making…she didn’t know his name, but he had spiky blue hair. If he and Ellie were friends, she definitely didn’t want to hang out with Ellie – the spiky-haired boy was kinda intimidating.

However, Ellie hadn’t said anything about eating with friends. If it was just the two of them, it would give her the opportunity to get to know Ellie a lot better. She didn’t know how many friends Yuki would have, but if she was an athlete, she would probably have a lot. Whitley might get introduced to everyone, but it was unlikely that she’d be able to get a word in among a big group of girls.

In the end, when lunch period rolled around, Whitley headed to the library. Ellie was waiting for her by the entrance, and she had a big smile on her face when Whitley saw her. “You came!” she said, a little more eagerly than she meant to.

Whitley bit her lip and looked at the ground. “Yes, but…” Ellie’s grin faded. “I just wanted to thank you for the invitation,” she said, fighting the instinct to turn tail and run out of the awkward situation. “I’m grateful that you thought of me, but…I think I’m going to sit with Yuki and the others today. It’s nothing against you!” she added quickly.

Ellie sighed. “I get it,” she said, pressing her lips together. “No, really, I do. You’re new here, and you’d rather be social with a big group of people than hang out with one other girl in the library. It’ll probably be better for you in the long run.” She patted Whitley on the back. “Go ahead. Enjoy your lunch.”

“I’m sorry…”

“No, seriously. It’s okay. You do you, girl.”

“Maybe another day?”

“Maybe another day,” Ellie echoed, cracking a little smile. She waved goodbye as Whitley exited the library and began looking for Yuki.

Eventually, it was Yuki who found Whitley – she called her name and waved her over to a table in the center of the cafeteria. Whitley hurried over to the table and was surprised to find it occupied by only three other girls. One was Yuki, obviously, and the other two were girls that Whitley kinda remembered seeing around Yuki before. The smaller of the two girls had reddish-brown hair that she pulled into a small ponytail on the top of her head, styled in such a way that it looked like a sprout. The other had light brown hair a little shorter than Ellie’s, and she smelled strongly of Honey.

“Hey! You made it!” Yuki exclaimed as Whitley sat down. “Did you get lost or something?”

“Um, something like that.”

“Hi! I’m Yuko!” the sprout-haired girl exclaimed, sticking out her hand for Whitley to shake. “Nice to meet you!”

“And I’m Maya,” the Honey-scented girl said.

“It’s good to meet you all,” Whitley said politely.

“Okay, first off, can I just say that I am sooo jealous that you got to hold Blake’s hand when you were getting your Pokedex yesterday?” Yuko said.

“I wish he would hold my hand like that!” Yuki exclaimed. “And look into my eyes, and say my name in that dreamy way of his, and tell me he loves me…”

“Oh, Yuki, we all know that if he’s gonna do that to anyone, it’ll be you,” Maya assured her.

“Of course,” Yuki declared. “Maybe he’ll do it on our field trip next week!”

“Ooh, that’s right, I totally forgot about the field trip next week!” Yuko said. “Did they ever announce where we’re gonna go?”

“Nope, they want it to be a surprise,” Yuki said. “I’m hoping we’ll go to Join Avenue. There are so many cute shops there…have you ever been, Whitley?”

Whitley blinked. “Um, no, I haven’t,” she said.

“We have to take you there sometime!” Yuki declared. “My favorite shop is the salon. I bring Wingull there for a grooming every month.”

“I haven’t been since my birthday,” Maya said.

Whitley boldly jumped into the conversation. “When is your birthday, Maya?” she asked.

“August twenty-fourth,” Maya chuckled. “When is yours?”

“Yeah, when is your birthday, Whitley?” Yuko asked.

“September sixteenth,” Whitley answered.

“Wow, that’s really soon!” Yuko exclaimed. “We’ve gotta get started on getting you presents!”

“Oh, that’s really not necessary…”

“Of course it is,” Yuki asserted. “We’re your friends, and friends get each other presents.”

Whitley’s eyes widened a little. “We’re…friends?”

“Yes, we’re friends, silly,” Yuko laughed. “You’re not a jerk, and you agreed to have lunch with us. What more do we need?”

“I…I just, um…”

“You weren’t expecting to make friends this quickly?” Yuki guessed. “The three of us, we’ve all been there. We were all the new girl at one point or another. I spent my first year at the Striation City Trainers’ School, but then we moved, and my parents decided to send me here instead.”

“I moved here from Johto four years ago,” Yuko said.

“And I just came here last year,” Maya said.

“We know how it feels to be the new girl, so we want to make the experience better for you,” Yuki finished.

Whitley felt a little overwhelmed by the three girls’ kindness, and she felt tears start to well up in her eyes.

“Huh? Whitley, what’s wrong?” Maya asked worriedly.

“N-nothing’s wrong,” Whitley sniffled, attempting to dry her eyes. “Nothing’s wrong at all…”

“Then why are you crying?”

“Because…because…thank you. Thank you so much…”

Thank you for wanting to be friends with the new girl.

Happy birthday, Whitley <3

[ifishouldvanish]

Spin Me a Tale (2/?)

SUMMARY: Every two weeks, Belle tunes into her favorite book review podcast, Spin Me a Tale. Little does she know, that the man behind it is none other than the terribly shy library guest she’s been harboring a crush on: Mr Gold. Prompted by @wayamy27narf. RATING: T WORDS: 2,648 A/N: I’m just throwing in the towel here as far as getting this to display nicely on mobile with the shitty new update.

[Part One] [Read on AO3]

~*~*~*~

Belle let out a heavy sigh, nudging what remained of her pancakes around in the lake of syrup on her plate.

“Maybe he's like, mute or something.” Ruby shrugged. “You should try signing to him. See if he signs back.”

Belle's eyes swept up from her plate to where Ruby was standing on the other side of the counter. “Last time I tried to sign, I asked an eighty-six year old woman if she needed a penis instead of a pen!” she whined.

Ruby burst into laughter, but cut herself off when she noticed the unamused look on her friend’s face. “Sorry! I'm sorry! But now you know I gotta ask–”

“Yes!” Belle cried, dropping her fork and throwing her hands over her face. “She said yes!”

“Oh my God,” Ruby threw her head back and laughed again. “Okay, okay,” she settled down and shook her head. “So you just need to practice some more! You work at a library– check out a few books!”

“I don't think he's mute.” Belle said. “When the school does early release and he comes in with the little boy, he talks to him!” she explained, throwing her hands up in the air. “I've seen it!”

“Huh.” Ruby shrugged, taking her plate away. “Well, you've got me there.”

Belle gasped and sat upright, slapping her palms on the bartop. “The boy! That's it, Ruby–” she pointed, “That's how I get through to him! Through his son!”

Ruby arched a brow. “Sounds a little creepy, Belle. Not gonna lie. Now I'm just picturing you kidnapping the kid and leaving him a ransom note.” she snickered and took on a menacing voice, “if you ever wanna see your son again, you'll go on a date with me...”

Belle rolled her eyes. “Not like that!” she huffed. “We have a bunch of kids’ after school programs coming up! I can personally hand him a flyer for one, and maybe, if I'm lucky, his son will be interested, and they'll come, and…”

“He can continue to stutter and hide from you?” Ruby finished for her.

Belle narrowed her eyes. “No. See– the energy at the library is way different in the evening. It's… less busy, less noisy, less bright. It's…” she leaned over the counter and sighed, “romantic.”

“Hm…” Ruby tilted her head and wrinkled her nose. “Not the word I'd use to describe a bunch of five to ten year-olds fighting over crayons or who gets to sit in the bean bag chair during story time… but you do you.” she said, sliding Belle's check across the counter.

“Yeah well– some of us are trying to be optimistic here, Ruby.” she grumbled and began digging her wallet out of her purse.

“He’s coming in today?”

“Mhm.” Belle looked up at her and bit back a smile. “...Every other Tuesday.”

*****

Belle's lunch break had technically ended twenty minutes ago, but other having a few new books to catalog into the system, it was a slow day. She had a stack of flyers for the next family event ready and waiting to be handed out, and as long as she got the new books processed in by four o'clock, her extended lunch would be a secret a safely kept between her and The Weaver.

“...his moral ambiguity is what I feel makes him such a compelling character– one whose journey toward redemption is paralleled at several points in the novel by one of the other characters–”

The doorbell chimed and Belle looked up from the book she'd been following along with. She scoot forward in her seat, peering around the circulation desk, and there he was.

Her man.

Mr Gold.

Sure, he might not know he was her man yet, but one of these days… one of these days they'd have an actual conversation, and she'd invite him out for coffee, and they'd talk about books until sundown, and he'd ask to see her again, and then they could fall in love for real.

He turned around to use the drop-off bin and Belle helped herself to a long, appreciative look at his rear, her lips pressed together as she admired the view.

She wouldn't dare admit it to Ruby– after all, she had a reputation for looking beyond outward appearances to uphold– but she appreciated the man's derrière almost as much as she did his timid smiles, gentle demeanor, and taste in literature.

Oh, it was a cute butt. Round, pert, tight little thing. Her fingers practically twitched with the urge to reach out and touch it.

Well, squeeze, if she was perfectly honest with herself. There was no way a simple touch would suffice. No, no– she longed to give it a nice, sweet caress. A tight squeeze. A bite.

Okay, maybe not a bite.

Oh, who was she kidding? She’d totally take a bite out of that thing.

It was unfair, really. It was just a butt. What business did it have being so–

Something touched Belle's shoulder and she jumped, tearing her earbuds out. She spun around in her seat and found Mrs Potts with her hands on her hips and a haughty look on her face.

“Head in the clouds again, I see…” she tutted.

“Uh– N-no.” Belle blurted, belatedly rushing to pause the podcast on her phone. She turned straight ahead and corrected her posture, doing her best impression of somebody who definitely hadn’t just been caught ogling a guest.

The two of them did their best to act casual as Mr Gold hitched across the lobby– both offering polite, innocent smiles as he passed the circulation desk. Belle gave a small wave, and for one beautiful second, their eyes met and he smiled back. He disappeared among the shelves and she let out a sigh.

Mrs Potts leaned over Belle’s shoulder and cleared her throat. “I understand we all have our own little vices to help us get through the day with our sanity in tact, Miss French– just so long as we get our work done on time. Is that clear?”

Belle swallowed hard. “Yes, Mrs Potts.” she said, reaching out and patting a hand on the cart full of books still waiting to be processed. “You know, I was just um, finishing up my lunch break.”

With a skeptical little hum, the woman walked off and Belle eased her shoulders.

*****

An hour later, she was distracted again.

It wasn't her fault that Mr Gold had seated himself at one of the reading tables across the lobby where she could see him. Whatever he was reading, it must have been good because he was hunched over the table with keen interest. A cascade of soft, brown hair was catching the light overhead just so. He had his lips pressed together, tongue periodically poking out to wet them. And then there were his hands.

He was so gentle, the way he handled his books. The delicate way he flipped each page; It was like he was caressing a lover, Belle thought.

She'd like to be caressed.

He ought to spread her pages and read her.

Mr Gold's focus lifted away from his book then. He looked around the library, blinking as he returned to reality– and if Belle hadn't been enjoying the view of his Adam's apple so much, she'd have had the mind to look away sooner.

Their eyes met, only this time it was mortifying. His eyes widened and Belle darted her gaze up to the inspirational posters on the wall, pretending to read them. She counted to five and turned back to her computer screen, tucking her hair behind her ear.

After clicking and typing a few nothings into the database program for appearances, her eyes stealthily drifted back to Mr Gold. Checking him out from afar was all well and good, but she was on a mission today.

He'd closed his book and was skimming the back covers of the others he had piled beside him.

That was her cue.

Belle plucked one of the flyers off the stack on her desk and stood up, taking a second to smooth out her skirt before heading over.

“Uh…” she cleared her throat. “Mr Gold?”

He looked up at her from his book, brows raised expectantly.

“Um… I just wanted to give you this.” she said, holding out the flyer.

He blinked and shifted in his seat, his eyes snapping down to read the headline. Knitting his brows together, he tilted his head and glanced back up at her. His lips parted, and a hand came up to rub at the collar of his shirt.

“I-I know the flyer says Mommy and Me, but it's actually a family thing that's open to all parents and guardians regardless of gender?” she explained, cringing at the way her voice cracked on the last few words. “I um... I tried to convince the director to let us call it something more inclusive, but they said it didn't have the same ring to it?”

He wrinkled his nose and a smile began to tug at the corners of his mouth. He squashed it though– pressing his lips together and shaking his head.

God, he probably thought she was so stupid. Why was everything she was saying coming out as a question?

Belle was about to initiate her exit strategy, but then he touched his fingers to his lips. It seemed he was thinking. That he was going to do something. Say something?

He reached out to accept the flyer from her, but paused, wet his lips, and nodded first.

“It’s next Thursday at six,” Belle continued, feeling her heart begin to race. This was it. This was her chance. “And well… I’ll be there. Because um– well, I love kids, and uh, it’d be really great to see you and Bae there?”

His smile widened at the mention of the boy's name, and he skimmed over the flyer a second time.

“The kids always have a lot of fun and it's um…” Belle trailed off, her momentum slipping already, and started wringing her hands over her belly. “Well, we do all sorts of things, but basically it's all about helping parents and children communicate and understand each other better by creating transformative works together based off of classic folk tales? The um, the idea is that it can often be easier for children to express themselves through stories than plain conversation?”

The corners of his mouth pinched downwards and he hiked his brows. “Hm.”

Belle smiled and relaxed her shoulders, breathing a sigh of relief.

A hm!

A hm was good!

She could work with a hm!

“It's uh… a great way to meet other parents, too.” she added.

He uttered another sound– a resigned little groan– and looked back down at his book, rubbing his thumb along the corners of the pages.

Damn it.

Belle squeezed her eyes shut, feeling her cheeks grow hot. She only meant to convey her own desire to get to know him, but instead she probably made it sound like some kind of bizarre mixer for single parents. He probably thought she pitied him now. Oh, look at the poor, lonely man reading by himself– if only he were to get out more, he might meet somebody!

Sure, she hoped he had friends and wasn’t lonely– but her intentions at the moment weren’t quite so noble. No, no. The only person she was interested in setting him up with was herself.

But regardless, if this was going to go anywhere, she needed to keep talking to him.

“I mean–” she shook her head, “not that you like, would have to talk to anybody. At all. I didn't mean meet people as in meet people. You don't have to meet anyone if you don't want to?”

Mr Gold looked back up at her again, leaning closer and tilting his head.

Yes, yes. Good save.

“Because I take it you're… I mean I think you're a…”

No, no. Backpedal. Reroute.

Belle squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I have a lot of respect for single parents and the idea that you– that they need to find and settle down with another person to give their child a more traditional family is just…”

She tucked her hair behind her ears and threw a quick glance over her shoulder to dodge his gaze. Her hands were trembling and she could feel her armpits starting to sweat and itch. Hell, everything was starting to sweat. But he was actually looking at her this time instead of turning away and hiding behind his hair– and quite frankly, she wasn't prepared for it. His eyes were so warm and brown and soulful and sexy and good grief, she needed to get away before she did something stupid. Like confess that she was practically in love with him. Or tell him how much she liked his butt and wanted to bite it, apparently.

“I mean, it's really offensive, isn't it?” she chuckled awkwardly, already taking half a step back. “...heh.”

He scoffed and placed the flyer on the table, nodding in agreement. The corner of his mouth curled into one of those crooked smirks of his, and Belle’s heart pounded in her throat.

“Anyway, uh, no pressure or anything– bye!” she finished quickly, giving a little wave and spinning on her heels. She made a beeline for the front desk and sat back down with a huff, immediately grabbing her hand sanitizer so she could clean the yucky, clammy, sweaty feeling from her palms.

Biting butts.

Was that even a thing?

Well, of course it was. Everything was a thing. But why?

Oh, God.

She was like a voracious lioness, wasn't she? Lying in wait, ready to pounce on and sink her fangs into the succulent rump of a gazelle. Or a cute little zebra. Or a painfully shy silver fox with good taste in books.

“Still finishing our lunch break, are we?” Mrs Potts asked, coming over and making a point of examining one of the books still waiting to be processed in. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Get me transferred to another library branch and put me out of my misery.” Belle groaned, slouching in her seat.

Mrs Potts gave her an appraising look. “You know…” she leaned in and beckoned Belle closer, her eyes brimming with mischief.

Skeptical, Belle rolled her eyes, but she could humor the woman.

“Back in my day,” she whispered, “if a girl wanted to get a boy's attention, she might accidentally drop something so he could pick it up for her.”

Belle pulled back and narrowed her eyes, managing a polite smile. “With all due respect, Mrs Potts– this isn’t the seventh grade.”

“Well.” She huffed in offense and brushed some imaginary dirt off of her dress. “It was only a suggestion. But by all means– keep soliciting him like a used car salesman. Seems to be working out well for you.” she muttered, bustling back to her office.

At a loss for words, Belle watched the woman waddle off with her mouth hanging open.

‘Accidentally’ drop something?

Ridiculous.

She was 21st century woman! She didn’t need to partake in foolish games like that! Feigning clumsiness to make herself seem less intimidating to a man? Pandering to some innate male desire to feel useful!?

Absolutely insulting, is what it was! Degrading!

She shook her head and popped her earbuds back in, putting her podcast back on. The Weaver’s velvety voice filled her ears again, and as she finally began cataloging the new acquisitions, Belle couldn't help wondering if his butt was half as nice as Mr Gold's.

Probably not.

A butt like that was a rare and beautiful thing.

But oh, goodness. A man with The Weaver's sexy accent, and Mr Gold's perfect little tush? A girl could dream.

[hotelconcierge]

THE FALSE NEGATIVES

In The Company Of Men (1997) opens in an airport where two middle management guys have just arrived: a bespectacled seborrheic named Howard, and an ex-jock good ol’ boy named...Chad.

Howard walks out of the bathroom. He’s been hit, by a woman, just for asking the time—like, Mountain or Central. “Wait, wait. You're telling me about some sort of unprovoked assault here?” Chad says, “Did she give you the time at least?” 

Howard doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even seem to recognize it as a joke. And therein lies the problem, for him and everyone else.

The two men are in town a few weeks to work at a branch office. They exchange complaints. This place blows. The job sucks. Coworkers are vultures. Can’t trust anyone. Howard just got dumped by his fiancée. Chad says he just got dumped too.

CHAD: I'm standing there, no note...not a “thanks for four years of a roof over my bleached-blonde head”...nothing. You know? And it comes to me...the truth. I do not give a shit, not about anybody. A family member, a job, none of it. I couldn't care less.

HOWARD: Geez.

CHAD: Don't get me wrong. We're pals.

HOWARD: Same college.

CHAD: Exactly, and that means something. But these other folks...You know, jump on while the going's good? No, that will not do.

“Circle the date on this one, big guy,” Chad says, “We keep playing along with this 'pick up the check,' 'can't a girl change her mind' crap...and we can't even tell a joke in the workplace? There's going to be hell to pay down the line, no doubt about it.”

They move to the hotel bar.

CHAD: I don't want to shock you. It's just a thought. It's the same crap we played in school, only better, because we get a payback on this messy relationship shit we're dealing with.

HOWARD: No, right, it's funny, it is. it's just...way out there.

CHAD: I think it would be refreshing, I really do...and very therapeutic coming off the women we just have. 

HOWARD: Well, just for instance, who would it be?

CHAD: No idea. But she’s out there, I know it. Just waiting for us to find her.

Let’s start here.

They say guilt is omniscient; that doesn’t mean you can’t throw sand in its eyes. Unlike shame, guilt is universal, at some level everyone knows that violating the NAP makes you a dick. But suppose you like, really want to. How do you get from Crime and Punishment to Crimes and Misdemeanors?

The above scene is demonstrative. First, replace the human object with an idea. Hurting an innocent woman is obviously evil—plus, why would you do that? Women are soft, thoughtful, have nice voices, etc. But hurting “women” in general? “Women,” who smile right past you and say “that’s so funny!” instead of laughing and sing along to vapid breakup songs like they could ever know the pain of a sensitive incel? God knows “they” want to hurt “men.”

Second, remove the subject: you aren’t going to do anything. A passive process, inevitable given the laws of thermodynamics, is going to occur. You remember that one scene in Glengarry Glen Ross? “Somebody should stand up and strike back. Somebody should do something to them.” Deus vult.

But that explanation doesn’t do justice to Chad’s cunning. He alternates between 1) “big guy”-ing Howard re: office politics and romantic troubles, and 2) brutal, frequent, almost compulsive misogyny. These are twin strategies in the same campaign. When Chad says, “some corn-fed bitch who'd mess her pants if you sharpen a pencil for her,” Howard gives a single snort of laughter. I know that one. It’s a social laugh, slave morality coming straight from the spinal cord, brain playing catch-up, “oh, it’s funny because it was a joke.” Like all the nice construction workers asking ladies to smile, Chad wants to be a friend. It would be rude not to laugh at the joke of a friend. But when your ego endorses a perspective your superego rejects, you build up a debt of guilt. The heavier your debt, the more you have to borrow from the abstraction of ideal over real. The more you suspend judgment, the more you have to rely on the judgment of others. The more crimes you share with an accomplice, the deeper you enmesh yourself in conspiracy. So a few hours later and a little drunk:

HOWARD: What'd she say? 

CHAD: "I don't trust anything that bleeds for a week and doesn't die."

(Both laugh)

CHAD: So you in?

HOWARD: Aw, shit man...yeah, I’m in.

CHAD: Alright, let’s do it. Let’s hurt somebody.

Somebody shows up the next day.

The object is a deaf woman named Christine. Reads lips, self-conscious about this so wears headphones so coworkers will have to attract her attention. A copy-editor or something, 90 words per minute. Brunette and pale, short hair, slender neck, narrow frame, Améliesexual, Forever 21.

When a male coworker informs Chad of her disability, Chad does an imitation “dolphin voice” and gets a big laugh. Then he goes and introduces himself.

CHAD: You're new here, aren't you? Don't be embarrassed. We're all new sometime, right? (Pause) That's a lovely blouse.

“A, E, I, O, U and sometimes Y is like the Holy Grail to this poor wretch,” Chad tells Howard. Howard, sitting down to urinate, gives an ambiguous response. Chad: “You're not pussing out on this, are you, Howie?”

HOWARD: All I mean is, I think everything's a business, whatever you go into. Your typing there or my opportunity directing this project. Doesn't matter. Every walk of life's an industry...from child care right on up.

HOWARD: So, on a personal level, that's what I'm doing here. I was walking by, saw you, figured, "What the hell," you know? You probably have a boyfriend, but you gotta take your chance, right? And who knows? It might turn out to be mutually advantageous. So, that's really just a long-winded way of saying...I'd like to go out sometime. Maybe get a drink? My name's Howard, by the way. I'm free this weekend.

Act III shows the two Lotharios in parallel. Howard’s dating sim begins with a motorized tour cart ride at the zoo. Howard arrives late, blames this on having to “ream out” some employees, has to define “ream,” clarifies that, no, you don’t have to feel bad for them, like, it was no big deal. Then he backtracks and admits he was lying—none of that happened, he ran back to the hotel to change his shirt. “I get so used to saying what I think people want to hear...I forget they might just want the truth sometimes,” Howard says. “It’s all right,” Christine says, “Just remember: I can't hear you when you're lying.”

Cut to:

CHAD: I have to face this. My job ends here in a few weeks, and...I want you to know that whatever you do is all right with me. I don't care about your dating other guys...and if we're apart for a while or...

CHAD: Well, I just want you to know that, whatever happens, I trust you. Okay? Oh, boy, this is really hard. I like you. There, I said it. It's out. I'll eat better now. It's true. I look at you, and I see...good, nice, kind. I am very happy with you, and I want our relationship—you feel this could be a relationship, right? I want to nurture it and just see us blossom.

Christine then proceeds to eyelash flutter like Chad said he cried listening to Carrie & Lowell. We have the power of camera angles, but even without them—this is so, so, so obviously bullshit, right? Like a Markov chatbot trying to simulate “boyfriend”? But hold up. Under oath: can you point out the lie?

Chad’s branch office job does end in a few weeks. He really does see Christine as good/nice/kind, trusts her, doesn’t care if she dates other guys, wants the relationship to blossom (at least in the short term). Contrast with Howard’s “ream out” anecdote, which, objectively: Fake News, Not An Argument, Myth Busted. And yet if Howard hadn’t confessed the plot would have moved on without a missed beat—to you, the viewer, it rings exaggerated, but not intuitively false. 

And you’d be right, because truth cannot be extracted from individual words. Here’s the 2x2 for all y’all Ribbonfarmers: factual-truth = math; factual-lie = lie of omission; counterfactual-truth = metaphor; counterfactual-lie = I’ve got a bridge to sell you. I’m not pulling a po-mo fast one. Objective truth is great, it gave us Youtube and stuff. But words are imprecise no matter how many footnotes: since they compress preverbal desire, they always contain a lie of omission. And metaphors, though annotated with “citation needed, does not actually look like a summer’s day,” sometimes reveal crucial and unspeakable truths about the algorithm that creates them.

Point: lies cannot be proved or disproved by geometry. Counterpoint: still, being lied to is a distinct subjective experience. Example: when a minor fall to major lift makes you spit rage, it’s never because the song is particularly bad, no one actually enjoys math rock but no one gets mad at it either. The anger is instead a response to perceived manipulation. People get mad at rap/country/Bieber because these genres lean heavily on identity; the artist is, from the first guitar twang/phat beat/“baby,” trying to convince you of something about him/her/yourself. “Well, doesn’t everyone do that?” Extremely duh, but note that if you accept the artist’s claim as true or false then the nausea doesn’t occur. You can’t be manipulated if you’ve made up your mind, a sufficiently bad lie stops being one, see also, camp.

That’s the horror of the middle-place: if you just let yourself slide, if you just stopped being you, you would like it. Times Square neon makes me vomit blood but Casablanca is charming despite the same level of weapons-grade ideology. The former might persuade me to drink Suntory, the latter has zero chance of getting me to enter World War II. The propaganda of the past—the art of the past—will always be better than that of the present, not just because of selection bias but because it doesn’t feel manipulative, and it doesn’t feel manipulative because it’s not talking to you.

Ergo: we feel lied to = when we can tell + that we are being told + what we want to hear. And this is why Howard’s anecdote doesn’t feel like a lie: it wasn’t. Sure, the words were bullshit, and maybe he fooled Christine, but what he communicated to you—“I want to be seen as a man despite my multiple and obvious failings”—was 100% genuine.

Why can’t Howard tell a fib? One possibility is that he learned about girls from hentai and Roosh V and so thinks that women are attracted to toughness rather than the conquest of toughness. But more likely is that he doesn’t want to: he’s more interested in having Christine see him a certain way than in giving the Good End answers. So Howard, like you, tries to work Million Dollar Extreme references into his Tinder convos, which makes him a narcissist and a tool but not a liar. Proof of the pudding is that it doesn’t work.

Contra Chad: how come it’s so obvious that he’s lying? But of course: the words weren’t meant for you. Chad has self, not self-image, and so no compunctions about roleplaying to get what he wants. For us, his dialogue falls in an uncanny valley. But if you’re the target audience...

“Did she give you the time at least?” Howard never laughs at Chad’s deadpan because it’s too on the nose, it’s exactly what a friend should say, fact check = TRUE, bleep bloop. Howard social-laughs at Chad’s misogyny because it’s so absurd, he must be joking, fact check = FALSE, bzzzt. Christine makes the same mistake: Chad speaks the language of romance, she agrees to see him as such, and she stops asking questions. They outsource their superego to the etiquette of conversation, and who can blame them, their fantasies are coming true. Only you have the outside view, or so it seems: perfect etiquette masking irony, irony masking anger, anger masking unspeakable sociopathy: that even the anger is fake. But if you see that, then he was talking to you, that was the whole point, to give a winking apology to a fellow conspirator—“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

And therein lies the problem, for you and everyone else.

In The Company of Men does not have a happy ending.

Chad sleeps with Christine. (“God, I am just so taken with you. I just...”) Howard sees them at lunch together and gets worried. He pulls some work levers to get Chad out of town, refurbishes his ex-fiancee’s ring, and invites her to dinner.

HOWARD: Maybe this isn't the perfect time...but I care about you, Christine. I want you to know I like you a lot. I need—I just don't want to lose you.

Christine cuts him off. She’s made a horrible mistake by letting things get this far: she’s in love with Chad.

CHRISTINE: It’s all my fault...You both should have known about this...When you don't date for a while...you wonder...if you're attractive...or interesting to someone. You let things get out of hand first chance you get. That's what I did.

Pause.

HOWARD: We did know.

“Chad? He doesn't like you. He loathes you. He detests you and your pathetic retard voice. That's what he calls it. Christine, you bought that shit?” 

Christine freaks out and screams that’s not true, stop it, but Howard keeps going, spilling the beans about the game, apologizing and begging:

HOWARD: Can't you see I'm the good guy? I'm the good person here. I can't alter what we've done, and I'm a fuck...and a bastard and everything else on your list, but I'm here. I'm here, and I'm telling you...I love you.

He brings out the ring.

HOWARD: It's not a game to me anymore. Take it.

Christine doesn’t, and Howard promptly explodes that she’s “fucking handicapped,” “you think you can choose, men falling at your feet?” and so on.

The standard take on this type of (very common) story is that even though [beta male] loved [manic pixie] more than [Chad], the beta male’s complaisance to the patriarchy makes him “just as bad.” Fair enough, consequentialism ftw, but it’s suspicious that the narrator of these tales is often the beta male protagonist himself. No one self-flagellates unless they get off on it, and the above take hides an assumption: that (e.g.) Howard really was in love with Christine.

Was he? There’s no doubt he had some of the relevant chemicals floating around. Yet it’s very possible for abusers to love their victims and cheaters to love their cuckolded spouses. It’s very possible to love each and every other member of the orgy. Hell, I know some meditators who can connect with the astral rhythms of life itself—and they aren’t bullshitting, they really feel it. But drugs are cheap. What does your oxytocin rush mean for anyone besides you?

I’ll tell you why Howard thought that he was in love: he went through the motions. Just as Howard decided that Chad was his friend because that was the role he played, he decided that Christine was marriage material because...she was there. They had nothing in common, they had zero chemistry, but she was there. You gotta serve somebody. “I need—I just don’t want to lose you.” Love as manifest in the material plane requires sacrifice, is sacrifice, of opportunity if nothing else. Howard’s love is meaningless because it costs him nothing. Maybe Uber-Howard would still care about Christine, but not only is it impossible for Christine to know that, Howard himself doesn’t know. Power doesn’t corrupt, power reveals that you were corrupt all along. “Can’t you see I’m the good guy?” See what?

The next day, Howard gets demoted at work. Something went wrong with a fax machine and the copy came out too light; yeah, like a symbol. Chad sees Christine one last time. She confronts him. Chad tries to keep a straight face and then breaks out grinning: “Fuck it. Surprise.”

CHAD: So how does it feel? I mean right now. This instant. How do you feel inside, knowing what you know?

Christine slaps him and begins to sob.

A few days later, Howard shows up at Chad’s place. He’s distraught. Chad jokes around about the contest, then gestures to the other room, where his old girlfriend is sleeping in his king-sized bed. “What the hell? I mean, when did she crawl back?” Howard says. “She never left, Howie,” Chad says, “She’s always been right there.” “Then...why? Why, Chad?”

Good question. The first clue is when Howard runs into Chad and Christine on a date: “Howard and I have the same alma mater. He graduates a semester ahead of me, and now he's my boss,” Chad says, and for once the bitterness creeps in. The second is when Howard, blaming the higher-ups, sends Chad out of town:

CHAD: The real injustice here is if I could throw a curveball—you know, a really good one—just that, nothing else, no education, nothing—none of this would matter. Play in the big leagues for ten years, retire to Oahu.

Chad is handsome, confident, clever, and quite possibly a representation of The Great Deceiver himself. And yet, to get laid, Chad has to contort himself into a puppy. To get paid, he has to kiss ass to Windows 95 robots who wear beige and drink decaf. He spends the day humoring people who won’t acknowledge the joke—that if he could just play stupid arbitrary baseball, he wouldn’t have to. He’s powerless: no matter how well Chad tells his lies, the system determines the signifiers into which these lies fit. 

But Howard—Howard believes in the system. He’s exactly the sort of person who created the phatics that Chad has to obey, who follows even the most vacuous rules with moral seriousness, clings to them all the harder as they turn him into a self-loathing nebbish. Chad’s revenge is to turn the rules against him, to show that no matter how oppressive social protocols get, they will always oppress Chad less, since he’ll say whatever bullshit is required while you’re stuttering your feelings on Whitman. The more checkboxes you demand checked, the more you favor the liar. Chad is bound by the rules of the game, but these rules are what gives him relative power: they make people trust him. “Because I could,” Chad says. “See you Monday.”

There’s a practical lesson here. Every day ambulances scream into the ED carrying young men who moan and complain that they are bedeviled by wine-loving dog moms, fluent in sarcasm, and yet for some reason they can’t get the time of day from those goth chicks who have tongues stuck out and eyes rolled up at all times. I’m not here to kinkshame, send pics if you’re a goth chick with your tongue stuck out and eyes rolled up at all times. But please be aware that lusting after a mannequin is a surefire way to get [extremely Taleb voice] fooled by randomness: the more detailed the script, the more you favor the actor.

I’m not saying you can’t have a type, but the person willing to sacrifice that last ounce of selfhood will always be closest to your 21st century ideal of bimboification. “There are smart women, but I don’t know many women with truly original ideas,” says the cerebral young man who needs four search operators to find adequate porn. Don’t worry—this process is dehumanizing for the fetishized person, but it’s dehumanizing in the other direction as well: only someone who doesn’t care what you think about them, about their real self, would consent to play a fake.

The problem with fetishization is that it prizes symbol above reality, and unfortunately for Christine, dating is systematized fetishization. Not a diss—this is how dating is supposed to work. If our intuition for love is inculcated by Disney, dating replaces the hero’s journey with its symbols: clothes and music as proxy for backstory; movie or pub crawl as proxy for adventure; astrology, Myers-Briggs, and 36 Questions as a proxy for intimacy. Dick pics and nudes test sexual potency without costing the two drink minimum, text and emoji idiosyncrasies reveal more about class and education than a brunch and a half. Dating is an attempt to economize romance, it’s unsurprising that the term was coined in the wake of the Industrial Revolution.

“You know that birds sing, right?” Sure, but nobody has any illusions about what the birds are looking for. I’m not knocking ritual, just ritual that pretends it’s something deeper. If milord sends milady twelve roses, a thoroughbred, a fiefdom, and a bard playing D’Angelo, this courtship is not taken as evidence of good character. It is judged on its own merits, i.e. this guy is either really interested or thirsty af.

This would be common sense except that every force in modern society is opposed to it. Since women are valued as approximations of fetish, they a) lose points for wearing the wrong symbols, and b) lose points if a partner doesn’t fit the brand. So now the first date Scantrons become radiant with their own fascination, because even if they have no meaning except “went through the motions,” everyone on Facebook is acting like they do, and “he seemed nice” is no excuse for dating a Trump supporter or a black guy. And now that privacy has moved public, the list of checkboxes lengthens as men try to gerrymander pussy (which again, always favors Chad) and Cosmopolitan feminists generate new metrics by which women can fall short.

These bureaucrats may have been hurt themselves, they may have the best of intentions. Perhaps that’s why their regulations are never phrased as hostile takeover. Instead, they take the form of advice, #lifehacks, and laugh-tracked satire at a third party’s expense. That’s how it always is, a friendly voice lends you a superego and all you have to do is pay interest on shame. The system wins when its values become your own.

However strong this force was historically, it’s stronger now that society consists of, let me check my phone, everyone. Just as metropolises are now made up of showrooms and gift shops, the demands of 7.442 billion potential tourists outweighing a pittance of locals, the citizens shape themselves into fungible, neon-dyed tchotchkes, while being tormented by the possibility that they have fallen short in this important moral task. The end-game of dating is the targeted ad. 

Before you start in on “swipe culture,” let’s be clear: no one has met cute through friends since the second war in Iraq, and Tinder, whatever faults it may have, at least requires the sacred fumbling of getting to know a stranger. OKCupid is a better example of modern anti-romance, with its careful sorting of partners by politics and caste, with its swamp of information bias that disguises—encourages—lying on the internet. But of course a Yelped bar or bookstore offers the same anonymity, the same curated selection who respond to the same empty lines until you start to hate them for it, like how dare you force me to lie, how dare you be so predictable, and this weakness makes them human which isn’t what you wanted anyway. No doubt they feel the same.

If this sounds bad, it gets worse: the above process is directly responsible for the most modern misandry and misogyny. Please note that the Women Are From Venus stereotypes have largely disappeared, even among misogynists. Please further note that #blackpilled misogynists rarely objectify women; in fact many of these men intentionally desexualize the “female race” and substitute, say, male crossdressers. The catcalling misogyny of the past came from a position of power: internet death threat misogyny comes from desperation. The twist is that the same transition has occurred among women—that despite every metric claiming that women are better off than before, women have moved from Men Are From Mars to a nagging suspicion that anything with a phallus should die.

Why would both sexes feel more powerless? Not discussed in polite society, but heavily discussed by misogynists, is the apparent epidemic of transactional sex: paypig/findommes, camgirls, sugar babies, and omnipresent Amazon wishlists. Sorta kitschy, free country, whatever. I’m sure part of this is mere technological transition, the gyration of the strip club from analog to digital, and Kanye informs me that there have always been implicit gold digging arrangements. But think about what happens when these private arrangements go public. First, some guy starts to associate “hot girl” with “:P spoil me”, and FYI, anger and lust, both performed with a closed fist, are exactly zero degrees apart on the axis of masturbation. And now that our guy has this (maybe unconscious) association, women have to rise to the occasion, e.g. make snotty demands for Venmo donations, because even though this makes him howl with rage, if it’s not there, he assumes the girl’s not that hot.

Everyone loses: women learn that they have to put on an act to get attention, except that half of men think they should die for this act and the other half—even the ones looking for a Serious Relationship—seem to lose interest if it’s ever turned off. Meanwhile the guy grows increasingly lonely/desperate/bitter as he tautologizes that every single girl he likes is an “attention whore." Our guy doesn’t know who he is or what he wants outside of anger and its aesthetics. Maybe he’d hit it off great with one of those women; maybe he should choose a different set of superficialities to pursue; maybe people lie on the internet; regardless, OKCupid gives them a compatibility of 43%.

And meanwhile women are wondering the same thing: how can you know?

There’s one more crucial scene In The Company of Men. Howard arrives at an airport and sees Christine working at a desk. He walks over to her and says, “Listen.” She doesn’t respond. So he says it again, “Listen,” and again, and again, screaming now and—

—but what could he say? Even if his intentions were pure to the utmost, what could he possibly say or do that wouldn’t be perceived as an act? What could any man do that wouldn’t be perceived in the same way? “I asked her what time it was. You know, Mountain, Central.” No wonder she hit you.

This is how society arrives at an absence of faith. It’s no coincidence that Chad executed his scheme as a tourist: that meant there were no witnesses to his character. It’s no coincidence that he picked a nervous brown-eyed waif—someone with too much self-doubt to trust her instincts, someone who draped herself in the trappings of goodness, someone too inexperienced to know that perfect is always a trap. But Christine was chosen because she was deaf. She couldn’t hear voices, she could only see the words. Now the words are gone. The question is what remains.

[phaylenfairchild]

Lying In Wait: Mike Pence Prepares To Take The Presidency

There is no question, Vice President Mike Pence is the worst of the two evils.

While Donald Trump may be a chest thumping, ego maniacal womanizer who brags about his nuclear button, laments over his small hands and has become a international meme, the Man behind the curtain is much more dangerous.

As nations around the globe laugh at the antics of Trump, whether because of his outrageous twitter attacks against celebrities, lying about his inauguration attendance or rambling about covfefe, we in America have accepted that he is no more relative to national strategy or politics than a potato.

Thus far, in his 13 months as President, Trump’s only personal success has been embarrassing himself before a world audience on a daily basis. Our plight as a country has become a running joke to so many who seem bizarrely detached from this new reality in which we are trying to adapt. It has more to do with social media desensitizing us to the nightmarish consequences of tragedy than simple indifference. We’re used to seeing pictures of dead immigrant children washed up on beaches and bodies piled up on top of rubble after a horrific bombing in Aleppo. Human beings have put on an emotional armor that has conditioned them to be unaffected, mostly to protect themselves from slipping into a sense of hopelessness and defeat. “Thoughts and prayers” via a few quick keyboard strokes have substituted genuine reactions to the suffering of others we witness with alarming frequency.

This unsettling separation of ourselves from dangerous truths and inevitable consequences is partly how a man like Donald Trump became President. While many voted for him, purely motivated by an impractical rage against the establishment, others did it for the comedic value. Republicans didn’t believe it could happen until they were suddenly faced with him as their newly minted nominee. Democrats were lulled into a sense of absolute security by gallup polls, expert commentary and news coverage which declared Hillary Clinton as a guaranteed landslide winner… so millions didn’t even bother to vote.

Partisan politics have destroyed democracy. We’re no longer hearing topics debated on senate floor; Instead politics are the new Superbowl and you’re either team Democratic Donkeys or Republican Elephants. Americans are divided by Red and Blue and they are ferociously loyal to their color. Social issues are irrelevant. So are economics, foreign relations, civil rights and the most basic of all, common sense. It is more important to win than to be right, regardless of the damage done in the process or pursuit of “Winning.” A surprising number of people who voted for Trump have experienced voter regret, realizing that the delight the thought they’d take from seeing him give ‘snowflake liberals’ a sharp upper-hook, was also dealt to them. Some are smart enough to feel betrayed. Others are so blindly devoted to their own team that they don’t mind being a casualty of it, as if they view themselves as a willing- and necessary sacrificial lamb required for the political Gods to destroy the other side and favor theirs.

Unfortunately, for Republicans, it was Trump they found occupying their political God seat. They’ve watched in sheer terror as he, and the unqualified lackeys he has appointed to power positions, have disassembled America’s perception of fairness, progress and priority.

In an unusual partnership, Donald Trump’s Vice President, Mike Pence, has been unusually quiet throughout most of the their reign so far. While Trump spent time in his first year campaigning for his next Presidential bid in 2020, Pence rarely made public or media appearances, and when he did, he was tactful rather than defensive; well practiced in dodging the damning questions hurled at him regarding his boss. It’s clear that Pence maintains a far more Presidential demeanor that Trump, manicuring his responses and speeches instead of vomiting his words all over the podium.

It has been speculated that inner-circle Republicans have anticipated Trump’s impeachment from the onset. Trump and his campaign have been beleaguered by legal troubles since he took the oath of office. Allegations of collusion with Russian entities and election tampering, obstruction of justice, failing to divest from his business investments, misuse of campaign funds, accusations of sexual misconduct and even extramarital affairs with multiple adult film stars remain ongoing. Yet, while Trump takes to twitter at 4 am to ridicule celebrities, foreign leaders even those players on his own team, Pence remains quietly on the sidelines as Trump slowly self destructs.

Pence’s visible distance from Trump isn’t incidental, but an act of self preservation. Nearly 40 White House staff have resigned or been fired since Trump assumed power, falling on the sword of Special Investigator Robert Mueller who has been tasked with examining Trump and his closest allies. Four Trump advisers were arrested before the incoming administration could decorate their new offices.

Pence never comments on these circumstances, instead leaving White House Chief of Staff John Kelly and White House Press Secretary Sarah Sanders to volley questions from Democratic colleagues and the media. Pence is meticulous about where he steps on a lawn full of droppings, and the suggestion has been made that his actions are fully premeditated. Having his eye planted firmly on the throne, he understands he must avoid getting dirty.

The Atlantic reported last month in an article called “God’s Plan For Mike Pence” that Pence’s wife, Second Lady Karen Pence, finds Donald Trump’s behavior “Vile.” Indeed, she would given that she and her husband are deeply convicted to their Christian religion. That alone made the Trump/Pence coupling extremely odd, especially considering Trump’s reckless attacks on women and his vulgar, brash behavior. Meanwhile, Pence is a polished politician, whose voting history and on-the-record comments as Governor of Indiana reveals someone with unwavering faith- to a disturbing degree.

Pence has voted against marriage equality. He voted to to uphold the archaic military policy of Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. When asked about his stance on gay rights, Trump intercepted the inquiry to say, “Don’t ask that guy, he wants to hang them all.” He has voted against a women’s right to sovereignty over their own body. He has neglected the needs of people of color in Indiana, contributing to a political system that imprisons more black men than it provides access to school. He condemned anti-racism efforts- even walked out of an NFL game where the players knelt peacefully to protest inequality and police brutality afflicting the black community. Pence has never spoken out against the alt-right activists that have violently attacked minorities, but sat back while Trump defended the self-described white supremacists as “Some very fine people.” Pence is known to keep the company of White Nationalists.

Pence has a very specific definition of America and who it belongs to. In Pence’s vision, the only citizens deserving of opportunity, justice and equality are white, male, straight, cisgender and christian. His history of actions and remarks provide irrefutable evidence that he believes anyone who slips outside these boundaries are second class citizens.

Much of what drives Pence is his radical religious extremism. Although Pence keeps a very low profile, we do know that he has weaponized his religion to harm people who do not share his world views. As governor he signed the Freedom Of Religion Bill which began by allowing radicals like himself to discriminate against LGBT people without consequence. As a result, he received intense push-back from democrats and progressives alike and he was forced to implement amendments that included LGBT residents of the state. Unhappy with having to compromise his belief system as Governor, once he became Vice President, he counseled Trump on the founding of the new Conscience and Religious Freedom Division, which achieves what he failed to do as governor- sanction abuse and discrimination against LGBT Americans by any individual who wishes to deny them service or treatment based on religious or moral objection. The department allows medical professionals to deny care to LGBT identifying people with no consequence, even if they die as a result of their neglect.

According to new reports, Pence was also the one who drafted the new ban that disqualifies Transgender identifying individuals from enlisting in the military. Not a surprise considering ex-White House Aide, Omarosa Manigault Newman, who, like so many others before and after, was fired by John Kelly for misusing the White House car service claimed that working in Trump’s administration as a the only Black woman on staff was both isolating and disturbing. She stated that she could not reconcile the gross mishandling of racial issues by the Trump administration and stay silent. In fact, as the only Black Republican who had access to Trump and Pence, many people of color saw her as a traitor who refused to represent their interests and instead sold them out. After her dismissal, she came forward stating that she was prevented from discussing the topics that were relevant with the president because other staffers deliberately kept her away.

Soon after leaving the white house, she returned to her roots on reality television with CBS’s Big Brother where to spoke about the possibility of Pence moving into the Oval Office;

“Can I just say this? As bad as y’all think Trump is, you should be worried about Pence. We would be begging for days of Trump back if Pence became president.” — Omarosa Manigault Newman

Omarosa made claims about a sort of White hierarchy in the administration where diversity did not exist in its upper ranks. The White House could not prove her wrong. Communications director Sarah Sanders found no evidence to the contrary when, during a press conference, she was grilled about the accusation. It seems The White House is now a literal representation of the inhabitants.

Mike Pence Posted a Selfie of The House Of Representatives

The 2016 Democratic Interns vs The 2018 Republican Interns — Spot the difference

We cannot fault any man or woman for their personal faith. After all, in America, we have the freedom to choose which system of belief to follow, if any at all. It becomes problematic when a radical Christian, like Pence, from his position begins implementing laws, bans and limitations on innocent Americans because he believes he is serving his God’s purpose. Last I checked, we still had a separation of Church and State, albeit weakly enforced and slowly dying.

Omarosa continued to provide insight on life with Pence in the White House; “He’s extreme. I’m Christian. I love Jesus, but he thinks Jesus tells him to say things.” When the topic turned to immigration, things even got more terrifying;

“I’ve seen the plans- the round-up plan is getting more and more aggressive. The crackdowns are happening and they’re aggressive. They’re intentional and they’re going to get worse.” — Omarosa Manigault Newman

Pence never responds to the accusations of racism, elitism, misogyny, bigotry or his radicalism. Instead, we have to unearth the dark reality of Pence’s nature from inside sources, past comments and his voting record. He allows his actions to speak for themselves and will not risk further qualifying his tumultuous past by addressing it. It could put thorns in his path to the presidency.

And he believes, as do many others in the administration, that he will assume the Presidency. Despite Donald Trump appearing to be made of teflon, it’s starting to wear thin. As the scandals and controversies, arrests and indictments pile up around Donald Trump, Pence is patiently lying in wait, biding his time, watching as Trump digs himself a hole that he’ll never climb out of.

Today the Republicans are starting to discuss Donald Trump’s impeachment. It begs the question; Has this been the Pence plan from the beginning? While he has been responsible for ghostwriting some of the most discriminatory, hate-motivated legislation in decades that have been attributed to Trump, that seems to have been intentional. Pence and co. have been content in allowing Trump to take the flack, because he’s not intelligent enough to understand he’s being puppeteered. He’s like an obnoxious little kid begging to play a video game, so his elders unplug the remote and let him think he’s playing while they discreetly maintain control. There’s no way Trump could independently come up with all of the damaging, religious rhetoric from a golf course. In 2018, he has taken more than 15 vacations.

Pence, however, has stayed at the White House, drafting up the future of America under his Presidency.

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[cardinalwrites]

Lava

Based off this video because I cannot stop laughing

It had started out as a simple enough dare, Dean and Cas would each get a total of 3 tries per person to try and “kill” the other by telling the other that “the floor is lava.” They would then have five seconds before they had to find a way to get off the ground and scream that the floor was lava to any unsuspecting passerby if there were anyway. There was no prize, not really. Dean just really wanted to beat Cas at something, and Cas didn’t mind if he got bragging rights.

Cas had been first, during a walk in the park between their two college classes on campus. “The floor is lava,” he’d casually said. Dean had not understood until he did, and at which point he only had 3 seconds left and nothing that he could use to get off the ground. Nothing, except, for a trashcan just up the trail. He’d made it with one second to spare.

“The floor is lava!” Dean screamed triumphantly, balancing precariously on the poor trashcan below him. He had managed to get into a crouch before the inevitable happened––when Dean went to get down back onto the ground and rejoin Cas he slipped and wound up wedging his butt straight into the trashcan. Castiel wouldn’t let him forget it for a week.

The next turn had been Dean’s, choosing to wait until Cas and he were on a grocery run to enact his plan.

“Hey, Cas,” he called the other’s attention while they were in the toilet paper aisle. 

“Hm?”

“The floor is lava.” 

Castiel’s face went from recognition to laughter, and then to fear as he twisted his head between the full aisles, unsure of how to get off the ground.

“Five... Four... Three...” Dean goaded, pushing Castiel further into a frenzy. Castiel had only just managed to see a lack of toilet paper on the shelves when he jumped headfirst into the store shelf, toilet paper flying everywhere. He had made it, but not before both Dean and he were promptly kicked out of the store, no groceries in hand. Mary would have their heads, but Dean and Cas would laugh about it for the next month.

Dean had been getting nervous during that month, however, because it had been Castiel’s turn and he had yet to say anything for four entire weeks. He should have known Castiel’s strategy, however. The man was a genius at figuring out his opponent. They had been at the campus Starbucks when it happened.

“Dean,” Castiel tapped the other boy on the shoulder. Dean had thought it was because Castiel wanted to order that ridiculous drink with all the honey in it that he liked, but no. Instead, it was much, much worse. “The floor is lava.”

Dean stared at his best friend, panic setting in quickly. This was a crowded place, and they were just about to place their order.

“Sir, what will you have?” The barista had asked.

“I am so sorry about this,” Dean didn’t give the poor college student another chance to stop him before he was up on the cashier’s desk screaming “THE FLOOR IS LAVA” to half of the university. The fun part was that some of the coffee drinkers joined in. The not-so fun part was the manager politely escorting a very red Dean out, Castiel emerging not too soon after with Dean’s favorite drink and his own honey coma inducing conception. 

Dean vowed to make Castiel eat the grin on his face the entire way back to their shared dorm, a plan already in motion.

It would take place the following week, during a time where they were looking through possible carpets for their apartment that they’d be sharing for next year. It was a modest store with a wide selection, one Dean knew they would be in for hours if Castiel had his way. He didn't blame him or anything, he actually found it kind of cute, but like hell Dean would tell Cas that, not while they were still tied and it was his turn.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean motioned for the other to join him at the swatch desk, carpet squares in various colors and textures laid out before him. “They have everything here, it’s crazy. They even have a color called,” he flipped through a few squares, “‘The Floor is Lava’”

“Oh, Dean,” now it was Castiel’s turn to shift again in the store, people not necessarily crowding the place like the coffee shop, but nevertheless not that many places that had an actual place to get off the floor. Carpet rollers were everywhere, and Dean thought he would actually win as he counted down. He should never have underestimated his best friend, however.

Castiel found a way, even if it meant rolling himself between two carpet rollers in the nearest rack to do so, his form disappearing into the back half of the showpiece, laughter being the only indication that he was even there to begin with. Getting him out of there had proved to be an hour-long ordeal, but not one that Dean particularly disliked. Castiel neither. Both boys ended up nearly face first on the ground once Dean had managed to pull Cas out, but if they stayed that way for a little longer than probably was platonically acceptable neither was complaining about it. They each had one shot left to win, and the score was still tied.

Dean thought whatever Cas would pull him through would be easy compared to the last two. Whenever they were at stores seemed like the most likely option to do so, and he had been right. Two weeks later, they had been looking through dog toys and luggage to ship to Sam when Castiel spoke the famous last words. Dean thought he’d gotten a game plan together when they had walked into the store initially, scouting every aisle for a possible landing perch should it come to it. Castiel, of course, must have done the exact same thing, carefully waiting until they were between aisles and out in the open by said dog toys and luggage to carry out his final attempt to best Dean. 

“Five, four, three, two, one!” Castiel nearly had him until Dean dove headfirst into the carefully arranged luggage, each one toppling like dominoes. They had been banned from that store, too, but not before Castiel joisted Dean up from the pit of luggage he’d found himself in and never letting go of Dean’s hand until the manager closed the door of the store to them altogether. It was all up to Dean now to end this, and he had to make sure it was a good one.

Three and a half weeks passed then, both roommates nearly done with their finals for the semester and smelling the beginnings of a summer where they could at least tentatively relax. It had been fun, playing the game and trying to best each other, and if it had resulted in a few heart stopping moments for either of them then all the more. Dean knew he had a crush on his roommate, but he didn’t wish to risk it. Losing his best friend was too much.

They had been walking along the beach, a very rare sight to behold in and of itself. But the wind had been calm and it was beginning to look like summer. It had been Dean’s idea to go, but it was for a very specific reason. The beach could have rocks on the shore, sure, but not everywhere. He would win hands down.

“Summer is nearly here. Do you have any plans?” Castiel asked, his feet sinking into the sand beneath him as Dean and he walked side by side, shoulders occasionally brushing against one another.

“Dunno, probably work at the shop or take some online classes. I need to if I want to graduate the same year as you,” Dean responded, his eyes looking for just the right place with no rocks or anything that could help Cas clear the game. There was one such place not too far ahead.

“You and I will graduate at the same, time, Dean,” Castiel spoke as if this was fact that had already happened, a staple of the future. 

“Yeah, well, then we’ll have our futures to worry about, you know,” Dean couldn’t help but add, the sand below him seeming to cause him to sink as he fought to walk. They were nearly there, he just had to keep talking. “But we’ll have each other, right?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel spoke so resolutely it caused Dean’s heart to skip a beat. “You are not getting rid of me that easily.”

Dean smiled at the thought. He had no intention of doing that any time soon, or ever really. “You know what else we’ll have?”

“What?”

“The floor is lava,” Dean enunciated each word as his eyes fixed on Castiel’s, savoring the recognition that dawned on the other boy’s face. 

“Dean, there’s nowhere––”

“Hasn’t stopped you before! Five, four, three, two, on––” Dean thought he would win, even if the prize was nothing itself. He really thought there had been nothing Castiel could jump for to avoid the ground. 

He never counted on himself being something that technically fit the criteria.

Dean clamored to maintain his balance as Castiel jumped straight into his arms and put his legs around Dean’s waist, arms encircling Dean’s head as Dean suddenly got a very personal encounter with Castiel’s face. He could feel how fast Castiel’s heart had been beating from the sudden panic, or maybe that was just his own.

“Guess it remained a tie,” Castiel breathed, his eyes searching Dean’s before trailing down to Dean’s lips.

“Y-yeah. I didn’t think of that, of me,” Dean barely whispered, the waves nearly drowning out his words altogether. “Guess we both won?”

Castiel smiled and nodded, though he made no attempt of getting off of Dean. For his part, Dean found he didn’t mind holding Castiel’s weight the way he was. It felt welcome. It felt right.

“Cas, I need to tell you something,” Dean began. This felt too right to be left as a question. “Even after we graduate and get jobs and be adults and have lives, I need to tell you that I––”

Castiel silenced him by closing the distance between them. Dean barely had time to register what had happened before he found his legs give out from under him and both of them cascade onto the sand beneath, Castiel now on top of him. Despite that, however, they did not break the kiss until what felt like hours later.

“Dean?” Castiel searched the other boy’s green eyes, happiness etched into every one of his features. 

“Y-yeah?” Dean smiled right back, everything now being opened up to him. This was what he wanted, this was the future he dreamt of but never dared ask about before.

“We just fell in lava.”

[sllester]

Love and understanding in the time of coronavirus

An intensive care physician from Limerick has advised us to treat each other like pariahs in order to avoid spreading the coronavirus.  This may seem counter-intuitive at a time when a lot of people are confused, terrified and need, more than ever, human warmth. But look at her face, she’s not joking.  She’s not politely suggesting that you think about changing your behaviour the way Boris might tell you to refrain from going to the pub. She is saying: if you don’t practice social distancing people will die. In fact, she looks like she might kill you herself if you don’t comply.  But pariah is a confusing analogy here, because really what she’s also saying is: we are all connected and your actions have consequences beyond yourself. Care for others by not being close to them.

We live in an age of hyper individualism but it’s a fallacy that we ever believed we were individuals in the first place.

For the last few weeks I’ve been puzzling over why other people seemed to be far less affected by these warnings of a fast-approaching apocalypse.  I couldn’t figure out why there was little public outcry over the suggestion that over 60% of the population should catch this virus that we know little about (with a death rate estimated between 1% - 3%) on the offchance that we build up herd immunity to a virus that may in any case mutate. The herd immunity idea has since been retracted, and described instead as an unintended consequence, as opposed to a desired outcome. This shift in policy has been attributed to the results of a study from Imperial College, which showed that the original strategy would overwhelm the NHS many times over. Adaptive policymaking is to be expected when the science is shifty and uncertain and decisions are ultimately political, but the lack of transparency means that people in the UK genuinely don’t know if they should take it on the chin and get infected…or the complete opposite. When you need trust in a government above all else, that’s a pretty big problem.

As it happens, my anxiety around the potential knock on effects of coronavirus grew to such an extent that I naturally achieved a pariah-like status without even trying.  I’m not particularly worried about catching COVID-19 myself, but I’m terrified of unintentionally infecting people who have worse health than me, I’m worried about how our decimated public services will deal with the strain (even with the extra resources), and I’m haunted by the steepness of that exponential curve, fearing that we’ve done more to make it spike than to flatten it. I’m worried about the role state violence will inevitably play in keeping order. But more than any of those things, I feel a strange mix of terror and hope at the transformative potential to change the very way that we relate to the world and each other. ��

People are coming together in amazing ways to navigate a new normal, but people are also divided, helpless and angry. We’re living in the wake of ten years of austerity and this crisis represents a decisive point – do we get better at understanding each other and changing our behaviour or do we refuse to think beyond ourselves?

“Selfish middle class bitch” shouts one woman in the street to another who is wearing a facemask “what do you think you’re doing?”. Assuming that this insult is aimed at her ‘selfish’ mask wearing – I wonder what makes the abusive woman assume she isn’t trying to protect others as much as she is protecting herself. She might be a healthworker or chronically ill or pregnant. She may be trying to protect her elderly friends and relatives. Please don’t shout at her, I want to say, but I keep my distance like the pariah I’ve become.

The regular homeless man who roams round our street looks on at the people kitted out in gloves and masks scurrying about with shopping bags in bemusement, a wry smile on his lips. Apparently, they are going to tell the contestants on Germany’s Big Brother, who have no access to news, about the coronavirus live on air. Will they go straight back into the house to quarantine? How will they know what reality is any more? How does anyone?

Meanwhile people send memes mocking those who are scared of food shortages, a recipe for a quarantini, or messages complaining about their kids not being allowed in nursery. I take a deep breath before responding to anything, consider the situation from all angles so as not to get upset that somebody’s take on it is different than mine at that precise moment.

I have a heated conversation with my Dad, who is 71, because he laughed off my suggestion that he might change his plans in order to mitigate the risk of catching or spreading the virus. Things go from bad to worse when he says he was pleased to hear Boris say he was led by the science. I get angry and say it’s meaningless. What is ‘the science’? At that point I couldn’t find anything to show what he was referring to, and this obfuscation leads me to speculate that he was planning a eugenics experiment inspired by Dominic Cummings. Children get infected to pass it on to grandparents and the ill. He chastises me for the Hitler comparisons, even though I didn’t mention his name directly, and we talk momentarily about the undesirables. “I’m not a fan of mass murder” my Dad says after a pause and the absurdity of the statement makes me laugh for the first time in what feels like weeks.

He asks how much we’ll need him over the coming months, and I tell him I have no idea, it’s difficult to quantify. I explain, wincingly, that I don’t want to put other vulnerable people at risk if he’s not going to change his behaviour. “If I’m expected to stay in my house for four months, you may as well give me an injection”, he concludes. My Dad may be stubborn but he’s not prone to dramatic outbursts. This made me sit up and listen.

So, in a weird reversal of my teenage years, I’m yelling at my Dad about not going out, and he’s telling me that he’d rather live life on the edge, ignore the public health advice and play tennis with his octogenarian friends. I realise on reflection, that while I’m worried about my Dad, I instinctively feel that he will be alright, but as my partner has a chronic illness and is on an arsenal of various opiates I am worried that he may be badly affected. An overwhelmed health service is unlikely to be able to deal with anomalies such as rare diseases should he need medical care. It’s all speculation of course, and my partners’ anxiety is mainly about protecting his parents, who I’m also very keen to keep safe too. So there is a web of connections and half-voiced concerns between all of us, and what I want for one of the people I love is not compatible with the free will and intentions of another person I love. One wants to bunker down and wait it out, and the other thinks this approach is laughable. In a way, in the case of such overwhelming uncertainty, both of them are right.

I save most of my emotional strength for the time I spend with my 3 year-old daughter, which is also the time that I should be working. My partner reminds me gently not to look at e-mails or the news when I’m playing with her. She gets upset when she doesn’t have my full attention and I’m grateful for the reminder. I’ve been obsessively streaming through commentary and evidence and opinion pieces, trying to form a balanced view of all this, to try and understand the rationale for certain decisions that have been made. It does me good to stop.

The more I talk to different people the more my views, which a week previously I’d been sure about, shift. I was convinced that we should be following China, South Korea and Singapore’s model: strictly enforced social distancing measures, contact tracing and an aim to suppress, rather than mitigate, the virus. This seemed logical to me, as somebody who lives with other people that I love. My Dad, who lives alone, saw quarantine more like a death sentence. I suppose solitary confinement is a punishment for a reason.

The next morning my wayward Dad jumps on the last plane (urgent travel only) to Germany to see his girlfriend. Once he’s settled there he calls on what’s app: “I’m embarrassed to say that I’m having a good time”. He puts me on his car insurance, says we can use his house which is up near Hampstead Heath and has a garden (=heaven) everybody is, in that moment, happy. We all need some fresh air.  We are physically distant but emotionally close. I ask him to send his address in Germany as I have a fear that the internet is going to stop working at some point. Can the internet disappear? Or would it just be temporarily suppressed?

The next day I call my 91-year old Nana anticipating she might be afraid after the announcements about the over 70s. Again, I am proven wrong. She appears even less bothered by all of this than my Dad. Maybe she thinks, at her advanced age, that she is in a different category altogether. She’s been working in her son’s DIY store that day, handling coins, riding on the bus. She’s been selling lots of toilet roll, she laughs.

 “It’s just a matter of luck, whether you get it or not” she says. In a way, she’s right. Many people won’t have the means to avoid it. But I tell her it’s a good idea to wash her hands all the same and to try and lie low for a while if she can. “I’ve had lots of phone calls lately” she says. The phone is making a comeback we agree. Yes, and there are dolphins in Venice’s canals and the birds seems to be singing louder than normal. And then she warns me that the phone will cut out because her phone battery only lasts for 25 minutes intervals. “We’ll just keep talking until it cuts out”, she says. And then it does.

We’ve all been rearranging our lives in light of a new virus, to accommodate something we don’t fully understand. A week ago, I was certain I had all the answers but that was because I had a very narrow view of the problem. It might seem obvious to do something from one perspective, but there are inevitably unintended consequences, both good and catastrophic. Every intervention (such as school closures) brings with it an array of unintended consequences (e.g vulnerable children not receiving free school meals; parents going insane from trying to work and look after their kids at the same time, rise in domestic violence).There isn’t such a thing as a single solution to something so complex, only a series of momentarily meaningful decisions made in the face of dizzying ambiguity. We are making it up as we go along, and we have to make sense of it together. Even when physically apart. 

[theawkwardterrier]

The Things I've Left Unsaid

Steggy Positivity Week, day 6 Prompt: Quotes, Lyrics, etc.

Summary: Steve tries to plan a date. Things don't go quite as planned.

AO3 link here.

There are plenty of great things about actually getting to date Peggy Carter. Their snatched moments during the war might have made his breath catch and left him with sweet dreams, but bunker lights and night operations were so dim that he is only now finding out how truly dazzling her smile is, and war rationing had made it impossible to know that she always got an extra scoop of ice cream and didn’t have any shame about stealing from his too.

He’d just like all that discovery better if they actually got to go on regular dates.

He’s proud as hell of Peggy for the work she’s doing, and furious about what she has to put up with to try to get anything done, and, strangely, a little relieved that she refuses to let him pull strings to help her out. But their work together during the war was just that: together. The things they’d done– sitting, heads bent, for strategy sessions, and passing each other you’re–not–quite–supposed–to–have–this information– had been in such proximity to each other, revolving around the same goals, the same focus, that he’s finding the separation of their lives unexpectedly difficult. There are things she can’t tell him or forgets he doesn’t know. There are places she goes that she can’t take him, and times where she’s gone for so long, working, that he doesn’t quite know what to do.

He knows it’s his problem, though. He’s the one who chose to leave the shield and uniform life behind, after losing Bucky and a year of his life under the ice. He’s sure as hell not going to blow up at her for doing her work and doing it better than the next ten guys, including him. He wouldn’t give her up for anything, especially not his ego; it’s just a little harder than he’d thought it would be.

So he does this instead: plans dates for the two of them, postpones them if necessary, tries to add that bit of sweetness to their lives. They’ve done park picnics (Steve kept the picnic set he’d bought) and baseball games (Peggy forgot the name of every player, asked him about every rule, and kept calling the team the Doggies, until he caught a touch of a smile just as his head was going to blow off around the fourth inning and she switched to yelling down at the field with him). But tonight, he’s gone simpler, just dinner, a movie, and then dancing after.

That’s the idea at least.

Mrs. Fry doesn’t like him much. He’s sort of used to that in general– he still gets looks around his neighborhood from guys who don’t dare beat on him anymore but still remember Steve Rogers mouthing off to them for years– but usually he’s polite enough not to get stone-eyed glares from older ladies. He made sure to press hard with the iron and shine his shoes beforehand, so she lets him take Peggy, with just the usual fifteen minutes of pointed questioning. He gives his usual polite answers, Peggy adds in her charm, and they’re on their way.

They can already hear the fullness of the restaurant from the street, and the host tells them apologetically that it will be at least a few minutes before their table is ready. He offers them a drink in the meantime, and they corner themselves by the bar, small-talking about the latest annoyance in Peggy’s office, and the ongoing drama with Steve’s next door neighbors and their son who likes stray animals a bit too much.

After about ten minutes, they get the signal that they can come sit. Steve has just let Peggy slide in front of him when behind him he hears a loud, “Marge!” A hand comes down with what Steve thinks is meant to be force on his shoulder, and the voice says, “And Steve-o! Good to see ya.”

Jack Thompson, who Steve’s met a couple of times before, has just come over, a blonde beside him. Jack seems to have been enjoying the bar already, and is attempting false joviality, or maybe everything just looks false on his face. His date has enormous owl eyes and a killer grip on her handbag. Steve and Peggy trade glances, wondering if she’s some sort of unassuming assassin, or if she just wants to be able to get a good wallop if Jack gets handsy.

Peggy nods crisply and says, “Nice to see you, but I’m afraid we have to find our table now.” She starts to step away, and Steve follows, admiring that easy way she’d handled things, and the fact that she’d managed to make the “nice to see you” part not sound like a complete lie.

“Now, well, wait a minute, Marge.” Thompson steps to follow her, dragging his date along with. “This place is pretty full up, and it’ll be a while before we get someplace to sit.”

“Plenty of other restaurants in town,” Steve says blandly. “I’ll make you a list.”

“Nice of you, nice of you,” Thompson says, clapping Steve on the shoulder again. “But how ‘bout instead we just make it four at your table, make things easier on everyone?”

Steve and Peggy both open their mouths to object, but the waiter has overheard and, although he says nothing, Steve was a waiter once too and the guy looks honestly a little desperate to winnow down the standing crowd a bit. Steve turns toward Peggy, who gives a resigned nod to the waiter, who brings a couple of extra chairs, which is how they end up crammed around a table with Jack Thompson and his date, who’s apparently named Belinda, although her voice is so quiet when she introduces herself that Steve can barely be sure.

“My aunt and her aunt do...something together,” says Thompson, waving a hand before starting to saw into his steak. Best thing he’s done all night, in Steve’s opinion, not looking for a soup course. “Knitting or gardens, something.”

Belinda fills in softly, “They’re library ladies at St. Anthony’s in Queens. They bring the book cart around to the patients most afternoons.”

Steve smiles. “That’s important work. There was one winter when Sister Mary Rose and her regular deliveries of Alexandre Dumas were the only way I made it through to spring.”

Peggy places a hand over his on the table, and when he turns to her, he sees the rise of affection covering her face. “I think it’s a little late to thank Mr. Dumas, but I might try to see if Sister Mary Rose is still around.”

“You know nuns,” Steve says, voice just as low. “Those rulers keep ‘em upright forever.”

“Yeah, I forgot you had all those problems as a kid,” says Thompson. “But I guess you really turned it around.”

He glances over at Belinda as if trying to decide if she can put things together by herself or if she needs it spelled out for her, and Steve can nearly feel something inside him saying, “Enough.” Thompson has crashed their date just so he could get to a table a little sooner, and shown little kindness at all to Belinda, who seems perfectly nice. But it’s too much, the idea of Thompson just coming out in the middle of a crowded restaurant and even hinting that Steve’s Captain America, especially when that’s barely even true anymore; as if Steve wants to be anyone these days but a guy who has a little easier time setting things right.

“Sh–” Thompson says suddenly, choking himself off as people look over at him. Steve knows better, glancing over at Peggy instead, who holds her fork daintily and stares across the table in a politely puzzled way. He drops his chin and twitches aside the tablecloth in time to see her foot move away from Thompson’s shoe. She’d ground it in hard enough to leave a scuff mark, though. Steve stifles a smile.

Steve had been imagining a nightmare where Thompson would try to tag along with them for the rest of the evening and Steve and Peggy would have to duel it out over who would get to set him straight. Somehow, though, his better sense has prevailed and they basically ignore each other as they divide up the check.

Peggy and Belinda return from the powder room, and Peggy takes Steve’s arm. The smile he gives her comes automatically, but not without meaning. He loves days without army regulations, nights without espionage, the simplicity of her open hand touching him.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says to Belinda.

“Have a good evening,” Peggy adds, then turns to Thompson and simply says, “Monday,” before guiding Steve toward their favorite movie theater.

“You think he’ll be able to decode that?” Steve asks as they walk. The night is warm enough that the gray suit coat he wore feels a bit much, but he’s distracted by Peggy’s hand still tucked against his arm and the waves of the ruffled bottom of her dark purple dress as she walks.

“Thompson can be a brute and a snake and a terrible date, but he’s not stupid,” Peggy says placidly. “He can recognize a threat, likely better than the next man.” They cross the street toward the glow of the marquee. “I offered Belinda a chance to come with us and she declined. Apparently she felt it ‘a woman’s job’ to see the thing through.” Steve looks at her and finds her that her face reflects his: half admiring the wherewithal, half dismayed at the reasoning. “But I told her that if things didn’t improve during the rest of the evening, I could make things equally unpleasant for Thompson at work.”

“Equally unpleasant? To a date with that guy?”

Peggy makes a quick nod of understanding. “Well, I can be extremely creative. So, nearly as unpleasant, at least.”

They arrive at the theater in such a timely manner, that it feels like something of a sign that things are finally going right. Steve pays for the tickets, doesn’t forget to stop for popcorn, and they manage to get good seats for the 9 o’clock showing of the latest Thin Man movie. Peggy’s fond of them, so it had seemed the perfect thing when he saw it in the paper.

Their unofficial pact is to wait to eat the popcorn until the movie actually starts, but they both brush half absentminded hands near the carton through the ads and the newsreel and the cartoon. Finally the music cues up for the feature, and they reach for the box at the same time. They’re too busy glancing at each other to notice that something’s awry on the screen.

“Sorry, folks,” announces an usher a minute later. “Somehow the reels got damaged. Not to worry, though, we have something else all cued up.”

Steve likes Mary Astor and the new actress Elizabeth Taylor, but the alleged comedy they’re in is half depressing and half sentimental and not worthy of either of them. He sinks down in his seat a little bit; it’s certainly not his fault, and Peggy’s not storming out, and the film isn’t that bad, but he had a plan for this. He and Peggy get a quick cup of coffee together at the automat as often as they can, and nearly every time he’s wonderfully surprised to see her there across from him. She’s impressive, and he wanted to impress her tonight, and so far he feels that he’s failing.

“What was your favorite part?” Peggy asks as they walk out afterward. “The part where everyone had to give up the dreams they once had, or the supposed happy ending where they celebrated the father getting to keep the job he doesn’t even enjoy?”

Steve’s real favorite part– really the only bright spot of the whole affair– had been his gradual clasping of Peggy’s hand, but he doesn’t think that’s what she means. “Hey, you know I always like a story where having a sick kid means the end of the world.”

He says it lightly, hiding the barest hint of pain, and her tone nearly matches his as she responds, “About as much as I like one where a pregnancy puts a stop to the things a woman wants to do.”

They both give small, ruffling shrugs, hers likely about the topic at hand, his partially in place of a wince. First a double date with Thompson, then a movie that hit them both in just the sorest places. If the rest of the night keeps going like this, space aliens are going to blow up the dance hall.

Luckily, it looks untouched when they arrive. They’ve gone dancing before, here and elsewhere. The first time was practically as soon as he was released from the hospital, the two of them turning quiet circles while everyone laughed around them. Since then, there’s been enough improvement (mostly on Steve’s part; Howard had made Peggy light, comfortable shoes with a metal frame to protect her feet from his first efforts) for them to become a little more adventurous; last time, they’d done so much swinging, Peggy’s quick spin and the confidence of Steve’s arms, that they’d ended the night breathless and laughing. But Steve’s not really in the mood for that kind of dancing tonight. He likes the idea of holding her, of getting this date to finally take a turn for the better just because he gets to have her in his arms.

The band’s playing a Nat King Cole song as they come in, and they blend immediately among the swaying couples. For the first time tonight, Steve actually relaxes. This is what he was hoping for tonight, just a quiet moment with Peggy at his side.

Her head rests on his shoulder, as the band changes over to Frank Sinatra. Steve leans over so he can sing very softly in her ear.

“So lucky to be the one you run to see in the evening, when the day is through,” and she spans so perfect in his arms. He feels so lucky to be here, holding her like this, feeling her smile against his throat, and then her shoulders begin to shake.

He pulls back immediately, wracking his brain for any reason she might be crying in the middle of the dance floor. “Peggy?” He keeps his voice down, but knows that his shoulders and hands are desperately spelling out alarm.

Until he finally focuses on her face, and sees that she’s laughing.

“I’m so sorry,” she says on a gasp. “This is–” She covers her mouth with her fingers, but he can still see her smile pressing out. “You have many talents, my darling, but singing isn’t among them.”

Steve knows this, has known this since Bucky told him in the second grade, and could hold up as proof the memories of every Mass and school performance his mother had winced through. But after the night he’s already had, he doesn’t want to hear it and certainly doesn’t feel like laughing it off.

“I think I’m done for the night. You ready to get out of here?” he says stiffly, already heading toward the door.

Peggy catches his hand as he pushes through the crowd but he ignores her, and the crowd’s chattering so loudly that she doesn’t try to talk beyond his name until they’re outside. The street has a bit of a strange smell, trading sweat and floor polish for standing water and gasoline, and Steve can see a beginning layer of fog, but even the city sounds are muffled. “Steve,” she repeats. “I didn’t mean to insult you, truly. I understand that you’re upset, but is it really worth ending the night here just because I was…less than mannerly?”

The way she looks at him usually brings him around to her way of thinking, but now he just throws up his hands. “It isn’t just that, Peggy! Nothing tonight happened how I wanted it to. I had a plan for all this, and maybe it wasn’t fancy, but it was supposed to be a nice night, and everything that happened was just...disappointing.” He shoves his hands into his pockets and makes to turn away from her.

She grabs his wrist again and when he stops, she says, very simply, “Since we met, I’ve never known you to stick to a plan. We’ve certainly never done so. Tonight might have been a bit unpredictable, but things are by no means ruined.”

The doors crash open behind them, and another couple comes out, the flash of music disappearing as the doors swing shut again.

“Johnny!” says the woman, reaching to grab his hand. “It was dark, Johnny, I swear I didn’t know he was your brother!” Johnny shakes her off and storms away down the alley, head down, while she tries to chase him without her heels getting caught in the pavement.

Steve and Peggy both stare down into the darkness for a minute. “Well,” says Steve eventually. “Things definitely aren’t ruined like that.”

“That you know of,” Peggy returns devilishly.

“Lucky I don’t have a brother, I guess,” Steve says absently, but something else fills his mind: the image of the woman grabbing onto her man’s arm, matching the way Peggy grabbed his. And what strikes him isn’t that his and Peggy’s troubles are lesser than those of other couples, but that they get to have the same sorts of fights, storming out and making up and holding onto each other. They’ve been lucky enough, struggled and survived enough, to get to this place, where he can feel secure about griping about not seeing her enough and getting upset over a few things gone wrong on a date.

They’ve achieved that normalcy, and it suddenly delights him. It’s like Sinatra was singing: Time after time, he tells himself how very lucky he is to be loving her.

“Let’s go back,” he says suddenly, wrapping his fingers around hers using the anchor to pull them closer together. “I think I still have a few more dances in me.”

“Are you sure?” Peggy says, but even in the dim streetlight, he can see her begin to smile.

“Yeah. We’ve got the night together. Let’s not waste it.” He wraps an arm around her waist, in love with the ease of it.

“I think I’ll be free Wednesday night as well,” she murmurs. “In case you wanted to give this a second try.”

“I’m tying Thompson to a chair,” Steve says immediately. “And keeping a good eye on the projectionist. But this part–” He holds open the door for her. “This part is actually turning out pretty perfect.”

And they move back inside for another dance together .

[allofbeercom]

Who is Leanne Wood? A profile of the Plaid Cymru leader – BBC News

Image copyright Getty Images

When Plaid Cymru started looking for a new leader in 2011, Leanne Wood faced rival candidates grounded in the party’s Welsh-speaking heartlands.

But it became apparent that Plaid members wanted change.

They found it offered by a left winger from a non-Welsh speaking background in the former industrial valleys of south Wales.

She won a decisive victory and took the Labour stronghold of Rhondda, her home patch, at last year’s assembly election.

But success with the wider electorate in the rest of Wales has not come so readily.

Born in 1971 to parents Jeff and Avril, she and her sister Joanna were raised in the village of Penygraig.

Image copyright PA

Image caption With parents Jeff and Avril in the former mining village of Penygraig where she lives on the street where her grandparents lived

She still lives there with her partner, Ian, and daughter, Cerys.

Their private life is just that – private.

Though she has spoken frequently about how her working-class upbringing shaped her politics, she keeps her family away from the media.

Understanding why she has stayed so close to home is crucial to understanding her politics, says Plaid AM Adam Price, a long-time friend and ally.

“She sees the role of a politician that you represent the people in whose community you live and you have a real sense of what matters to them because you live among them,” he says.

Witnessing the decline of those communities and the miners’ strikes of the 1980s was a political awakening.

Image caption Described as very clever by school friends, Leanne Wood became interested in political issues around the time of the miners’ strike in 1984-85

She has recalled how her father was laid off from the builders’ yard where he worked, and talked about the experience of joining a separate queue for free school dinners.

“I understand what struggling means,” she wrote on her website.

While at Tonypandy Community College – or “Pandy Comp” – she had no intention of going into politics, dreaming instead of becoming a TV newsreader. Moira Stuart was a role model.

She left school at 16 and got a job in a factory making artificial flowers.

Low pay and poor conditions convinced her to go back and study for A levels.

For many politicised young people from that background, there was a well-trodden path into the Labour Party.

But some thought getting rid of Margaret Thatcher was not enough.

They decided fundamental changes were needed to the way power operates in the UK.

Who is Leanne Wood?

Date of birth: 13 December 1971 (aged 45)

Job: Probation officer, university lecturer, Plaid Cymru leader since 2011

Education: Left Tonypandy Comprehensive at 16 – remembered as “clever” and “great fun” – to work in a factory. Returned to education and graduated from the University of South Wales

Family: Partner Ian and 12-year-old daughter Cerys Amelia

Hobbies: Allotments, where she grows her own vegetables. Beer enthusiast and member of the Campaign for Real Ale. Musical tastes include Catatonia (as seen in “van share” with Victoria Derbyshire), Massive Attack, Bob Marley and Bach. Favourite single… anti-monarchist anthem God Save The Queen by the Sex Pistols

A colleague who has worked closely with her says Leanne Wood saw poverty arrive in the valleys and concluded that “it would never be a priority for a Westminster government and the answers were to be found here in Wales – that we would have to plough our own furrow, shape our own future”.

Image copyright Leanne Wood

Image caption Wood and Jill Evans were arrested in 2007 for blocking a road into Faslane Naval Base, home to Britain’s Trident nuclear missile system

“We were abandoned, effectively, by the Labour Party, and seeking a new political home,” says Adam Price.

When they found that home, they discovered Plaid could claim its own tradition of radical left-wingers.

Among them was the economist DJ Davies, a founding father of the party who wrote about the economics of Welsh independence. Leanne Wood cites him as an influence.

Image copyright Alamy

Image caption A borough councillor at 25, Leanne Wood became political researcher for Plaid MEP Jill Evans in 2000, a year before launching her campaign as Westminster candidate for Rhondda

Image caption The campaigner – Leanne Wood at the Cardiff Bay Republican Day in 2011 and at the city’s LGBT Mardi Gras (r)

After studying at what is now the University of South Wales in nearby Pontypridd, she became a probation officer.

She was a local councillor, worked for the Plaid MEP Jill Evans, and lectured in social policy at Cardiff University, before being elected to the Welsh Assembly in 2003.

The year before, in 2002, her boyfriend, David Ceri Evans, took his own life.

Years later, she spoke to ITV’s Good Morning Britain about coping with the tragedy, saying it was “something that is informative to politics because I think my experience having worked as a probation officer as well has meant that I’ve seen some real difficult experiences that people have had to live through”.

Anyone who had never met her before she became an AM could be in no doubt about Ms Wood’s politics when she arrived in Cardiff Bay.

A republican, she was once kicked out of the chamber for calling the Queen “Mrs Windsor”.

Image caption Leanne Wood “inclined her head” instead of curtseying when she met the Queen in Cardiff last year

She was arrested in 2007 at an anti-nuclear protest at the Faslane naval base.

And in the same year she was among four Plaid AMs opposed to a coalition with the Conservatives.

Eventually, the then Plaid leader, Ieuan Wyn Jones, took the party into a coalition with Labour.

In her own words

Setting things straight in a leaders’ TV debate when UKIP’s Paul Nuttall kept getting her name wrong: “I’m not Natalie, I’m Leanne”

Telling BBC Wales that Brexit was not the only thing on voters’ minds before May’s local elections: “Most people talk about dog poo”

Her verdict on the Queen’s speech in December 2004: “We are more at risk now than we have ever, ever been before and the measures outlined in Mrs Windsor’s speech will not address this risk”

Meal times at Tonypandy Comprehensive School: “We were stigmatised for having free school meals. We used to have to stand in a separate queue from the paying children”

At Plaid Cymru’s conference in Newport this year: “If you live here and you want to be Welsh then as far as we are concerned, you are Welsh and your rights will be defended by the Party of Wales”

There was no ministerial job for Leanne Wood, leaving her free to roam across subjects.

She delivered a lecture to Plaid activists in 2010 asking whether the party needed a new direction.

The following year she published a pamphlet about an environmentally conscious economic strategy to revive the former coalfields.

It combined two of her passions: co-operative politics and allotments.

When election defeat ushered Mr Jones out of office, Ms Wood started talking about how young Plaid members were encouraging her to stand – a hint that she would offer a break from the cautious, centrist Mr Jones.

Image copyright Rhys Llwyd

At the start of the leadership contest, she was an outside bet.

But enough Plaid members liked what they heard and read, choosing her as their first woman leader and the first leader not fluent in Welsh.

She took up the reins with a call to work towards “real independence”.

She has a much higher profile than all previous Plaid leaders, thanks to her inclusion in the leaders’ TV debates for the 2015 general election.

Lining up alongside David Cameron and Ed Miliband was, says an aide, a “huge deal”.

Her team poured their efforts into preparing for the debates, trying to make sure that she left an impression in voters’ minds that Leanne Wood was the voice of Wales.

Image copyright Keith Morris

Image caption Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon has praised Leanne Wood’s performance as leader

Supporters say viewers liked her authenticity, pointing to good approval ratings as proof.

What they cannot do is point to seats won in parliament – Plaid still had only three MPs.

And although hopes were high in Plaid before last year’s assembly election, the leader’s victory in the Rhondda was its only advance. Plaid won 12 seats, the Tories 11 and Labour 29.

What others say

“I was proud of Leanne, I know you were proud of Leanne and I promise you I will always work with Leanne Wood in the best interests of our two countries,” Scottish First Minister Nicola Sturgeon said at Plaid Cymru’s conference in 2015.

Vice chair of British CND and friend John Cox: “She’s a campaigner who happens to have become a leader of Plaid Cymru. But it’s not like some people I’ve known who throughout their political lives have been climbing from one step to the next. She’s not that sort of person. She’s not a successful politician; she’s a successful campaigner.”

Former Pontypridd probation service colleague Rob Thomas described her as “a doughty fighter, who will not take no for an answer very easily”.

Soon after the election, Conservative and UKIP AMs lent her their support, causing a dramatic tie between Ms Wood and Labour’s Carwyn Jones in a vote to nominate the first minister.

It forced Labour to make concessions to Plaid, although there is no formal coalition between the two parties.

In reality, there was never any real prospect of Ms Wood becoming first minister last summer. She has ruled out ever working with the Conservatives, let alone UKIP.

Meanwhile, there’s a debate within Plaid about the party’s attitude towards Labour – something Ms Wood herself conceded when she said on the eve of a party conference last year that it was something Plaid was “actively considering all the time”.

Image caption Leanne Wood won praise for her dance skills during a Strictly Cymru Dancing 2016 fundraiser, pictured with actor Richard Elfyn (l) and Plaid Cymru councillor and actor Danny Grehan

The current arrangement – in opposition, but sometimes working with Labour – probably puts Ms Wood in the centre ground of opinion in the party.

She campaigned with Mr Jones for a Remain vote in the EU referendum and helped draw up a Welsh Government plan for Brexit.

But her “project” is to eventually replace Labour.

The Scottish nationalists provide the blueprint – first become the biggest party, then build the case for independence.

Both goals are some way off and Plaid members are annoyed by unfavourable comparisons to the Scottish nationalists’ success.

Defections mean Ms Wood no longer leads the largest opposition group in Cardiff Bay.

But positive results in local council elections have boosted Plaid’s hopes of inflicting wounds on Labour in the snap general election on 8 June.

Image copyright Plaid Cymru

Image caption Looking down on the village of Penygraig in the Rhondda Valley

Before the local elections, she said her five years at the helm had seen its “ups and downs”.

While campaigning, she has let rip with her anti-Tory convictions, asking voters to “defend Wales” from a Theresa May government.

And she pondered in public about whether she should stand as a Westminster candidate in the Rhondda, a move that would have required her to quit as party leader under current rules.

Eventually, she decided against.

Senior figures in Plaid privately told the BBC they were dismayed by her openly flirting with the idea.

Nevertheless, the Rhondda is one of two or three seats Plaid hopes to snatch from Labour on 8 June. If it does so, this election will be remembered as one of the bigger “ups” in Ms Wood’s political career.

Related Topics

Plaid Cymru

Leanne Wood

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/2017/07/08/who-is-leanne-wood-a-profile-of-the-plaid-cymru-leader-bbc-news/

[adambstingus]

A Sugar Scientist Reveals 6 Ways To Kick Added Sugar Out

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The Food and Drug Administrations new recommendation that Americans eat no more than 10 percent of calories from added sugar is a giant leap in the right direction, according to sugar scientist Laura Schmidt of the University of California, San Francisco. But confusion about the difference between added sugar and naturally-occurring sugar, as well as the way foods are marketed and labeled, have created a food environment in which people arent quite sure how much added sugar theyre actually eating — much less how to strategize ways to lower those numbers.

Naturally occurring sugar refers to the sugar that naturally comes in whole foods — say, the fructose in whole fruit, or the lactose in milk. Added sugar is the extra sugars and syrups that are added in the manufacturing of a food, like the white table sugar added to fruit to make jam, or the brown sugar in cookies and other baked goods.

Joining the World Health Organization and the American Heart Association, the FDA made its 10 percent recommendation for added sugars in order to help folks avoid developing diabetes, cardiovascular disease, and obesity, which affects about one-third of American adults and roughly one in five children and teens. 

In theory, it’s a great guideline, Schmidt explained. Practically, it means youre going to have to figure out how much is best for you. The AHA says the 10 percent rule converts to no more than 100 calories of added sugar, or six teaspoons, for women, and no more than 150 calories of added sugar, or nine teaspoons, for men. 

For kids, those numbers are even lower. Preschoolers should eat no more than four teaspoons (16 grams), and children ages 4 to 8 should eat no more than three teaspoons (12 grams) a day. Finally, pre-teens and teens should eat no more than five to eight teaspoons (20 to 32 grams) of added sugar a day. 

Unfortunately, the average American eats much more sugar than whats currently proposed about 16 percent of daily calories come from added sugar, according to the FDA, and its really easy to go over the limit considering a normal treat like a 12-ounce can of soda has 10 teaspoons of added sugar. Thats more than any person should consume in one day. 

But if we can all get ourselves off the sugary drinks, we would be lowering our total sugar consumption, on a population level, by almost half. Dr. Laura Schmidt, sugar scientist

At TEDMED, a three-day conference focusing on health and medicine, we asked Schmidt, a professor of health policy, how we can cut down on sugar intake and create a healthier world for ourselves and our children.

Strategy 1: Stop buying sugary drinks.

Youve probably already heard this, and the rest of the U.S. is getting the message, too. Sales of soda are down more than 25 percent over the last 20 years, and sales of orange juice are down 40 percent since the late 90s. Schmidt says this should be the first step for anyone who wants to cut down on their added sugar intake: draw down slowly, and then use diet drinks if you have to in order to kick that final soda out of your life. As for juice, Schmidt suggested theres nothing healthier for kids than a piece of fruit and a glass of water.

For many people that can mean a lot of craving, and it can be hard, Schmidt said. But if we can all get ourselves off the sugary drinks, we would be lowering our total sugar consumption, on a population level, by almost half.”

Strategy 2: Get it out of your environment.

Schmidts research roots are in alcohol addiction, and she first began to get interested in the impact of sugar on diets when she learned one of the top reasons for liver transplants is non-alcoholic fatty liver disease, a condition linked to obesity and diabetes — not alcohol abuse. Consequently, although the research is out on whether sugar truly is an addictive substance in the traditionally scientific sense, Schmidt isnt afraid to use for sugary foods the same public health tactics she learned studying alcohol addiction. 

That means people who struggle with added sugar consumption should clear their pantries of sugary offenders and commit to stop buying them in the first place.

“We call it harm reduction in addition treatment, Schmidt explained. “If I were an alcoholic, I dont spend a lot of time in bars. If I have a soda problem, then I dont have it in my house, and I try to avoid contexts where its highly available. Practically, that means if you have the financial means, shop at a farmers market or supermarket, not corner store bodegas where sodas and other junk food are front and center of the display.

Strategy 3: Delay age of first consumption for kids.

Another principle straight out of addiction treatment is to delay the first time a child has a food or drink with a lot of added sugar, Schmidt explained.

The goal should be to delay the age at which a kid first has a soda.

The goal should be to delay the age at which a kid first has a soda, Schmidt. And a child does not need juice its better to give kids whole fruit or maybe blend fruit up in a smoothie.

The theory behind this tactic, just like the principles that encourage parents to delay a teens first cigarette, alcoholic drink or sexual experience, is that the child grows up enjoying the way they feel without that cigarette and beer, or makes more mature and informed sexual choices as a young adult. 

Schmidt said this idea shouldn’t be taken overboard — say, by telling all the parents in your social circle not to offer your kid soda — because it makes your child a pariah and that drink forbidden fruit. But your house, where kids spend most of their time, should be the healthiest environment it can possibly be.

Strategy 4: Be wary of foods that come in boxes, bags and cans.

Lets say youve kicked sugary drinks out of your kitchen and your everyday meals. The next step, said Schmidt, is to start hunting for that hidden sugar, usually found in highly processed foods that come in boxes, bags and cans. The more youre cooking from raw ingredients like whole foods, the less youre eating what Schmidt calls organijunk — snacks labeled organic, healthy or fortified with vitamins and nutrients, but full of hidden sugars.

Manufacturers have figured out that mothers know if sugar is in the first three listed ingredients, they dont buy it, Schmidt said. Now they just put 10 different kinds of sugar in the product.”

Be suspicious if a products ingredient list is long, she continued. Unless youre reading ingredients that you yourself would put in a homemade dish, dont buy it.

Strategy 5: Build a supportive community that cares about healthy eating.

Schmidt is impressed at how Crossfits company leadership united against selling sugary sports drinks at their gyms after an impartial review of the scientific evidence. She said she doesn’t know too much about the exercises that make up CrossFits core program, but she wishes other organizations — say hospitals, schools or workplaces — could have the same sense of responsibility toward community members. 

Thats whats cool about what CrossFit did; they said, if were about health, lets look into this and actually decide whether we should be advocating Gatorade for our people, Schmidt said. Thats where I think the health sector needs to go; the hospitals need to stop giving unhealthy food to patients, because its our responsibility.

In the same way, she said, you can create a community that celebrates healthy choices in your school, church or parent-teacher associations.

As a sociologist Ive always been told real social change comes from civil society, she concluded. When you look at these organized entities, together they could get together and form a social movement — and thats when Washington starts to listen.”

Strategy 6: Get politically active.

You might not think attending political meetings or donating to campaign finance reform causes is part of a healthier diet, but in fact these steps are actually the most vital to create change on a national level. Politicians often don’t make the decisions that are best for the health of their constituents because theyre in the pockets of big donors from the food industry, Schmidt explained. The sooner we can pass campaign finance reform, the sooner politicians can get back to advocating for the health of their communities instead of looking for ways to do their jobs while still appeasing their donors.

A special 2012 analysis by Reuters noted that some of Big Foods greatest lobbying accomplishments include getting Congress to declare pizza a vegetable so it could remain on cafeteria menus, defeating soda taxes in dozens of states and killing a plan to make foods marketed to kids healthier. 

The first thing we need to do is put pressure on our elected officials to stop taking money from corporations, and lobby our government agencies — the [National Institutes of Health], [Centers for Disease Control and Prevention] and every health organization — to stop, too said Schmidt. A lot of this is public information, so we should be using that to call people out.”

from All Of Beer http://allofbeer.com/a-sugar-scientist-reveals-6-ways-to-kick-added-sugar-out/ from All of Beer https://allofbeercom.tumblr.com/post/181562985312

[lindafrancois]

7 Emergency Hacks to Stay Healthy in the Winter

“Winter is coming”

– House Stark.

Like the White Walkers of the old stories our Gran used to tell us, winter is descending upon us mere mortals, and we must prepare! This endless onslaught of vicious attacks on our brains and our bellies will leave us ripe for slaughter if we’re not careful:

Cold weather that encourages us to sleep in, avoid the elements, and say “maybe tomorrow.”

A sun that rises too late and sets too soon means we often go days without seeing the damn thing.

Cookies and candies bombarded us from everywhere we look.

Oh, and a f’ing global pandemic that has left us isolated and alone. 

These and more challenges are just begging us to go off the rails. And a built-in excuse called January 1st where we promise to “start over” helps us rationalize us “pausing” until then. Black Friday has come and gone. Cyber Monday is now in the rearview. Thanksgiving is now a distant memory.

And yet…the challenges are still just getting started.

Luckily, we have 7 “hacks”  to survive these trying times. If you want, you can try them too!

Here’s what we’ll cover with our guide on surviving winter:

Winter Hack #1: Don’t Run in the Wrong Direction

Winter Hack #2: Never Two in a Row

Winter Hack #3: Consider Skipping a Meal

Winter Hack #4: Strength Train Before Big Meals

Winter Hack #5: Don’t Rely on Motivation

Winter Hack #6: Have a Plan B

Winter Hack #7: It All Counts

Alright, let’s equip you with some strategies to survive the storm.

Winter Hack #1: Don’t run in the wrong direction

We need you back in the fight, right now.

We all see January 1st as the “reset,” and there’s nothing wrong with a reset to start out the year. The problem is when you compound your issues by digging yourself deeper into a hole that you have to eventually climb out of!

Eat very poorly for long enough, and the hole will start to resemble Bruce Wayne’s prison in The Dark Knight Rises:

Think of it like you’re on the starting line of a race for a healthy life that starts Jan 1st. You have two options:

A) Hang around the starting line: Hang out and wait for the gun to fire. Then start running.

B) Run in the opposite direction. Run farther away from the starting line, so when the gun goes off you have even FARTHER to run in the race.

So, Step 1 is not running in the opposite direction. This means you can’t skip all your workouts and eat like crap and give up til January. This is you going the wrong way, and will make the task of “starting over” on January 1st that much more brutal.

Instead, do what you can to “tread water” and hang out around the starting line. If you CAN, stay on target. One bad meal doesn’t ruin things. One missed workout isn’t the end of the world. If you have an awful day, respawn and get back in the fight. Immediately.

A four-week freefall is a hole you’d rather not be in. You also don’t want to be in THIS hole:

But that’s beside the point…

So forget B. Let’s aim for A.

Winter Hack #2: Never Two in a Row

I first talked about “Never Two in a Row” back in like 2012, and it’s a mantra I’ve been living by ever since.

You’re human. And life happens.

What SHOULD NOT HAPPEN is missing two days in a row. Or eating TWO bad meals in a row. Or having TWO bad days in a row.

Why? One bad day can feel like a speed bump if you’re trying to get healthy. Get back on track right away and there’s no problem.

However, missing two days in a row is like turning that tiny speed bump into the Misty Mountains. If you miss one day in a row, no problem! Just act like it didn’t happen and get back on track.

But once you miss two days in a row, you are now 67.42% more likely to fall into a multiple week hole. Okay, I made up that statistic, but two days very easily becomes three, which very easily becomes a week, which easily becomes “I’ll wait til January.”

That’s running in the wrong direction. 

So AIM TO NEVER EVER EVER miss two workouts in a row. If you miss a workout on Monday, go on Tuesday and get right back on track. If you eat pie for lunch, because it ain’t gonna eat itself, make your dinner healthy AF. Do that, and you’ll be fine.

So whenever you have a bad day or do something against your plan, I need you to respawn right away (“start over” in video game lingo) and make the next day the best day you possibly can.

Winter Hack #3: Consider Skipping a Meal

Spoiler alert: you’re going to eat lots of decadent food this upcoming month. (Unlike Noel’s delicious Thai Zoodle recipe above)

I know it. You know it. So we can do one of two things.

We can pretend like it’s not going to happen, and then be surprised and beat ourselves up when we put ourselves in a carb coma and go on a calorie-induced bender.

Or we can be smart about it and negate the impact these days have on our waistlines. Better yet, we can make these additional calories work FOR us.

For starters, our metabolisms aren’t that smart. Your weight will fluctuate based on total calories consumed over many many days, not after ONE power-bomb of a meal.

So, if you know you are going to eat a monster lunch and dinner (I see you, Christmas), eat a stupidly light breakfast, and a light breakfast tomorrow – the calories will average out in the long run.

Or, if you’re willing to dig in and do the research, SKIP breakfast (and maybe lunch) before your monster meal. It’s called “intermittent fasting,” and it’s what I do to stay on track during weeks when I know I’m going to eat poorly.

First, I skip breakfast every day (I haven’t eaten breakfast for years now).

Second, I might choose to skip lunch as well the day after a monster meal. Again, dig in and do the research (or just read this), and you’ll find that missing a meal isn’t the end of the world. In fact, it can lead to a healthier lifestyle for the right person.

If you’re interested in skipping a meal here or there, our snazzy new app has an intermittent fasting adventure in it that you can try RIGHT NOW.

Sign-up for a free trial right here:

Winter Hack #4: Strength Train Before Big Meals

Whether or not you take advantage of intermittent fasting, you can time your workouts to coincide with your unhealthy meals.

As I mentioned in our article on The 5 Rules of Weight Loss, think of all the calories you eat as first-year wizards at Hogwarts.

They need to be sorted into one of three houses (“Burn as Energy,” Store as Fat,” or “Rebuild Muscle.”)

The extra calories you eat over the holidays always go towards “store as fat” unless you give them a really good reason to head to the “build muscle” common room. Politely asking them won’t help.

You need to give them a reason. And that wonderful reason is STRENGTH TRAINING.

When you strength train before a big meal, the muscles you trained are broken down and need to be rebuilt. So, over the next 48+ hours many of those extra calories will be diverted to rebuilding (stronger) muscles instead of becoming fat.

Yeah, our gyms are probably closed because of the pandemic. But that doesn’t mean we can’t do bodyweight training from our living room.

Try a heavy strength training workout just a few hours before a holiday mean, then proceed to eat with everybody else. While they all lament “I’m so full, I ate too much, wahhhh,” you’ll know your calories are being used to rebuild muscle. So internally, you can start doing an evil villain laugh… Muahahahah, you know the one.

Work smarter (like a nerd).

Winter Hack #5: Don’t rely on motivation

Here’s another spoiler for you: you are NOT going to want to work out this month. It’s going to be dark and cold, and your nose is going to run (better catch it!), Zoom meetings are going to go on unending, you’re going to be hungover, and so on.

The amount of motivation you’ll need to get over these obstacles is gargantuan. So don’t force yourself to try and “dig deep” and just “work harder” and feel guilty when you’re “not motivated.”

Instead, do whatever you can to never, ever ever rely on motivation. Your body won’t say, “oh that’s okay, I’ll stay in shape because I feel bad for you.” There are 31 days in December just like there are 31 days in August.

Which means you need to stay on track even though it’s much easier to do in the summer. So instead of motivation, build fail-safes to make sure you are staying healthy. Schedule your workouts in your calendar and set up alerts so you are reminded. Recruit a buddy so you can check-in on each other.

Or go with one of these more diabolical examples:

Take a really really embarrassing photo of yourself, or type up a tweet with an embarrassing secret. Schedule it to post at 6:15 (or whatever time is early for you) every morning before you go to bed. Put your phone in the other room. If you don’t wake up on time, and run in the other room and cancel that tweet, it goes out! Better just get out of bed and train before work.

Give your co-worker $250. Tell him/her that you will work out 3 days per week, and text him a photo of your workout. If he/she does not receive that photo, they’ll donate $50 of your money to a political cause you can’t stand.

Set your credit card alerts to email you and your wife/husband every time it’s used. Agree ahead of time you’ll never use that card to buy fast food or else you’ll have to be on diaper duty for the next 3 months straight (or something that fits your situation).  

In each of the instances above, you’re going to do exactly two things:

Get really mad at yourself. Probably curse a lot. Swear vengeance on your past self.

Do the damn thing you know you need to do while also being mad at yourself.

Never ever ever rely on motivation. Now, motivation doesn’t hurt. It’s just not reliable. So if you are in need of some motivation to get started, try this watching this video to remind you that training in the winter makes you a badass:

Just don’t rely on it, or feel guilty when you don’t have it! Whenever you DO feel a burst of motivation, use that extra energy to build systems. Here’s how to use motivation properly.

Winter Hack #6: Have a Plan B

“Too cold today! Can’t go to the gym and do my workout, DAMN! Looks like I’ll just have to sit here and eat ice cream.”

“Ran out of groceries, and it’s snowing. I guess I’ll just have to order pizza.”

The problem with winter is that it makes the unhealthy option always the easiest. We’re lazy, and I have to imagine we’re a bit like bears in that we want to hibernate and store fat when it gets cold out.

We have this tiny voice in our head subtly nudging us to pick the path of least resistance: aka pizza and skipped workouts.

And we can’t let that voice win. Then, the White Walkers win. And we’re all screwed. So, instead, we’re going to MacGuyver the sh** outta our winter by having a Plan B prepared.

For example:

A Workout PLAN B: Have a place in your house or apartment that you can go to and do the Beginner Bodyweight Workout, a workout from Nerd Fitness Prime, or some yoga.  It might not be as great as the gym (which may or may not be open), but it’s still a workout. It might mean investing in a door frame pull-up bar or a yoga mat, but a small investment for maintaining momentum through the winter is worth any amount of money. Here’s How to Build a Home Gym if you’re interested. 

A Nutritional PLAN B: Have a healthy meal in your freezer that has already been prepared and ready to be heated up. We make horrible decisions when the fridge is empty and we’re hungry. The Sirens of Dominos and Pizza Hut beckon us to call them for a 30-minute delivery.

So use your own laziness to help!

Here are some things to consider:

Have a meal in your freezer that’s all ready to go.

Store SteamFresh veggies for emergencies.

If you use delivery apps for crap food, delete them from your phone.

Do what you need to do to make it more difficult to make the wrong choice.  

Winter Hack #7: It All Counts

So you can only train for 15 minutes today instead of 20.

So you have time to do a few yoga poses instead of working out for an hour.

So your ONLY option at the holiday party (if it’s even going on) is pizza and you didn’t have a great breakfast.

THIS DOES NOT MEAN YOUR WINTER IS RUINED.  80% IS STILL 80% BETTER THAN ZERO PERCENT.

Every little bit counts. It REALLY, REALLY does. Every small change, or even living off pie HALF of the time is FAR better than living off pie all the time. Swap ONE beer for ONE glass of water, and it’s a victory that will translate to your waistline. Do 5 push-ups as soon as you get out of bed, and it’s a victory.

Winter is a problem not because people make one bad mistake, but because one bad mistake quickly sets off a chain reaction of disasters justified by the fact that folks can’t do something 100%. So they opt for 0%.

If you don’t have time for a full workout, do half a workout! If you have to eat from a drive-through, no problem. Drinking water or a Diet Coke and grab some fruit as your side. 

Here’s something else to try:

Every morning when you wake up, do 20 bodyweight squats, 10 push-ups, and if you have access to a pull-up bar (or gymnastic rings), hang from them for 30 seconds. No bar? No problem, here are 5 pull-up alternatives.

Make this the FIRST thing you do every day (using systems built back in point #6). That way, at least every day during the winter you’ve done something.

Together we can Brave the Winter

There you have it. 

While you don’t have to follow all 7 hacks this winter, even just adopting one or two might help you build some momentum between now and the new year.

And as always, if you need any additional help, we’re here for you.

What kind of help?

Well, you could consider:

#1) Our Online Coaching Program: a coaching program for busy people to help them make better food choices, stay accountable, and get healthier, permanently.

You can schedule a free call with our team so we can get to know you and see if our coaching program is right for you. Just click on the button below for more details:

Our coaching program changes lives. Learn how!

#2) Exercising at home and need a plan to follow? Check out Nerd Fitness Journey!

Our fun habit-building app helps you exercise more frequently, eat healthier, and level up your life (literally).

Try your free trial right here:

#3) Join the Rebellion! We need good people like you in our community, the Nerd Fitness Rebellion.

Sign up in the box below to enlist and get our Rebel Starter Kit, which includes all of our “work out at home” guides, the Nerd Fitness Diet Cheat Sheet, and much more!

Get your Nerd Fitness Starter Kit

The 15 mistakes you don’t want to make.

Full guide to the most effective diet and why it works.

Complete and track your first workout today, no gym required.

Alright, that about does it.

But real quick, before somebody yells at me in the comments, yes I know a lot of Aussies and Kiwis are NF Rebels, and I know it’s nearly summer down there. You can laugh at us all you want, your winter will come soon enough. Oh, it will.  

Now, let’s hear from you:

What do you do when the going gets tough, when the temperature drops, and life gets busy as hell?

How do you fight back?

What are your favorite specific tricks or systems you use to stay on track?

Leave your comment below and share with your fellow Rebels.

-Steve

P.S. If the cold weather is bringing you down, this guide on overcoming the winter blues may help.

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Photo source: Joerg Huettenhoelscher © 123RF.com, qwartm © 123RF.com, Ivanko Brnjakovic © 123RF.com

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