#teaches me to get emotionally attached to a rat

[silver-of-dragons]

this is for all those who were brought to tears by latest chapter of @neonganymede’s devastatingly beautiful fic, i’ll bleed out for you

[aurora-313]

Hello there! Love your fic, got to the chapter where Kaien reunited with Rukia. Found your tumblr, saw you answered questions, and here's one I thought I'd get your two cents on.

Do you think Kaien knew that Rukia had a crush on him? He's a pretty smart guy so I don't think he wouldn't have noticed, just ignored it because he saw Rukia as a protégé/subordinate/little sister. I honestly think he filled in a supportive brother role (as much as he could given he was still her direct superior) for Rukia since at the time Byakuya was still very emotionally constipated. But given it was the first bit of support Rukia had gotten in ages, no wonder she latched on quick.

Although, if guys like Kaien are Rukia's type, he has a very available younger cousin...

Good morning! I'm glad you've enjoyed it so far. Writing their reunion(s) was fun and I hope you continue to enjoy what's in store for the future.

Oh, Kaien definitely knew about it. As a Lieutenant and generally a very social affable guy, Kaien strikes me as a student of human behaviour.

I wager he understood that Rukia's attachment to him stems from her extreme loneliness brought upon by her circumstances; an Inuzuri street rat brought into nobility by an adopted brother whom evidently only did so because she resembled his late wife.

Already that's an off-putting situation and enforces a message that she herself is not valued, only her appearance is. That, and her closest friend, her brother she'd grown up with, all but told her to go when she's already struggling to fit in during every day life.

So Kaien, the first safe harbour in this tumultuous whirlwind of changing circumstance, is someone she'd latch onto instantly. Especially since he doesn't give to licks or a toss about her new nobility - and the Shiba canonically don't buy into that crap either. In his eyes, she's a new raw recruit who failed to greet him properly and needed a kick up the ass to be reminded who's in charge.

He went out of his way to give her solo remedial lessons to cover the things she missed at the Academy thanks to her early graduation; teaching her how to fight, how to commune with and activate her Zanpakutou, and freely offering her guidance and reassurance when she was feeling low or depressed.

How could Rukia not fall a little in love with him for that kindness alone? (helps that he's super easy on the eyes too. ;) )

From his side of things, I figure Kaien saw her as a mix of protégé, little sister and I'd even so far as to say daughter, depending how much older he is.

Had Kaien not died when he did, I think he would've successfully broken Rukia out of her shell and helped her overcome that loneliness to find a place in the 13th.

(Though you have to wonder if some in the 13th blamed her for Kaien's death despite the circumstances being what they were.)

And since ya brought it up; I mean... Kukaku's planning on recognizing that same 'veryavailable younger cousin' as an official member of the Shiba, and the Kuchiki and Shiba could - for whatever reason - require a marriage pact to seal an alliance... you never know~! (I jest)

[papers4me]

Fruits Basket Manga Review, ch (92-93)

That was painful & so well-written! This analysis will focus on kyokyo mainly & faintly on her effect on kyo. Although, her story affects tohru’s life immensely, I won’t analyze tohru’s part & will wait until it’s a tohru’s chapter to use the knowledge of kyoko’s past to better read tohru’s mind & understand her decisions! Can’t wait! after all, that’s why I’ve read the manga to begin with!

-Kyoko’s Atonement:  (the weight of words):

 Kyoko breaks down after she learns she’s expecting. Why? cuz she hurt her mom. The notion that “yeah my parents caused me emotional trauma & so I’mma hurt them as well” is toxic & burdening as it starts a cycle of pain. Kyoko was right. She had no idea how her mom felt seeing her rebel, or follow violence or hear her harsh words. I’m not cleansing the mom from guilt nor responsibility. I’m just saying since the mom’s pov is blocked from us, assuming shes similar to the dad is wrong. kyoko’s fear of being punished with a child similar to herself is genuine, realistic & refreshing to see expressed in anime! usually character like kyoko are cool & brave, but here she’s humanly weak & doubtful. LOVE IT!

Moreover, in furuba words weigh on ppl & have consequences. We see this with kyo. His dad destroyed him verbally with words “ not my fault, it’s yours” that kyo echoes back to yuki! meaning the consequences of the dad’s words cause harm to his wife, kyo & even yuki!. Kyo was tormented with his own words for long time & clung to them even more in order not to resort to suicide! “ not my fault, it’s the rat’s” . Words can crush you down so bad if you hear them from loved ones, & worse if you utter them back to other loved ones! here kyoko learned that just the mere thought of her future child echoing her words back to her would torment her to death! Excellent writing!

-Katsuya invented Furuba’s vision (Accepting weakness & moving on):

The teachings of kyoko & tohru were really katsuya’s after all. I’m fne with that. These teachings are the core of Furuba’s vision. He tells kyoko to accept that she’s weak, afraid & doubtful. it’s okay. But gives her tools to move on. Your kid isn’t you. They’re an individual person. As parents all we can do is give love/hugs (sth kyoko’s parents didnt do), listen to them (sth yuki’s parents didnt do) & if they do sth wrong will explain it & teach them well (sth kyo’s parents didn’t do, his wrong deed was being born a cat spirit & he was hated for it with no explanation, mom gave lots of “fake” love & escaped by death, dad became a raging monster). Accepting weakness & moving on is what the cursed sohmnas needed to do to heal & what tohru taught them. Off course, tohru herself struggled to follow her own teachings & that’s amazingly realistic!

-Kyoko’s guilt (punishment brings ease):

Kyoko wanted to be punished so harsh for her husband’s death. The gossip got to her. She failed him as a life’s companion. Taking care of our loved ones is a duty we carry with much love & care. Them slipping away is perceived as us failing by none than ourselves. The thing is, death comes with no warning at times. It was his time to leave. Accepting it or not, wont bring him back, but accepting it will help kyoko deal with pain while not accepting will cause more pain for her & tohru.

One of the most painful things abt grief is that it’s personal. Life continues around you. Only you feel it.  “didn’t the world end when katsuya died”. No kyoko. Only you died emotionally. Only him died physically. Kyo once said “ mom why didn’t you kill me instead”. A different reaction to grief, guilt & pain, but same conclusion: neither katsuya nor kyo’s mom are coming back no matter how much pain kyo or kyoko felt.

Kyoko found ease in emotional death, neglecting & refusing life, punishing herself for staying after him.

kyo found ease in rage & blaming others as he his father did, later he’ll escape to emotional & physical slow death “ cat cage/confinement”.

tohru... found ease in pretending "I’m okay” & her mom is alive.. but not physically.. emotionally, so she’ll ignore the truth & live only for her.

Didn’t I say grief is harsh, weird & very very personal. It’s hard to explain, deal with & heal. The mere words of consolation hurt cuz the grieving ones dont want to accept loved one are really gone. Her dad’s harsh words cemented the “emotional death” that kyoko felt. I’m not needed. neither katsuya. nor parents in general. depression. misery. sadness. emptiness.

-The tv show helped to trigger kyoko’s desire to “meet” katsuya. She has already reached the conclusion that she isnt needed. So, the tv show with their words of the deceased wanting you to be happy. triggered her into misinterpreting the words as to mean her death NOT fuel her to live in his memory as intended.

- “Loosing your way first before finding your answer” is okay & so human!:

Ironically..Tohru... was the person Kyoko was punishing NOT herself: By being emotionally dead, kyoko neglected her daughter. Her world shouldnt be just one person. There are others. Katsuya himself gave her a person to love. Tohru. Kyoko chose death & unintentionally set tohru into a world of loneliness 10 times harsher thsn what kyoko faced. She was about to do, but was saved by a nameless child who reminded her of tohru. She chose wrong first but later saw her answer. Kyo chose death by accepting the confinement & he, too, unintentionally set tohru into a world of loneliness 10 times harsher if he wasnt with her. He chose wrong first but later saw his answer. Off course kyo’s story is more developed & complicated as he dealt with bigger issues than just tohru & his answer wasn't just loving tohru alone but also loving himself & choosing to live for them both: himself & tohru.

-Kyo’s guilt is a concussion thought eating him alive:

Part of why kyo’s story was one of the most human & complex is due him loosing his way first, failing, repeating mistakes “ I always though that hurting ppl was the only thing I was good at, after all, isnt that why mom died?” Kyo’s nightmare being a conscious effect of hearing tohru’s talk abt “ videos & memories of loved ones” is 1000 times stronger & more human than a cliche effect of seeing a “ hat” & to revive a a blocked memory... What the hell!! truly disgusting how the emotional weigh is reduced for stupid cliche drama !!!!!! ..

Anyway, kyo actively & consciously wanted punishment .He was sure that kyoko blamed him” I wont forgive you” can only mean what it literally means. The purpose of the nightmare is to cause kyo to seek “ emotional death” like kyoko & to loose his path more. It is meant to prepare kyo to refuse tohru even more. Therefore, the pay off at the climax will be better & stronger.

Reading kyo’s inner thoughts will never not be refreshing!!! Also, the slow burn is cooked on low , hot fire , so the pay off will be the most delicious there is!

Side Notes:

I’ve stated my feelings regarding the age gap between kyoko & katsuya in last chapter’s preview post. I’m done with it & won’t let it interfere with my analysis of kyoko nor tohru.

The idea of just being together as a fun hanging out activity without being bothered much of where reminds ms so much of kyo & tohru!! we see them being happy together in the anime in kazuma’s house, shigure’s rooftop, cooking pancake in the kitchen! I really like this domestic feel of romance! it contradicts the notion of expensive restaurant with the girl wearing a breathtaking dress to woo the guy for it to be utterly romantic as we see in movies, & other stories.

NGL, katsuya looked sexy waiting home.. damn it! >_<

I cried watching tohru between her parents, how they acted & how loved she was! T_T. it reminded me of my niece How her dad’s death affected her! She was the apple of his eyes.. T_T.

Tohru is indeed a rice ball! her dad gave her a masculine name while tohru is so feminine! his reasoning is “finding salty taste in sweet things make the taste better & stronger, kinda giving it a hidden flavour”, the rice ball has a pickle inside it & it’s what makes the taste so savory & delicious!

Grandpa’s “ chance meetings could lead to variety of outcomes, good or bad” YES! kyo/tohru/yuki meeting each other by chance. Fiction make it look weird, but trust me, real life has those by dozens!

“ i wonder how lost you’ll be, how much time you’ll need to get your answer”. He will screw up so bad, kyoko! it will be so good! one of the best screw up’s I’ve seen! so painful for him & tohru & amazingly written!

Kyo’s nightmare being connected to him remembering/dreaming of kyoko’s story is bigger effect than opening the ep with it & having the cause be sth that happened last ep, a week ago... the effect is NOT the same.

Momiji is so cute!!! did his curse break here or not yet? he seemed as tall as tohru.

Writing tohru worried abt kyo after seeing him pale is the tohru I know!! Not that stupid girl who watches the guy she loves have a panic attach in se3, ep6, then goes in ep 7...” dahhhh.. Jeez.. I duno why kyo is sleeping until now.. better laugh & make cute rice cakes” giggle giggle...That scene got me so furious even when I first saw it!! THIS IS NOT TOHRU! tohru cried for a stupid story that haru told abt puppets!! she’ll forget the person she challenges herself for is sick?! ugh!

I love seeing yuki & kyo chill & cool around each other.

Kyoko being fully dependent on katsuya can be a factor in her grief, but I’ve seen cases where both partners are independent but still be completely broken after the others’ death. Grief isn’t logical at all & is extremely personal.

[katherineschoices]

The Slowest Burn: Chapter 1

Dr. Ethan Ramsey knew that Dr. Katherine Petrovic’s career was more important their non-relationship. They work side by side, existing in their own world until once again, the two doctors are forced to face the inevitable. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Slowest Burn: Chapter 1 Prologue

Tag List: @malakbesharah  @jens-diamondchoices @fanficnewbie 

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Dr. Katherine Petrovic moved through her first day back on autopilot. 

Congratulatory hugs or tight-lipped frowns met her at every turn and around every corner. Regardless, Dr. Petrovic kept a cheery smile plastered on her face.

Inside, she was overwhelmed. Not once did not see the thick mop of dark, brown hair that belonged to her supervisor. Seeing the back of his head would have eased her anxieties. To know that he was real, even if he couldn't be hers.

Twelve hours ago, she unsuccessfully attempted to sneak the same man out of her apartment. If it weren’t for the dull ache between her thighs, she might have thought it nothing more than an erotic dream. 

So when she arrived home later that night, she shouldn’t have expected her return to be unceremonious. In the doorway Katherine stopped dead in her tracks; her 3 remaining roommates were seated on the sectional, clearly waiting for something. What that something was, she deeply suspected, was her. 

How was this day not fucking over yet?

“Hi guys,” said Katherine innocently. She was quick to recover and close the door and turn around to remove her trench coat. “What’s up?”

“What’s up?!” Jackie mocked; she didn’t bother to hide her sarcasm. “Don’t you dare act so high and mighty, Katherine Petrovic. You’re not innocent. Sienna and Elijah ratted you out. You brought the Ethan freaking Ramsey home. He stayed here all night. They saw you try and sneak him out of the apartment before ‘the rest of us woke up!’” She raised her fingers in an air quotes motion, clearly meaning herself.

Ah. There it was.

Katherine flushed and bit her lip; her eyes darted accusingly between the other two were were grinning at her madly. “It’s Jonah,” she met Jackie’s intense, brown gaze and crossed her arms in confident defiance. “Dr. Ramsey’s middle name is Jonah.”

Sienna squealed so loudly it caused Elijah to wince next to her. “Details, Katherine! Roomie code.”

How could she possibly share the details of she and Ethan when she wasn’t seven sure of them herself? “It was… a one time thing,” she found herself saying. “We agreed that nothing was going to happen. Dr. Ramsey and I are nothing.”

Her roommates all shared the same identical, skeptical look and it told her all that she needed to know: they sure as hell didn’t believe what she was saying, either. There was absolutely no way that she was going to be spilling that she had slept with him during her suspension, too.

“You know what, Katherine?” Elijah leaned forward in his chair to rest his elbows on his knees. A wide, mischievous began to spread across his face. He tented his fingers for added effect. The bastard was enjoying her torment. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen Dr. Ramsey walk out of our humble abode this morning with my own two eyes. I have perfect vision. And so does Sienna.”

And just like that, Dr. Elijah Greene cemented her fate. 

Dr. Jackie Varma made a dramatic show of pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of her eye. Katherine rolled hers and kicked off her heels, and raised her middle finger. “My baby. All grown up,” she lamented.

Dr. Petrovic shook her head and made her way into the kitchen in her stockings. She prayed that there was some sort of alcohol in their freezer. For a brief moment, she guiltily wished that she was at Ethan’s condo where she’d be guaranteed a glass of scotch to warm her belly and relax on the overstuffed leather sofa. Instead, she’d have to settle for her present company and a Grey Goose/Tropicana screwdriver. 

“Dr. Katherine Victoria Petrovic,” began Sienna firmly. Katherine swung around with the glass still firmly attached to her lips. The other woman, although 5 '4 in height, was intimidating with her fiery expression and hands on her hips. And, she was blocking her exit. “It is your duty to our friendship! I told you to bang him!”

She couldn’t help but scoff into her drink.

The smell of citrus reminded her of their quasi-date at Derry Roaster’s. Dr. Ramsey ordered her café Roma. She had liked it that he had taken charge and ordered for her.

“You and Dr. Ramsey do get along pretty well,” she tried. A different angle this time. Nice shot, Dr. Trinh. Katherine recognized what she was doing, and shook her head.

“Dr. Ramsey is my supervisor,” she interjected hotly. There was an edge in her tone that she hadn’t expected to slip out and she felt guilty for snapping at her friend. How many times today had she said that exact sentence? “And he will be for the next 2 years.” 

 “His cock was big, wasn’t it?” shouted Jackie from the other room.

“Jackie! You can’t ask her that! He’s our boss!” exclaimed Elijah, clearly alarmed.

Katherine choked on her drink as Sienna and Jackie dissolved into another round of giggles. “I’m not talking about this, okay?” she tried weakly.

“That means yes,” Sienna cooed as she wrapped her arms around her shoulders and hugged her tightly.

She smirked at the memory of Ethan’s body. For a few brief moments, every long, glorious inch of him had been entirely hers. 

“Katherine, given everything you have gone through, you were surprisingly chill at work ALL DAY. Clearly, you were fucked real good last night!” Jackie extended her legs out on the sectional to make room for her to sit as Sienna led her into the communal area. 

“This needs to stop,” she protested and took a seat.

She couldn’t tell him that every time she closed her eyes, all she saw were Ethan’s piercing blues holding her gaze from between her legs while he ate her out. The thought of his velvety tongue against her was enough to make her squirm. Thankfully, she was able to pass it off as adjusting her seating position as she convinced her roommates to choose a Netflix movie to watch; a mind-numbing night in with her friends was exactly what the doctor ordered.  ______________________________________________________________________

Katherine felt her phone vibrate in the back pocket of her jeans, but made no move to retrieve it. She watched the mindless, slap-stick comedy alongside her roommates but failed to absorb the plot. With the exception of certain attending, there wasn’t anybody she wanted the attention of. 

Ethan Ramsey was notorious for ignoring text messages. There would be no way that he would be initiating contact that way.

Outside of their brief exchange in the atrium that morning, she and Dr. Ramsey hadn’t spoken. Katherine tried to not let it bother her; she put her energy into her patients instead.

Today was a big day for him, too. In addition to getting his job back, he inherited an entire department without warning. Her anxieties were not at the top of his priority list. 

Naveen Banerji clearly had no idea what he’d done. Or maybe he did; Dr. Petrovic was beginning to suspect that he had developed a sadistic streak in the days following his resurrection, because there couldn’t possibly be any other explanation. He had his suspicions about she and Dr. Ramsey and Ethan didn’t want him to know about them just yet.

‘You are a diagnostician,’ Katherine thought to herself humorlessly. ‘You can figure everything out but your own life.’ Although they vehemently denied it, she and Ethan were alike. There was something there, and she knew that they would figure it out. Together. When this was all over, she and Ethan Ramsey were going to have an epic love story.

Until that day, everything would go back to the way it was. Katherine Petrovic had come to Edenbrook Hospital because it was the best teaching hospital on the eastern seaboard. It’s internal medicine unit was world renowned. She wanted to learn from the best, and the best was Ethan Jonah Ramsey, M.D. Doing her fellowship with his diagnostic team would open doors beyond Edenbrook. As her direct supervisor he would be able to push her to her limits without worrying about the recall. He would mould her into the doctor she knew she could be; a doctor who made a real difference in the world of patient care.

Dr. Ramsey radiated brilliance; his record has rightfully earned him the respect of every man and woman in the hospital. Just as quickly, he could make her feel like she were only thing that mattered. Ethan Ramsey made her anxieties melt away. 

Working alongside him was a dream come true and Katherine had every right to bask in the praise she received today. 

Her phone felt like a brick. Her gut told her it was him; rarely her intuitions were wrong.

“I’m going to turn in early,” Katherine announced. Standing, she ghosted her hand over her backside out of habit and Sienna shook her head. “It’s been a long day… I can’t focus. I’m sorry, guys.”

“We won’t bother you about Ramsey anymore,” Sienna said in a soft, teasing tone. She reached over and wrapped her thin arms around her midsection. “For now, anyway.”

“Thank you,” replied Katherine gratefully and retrieved her abandoned screwdriver. 

This time, at least, her roommates had the decency to look sympathetic. All jokes aside, they knew she needed time to herself to decompress. Given the events of the last 24 hours, she was emotionally spent. 

Back in the sanctuary of  her room, Katherine drained the remnants of her drink in two easy gulps and slammed it down on top of her dresser before she pulled out her phone. Katherine flopped down in the middle of her unmade bed. She ran her fingers over the sensor on the front and the screen came to life.

Her heart clenched.

(1) New Message 

Dr Ethan Ramsey: Call me.

[theliterateape]

Gambling with the Currency at Hand

by Don Hall

At every casino in Las Vegas there are these pamphlets. Usually hidden away behind a sign that indicates that one must inspect their sports ticket before leaving the Sportsbook or a promotion for “$30,000 Credit for Gaming” with four paragraphs of fine print underneath. These trifold informational pieces are colored in a dull brown and beige — a sunset photo — with a muted title: “When the Fun Stops”.

“Some problem gamblers may gamble to relieve boredom or avoid feelings of anxiousness or stress. Others may gamble to ‘numb out’ when feeling helpless, guilty, or depressed.” — from “When the Fun Stops” by The Nevada Council on Problem Gambling

In a year and a half of working in an Off-Strip casino flanked by an In-and-Out Burger, a Wendy’s, and a Siegel Suites, I never saw a single soul pick one up and peruse its contents.

The marketing of Las Vegas has promoted an adult playground of gambling, booze, and sex sans accountability for decades. From the days of the Rat Pack to the glamour of Steve Wynn, the city has made its bones on these core values. For every tourist from Japan or Iowa, however, there is someone who lives here in the grimy shadow of weekend fun, either cleaning up the mess left behind or searching through the refuse for something missed as the hungover travelers disembark.

Debra worked in HR for a local company for years. She was born in New Jersey and moved to Nevada in the early 2000’s with her sister. Her life was relatively average — some bills, a mortgage, car payments — nothing beyond her means. One day she slipped and injured herself in a Big Box store and sued. She won an insurance claim just north of a million dollars.

She planned on living off of this payout through her retirement. She paid off some loans, bought a car, financed a home for she and her sister. No more working for a living was almost a daily mantra. This life, however, bored her beyond words. They were in Vegas, after all, and the sirens of slot winnings sung their tune.

Five years later, most of the million dollars has been spent on video poker. Debra is broke but still plays three times a week with money she no longer has for money she won’t see again.

"Most people who gamble do so with no harmful effects. They set limits and stick to them. However, for a small percentage of the population, gambling can become more than a game, and lead to serious consequences for both the gambler and their family.

Here are some of the warning signs:

Gambling to escape worry or trouble Gambling to get money to solve financial difficulties Unable to stop playing regardless of winning or losing Gambling until the last dollar is gone Losing time from work due to gambling Borrowing money to pay gambling debts Neglecting family because of gambling Lying about time and money spent gambling" — from “When the Fun Stops” by The Nevada Council on Problem Gambling

Teddy was a Big Deal in the world of fossil fuel safety protocol. It ain’t Tom Cruise or Barack Obama territory but it had paid extremely well for a long time. He was a hefty man with a booming laugh and a warm smile that sort of expanded his charm two or three feet around him.

When Teddy came there were some rules. This guy spent so much money in one sitting the General Manager would comment that if Teddy wanted everyone in the casino out so he could play in peace they’d be escorted off the property until Teddy was done. It never came to that but the rules were simple:

Teddy played the two ‘Dancing Drums’ slots exclusively, so the machines on either side were shut off.

He drank Sierra Mist and was on a constant refill protocol.

He was gregarious but didn’t want to be bothered by anyone so keeping the hangers-on on the floor away was key.

Teddy always played the maximum bet which for his machines was $8.80 per spin. He routinely dropped between $10,000.00 and $25,000.00 in an afternoon. He'd likely hit four or five jackpots in the $1,600.00 to $4,500.00 range. And he never tipped.

That was such an odd aspect of this guy. He obviously had tons of idle cash but was cheap when it came to the expected Vegas fee for service. It wasn't as if he was a lowball tipper -- he simply did not tip for any reason. He was our definition of a high roller yet behaved like the cat who'd come in looking for nothing but his $10.00 of free play and hopefully a comp drink.

"...eventually funds may not be available to meet the most basic needs of food, clothing, shelter, etc. In desperation the gambler may begin lying and/or stealing to cover up the problems, creating further stress for everyone around them." — from “When the Fun Stops” by The Nevada Council on Problem Gambling

When I first encountered TC and his mother I was hit by the sadness in their situation. He and I were roughly the same age but, as I've been told we are all four bad decisions from homeless, he made all four of them and I had a couple more to go.

Walking the perimeter of the casino, I see an ancient Honda Civic parked slightly off the lines. In the drivers seat is a tall, skinny man, slightly hunched over smoking a butt out the window. He looks sunbaked like people do in the desert, his skin taut and leathery. Next to him is an old woman. Old like those pictures you see from Appalachia in National Geographic. She has an oxygen tube in her nose and is simply staring out the cracked windshield off into a distance I cannot fathom.

"You doing OK out here?" I ask in that managerial tone.

"Yah. We're good. Just waiting until we can get a room."

"You wanna come inside? It's, like, 112 degrees out here and I imagine your friend..."

"My mother..."

"...your mother might feel better in the air conditioning."

"Sho..."

He had an odd linguistic affectation in his speech that made him sound a bit like a child, his mouth wrapping around vowels that rounded them out. He dropped his square, got out of the creaky car, and pulled out a wheelchair that would've been at home next to the dirty doll Charleston Heston found at the climax of The Planet of the Apes.

I put them in the Sportsbook, grabbed a couple of waters for them, and spent a few minutes sleuthing their story. 

TC was well-known by some of the long-term staff. He used to be a player but hit hard times a few years back. No one knew what he had done for a living or how he was surviving but the profile was of someone now homeless, living in his car and occasionally a month-long stay at the hotel attached to our casino so his mother could sleep in a bed. He still was on the free play marketing list but rarely had the dollar to activate it.

"As they continue to gamble, they become more and more emotionally and mentally dependent on gambling, with less and less control. The long-term result is a steady deterioration of the mental and physical health of both the gambler and their family." — from “When the Fun Stops” by The Nevada Council on Problem Gambling

On some fundamental Irish level, I understand this compulsion. While never much into gambling my money as I've never been heavily motivated by its acquisition, my career since college has been a series of driving along the highway at night and wondering if I could survive the impulse of just letting the steering wheel go and closing my eyes.

In ‘89, I graduated and randomly chose Chicago as my new home without the safety net of knowing anyone in Chicago, having a job or prospects, or having ever been in the city. It was the move of a gambler throwing dice to see if the come-out was a natural and betting everything he had.

I lived in my car for four months as I explored this new city and looked for gainful employment, feeding myself and gassing up my home by playing trumpet on street corners downtown.

My chosen field was that of a music teacher and I did that in the public school system on the west side for a decade. Why quit teaching after ten years? Why not? I started a non-profit comedy theater that evolved into something weird but fun. Did that for fifteen years then quit to go work for NPR. A decade later, I decided to move to Las Vegas because isn't that what the hopelessly addicted to risk do?

Debra was distraught.

“Oh my gawd,” she moaned as she pumped another $20.00 in the video poker machine. “My sister’s birthday is Wednesday and I have to pick up her cake but I don’t have the $17.00 to pay for it!”

The odd disconnect between her dilemma and the twenty she just pushed into the bill validator was obvious to me but not at all to her.

“Debra. Why not cash out that machine and use that?” I said, smiling behind my mask.

“Huh? Ah, no, no, no. This money is for poker. I can’t use it for her cake. Maybe if I win some today...”

The next day I get a phone call. It’s Debra. Can I loan her $20.00 until Thursday? I can and I do. She sends me pictures of the party, socially distanced from her garage. Thursday she swings by and palms me the twenty like it’s a tip I’m not supposed to receive.

In the ongoing search for the true American experience, it seems obvious that it exists inside the off-strip casino. A room filled with shiny lights and electronic sounds populated with every stripe from every tribe: wealthy, impoverished, black, white, brown, make, female, non-binary, old, young, fat, thin, liberal, conservative, libertarian, beautiful, homely. All in the room for exactly the same reason: a short term investment in a possible future fueled by luck and circumstance.

Everyone who walks into the casino is prepared to gamble with the currency at hand. That currency cannot be defined simply by dollars available but the intertwined filthy lucre of personality, desire, and need with need being the characteristic with the most pungent strength.

Teddy wasn’t big on chit-chat. He came to plug in the dough and whack the spin buttons with a slap. Except with me. With me, for some unexplained reason, there was small talk.

“I love to travel, Don. Have you traveled?”

“I have. Used to play jazz trumpet for a living and went all over the globe with that.”

“Where’s your favorite place?”

“Edinburgh, Scotland. Took a theater company there for a month in ‘95 and fell in love with the place.”

“Oooooh! I’ve never been there! I have a lady friend I’d like to take someplace new. What else you got on Scotland?”

I went to my office, did some online searches, and put together a PDF of prices and places in Edinburgh. I dropped it off at his machine when he was cashing in a voucher.

His reaction was effusive.

“It’s people like you that make me come here, you know? The big properties are always offering me comp rooms and meals but they can’t give me the feeling of friendship that the people here do.”

Over the course of a few months, I gleaned that Teddy had lost his wife to cancer years before and that his children would have little to do with him. He often had “lady friends” but no one consistent and most were decades younger than he. Teddy was an almost desperately lonely man and felt less so in the casino where his propensity to be a high roller made him feel like he was important.

The 1995 trip to Scotland was another improbable gamble. The small nonprofit theater company I had founded was fraying at the edges. The ensemble needed a goal to achieve and I decided that taking a show to the Edinburgh Festival Fringe with seventeen actors who had no disposable incomes to speak of was just thee thing. I cashed in my pension from the days of teaching and managed a few sponsorships.

It was both financially devastating and artistically remarkable. In the parlance of the gambling addict, it was a win. I lost my ass and gained a cherished city.

TC checked he and his mother into a room one February night a month before the place was shut down by pandemic. During the graveyard shift, his mother was picked up by paramedics and transferred to a hospital. The next day, TC was outside in the courtyard weeping as if the world had ended.

She had been misdiagnosed, given the wrong medication, and had died during the early hours of the morning. TC was filled with sadness and guilt and a sense of impotent rage so like so many on the ass end of life.

He was without options. He was unemployed and unemployable. His one lifeline was his mother both in a financial way but also in that indelible manner that having a daily task, someone to care for, gives a person distraction from the crushing despair of living.

I brought him a bottle of water and a pack of cigarettes and sat down with him for a moment during my shift.

“I don’t know.” he said unprompted after a few minutes of sitting together.

“What don’t you know?”

“I don’t know what to do. They killed my mother. They didn’t even care. When I came in to the hospital, they took me to her and she was just dead. The doctor didn’t even apologize. They wanted to know how I was going to pay for her disposal. That’s how they said it. Her disposal. I used to come here, you know? When I had money? I used to gamble and laugh. I haven’t laughed in years.”

“You did the best you could.”

“NO, I DIDN’T! I didn’t do the best I could. How do you live with yourself knowing you didn’t?”

“I don’t know.”

I think about when the fun stopped for him or if it was ever really fun at all. I wonder if those in my current position watched it happen as TC went from being someone in between Debra and Teddy and started that slide into who he was in front of me and what responsibly did they take as witness to the decline.

Does the bartender bear some accountability to the alcoholic? Does the pimp have some obligation for the john? The casino feeds off of the weaknesses of thousands who come in from out of town to throw away their disposable income on a Hennessy-soaked memory haze of unfettered vice but does it have some sort of moral obligation to the folks who live here and still cash in their downfall with such abandon?

Sometime during the re-opening of Vegas following the COVID shutdown I realized that the place was leaving a mark. Not so much a scar but a dark bruise. A wound underneath the skin and, since there was no one to hand me a pamphlet, I decided that the fun had, indeed, stopped for me.

When I announced to Debra that I was leaving the casino, that I had found work that paid more and was remote to boot, she was distraught.

“This place. We get diamonds and they leave as soon as we get used to them.”

“The West?”

“Vegas. It’s a hard place for good people to thrive. Don’t. Don’t say I’m a good person. I’m not. I try but I’m not. Vegas eats up people. It chews on their hopes and dreams and spits them back out. Oh, I’m so depressed right now.”

She pumped another twenty into the machine and continued to chase the four aces.

“Did you hate it here?”

“Vegas? No. I love it.”

“No. The West. Did you hate it here?”

“No. It’s dirty and seedy but there is a thing about places like this that resonate a tune so few can recall singing. You ever read Neil Gaiman’s ‘American Gods’? The old gods can only congregate in places of bizarre spiritual congruence like House on the Rock or Disneyland. The West is like one of those mythic, tacky places in which the old gods gather.”

“You’re so weird. This is not a spiritual place. It’s a casino.”

“One and the same, Debra.”

Teddy never went to Edinburgh as far as I know. When Vegas re-opened, he stopped coming in to play. That has been the way of things during pandemic. Those with options other than Vegas found different games of chance. I can think of a dozen regular big players whom I haven’t seen since things turned sour. Perhaps the place lost its luster when requiring masks on everyone was too much a reminder of the outside world.

A week or so before I turned in my name badge and Title 31 credentials, TC came in. I hadn’t seen him since that day in the courtyard. He was wearing new clothes. His face was fuller as if he’d somehow become hydrated and healthier. He was obviously clean and his hair had grown out and been cut. 

He pulled down his mask. “Look! They’re implants!” he crowed as his brand new choppers shone in the light. “This is my wife!” and he motioned to a matronly Latina woman who seemed thrilled to meet me.

TC had sued the hospital. Vegas has a billboard for every fifty feet of highway announcing a lawyer waiting to help you cash in on tragedy and it is fitting that TC took advantage of one of them and made bank.

Like the rest of us he was simply gambling with the cards he was dealt, with the currency available to him. Will he squander it, buying pieces of hope, looking for another jackpot? Probably but that’s Vegas. That’s America, isn’t it? 

The America Dream we were promised is just another handpay pot of gold to be gambled away on the promise of the next dream, so why not? How can the fun stop if it was never really fun in the first place?

[the-cryptographer]

wrapped up playing final fantasy ix

yeah, idk, at some point it became clear to me that the game wasn’t really heading in the directions i wanted it to. that was... a while ago, lol. but i’m usually committed to finishing these things once i start them, even if they’re less than what i’d hoped.

on the game side of things... it’s a final fantasy game. it’s got all the regular final fantasy stuff going on. for this one in particular, i guess i like this type of ability system. otherwise it’s your standard, mostly-mindless turned based combat. summons take way to long to play. as usual i tend to favour physical combat interspersed with a healer that can cast holy. but i ended up relying a lot on Frog Drop and Dragon Crest, heh. my favourite team is something like Eiko and pick 2 {Quina, Freya, Amarant}.

Also this final fantasy gets credit for finally getting me to like moogles. they are... so cute in this. Stiltzkin is pretty great, as was Mogmi and Moguta being silly in love, but my absolute favourite was Moorock, who gets so gd excited about writing a letter and loudly exclaims ‘I love Mognet!’ even though he’s never heard of it before. why are he and Mozme not on disk four tho?! tell me they made it out okay D’x  Although, hmm, I’m not sure why we trusted Artemicion with more superslick at the end there. Since he apparently he got high snorting the last bottle. god, don’t trust the addict with more of his substance.

idk, I guess I’ll go through the story characters. and just... kind of hope I cover everything that way.

Quina

I... love them. And I tend to like gag characters but... I love them. Such ambition... to eat everything. So cute. So silly. So relatable. I also really like the nightgown/smock kind of thing going on. Need more characters dressed like granny that are trying to eat us out of house and home.

Amarant

Um... there seemed to be a lot going on in this sector of the story that kind of... needed more time. Or otherwise needed cutting out, probably. I find it conceptually interesting, at least: loners being confronted with the boundaries of their... determination to be alone. So I like him in spite of myself. But Zidane’s played a pretty shitty trick on him, once upon a time, and it’s a little hard to justify the kind of devotion Amarant has in lieu of that. Because... yes... it is devotion... somehow. And it’s a little hard to buy the way he becomes so easily enamored with how Zidane’s mind works with so little development.

Eiko

Mmm, again, there was some interesting stuff here about her growing up alone, and the way she immediately clung to Zidane as a way to escape that loneliness. But her crush on him is taken a bit too seriously by the narrative, like she’s really in love with him, and that gets a bit creepy, imo. The stuff with Mog is interesting, but kind of too much trying to tug on the heartstrings when the heartstrings haven’t been wound and tuned, if you know what I mean. I suppose, at the end of the day, I didn’t end up liking her all that much. But feel like I could have and should have if they had written her even a little better.

Freya

I love this aesthetic... so much. Kind of a mix of red mage and dragoon, both of which I love individually, plus rat person. She is one of my faves on this basis alone. In terms of her actual personality... it’s so sparse and inconsistent. Ah, there are some landmarks I like - the kind of quiet and sternly professional bits, the loyalty to her homeland, she has some good moments deciding to fight after the destruction of Cleyra, and talking with Amarant too. Just- I’m left feeling like she was never pushed to a workable extreme anywhere in the narrative, and so she doesn’t really have any clear, defining personality characteristic. It’s more like... a lot of shit happens to her, and she’s sad but not too sad, and strong but not too strong. And it’s kind of lacklustre at the end of the day.

Steiner

I don’t really know how to say this except to say it. He’s funny and sweet at times. Overly distracted by rules and decorum, of course. But he also veers hard into being rather annoying to watch at times. He is... not a practical person. Overall, I’m kind of impressed with his bit in the story, though. Even if it fades as the narrative progresses. His relationship with Beatrice was kind of a bright spot in the narrative as a whole for me. I maybe... can’t help but like the fact that this hypercompetent, beautiful lady falls for his bumbling ass. Beatrice in general strikes a neat line between being chilly and needy and, really, way too good for anyone else in the cast.

Vivi

A great character and... ultimately a huge copout. There was a lot of build up to Vivi dying and, ultimately, it felt rather unsatisfying. It felt like they were trying to rob the sadness out of it by limiting what they showed us of him in the epilogue to his breed of offspring. But, even before then, they touched on so many themes about him in a way that really attempted to distance itself from the fear of human mortality. Like, this isn’t something that only happens to weird artificially constructed lifeforms. Human being sometimes find out they only have a couple months or a year left to live, and have to come to terms with that. Hell, all of humanity is on a timer - and not once did anyone really say to Vivi, ‘yeah, it’s true for all of us. We could all die at any moment. We’re only going to last so long, whether it’s a year or ten or a hundred.’ Kuja came kind of close to communicating some of this ‘i’m going to die, just like the Black Mages’. But never in a way that emotionally impacted Vivi, which ws kind of shitty writing, imo.

Dagger/Garnet

I don’t know. She’s rather generic. Which... doesn’t necessarily preclude my attachment in of itself. But, yeah, she’s generic in a way that doesn’t resonate with me, heh. She leans super hard on Zidane the whole narrative, and it’s really not even a little fun. There was some interesting stuff with Ramuh, and with Eiko and her being from the same summoner clan, and her relationship with her mother was great as well. I liked that Dagger got to be sad about Brahne - because let her be sad about losing the people who loved her and who she loved. But... Brahne herself is such a conundrum. I don’t dislike her character and her design as a whole. But I don’t like the game’s ‘fat and ugly are evil’ vibes. And I also don’t like the way she’s immediately forgiven in the public eye, and the eyes of the narrative, once she dies. She... literally destroys cities and kills thousands of people. That’s not really forgivable.

But, regarding Garnet... I started liking her a bit more once she cut her hair and started smiling in her in-game portrait. so, if nothing else, we know I am very shallow.

Zidane

Aaaaand, if I wasn’t already, this is where I start really running into problems. When you don’t really like the main character. When you’re not invested in the main character’s romance that is front and centre of the story and its ending. When you really don’t believe the strength of the emotional connections between the cast that the game is attempting to sell you on... It just makes it really hard to enjoy things. Zidane often seems dismissive, in his own head, and even shallow in the way he attempts to relate to the rest of the cast. It’s everyone else that has to come around to his way of thinking and learn from him, rather than the narrative making much of an effort to teach him about how to actually empathise with others. and it’s kind of grating then that we hear them praise him so casually.

I think, then, combined with the womanising aspect of his character... I don’t know, because I’m certainly not opposed to somebody wanting to sleep with all the ladies. That is an A+ relatable feeling. But, for someone that’s so casual about cozying up to every woman he runs across, I was left feeling like the only woman he had any kind of legitimate connection to was Garnet. (The game tells us he’s good friends with Freya, but does it really show us why? or how?) Which is... I suppose why Garnet, and not Ruby and Freya, was propped up as being Zidane’s major romance. But... idk, it feels a little too much like entitlement. He’s allowed to hit on all the ladies and look good while doing it, while he has a serious relationship developing with Dagger and she’s arguably right there to see him hit on other women, and he also has basically no interest in providing any kind of emotional support or developing any kind of connection with pretty much any woman (except maybe Dagger). Combine this with Cid cheating on Hilda and then she jealously turns him into a beetle - but, wait, this is a happy marriage, the game tells us. and the fact that the game’s major villain is pointedly described as ‘not a skirt chaser like you’... it’s just deifying an entitled straight boy ‘boys will be boys’ kind of attitude when that’s already an accepted social norm. and it’s kind of disgusting. I think there are better ways to talk about infidelity and promiscuity and the desire for the ladies, ones that are still sympathetic to all the parties involved. I think the final fantasy series /has/ talked about it better. With Edgar, who wants to get with all the ladies, but who lets Terra and Celes into his protection and the bounty of Figaro castle without touching either of them, and who is pointedly single even though he’s the sole heir of a kingdom and pushing thirty. And with Tidus, who had a power fantasy dream where Yuna and Rikku are hanging off each of his arms as they roast his father, but that’s before he gets to know each of them better as people. once he does the objectification wanes. I’m not saying that Edgar and Tidus are perfect heroes and wonderfully written, but I think this aspect of them was delivered with more nuance and a more critical eye, and it makes a huge difference.

Also... Are you a team player, Zidane? Or are you just a team player until you’re angry, or decide your pride is on the line? For a kind of ‘friendship is everything’ message, it certainly gets muddled everytime Zidane’s in a snit. Running back into Ispen Castle alone was a weird moment when we’re just getting done telling Amarant not to run around alone. Only okay when I do it(tm) And when he’s being kind of an insufferable bastard at the end of disc 3... just... why are you chasing after him guys? and why, after all that hoopla about accepting his friends’ help, does he deny it when going after Kuja at the end? I'm not saying that there aren’t things one needs to do alone just- why is Zidane always right when he says he needs to do things alone, but everyone else is wrong when they say the same thing? it’s a terrible case of protagonist-centred morality, and it’s really terrible and trite.

idk, I just- I understand why people are sick of the angsty final fantasy heroes after Cloud and Squall (the former I love, the latter I don’t). But I feel Zidane basically fell short in every way that wasn’t being upbeat and energetic, and I’m not sure what everyone sees in him.

Kuja

I can’t help but like this flamboyant bastard. God, he... soooo did not need a tacked on redemption arc. Again, mass genocide isn’t really forgivable. He is a terrible person. full stop. But I’m irrationally pleased he got some sympathy from the narrative anyhow. He’s just... I never liked Sephiroth, but Kuja has convinced me I could have liked Sephiroth if Sephiroth had even a fraction of a personality in ff7.

other than that... the wind/earth/water/fire shrine part of the game was weird. give me real dungeons, devs. also the coffee sidequest is nigh impossible to complete and then the game guilted me, and i hate that.

in the end, i suppose i feel the game was messy. the tone whip-lashed quick between whimsy and pure horror - which should be my jam but, idk, it didn’t work here for me. and a lot of the major characters and storylines lacked depth, or otherwise lacked nuance, or otherwise lacked payoff. it’s kind of hard to watch so much effort and so many good ideas flop so hard, but it flopped hard for me. i don’t get the hype about this game.

[wombatportrait]

I am mad they blocked this story and only let subscribers see it. But I busted through that wall. (It is a metaphor!) I copied it for you.

Liebe Grüße,

Donna

-

Painstaking: Alison Douglas at work. Pictures: Justine Walpole

It is an often overlooked but proven scientific fact that wombats have feelings too. Evolution did not, however, provide the humble wombat with the anatomical means to verbally express its feelings, or a natural place in which to do so. No coastal Buddhist wombat retreat, for example, where these quadrupedal marsupials might form trust circles to emotionally release themselves from the burden of playing second fiddle to the self-satisfied koala, or ponder the viciousness of the sociopathic dingo, or truly convey the overwhelming anxiety that sometimes makes a wombat just want to dig a hole in the ground and crawl deep inside. Stop the world, I want to waddle off.

Late November, 2016: Queensland Museum taxidermist and senior preparator Alison Douglas slips on a pair of surgical gloves as she pads through a basement room past a stack of arcing whale rib bones the size of two-person tent frames. She passes a large steel macerating tank where a long-deceased marine turtle is being boiled and stripped of gunk and grit before it’s transferred to a taxidermist’s table. She passes a freezer room filled with tagged specimens: “Echidnas”, “Prep birds”, “Possum”. Each animal’s tag contains details of where and when it was found. “You can have the most beautiful ­specimen in the world but if it doesn’t have its location and date then it’s useless to science,” Douglas says. ­Science needs the animal’s story.

She comes to a back room with a word fixed to its entry: “Skinning”. A stuffed ringtail possum sits on a perch in the corner of the room. A corkboard on the wall features detailed colour portraits of animals, and Post-it note messages between colleagues: “Cat skull for Caroline.” The room is lined with drawers with various tags speaking of their contents: “Red eyes”, “Yellow eyes”, “Paired brown eyes”. Drawers full of taxidermy patching fur. Another marked “Skins, Bones and Bits”.

There’s a dead animal beneath a sheet on Douglas’s stainless steel workbench. She removes the sheet slowly. It’s a common wombat. Brown fur, lumpy body, curled in a ball like it’s sleeping. “Here he is,” she says. “Tonka.”

She stands back and looks at that face. The bare nose. The serene eyes. The odd tenderness that emanates from the little guy, somehow soulful even in death. “He’s got such a beautiful face,” she says. “He looks like someone, doesn’t he?”

He does. Someone old and wise; someone you might have cared about. Someone with feelings.

“He just looks so peaceful,” she says. She takes a deep breath, feels the weight of the task before her. “Tonka’s not so important scientifically,” she says. “But he’s very important to people.”

Tonka the wombat had any number of reasons to feel sad throughout his short life. After his mum was killed by a car eight years ago, Tonka was rescued from her pouch and hand-reared by humans at Billabong Sanctuary, a native animal wildlife park near Townsville, north Queensland. Lacking the necessary smarts for the wild, Tonka was destined for a lifetime in captivity. But if he longed for life beyond the park enclosure he rarely let it show, rejoicing in the constant companionship of a ­loving team of rangers with whom he cuddled, played, walked, ate, napped. Some nights staff members would take him home to meet their families, prop him up on the living room couch with mum, dad and the kids, and settle in for another episode of The Block. Before long, Tonka the wombat became the park’s star attraction, dazzling groups at the morning and afternoon wombat shows with his charm and insatiable zest for life. Where some marsupials recoiled from the hugs of tourists, Tonka seemed to grow in spirit and confidence with every warm embrace. Male wombats wanted to be him, female wombats wanted to be with him.

Then, in early February 2011, Category 5 Cyclone Yasi tore through Billabong Sanctuary, smashing enclosures, destroying displays, uprooting trees. Miraculously no animals perished, but the park was closed for 10 weeks as an army of rangers and volunteers worked on the clear-up.

Tonka the wombat went off his food. No ­matter what the rangers placed in front of him, even his beloved carrots and sweet potato, he wouldn’t eat it. He dropped 20 per cent of his body weight in a matter of weeks. Just as alarmingly, he had suddenly retreated into himself. The wildly charismatic Austin Powers of the marsupial world inexplicably lost his mojo. It was as if Cyclone Yasi had blown away into ­oblivion and taken Tonka’s spark with it.

Park management consulted the best veterinary minds money could buy. They did blood tests, looked for internal damage, tested for disease and infection, checked his body for broken bones or bruising. Physically, there was nothing. So how to explain the reduced interest in once pleasurable activities, the loss of energy and slowed behaviour, the increased desire to sleep and the loss of appetite? The vets had nothing to offer, except to say bare-nosed wombats have feelings too. Tonka the wombat, it seemed, was living with clinical depression.

“He’s a bit chunky,” Douglas says, studying her subject on the metal workbench. “He’ll take a bit to thaw. He needs to be thawed out before we remove the skin. There’s no getting around that with taxidermy. You do have to skin the animal. It’s quite confronting – there’s blood and there’s guts and it’s kind of like a butcher’s shop in a way, especially with an animal of Tonka’s size.”

Douglas has worked as a taxidermist at Queensland Museum for 16 years, moving into it from a background in visual arts and props and puppet-making for theatre. “My interest is not in taxidermy as such; it’s very much museum taxidermy, for the purpose of conservation. It’s about teaching people about the animals. It is sometimes the only way of seeing these animals that you would otherwise never get up close to.”

A rustic leather case of medical tools is open on her workbench: scalpels, rat’s tooth tweezers for removing flesh from hard-to-reach places, ­pliers and scissors and wire cutters and fine metal scoops designed specifically for scooping the brains out of birds’ skulls. She has a selection of drill bits for working on the bones of larger animals and fixing specimens to wooden perches.

She studies Tonka on the bench. She will draw some sketches before she skins, capture the curve of his muscles, the sag of his body fat. “You’re ­trying to recreate the body shape that comes out of the animal,” she says. “You’re taking the skin off like a glove. The whole body comes out in one piece.” She moves closer to Tonka’s face. “There is something important about seeing him at this point,” she says. “I’m trying to preserve that face as much as possible.”

It was this face that was plastered under ­headlines around the world. “Wombat Diagnosed with Depression” wrote the Daily Mail. “Depressed Orphan Wombat” declared The Huffington Post. “Wombat Diagnosed with Clinical Depression” reported the Daily Mirror.

It seemed so absurd, a clinically depressed wombat. While scientists considered whether it was even possible, animal lovers across the social media world sent deep, life-affirming messages to the inexplicably gloomy bare-nosed wombat in Townsville, Queensland.“Focus on the little things, Tonka.”“Just keep waddling, Tonka, one paw at a time.”“Stars can’t shine without darkness, Tonka.”

“One hundred per cent, he had depression,” says Samm Sherman, a 27-year-old PhD candidate at James Cook University’s College of Science and Engineering, and the former Billabong Sanctuary wildlife carer who was closer to Tonka than anyone. Sherman documented her close friendship with Tonka through a series of Instagram images tagged “#bestfriendisawombat”.

“That wasn’t a joke,” she says. “It truly wasn’t a joke. He was my best friend. You can ask the ­people I worked with. They saw it. I loved him immediately when I saw him. He was just so ­special. I would take him for walks. I’d give him cuddles, a little chin scratch. I mean, I know we didn’t hang out all the time and it’s not like we’d go to the movies or anything, I’m not delusional, but if I was ever ­frustrated or stressed or anything I could go to him and give him a cuddle and I’d feel better. And… ummm… yeah.”

She pauses for a moment. “I miss him,” she says. She pauses for another moment. “Thanks for making me cry at work.”

Tina Janssen has spent the past decade ­running Safe Haven, a wombat research and rehabilitation centre in Mt Larcom, near Rockhampton. She was one of many experts Billabong Sanctuary ­consulted during Tonka’s downturn. “Yes, I think they can feel sadness,” she says. “Wombats are a very funny animal. They sulk. They don’t like change. That’s one of the big things with wombats. If you feed them, for example, at a certain time every day and then, all of a sudden, you change that, they will quite likely not eat.

“They’re really intelligent. People say, ‘Stubborn as a mule’ and I always say, ‘Well, you’ve never met a wombat’. They just dig in. And they get attachments. I have a captive-born wombat that I’ve cared for for 12 years and just recently I went away and for three nights she didn’t eat. If they have a square water bowl then you better bloody give them water in the square water bowl.”

Cyclone Yasi brought great change to Billabong Sanctuary. With the park’s rangers focused on the clean-up effort, Tonka’s daily routine was torn asunder. With no visitors for 10 weeks, he was denied his morning and afternoon wombat shows, something akin to Olivier being asked to wait ­forever in the wings at the Old Vic.

“He loved those shows,” Sherman says. “I would see him before the shows some days. He would be waiting at his gate, like, ‘Come on, let’s go people’.” The born entertainer. Tonka came alive before a gig. “He loved the cuddles from people. He needed the cuddles. I think it stemmed from not having a mum. But when the park was closed for a couple of months while they fixed everything up, there was no time for him to be cuddled.”

By the time the park was ready for its grand reopening, Tonka was considered too physically and emotionally fragile to resume the shows, and another wombat took his place. “When he saw the people, he walked up to the fence like [he was ­asking] ‘Why aren’t you picking me up for the show?’” Sherman says. “So one of the rangers took him out to meet people again. And, then, after his first cuddles he went back into his enclosure and started eating again. It genuinely was because he wasn’t getting his cuddles from people that he wasn’t eating.” Billabong Sanctuary’s star attraction was back, and so was Tonka’s self-esteem.

Valentine’s Day. Alison Douglas walks into her museum basement work room, past two cast and painted pythons and a taxidermy deer that’s been donated to the museum by a member of the public. She enters the skinning room, where Tonka waits on her workbench. He looks playful. She’s captured him at a typically spirited moment, tugging on the shoelace of a Billabong Sanctuary ranger. “He came together all right in the end,” Douglas says. “I wanted to show that he wasn’t just any wombat, he meant something more to people. I was trying to get that sense of fun and connection he had to anyone who came along.”

She worked on him over summer. His skin was put in a tanning solution for three weeks and washed. She cast his ears and the shape of his back. She cast his skull and rebuilt it with expanding foam, and gave him glass black eyes. The insides of his body and legs were painstakingly crafted from natural plant fibres and bound tightly with string. “He was quite a challenge because during his treatment [after death] he had patches of fur removed, which limited the choices of ­positions he could be in,” she says. “The patching wasn’t as straightforward as it usually would be because there wasn’t much to work with, but I’m happy with him.” Her time with Tonka has ended. Time to take him upstairs where others can enjoy his company. Time to say goodbye.

Samm Sherman remembers when she said goodbye to Tonka. It was June last year, and Tonka had been diagnosed with kidney failure. “I’m gonna tear up again,” she says, taking a breath. “I wasn’t working there anymore by then but I still visited quite often... And the last couple of days, when it seemed like he was really having a hard time of it, we’d go and he wasn’t really eating much but he ate a pear. He didn’t stand up for a bit but he ate this pear lying down. He didn’t usually eat pears but it was because it was soft and full of fluid. And then they told us they were going to take him to the vet to euthanise him.”

She pauses again. “That was the right call because there was nothing they could do,” she says. “He had irreversible kidney damage and his quality of life was really poor. He seemed really unhappy. A bunch of us went in and gave him some cuddles. And we said our goodbyes.”

She showered Tonka with nose kisses. She scratched him on the spot on his back where he loved being scratched and he curled up in her arms. She didn’t know what he was thinking but she had an idea of what he was feeling because she felt it too. “And I told him I loved him,” she says.

Sherman went home and waited for the world to hear the news of Tonka the wombat’s passing. She watched the hundreds of condolence messages land in Billabong Sanctuary’s Facebook page, messages from across the world.

Jill Halliday: “I didn’t even know what a wombat was before I cuddled the lovely Tonka. I know how sad we feel from meeting him once so it must be awful for everyone at Billabong Sanctuary.”

Linda Chillon: “I hope that you’ll find peace and happiness wherever you are.”

Crystal Allen: “Oh no, poor Tonka. My two youngest boys come to visit each school holidays and knew his story off by heart.”

Kerrianne Chappell: “Noooo! I don’t believe it. I don’t want to believe it!”

In the museum basement taxidermy room, ­Alison Douglas throws a half-smile at this perfect and still version of Tonka. Soon the great performer will be back where he belongs, in front of crowds of fawning strangers. Douglas is relieved. She wanted to do him justice. She hopes people see the same thing she sees when she looks at him now, something she was trying to capture, something beyond science, something more closely related to feelings.

“He was loved,” she says. “And they loved him because they knew him.”

Tonka and Alison ­Douglas will be part of the Let’s Talk Taxidermy event on March 24-25 at the World Science Festival in Brisbane. worldsciencefestival.com.au

[logancai]

My i3 Again... Now With a Gianormous Bill

Okay story time about my BMW i3 again. So a few posts ago I showed a picture of my i3 reporting a check engine light. Okay. Off to BMW again. 

BMW founded out that a few of my electrical cables in my i3 has been chewed up by rodents. Here’s a picture BMW sent me.

How did my i3 electrical cables get chewed up by rodents? This is how I imagine it to happen. I went on vacation to Disney World. While I was on vacation, my car was parked outside of my house. Thanks to the i3 large opening underneath that has no panels covering the engine compartment, rats were able to jump in and live in my engine compartment for the week I was not home. Unfortunately I live near restaurants, supermarkets and Golden Gate Park, so a prime spot of wildlife. >.>

Okay. My BMW service advisor said I should contact my insurance to file a claim. Repairs are going to be really costly. BMW wants my okay for a $450 diagnosis fee where they will take apart the car to investigate further possible rodent damage. 😫

At that point I was wondering if I should just sell the car and not deal with this shit. I am not emotionally attached to my car and I really don’t care what I drive. The car cost me $20k and takes adds another $2k. If I sell the car, I estimate the repairs to cost $3k and maybe $1-2k of depreciation for the month I owned the car. So if I sell the car, I might get $17k-18k or about $4k-$5k loss. 

I lucky purchased comprehensive insurance coverage from AAA. So if I file a claim with AAA, I would lose another $500 towards my deductible but with the possibility I would face these stupid issues again. And I know I should probably file a claim since the diagnosis fee was already $450. And based on the picture BMW sent me, I knew the cable the rodent chewed through was worth at least $930. 

What did I choose? I choose to repair my BMW i3. Repairing the car would be my cheapest option. BMW got the okay from me to continue their $450 diagnostic fee. Essentially they disassembled the car to look for other rodent damage. I setup a claim with AAA and passed the claim information to BMW SF. It was nice that BMW SF is willing to work with my insurance even though BMW SF isn’t part of AAA repair network. BMW submitted the repair estimates to AAA and the following day AAA approved the repairs. So here’s the break down of the repairs.

Here’s a quick write up summary. Labor at BMW SF is $239/hr and they will need 8 hours to complete this job. So a total of $1,912 in labor. The wire that I suspected is worth $930 is actually worth $1,415.99 at BMW SF. (Just omg. These are like 0 gauge wires carrying DC, AC and some low voltage current that cost $50 on Amazon. And being generous, maybe $100 with the automotive grade shielding and whatever. But a $1,400? OMG. But it’s a BMW... so I guess that justifies the $1,400+ for some wires.) And with other various parts and taxes, the parts total is $1,607.83. 

THIS WHOLE REPAIR PROJECT FOR MY BMW I3 COST $3,519.83. AAA said their calculations came out the same and they approved the repairs at BMW SF. I’m responsible for $500 of the bill. 

It’s kinda annoying that I have a BMW i3. It’s not a car that you can bring anywhere to service. There are no public guides or service guides that even teaches you how to change the range extender engine oils. Light bulbs? Pshhh, you get that professionally changed at a BMW i service center. Tires? Pshh, you only have one tire choice. Can I go to any BMW service center? Nope. You must find one that services the i Series - which is essentially BMW dealers that sells the i series. It’s like a super proprietary car. But at least I can change my tires and breaks with a 3rd party. Otherwise, I should really purchase the extended maintenance agreement since very few 3rd party auto repair shops knows how to repair the BMW i3. 

And oh this isn’t the only comprehensive insurance claim we made this month. Oh no. My sister’s car had her front passenger window smashed. Nothing was stolen because she doesn’t have anything valuable in her car, but her repairs came out to be like ~$680. So yet another insurance claim.

[wistyxx]

I started reading this fic bc of this post and OH MY GOD my heart is SHATTERED. I’m actually so distressed but this fic is so hauntingly gorgeous

this is for all those who were brought to tears by latest chapter of @neonganymede’s devastatingly beautiful fic, i’ll bleed out for you