#the services likely provided by the building

[ace-of-bass]

Also: Building community is not just an outreach tool. It is a tool of keeping ourselves safe and keeping resources available to all. Offering things on social media like rides to abortion clinics, or diy hrt, or anything else that is perhaps not-totally-legal in all places, is not a great strategy. For one, you shouldn't trust strangers on the internet with information that sensitive, so those you are offering those services to would do well not to trust you. If you want to meaningfully contribute to providing things such as the above, or even more legal-but-logistically-complex things like feeding a large number of people, handing out narcan, etc, you need to organize in person. How do you organize in person? By meeting people in person, aka building community.

If this is your goal, you can start with people who are very similar to you! You don't have to start by reaching out to Alt Right David or even Annoying Uncle Bill - you can start by going to a local show or a group that meets at the library or hanging out with your D&D group when you're not actively playing D&D. Then, you have friends that you can rely on to take care of you, and who you might be able to plan some cool mutual aid shit with. I've been working on building community for awhile, at first not intentionally and lately very intentionally, and here's how I met the group of friends I started a monthly free store with:

1. Met Friend A at a choir thing since I like to sing and was looking for friends after moving somewhere new. Friend A ultimately left choir but we stayed friends, and at one point I told Friend A I'm ace.

2. Friend A said, "oh you'd love my friend B, who's also ace! She's doing a comedy show, let's go see her perform together and then you can meet her!"

3. Friend B and I become friends, and start a local peer support group for aspec people, based mostly on Friend B's existing communities and our sheer determination.

4. Fast forward a year and a half, Friend C comes to our aspec peer support group and I become friends with her.

5. Friend C and I are talking about activism, and Friend C says a lot of the things I'm interested in aligns with what Friend D has talked to her about. Friend C introduces me to Friend D.

6. Independently, I have been building a community space on my street, in the rough neighborhood of where Friend C, Friend D, and I live.

7. Friend D and I want to create a solarpunk future but decide to start small. Friend D ropes in several of his friends, one of whom I happen to know from the community space mentioned in 6.

8. This group of friends runs a free store once a month in the community space, open for all to donate to and all to attend. As we find out about others who are doing/want to do similar things, we try to join forces. In this way we've expanded from just a free store to a free store + clothing swap, and we're only on our third time hosting it.

All of these friends are lefty, and all of them are queer in some way or another. The free store friends are explicitly anarchist, like me. I think OP's point is useful for deradicalization and for growing the movement, but if you are alone and you are scared, encouragement to build community is just as much about finding your people in person as it is about forming coalitions with those different in you.

Another important note is that finding people like you should be a starting point, not an ending point. The goal of this is not to find friends, though that's a good start. The goal is to build dual power, which is done by working together with others and having open doors to join the movement. Once you've found some friends or communities, work to ensure that they are open to all, that you are reaching the people who most need the work you are doing, and that you are not simply making yourself feel good or just having a good time with your friends.

Activism is not cold-calling.

Activism is not cold-calling, and this is critically important to understand.

I'm seeing a lot of posts on here about 'building bridges' and 'finding community,' and then (extremely valid) response posts saying "BUT HOW??" And I'm going to explain something that can be very counter-intuitive: there is strategy involved in community.

As a longtime volunteer labour organizer, I’ve taken and taught many trainings on the strategy of talking. Something that surprises a lot of people is the very first thing you do in a union campaign. You sit down with your organizing committee, take out pen and paper, and literally map it out. You draw a physical map of the workplace: where are the entrances, exits, break rooms, supervisor offices. Essentially, ‘where is it safe to have a union conversation.’ Then you draw another physical chart of your coworkers. You sort out who is union-friendly, openly hostile to unions, or somewhere in the middle, and then you plan out very deliberately and carefully who talks to whom and in what order.

Consider: If Vocally Leftist Jane walks up to Conservative David and says "hey what do you think about unions," David is going to shut down immediately. He's not inclined to listen to Jane. But if Jane talks to Moderate Jason and brings him into the fold, then Jason is a far more effective strategic choice to talk to David, and David may actually hear him out without an instant reaction.

IMPORTANT CAVEAT: If Conservative David turns out to be Alt-Right David, and could be dangerous to follow organizers, we write him off. We are not trying to reach Alt-Right David. We are trying to reach Conservative David, who may actually be persuaded to find solidarity with other employees as fellow workers. Jason is a safe scout to find out which one he is. It does no one any good if Leftist Jane (or even Moderate Jane who is a visible minority) talks to Alt-Right David and puts herself on his radar. Not only has she done nothing to convince Alt-Right David to join a union - she's probably actively turned him against the idea - but now she's also in danger and the entire campaign is at risk. NOBODY WANTS THIS. Jane was NOT a hero for doing this. The organizing committee was foolish and enacted a terrible strategy to everyone's detriment.

Where you can make a difference is with people who will listen to you. You having a conversation with your well-meaning but clueless Centrist Democrat Auntie, and maybe gently helping her understand some things the media has been glossing over, is way more strategically useful than you marching up to MAGA Neighbour You've Met Once and trying to "build community" or "understand" them. They don't care. They're impervious, dangerous, and cruel. But maybe your beloved auntie will think about what you said, and then talk to her friend Anna who IDs as "fiscally conservative" but didn't vote because she can't bring herself to get on board with Trump. Then perhaps Anna talks to her brother Nic who has MAGA leanings but isn't all the way there yet. Proto-MAGA Nic would not have listened to you, nor would he have listened to Centrist Democrat Auntie, but he might absorb some of what his sister is saying.

This is not a cop-out or an echo chamber. This is you spending your time and energy strategically and safely. You are not a useful activist to anyone if you’re dead. Anyone who is telling you to hurl yourself directly at MAGA assholes like cannon fodder has no understanding of the strategy behind community building, and you should feel comfortable writing them off.

Last point: If you are tired, emotionally devastated, and/or in danger: take a break. This post is for people who would feel better jumping into action, not for people who are too overwhelmed to even think about it right now. You are worth so much even if you’re not actively Doing Activism, and your rest is worth more than “a break period so you can recharge and Do More Activism.” We all deserve the individual dignity of being worthy of comfort, rest & safety just on the basis of being human, outside of whatever we're doing for others' benefit. To deny ourselves that dignity is to devalue ourselves, and that’s the absolute last thing any of us should be doing right now.

[thatrickmcginnis]

THEY MIGHT BE GIANTS Toronto 1990

John Flansburgh and John Linnell - known as "the Johns" or "the Two Johns" (a joke only '80s alt-rock nerds will still get) - met in high school in Massachusetts but formed They Might Be Giants in 1981, when they moved into the same apartment building in Brooklyn after attending different colleges. They built up a following playing clubs in the NYC area, a duo playing accordion, saxophone and guitar backed by a drum machine or taped backing tracks. They had just emerged from what we used to call the indie circuit and released their third album, Flood, on Elektra Records in 1990, when I was assigned to photograph them for the cover of NOW, the big alt-weekly in the city.

They Might Be Giants had proved to be deft hands at self-marketing during their years as an indie acts, putting on a theatrical stage show in NY clubs and running Dial-A-Song on an answering machine starting in 1985. Fans could call a number (718-387–6962) and hear demos or incomplete songs from Flansburgh and Linnell. More than a gimmick, it helped establish the band's identity as creative but unpretentious, produced a compilation album and was still in service until 2008 when they had to retire it and the number. (It was revived in 2015 as a toll-free number, a website and radio network.) The band have written themes for TV shows like Malcolm in the Middle, songs for musicals and won Grammys for their children's albums.

It was still early in my time at NOW magazine when I got the assignment to photograph They Might Be Giants for a cover story, which meant both colour slide and black and white. I have no memory at all of where these photos were taken - probably a hotel room downtown - but I know I brought my single Metz flash on a light stand shooting into an umbrella, and used my Nikon F3. NOW covers were shot to a rigorous formula at this time - the subject squeezed into at most two-thirds of a vertical frame with space at one side and the top for the logo and cover type. It was restrictive and tiresome, but we had just innovated slightly by convincing the paper to drop their unofficial (and baffling) ban on white backgrounds.

I had obviously found the white wall in whatever space where this shoot took place, and got the band to tuck themselves into my frame. Flansburgh and Linnell were more than cooperative - they seemed to sense what I needed to convey the quirky energy of the band, and provided me with more than enough material for the cover layout - a big deal since I still felt very much on probation at NOW at the time. This is the first time these photos have been published since the story ran almost 35 years ago.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Actions Speak

"Be Silent."

Those were the first words commanded to me by the High Dragon Prince of the South. He did not want to hear me. Did not want to see me. To even be forced to endure, my obnoxious, insignificant, human presence. Any more then he absolutely had too. If it weren't for the fact that I had magic? He likely would have preferred to have me killed.

Just like the others.

I was a prisoner of war. One, which? I had no choice but to take part in. Had been drafted, by the humans. Only to be captured, by the dragons. All I had wanted? From my second chance at life? Was to live quietly. Study magic. Enjoy what I could not, before. Instead? I got warfare. Fear. The constant threat of death.

They needed me to open confidential human intelligence. Reverse engineer defenses and weapons. My safety and quality of life? Depended entirely on my compliance. And? If those reports and devices happened to be trapped to hell 'n back? By Mages FAR more skilled then myself?

Do it anyway. You are replaceable. Either you succeed... or you die.

You... hah... y-you really...

Really can say, I guess, n-now I know...? That...

That you really DO learn faster, under fire. Enduring pain curses. Fighting lethal curses, for your very life. Fire and drowning attacks. Lightning. Wind spells meant to choke the life of out of me, by sucking out all the air from my lungs. They... they really were creative, weren't they? My old colleagues.

Yes, sadistic, in ways I had never imagined. But also? Very, very creative.

I had the scars to prove it now.

All the while, as commanded, I did not talk. Did not DARE. Still do not. Even as I am shoved around. Dragged from tent to tent, building to building. Hurried along, like an inconvenience. A faulty, inefficient, piece of machinery, that dares eat their food and breathe their air. Slow and lagging, but sadly? Oh, sadly. They could not find better.

But I endure. Survive. I do not talk, so I can not offer. I give them nothing more then they demand. Malicious compliance. Nothing more, nothing less, then EXACTLY as you commanded, oh Wardens mine. My Keepers, foul and wretched. The holders of my chains. Someday... someday, this war will end. Or I will die, my luck running out, at long, long last.

And I?

I Will Be Free.

Once, long before this all, I had heard rumors. They say that talented humans, magically gifted humans, tended to be kept as glorified, pampered little pets, in the Vampiric lands. It... it sounds nice, now. To worry for nothing. To be protected. Adored and provided for, like some exquisite house cat, lounging in the sun. I could study again. Find someone nice.

....I worry.

You see, I... I think...

I may be breaking, around the edges of myself. Hairline fractures, born of stress. It's the isolation. Surrounded as I am. None of them are human, none of them will talk to me, at me. Anything at all. They follow the lead of their Prince. And he? Oh, he has made his distain for humanity clear.

Which begs the question. Why is he here?

Or rather, why am I? Dragged, from the ratty little cloth hovel they call "my tent", by the worn and patched to incoherence cloak I now wear, straight to the central command tent. Where the Prince is. The generals. The beating heart of the army itself. Dumped on the ground at his feet, I was fully expecting that to be it. That this would be the day.

They had found a better, less worn down, mage. A stronger one. A more obedient one. My services would no longer be... required.

I sat there. In the dirt. Eyes locked on his feet and waited. Palms splayed against the floor. Why bother fight? If I did THAT, they'd use me as "an example" for the NEXT mage. No. No, better to go quick. I had been reborn once. T-there was a possibility... however small... it... it might? Happen again?

Please, Gods. Please Gods, let it happen again.

But no. I was told, with judgment in his voice, by some general, to "get up". Ha! As though they were not directly responsible for my beaten down state. How dare. How DARE he judge me? I owed them nothing. Refused to die, in some short sighted tantrum of honor or pride.

I would LIVE, damn it. I MUST live. For how ever long I could. I wanted to be free again. To read and travel, do magic for magics sake. Never... NEVER see another dragon again.

Perhaps that was hateful. But damn it... I... I was so tired.

Nonetheless, I stood. Looked at no one and said nothing. Just an empty, ragged cloak with flesh inside. I am not here. I do not suffer. Unfocus your eyes and be far away. Yes, that's right, I tell myself, far... far away. It's like meditation. Just... ride the flow of magic. Do not call it. Merely observe. Let the colors drag you in. Be washed away. Far, far away.

I hear and do not hear, there. See and do not see. They can not touch me, can not hurt me, there is nothing and everything, in the Magics. It is... so... so BeAuTiFuL.

No wonder so many are lost. Drift and never come back.

I play a dangerous game, here.

But they can not hurt me.

No one can.

In here.

No answer comes then. But I am expected to work. Perhaps it is a show? Or they wish to verify, that I am indeed, doing what they keep me alive for. Nonetheless, I sit, in the corner, silent as I got to work. As old colleagues try to stop my heart, freeze my blood, rupture my organs. As burns roar over my skin and lightning crackles against canvas walls.

I do not scream. That would be too close to "speaking". I am not fool enough to give them an excuse. There is a belt I can bite. I use it often. Will have to salvage another, as this one is falling to pieces. That and a silencing spell? My screaming is muted.

Getting better at healing magic, I think. Either I have learned to numb the pain or I may have nerve damage. I doubt, now, that I will ever win awards. For my beauty. Too many scars. My arms are a wreck. My hands a travesty. It is nothing short of a miracle, that I have not LOST any fingers, to this.

Why am I here? Why? Why?

At least in my little hovel, I can curl up and weep. Emote. Can take breaks between bouts of pain and battles of magic. But here? Like a machine, stacks are dumped before me, and I am expected to perform. Do or die, human. We can always find another.

Through it all, haunting golden eyes watch. My pain, my exhaustion, all observed, giving away nothing, by that impassive royal face. I don't know what he WANTS.

Finally, after weeks of considering me, he decides to tell me. Comes to some conclusion, no input required. Why would it be? Of course. He is a High Prince. His power is great, his honor and name without equal. Why would he need MY input on anything.

"Did I know," he asked me, voice ponderous and musing, "That of all the mages his people have captured... I had lived the longest?"

I had not. But it did not suprise me.

He sat, considering me, splayed back in his chair like it was a throne, every bit the picture of a royal. A portrait of the man he was born to be. But the distain... the distain? Had... lessened. Not gone. Never gone. Gods, no. We peons were beneath him. Especially I, a mere human. But? Apparently I was not longer quite so wretched.

Our dear High Prince decided I should get a better tent. A new cloak. Actual medical supplies. What wonders.

It made me nervous. What cost, did these things come with? What expectation? Loyalty? I had offered none and never will. That would quickly become a problem. Still, I kept my head down. Always, always, keep your head down. Let the dragons die, for their stupid fucking war.

No longer replaceable. I discovered.

In the next big attack, as there was ALWAYS a next one, I wasn't evacuated last. As attacks fell. But FIRST, as the soilders were arriving. I was... was "essential personal". Shoved in an evac cart with the fancy strategists.

They started deliberately capturing mage supplies. Books and spell papers, chalks and high quality inks. Not just to disarm their opponents. Oh no. But to give to ME. I had... I had NEVER gotten supplies. The last time I had actually, truely, desperately, needed ink? I had been forced to use my own blood.

My hands actually shook. Touching such richs now. It overwhelmed, after so long, with nothing. I... I had healing books. Could actually look things up!

Curling up, before the piles of crates they dumped in front of my little tent, I didn't care, if they saw me cry. On my knees like an acolyte before the alter. Finally. FINALLY! Answers, armaments, and supplies. Relief, after so long? Was rain on desert sands. Burned skin left tender and screaming, to the cleansing mercy, of the softly weeping skies.

This, too, the High Prince saw.

No where to store them, of course. A gift given then taken away. Held just out of reach. Just long enough to give hope. All the better to torment you with it. Oh where we would we store, your useless little trinkets, human?

But I refuse to play the game. Fine. Take them. Take it all.

I need nothing.

Retreat into the Magics. They can not hurt me. I am not here. Far, far away. I am far, far away.

The High Prince, lounging and watchful, seems to have decided. No. The human things will go to him, actually, not to the fire. He watches with strange, considering eyes. In fact? I will make my self useful. Show my gratefulness. He is using valuable storage space on me, so I am to come before him and study. Prove it is worth it.

Is he not gracious? Now press your face to the dirt in thanks, human. Bow and scrape. Be glad, be honored, that your Liege is so kind.

He does not disagree, as they tell me these things. Why would he? They are his due. I think... I think I hate him. Hate them all. But the pull of books, of proper supplies, is simply too powerful. Back to that wretched tent I go. Under the staring eyes that dissect me so. Finally, I can heal my aching body.

He watchs me. As I study, improve, learn and grow. As old books are taken from me, shipped away somewhere, beyond my reaching, and new ones arrive. I desperately make notes. Hope those notes will be enough. Work and suffer and bleed. Somewhere, in the camp, I sense others.

The come and go. Bright lights that flare and then dim. Struggling and struggling, before finally going out. Some faster then others. The objects and messages they have me working on now? Are truely nasty. Again and again, I see the crests of Nobel houses and royal seals. How powerful, I wonder, have I become? Or is it simply... specialized?

A gift, for not dying.

Over the camp walls, I have begun to recognize the surroundings. The mountains and the valleys. The trees, in bloom. It seems wrong, that the world should be so beautiful, as everything is ending. The nation I grew up in, is falling. But... but we passed Heartriver two weeks back. And THAT? Was well within the border.

And from HERE... I can see the school.

The University of Magics. All I had ever wished, was to return. But... but not like this, never like this. I'm... gods. Oh Gods, I'm sorry. For my weakness. For not choosing to die. For not running at all, before it all began. I should have. But... but I was a coward. And now everyone else, must pay the price.

I stand outside my pathetic little tent and watch the horizon smoke. Burn.

Dragons are so very, very fond of fire.

Far away... j-just go far away... the Magic will always take you. Is always kind. Towards the tent I go. I remind myself, as I force myself to move, one step in front of the other? That if the worst comes to worst? I can just... Let Go. Go DEEP. So deep that no one and nothing can ever find me again. So far away, my body forgets I ever lived at all.

Just... just a soul. Floating along like a jellyfish, in the beautiful Allthings. The light and void, the far away and gone. I-It wouldn't even hurt. Just be like... like letting go of a balloon. I could be that balloon. Disappear into endless starlight...

But... BUT! I wont.. I can't! Not yet. Not until every other path has burned. Last resort. Only, ONLY, as a last resort.

(I refuse to acknowledge... how comforting the knowledge is. That I have a plan at all. A way out.)

Entering the tent, I head for "my table". At the High Prince' feet like a dog. A lovely little carpet, comfortable little pillows, a low table to work on. It would... honestly? It would be a lovely place setting. A delightful workstation. If it were not the context. The obvious, blatant, demeaning context.

Sit at his feet and behave. Be good and you're rewarded, be bad and you're punished. Brought little treats at HIS command? Sit on a pillow, on the floor, as they talk over your head? Ha ha... I? I half expected to one day show up to find someone holding a fucking collar.

If they fucking tried? I was going to set everything on FIRE. Even I, had limits.

However, it was just the Prince and I. Uncomfortable, but I could ignore him. Walking for my humiliating little seat, I noticed him watching me. Slowed. Why... why was he watching me? Awkwardly I paused. Did NOT want to be kneeling in front of a man that was staring that intently at me. Especially not so closely to a man, staring like that. The vibes were... off.

"Did you know, pet, that we actually have several rather old alliances amoung the Vampiric Royal Houses?" He said, breaking the strange silence.

'Pet, huh? Good to know he's at least fucking AWARE. I did NOT consent to that!' I seethe, in my head.

"It's been bothering me, you see. Your wretched state." He continues, completely unbothered that he might as well be talking to a statue. I stare, seethe, would give a limb at this point, to set him on fire. "You've suffered unbearably and I've done nothing to correct it, even though I could. We needed you for the war effort, you see, but now? Now, pet, we're nearly done. And I can finally care for you properly."

"Reward you, properly." The bastard says, calm and oh so reasonable, as though I had anything to do with him willingly.

"Honestly, it's long over due. The second I realized I wanted you as Mine, I should have stepped up to care for you properly. Officially. But, sadly, it would have been a conflict of interest. An abuse of power. Now, however? Now I can finally call on our allies for their support. Get you the medical assistance you so badly require."

A pleased smile stole across his face as he considered me.

"You'll make a lovely vampire. It was selfish of me, to cheat you of the years turning you sooner would have given you, but I'm sure you'll forgive me with time. Our people needed us. I can swear to you now, pet, you will forever remain my favorite, even if I take a Queen."

Horror was like a gut punch, deliver by a fighter jet. I felt immediately and intensely sick. W-what? Frozen so completely I nearly forgot to breathe, I looked for ANY sign he may be joking. Exaggerating. But... but no. W-WHAT?? How. WHEN? At what point, in my torment? In my UTTER SILENCE? Did this man "fall in love"?!

H-How can you LOVE a women you've never-?! No. No, I KNEW how.

You decide you like the IDEA of them. The shape of their body. You project onto them your OWN narrative and decide it is a love story. Fuck. FUCK!! I was... this was... no no NO! I REFUSED. Like HELL was I could to live, trapped for DECADES if not CENTURIES, the pretty little war bride of a tyrant!

The High Prince gets up and walkes towards me. Sweeps me into terrifyingly powerful arms. When he smiles? There are fangs. Deadly and hardly the comfort he thinks they are. We are a laughable contrast. Richs and rags, power and prisoner, royal and the woman who might just burn the world to escape. Shit. SHIT. I was scared of him before.

And that's BEFORE he decided he loved me.

[honeyjars-sims]

3.38 Common Goals

Things have been busy over the past couple of weeks. The channel is planning some special videos and the cast has been filming at different locations. That means I haven’t gotten a chance to talk to Lacey yet, which I’ll admit is a bit of a relief. 

I’ve been pretty distracted anyway. My dads already have a buyer interested in the house so that doesn’t give me much time to find a new place. Lucy suggested I get in contact with Paul since he’ll need a roommate when he moves to San Sequoia, so I’m meeting with him to look at a townhouse he’s had his eye on. 

When I arrive at the address Paul gave me, it’s not quite what I was expecting. It doesn’t look like any rental property that I’ve ever seen. There’s a little market area on the other side of the parking lot where booths of fresh flowers and produce are set up. Before I have a chance to check it out more, Paul's Jeep pulls into the parking lot and he hops out.

"You ready?" he asks. I tell him I am and we walk to a gate with an intercom. ”I just have to let the property manager know we’re here.” After a couple of minutes a woman who looks to be in her 50s arrives to greet us. She looks like she’s been working outside; her jeans dusted with dirt and her cheeks are pink from the sun. 

 "Hello Paul, it's nice to speak to you in person," she says. She looks at me. "This must be the roommate."

"Hi, I'm Johnny," I say, reaching out to shake her hand.

"Johnny," she repeats. "Johnny and Paul. I'm Gail. My wife and I own the townhouse you’ll be viewing. Let’s go take a look."

We walk down the path. There are two buildings on either side and Gail takes us to the one on the right. “My son just moved about a week ago. He’s going to do some conservation work in Sulani,” she explains as she unlocks the door to the unit.

When we step inside, I'm surprised by the size of the place. Going by the rent price, I was expecting something much smaller. "Are you sure you got the price right?" I ask Paul. Maybe he transposed some numbers somewhere. It seems unlikely, but even future doctors make mistakes.

"I thought I did when I first saw it, but it really is that cheap," he insists. I raise an eyebrow, sensing that there's more to the story. "There is just one little catch," he admits.

Gail catches wind of our conversation and smiles. "It really does sound too good to be true, doesn't it? The community here is a little...atypical, but I promise it's worth it."

"What do you mean?" I ask incredulously.

"Well, Ellie and I started this community once our children got older. Initially we just wanted a way to keep us all together, but we saw an opportunity to create affordable housing here in San Sequoia and foster our community at the same time. At Hopewell Commons, helping out your neighbors isn't simply a courtesy. Everyone contributes, whether it's through tending the garden, making repairs, providing childcare, offering goods and services...everyone finds their place."

"So we have to earn our keep?"

Gail laughs. "I wouldn't put it quite like that. As renters, you’re not required to put in the hours that our homeowners do, but we encourage you to get involved. You'll not only be helping out others but you'll have a built-in support system when you're the one in need."

I’m feeling pretty skeptical, but I want to see if this place is worth the effort. Gail shows us one of the bedrooms upstairs. 

“That’s a nice view of the garden,” Paul comments. I peek out the window. The garden is pretty quaint with a small greenhouse and a few rows of plants. There’s an older woman and a young girl talking near the chicken pen. 

“That’s Ellie and our granddaughter, Ramona,” Gail tells us.

“How many people live in the community?” I ask her.

“Well, there’s my daughter Cleo and her family, and we’ve got about 10 other residents at the moment. But we’re growing! We’re building more houses on some land we just acquired.”

Once she's out of earshot, I turn to Paul. "This isn’t a cult, isn't it?"

"It's not a cult. It's more like a…family."

"That's what someone who's in a cult would say," I point out.

“It’s NOT a cult!”

Next, Gail leads us out into the community garden. "This is a group effort," she explains. "We have several residents who rotate duties in the garden, and once the crops are ready everyone helps themselves to their share."

I can't say that I've ever been into gardening, but Paul seems excited by the idea. I guess I should get used to it, too. While he and Gail share gardening tips in the greenhouse, I wander around the garden. It does seem like a nice idea, everyone chipping in so that their neighbors can enjoy the bounty. Plus, free food.

Gail’s granddaughter is playing nearby and when she sees me, she skips over. 

"Hi, I'm Ramona! What's your name?" "I'm Johnny." "Oh, okay. Do you have any pets?" "Yeah, I have a cat named Taco."

"Taco??? That's a funny name!” She giggles. “Can I see it?" "Well, she's not here right now." "Why?" "Because I don't live here." "Why?" I'm not completely sure how to answer that one. "Because I just don't." "Oh. Are you going to live here soon?" "Maybe." "Can I see Taco when you do?" "Well, you should probably ask your parents about that." "Why?"

Gail comes around the corner.  "Because it's not a good idea to go to someone's house alone if you don't know them." Ramona seems satisfied by her answer.

Gail turns to me. "You'll have to excuse Ramona. She thinks everyone is her friend. You’re a nice young man, but it's important that she learns the difference between a friend and a stranger."

"No problem," I tell her. Ramona runs off to examine a tomato plant. It seems like she has the type of childhood that I wish I had. I learned way too young that not everyone can be trusted.

Paul walks over to me. "So, what do you think?" he asks. "I understand if you're not feeling it. I know it's a little strange."

So far everyone looks happy, like, genuinely happy and not like people in a cult who are being brainwashed. I sigh. "Okay, as long as the rental agreement doesn't make us promise our souls to The Great Leader I guess I'm open to it."

"Are you sure? Because we can keep looking if you're not."

"I'm sure. I trust your judgment."

We tell Gail what we've decided and she takes us to fill out our applications. She says we should hear something in a couple of days.

When we head back to our cars I spot Ramona again.

"Bye Johnny!" she tells me cheerfully. "Tell Taco I said 'hi!'"

"Sure thing, Ramona. See you later!"

Previous | Beginning of story | Beginning of chapter | Next

[cutekittenlady]

It should be noted that Churches as, like, a concept are meant to be Community Spaces. That's part of why Churches would be constructed to have such fancy architecture with sturdy material. The building belongs to the community as much as it belongs to the priests.

That's really why people get miffed about unattractive public buildings. Because when a place is meant to belong to everyone it kinda sucks when it looks like no special attention was paid to that.

Of course a part of that is also just preference. Some modern churches, for instance, don't look fancy from the outside but provide areas for services like daycare, classes, events, etc. I've even seen some churches with small gymnasiums for sports, locker rooms, and even shower and laundry facilities. In this way they're stand ins for community centers for some places. (And that whole thing is a whole other discussion)

maybe it's because i was raised catholic but churches shouldn't look like furniture stores

[angesaurus]

The awkwardness of when you’re unhappy with the unprofessionalism of your child’s additional services provider but you work for the district so you’re literally coworkers……. so copying their building principal feels like you’re being a snitch 😂

[swan2swan]

Just realizing now that the DPW failed to capture Rexy all those years on purpose so they could spread more fear of wild dino attacks, use that to get more budget and feed all corruption. She was captured as soon as they fell, and the Fish and Wildlife Service stepped in. InGen also contained her the same year they returned to the island. Girl might be really difficult to capture, but they were probably using her as a tool to keep all corruption.

Exactly!

I'm sure she was probably captured once or twice, but escaped...a high-profile escape like hers would be notable enough to patch up any holes. "We captured the Rex, but we didn't have any trucks big enough." Government provides an additional fifty mil to upgrade the truck fleet, they spend ten million on trucks and funnel the forty to bonus checks and building dino farms.

That's right.

They used her.

For land development!

[sassysnowperson]

Sass Talks Books: Thank You for Listening, by Julia Whelan

Basic Plot: An audiobook narrator, who doesn't record romance books (anymore - she needed to break into the industry somehow), is given the financial opportunity of a lifetime...recording a romance book. It's a dual narration book, too, which means working with another narrator. Her recording partner quickly becomes one of the best perks of the project, warm and funny and *real* feeling, despite the fact they've never met. (They've never met, right?)

My thoughts: I really enjoyed this one. The author IS an audiobook narrator, writing a book about two audiobooks narrators, and I listed to the audiobook...narrated by the author. I thoroughly recommend that reading experience, by the way. There's a lot of little moments with the two talented voice actor characters slipping into different accents, talking about tone and inflection, and it's an absolute delight to hear the narrator delivering on the script she wrote for herself. As for the story itself, I'm not far enough into the romance world to know if this book deviates from the romance novel beats enough that it's drifted out of the category, but I can say that it was absolutely charming and enjoyable. And, that the changes made dulled the edges of the parts of romance I bounce off of the most while absolutely being a very loving send-up of the genre. The connection between the two people was very real, but it wasn't the only (or even, I would argue, the most important) relationship developing and changing in the book.

Every character felt connected in a complicated web of love and relationships with other people - it was a joy. And it was used to explore some toothy things that I normally don't get in a book this fun - grief, regret, how you deal with the losses you can't get back, how you rebuild a life. It stayed warm-hearted and kind as a book, but it didn't shy away from real fights, insecurities, and pain.

A handful of warnings to go along with that: the MC has lost an eye, and deals with ableism, and some negative self-perception. There's some diet-culture-based disordered eating for the MC's best friend (not displayed as a good thing). The MC's relationship with her dad has some brutal fights where there's emotional manipulation happening. There's also a real look at the complications of dementia - discussed below.

The protagonist's relationship with her grandmother is a key point of the story, and the grandmother is dealing with encroachment of memory loss and personality change that comes along with dementia. This part surprised me - I work with older adults in long-term care and lol, was not expecting that my professional life would be relevant to the situation. The author made a few errors with the care system in California (where our grandma is based, and where I work). But frankly, only a few, and the way the dementia progressed wasn't one of them. It was good, and heartbreaking, and one of my favorite parts.

Wow...I wrote a lot about this. Suppose that makes sense, considering it was my experience of the book itself. I expected something light and fun, and while I got it, there was depth there too that was a very welcome surprise.

[elftwink]

to preface this post i am anti-advertising i think we should explode the entire industry but it's sooo funny when you people make posts like "and they don't even work!!" like. sorry to be the bearer of bad news but yes they do. that's why we have to put up with so many despite everyone hating them and thinking its annoying. because they actually work really well and make a shit load of money

[lizzybeanbutt]

now that you mention it, yeah kabru is kind of an ibex

trying to pin it down but I don't feel confident on my grasp of kabru's characterization (depsite him being my favourite guy. you know how it is) but like. Kabru is a nicer ibex. Ibex is kabru but he's no longer asking. Ibex is a kabru but he's not afraid to let outright enemies stay on the board if he knows he'll win the overall battle. I think Kabru would make a better candidate of rightousness. I need a two way au and we're gonna send the dunmeshi cast to divine cycle space and we're throwing the kingdom crew in a last ditch dungeon crawl

@arcnoise tagging just in case

[punk-pins]

tumblr live update on mobile: it now has the option to snooze the live streams at the top of the dashboard for 30 days, but the video icon for the tumblr live tab in the middle of the footer can’t be disabled at all :/

[nellectronic]

i don’t want to do this i don’t want to do this i don’t w

[sleepdepravity]

Happy to be your filter for funny history stuff.

[ailurinae]

I remain of the opinion that tumblr live would be basically fine, if when you looked at it you only saw tumblr users, not people from other parts of that live video provider.

Of course, it is also hard to sell people on using a system that seems to have no users... but probably easier than selling a system that seems to have these users to tumblr users.

(also they need to finish making the TOS and privacy policy fully adapted for tumblr and make it more clear what the privacy terms are... I think many of the complaints about that are not actually real issues, but look like they are do to the generic policy)

genuinely feel like im being pranked rn

[thirst2]

The number of times I see a (presumably) grassroots software or application come out that claims to solve a major point of erasure or negligence by corporations regarding marginalized people so I message them to immediately ask whether their tech. is open-source and…always No.

[bijoumikhawal]

Funds for Haiti and Haitian Americans

A Haitian American woman with long Covid and her daughter with cancer have both been struggling to raise funds that would help them during their illnesses. Both of them live in the Midwest, which is where a lot of the most recent fear mongering has been centered.

COJEHA is a Haitian organization that provides financial support for youth, teaches agricultural skills, helps ensure children attend school, and teaches other soft life skills. They're working on building a farm with fish and vegetable crops where teaching occurs, which will also increase local access to fresh food.

P4H Global is the organization that has been working on building the canal connected to the Massacre River, another agricultural project. They have also been working to support education in Haiti, with both teachers and students.

The Haitian Community Center in Springfield, Ohio. Springfield's food bank, community health center, and a local Catholic organization that provides aid are also accepting donations.

Richard Pierrin is a journalist who has had to flee Haiti and is trying to get a visa that will allow him to work, and that doesn't end after 3 months.

Marc Henry and his family have been dealing with food insecurity for months, and are trying to get funds so they can eat, as well as supplies like livestock and fishing equipment so they can sustain themselves even after the fundraiser is done. They're close to their goal.

An elderly couple's home was damaged multiple times over the last few years and they are trying to raise funds to finish construction. They are also very close to their goal.

A fundraiser for children in Jacmel to provide food, water, and clothes.

A fund for several families to secure plane tickets out of the country

OTRAH is an organization that helps trans Haitians and wants to expand their services to combat HIV. They don't have a gofundme, instead donations are discussed over email.

There is also this thread of Haitian gofundmes which updates fairly regularly

This document explaining the leadup to where we are now also names some organizations that could use financial support