#this new kid is the same one who had that intense crisis last weekend

[donghyuckkies]

16, 40, 62 <333

hi elv :D

16: How exactly are you feeling at the moment? hmmm content? things aren't perfect but i just got to interact a bit with one of my new kids and she was so sweet 🥺🥺🥺

40: Have you ever walked outside completely naked? yep! not as an adult ofc but as a kid for sure! esp when swimming in remote lakes

62: What makes you happy? lots of things! spending time with loved ones, having chaotic fun in the caratblr server, salem, eating good food, watching kino laugh compilations funny/cute videos, getting positive feedback lmao

[heli0s-writes]

IV. The First Taste*

Summary: NSFW Chapter. Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader A/N: Modern AU, Teacher reader, Dad/Baker Steve… lots of pining, slow burn, romance. Enjoy!

Slow Like Honey Masterpost

Since you kissed Steve Rogers in your classroom on that Thursday afternoon, you’ve kissed him again and again after each meeting. It’s been precisely two more lunch dates, one more dinner date, and one long walk in the park on his day off before he was suddenly called in for an emergency pastry situation. That’s five kisses. Five dates. Five moments you lie in bed and think about while trying desperately not to scream.

You scold yourself every time because a part of you is embarrassed that you’re so—thirsty! But good God, the man is a tall glass of water you want to drown in. It’s been two stupid years since you’ve kissed anyone, and when you’re in bed at night, you hope that it’s not your lack of practice that’s been keeping him from moving forward.

You can’t be that bad, right? … Right?

But it’s always you who initiates, and Steve always keeps it short and sweet. Once, you felt the slightest flick of his tongue against your bottom lip, but then as quickly as he’d done it, he pulled away.

Grumbling, you press your pillow over your face and punch it a couple of times before settling back down into bed. You peer at the back of your hand in the darkness of your room and contemplate on trying it just like you used to when you were a kid. God, this feels stupid.

Tomorrow, you’ll just ask. Because you’re both adults and because he was your… boyfriend. You smother yourself with the pillow again, because that was an even more mortifying thought than making out with your own hand.

 In the morning you go for a jog and make yourself a quick protein and fruit shake breakfast afterward. Then you head to the pool for about an hour before coming back home. Everything is quiet, and the world is peaceful, now that you don’t have the lives of twenty-five children hovering over your every waking moment. You shower and lie down on the couch before turning on a baking show. Looking around, you survey your apartment. It is so damn barren and cream-colored. You’re not strong nor brave enough to go get a bunch of furniture by yourself and start arranging.

Sighing, you settle on an easier task: maybe today you’ll go buy some houseplants.

Steve texts you a picture of a cheesecake around noon as you’re spraying water into the soil of two new succulents and a hanging fern. You show him your fern, placing your hand next to it for size reference. The messages between you are short and brief, since you see each other pretty often.

Summer break unravels you a little bit, but you’ll be damned if you let your new (very adult) boyfriend know. You play video games and browse the internet with a bottle of wine on the weekends, and your summer is just a giant weekend. It’s almost troubling, really, because every summer you have to either find a new hobby to keep yourself entertained.

Last year you took up rock-climbing and baked a lot… but with Steve around, that just seemed like a good way to get laughed at. And of course, the summer before that one was spent moving out of your ex’s apartment and trying to keep your head above water. You shudder at the thought. If it wasn’t for the very fortuitous call back from your current workplace, you would have probably had to move back home or continued spiraling into credit-card debt.

You text Steve, asking him to suggest a new hobby to you.

Right away, he responds and recommends that you join his watercolor session at the bakery:

I’m teaching a two-hour workshop Sunday after we close. The sign up sheet is already full but… it helps knowing the teacher personally doesn’t it? I do a ceramics one in the winter, too!

You blink.

Steve… I can only draw if I invoke the spirit of Other Steve from Blue’s Clues.

Oh perfect, now he’s calling.

“Yes?” You answer. His laughter is ringing on the other line.

“Hey! Blue’s Clues is an excellent show! And, I gotta admit, that guy can really draw.”

You huff and sputter at him, “Stop messin’ with me. Last year I baked a lot but now that you’re here… I really need a new hobby- a doable hobby!”

He chuckles again before his voice grows quieter. Bossa nova plays in the background, and the coffee grinder is buzzing intensely. “Oh honey,” He whispers, and you’re nearly gasping at the way his voice sounds—low, deliberate—like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Come to the workshop, won’t ya? It’s just a beginner’s thing. I think you’ll really like it. For me?”

The quick-draw refusal you were so sure you could unholster on time is nowhere to be found, not with him asking you so sweetly like that. You grouse jokingly and accept, warning him that if he laughs at your unskilled hand, you’ll never take his advice again.

“Me? Laugh at you? Never, sweetheart. I can’t believe you would think that of me.”

“Oh hush, Steven.”

A puff of air escapes him and everything grows quiet. Steve mutters something you can’t quite make out, and then, even louder than before, the coffee grinder screeches. “Everything okay?” You ask, worried.

“Yeah. Um, yeah. Everything’s good.”

You’re suddenly reminded of the way he pulls away after a good night kiss and reach to unholster that gun.

“Hey—uh wha—why do you--- um.” What the hell is the right way to ask this question? Why have our tongues not fought for dominance? Why haven’t both my hands gotten lost in the front of your button-up shirt? Why have you not pressed your hard, broad chest against me?

Maybe you’ve been reading too much Cosmo or Buzzfeed Relationships in your quest to find the right answers.

“Huh?” Steve asks. “What’s that?”

You holster the gun.

“Nothing! Ha! I’ll see you Sunday!”

“Okay, hon… See you then. Don’t be nervous! It’ll be great!”

 You squeeze your eyes shut as you place your phone on the coffee table. Crisis averted. Then, you search for basic video tutorials on watercolors as well as tips for beginning artists on your phone before casting it to the T.V. It’s entirely baffling and when you pick up a pencil and try to draw your new succulent on a nearby notepad, the voice coming through the speaker sternly states that you should “make marks deliberately-- not fiddling about with sketchy, hairy lines like a fuzzy caterpillar!”

What you’ve been working on looks exactly like a fuzzy caterpillar, and your cheeks heat up with embarrassment.

So you try again, erasing furiously before attempting those “deliberate” lines. After nearly fifteen minutes, you sit back and peer at your creations.

“Jesus.”

Your smooth, plump, glossy plant looks like one of those inflatable tubes outside of an auto dealership in the middle of deflating.

You feel deflated, too.

Over your dinner table is a corkboard of photos and postcards, and you walk over to snag Steve’s thank you card from its place in the corner. You study his technique and peer at the delicate forest green line of each stem- just a single, continuous stroke. The petals seem to be merely blobs of color if you’re looking closely, and where the flowers touch, sometimes the pigments bleed over each other.

No, it’s not a perfect thing. But it is gorgeous, still.

So, you try… again. This time, you tear off the deflated succulent drawing and place it on your coffee table in the left corner. Just for good luck, you chant “Steve, Steve, Steve!” as if he’s Beetlejuice, and get to work. Half your brain is thinking of the striped green shirt and oversized crayon, and the other half is thinking of a striped blue shirt and oversized pecs. Either way, both of them could art.

You’ve drawn all year for your students- especially your ESL kids who struggled with codeswitching. Sometimes, when they were unable to find the right word, or you were, you’d draw a picture instead. According to twenty-five first graders, you were an amazing artist, so… what the hell!

Ten minutes later, you tear off the top of the notepad and set it down next to its brother.

The two are stark differences, and your second one is little bit better. You’re almost proud of it—smooth flowing lines, rounded edges, and even a flat plane of the table to ground the pot.

Sitting back, you click around some more, making sure to choose videos that are most helpful to your current ability. Those speed-up painting videos were hella tempting, but you do not want to get lost in the rabbit hole.

Sunday is two days away. At the very least, you were going to be able to draw a damn good succulent.

---

You come in early to help him close before the workshop begins. Cap&Co. closes on Sundays right at six, and the workshop would start half an hour later.

The baristas say hello to you and smile, and you do the same back before you grab a rag and spray a counter down. The leftover pastries and sandwiches are placed on a tray and put in the middle of the room, where the tables and chairs have been pushed together by Steve.

“Snacks!” He smiles, “For the students.”

“Does that make me your student too?” You tease, finding the situation a bit ironic.

He winks at you before hanging up his apron. Between the four of you and the work that’s left, it’s quickly finished in the next ten minutes and the employees leave, wishing you a good night as they go.

Steve lets you choose the music for the night as he brightens the lights, and you randomly scroll through the shop’s selection before picking an old album you used to like as a younger girl—Fiona Apple’s 1996 Tidal. Right away, the singer’s brassy voice catches his attention.

“Who is this?” He asks excitedly, “I think I heard her on the radio the other day!”

You tell him, and he nods along to the music as he sets out sheets of watercolor paper clipped neatly on boards. Then he lays out five travel-sized round palettes already filled with an array of colors. By the time all the paintbrushes are next to each clipboard, people are starting to arrive and Steve is back and forth saying hello and giving hugs. You finish the end of the preparation and fill up heavy mason jars with water and set them at each spot. Then, you take your seat with a cake pop and eagerly and watch him lead the demonstration.

“Thanks for coming, everyone!” He smiles widely at the end of the table. “Good to see some of you again!”

 This must be what your students feel like, you think—you hope, because you are absolutely enthralled with everything that pours from his mouth. Even the way he stumbles over his words fascinates you, and the fact that he is so animated and engaged makes you love it even more.

Steve tells the group that he’ll demonstrate for about twenty-five minutes before everyone can start either trying out various techniques, or if they’ve done it before, can begin on painting whatever they please and he’ll come around to offer help. He suggests the plants for a nice still life, or other knick-knacks around the shop. Some returning students have even brought their own objects and you want to pinch yourself because you could have brought your succulent!

Then, he begins, showing you the right way to load the paintbrush with paint and water, and how water tension is so important to the medium. He shows you the difference between a wet brush and a dry brush. He shows you how to layer the colors. Your brain can hardly keep up with your eyes as they enthusiastically soak up the colors over his paper and the way his wrist moves easily back and forth from the mason jar where he cleans the bristles, to the palette saturated with pigment, to the paper where strokes are being placed.

“Here is a quick and easy way to make a flower.”

Steve loads a fat brush with water and pulls two shades of orange onto the white of the palette. In one swift motion, he streaks a daub of it onto the paper, letting the water gather more heavily on one side.

“We’ll let that dry for just a second— but we can do this for now.” He presses the tip of the brush into a tiny bit of red and makes another mark similar to the first one. The edges of the paint that touches leaks into each other, creating a tiny blossom of red into the first petal.

“This is what will happen when your paint is still wet—but that’s okay!” He makes two more petals—slightly more yellow than the last and touches his finger to the one with the accidental red bloom.

“It’s pretty dry now.” He blows softly on it for good measure and mixes a rosy coral shade into his brush.

The last petal is swept over the first, and the overlapping area where they touch turns into a vibrant shade of ripe orange. Then, quickly, he sticks the wood handle of the brush sideways between his teeth and picks up a smaller brush, wetting it, loading it with a deep purple that’s almost black, and makes a spray of dots in the middle.

“There ya go!” He takes the brush out of his mouth.

A part of you thinks that you are fucked because you may have just fallen in some deep shit here, as you stare at him, grinning widely—so proud of himself and somehow proud of you, too, for listening.

He’s made it seem impossibly easy. An absurdly beautiful blossom from his imagination stares at you from the watercolor pad in his hand as you shakily pick up the brush next to your hand.

“Well… shit, Steve.” You whisper before breaking out into a silly laugh and putting your forehead into your palm at the thought of the herculean task at hand. The woman to your right laughs along with you as she makes scribbly marks and drips globules of blue water onto her paper. Steve beams at you lovingly as you try to imitate the way he made the first petal, steering the water where you want it to go.

It doesn’t.

But you’re determined, damn it. Because one, you really want to impress him, and two, you really need a summer hobby.

The next hour flies by as you paint diligently, occasionally humming along to Fiona Apple’s resonant vocals in the background, chatting with the other painters. They’re all regulars at Cap&Co., and they adore the Rogers family.

Steve circles the room and answers questions, giving pointers, and sometimes putting his hand over yours to lead your paintbrush. He even kisses you on the top of your head when you finish your first flower—a lavender five-petaled ...cephalopod.

The affectionate gesture doesn’t go unnoticed by the others as they smile and quietly ask him questions when they think you’re not listening. Your ears go hot the rest of the night—just as hot as the top of your head because Steve!

Before you know it, it’s time to pack up. The album has already repeated, and it’s back to an early track. No one seems to mind, however, as they take their papers and wave goodbye. You linger in the area, pouring out dirty water and putting the jars back under the sink. Steve puts away the paints, fixes the rest of the tables, and you return to the café area to join him. He’s patting his thighs with his wet hands when you come in, nodding along to the music.

You gaze at the damp spots on his legs, the fabric of his trousers slightly clinging onto his muscles. Quickly, before he sees you, you look away.

“This exact song was on in the car.” He mutters amusedly, “I really like this… she’s got a great voice.”

Steve walks closer to you, stopping a few steps away and leans against the edge of a wooden booth. He crosses his arms and press his lips together, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles.

“What now?” He asks. His voice echoes the same low and deliberate tone you’ve heard before, and you think that the question isn’t really a question at all. But you’re not really sure what to make of it—tonight may have been the most forward he’s ever been.

The lights are dimmed. The piano melody crescendos before the song ends. There’s a pause of silence before the next song begins, and you feel your heart leap as the first few words start.

I lie in an early bed, thinking late thoughts.

“Um…” Your voice cracks.

I do not struggle in your web because it was my aim to get caught. But daddy long-legs, I feel that I’m finally growing weary of waiting to be consumed by you.

Steve cocks his head to the side, also listening—to the music, perhaps to your now uncomfortably loud heartbeat. You run your hand through your hair. The music chimes into a more upbeat tone as the chorus starts.

Give me the first taste. Let it begin. Heaven cannot wait forever.

“Why don’t you ever kiss me first?”

His eyebrows raise briefly before he blinks a couple of times. You tilt your chin to your chest and lace your fingers together, foot tapping anxiously as you stand in wait. “I mean, I think I’m just a little confused. We’ve seen each other for like, two weeks now. I feel like it’s always me who initiates—but tonight you did a little bit more of that. And… I guess we’ve only kissed—Am I bad kisser? Steve? Am I?”

You’re full of rambling, nervous energy but you try your best to play it off. It was such an awkward thing to say out loud, and there was no way you could come out and spit: Why have we not had sex yet?

Steve surges forward and takes your hand in his, “No!” His head his shaking wildly, “You’re a great kisser! The best!”

His blabbering catches you off-guard and the snort of laughter that comes from you is anything but attractive. “Jesus, Steven, that’s too much.”

Steve slaps his palm to his forehead. “Ah… I’m sorry. I think I’m just nervous.”

“About what?” You ask, leaning forward and looking up at him, “Steve, I just… snorted. You can’t be nervous about this. I should be the one who’s nervous! Look at you!”

He takes a step back and puts one hand on his hip, the other reaching forward to signal to you. “Look at me? Look at you!” He gawks.

The two of you stand there, pointing at each other, making scoffing noises of disbelief for a good two minutes before you put up your hand. “Okay. Pause, mister. You look like someone Photoshopped a rugged Ken Doll and then 3-D printed it. Westworld-style. You bake, you paint, you’re a ceramic---ist? Ceramicist? What! Steve!” You throw your hands up in exasperation, “Come on! Your fuckin’ arms!”

He rolls his eyes, “I’m thirty-five and divorced. I sleep four hours a night. I’m a walking disaster.” Then he narrows his eyes at you.

“You’re gorgeous! You’re funny, you’re kind, you’re so sweet…! You’re honest?” He ticks off each adjective using his fingers, “You’re patient? God, Sarah throws half a tantrum and my world collapses. You’re dedicated. You’re---“

“Okay. Stop.” You mutter, cheeks burning hot, “I sleep on the couch next to a bottle of wine and have three pieces of furniture. We’re both disasters.”

Steve laughs and steps forward again, putting his hand over yours. “I just… didn’t want to mess anything up.” He whispers, “I like you so much… and… if we’re… talking about that. I haven’t… been with anyone in … two years. Other than you, I’ve only kissed one person my entire life… So, the question is—am I a bad kisser?”

You giggle as he gives you an apologetic smirk, shaking his head at the way you two have been aggressively complimenting each other. Standing on your tiptoes, you move to nuzzle your nose against his. “You’re a great kisser, Steve. The best.”

Darkness flutters over his eyes briefly before Steve expertly dodges your nose and catches your mouth with his instead. With a half-whimper, half-moan, Steve Rogers grabs the back of your neck in one large, warm hand and your lower back with the other and presses your body flush against his.

Oh.

He’s so tall he has to bend over and you’re so small against him that he’s nearly picking you up. A brief parting of your lips give you a moment to catch your breath, but he’s back again, tongue sliding against yours sweetly, as if asking a silent question.

Is this okay?

With a sigh of pleasure, you ask him to continue in the same, secret language. Your chest his burning hot, tummy quivering with nerves and delight as his hands roam your body. Firm. Strong. Almost desperate. Your own hands rest against his chest before one reaches up and cups his face, trailing your fingertips through his beard.

“D-does it bother you?” He mutters against your mouth before he slides down past your jaw and lands his lips on your neck, “My beard?”

“Mmm—no—” you’re breathless as he kneads his fingers into your waist, moving up to position them just below your breasts, “I like it—mmm-- lots.” You sigh, as his scruff tickles your shoulder, sending tingles all over your body. “I’d like to feel it… elsewhere, too.”

He freezes and pulls away. His hands place you back down on your feet-- back to Earth-- as he swallows hard, looking at you with open, red lips. Steve rolls the bottom one between his teeth and clenches his jaw, eyes half-lidded and lustful. You’re probably a wreck, too, you think as you catch yourself against a table.

“Can we---”

You cut him off. Your purse is already in your hands, keys swinging around your finger.

“God. Yes. I’ll follow you.”

 Steve tugs you from the driver’s seat of your car, hand entwined with yours as he leads you up the walkway and over the step. Once the front door shuts behind him and he’s made sure it’s locked, you’re pressed up against the wall, purse, shoes, keys, clattering onto the hardwood.

“Oh, honey,” he mumbles as he presses his face into your collar, scooping you up into his arms. “Oh, Jesus, sweetheart.”

You’re glad he knows how to navigate his house with his eyes closed because the whole way there, you can’t stop kissing him. Your hands tug his hair and your teeth pinch his bottom lip. Steve responds by growling softly, biting you back, squeezing your thighs before slowly easing you onto his bed.

It’s dark in his room, but you feel the bed dip as he climbs on too. Both your eyes are trying to adjust—trying to find each other. Your hands fumble around until you catch him, his knee. His hands find your stomach. Slowly, he reaches for the hem of your shirt and peels it up over your head. Then he does the same to his own shirt and both of you shimmy out of your pants.

He is hard and hot when your bare skin touches his. Steve lies down on his side to face you, panting slightly as you glide your hand up and down his arm. Oh fuck, it’s been two years and the first man you touch is more like a mythical creature than any man. It should be illegal for someone to feel this good.

Trembling, you touch the hard planes of his torso, the ridges in his abdomen, the swell of his chest taking hard breaths. You shut your eyes and imagine the way he looks right now—breathless and wild. His knee parts your legs easily and one hand descends to feel your center, saturating your underwear.

“Jesus, baby,” Steve sighs into your neck. “You’re makin’ me crazy. This--” He begins to slide his digits up and down, getting the slippery wetness all over his fingers, “Already...”

A shudder rolls through your body upon hearing his words and you arch into his touch, moaning when he rubs your clit in perfect pulsing circles. He moves forward, kissing the tops of your breasts through your bra, nipping at the soft flesh spilling from the cups.

“Steve, you’ll make me come.” You admit, a little shyly even as your hips rock consciously into his hand. You paw at his arms, squeezing the ridges of thick muscles.

The mischievous chuckle that pours from his throat vibrates against your chest. Steve grabs onto your thigh and eases your leg over his hips inching closer and straightening himself until you’re aligned perfectly. He tilts back and guides you against him until your center slides against his bulge.

Just as you find the elastic of his waistband, he jerks away and places himself in-between your legs as he moves you onto your back. You scoot until your head hits the wall, propping yourself up on your elbows, giving him more room at the foot of the bed.

“You wanted to feel this?” Steve caresses your thighs with his cheek, the hairs on his beard tickling your sensitive skin. Your toes curl up reflexively as he moves back and forth, trailing his lips and face all over.

You squeal when the tip of his nose touches your mound, mouth hovering over your soaked panties. His mouth latches on, almost in a bite before he takes them off. Both his hands slide beneath your bottom, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass before he pulls your hips forward. You land on his face, eyes rolling back in ecstasy.  

“Steve,” You gasp, “This is unfair.” Your body jerks with every teasing kiss he presses to your folds. His breath comes out in a smug puff of air that purposefully continues to drive you unbelievably closer to what feels like breaking entirely.

“Baby…” he mutters—right into your cunt, Jesus! You groan at the way his face is nestled there. “Baby---mm— It’s been two years for me.” He whispers, “If I don’t get you off now, in a really good way—it’s not gonna be good at all.”

“Steve—you know—ah! It’s been the same amount of time for me too, right?!”

He ignores you, crawling his hands around onto your hips to keep you from squirming. When you settle finally, he moves one hand to your center, sliding a finger up and down your slippery folds. His mouth latches onto your clit as his finger continues their trail. You fist his hair with both hands at the same time he slips a digit inside.

But he doesn’t move. Other than his tongue’s soft licks on your swollen clit, Steve doesn’t move at all. He happily lets his finger rest inside of you, gathering your juices all over his hand.

You whimper, trying to shimmy against them, anything to create more contact. Its intrusion builds a terrible itch inside of your body, and goddamn it, you want to scratch.

It feels like an eternity passes before he finally lets you have another—adding one more thick finger inside, stretching you as he moves them both around, curling them, pumping them in and out. He sucks enthusiastically on your sensitive bud, fucks you with two fingers almost wildly, and your body responds with fervor. You gasp and moan, arching your back into his hand and face, goosebumps blooming all over your shoulders and down your arms and legs.

“C’mon, that’s it. Thassa good girl. You’re so close. Almost there… Good girl… Good girl.”

With a cry, you come undone, rolling your hips every which way as you reach orgasm on Steve’s hand. His voice continues to praise you, lips kissing your sweat-slicked thighs, beard tickling your sensitive skin.

Instead of pulling away, Steve continues to stroke you with his fingers, slowly prodding at your entrance with a third.

“Just trying to get you ready.” He murmurs, and your heart stills. Ready?

You voice your concern, “What do you mean?”

With a slight chuckle, he sits up, wiping his mouth and parts of his beard with the back of his hand. In the dark, Steve reaches for your arm, guiding you to feel exactly what he’s talking about. A strangled cry escapes your throat as you wrap your fingers around his cock. Hot. Throbbing. Big.

Sweet, sensitive, divorced, baker, artist, ceramicist, father Steve fuckin’ Rogers was packing. And it isn’t until you nervously grip him in both hands do you realize the importance of his last statement.

“Can I get you ready, baby?” He asks again.

For the millionth time that night, your eyes roll back and get lost in your head as you lean against the headboard with a whimper. Steve crawls over on top of you, scoops you up once again in his arms, and places you on his lap. Your legs wrap around his back loosely as he holds you still, previous two fingers pushing inside gently.

You rest your head on his shoulder as your body shakes under his ministrations, already tired and overstimulated. Your hands find their way to grip him, massaging his length tenderly, savoring the temperature of his body, spreading the beaded precum at the tip of his cock up and down his shaft. Steve groans, scissoring his fingers inside of you, spreading your walls.

The third finger meets resistance as you tense up.

“S-sorry,” You whisper, “I’m… I’m pretty nervous…” But you move his hand back and try again. He’s so tender and sweet with you as he turns his head to place kisses on your cheek and ear. It’s a few minutes of this exploration before you feel brave enough to shift and stroke him with determination. Steve takes the message as a confirmation and reaches into the end table for a condom.

It’s slipped on and you follow suit, gasping as Steve guides your hips with one hand, and grips himself with the other. Slowly, he fills you inch by inch until he’s so deep inside you think he could emerge from your throat.

“Oh… my… God!” You cry. There aren’t enough words to describe it— the sweetest sting, an all-encompassing and chilling burn, a mystifying and utter fullness that nearly brings tears to your eyes. You’re afraid to move, to lose this sensation, and afraid to feel what comes next. But you know that you want it.

Steve kisses your lips tenderly, babbling praise, whispering affirmations, soothing the shock that surges up your spine with his warm palm. Slowly, he rocks you back, holding onto your body with one hand, smoothing the hair that falls over your face with the other.

You’re gripping him so tightly it takes some effort to slide even an inch of him out— and there’s many inches of him. Sweat collects on your brow as you grind, dragging against his length, forcing shudders to course all over both your bodies. “Is this okay?” you mutter, delirious, “Steve? You feel so good.”

He flexes within you, grunts into your ear. A dry chuckle escapes him as his hand squeezes your back just a little too hard. He’s holding back, trying to prolong your pleasure, but his own is chasing him down, only a few steps away from pouncing.

You coax it towards him with faster snapping of your hips against his, clawing at his back, nibbling on his ear. “Come on, my love… just a little more.”

With a grunt and a shudder, and a hard kiss to your lips that makes your teeth clack against each other, Steve thrusts one last time as deeply as possible, riding out his orgasm as he pulls your hips against his. The two of you feel welded together, sticky with sweat and so tightly flushed that you’re not sure where he ends and you begin. You body slumps as you drape your arms over his neck. Steve turns his head to kiss your shoulder before making the effort to pull away and clean himself up. He goes into the bathroom first, lying you down and covering you with the blanket.

 When he returns, Steve finds you already dozed off. You palm rests under your cheek as you lie on your side, breathing deeply.

As quietly as he can, he squeezes in beside you, fitting himself against your back. He’s read it somewhere, that falling in love was a little bit like falling asleep. As his eyes slip shut, he feels it happening, just like that quote had said: slowly at first, then… all at once.

In the darkness behind his lids, there is strangely so much light.

Next Chapter

[newstfionline]

Headlines

Exhausted cities face another challenge: a surge in violence (AP) Still reeling from the coronavirus pandemic and street protests over the police killing of George Floyd, exhausted cities around the nation are facing yet another challenge: a surge in shootings that has left dozens dead, including young children. The spike defies easy explanation, experts say, pointing to the toxic mix of issues facing America in 2020: an unemployment rate not seen in a generation, a pandemic that has killed more than 130,000 people, stay-at-home orders, rising anger over police brutality, intense stress, even the weather. “I think it’s just a perfect storm of distress in America,” said Atlanta Mayor Keisha Lance Bottoms after a weekend of bloodshed in her city. Jerry Ratcliffe, a Temple University criminal justice professor and host of the “Reducing Crime” podcast, put it more bluntly: “Anybody who thinks they can disentangle all of this probably doesn’t know what they’re talking about.” Through Sunday, shootings in New York City were up more than 53%—to 585—so far this year. In Dallas, violent crime increased more than 14% from April to June. In Philadelphia, homicides were up 20% for the week ending July 5 over last year at this time. In Atlanta, 31 people were shot over the weekend, five fatally, compared with seven shootings and one killing over the same week in 2019.

Congress created virus aid, then reaped the benefits (AP) At least a dozen lawmakers have ties to organizations that received federal coronavirus aid, according to newly released government data, highlighting how Washington insiders were both author and beneficiary of one of the biggest government programs in U.S. history. Under pressure from Congress and outside groups, the Trump administration this week disclosed the names of some loan recipients in the $659 billion Paycheck Protection Program, launched in April to help smaller businesses keep Americans employed during the pandemic. Connections to lawmakers, and the organizations that work to influence them, were quickly apparent. Members of Congress and their families are not barred from receiving loans under the PPP, and there is no evidence they received special treatment. Hundreds of millions of dollars also flowed to political consultants, opposition research shops, law firms, advocacy organizations and trade associations whose work is based around influencing government and politics. While voting, lobbying and ultimately benefiting from legislation aren’t illegal, advocates say the blurred lines risk eroding public trust in the federal pandemic response. “It certainly looks bad and smells bad,” said Aaron Scherb, a spokesperson for Common Cause, a watchdog group that was also approved for a loan through the program.

Missouri summer camp virus outbreak raises safety questions (AP) Missouri leaders knew the risk of convening thousands of kids at summer camps across the state during a pandemic, the state’s top health official said, and insisted that camp organizers have plans in place to keep an outbreak from happening. The outbreak happened anyway. An overnight summer camp in rural southwestern Missouri has seen scores of campers, counselors and staff infected with the coronavirus, the local health department revealed this week, raising questions about the ability to keep kids safe at what is a rite of childhood for many. The Kanakuk camp near Branson ended up sending its teenage campers home. On Friday, the local health department announced 49 positive cases of the COVID-19 virus at the camp. By Monday, the number had jumped to 82.

Our Cash-Free Future Is Getting Closer (NYT) PARIS—On a typical Sunday, patrons at Julien Cornu’s cheese shop used to load up on Camembert and chèvre for the week, with about half the customers digging into their pockets for euro notes and coins. But in the era of the coronavirus, cash is no longer à la mode at La Fromagerie, as social distancing requirements and concerns over hygiene prompt nearly everyone who walks through his door to pay with plastic. “People are using cards and contactless payments because they don’t want to have to touch anything,” said Mr. Cornu, as a line of mask-wearing shoppers stood three feet apart before approaching the register and swiping contactless cards over a reader. While cash is still accepted, even older shoppers—his toughest clientele when it comes to adopting digital habits—are voluntarily making the switch. Cash was already being edged out in many countries as urban consumers paid increasingly with apps and cards for even the smallest purchases. But the coronavirus is accelerating a shift toward a cashless future. Fears over transmission of the disease have compelled consumers to rethink how they shop and pay.

The White House and AMLO (Foreign Policy) Mexican President Andrés Manuel López Obrador visits the White House today (Wednesday) for his first foreign trip since winning the presidency in 2018. His arrival in Washington on Tuesday evening was typically on-brand for the leftist leader: He flew in economy class on a commercial airliner (albeit in an exit row). Unlike Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau—who spurned an invite to today’s meeting as the U.S. government threatens to place tariffs on Canadian aluminum—this summit is too good an opportunity for López Obrador to turn down. That’s largely because of the importance of the United States to Mexico’s economy—which is predicted to contract by 10.5 percent this year, according to the International Monetary Fund. As his approval rating gradually falls along with Mexico’s economic performance, López Obrador is aiming to stay on Trump’s good side. “This is about the economy, it’s about jobs, it’s about well-being,” López Obrador said before he departed for Washington.

Berlin looks east (Foreign Policy) Germany is hoping to strengthen its economic ties with China, setting itself apart from the rest of the West and the United States in particular. Germany’s relationship with China has always been divided. On one hand, human rights issues preoccupy the German public, and figures such as Ai Weiwei and Liao Yiwu are well known there. But on the other, trade between China and Germany is significant and largely responsible for Germany’s post-2008 prosperity. The antagonism shown by President Donald Trump and his team toward German Chancellor Angela Merkel has also poisoned any attempts by the United States to sell Berlin on a split with Beijing.

OECD unemployment rate to hit record highs (Foreign Policy) The world’s wealthiest countries will see record unemployment rates as a result of the coronavirus pandemic, according to the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD). The OECD forecast a 9.4 percent unemployment rate across the 37 countries that make up the group’s membership, a number that could go as high as 12.6 percent if these countries see a second wave of coronavirus cases. In releasing the data, OECD Secretary-General Angel Gurría called on wealthy countries to better protect the economically vulnerable across their societies. “In times of crisis, ‘normality’ sounds very appealing. However, our normal was not good enough for the many people with no or precarious jobs, bad working conditions, income insecurity, and limits on their ambitions,” Gurría said.

Rioting in Serbia (Reuters) Dozens of demonstrators and police were injured in overnight rioting in Belgrade, triggered when a crowd stormed Serbia’s parliament in protest at plans to reimpose a lockdown following a surge in coronavirus cases. Footage showed police kicking and beating people with truncheons while protesters pelted officers with stones and bottles, after thousands chanting for the resignation of President Aleksandar Vucic gathered outside the building. Vucic announced the new lockdown on Tuesday, saying it was needed because of the rising number of coronavirus cases.

Top U.S. general speaks on Russian bounty case (Foreign Policy) Gen. Frank McKenzie, the head of U.S. Central Command, has poured cold water on recent allegations, first reported by the New York Times, of a program run by Russian intelligence offering cash to Afghan militants for killing U.S. soldiers. McKenzie called the reports “very worrisome,” but said he couldn’t point to any U.S. casualties that could have had a direct link to the alleged program. McKenzie said that Russia’s actions in Afghanistan should, however, still be watched closely.

Japan battered by more heavy rain, floods; 58 dead (AP) Pounding rain that already caused deadly floods in southern Japan was moving northeast Wednesday, battering large areas of Japan’s main island, swelling more rivers, triggering mudslides and destroying houses and roads. At least 58 people died in several days of flooding. Parts of Nagano and Gifu, including areas known for scenic mountain trails and hot springs, were flooded by massive downpours.

‘We’re next’: Hong Kong security law sends chills through Taiwan (AFP) The imposition of a sweeping national security law on Hong Kong has sent chills through Taiwan, deepening fears that Beijing will focus next on seizing the democratic self-ruled island. China and Taiwan split in 1949 after nationalist forces lost a civil war to Mao Zedong’s communists, fleeing to the island which Beijing has since vowed to seize one day, by force if necessary. Over the years China has used a mixture of threats and inducements, including a promise Taiwan could have the “One Country, Two Systems” model that governs Hong Kong, supposedly guaranteeing key civil liberties and a degree of autonomy for 50 years after the city’s 1997 handover. Both Taiwan’s two largest political parties long ago rejected the offer, and the new security law has incinerated what little remaining faith many Taiwanese may have had in Beijing’s outreach. Some now fear even transiting through Hong Kong, worried that their social media profiles could see them open to prosecution under the legislation.

Millions of Australians brace for lockdowns amid Melbourne virus outbreak (Reuters) Five million Australians face a heavy police clampdown from midnight on Wednesday to contain a flare-up of coronavirus cases, with checkpoints to be set up around Melbourne to ensure people stay at home.

Suleimani killing “unlawful” (Foreign Policy) In a new report, Agnès Callamard, the U.N. special rapporteur on extrajudicial, summary or arbitrary executions, concluded that the January killing of Iranian Commander Qassem Suleimani by a U.S. drone strike was arbitrary and unlawful under international human rights law, citing a lack of any imminent threat posed by Suleimani in the lead up to the assassination. Callamard will present her findings to the U.N. Human Rights Council on Thursday. The United States left the council in 2018.

Rising food prices in Lebanon (Worldcrunch) In Lebanon, the constant change of the dollar exchange rate and a plummeting Lebanese pound have led to a 190% increase in food prices within a year. Hit with exponential inflation, French daily Les Echos notes that the country is facing its most serious economic and currency crisis since the end of its 1975-1990 civil war.

Dozen of bodies found in Burkina Faso, and rights group suspects extrajudicial killings (Reuters) At least 180 bodies have been found in common graves in Djibo, a town in the north of Burkina Faso, Human Rights Watch (HRW), said in a report released on Wednesday, saying that the killings were likely carried out by government forces.

[ladymercytaylor]

All in - Chapter 2 (Joe Mazzello x Reader)

Chapter 2 y’all!!! If you like it please reblog (it would make my little heart so happy <3)

Summary: You and Joe were in a blissful relationship for 4 years. It seemed as though everything was perfect. You’d moved in together and all of your friends were taking bets on when he’d finally put a ring on your finger. That is until it all fell apart. Now, 1 year on you’re thrown together at a mutual friend’s wedding and it changes everything between you. Previous chapter can be found HERE

Chapter 2 – 5 weeks

“You have to tell him” “I know” “I’m serious. You have to tell him” “I fucking know, Flick” you groaned from your place on your bed. “Just telling me the same thing over and over again isn’t helping, you know?” “Well I’m sorry, but I’m still trying to wrap my head around the ‘I had a sloppy one night stand with the guy who tore my heart out a year ago’ part of the story” she snapped back, fiddling with the strings of her hoodie. You scrunched your eyes shut as the reality of what you’d done was presented to you. Why couldn’t you have been better? Why couldn’t you have not gotten mixed up in the romantic atmosphere of the goddamned wedding, kept your head and not fallen back into Joe’s arms? If you had then everything would be as it always was. You’d probably be sitting on the couch with your best friend watching a shitty Netflix movie and eating popcorn. Instead you were quickly spiralling into a crisis as you stared at the ceiling of your bedroom, uncomfortably aware that a new life was growing inside you. 

“I don’t blame you, you know” Flick murmured, interpreting your silence as offence. “You and Joe. You had something I’ve never seen before” you closed your eyes even tighter until neon lights danced across your eyelids. “I’ve known you for 10 years and I’ve never seen you that happy” “And I bet you’ve never seen me as destroyed either” you muttered, slapping your hands over your face. “Why did I sleep with him?!” you groaned, rolling over to squash your face into the covers. “Because you’ve never really stopped loving him” Flick replied simply and your whole body froze. Wrenching your face out of the green covers, your eyes narrowed dangerously. “I hate it when you do that” you grumbled but she simply stuck her tongue out at you from her perch on your windowsill. “Sorry, babes, still true” she shrugged nonchalantly. Another groan escaped your lips as you flopped back down. “Do…do you know what you’re going to do?” Now that was the million dollar question that had been rolling around your head for the last 2 weeks, ever since your doctor’s appointment that concretely confirmed the pregnancy. What on Earth were you going to do? Flick had made it clear that there was no way to get out of this situation without talking to Joe, and you knew that there was no point in dropping this bomb on him until you’d figured out what you wanted. Children had always been on your radar. Your nieces and nephews were one of the favourite things in your life. The day your first nephew had been passed into your arms, wrapped in the blue blanket you’d gifted your sister a few months prior, was the day that cemented it for you. You wanted to be a mum. But your original plans for that had been derailed a year ago when Joe left your life. And now your 33rd birthday was creeping up. And there hadn’t been anyone of interest since Joe. It almost felt like a sign. “I’m” you started, your heart rate soaring, “I’m thinking I’m going to keep it” “Holy shit” Flick breathed out, wobbling slightly on the windowsill. “That’s huge!” “I just feel like that this is my shot” you continued, the words tumbling out of your mouth “Like yeah, it was an accident. But if parallel universes do exist there’s a not so different world where Joe and I are still together and have a family. So why can’t this version of me have it too?” “You had me up until you said ‘parallel universe’” Flick chuckled. She pushed off the ledge and came to sit on the edge of your bed. “You’re allowed to want it, hun” she said softly, resting a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “It’s a big fucking deal, yes. But if you really want it and you think you can handle it then you don’t need to justify it to anyone” God, you loved her. “I know I can do it” the determination was clear in your voice and it brought a smile to your best friend’s face. She’d known you for so many years and she knew that as soon as you set your mind on something there was no stopping you. “Then I’ll be here to help you however I can. And I know Joe will too” you groaned at the mention of his name. “Don’t bring him up” you whined and Flick laughed again, rubbing your shoulder gently. “Sorry, love, but you’re going to have to talk to him about it. And soon” she added, pointedly. “The last thing you want to do is to rock up, show him your giant stomach and yell ‘Surprise!’” “I dunno, that’s definitely a hilarious way to announce a pregnancy” you chuckled, heaving yourself up to sit cross legged on the mattress. You both sat in silence for a moment, Flick staring out of the window at the cars lazily trundling down the street and you tracing aimless patterns on the covers. “Strange isn’t it” you whispered, feeling your throat constrict, “Just over a year ago Joe and I were literally in here talking about kids”

“Come look at this one!” Joe’s shouts echo down the hallway from the bedroom to reach you in the kitchen. “Just a second!” you shouted back, grabbing the two steaming cups of coffee before heading towards your shared bedroom. “Where is it?” “Brooklyn. Close to the bridge though!” he added quickly, spinning his silver MacBook around to show you the latest listing he’d found. It was the perfect Brownstone building, perfectly maintained with little flower boxes on the window ledges. “It’s gorgeous” you murmured, eyes raking down the page. Joe grinned beside you, bouncing in excitement against the mattress. That was when your eyes found the price. “Jesus, Joe! It’s like 3 times our budget!” you exclaimed, pushing the laptop away from you. “But it’s so pretty!” he whined, flopping dramatically onto the covers. “It has 4 bedrooms! There’s only two of us” you reminded him, sitting back against the headboard and taking a sip of your scolding hot drink. “But…it might not always be just two of us” he murmured, his cheeks flushing a bright pink. A crippling silence fell, Joe staring unblinkingly at the ceiling and you stuck with your cup half way to your lips. He hadn’t meant to bring it up like that. He’d been hoping to have a little more tact but the idea of buying a house with you had his little heart fluttering like a butterfly and he couldn’t keep it in any longer. Marriage had occasionally been tossed around so you knew that was on his mind, but kids was a new topic entirely. “Huh. Is this something you’ve been thinking about for a while?” you asked gently, the gentle thud of your mug against the wooden night stand the only sound in the room. “Would you be mad if I said yes?” Joe replied softly, the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. “How long, Joe?” you murmured. “If I had to put a finite timestamp on it” he mused out loud, his confidence growing, “I’d say it was when you met my family” “We’d only been dating for 6 months!” a slightly shrill laugh escaped your lips, betraying the cool exterior you’d been trying to present. “Yeah well you looked so cute with my nieces and nephews I just couldn’t help it” he chuckled, propping himself up on his elbows so he could see your face. “Have I completely freaked you out?” “You’ve taken me a bit by surprise” you admitted, feeling your cheeks burn under his gaze. “I mean I’m not surprised by any means! You’re amazing with kids” you blabbered, your face feeling burning hot. Joe couldn’t help but grin at your nervousness. “You just never said anything and now you’re telling me this and we’ve been together for nearly four years and this is kind of the first time I’m hearing about it-” Joe shuffled forward to gently press his finger to your lips. “Calm down, love, calm down” he chuckled, hazel eyes shining brightly in the dim evening light. “But I have to ask…is that something you see with me?” The words seemed to be stuck in your throat so you simply nodded, tears springing to your eyes as well as Joe’s. “Really?” he asked gleefully, a grin blossoming on his face. “Really”

“Universe just likes to keep you on your toes I guess” Flick shrugged, hopping off the warm windowsill. “I’ve got to head to the restaurant, but you’re going to call him, yeah?” You nodded as she crossed your room. The affirmation seemed to assuage her concerns and she gave you a supportive smile before stepping out into the hallway and leaving you alone.

Across town, Joe was sitting at his grey desk, a new script just dropped off by his agent clamped tightly in his hands as he scanned the pages. It was good. Not something he’d ever done before, but what actor doesn’t want to give a rom-com a try? He was just turning the page of a particularly intense love scene when his black iPhone vibrated loudly against the wooden table top. Sighing softly he put down the document to peer at the screen. His heart stopped as he read your nickname that he hadn’t had the heart to change in the message bar.

Sweets <3 Hey, any chance you want to meet up next weekend? I’ve got something I’d like to talk to you about.

Completely abandoning his work Joe unlocked the screen, immediately dialling the only person he could talk to about this. “Hello?” came Ben’s sleepy reply from the other end of the phone line. “I’m going to get her back” Joe beams, pushing out of his office chair to pace around the living room. “Going to need a little more info there, mate” the Brit chuckled, loosing focus as his adorable puppy padded into the room, her long ears flopping with her bouncing steps. That was when the damn broke. Joe’d been trying to keep the details of his night after Ben disappeared with his bridesmaid to himself, but now he was too excited at the prospect of seeing you again to hold them in. “You fucking slept with her?!” was his friend’s elegant response but Joe flew over the judgement in his voice. “And now she wants to see me on the weekend! She absolutely wants me back, yeah?” The silence that met his question was not reassuring. “Possibly. Or she’s going to tell you that it was mistake” Ben offered and Joe felt like a lead weight had just dropped into his stomach. “You don’t really think that, do you?” Ben couldn’t help but sigh at the despair in his best friend’s voice. It’d been like this ever since the break-up. No matter what Ben did to distract him it never worked. No matter how many perfectly lovely single girls he set him up with the response was always lukewarm at best. And now that he had one sliver of hope of fixing his mistake he wasn’t going to let it go without a fight. “I’m just saying that you shouldn’t get your hopes up” Ben explained measuredly but it only made Joe roll his eyes. But despite his confidence, there was a tiny dark thought niggling at the back of his mind. What if Ben was right?

TAG LIST! Just message if you want to be added!! @briarrose26  @mrsmazzello @escabell  @yourealegendroger @sincereleygmg  @zvzxs  @dramatique-moi @borhapqueen92

[chrismalcolmhnd2c]

Doorstep Portrait

©Annie Dresner

©Julie Michaelsen

“In time of test, family is best.” – Burmese Proverb.

Research the Narrative

In your workbook or blog, research Social Portraiture. There will be further tasks and support through the Contextual Studies class.

Tell the Story

Organise a group shot that will involve a minimum of three people.

Following restrictions imposed by lock down, photographers have been finding neW and inivitave ways to continue their practice of social photograhy, and in turn documenting the current situation.

You may interpret this brief in a variety of ways however the end product should display a group of sitters photographed safely on location.

The location will be the sitter’s residence or work place however consider the best place at the location to photograph the sitters. Windows, doorstep, garden shed? Have fun with the posing.

Good location, controlled lighting, co-ordinated styling, effective communication, and effective posing/composition will all add to the ‘experience’ for your sitters.

A parental consent form should also be created when any members of your group are under 16.

Edit and refine: Complete worksheet

These images should be of a quality suitable for a private client to purchase and print, retouching flaws, great composition, sharp and properly exposed.

Submission: One Final A3 folio print ready canvas with 2 significantly different images of the same group.

Initial research for Social Portraiture for “White Shirt”

https://chrismalcolmhnd2c.tumblr.com/tagged/white

Further research on Doorstep Portraiture

Coronavirus: Doorstep photo diaries capture life in lockdown

Published 21 May 2020

Magnus and Jenny have enjoyed spending more time together during the coronavirus lockdown.

Over the last eight weeks doorstep photos have provided some of the enduring images of Scotland's lockdown.

Families, couples and housemates are having socially-distant photographs taken at their front doors in an effort to record these unusual times.

Among those following the trend to create snapshots of modern life is Glasgow photographer Caro Weiss.

"I now have more than 100 shoots booked over the next four weeks," she said.

"I've done a great mix of people, artists, makers, couples, people with dogs, kids. I have been booked for an anniversary shoot, a 'should have been our wedding day' shoot, birthdays, and ones that friends have booked for their friends to cheer them up if they are finding it really tough.

"I can't wait to meet everyone. It's the highlight of my days now."

We asked some of her subjects to tell us about their lockdown experience.

Alison and Willie McBride

Alison and Willie McBride, both in their 60s, can't do their regular jobs at the moment.

"We've recently moved to this flat which fortunately has its own private garden which we are thankful for during lockdown and we spend time there reading and playing Scrabble. We sent our doorstep photos to our daughter and family living in America and our son, daughter-in-law and another daughter living in Manchester. We are trying to face this crisis with quiet resilience and the photos show a sense of being in it together and looking after each other."

Susanne Bell and Stephen Gallagher

Musicians Susanne Bell and Stephen Gallagher wanted to document lockdown with a growing bump.

"I'm currently 36 weeks pregnant and we wanted some photographs to document our lockdown with our growing bump! We've not been able to visit friends and family for three months now so we're really missing seeing them and showing off the baby bump. We are both musicians who play in bands and teach music so we are working from home with Stephen's son Johannes who is 12. We've been really lucky to have lots of musical instruments and projects to keep us busy. Stephen is in a band called Scaramanga and has been writing, recording (remotely) and releasing new music."

Jenny McLean and son Magnus

Jenny, 38, wanted to record Magnus' sixth birthday during the lockdown.

"We're coping well - we face Queen's Park, so we never feel too isolated with all the people coming and going for their daily exercise. We've kept busy through a combination of juggling work, craft projects, schoolwork and a worsening online shopping habit (I bought a 1960s swimsuit the other day… when I'm next going swimming, I have no idea!). We've been lucky to stay healthy throughout. It was Magnus's sixth birthday at the weekend so it seemed the perfect way to remember his day, and a time where - amidst the pandemic - I've felt really lucky to have more time with him, away from our usual busy lives."

Barbara Smith, Chris Macfarlane, Innes and Ishbel

Barbara, 37, Chris, 38, and their children Innes, 6, and Ishbel, 4, loved their "daft" photos.

"We are so pleased with our photos, they're so informal and more than a wee bit daft. Kids get big so quickly, it's a real treat to have a record of this time, even if it has been quite intense in parts! We are all healthy and enjoying having more family time, although I'm not sure I'm quite cut out for home schooling. I'm a wedding florist, so my business has been affected drastically, everything is either cancelled or postponed. Which at least means that I am able to take on childcare now that Chris has to work from home. He is a college tutor and is having to adapt to teaching his students online."

Cecilia Stamp, Greg Paterson and Leo

Cecilia Stamp is looking after her mum in nearby sheltered housing and has lost a family member to the virus.

"I'm a jeweller and I don't have full access to my workshop at the moment so I have been working as best I can but I really miss my workspace - especially as there's equipment I don't have at home. One of my main priorities has been looking after my mum who lives nearby in sheltered housing, doing food shops for her etc, as she can't go out. We've had a family member die from the virus down south, which was a huge shock as he was in good health, so it's been especially difficult for her too. We couldn't go to the funeral and trying to sort things remotely was a challenge."

Kenji Kitahama and Till Stowasser

Till, 42 and Kenji, 44, are both working from home.

"We're hanging in there and trying to make the best of the situation. We're very lucky in that both Till and I are able to work from home. Till is a professor and has been holding all of his lectures online since the beginning of March. I'm a bookbinder who makes bespoke photo albums and books. I run my small business from my home studio, so the lockdown hasn't affected my daily work routine a great deal. However, this is a time when I'm usually busy making wedding albums but since all of these celebrations have been cancelled or rescheduled, it's been a bit quieter. We're so grateful for all the frontline workers and of course, the postal service—who are making it possible to keep my little business afloat."

The McGarrigles

Eamon, 40 Claire, 40, Nancy, 5, and one-year-old Nena are getting used to sharing their space a lot more.

"We are currently adapting to the new way of life with Eamon now working from home. I'm no longer able to work as my place of work is temporarily closed due to Covid-19, so I am now attempting to be a home school teacher to Nancy who was in P1. We are missing our families and friends so much as we are both from Northern Ireland originally and have no family here in Glasgow. Our kids keep us sane and drive us mad in equal measures. I hope they will remember this time in their lives as the time we all got to hang out more, baked cakes, clapped with all our wonderful neighbours on a Thursday night and painted rainbows."

Terri Hawkins and Ernst

Terri Hawkins, 31 and Ernst Wolf, 2, have a flat full of flowers.

"I am a florist and rely mainly on weddings and events, so my business has been hugely affected. Me and my partner Angus fell through the cracks for government funding so we had major money panics. My business was the only way we could earn money, so we turned our living room into a dried flower workshop and came up with these flower arranging kits that people can make at home using dried flowers. They are great and keeping the whole family just afloat right now! Angus has started working for me, he's in charge of the logistics, computer stuff, ordering and I do all the making.

"Our house is a mess filled with flowers, our poor two-year-old has to watch TV every morning whilst we frantically work, we try and get it all done for lunch time then spend the day playing with our son Ernst! The online flower shop has been our families saviour, we are extremely grateful."

The Evans family - Mhairi, Maeve and Joe

Mhairi, 35, Joe, 36 and Maeve (who will be six next week) have made the best of a bad situation.

"Joe and I are working from home and juggling home schooling. We've all been lucky to be quite well but did have some mild symptoms near the beginning so went through isolation. It's pretty full on. Some days are fun, some days are really hard and we've all been up and down. Maeve is beginning to really miss her friends and her school. We're just trying to make the best of it but we miss our families and friends a lot. I have so much respect for all key workers and I'm happy to stay at home for as long as we have to if that keeps them safe."

Hazel Jane and George Windsor

Hazel Jane, 23 and Dr George Windsor, 29, had only moved in together in February and say their lockdown was a "cohabitation of fire".

"We're both lucky enough to continue working full-time from home throughout lockdown and we do this by rotating spaces between the kitchen table and the sofa. Neither of us have shown any symptoms so it's been a smooth ride in that sense, but we have certainly suffered the mental health dips that come with quarantine and won't be unhappy to see the end of it. We moved in together in February so this has been a cohabitation baptism of fire. Also, these are not the haircuts we went into quarantine with. Mine is now considerably longer, while George's DIY cut leaves lots to be desired."

Claire Jonston-Dawson, John and Eddy

Claire, 33, John, 30 and Eddy, 2 have enjoyed more time together in their "flat bubble".

"We co-own a tiny pizza restaurant with a friend, so life is completely different for us in lockdown as we are closed right now, and have been since mid-March. It has had its ups and downs, as we, like so many others, still wait to find out what financial help we're getting for our business, but restaurant aside we've adjusted to slower, much simpler days and getting to hang out together. And we know we are some of the lucky ones in this situation, so really just spend our days swinging from guilt to gratitude for our small but cosy flat bubble, to being overwhelmed and angry at the UK government."

Source: https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-scotland-52706375

Further Research

Photographers taking 'doorstep portraits' capture candid picture of life in lockdown from Kent's towns and villages

By Sean Delaney

Published: 27 May 2020

Photographers across Kent are taking candid shots of households on their doorsteps in a bid to document precious family memories and drum up funds for the NHS.

The industry was among those hardest hit by the lockdown restrictions as studios, weddings and other public places were all deemed out of bounds.

Couple Charlie and Lauren Moore in Snodland Photo: Strawberry Photography

But now so-called "doorstep photoshoots" are providing families with the chance to capture some priceless memories during these difficult times.

It has also afforded snappers a safe space in which to engage with clients and neighbours while also bringing in some much needed cash for their businesses and the health service.

New mum Sarah Hunt is currently running her business Strawberry Photography from her home in Snodland.

The 32-year-old usually focusses on weddings but as these have all now been rescheduled until next year the doorstep project has been providing a new outlet in-between caring for her three month old daughter Margot.

Each session is conducted outside and in line with government guidelines on the two metre distance, although in reality Sarah says it’s closer to four or five metres because of the quality of her camera lens.

Tony Legg and Jane Pullinger-Legg who is a nurse assessor in the NHS Photo: Strawberry Photography

"It was a little bit slow at first. I think people couldn't quite grasp the idea of how it worked," she said.

Work soon began to pick up and Sarah has been booked in for various sessions around Snodland which she times around her baby's feeds.

"These have been a lot of fun and gone down really well," she said. "My approach is very relaxed and informal which enables me to create real and candid photos."

"I was doing virtual shoots and these were okay but they are just not the same as getting out and taking photos".

Sarah has snapped everyone from a funeral director to a nurse assessor and her pet pooches.

But a group she has taken shots of regularly is mums-to-be and includes one expecting mum who found out she was pregnant just days before going into lockdown.

Funeral director Gray Reigate, pictured with wife Zoe, daughter Molly and Boris the boxer Photo: Strawberry Photography

She said: "As well as family photoshoots, I have also photographed mums to be which has been so great as many of them have been in lockdown since the start of their pregnancies, so this has been a lovely way for them to show off their bumps.

"Otherwise there is going to be people being like 'oh my god' you're pregnant.

"Adapting my business to be able to create these images for people in these unprecedented times has been extremely rewarding – It's also great to just get back out there with my camera."

Payment is collected through contactless means and £5 from every shoot is donated to the NHS.

Sarah is also part of a team of Kent wedding suppliers who are putting on a wedding worth £35,000 for one lucky NHS worker.

The competition is the brainchild of Lou Finn, owner of Ashford-based Bake To The Future who has brought together 52 suppliers to donate their services for free.

The Champion family photo: Estelle Thompson Photography

Another photographer who has been doing her part for the NHS is Sevenoaks-based Estelle Thompson.

The 46-year-old has been capturing a frank snapshot of what lockdown life has been like in the small village of Fawkham in Longfield.

Estelle's calendar would usually be booked up with weddings and baby shoots at this time.

But when the Coronavirus struck her business Estelle Photography ground to a halt and as a self-employed worker says she did not qualify for government relief.

She wrote on her blog: "My heart broke every time a bride contacted me to discuss new dates for a wedding that was long awaited and now would be pushed back further."

Scarlett and Harry used the photos to wish their nanny a happy birthday, as they couldn't be with her. Photo: Estelle Thompson Photography

The snapper filled her time taking shots of her dogs and birds on the garden feeder but said nothing could match up to the joy of "capturing the personalities and cheeky smiles" of people.

"We are never photographers because it pays the bills, we are photographers because we love it," she said.

Estelle noticed people talking about a project in America called "Doorstep portraits" and decided to emulate it in her own tiny village by posting on the Fawkham community Facebook page.

The response was simply overwhelming, she says, with so many people wanting to be photographed – mostly to document what the current time is like for their children.

It was this which was to serve as her main motivator throughout the period, she adds "for those kids to be able to turn around to their own kids and show them this is what it was like".

In return Estelle asked villagers for a £10 pledge to the NHS and has now amassed more than £500 thanks to various generous donations.

Adele Barker is the new priest-in-charge at Saint Marys Photo: Estelle Thompson Photography

She said: "So, I had photographed the village, the people that live here, the rocks and the rainbows.

"It is kind of my gift, to the village that I love, where both my home and my business is."

She recalls how even her husband became a hero in the village after dressing up as a Tyrannosaurus Rex and surprising a three-year-old boy from afar while having his birthday party in lockdown.

The photographer says the idea has since "spiralled" into a time capsule, with her being asked to bury a USB containing some of the doorstep portraits.

She even snapped the new priest Adele Barker who arrived at the local church St Marys in Longfield not long before lockdown.

"So much has changed," she said. "If you look back now the first photo had daffodils, now there is blue bells."

Estelle's husband dressed up as a dinosaur to celebrate neighbour Josh who was celebrating his third birthday in lockdown Photo: Estelle Thompson Photography

But even though she misses her family and friends Estelle says she is incredibly grateful for her village neighbours.

She added: "The community during this time has just been incredible –to have their experience to document."

David and Jemma Rannard of Click:Create Rannard's Photography and Design have been offering to take family portraits outside homes but also to record important events during lockdown.

David said: "The family photos have really taken off. It is a way for people to keep in touch during these terrible times.

"When we realised people were making the effort to stage VE Day parties at home we thought it could be a natural extension of what we do."

David and Jemma Rannard and daughter Eva of Click:Create at Iwade offering VE Day photos on your doorstep

Wife Jemma, a graphic designer, is usually on hand and the couple now have an apprentice in the shape of their nine-year-old daughter Eva.

The couple charge £20 for a 10-minute photo shoot and donate £5 to the NHS.

It’s an emotional pledge for the family who sadly lost a friend to Covid-19.

And while offers of work are now coming in from different parts of the county the couple say they are having to decline them.

He explained: "It really only started as a bit of a service to villagers in Iwade where we live. We have done a few in Sittingbourne but I didn't think it was right for us to travel too far.

"It really angers me when people don't take this situation seriously and ignore the advice we are being given. The more we all sacrifice now, the quicker it will be over."

Source: https://www.kentonline.co.uk/authors/sean-delaney/

[asfeedin]

Martin Braithwaite talks signing for Barcelona leaving Leganes and training at home amid coronavirus pandemic

Martin Braithwaite will never forget 2020. In February, he made the shock move from Leganes to Barcelona, with the Catalan club announcing him as an emergency signing three weeks after the close of the January transfer window. In March, he came off the bench to play in the Clasico against Real Madrid. Then, just two weeks later and 20 days after he joined the Spanish champions, football in Spain was suspended indefinitely due to the coronavirus pandemic.

– Stream new episodes of ESPN FC Monday-Friday on ESPN+ – Stream every episode of 30 for 30: Soccer Stories on ESPN+

Braithwaite was able to return to his Madrid home from his Barcelona hotel before strict lockdown measures came into place in Spain, although things have not slowed down for him while in quarantine. Last weekend, his wife welcomed their fourth child into the world as the Denmark international’s whirlwind year continued.

In the middle of it all, Braithwaite found the time to talk to ESPN about working from home, signing for Barca and connecting with Lionel Messi.

ESPN: The timing of the lockdown means you were able to be with your family for the birth of your fourth child — congratulations!

Martin Braithwaite: Thanks! I’m always trying to look for the positives, and this is definitely one, [the fact that] I could be by my wife’s side during this situation, where she was home alone with the kids — although my mother-in-law has been here as well. I am so happy that I could share this moment because if the season [had not been interrupted], I am not sure I would have been here.

2 Related

ESPN: With three kids and now a newborn, it must be a struggle to keep up with training.

Braithwaite: I am training every day; I’m actually quite busy. I don’t know how but I wake up early in the morning and I go to bed really late. I feel like I don’t have any time in the day. I have a schedule for what I want to do, and it’s fully booked, to be honest. I am just flying around, obviously in my own house, but I feel there are a lot of things to do if you just set up your day.

I do the club’s workout and then something on the side. We talk to the club’s personal trainer every day. He gives us the programme for the following day and wants to hear how we feel about everything. We’re in contact with the club every day.

ESPN: Is working from home difficult for a footballer?

Braithwaite: If the kids are around and they want to ask you a lot of questions and you have to be the dad, you cannot be 100% intense. It’s important when you’re training that you keep that intensity, because when you get back and you have to play the games, it’s all about the intensity. When I start training it has to be really intense, and I have to be 100% focused.

Of course it’s really difficult when you’re at home with the kids around, I saw that in the first couple of days. You need to have a tight schedule and be able to say “OK, I am training at this time, and I am doing it like this,” because if you just wake up and go by the day, the day will suddenly go away and you end up having to do a workout at 10 p.m. — when you have kids, there is always something to do.

ESPN: You still found time to briefly replicate Ronaldo’s famous 2002 World Cup haircut …

Braithwaite: I was just enjoying myself! I was cutting my hair, and I just felt it. I said “OK, let me see how this looks,” and I felt the power, suddenly I felt more technical and everything. [But] I didn’t stick with it, I think my wife wasn’t that happy about it, so I had to cut it off.

Ronaldo was my main idol growing up, that’s the guy I really looked to for inspiration, how to develop myself as a player. I just loved how he played.

ESPN: The lockdown came so early in your career at Barcelona that you didn’t get much time to get to know your new teammates.

Braithwaite: It’s cool, we have a WhatsApp group where we are talking, but I’m not really thinking about that. I am always looking for the positives, always trying to get an edge out of no matter what happens. I am always turning obstacles into something good.

Now, I have time — time that I normally wouldn’t have — so I can do a lot of things that I might not have done before. I have a lot of time to think what I can do better in my game, look at videos, be more detailed in my personal training. I am sure when I get back, [Barcelona] will get an even better version of me.

ESPN: What videos have you been watching?

Braithwaite: I’ve been looking a little bit at my own performances, but only in the games I played since I came here. I cannot really compare my performances in other teams because the way we play here is so different.

I have watched a lot of [Barca] games to try and look how I can fit in. I always like to look at my teammates, how they are playing, how they are passing. They don’t need to adapt to me; I adapt to them. It will help me when I get back, just to be sharp, and I know where the ball will fall down around the box. I will be there waiting, just to score the goals.

ESPN: How do you rate your first three games at the club?

Braithwaite: It’s been good, but I’m always looking to improve. I put a lot of pressure on myself. I like to push myself. I know I will do even better than I have done so far. It’s easier when you play with such good players. I know I just need to make my good movements and they will find me.

You have Messi, who can do everything. The [opponent] is going to focus a lot around him, so I just have to play my game, and my game is naturally running in behind. I think it’s not fun for other teams, you know you have to look at Messi, but you have someone running in behind, so the defenders have to make a choice. Either they follow Messi or they follow me, and someone is going to get the space. You cannot play 90 minutes without giving us space.

I can also come and get the ball, but I don’t need it in this team because we have so many good players. I’m just going to stay focused running behind, making it really difficult for the defence and putting them in a position where they have to make a choice. We just have to take advantage of that when we play. We have such good players that I am sure we will.

Martin Braithwaite joined Barcelona three weeks after the close of the January transfer window as an emergency signing. Pedro Salado/Quality Sport Images/Getty Images

ESPN: Are you missing football?

Braithwaite: Oh, I miss it every day. I am missing it so much. That’s what I love to do. That’s what pushes me to wake up and work out. I really can’t wait to go back.

ESPN: Has it been tough mentally?

Braithwaite: I feel better than I thought, but I think it’s because I am putting my total focus into improving my game. But at the same time I really miss playing and training. My wife asked me what I am most looking forward to, and I think she got a bit disappointed that I didn’t say going out to restaurants eating with her — I just said I want to go to training.

ESPN: How do you feel about playing behind closed doors when football returns?

Braithwaite: If that’s the best way to keep people’s health and keep everyone secure, that’s what we have to do, even though it’s not what we want. We love to play for the fans; that’s what we’ve been playing for since we were kids. The fans are everything, they give us that adrenaline, that rush when we go to the stadium.

Dan Thomas is joined by Craig Burley, Shaka Hislop and a host of other guests every day as football plots a path through the coronavirus crisis. Stream on ESPN+ (U.S. only).

ESPN: Signing for Barca, the coronavirus lockdown, becoming a father for a fourth time. You can’t have imagined all of this happening this year on Jan. 1?

Braithwaite: Not at that moment. I am a guy who dreams big. I believe everything is possible, but I wouldn’t have said it would happen that fast for sure.

ESPN: Is it true you kept Barca’s interest a secret?

Braithwaite: I heard about it at the end of January and then it got more intense in February. I just felt, you know, that I am going to wait and see how this goes. If it’s going to get 100% serious, then I will let [my wife] know, but there’s no reason to get people around me excited. I got excited, but I knew if I told people, they were gonna be talking about it every day. For me, I was at Leganes, I had to perform. When I am at a place, I give 100%, so I didn’t want to put my mind elsewhere.

ESPN: You didn’t even tell your wife?

Braithwaite: Usually I tell everything to my wife, but she only knew three days before I signed because it suddenly got leaked in the media. It got leaked in the morning and I didn’t see her until the evening, when I told her I had to talk to her. She knew why. She understood!

ESPN: How did Leganes react?

Braithwaite: Leganes are an amazing club. The people working there are the best people. I cannot speak highly enough of that club. Sometimes when you leave a club, you can leave with mixed feelings, but they totally understood. They said this is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, so you have to take it. They would have done the same. They truly understood me. They felt it was unfair they couldn’t get a replacement, which I understand.

play

1:16

Martin Braithwaite opens up about how his style of play suits Lionel Messi and Barcelona.

ESPN: How was your relationship with the coach, Javier Aguirre?

Braithwaite: Really good. He’s a special guy because he’s an old-school guy, and my experience has been that the old school have some kind of distance to the players. But he’s the players’ man. You can go and talk to him; he is always thinking about the squad. And at the same time, he’s someone really hard, you know, people really respect him. You don’t have to mess with him, because he will put you in your place, but he has a big heart. [When I left] he told me go and enjoy. He said you have to go, this is your career, this is a big opportunity, of course you have to take it, just go and kill it.

ESPN: Everything’s happened so quickly, has 2020 been a blur?

Braithwaite: No, I remember everything pretty clear in my head, and it’s been a good experience. I have come to the biggest club in the world, but it’s strange because I have always visualised myself there, always been thinking about it.

Arriving [at Barca], with all the circumstances, all the press and everything, of course you feel it’s something big. But when I started training, it was just like another club. I felt it was really natural, I felt really welcome by everyone at the club, all the players, the fans … they have welcomed me with open arms. I appreciate that and when I get on the pitch, I just want to pay [them] back and that’s what I’m going to do.

I visualised playing on the biggest stage, winning all the titles and it has led me here.

ESPN: There must have been moments when you had doubts?

Braithwaite: You have ups and downs along the way. You have moments where you think it’s never going to happen. And then you just click out of it and you just keep working, because you have the goals written down. You say this is what I wanted to do, this is why I wake up early and work hard, this is why I do a bit extra than what people are willing to do, because I have these high goals and I know I need to work hard. And now it has given me so much power, a fire inside me, because all the goals I have put down, they’re coming true. I have seen how powerful it is, and dreams do come true. I know now that I just put my mind to something that seems unachievable and I know I will achieve it.

ESPN: Now you’re at Barcelona, what next?

Braithwaite: Maybe some people would come and feel like, “Wow, I made it,” but I feel like, “OK, now we’re starting, now my career is really starting.”

ESPN: And you have a contract until 2024 …

Braithwaite: I would love to stay even longer, and I am sure I am going to stay even more than four and a half years; that’s how I see it in my head.

Right now, I just want to go and play and enjoy and win titles with this team because that’s what I am here to do. Now I am at the biggest stage, and now it’s about winning titles. This is my aim. Everything that’s possible to win, I want to win everything. And for me, at Barcelona, I’m looking at all these legendary players that played here, and all the periods where they had some of the best teams, and for me one of the goals is to be able to say I played in one of the best Barca teams in a generation.

I want people to be able to look back at the team I played in and say, “Yeah, that was one of the best teams there have been in Barca’s history.” That’s a huge motivation for me, and it comes with a lot of hard work, but I am willing to put in the work. I am excited.

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Tags: Barcelona, Braithwaite, coronavirus, home, Leaving, Leganes, Martin, Martin Braithwaite, pandemic, Signing, Spanish Primera División, talks, training

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[treehugginglibrarian]

“I love you, honey”

“You don’t have to worry about the house, grandma. It’ll be taken care of.” 

“I mean, I’m sure it will. The next owners will do what they have to do.” 

“No grandma, it won’t have ‘next owners.’ Its next owner is going to be me. And Lesia. It’s all been decided already. Eric and Rana are both completely okay with it. And obviously my dad is okay with it.”

“You want the house? But… but why do you want the house?”

“Because it’s the only serious constant I’ve ever known. Throughout every part of my life I have visited my grandparents in that house. It’s in a beautiful part of the country where Lesia and I can live happily and still have space. And it’s big enough that the whole family can congregate there if they want. And they will. It’s the homestead. I want it.” 

My grandmother tried not to make it obvious she was nearly crying. But sitting in a Friendly’s, barely eating her food as her appetite had long since disappeared, she was quite clearly touched by my desire to inherit the house my father had done most of his growing up in. 

When I told my dad I wanted the house, he was just relieved because it meant him and my Uncle Eric wouldn’t have to scramble to get it sell-worthy. We can take our time emptying it. Figuring out what needs to be kept, either in the house or with other people. We can take our time completely remaking it into a home befitting a couple with no children, too many animals, and a fondness for guest rooms. 

My father wouldn’t have to say goodbye to his childhood home even as he said goodbye to his parents, because his own child was going to take it. 

To my grandmother, my desire for her house was a sign that she had successfully made it a home not just for her own children, but for generations to come. My keeping it would ensure that all of us will congregate in it long after she is no longer watching tv in the basement, petting a cat, and diligently working on her cross-stitch. 

This wasn’t the last time I saw my grandmother, but it was the last time I had a truly meaningful conversation with her. By the next time I saw her, a time that would be the last, she had suffered a stroke that left her extremely tired and often uninterested or unable to carry on conversations of any real length. At that point, my grandfather had gotten so mean and nasty that my father had basically told the “kids” to say their goodbyes, because he wanted to spare us any further contact with his dad. Such is the curse of old age, I suppose. 

This last conversation with my grandmother followed the last time she ever set foot in one of her favorite spaces, Pleasant Valley Wildlife Sanctuary. My grandmother was obsessed with nature for basically her entire life. In an alternate universe where women her age were encouraged to do things other than teach and raise children, she was an environmental scientist who would have made quite a stink about the state of the planet. That’s not to say that the path that she took was any less impressive. 

She married young. At 18. To a man she had been dating for four years already. My grandfather joined the military pretty quickly, working with computers at a time when “computer” was a terrifying and hushed word that most people didn’t understand. They traveled a lot in those first years, and while my grandmother finished a degree in history and attempted teaching, in the end she found the profession rather loathsome for many of the same reasons today’s teachers often find it loathsome. 

She worked for intelligence agencies and was a member of the Women’s Army Corps, never giving much consideration to the fact that women weren’t supposed to work for intelligence agencies at that time. She raised three children, watched the family go through times of crisis and calm, and all the while she volunteered to help take care of the nature parks in her area. The woods were her refuge. To me, she always seemed happiest when she was watching birds and she was, for reasons that will always confound me, the type of lunatic who would wander onto her back porch to take photos of the black bear in the backyard. I’m still baffled that she never got eaten! 

So it was that, on every occasion possible, I would kidnap her and take her back to a place she had made my own stomping grounds when I was a child. Pleasant Valley. 

We walked that day. A lot. Particularly for someone who was in her 80s and had not-great knees. We talked about life. About my dad. About my grandfather’s forgetfulness. About my job. We talked about the bullfrogs we heard and she laughed at me for continuing my never-ending tree hugging spree. I think a part of me suspected it would be one of the last good days I would get with her, but the stroke that she had a few months later made me that much happier that I had that last day. 

I love my grandmother immensely. I will miss her with every fiber of my being. Her exasperated “LYNDSEY” when I’ve said something foolish, her frustrated “Well, what do you want?” when I’ve refused to tell her what we should have for dinner, and her quiet but firm “I love you, honey” said into the nape of my neck each time she hugged me goodbye. Her small but legible handwriting that is, to me, just a neater version of my father’s own messy scribbles.  

My relationship with my grandmother was fraught, though, and to pretend otherwise would be to lie. She was a complex woman and her relationships with most of us were, at times, complex. When I was around 16 years old, she looked at me wistfully and told me how lucky I was to be as pretty as I was. “Everything is so much easier for pretty people.” My grandmother was no slouch in her youth, sporting a trim figure, a curly bob, and a cupid’s bow that she continued to decorate with electric pink lipstick up until she stopped doing her make-up. 

Despite this fact, I took the comment to heart. It took YEARS for me to accept that I had, in fact, made it through anything successfully on my own merits. Even in my early relationships, I often found myself questioning what the interest or the intent was. Did they like me because they liked me, or because getting a partner was simply easier when you were pretty? What my grandmother likely meant as a one-off, half-assed, compliment, turned out to be an emotional scar that took a literal decade to shake. 

She was also the only member of my immediate family to ever put pressure on me to have children and, for some time, I resented visits with her because of this. My grandfather was indifferent, but my grandmother was quite insistent that the genetic line needed to continue. Apparently, I was the mandatory continuer of that line. Her nagging never brought this to fruition and I know, as she told my mother as much, that she died at least a little bitter about this fact. 

Yet, despite an inability to accept the modern notion of a child-free woman, she had no trouble accepting the idea that I was marrying a woman. My grandparents both met my spouse rather early on in our relationship, with my grandmother concluding quite rightly, “Wait? You can’t be gay. You would never waste your time on men just to please society. That’s not you. Do you like both? You must like both. Oh. To have such options!” My grandmother, jealous of bisexuals, even if she did think we all needed to have children! 

Intensely well traveled, it’s safe to say my grandparents are probably where I got my fondness for world exploration, even if the traveling I did with them was limited to the general regions our family lived in at various points in time. She died having never made it to Australia, something she regretted up until she lost interest in regretting such things. Perhaps this is one of the reasons my father had such an intense interest in the nation that, ten years ago, I dragged him there with me. I will forever remain grateful that she made it to the Galapagos, and I can only hope my own dreams of Antarctica can be as well fulfilled. 

My grandmother was someone with whom I had everything and nothing in common. I am very similar in personality to my father, her oldest son, a fact that has become ever more apparent as I have gotten older. She loved my dad a nearly irrational amount, which in many ways likely drove her love for me, and her tolerance of my eternal shenanigans. She was always intrigued by whatever new ink or piercings I had acquired since our last visit, and sincerely wished that it was “acceptable” for “old people” to get tattoos. I’ve no idea what she would have gotten, but I tried to talk her into it at least a dozen times! 

During my time in the military, my grandparents were my rocks in every single way. They constantly mailed me care packages in which tootsie rolls were used as packing peanuts (remarkably effective) and I have quite a collection of cards and letters from both my grandmother and their friends. It is quite possible their never ending supply of Ding Dongs and Yankee Doodles single-handedly added inches to some of my troops’ waistlines! 

They lived only three hours from Fort Drum, so whether I needed to escape an unsavory personal situation or just wanted to get away from work for a long weekend, I had a built in bed-and-breakfast complete with a side of grandmother-that-spoils-me-rotten a short jaunt from my home. My boss while I was at Brigade was so amused by my visits to their house that she would often kick me out of work early on those evenings, saying “you only have your grandparents for so long. Go enjoy them while they’re here, dammit.” 

One particularly memorable trip saw my drive there interrupted by a call to my grandmother, with me in hysterics. I had passed a veal farm on the drive and the little bitty cow shelters were significantly more than I could handle. I completely broke down and called their house both so they would know I was running late and so my grandmother could calm me down. When I arrived, she told me she’d called Hancock Shaker Village and arranged for me to go pet the baby cows there the next day. That was the type of grandmother she was- you were never too old to be scooped up and treated like you were still her baby.

One of my last trips down there while I was living Upstate, it was my grandmother who made me see the light regarding an emotionally abusive boyfriend. “Honey, you don’t have to be with someone just to be with someone. I know I tell you I want you to find someone because I think it will make you happy. And that’s true. But someone who makes you unhappy is a significantly worse idea than happiness by yourself.” Less than a month later I dumped him and never looked back. 

My wardrobe is populated by vintage items I have inherited from her, my jewelry is speckled with the sparkles she has given me over the years, and my kitchen is eternally rainbow colored because she and my grandfather are who ensured I eventually received the Fiesta Ware I had wanted since I was a child. I routinely eat off actual silverware that I liberated from their kitchen during one visit and polished to a proper shine. I know, I’m a terrible Millennial. 

My grandmother died on February 6 and a little bit of light left the world with her. I know, though, that she got the ending she wanted. She wasn’t in a nursing home. She hadn’t spent the last year of her life, following a stroke at the end of 2018, cooped up and surrounded by doctors and nurses. She had lived the remainder of her months on her terms, or as close to it as she could. By the time she left us, she was tired. She was routinely in pain. She was having trouble staying awake for any length of time or eating any real amount of food. It was time for her to go. 

I’m glad she’s at peace, and intensely happy that I was given the opportunity to make as many memories with her as I was, well into my adulthood. I haven’t the foggiest what happens to people after they leave us, and won’t pretend that I really think it’s all that much. My grandmother, though, will live for me forever. Larger than life, loudly screaming at my grandfather “PERC! Will you turn that down!” and eternally telling me, “I love you, honey.”  

Dawn Marie Williams, somewhere in Minnesota, circa 1991. Fiercely loved by her granddaughter then, now, and always. Rest easy, grandma. You taught us well.  

[yuensteiger]

The farmer saw his wife put the breadbasket in the center of the table, he smiled thankfully but she warned him that they were not for him.

"They're for the boys, you know," said the woman, pointing to her children as they walked through the dining room door, approaching the table.

- What have I done to deserve this punishment?

- You know, you have to take care of the food, you are not so young, and I see that the wine diminishes faster and faster, do not think I do not notice.

"Come on, one slice," the farmer replied, ignoring the comment about the wine.

- It's okay! I hate those damn honey eyes you have, I can not against them, but one - said his wife walking away to the kitchen - I'll be controlling you!

- Thank you!

With a giant smile, the farmer received his sons, breaking bread, singing "come, come and see that there is bread for everyone" strong enough for his wife to hear him from the kitchen. Despite this staging he would only eat a portion of the bread, which he split into pieces to last the whole lunch.

-How was the work today guys? - He asked when they were all already sitting around, having blessed the meal and thanked his beautiful wife.

- We waited for you, said the eldest of the two young men. - It's ending the harvest season and we were waiting for you with the tractor and you never came.

- You know what happens every fall, son. You know we have to celebrate the harvest with our neighbors. We were with your mother decorating outside the barn, getting ready for the party of this weekend. This afternoon the band has to come in for rehearsals, so I can not help you either.

- You should start thinking about charging for the show, pa - said the youngest - I say, because it is becoming more popular every year ...

- I told you, that's not his job. - interrupted the older brother -We are farmers, not musicians. What we do at the end of the harvest is that, a party, a celebration of the hard work of the whole year. We are not a traveling circus and we will not charge our neighbors and fellow farmers for celebrating with us. If you want to make money or sell something, you can do other things, like cakes or tissues or even offer a part of the harvest ...

- Of course, without touching what we give to your beloved union. - he murmured, tossing a bite of bread, the smallest but not tall. Despite having a year of difference, his wrinkles and his way of speaking made him look bigger.

- OUR union. They are helping us in whatever we need, and yes, we have to give a portion of our harvest to help those who were not as lucky with the harvest as we are. You have to think about the community, not just your benefit, dear brother. Do you remember when Dad's tractor got stuck in the ditch? They were the first ones to come and take it out, and they did not ask for anything in return ...

- That reminds me… - interrupted finally the mother, calming the waters, as she always did: in a tone full of love, but with the firmness and wisdom necessary to avoid further discussion. - did you ask him about the boys? - She said turning to her husband.

- Ah, true, can you tell your friends from the union if they can come tomorrow to lend us a hand with the stage?

- A stage?! - Said the oldest of the brothers, the syndicalist, who wanted to control his tone of voice. Because two emotions collided within him, on one hand he wanted to emphasize the usefulness of the union to which he had joined not long ago, and to show his brother that it was not wasted money to give part of the harvest to his comrades. But at the same time, he did not want the celebration to turn into a carnival, an event so great that he set aside his year-round work, that his father be considered a musician rather than a respected farmer who opens his doors to his neighbors.

- You see? It is time to sell tickets, we have to seize the moment, we are entertaining many people, even to several towns. Not only our neighbors come to see Dad and the band, we could buy more chairs, so they would not have to bring theirs or sit on the floor.

- It is true that I have seen several people from other villages last year, - said the father thoughtfully, stroking his brown beard with dyes of red, meditating the possibilities - not only farmers, I saw the bartender of Scarlet Town with his new girlfriend . I know that some sailors from the neighboring coastal town were there, I heard them partying some songs. I understand that even the mayor was interested in coming to know us.

- Maybe we could record a couple of songs and send to him, probably he wants to contribute something and we will improve the farm and the facilities a bit ... - said the younger brother, who spoke more and more excited about the idea of having someone like the Mayor on the farm.

- Now you want to get politicians ?! - The syndicalist brother said in complete terror.

- I thought it was a family celebration - finally speak the mother of the house, to the surprise and complete relief of the eldest son, who snorted and felt it like a glass of water in the desert, which looked increasingly dry . - Can you imagine how the farm will be when the politician leaves with his caravan? And the image that would give us between our neighbors? I do not think it's worth submitting to that.

- But a record of his own, of his songs, he would be famous ...

- Your mother is right, - interrupted the father - we do not really need that, this is our thing, not the state. We are celebrating our work, from the beginning it was and will be like this. The fact that we invite the neighbors and the doors are open, it is because they also worked hard and we help each other in times of crisis and we want to share this joy, not take advantage of them.

The syndicalist son, who could imagine the face of his union comrades, when they found out that the mayor was on his farm, eating his food and using his house for political campaign, would undoubtedly get him out of the union and there would be no more help for his family, he felt his soul suddenly go back to his body and his chest swell.

- Just tell me when you want them to be setting the stage and they will be here without hesitation. They can help in what you need during your show and I will ask you to stay to lend a hand with the cleaning at dawn once we finish the celebrations or you prefer the early morning?

-That's what I wanted to talk to you about too, -  the father replied, looking a little more tense. -I'm not sure if I want them to be here during the show, maybe on the first night, Thursday night, there will be less people and the songs will not be so clean. But at the closing show, Saturday night, I would prefer that they not be present during the show and come Sunday morning, to clean and disarm the stage.

- Why? He ask in complete surprise.

- I know them, son. - he said softening his tone, approaching to the eldest of his children, painting his voice with tenderness and experience - I have known the unions for many years, I know they put the situations tense and it is not what we look for the festivities. We want people to feel in family, not to have eyes watching everything, talking low, planning, pressing those who do not pay the fees they ask, distributing their propaganda. Do you understand what I ask?

- It's okay, I understand - he said with some sadness in his eyes.

The rest of the lunch went on without much surprise, and there were no issues such as the union or recording a songs, much less the mayor. Until it was interrupted by a knock on the wooden door, which was increasing in intensity, but always keeping the rhythm. The whole family's face lit up and a smile was painted on each of its members. Quick, the youngest at the table, got up and went to open the door. From the table they could listen a scream, a laugh and a hug so loud that it rumbled through the house.

One of the band members had arrived, the boys' uncle. After melting in a hug with his nephew, he went in the house shouted and laughed, giving the boy his guitar to carry, he knew that the kid had some curiosity about music and liked to be close to the instruments since he was a child. The Musician was white-skinned as his sister and with the same deep blue eyes, eyes that saw everything, but with an aquiline nose and a well defined jaw that differentiated it from her, which with delicate and subtle features completely enamored the farmer her husband. He shortly after knowing her was completely determined to marry her and make her the happiest woman on the planet, and that nothing would be lacking. He was never sure if she had missed anything in all these years of marriage, but he knew she was happy with him and cared for him with her whole being.

His brother-in-law also knew it, so much that he chose him to found the band that played in the small meetings they held to celebrate the harvests, and little by little they became brothers and partners as the meetings became the small festival that they rode on the farm every year.

- Sometimes I do not know whether he is my younger brother or yours - She used to tell them mockingly when she saw them rehearse well into the night, as she was preparing to go to bed, knowing that they would go to sleep when the crickets did. And that the house would smell of tobacco for several days. The farmer, with his mandolin, and his brother-in-law, with his guitar, played a string and left it ringing as they bowed to it, and said goodbye to her, crying of "Goodbye, ma!"

The night that her musician brother came, the mother of the house ordered his real children, put his suitcases in the room they had prepared for him. She knew that this week would be the mother of four children who had to have at bay and that the normal hours of the house would be altered, "is once a year, ma, let's have fun," his brother used to say spinning her like a spin on the middle of the room while they danced.

- I think the boys are big enough, do not you think brother-in-law? They can take part in the rehearsal, maybe we can teach them some musical tricks, so they can get lucky with some young lady at the festival - the Musician said, during dinner, winking at the smallest of his nephews, who was the one who really wanted to have him in the rehearsal, but he could not pass over the major, he could never understand him, he always seemed so serious and content.

All the eyes of the table went to the woman in the house, begging for approval. She ignored them and kept talking about something else while eating, until the end of the dinner did not give them the answer, which she had already decided as soon as they asked. It was a small game that she had, to see how much they wanted to do what they asked. With this technique she was able to defuse many pumps and inconsistent orders, which her children asked without thinking well.

- Okay. - He said with a snort, a mischievous grin. -But no tobacco for them, look, I'll be controlling you all.

- Jujuju! - Laughed the Musician hitting the back of his favorite nephew, hugging him by the neck - This will be good!

They all laughed and finished dinner. While the eldest of the brothers helped the mother to gather the dishes, the youngest ran off in search of the instruments, and the Farmer with his brother-in-law carried the chairs to the gallery of the house.

The night was starry and the moon illuminated the whole farm. The oldest of the brothers came with a bottle of whiskey, sent by his mother. The Farmer turned to peer through the half-open door and saw his wife wink at him, he smiled and felt his heart full.

When the instruments arrived, the Musician was surprised to see a violin, and even more surprised when the older of his nephews took it and began to tune it. He looked at his uncle and raised his eyebrows, his eyes were the same as his own, the traditional eyes of his family, but the youngest of the family, was the exact copy of his father, even the beard that was emerging of his face, and trimmed it neatly to age his features, had that reddish hue of the other side of the family.

The boy had a perfect control of the violin, he even knew how to play with the libretto, thing that his uncle loved, who changed his opinion about his nephew song after song. And so the night and rehearsal were flowing in a very natural and magical way, to the last song, where the adults left the instruments and started to take the whiskey watching as the young people had fun and they only accompanied with the choirs. At the end of the rehearsal, the uncle handed his little nephew the whiskey bottle while the Farmer lit a cigar.

The youngest of the brothers, tasted a drink and spit it out, to everyone's laughter. The older  brother took the bottle and poured himself into a glass solemnly, and was slowly swallowing the drink that burned his throat, and knew it, from escapades with his friends from the union. The bottle returned to his father, while his uncle took the cigar, the four stood staring at the nightan how the moon with its light bathed the barn and the field in all its length.

You are growing, boys, - said the uncle -what do they plan to do when you grow up a little more?

- I want to remain a farmer, -replied the elder brother - I like to work in the countryside and I would like to help the community and fight for their rights against the companies.

- Your father told me that you were helping the union and that you were participating a lot.

- Yes, it is time for the big factories and companies to stop oppressing us, we have to take care of each other, Uncle. No one will if we do not.

- You have to be careful with the revolts, some are usually violent ...

- I want to continue working with the farm, - jumped the youngest - but I think there are many ways in which it can be improved, to get more profit, looking for more variety to crops and byproducts. Maybe sell out of the community, to big cities. I would also like to be able to go there, and market myself, confront the big businessmen and show them that we are up to them, and what our products are worth.

- You have two little fighters here, dear brother - said the Musician affectionately.

The Farmer stood all the time, hammocking his chair, staring at the stars, smoking his cigar and listening as his sons showed their personalities to their uncle. The two clearly had warm blood, but they had different ends, they looked at things in different ways. Both felt injustice towards the treatment that this zone of the country had, injustice that had been scattered for many years and perhaps continues to spread, once he is no longer with his tractor walking in the fields. These camps, he thought, who had seen history come and go, had colonels and their wars marched, and revolutionaries promising better times, all died before seeing their dreams fulfilled or seeing them destroyed by the next. He felt the breeze of autumn taking the smoke of the cigar, he knew that breeze came from other sides and other times that saw the wheat and the corn of the field grow, that saw floods and droughts. He felt all the poverty of the people, remembered his childhood, the stories that told him about the war, a war of brothers, a war of neighbors, left the history unbalanced. Looking into the eyes of his youngest son, who finished counting on what he wanted to fight, and marking him forever, he continued with the joke his brother-in-law had planted, but with deep sincerity he said:

- You know, son, one of these days, the south will rise again.

[spherewine28-blog]

Trump, Sex, and G-Strings: The Juicy Story Behind Newtown Athletic Club

City

The NAC is so much more than a suburban gym.

The pool scene at Newtown Athletic Club. Photography by Christopher Leaman

“How you make a G-string just disappear?”

This question, posed thoughtfully by the rapper Tyga in his song “Dip,” booms through the gym. I keep my eyes trained on the woman in front of me and try to mimic her movements: shimmy, shimmy, thrust, thrust, boob shake, BAM-slap-the-ground; shimmy, shimmy, thrust, thrust, boob shake, BAM-slap-the-ground. I’m not wearing a G-string, but if I were, I doubt I’d be making it disappear, as I’ve been in this Zumba class for 23 minutes and already my booty-shaking has become way less intense. I’m barely standing upright.

I send up a small prayer that this part of the routine will end soon, and, praise be, it does. Only it’s replaced by something far, far worse. To my horror, the attendees of this class — 112 women lined up like oversexed soldiers on an indoor basketball court — split in half and turn to face each other, like a West Side Story dance-off. The two sides begin to shake their way toward one other, then seductively jump back, butts in the air and blowouts bouncing. I’m somehow caught in the middle, always two moves behind and facing the wrong way, a tortoise in a stampede of spray-tanned gazelles.

The instructor, Rosalyn — known to her legions of followers as simply “Ros” — whips her long blond hair in circles. She’s a tiny firecracker, 47 years old, mom of five, in partially see-through black leopard-print leggings and a matching sports bra. She bares her teeth — literally, like a tiger — and every so often lets forth a primal yell. I can’t decide whether she inspires me or scares me.

Welcome, everyone, to the NAC.

For the uninitiated, “NAC” (pronounced “knack”) stands for Newtown Athletic Club, a 250,000-square-foot fitness complex that commands a 25-acre swath of land in Newtown. It’s a hulking, futuristic box of mirrored glass tinted the color of a Caribbean ocean, and it sticks out like a sore thumb on this sleepy stretch of Route 332 known as the Newtown bypass — part of a highway that snakes through much of Bucks County. In front of it stands a towering flagpole that lofts an American flag the approximate size of a Manhattan studio apartment high in the air, as if to say: Hello. We are America. Come join us.

Plenty of people have heeded the NAC’s siren call, paying up to $300 a month for entry into this elite place that fuels an ever-churning rumor mill. Live in these parts and you’ll hear it all: that everyone is sleeping with everyone (sometimes true); that the guy who owns the place is married and also has a girlfriend (true); that swingers flock here (unconfirmed, but likely); that the owner’s son was in prison for biting a guy’s ear off (yep); that the owner played a crucial role in Trump’s presidential victory (debatable, but more true than not); and that he’s planning to build a NAC-ian empire — a school! Apartments! A co-working space! — so that people won’t ever have to venture outside the gym’s campus, like a weird fitness-centric commune (slightly exaggerated but mostly true).

On its surface, the Newtown Athletic Club is a fancy gym. Members will tell you it’s a country club without a golf course. Non-members will tell you it’s a dividing line in town: “You can tell a lot about somebody just by asking what they think of the NAC. You’re either pro-NAC or against it,” says my friend Ashley, who lives in Yardley. (She’s against.) Employees will tell you it’s a “lifestyle center.” And NAC defectors will tell you that it’s basically high school, only with Botox and boob jobs. (“No, it’s worse than that. It’s like Tri Delts and frat houses,” says a current member we’ll call Claire, for her own safety.)

Members will tell you the NAC is a country club without a golf course. Non-members will tell you it’s a dividing line in town. And NAC defectors will tell you that it’s basically high school, only with Botox and boob jobs.

But none of these tells the whole story, because the NAC is more than a suburban gym on steroids. It’s an unlikely nexus of power, politics, money, sex and intrigue, a mini-city where thousands of people — including the area’s wealthiest, prettiest and fittest — go to work out and show off. It’s a social epicenter for a big slice of Bucks County, which flocks here to find a tribe (the Zumba girls, the weight lifters, the spin crowd, the yogis, the networkers, the monied stay-at-home moms, the poolside scenesters). They come here to connect with one another, either over preferred workouts and diets or over a shared love of the flashy side of fitness, where a trip to the gym is akin to a spin on a stage. (Some even bring their own tripods so they can film themselves working out. Don’t you?)

And, of course, the NAC is also the springboard from which Jim Worthington, its brash, bullish owner — the larger-than-life guy who created this larger-than-life scene — makes big waves. You know, stuff like solving the health-care crisis, finding a cure for ALS, electing Trump, and innovating until the NAC is known as the top fitness club in the world.

Back in Ros’s Zumba class, we’re on to the next move, which is just as awful as the last. I scan the room: There’s a cluster of high-school girls who look like Instagram influencers, all reed-thin and glowy. There are the Real Housewives, whose neon sports bras and grape-sized diamonds glow against their tawny skin. To my left is a woman in a very serious-looking knee brace and pearls, and over in the corner, a woman in her 80s is shaking her hips. In front of us, on the other side of a glass wall, are two little girls. They’re watching us, giggling, mimicking our movements: hip sway, booty shake, BAM-smack-the-ground.

A new song comes on, and everyone starts punching the air. Everywhere, butts, boobs, grinding, thrusting, sweating. I feel dizzy. This is terrible. This is the worst thing I have ever done. I never should have agreed to write this story. I should demand a raise. I hate this. I hate this place.

I need to join.

•

One morning last summer, Claire, the member whose real name shall not be known (hint: she’s a 40-something mom), visited the NAC pool. Claire goes to the NAC for its top-notch fitness equipment and instructors, but on this day, she was poolside, making idle chitchat with the nice 50-something woman next to her while stretched out on a lounge chair. (“Three thousand apiece for those chairs,” Jim Worthington says proudly.) Without warning, at precisely noon, the music, which had been low and chill, revved up so loud that you couldn’t hear the person next to you. The woman stood to leave.

“ARE YOU GOING TO STAY FOR THE FREAK SHOW?” she yelled to Claire. “IT’S COMING. I’M GOING TO GO BECAUSE I’VE SEEN IT.”

The infamous pool at the Newtown Athletic Club was Jim Worthington’s first real step in transforming the gym into a capital-L Lifestyle Club. Kevin McHugh, an industry colleague, remembers Worthington’s vision: “He said, ‘I’m not looking for a pool. I’m looking for a place that people are going to talk about.’”

And, oh, they talk.

They talk about the swimwear — the see-through crochet bikinis, the heels, the thongs. (“Maybe she wore it in Europe?” Worthington’s right-hand woman, Linda Mitchell, says tactfully.) “One of my girlfriends owns the bathing-suit store in Newtown. People come in and say to her, ‘Dress me for the NAC pool,’” says Stephanie Edelman, a 38-year-old mom of two so obsessed with fitness that she was working out at the NAC the morning she went into labor.

They talk about what’s happening — or about to happen — in those cabanas. They talk about the crazy Vegas-like parties that take place on weekend nights. (Worry not: The NAC offers on-site babysitting and will even call an Uber for you.) They talk about the drunken arguments at the pool bar: “It can get kind of crazy. You’re out there trying to separate these middle-aged women who are arguing over the same guy,” says Jimmy Worthington, Jim’s oldest son and a manager at the NAC. He was the one involved in the whole ear-biting incident, so he knows crazy. They talk about who’s single, who’s married, who’s having an affair. “It’s an incestuous cesspool,” Claire says.

Jimmy’s equally blunt. “Oh, we should have a reality show,” he says. “No question. We could. And it would be great.”

Like TV shows, the NAC operates in a bubble divorced from reality. It gives low-key suburbia a bit of glitz and flash and a buzzing central artery of action.

Like those shows, the NAC operates in a bubble divorced from reality. It gives low-key suburbia a bit of glitz and flash and a buzzing central artery of action. Sure, you could go here just to work out, but you could also drop your kids off, dance with your girlfriends in a sexed-up Zumba class, grab a kale smoothie, sit in a sauna, get a massage, change into a thong bikini, find a cabana, order a margarita, and pretend you’re in South Beach.

Or not.

“It’s like Vegas, but it’s weird,” says Claire. “Like, do you realize we’re off of a road here, people? We’re not in some beautiful place. Like, this is off the fucking bypass.”

Sure, it’s off the fucking bypass, but soon, if Jim Worthington’s plans go through without a hitch, “off the fucking bypass” will be the center of the universe.

•

On a Sunday morning in late March, Worthington waits in a lounge outside Studio 2, where a group is in the final butt-slapping throes of one of Ros’s Zumba classes. As the women file out, he springs to life, the eager ringleader of this circus.

“You guys want a tour? C’mon, I’ll show ya around and you can see what we’re doing. It’s gonna be the best club, seriously, in the world.” He’s talking about the $10 million-plus three-phase expansion that’s under way. (This expansion is called “Breaking Boundaries.” Each of his major renovations is named; the last one he did, in 2013, was called “The Big Build.”)

Tours seem to be a thing here. The whole complex is speckled with signs inviting members to see the expansion’s progress; I hear rumors of VR goggles. Worthington’s already taken me on a tour, but I follow him on this one, too, along with 19 other folks. He winds the group through the gym to the construction site like Moses leading his people to the Promised Land. Stephanie Edelman is here in her designer workout gear (bought at the NAC!), and so is Kim Levins, Worthington’s 31-year-old girlfriend, a statuesque blonde with faux eyelashes and long pink nails that are filed to sharp points. (Both the lashes and the nails are maintained at the NAC’s salon and spa, Urban Allure.) Levins is an amateur bikini fitness model, and she lives with Worthington in an old Bucks County farmhouse. It’s a normal relationship — lazy evenings spent hanging with their dogs and watching Fox News — except that Worthington is still married to Kathy, his wife of 30 years. They separated eight years ago and don’t live together, but they have an agreement: He pays for her lifestyle (she recently returned from safari in Africa), and they remain married-on-paper. That way, he explains, he doesn’t have to split his assets and decrease his net worth, which would limit his ability to “do big things.”

Newtown Athletic Club owner Jim Worthington. Photography by Christopher Leaman

Jim Worthington is 62 but seems much younger. He’s short, only five-foot-seven, and often in a sleeveless NAC shirt, workout shorts and sneakers. He’s compact, with a wide nose, a perma-tan, and short hair that stands at attention on his head like a soft-bristled brush. His eyes crinkle at the sides when he smiles, and when he talks — which is a lot — he gestures wildly with his hands, which gives him a presence larger than he actually is.

When Jim Worthington talks, people listen. Some of it is because of the way he speaks — quickly, with a thick Philly accent. He starts a thought and then veers off-track, suddenly doubling back to something he mentioned an hour ago: “Did I ever finish that story?” But it’s also because you never know what he’s going to say next. Worthington is unpolished and unfiltered, a mix of unapologetic narcissism, bravado and refreshing frankness. He’s prone to exaggeration. It’s not that he doesn’t know he’s being controversial or how he might come off. It’s just that, well, he doesn’t particularly care.

“Jim kind of reminds me of President Trump,” says Larry Conner, the general manager of a Louisiana health club who sits with Worthington on the board of the International Health, Racquet and Sportsclub Association, the fitness industry’s global trade organization. (Worthington is the chair, a hugely influential position.) “If he speaks according to the teleprompter and all, he’s going to be a polished guy. But I haven’t seen him do that yet. The way he talks and the way he rambles on, the entertaining he does — yes, he might get some PR firms to cringe, but that brings him home to us.”

If the NAC had a PR firm, it would certainly be cringing now, as Worthington has careened off-script during the locker-room portion of the tour. The men’s locker room is the first part of the expansion to be completed, and it’s a glimpse into the future of the NAC, which looks more like a five-star luxury resort than a fitness club. The place is beautiful, all soft glowing light and slabs of creamy porcelain. (“That porcelain? A thousand dollars a sheet.”)

“We could’ve opened this two weeks ago,” he announces to the tour group, spreading his arms wide before launching into a tirade about the building inspector and township officials and the petty political stuff you deal with when you’re a big character trying to realize an even bigger vision. He riles up the group; they’re angry for him. I imagine the gazelles hunting down the building inspector and trampling him to death.

“I’m a big fish in a small pond here,” Worthington said to me when we first met. “I’ve got a bigger footprint outside of here, with the IHRSA chairmanship and the President’s fitness council.” (Worthington’s on the President’s Council on Sports, Fitness & Nutrition, along with Patriots coach Bill Belichick, MLB hall-of-famer Mariano Rivera and Dr. Oz.) “I’m recognized in my industry as one of the top guys, right? But locally, people think of me more as a businessman and entrepreneur, as opposed to somebody who’s doing something unbelievable in a global industry. There are members here who say stuff like, ‘We have the best club in Newtown,’ and you’re looking at them like, no, we’re one of the best clubs in the world. It’s a little disappointing.” Worthington waves it off, but despite his swagger, you can tell it stings.

Before you dismiss his claim as exaggeration, consider this: The NAC, which began as a modest racquetball facility, is now a bona fide mega-gym that pulls in, he says, nearly $19 million in revenue annually. It employs up to 500 staffers and has 12,000 members. But the NAC’s influence goes beyond sheer size.

“If nobody heard of Newtown before, they know it now. It’s a huge name internationally. Everybody in our industry is watching Jim,” says Conner. Yes, you read that right. A global fitness leader. In Newtown. I’ve lived in Bucks County for more than 30 years and driven past the NAC countless times. I’ve watched as weird things were added to the complex, like 2013’s water-park slide whose blue-and-white twists and twirls can be seen from 332 and maybe space. I chalked the slide — and news of four pools, cabanas, an outdoor restaurant, a full-service bar, a lazy river, and crazy weekend parties — to the manic visions of a guy who couldn’t decide whether he was running a gym, a theme park or a Vegas nightclub. But it turns out his visions weren’t manic. They were changing the face of the fitness industry. And, for better or worse, the face of an entire town.

•

Before you can look ahead to where the NAC is headed, you need to understand how it got here at all. It started as a nondescript 11-court racquetball club, founded in 1978 by a bunch of area businessmen — mostly Wall Street guys who wanted to cash in on the growing fitness trend. By 1981, the racquetball fad was starting to cool, giving way to Jane Fonda aerobics, and the Newtown Racquetball Club, as it was then known, was struggling to stay afloat.

Meanwhile, 20 miles away at the Babylon Racquet Club in Horsham, Jim Worthington was the life of the party. He’d just graduated from West Chester with a degree in health and phys ed and was working as a manager at the club. Babylon held round-robin tournaments on Thursday nights, and Worthington, as he tends to do, had whipped the weekly events into a full-blown scene.

“We drew a good crowd — 20, 30 people — and we’d all hang out afterwards,” says Bill Wunder, one of Worthington’s longtime friends. “But Jim drew all of us there. For whatever reason, people follow him; people listen to him, and they feel comfortable around him. He just draws people.”

Worthington’s ability to attract a crowd didn’t go unnoticed. Charlie Minter, one of the original owners of the NAC, and his wife, Dottie, lured him to Newtown in 1981. Within two years, Worthington had converted some of the racquetball courts to aerobics studios, boosted the club’s annual revenue by at least $150,000, and inked himself a deal in which he could buy a quarter-ownership of the NAC with his earnings. (The other partners were mostly silent; Worthington ran the place and used their balance sheets to secure hefty bank loans for expansions. He bought them out last year for $5 million apiece.) By the mid-’90s, Charlie Minter had left, Worthington was a one-third partner, and the Newtown Racquetball Club was the NAC.

The gym progressed steadily after that. Over the next decade or so, Worthington wiped out all of the racquetball courts and added an indoor pool, a gymnasium, and a huge three-story YouthPlex, which offers kids’ fitness classes, a party area (they claim to make a killing hosting birthday parties), and a child-care room, so you can ditch the kids while you make G-strings disappear. In 2011, he tacked on a separate sports training facility and event center; 2013 brought that Vegas-style pool.

You can still see the ceiling beams of the original racquetball courts, and Worthington loves to point these out. He shows them to me as we walk back through the gym from the indoor pool, where he regaled me with his plans for the space. These include a “European spa” with a cold plunge, and a year-round heated pool stretching from the inside to the outside, separated by a giant glass partition you can swim beneath. (“Like, if you’ve gone skiing in Colorado, you see a small pool outside that they keep heated year-round, and you go, Oh my God, that’s really cool. Well, I’m going to do the same thing here.” Pause. “But like five times bigger.”)

“You see the beams?” he asks. “This was court six, this was court five — this was the original club. You can see, it’s not very big.” He pivots on his sneaker, off to show me something else, but I hang back. I study the beams and try to envision what this space was like before all the rumors, Real Housewives and Republicans. Jim Worthington isn’t a subtle guy, and this is the most subtle he’ll ever be in explaining to me just how successful he’s become. Because the beams are more than a blueprint of the old club. They’re a benchmark of how far Jim Worthington’s come.

Samuel James (“Jim”) Worthington Jr., the youngest of three, grew up on a farmette in Prospectville, a postage-stamp hamlet surrounded by Horsham. His dad worked in finance; his mom was a “five-foot-three, 160-pound stump of an Italian woman, strong as a bull.” The household was a raucous, unfiltered carnival, and Jim Worthington ruled it. He was a hell-raiser in school, needling his teachers until they begged him to quit showing up. We’ll give you a C, just please stop coming in and disrupting us. He graduated from Hatboro-Horsham High School ranked somewhere around 300th in a class of 350.

According to childhood friends, Jim Worthington was always the center of the universe. It might have had to do with his size: He grew faster than everybody else, one of the biggest kids in elementary school, the first guy to grow facial hair in junior high. “He was dominating, a super-competitive, aggressive, athletic guy,” says longtime friend Dave Tiller. But then a funny thing happened. As everyone else grew, Worthington stopped. And if he’d been aggressive before, now it was even worse. Now he had something to prove.

“He has a little bit of the Napoleon-complex thing going on,” says Wunder. “His temper — he’s had some issues here and there with scraps.”

“Scraps” is a polite way of putting it. Worthington’s temper is legendary in Newtown. His emotions are exaggerated, a series of violent flare-ups, like water tossed on a grease fire, followed by quick cool-downs. (On the flip side, he’s also a crier. The first time we talked, he welled up five times. Many of his fellow IHRSA board members place bets on when he’ll start crying during a speech.) Unsurprisingly, these volcanic eruptions have gotten him in trouble.

A particularly violent bar fight when he was 25 landed him on probation. (His probation officer had lived across the hall from him at West Chester. “I knew I’d get you eventually,” he said when Worthington showed up for his first check-in.) And in 2001, a fight with an employee earned him a lawsuit. He jumps out of his office chair to show me exactly how it went down — where the guy was sitting, how the guy lunged at him, how Worthington slapped him in the face.

Linda Mitchell, who’s worked with him for 38 years and is the closest thing he has to a PR person, covers her face with her hand and shakes her head. Jim, for the love of God, shut up. But Worthington is even more animated now: “I know how to fight and I know he’s right-handed, so my head’s here, and I know he’s coming at me” — he finishes with a victorious flourish — “and I turn my head and he never hits me.” Linda and I stare at him. Do we clap?

Worthington hired a lawyer who was a longtime member of the NAC. The lawyer advised him against settling for a few thousand dollars; the jury awarded the employee $250,000 in punitive damages (which was eventually negotiated down to around $150,000); a furious Worthington nearly sued the lawyer for malpractice; and, according to Worthington, the law firm ended up paying half the damages.

Worthington still sees the lawyer around. After all, he’s still a member of the NAC.

•

People can’t seem to pin down who, exactly, Jim Worthington is and what, exactly, the NAC means. Worthington has turned the NAC into a mini Mar-a-Lago of superficial wealth and excess, but he’s also used it as a serious platform to drive attention — and millions of dollars — to causes he supports, like getting the PHIT bill passed. (It would allow Americans to allocate funds from health savings accounts to items like gym memberships and youth sports — and would be a boon for health-club operators.) The NAC has donated hundreds of thousands ($500,000 in 2017 alone) to Augie’s Quest, an ALS research foundation, and was instrumental in securing passage last year of the Right to Try bill, which gives terminally ill people access to experimental drugs. His involvement with the bill was spurred by NAC members Matt and Caitlin Bellina, a couple in their mid-30s grappling with Matt’s progressing ALS.

“At some point, I don’t know why, Jim decided he was going to try and save my life,” Matt says from his wheelchair. He can’t walk anymore, but the experimental injections he’s been receiving have helped improve his speech. Caitlin was the woman in front of me at Zumba, hip-thrusting like her life depended on it, or maybe just dancing for the both of them.

It’s sometimes hard to tell whether Worthington is a selfless philanthropist or a spotlight-seeker looking to cement a legacy. He’s far from humble when speaking about his philanthropic work, holding it out like a badge of honor, proof he’s not as bad as some people make him out to be. It makes you question his motives, until you hear about the stuff he doesn’t advertise: according to friends, he has co-signed car loans for employees, given someone a down payment for a house, let a down-on-his-luck friend crash in his guesthouse for a while. Dave Tiller puts it best: “Jim tells me I’m fat while he’s sending me $2,000 to get me out of a jam.”

Another thing people can’t agree on: whether Worthington is a left-brained by-the-numbers businessman or a gut-feeling sort of guy. You could make the argument for either. He lives by to-do lists. He keeps a folder in his desk drawer of every to-do list he’s ever made, dating back to 1981.

The whole Trump thing, though? “That was originally just a lark,” Worthington says. He grew up watching the national conventions on TV with his dad. They looked like big parties, everyone holding up signs. What fun, he thought, to go to one and hold a sign! His dad passed away a few years ago, and Worthington wanted to honor him. A powerful Republican lobbyist who worked out at the NAC told him he could be a delegate for 2016 if he got the 250 signatures required to get on the primary ballot. He needed to campaign.

But when you own a gym that has 3,000 members coming in daily, it’s easy to get signatures. He blasted the competition with robocalls and a firestorm of lawn signs. The whole thing cost him, he says, around $30,000, an unheard-of sum for an unbound-delegate race, but it was worth it. He’d made it to Cleveland, baby!

He cast his vote for Trump and then, with Mitchell’s help, organized a grassroots campaign called People4Trump. It soon got serious: Worthington offered to host Trump at a rally in his sports training center. Thousands of people showed up. (“And another 4,000 outside,” he claims.) And then, well, let Kellyanne Conway explain it, via Worthington:

“I was on the south lawn of the White House at a Congressional picnic, and Kellyanne Conway was there,” he says; his friend, Congressman Brian Fitzpatrick, had invited him to come. Worthington introduced himself to Conway, told her he was from Bucks County, and reminded her that they were the only suburban Congressional district Trump won. “I know,” she said. “I was a pollster. You guys were key to Pennsylvania.” Really? Worthington said. You think that? “Absolutely,” Kellyanne Conway said.

Jim Worthington, center of the universe. And controversy.

“God, since he was a delegate, I can’t even tell you how much shit we went through. Article after article, people quitting. It was so stupid,” says Kim Levins. Especially because — as Worthington insists now — he’s not actually all that conservative. “I’m supposedly this hard-core Republican, but I’m not. Am I a Trump supporter? Absolutely. I think the country is doing better than it ever has.” Then a keen insight: “I have a problem sometimes with his messaging — I think he takes it a hair too far. I’ve been accused of being that kind of guy, who just lets it rip, so I get where he’s coming from. I kind of identify with him.” (As if on cue, an employee walks past us. “Hey,” calls Worthington. And then he lowers his voice: “That’s my only illegal.”)

“People felt that they wanted to go to the NAC for the purposes of training and working out, and they didn’t want politics to be involved,” says John Cordisco, a NAC member and head of the Bucks County Democratic Party. He’s good friends with Worthington; they partnered on a real estate venture. “It’s privately owned, privately run, he’s free to do whatever he so chooses.”

The reaction to the rally was swift, but not as brutal as you might think. Worthington says only 50 or so members quit. And those people are blacklisted. Forever.

“If you challenge my right as an American citizen to do something off the property” — this is semantics; the training center is technically separate from the NAC, as it’s a pay-for-use facility, but it’s next to the larger NAC campus, it’s owned by the same guy, and, well, it says NAC on it — “to advance a cause that I feel strongly about, I don’t want your business.”

Worthington did make one exception, though. As he tells it, a member-services employee found him while he was working out — Worthington works out every single day from 8 a.m. to 10 a.m. — to tell him a guy wanted to talk to him. He’d quit the club over the whole Trump thing and wanted back in. No way. The employee came back a few minutes later: “He wants you to know it wasn’t his decision to quit, but his wife’s.” Tell him to grow a set. She came back a third time: “He wants you to know he’s getting divorced.”

Worthington stopped working out and gave the employee a message to relay: “Congratulations. You made the right decision. Welcome back.”

•

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. How did this happen, I think to myself, as the thumping beat of Tyga’s G-string song begins to pound through the studio. How did I end up here — again?

It was actually quite by accident: I’d been sitting in the lounge outside an exercise studio when the Zumba tribe walked by. I recognize some of them now: Stephanie Edelman, Caitlin Bellina, Kim Levins, and finally Ros, with her tiny Chanel bag and blond lion’s mane. “Are you here for Zumba?” asked Levins, excited. I explained, rather desperately, that I was actually just there to use the treadmill. She protested: “But you’re here! You have to try it again, the second time is easier, we’ll save you a spot!” There was nowhere to hide.

From my place in the back, I watch the women in the front row. It’s cutthroat to get up there, I’ve learned. Edelman worked for nine years to earn her coveted spot — first row, dead center. Bellina and Levins are next to her, dancing, laughing, forgetting stuff like ALS and politics and drama, making G-strings disappear.

The after-work Zumba class led by Rosalyn Yellin (center). Photography by Christopher Leaman

Soon, they’ll have a brand-new Zumba room (“’Bout a quarter of a million dollars’ worth of lighting and sound in there,” Worthington says) complete with a DJ booth, a stage, and a balcony overlooking the pool. It’s part of the Breaking Boundaries expansion, which includes a new wing of rooms designed specifically for individual classes. Worthington described it on our group tour as a “fitness mall” — each room has its own unique “storefront” — and it’s his innovative way to compete with today’s trend toward boutique fitness studios like SoulCycle, Orangetheory and Barre3. Along with the Zumba room, the wing includes a yoga studio with a dome ceiling and a spinning studio with a fully immersive Imax-like screen. (“Just the screen alone cost a couple hundred thousand bucks.”)

“You’re on ground zero,” Worthington says grandly, “and I’m not just saying it because I’m me — well, maybe I am — but you’re on ground zero of the next trend in the global fitness industry.”

Jim Worthington’s plans for the NAC are sweeping. (And, if you’re not pro-NAC, potentially scary. Sample: He used his power and influence to help kill plans for a large YMCA complex in town. Unfair competition, he explains.) His NAC preschool is slated to open in January — a natural extension of the gym’s child-care service and youth programming and a possible death knell for other, smaller programs in the area. “It looks like a Disney set!” he says. “Nobody will be able to compete with us.” Also coming: a co-working space, a restaurant, a Starbucks, and physicians to provide concierge medicine to members. And he’s working with Live Nation to create an event center across the street, though this won’t be part of the NAC campus. He’s got plenty of other ideas, too: tennis, climbing walls, ropes courses, zip lines. Linda Mitchell keeps telling him it’s time to put a bar inside.

“It’s not a gym. It’s a lifestyle,” says Bill McAlister, the owner of a successful infomercial company and one of the NAC’s biggest spenders. On top of his membership, he throws down between $3,000 and $4,000 a month here. “On personal training, on season tickets for the Sixers, Phillies and Eagles” — the NAC houses a ticketing agency, too — “my wife and I get our hair cut there, I get a massage every other week, we’ll get dinner there. Pretty much everything that you want, other than sleeping, is there,” he says. “And he’s taking that on in the next two or three years, so … ”

McAlister is referring to Worthington’s idea for NAC apartments across the street. (All residents would get a free gym membership.) He already owns the land — he warehouses property surrounding the NAC so that he can nimbly jump onto his next grand vision — and his architect is working on plans to present to the township. He’s already had one setback, though: The township nixed his plan to link the apartments to the NAC via a pedestrian tunnel. We are in Newtown, after all.

“As we got bigger and bigger over the years, we would laugh and say, ‘It’s like going to the mall.’ Now, it’s like going to a town, a village, all in and of itself,” says Mitchell. She’s a lovely woman, polished and well-spoken — a perfect antidote to Worthington’s rough edges. “When I grew up in the 1950s,” she continues, “we all went to our churches. People don’t do that as much anymore. Although people do still go, and they have those communities, we’ve become a little bit more secularized. The NAC brings all of that together.”

“The church of Jim Worthington,” I joke.

She laughs and buries her head in her hands. “Oh my God!” Then she says it again, more thoughtfully, almost scared, as if this might be something that someday could actually happen:

“Oh my God.”

Published as “This Is a Gym?” in the June 2019 issue of Philadelphia magazine.

Source: https://www.phillymag.com/news/2019/06/08/newtown-athletic-club-nac/

[2019weekendproject]

Date-Ah

It was the weekend before V-day, I thought it would be nice to book a Date-Ah with Data!

A friend from work, who also happen to be a BlackWing hoarder (see earlier post) shared info about this 'MasterClass’ a.k.a. lecture on Data Science focused on the Logistics and Supply Chain sector happening on a Saturday afternoon. I signed up since the weekend calendar was still wide open, also, it’s been a while since I attended anything of this sort, let alone enter the halls of a formal educational institution.

WALK THIS WAY.

On the day itself though, I almost didn’t push through. The choice was either Netflix (if only I knew that The Good Place would eventually be awesome in the later episodes, I would’ve sat through the mediocre ones much earlier) or I get my butt off the couch. The real barrier though was the thought of having that awkward feeling of stepping inside a big hall full of strangers. I recall the last time I attended a talk like this one was in Guangzhou. It was one of the founders of a start-up that makes phone cases - https://www.mous.co/ who was invited to give a talk about, well, how he started it up.

It turned out to be..

1) real awkward, knowing no one and in some parts pretend like you were super interested to do some form of small talk

2) an educational experience - to not just hear a story, but also learn from all the questions answered. See how other people’s curiosity enriches a gathering of minds

and finally 3) quite entertaining, which was largely due to the good mix of people present. There was the model-slash-struggling entrepreneur, a geeky-yet overly friendly-Middle Eastern kid who was in China to learn Computer Science, and the one I was fortunate enough to be seated right next to.. Mister Know-It-All (who unfortunately, did not shy away from sharing his thoughts on why he didn’t agree to several key points of the speaker). I happen to be “the sponge”, the role of which I revived for this last talk, someone who goes in and out without notice, absorbing as much as he can, with hopes that it doesn’t end up just being squeezed away down the drain in a few days time. That’s why I took notes! Okay, mental notes.

TAKE AWAY! Here’s a couple of tidbits:

1) The Data Science Venn Diagram - which is the intersection of Math (what with all the calculations), Computer Science (because you actually need a machine to do the computing for you) and the equally valuable, Domain Expertise (without which, you only really have numbers and codes lacking real value)

2) This Gartner Data Analytics Maturity Model - I googled and saved this screenshot in my phone, which came in super handy. You wouldn’t believe that the following Monday, I had an actual work meeting where they were talking about a process and described it as.. “Oh, it's just diagnostic then..” And while you can do away with context clues to figure out what they were trying to say, having had this little image on hand allowed me to use the term prescriptive in my response! #FakeItTilYouMakeIt or perhaps rightfully so, that little bit that you know, is but the first rock in the foundation of a skyscraper of mastery! (Mark Laguna, 2019)

Getting all this going seems like it’s easier said than done, I suppose you just have to get by with the fact that no breakthrough is ever easy, otherwise, it would’ve already made its break-in.

While there are barriers in having to deal with big words (and even bigger concepts) such as Big Data, Machine Learning, Data Mining, Cloud Computing and Block Chain - you just gotta start somewhere.

A REALIZATION TIME! (WARNING: a bit off tangent)

In a few months time, I’ll be celebrating a decade of actually being part of my industry, and I begin to wonder, what do I have to show for it? Yes, there’s the pride of working for a multinational - and once upon a time, had a hand to get a region to operate seamlessly to achieve a common goal, this was during my stint in the service center (And now this is sounding a lot like what you see on LinkedIn profiles)

What I continue to search for is a legacy that will last. I realize all processes and frameworks you design is bound to be out of date, soon enough. There’s always the next best thing that will come along. What could last a lifetime, however, is the imprint you leave on people. The very same ones who will lead their generation and the next, who will turn the hopes of today into reality.

Whenever I find myself in a moment of crisis - when I’m not so sure again why I’m doing what I’m doing, I’ve learned to resort to the romanticized notion that what I’ve been doing is the delivery of products that will allow consumers to have that pleasant in-shower experience, a simplified way to maintain a household, or even be the best version of themselves. I still think there’s truth to that, HOWEVER!! I am only one component in a multitude contributing to that - there’s the driver who delivered the goods, the person who made the truck that the driver used, the gas-station boy who filled up the tank -- I’m stretching it, I know, but the point is, sitting in my office chair in BGC, I’m most definitely far-removed from the deep impact.

Then there’s the good news! Because I make my way to take my seat in that office chair everyday, what I get is the IN YOUR FACE reality. These are the close encounters with people, whose day you can either make better or worse. It could be from as simple as greeting them a Good Morning, perhaps noticing their new hairdo (this I’m bad at), to teaching them something new, answering their questions (or pointing them to a person who actually knows the answer), allowing them to fail (and learn), but also join in celebrating their successes. Things that need not an algorithm for Deep Learning, all that’s needed is for me to have a deeper sense of care, respect... love.

SIDE NOTE - AIM is offering a 14-month full-time Masters Program in Data Science (seems intense) Leaving this here, in case of interest: http://msdsonlineadmissions.aim.edu/

[moosebehaving]

It’s Raining Men

Don’t worry, Lydia’s dad, whose greatest wish is to marry us off to the gentlemen of his choosing. You still may get your day in the sun.

We’re both still single. Painfully single. Like we spent last weekend sitting in our home office eating pizza, collecting beverage glasses on our desks, and watching ten episodes of a Korean drama online. That’s how single we are.

#noregrets

However, we can’t seem to keep the men at bay.

This all started about a year ago, after Naomi had gotten married and settled into life with her new roommate (who seemed like a downgrade from living with us awesome people, honestly) and it had been a long while since she’d come back to our once shared house. So Lydia and I invited her to come over for supper after work one evening and stay for a movie.

We had a delicious meal and went downstairs to start the movie right away. It was like 7pm. Kids are still up at 7pm. It was summer, and the sun was still out.

We got about twenty minutes into the movie, and we heard a knock on the door in the garage, which is right at the top of the stairs. Then the door opened, and a man’s voice came down the stairs “Hello!”

All three of us had the same assumption - it had to be Lydia’s brother stopping over for some reason or Naomi’s new husband looking for her. Lydia went to the steps and started with “We’re downstairs” and ended with “...can I help you?”

Naomi and I, still sitting on the couch, looked at each other in utter confusion.

“Uhh... um... is Lisa here?” was the man’s response.

Lydia set him straight and he quickly backed off and left. We spent the rest of our movie trying to track him down on Facebook by looking for Lisas (this was successful, just FYI) and over-analyzing what kind of idiot just walks into unknown houses under the assumption someone they know is inside. We decided Lisa was his wife, judging from the profile pictures Lydia could see on Facebook, that he had to be looking for her in our neighborhood for some reason (LuLaRoe or Thirty-One, if I had to guess) and he assumed with the two cars in our driveway and the open garage door that there was a party happening at our house.

Crisis averted. We haven’t seen him again. All’s well that ends well.

Scenario two:

It was nine p.m., later that same summer.

I, like most sane people in their own homes after the sun sets, was wearing pajamas and minding my own business.

In fact, I was being a responsible family member and Skyping with my sister. She was telling me about her dress for homecoming and I was giving her a hard time about a writing project of hers. We were paused, inbetween conversations, when my doorbell rang.

Amberly and I stared at each other, via webcams, in utter confusion. I quickly calculated through the (very) short list of people who could possibly be ringing the doorbell after nine p.m. on a Saturday night.

The doorbell rang again. I sprang into action, which was basically running around the house in the dark trying to figure out how to keep from giving up my location in the house while trying to find jeans because there was no possible way I was opening the front door wearing my moose pajama pants.

Exhibit A:

(Painfully single, remember? #noregrets )

I was trying to be quiet, because it was a nice night so every single window in the house was wide open. I caught a glimpse of a pickup truck parked on the street, confirming that whoever was ringing the doorbell was indeed a complete stranger, as I know only two of the pickup truck drivers in town, and they each have exactly zero reason to go to my house. Amberly was super helpful in my attempts at covertness, as she basically screamed through my phone speakers “WHO’S AT YOUR DOOR? ARE YOU ALONE?”

I ducked into the furthest room from the front door and hissed a quick “I’llcallyoubackbye” at Amberly and hung up the Skype call.

I ducked across the hall into my bedroom in an attempt to find real pants in the dark. The doorbell was on its third ring by now, and as I located a pair of jeans and debated whether or not I needed to change my shirt as well, Lydia stepped out of the bathroom. She was also decked out in pajamas, but they were a touch classier than mine so I guess she thought it was suitable to answer the door in them.

She turned on the lights and opened the door despite my intense whispers. “It’s someone in a TRUCK. DO YOU KNOW ANYONE WITH A TRUCK?”

Creeper With Truck at Door After 9 P.M: “Hi, I’ve got your pizza.” Lydia: “…we didn’t order a pizza.” Pizza Delivery Man With Truck: “…. West Spring Street?” Lydia, gently, with great concern for his navigating abilities: “…this is Edgewood.” Pizza Man: “Oh, crap! I’m sorry!”

Incident 3:

I’m home on Fridays. It’s nice. Today I had a couple cups of coffee and read for a while. Then I psyched myself up to work on a huge writing project. A few minutes in, I realized it was a beautiful 73 degrees and I needed to have the windows open.

Sitting at my computer in the office, I have a straight view out onto the street in front of the house. My car was parked there.

It was nearly noon when this green Taurus pulled up across from my car. It was right there in my line of vision, plain as day, literally in broad daylight. A skinny punk in a snapback got out and headed for my car.

I watched with something between

and

But I was not about to wait around and let him just climb in my car and do whatever it was he wanted to do, be it drive around the block or steal my highly-coveted 18-pack of paper towels in the back seat. So I bellowed out the window the first semi-threatening expletive sentence I came up with in the most disgusted I-could-come-out-there-and-beat-that-stupid-hat-right-into-your-skull tone I could muster.

The kid slowly backed off and got back into his car and made a phone call as he left.

I was livid. I stormed outside and immediately put my car in the garage for safe keeping. I wanted to drive the block and find this punk and sit him down in front of his mother and make him explain to both of us just what he was doing.

Lydia told me to call the police department, which was obviously my next step. After hiding the goods and trying to track down the offender, my next knee-jerk reaction would have been to alert the authorities. Obviously.

So I called the police department, which up until that moment I had successfully avoided in my adulthood. The lady took down all my information and I explained what had happened. That was really all there was to be done. I had nothing to give her that would help find this kid, he hadn’t actually done anything, and he was gone. 

However, her parting words to me were “I’ll send someone over right away.”

This was the scariest part of the situation for me, honestly. I had no makeup on, hadn’t brushed my teeth after my pot of coffee and sausage and egg breakfast, and had zero comprehension of how much time “right away” gave me to change these things.

I scrambled with my eyeliner and brushed my teeth like a madwoman. The doorbell rang before I was finished but I still high fived myself for my skills. Also, high five to the Waupun Police Department for being so responsive to a nothing phone call. 

The officer had me relay everything I had already told the dispatch person to him. He asked to see my car, which I had oh-so-helpfully moved into the garage. Which of course kicked my anxiety into overdrive and I immediately assumed probably made me look guilty and could potentially be as stupid as moving the dead body after you find it in the woods. I was probably going to jail.

So I led this officer through my house and let him see my sad little rusted out car that was no help to him. While he was looking it over, two. more. officers? showed up at the front door. I heard them but I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to abandon a police officer when he was asking me questions, and they let themselves in. Through my house and into my garage they came, and suddenly three Waupun PD officers were in my garage inspecting my car.

I was a model citizen, doing my part for society. 

WPD: “What was he wearing?” A: “Um. A snapback.” WPD: “Shorts? Pants?” A: “Uhh... shorts? Maybe?” WPD” “How old was the car?” A: “It was green.”

Look out, snapback kid, we’re coming for you.

The three officers paraded back out through my house and parted ways with mentions of some Beaver Dam hooligan they’d crossed paths with before, how to canvas the immediate area, and that they’d be in touch with me if they came up with anything.

But really, there was nothing to come up with. The kid was either stupidly mistaking my car for a friend’s, or stupidly trying to steal things in the middle of the day with landscapers working outside right up the street. And my intense yell out the window put the fear of God into his heart, and he was long gone. 

So in conclusion, The Ladypad, as we affectionately named our house before we moved in, is far from a boring residence. The list of uninvited guests on this property has grown considerably more than I ever expected or desired. 

I will say, however, that the three officers who came to my aid at the drop of a hat were the most welcomed uninvited guests on the list. 

[caplofan]

Boom And Doom: Bike Shops Are In An Anxious State Of Flux Amid COVID-19 In 2020

Boom And Doom: Bike Shops Are In An Anxious State Of Flux Amid COVID-19 In 2020

Boom And Doom: Bike Shops Are In An Anxious State Of Flux Amid COVID-19 In 2020

While tumbleweeds roll through numerous significant cities in Australia, the close-by suburban areas are relatively a buzz of activity. COVID-19 is altering the world, however a minimum of in specific parts of that world, and a minimum of for the minute, biking is having its day.

In Australia, most of workplace employees are no longer taking a trip into the city, however they’’ re not precisely in overall lockdown, either. Weekend sport is cancelled and fitness centers are closed, however bikes are being re-discovered, cleaned off, and taken in for repair work.

Depending on who you talk to, the Australian biking market is either going through a fast boom of panic acquiring or is on the edge of doom. Which point of view appears to be identified by geographical place and the picked speciality.

A honeymoon duration that’s better for some

Bike Shops that accommodate the masses are standing out, offering more family-oriented bikes than typical and seeing a big spike in need for servicing rusty formerly forgotten trips. While those who equip premium racing bikes and little bit more are a various story — — individuals are taking care with their costs, and a high-end purchase relatively isn ’ t high up on individuals’s list of concerns at the minute.

Grant Kaplan, owner of Giant Sydney , a crucial bike store in the centre of the Sydney CBD, saw the panic-buying a week back, and now the city is dead. Foot traffic has actually passed away off, Giant Sydney has actually decreased its opening hours, and the next sensible action for the shop will be to send its personnel house.

““ It ’ s simply getting deader, and deader, and deader in the city,” Kaplan stated. “And I believe individuals who were doing the eleventh hour panic-buying have actually currently done so.”

Meanwhile, it’’ s relatively the polar reverse in the rich residential areas far from the city. Those who formerly would be investing their working hours in the city are now in your home, tired and searching for things to do with their households. Individuals are gathering in droves to have their old bikes serviced, get brand-new bikes for the entire household, and re-discover the delight of biking. And it’’ s a pattern that ’ s quickly apparent with young households seen riding bikes all through the suburban areas.

“ “ [We ’ re offering great deals of] hardtails, commuter bikes, and low-end of the efficiency mtb,” ” stated Kevin Eddy of Northside Cyclery in the residential area of Chatswood.” [It’’ s] individuals who possibly had a health club subscription and their fitness center has actually closed, now they’’ re trying to find the option.”

Not too far in the leafy residential area of Cremorne, PlayBikes is a freshly broadened shop that has actually seen a comparable uptick in service. ““ It ’ s not so bad — we definitely have a great deal of( workshop) work can be found in,” ” stated shopkeeper Nick Both. “Still moving a reasonable little bit of item, too. Sanctuary’’ t seen much of a dip.”

An employee at another neighboring rural shop, who wanted to be left confidential, stated company is flourishing and is more similar to Christmas need. ““ We ’ re flogged hectic at the minute with repair work of shitty bikes, low-end bikes, household bikes, kids bikes,” they stated. “Everything in the sub-AU$ 700 bracket.” ”

Dedicated bicyclists are getting ready for the worst, and those who were formerly devoted to riding outdoors are now frantically clamouring to bring an indoor fitness instructor house, no matter the expense.

The effect lockdowns are having on the indoor training market

““ Indoor fitness instructors are our bathroom tissue””, joked Eddy, a belief that ’ s echoed somewhere else with lacks of indoor fitness instructors at a time of year where the suppliers were only simply starting to land stock for winter season sales. Desire a clever fitness instructor? You’’ ll wish to pre-order one right now if you desire it for any of April.

Boom And Doom: Bike Shops Are In An Anxious State Of Flux Amid COVID-19 Crisis

Demand for indoor fitness instructors has actually risen in nearly all markets, capturing lots of suppliers off-guard.

While service is presently going OK, Eddy is enthusiastic that bike stores, or a minimum of bike repair work, will be considered a necessary company (like in a lot of parts of the USA) if additional lockdown procedures are executed in Australia. And such unpredictability is definitely triggering terrific tension. ““ At this point we’’ re working day by day, “he stated.” We put on ’ t understand if in 2 days we ’ ll be enabled to open. We have actually no concept to what level society will be closed down and for how long it will last.””

Looking abroad.

It ’ s a comparable story in the city of Boulder, Colorado. Among the town’s most significant stores, University Bikes , was having an abnormally strong winter season prior to COVID-19. While half of the personnel have actually been released due to health issues, and in-person sales have actually stopped, service continues.

““ Bike stores are thought about important, particularly for bike repair work,” ” discussed Lester Binegar of University Bikes. “So we are enabling one consumer in at a time to back up a counter, we accept the service bike, sterilize it, examine it, and suggest the work that requires to be done. We balance 40-75 consumers each day that come simply to our service counter. There is a consistent stream of individuals waiting however not a long line.”

Unfortunately having the ability to lawfully perform service differs significantly by area, and not all stores are enabled to trade at this time. Throughout the border in Canada, mechanic Carl Presseault of Centre du Velo La Shop informs a various story. That service has actually been nearby the Quebec federal government for a duration of 3 weeks, while actually 3 km away bike shops in Ontario are considered vital and permitted to trade.

Boris Del Cid, a mechanic in Girona, Spain, states his store has actually been closed for 2 weeks, his task as a race mechanic has actually stopped, and also for his other work at another neighboring store. In Paris, another mechanic, Paul Legendre, discovers himself in the specific very same circumstance, with work accumulating, however not permitted to do it.

Not all who are closed have actually done so due to the fact that they’’ ve been required to. A lot of the mechanics not working might reasonably still do their tasks from another location however have actually chosen to remain and do their bit to assist slow the spread of coronavirus. In the Melbourne suburban area of Fitzroy, shop Jetnikoff discovers itself in a comparable location, selecting to stop talking store in order to slow the spread of infection –– a choice that the majority of definitely implies a considerable loss of organisation.

Things are looking more alarming as you go even more up the food cycle. The USA’’ s biggest bike parts supplier, QBP, is running a skeleton personnel to satisfy orders, and among its crucial rivals, BTI has actually closed its centers completely for the interim. Brand names are having a hard time too, and lots of are attempting to stay up to date with external need by going it alone.

Josh Poertner of Silca is presently a one-man band, attempting to keep item leaving the door in order to pay his personnel that need to stay in your home. And it’’ s a comparable story for toolmaker Jason Quade of Abbey Bike Tools who likewise needed to send his personnel house, and is presently doing whatever himself from welding tools to packaging boxes. These are simply 2 examples, however the very same story uses to almost all we talk to.

It’’ s a comparable story in Australia with suppliers bearing in mind of the battles overseas and securing the hatches prior to the storm strikes. Some suppliers have currently put some personnel on absolutely no hours, and definitely, sales associates aren’’ t doing rather the very same miles.

High-end has actually stopped.

Demand for maintenance and leisure bikes might be ripe, however the high-end market has actually currently taken a hit to the ribs. It would appear that many are being much more cautious with their costs in these unsure times. The market understands it too — — our secret market expert recommended significant things are taking place behind the scenes, and not a day passes in between various brand names revealing the momentary stop of production.

““ High-end is gone,” ” stated Eddy of Northside Cyclery, a shop which up till just recently was seeing considerable need for high-end mountain bicycle, roadway bikes and e-bikes. “People are holding back huge purchases. Those discussions about those high-value sales have actually gone much quieter.”

It’s a comparable story with other neighboring stores, who all echo that there is a basic anxiousness from clients around buying bikes that might be postponed in transit, or even worse, can’’ t be gathered if the store unexpectedly closes.

And once again, brand names and providers understand this, too. Numerous have actually stopped production or deliveries where possible, postponed brand-new item launches, and are merely holding back interesting items for a much better time.

.A brilliant stimulate in a dark time?

Sickness is all around and individuals might be required within, however it’’ s not all problem. Streets are quieter. Where permitted, more individuals are significantly outdoors riding bikes, and households are being brought better through them. And more than ever, individuals are thinking up an escape outdoors that gets them far from the masses. ““ The future is really intense in our eyes,” ” stated Binegar of University Bikes. “We believe individuals are gon na understand the incredible services that bikes offer practically every issue on the planet today.”

Though the shops presently expanding in service are aware that it most likely won’’ t last, which bumpy rides are undoubtedly ahead, numerous are seeing this as a chance to keep some fat for a severe winter season. Similarly, numerous are being required to get more imaginative, connect to their clients, and alter how service is performed.

And if or when that long winter season comes, you can wager that a few of the less innovative won’’ t have the ability to manage to re-open their doors. Distributors who extended credit to those shops will default. And producers will feel that discomfort too. And worst of all, this rippling cause and effect is not even a little distinct to the biking market. Therefore the merry-go-round of lost expendable earnings additional effects all.

More than ever, now is a time to see whether your regional bike store is open for service, and instead of take the most convenient click-and-deliver online choice, get the phone and see what they can do. You might be happily amazed.

Original Source:  Boom and doom: Bike stores remain in a nervous state of flux today

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[illustir]

Highlights for How not to hate your husband after kids

Fisher says there is brain evidence that when women are under stress (say, a new baby has colic), they are inclined to “tend and befriend” (become more empathetic and social), while men under stress are apt to withdraw.

A study of heterosexual couples led by Shiri Cohen, a couples therapist and psychology instructor at Harvard Medical School, revealed that women reported feeling much happier when their male partners understood that they were angry or upset. “This research bore out what I see every day with couples,” Cohen tells me. “When the man can register his wife’s negative feelings, and communicate that on some level, the wife feels better, because she knows that ‘Oh, he gets how I’m feeling.’” She points out that, conversely, men do not derive the same satisfaction in knowing that their wives are upset. “Research shows that men tend to retreat from what feels like conflict to them, because they tend to physiologically get much more negatively aroused,” she said, “so conflict feels way more intense for them.”

so women have better memory and social cognition skills, making them better equipped for multitasking and creating solutions that can work within a group.

Brené Brown calls this tendency to project a motive onto someone without actually knowing the facts “the story I’m making up.”

No surprise there—but the mind-boiling part is that men’s stress levels fell if they kicked back with some sort of leisure activity—but only if their wives kept busy doing household tasks at the same time

meanwhile, found that married couples’ wounds actually healed more slowly when they had hostile arguments compared with so-called low-hostile couples. The stress from a fallout, they discovered, drove up blood levels of hormones that interfere with the delivery of proteins called cytokines, which aid the immune system during injuries.

“Tom, what you’re not getting, and this is true for most men I see, is that it is in your interest to move beyond your knee-jerk selfishness and entitlement and to take good care of your wife, so she isn’t such a raving lunatic all the time.”

“But the idea that you can haul off and be abusive to your partner and somehow get a pass, that you can’t control it, or whatever you tell yourself to rationalize it, is nuts. Also, your whole ‘angry victim’ role is going to get worse. You are extremely comfortable with your self-righteous indignation.”

We construct a plan for his phone to issue a spate of reminders before all school pickups.

A week later, Tom’s crisis negotiation skills are required yet again. It is a school morning, and he is sleeping in after a late night of binge-watching a Swedish crime series. I am up at 6 a.m. with our daughter, making her breakfast and lunch, supervising her homework, ordering a replacement water bottle after she somehow lost hers at school, filling out a form for a class trip, and baking carrot muffins for Tom.

“Men often do best if they know exactly what to do.” Do not use moralistic or shaming language, he continues, which only brings on defensiveness.

Tell your spouse that changing his behavior will directly benefit him because you will be happier and more relaxed.

I’ve learned to be protective of my time, just as my husband is.

“Both boys and girls learn that mothers have needs, too, which is also very important if they have children of their own,”

Those drained respondents negotiated their responsibilities anew every day, starting from scratch—as Tom and I had been doing. This cracked system trapped the participants in an exhausting cycle of “requests and avoidance of these requests.” Conversely, spouses who knew exactly what to do around the house didn’t spend as much time negotiating responsibilities and didn’t tend to monitor and criticize each other. Not surprisingly, “their daily lives seemed to flow more smoothly.”

“So my question to you is, if he waits that long, what does it cost you, other than your obsessive need to not have it pile up? What’s it actually costing you?”

Please, snorts couples therapist Esther Perel. “One important intervention for my clients who are mothers that overmanage—who are overwrought not by difficult life circumstances but by the culture of perfection that has captured parenthood—is that I tell them to go away for the weekend,” she says. I admit to her that I am that over-managing mother. “Then go away alone, go with your friends, go away with someone you haven’t seen in ages!” she says.

The Gottmans categorize couples as masters and disasters. Masters look purposefully for things they can appreciate and respect about their partner; disasters monitor their mates for what they are doing wrong so they can criticize them. Intent on being a relationship master, I order a stack of their books.

This means voicing what the Gottmans call the “three As”: affection, appreciation, and admiration.

When Tom is reading the paper, for example, he occasionally comments, “Hmm, that’s interesting.” This is a “bid,” a sometimes-subtle appeal for attention. If I reply, “Oh, what are you reading?” this response is what Gottman calls “turning toward” my partner—I have given him the encouragement he’s seeking. If I ignore his bid, I am “turning away” from Tom.

My friend Jenny, mother of two, tells her husband that saying “thank you” is the ultimate cheap buy-in. “The average mom does a hell of a lot,” she says. “And unlike at work or school, at home, rarely is anyone saying, ‘Good job.’

Of course, I am still “household manager,” constantly reminding Tom to do fundamental things such as feed the kid breakfast—but he does it.

Sometimes he even says, “Need a hand?”

Oh, that must feel bad. I can see why you feel like that. What can I say or do right now to make you feel better? It’s calculated, but who cares?

One girl mentioned that every morning when she left for school, her father would say, “You go, tiger—you go get them.”

Father-initiated playdates are fairly rare, but they’re important, particularly for daughters.

Research shows that doing chores makes children thrive in countless ways, and is a proven predictor of success,

She found that having children take an active role in the household, starting at age three or four, directly influenced their ability to become well-adjusted young adults.

Those who began chores at three or four were more likely to have solid relationships with their families and friends, to be self-sufficient, and to achieve academic and early professional success.

three-quarters of the garages they studied were so crammed with junk, the homeowners couldn’t store cars

He laughs and says he understands. He explains that he isn’t suggesting that women should pump up the male ego—rather, that the need to feel appreciated is universal. Who among us does not love praise and kindness?

ad for Ariel India, a Procter & Gamble laundry detergent brand

When she was unhappy about making the lengthy commute to her daughter Jennifer’s preschool, her husband, then the chief executive of Microsoft, said he would drive Jennifer two days a week.

If a fight is brewing, start with “I” statements.

Say “Thank you,” and say it often.

All of those gestures—and I’m aware they were mostly gestures—took a total of a few hours, but she was thrilled, it deepened their relationship, and the goodwill he received from me lasted for weeks.

Especially, I would add here, if you can find a therapist who yells at your husband, “Stop with your entitled attitude, get off your ass, and help her out!”

The FBI’s methods of paraphrasing and emotion labeling are remarkably effective.

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[itsworn]

Fuel Dragsters, Funny Cars, and Show Cars Costar in Famoso Raceway’s 27th NHRA California Hot Rod Reunion

Drag racing’s last great spectator bargain is NHRA’s California Hot Rod Reunion. You get a long weekend for about the cost of one day at the big show. Your hard-earned $65 (advance) or $75 buys a beautiful yearbook, access to one of Don Garlits’ favorite swap meets, continuous pit cackling, a vintage-photo contest, and a daily changing assemblage of street-driven cars and trucks that rivals most outdoor shows. You don’t get dinged for parking or assigned seating. The beer is cheaper, too. Arrive early to park close and “reserve” any seat that suits your fancy. Friday night’s honoree celebration and afterparty cackle at a Bakersfield hotel are free.

Moreover, the lion’s share of proceeds reportedly supports a most-worthy cause: operation of the NHRA Wally Parks Motorsports Museum, whose small staff conceived and developed, over a quarter-century, a reunion formula that successfully balanced all of the racing and reuniting. Perhaps coincidental to the heated departure of veteran NHRA competition director Steve Gibbs at the start of the tumultuous 2016 edition, that fragile balance is broken. Weary attendees are consequently questioning whether their favorite motorsports event is too much of a good thing; that is, the event has too much to cram into three days without dragging late into chilly October nights.

No such complaints were heard about the quality of competition in this fourth, final 2018 event. (Tulsa’s prior, scheduled series race was canceled due to a stormy forecast.) Sunday’s smallish crowd cheered Mendy Fry to her third Top Fuel win (defeating Rick McGee); Jason Rupert ruled Funny Car Eliminator (d. Rian Konno); Brian Hope, Fuel Altered (d. Rodney Flournoy); Drew Austin, A/Fuel (d. Wayne Ramay); John Marottek, Jr. Fuel (d. Don Enriquez); Steve Faller, 7.0 Pro (d. Brad Denney); Scott White, AA/Gas (d. Gary Reinero); Roger Holder, Pro Mod (d. Ed Thornton); Bernie Plourd, Nostalgia I (d. Jim Seivers); Robert Johnson, N2 (d. Jaclyn Jones); Lindsey Lister, N3 (d. Wes Anderson); Brian Rogers, A/Gas (d. Frank Merenda); Val Miller, B/G (d. Kevin Riley); Bill Becker, C/G (d. Mark Capps); Bill Norton, D/G (d. Larry Cook); Jack Goodrich, A/FX (d. Ken Moreland); and Alex George, Hot Rod (d. Mark Dyck).

Despite springlike weather each day, more seats than usual went unoccupied for the second year since the troubled 25th-anniversary edition erupted into the biggest crisis in the near-four-decade existence of serious retro racing (see Mar. 2017 Deluxe; Controversy Comes To NHRA’s 25th California Hot Rod Reunion). Saturday night’s 30 push starters were about half of the turnout in peak years. To NHRA’s credit, admission prices were not jacked up to compensate for losses in admission and cackle-car revenue. Instead, five lower sportsman categories previously omitted from CHRR generated approximately 140 additional entries at $125 per driver, $65 for crew, $50 for extra pit space, $100 for first RV, $150 per additional RV (ka-ching!). Inexplicably, Thursday was not added to accommodate the predictable overflow (as done by March Meet promoters years ago, solving the same problem). Considering that extra entry moolah, one more day of track workers’ pay and expenses seems like a small price to pay to keep customers happy and warm and coming back.

Nevertheless, NHRA seems intent on repeating that mistake, along with an older one. A painful lesson learned in early reunions was that November is often too windy or rainy for racing or watching, yet the three-day 2019 edition has been pushed a week closer to that risky month (October 25-27). Even if NHRA gets the memo and starts running on Thursdays, don’t leave home without your winter coat and plenty of patience.

King Cackle Saturday night’s incomparable push-start Cacklefest is undeniably the main event for many fans, particularly foreigners. Photographer Kleet Norris’s pan shot of the original MagiCar might be mistaken for a 1965 solo pass at Lions or Irwindale. Former driver Jeep Hampshire generously loaned his old seat, fire suit, and helmet to grateful crewman John Strom, who travels cross-country to assist owner-restorer Bill Pitts, the Father of Cackle Cars.

Hottest Rods of All The biggest annual meet for traditional AA/Fuel Altereds continues to present some of the same California teams that made “Awful-Awfuls” nationally touring attractions in the 1970s. Here, Randy Bradford’s Fiat and the Hough family’s Nanook, now driven by grandson Kyle Hough, perform a synchronized dance routine for the long lens of veteran photographer Paul Sadler.

Dad’s Doors This 354-Hemified street gasser is a rolling, snorting tribute to Lillard Hill’s late father. The shop’s logo and phone number are accurate for Alvin Hill’s former repair shop on old Highway 99 in nearby McFarland, California.

Royal Table What other hotel restaurant routinely fills with hot-rod heroes as diverse as engine-builder Ed Pink, accompanied by wife Sylvia (left), and the Rodfather and Rodmother, Andy and Sue Brizio? The royal couples were spotted prior to the NHRA Museum’s yearly presentation of lifetime-achievement awards at Bakersfield’s DoubleTree. Both men were early reunion honorees.

Main Attraction One brand new build or another never fails to draw intense attention in the Famoso Grove. This year’s main attraction might have been Vic and Debbi Hager’s Model A, the local couple’s first ground-up project. Five years ago, Debbi paid $400 each for the ’28 body and frame as a 60th birthday present for her high-school sweetheart. Thus began a five-year joint effort that involved learning how to do an old-school paint job outdoors, and discarding four flatheads before finding a French block suited for this Merc’s big bore and stroke. Read all about it in an exclusive HRD feature soon!

Show-Off Piece That’s how Roger Burton describes his nailhead-powered ’28 Tudor that he and his wife, Mary, brought to the CHRR all the way from Hoquiam, Washington. “I didn’t come here to drag race. I came to show off my toy,” Roger says. He built the Model A around the ’56 Buick engine that was “just too neat a piece not to use.” The 0.030-over, Hilborn-injected 322 had some Bonneville and drag-race history before the Burtons bought it a dozen or so years ago. It is mated to a ’37 La Salle trans and a ’57 Olds rearend, both mounted to a stock A frame. Roger bought the sedan body “from a kid who was making a street rod” and built the car’s cage around neat 1948-vintage seats, “either from a B-29 or B-50,” that he found in an aircraft wrecking yard in Tucson, Arizona. “It’s an exhibition car, just for sh*ts and giggles. I’m having more fun making 13-second passes than 9.50 passes.”

The Lady Is a Champ Top Fuel winner Mendy Fry, the 30-plus-year veteran who dominated fast-street-car racing and briefly held NHRA’s Top Alcohol Dragster national record as a teenager, is the first female season champion of any nostalgia-fuel category. She went to all four Hot Rod Heritage Series finals and won all but one round this year (reminiscent of Don Prudhomme’s single-loss, eight-event 1976 NHRA campaign). A perfect outing in Tom Shelar’s slingshot saw her sweep the qualifying pole (5.59 seconds) plus low e.t. (5.55) and top speed (261.62) of the meet.

Hotel Unrest Pity the unsuspecting traveler who retired before the fuelers fired. Friday night’s static cacklers included Bob Contorelli, who flawlessly restored the Speed Products Engineering beauty that Roy Fjasted originally built for Prentiss Cunningham near the end of the first slingshot era. Famed nitro tuner Mike Kuhl helped get the Hemi together and flaming. Veteran freelancer Bob McClurg, who photographed this car when new, came full circle nearly half a century later in the DoubleTree parking lot.

No-Bagger We were glad to see our favorite ’48 Dodge custom return from a piston-induced absence that might have proved permanent had a Bakersfield mechanic and former stock car racer not been willing to tackle its flathead-six. Mark Wilson topped off his rebuild with an aluminum cylinder head and a rare Moon fuel injector that he enjoys tuning as he rolls. A Wilcap-adapted GM 700R slushbox delivers sufficient overdrive to retain the stock rearend (“Chrysler’s long, skinny rods don’t like rpm!”). Ronnie Beam did the scallops, and Kyle Gann laced the lid. Airbags seem like cheating to Wilson, who mechanically lowered his frame to the ride height shown.

Twice As Nice The third cacklefest of every CHRR weekend occurs in front of the first grandstand on Sunday morning, just prior to eliminations. Maybe it was the double dose of methanol that brought tears to old photographers’ eyes as the highly competitive Brunelli & Dunn Pro Comp/Top Alcohol car roared back to life. The late Leo Dunn’s daughter, Vickie Larrow, led the restoration, assisted by husband Chris and friend Wesley Sewell.

Sharp Humor Greg Sharp, the NHRA Museum’s curator and invaluable HRD contributor, interrupted his reunion duties to yuck it up with former Car Craft staffers and multiyear Modified Eliminator division champions Norman Mayersohn (right) and Rick Voegelin. Mayersohn, who went on to a writing career with the New York Times, attended his first NHRA reunion on assignment for Autoweek (Nov. 19 issue). Voegelin was among the honorees awarded lifetime achievement awards.

The post Fuel Dragsters, Funny Cars, and Show Cars Costar in Famoso Raceway’s 27th NHRA California Hot Rod Reunion appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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[bentchcreates]

Second Wave Summer by Six De Los Reyes, Tara Frejas, Jay E. Tria (Blog Tour)

All roads lead back to beachside music festival Summer Crush for another weekend of high waves, rock & roll, and the promise of summer romance.

On any given day, Michael Brian doesn’t need to do much to hit the right notes with a girl, but there’s something about this day—and something about this girl—that’s got him out of tune. (A Taste of Summer, Six delos Reyes)

Indie filmmaker Datu puts on his dusty event videographer hat for Summer Crush. But memories of a love he let slip away resurface from every corner of this surf town. Now what he thought would be an easy job just isn't so easy anymore. (Rushes, Tara Frejas)

Corporate-highflyer-on-vacation Ringo has a question to which cookie bar boss woman Kris has the answer, if only they’d stop getting in each other’s way. (Ask Me Nicely, Jay E. Tria)

Buy Links: 

Amazon (ebook): bit.ly/secondwavesummer Paperback (PH only): tarafrejas.com/orderform | http://www.jayetria.com/print-books-order-form/

Add the book on Goodreads

Excerpts:

A Taste of Summer Six de los Reyes

“Just so we’re on the same page. There’s no boyfriend, is there?” he asked when she returned. As much as he wanted to seem disinterested, even he could tell he was focusing too intently on the calluses on his fingertips. He raised his eyes, blinked away the memories, and grinned.

“Excuse me?”

“I mean, there is no boyfriend currently in the picture?”

She raised a brow. “No.”

“Because I’d rather not be a party to…whatever. Also, I reserve the right to defend myself.”

“A party to…whatever. That happened before?”

“Actively in avoidance of.”

He smiled at her, the kind that said I’m trying to make this better and less awkward and I hope I’m not upsetting you. But she smiled at him too. As if it were he who inspired worry. She was worried about him. About something he’d said.

“It wouldn’t do to make premature conclusions.” That wasn’t an answer.

“I don’t conclude prematurely.”

“I should hope not.”

He was just tripping over his feet and making a fool of himself, wasn’t he?

“But no. No man in my life,” she said, stepping closer, so close a cloud of her scent fell over him. She smelled sweet. A familiar and disconcerting scent he couldn’t place. She anchored her hands on his sides. “Holy latissimus dorsi.”

“What?”

She blinked. “What?”

Rushes Tara Frejas

“I KNEW IT WAS YOU.”

Datu’s knitted brows strained when he looked up from his phone. “Oh. Hey.”

“You’re wearing that famous frown again,” Audrey, his brother’s girlfriend, pointed out. The strapless yellow dress she wore was bright and sunny, matching her smile. The sight gave him no other choice but to turn his frown upside down.

“Didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Didn’t know you’d be here!” she exclaimed, her eyes fixed on his laptop. “And in true Datu Alvez fashion, too.”

“Work is what I’m here for.”

“Figures. You looked pretty intense just now.”

“Oh. I did?” he asked and threw his phone a quick glance before putting it away. “Well, you know me—I take my work seriously.”

That was a lie. Technically, he hadn’t really been working for the last ten minutes. Instead, he was having some sort of crisis upon realizing he had somehow butt-texted Kalila. It was that “do you wanna hang out” message, plus a string of random characters one could have only managed while drunk-texting.

That he had sent that message before he was ready was one thing, but it had been over an hour, and the lack of response made him antsy. He had to remind himself that she didn’t owe him a reply, but he wished she would.

He’d still take “no” over no reply at all.

“I know. I’ll be on my way then…” Audrey started to step away.

“Wait, aren’t you here with Pio?” Datu gathered his equipment, placed them neatly on his side of the wooden table, and motioned for Audrey to have a seat. She obliged.

“Pio’s still in Pampanga for a mall show.” Audrey took a small sip of what looked like sangria and turned her attention to the tabletop menu.

“Oh, yeah. For that movie.”

Her gold and red tassel earrings swung back and forth when she nodded. Nothing in her facial expression hinted at any sort of displeasure over Pio’s absence, and Datu wondered if she was okay with this set-up, or…

“Yes, Datu?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You look like you wanna ask me something.”

“Just wondering if you two are on vacation.”

Audrey nodded. “Until Monday.”

“Nice. And Pio being late to the party isn’t gonna be a problem, is it?”

“Nah, don’t worry. Besides, we have this running bet over who arrives at our dates first, and I’m two for three.” Audrey took sip of her drink, and a dimple appeared on her left cheek when she smirked.

A running bet. Huh. Where was that nifty idea when I needed it? He once had been the “absentee boyfriend” who got intoxicated by all his dreamchasing and forgot to hold on to the one dream that kept him grounded. Who are you kidding, Datu? Bet or not, it never would have worked out because you never showed up.

Ask Me Nicely Jay E. Tria

April 14, Saturday Kris

Ringo de Dios had a question to ask.

He always did. This wasn’t new. Ringo had a brain that ran faster than any driving I’d done in the traffic-less streets of Makati past midnight, egged on by an ‘80s rock anthem and one too many bottles of beer. His brain wasn’t reckless like that though (and neither was my driving since I crossed into my 30s, might I add). His brain operated on functioning levers and blueprints and workplans. It was a sound, beautiful, overworking mind. I loved it.

I was in love with this man and his beautiful, overworking mind.

“A backstage what to meet who again?” was the question he asked now.

It wasn’t at all what I’d been dodging. This question was cute, and I was expecting it. I’d been fielding quite a few like it in the past five plus months we’ve been together. It was one of my favorite things to do.

“A backstage pass,” I said, brushing the stubble on his chin with my knuckles. “To meet Trainman.”

I was trying to be cool when I said it, which was pointless. Ringo was there to witness me squeal like a pig on death row when I won the tickets off a radio show contest last month.

So oldschool, right? Snatching tickets from a radio show gimmick thanks to an hour of dialing-redialing-hanging-on-to-a-phone-line-with-a-whispered-prayer and a deep well of random trivia about a favorite band. But tried-and-true was so for reasons. And often they rewarded you.

Like now. Exhibit A. Two free tickets to Summer Crush music festival, inclusive of backstage passes to meet Trainman, the headlining band. The reason why now, at 2 a.m. on aSaturday, Ringo and I were out of bed and on our way to surf town La Union, where there was sand, music, bagnet, and bronzed abs a-plenty.

I died a little inside when I won, I swear.

“Ah, that band with the surly-looking guitarist,” Ringo said, clapping his hands once for effect, dark eyes rounding. “The guy whose lips curl and eyebrows meet when he sings the chorus like it makes him angry. Why does he need to do that, I wonder?”

“Because he is Kim, the band leader, and he is sexy and he knows it.” I slapped Ringo’s arm as I said it, which was cue for laughter. His and mine.

Of course Ringo knew about Trainman. On our first date, I learned that despite being 25, a.k.a. seven years younger than me, the guy knew nothing about music enjoyed by most kids, erm, people his age. He knew virtually nothing about music, despite having a cool mother who named him after the most chill Beatle. So I made sure to commence his indie rock-and-roll education ASAP. He had aced it, of course, as he was programmed to do.

An offshoot of this though was that teasing me about my rockstar crush was now one of his hobbies.

“Who’s sexy?” Ringo had stopped laughing. The spark remained in his eyes but it hinted at danger now. My heart jumped inside my chest and my lips parted, first to give him a smile, next to accept his kiss.

Ringo’s kiss was slow and deliberate. Mouth weighing against my mouth, claiming, tasting. Tip of his tongue stroking the corners of my lips, teasing, while his strong hand cradled the back of my head. Fingers buried in my long, thick curls, kneading down to my nape and up again, melting everything away.

Awareness, included. And propriety.

Our suspended moment broke with the screech of rubber against road. The bus braked, lurched forward, taking us passengers with it, jerking most of the rows awake. It must have been a goat or a horse crossing the road. Dawn was hours away from breaking and it was dark and cool outside, sheets of fog visible through the grimy windows.

Soon the bus was back to its rolling stroll on the pavement. Our fellow passengers were groaning and folding back to sleep around us, and I was reminded that Ringo and I were not exactly in the best place for melt-the-world-away kisses.

“There are people.” I shushed the man whose lips were toying with my earlobe.

“Who is sexy?” His tongue grazed the shell of my ear.

I shivered, from the blast of pine-scented air above us and the shot of heat from my navel. “We’re in a bus.”

“Whose idea was that?” Ringo chuckled, but he eased off and leaned back. He tugged at the thick cotton of my hoodie and tucked it around me, zipping it all the way up under my chin. “I wanted to drive you.”

I buried myself inside my jacket as he pulled the hood up and over my head. “This is your first music festival. You need the full experience. And it starts with a long trip on a midnight bus.”

“I’m not complaining. I am asking who’s sexy.” Dark eyebrows up and wiggling. Ripe lips curved in a smirk, bearing my final warning.

“My boyfriend is sexy,” I whispered in a rush, should he dare attack me with his demanding kisses again while we were in this packed public transport vehicle surrounded by half-asleep, full-on snoring travelers. “And apparently requires validation.” I met his mouth with mine anyway, quick and firm, before sinking back against my seat.

Ringo let out a quiet laugh, self-satisfied and triumphant. The brat.

[newstfionline]

Elitists, crybabies and junky degrees

By Kevin Sullivan, Mary Jordan, Washington Post, November 25, 2017

COCHISE, Arizona--Frank Antenori shot the head off a rattlesnake at his back door last summer--a deadeye pistol blast from 20 feet. No college professor taught him that. The U.S. Army trained him, as a marksman and a medic, on the “two-way rifle range” of Afghanistan and Iraq.

Useful skills. Smart return on taxpayers’ investment. Not like the waste he sees at too many colleges and universities, where he says liberal professors teach “ridiculous” classes and indoctrinate students “who hang out and protest all day long and cry on our dime.”

“Why does a kid go to a major university these days?” said Antenori, 51, a former Green Beret who served in the Arizona state legislature. “A lot of Republicans would say they go there to get brainwashed and learn how to become activists and basically go out in the world and cause trouble.”

Antenori is part of an increasingly vocal campaign to transform higher education in America. Though U.S. universities are envied around the world, he and other conservatives want to reduce the flow of government cash to what they see as elitist, politically correct institutions that often fail to provide practical skills for the job market.

To the alarm of many educators, nearly every state has cut funding to public colleges and universities since the 2008 financial crisis. Adjusted for inflation, states spent $5.7 billion less on public higher education last year than in 2008, even though they were educating more than 800,000 additional students, according to the State Higher Education Executive Officers Association.

In Arizona, which has had a Republican governor and legislature since 2009, lawmakers have cut spending for higher education by 54 percent since 2008; the state now spends $3,500 less per year on every student, according to the progressive Center on Budget and Policy Priorities. Tuition has soared, forcing students to shoulder more of the cost of their degrees.

Meanwhile, public schools in Arizona and across the nation are welcoming private donors, including the conservative Koch brothers. In nearly every state, the Charles Koch Foundation funds generally conservative-leaning scholars and programs in politics, economics, law and other subjects. John Hardin, the foundation’s director of university relations, said its giving has tripled from about $14 million in 2011 to $44 million in 2015 as the foundation aims to “diversify the conversation” on campus.

People across the ideological spectrum are worried about the cost of college, skyrocketing debt from student loans and rising inequality in access to quality degrees. Educators fear the drop in government spending is making schools harder to afford for low- and middle-income students.

State lawmakers blame the cuts on falling tax revenue during the recession; rising costs of other obligations, especially Medicaid and prisons; and the need to balance their budgets. But even as prosperity has returned to many states, there is a growing partisan divide over how much to spend on higher education. Education advocates worry that conservative disdain threatens to undermine universities.

In July, a Pew Research Center study found that 58 percent of Republicans and GOP-leaning independents believe colleges and universities have a negative effect “on the way things are going in the country,” up from 37 percent two years ago. Among Democrats, by contrast, 72 percent said they have a positive impact.

A Gallup poll in August found that a third of Republicans had confidence in universities, which they viewed as too liberal or political. Other studies show that overwhelming numbers of white working-class men do not believe a college degree is worth the cost.

A single year at many private universities costs more than the median U.S. household income of $59,000. Though most students receive financial aid, a four-year degree can cost more than a quarter-million dollars. Tuition at public universities has soared, too, and a degree can easily cost more than $100,000.

It’s not just the money: Dozens of the most prestigious schools reject more than 80 percent of applicants, and the admissions system often favors the wealthy and connected.

“The new upper class has nothing to do with money. It has to do with where you were educated,” said Arizona State University President Michael Crow, who is pushing to make quality degrees more accessible to lower-income students.

Antenori views former president Barack Obama, a Harvard-educated lawyer who taught at the University of Chicago Law School, as the embodiment of the liberal establishment. Antenori said liberal elites with fancy degrees who have been running Washington for so long have forgotten those who think differently.

“If you don’t do everything that their definition of society is, you’re somehow a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal cave man,” Antenori said.

Antenori was drawn to Trump, he said, because he was the “reverse of Obama,” an “anti-politically correct guy” whose attitude toward the status quo is “change it, fix it, get rid of it, crush it, slash it.”

Even though Trump boasts of his Ivy League degree from the University of Pennsylvania, Antenori said he “had a different air about him.” Unlike Obama, Trump has not emphasized the importance of Americans going to college.

During the campaign, Trump said many colleges “have gone crazy” and that young people were “choking on debt.” He criticized universities for getting “so much money from the government” while “raising their fees to the point that’s ridiculous.”

Though Trump has largely ignored higher education during his first year in office, his son Donald Trump Jr. recently excoriated universities during a speech in Texas, saying that many universities offer Americans a raw deal: “We’ll take $200,000 of your money; in exchange, we’ll train your children to hate our country. ... We’ll make them unemployable by teaching them courses in zombie studies, underwater basket weaving and, my personal favorite, tree climbing.”

Antenori, who served as a delegate for Trump at the 2016 National Republican Convention, loves that kind of talk.

Finally, he said, people in power understand how he feels.

Antenori was born in Scranton, Pa., and dreamed of playing football at Pennsylvania State University. But he started partying and his grades slipped in his senior year of high school. His father balked at paying for college.

“I’m not paying for C’s,” Antenori recalled his father saying. “You want to go? You pay for it.”

So at 17, he joined the Army, which promised him $20,000 toward college if he enlisted for three years. He stayed on, joined the Green Berets and became a medic. He didn’t get around to college until he was 32.

Still on active duty, he enrolled in a pre-med program at Campbell University in North Carolina, a Baptist school a few miles from Fort Bragg. He earned a bachelor’s degree taking classes four nights a week and on weekends.

After he retired from the Army in 2004, he moved to Tucson, where he works as a program manager for a major defense contractor. Earlier this year he completed an online MBA through Grand Canyon University, a for-profit Christian school in Phoenix.

“I got functional degrees that helped me move up in the corporate world,” he said, crunching through the parched grass on his 40-acre ranch in the southeastern Arizona desert.

Antenori said many young people would be better off attending more affordable two-year community colleges that teach useful skills and turn out firefighters, electricians and others. Obama promoted that same idea, launching new efforts to boost community college and workplace training. But Antenori said he believes Obama pushed young people too hard toward four-year degrees.

“The establishment has created this thing that if you don’t go to college, you’re somehow not equal to someone else who did,” Antenori said, sitting with his wife, Lesley, at the dining room table in their modest one-story ranch house.

Antenori said when he was in high school in the 1980s, students were directed toward college or vocational training depending on their abilities.

“The mind-set now is that everybody is going to be a doctor,” he said. “Instead of telling a kid whose art sucks, ‘You’re a crappy artist,’ they say, ‘Go follow your dream.’”

The Antenoris did not steer their two sons, 23 and 22, toward college, and neither went. One helps at home on the ranch, and the other is enlisted in the Army.

Antenori is just as happy his sons aren’t hanging out with the “weirdos” he reads about on Campus Reform, a conservative website with a network of college reporters whose stated mission is to expose “liberal bias and abuse on America’s campuses.”

In a sign of the intensely partisan climate on campus, its recent headlines include: “Prof wants ‘body size’ added to diversity curricula,” “Students cover free speech wall with vulgar anti-Trump graffiti” and “College Dems leader resigns after declaring hatred of white men.”

The federal government spends $30 billion a year on Pell grants, which help lower-income students, including a large number of minorities, attend college. But studies show that half of Pell grant recipients drop out before earning a degree.

The overall college dropout rate is also high. Only 59 percent of students who start at four-year institutions graduate within six years, according to the National Center for Education Statistics. That leaves millions with debt but no degree.

More than 44 million Americans are paying off student loans, including a growing number of people over 60, according to the Federal Reserve. The average student loan debt of a 2016 college graduate was $37,000. At $1.4 trillion, U.S. student loan debt is now larger than credit card debt.

Antenori said taxpayers should help pay only for degrees, such as those in engineering, medicine or law, that lead directly to jobs. If a student wants to study art or get a “junky” degree in “diversity studies or culture studies,” they should go to a private school, he said.

“You want to create someone who’s going to be a contributor, not a moocher,” Antenori said. “Go out and generate revenue; that’s what it’s all about.”

Steve Farley could not disagree more.

“This whole idea that government should be run more like a business is so profoundly morally flawed,” said Farley, a Democratic state senator who is running for governor and used to spar regularly with Antenori when the Republican served in the state legislature from 2009 to 2013.

“Government should be run like a family. We should be raising our children to be the best people they can be,” Farley said. “We should not be manufacturing them to be products to be consumed. That is a basic ethical and moral flaw in this whole argument, that everything’s got to have financial payback so we can reduce taxes for the Koch brothers.”

Farley said music and art are critical to education, invention and creativity “that can lift us from all these problems that we seem surrounded with these days.” He noted that Apple founder Steve Jobs credited a college calligraphy course with helping spark the design of the first Macintosh computer.

Farley worries that the withdrawal of public funds to colleges is widening the class divide. Public universities have long been the surest route to a degree for those who are not wealthy. But as tuition rises, they are beyond the reach of more people. A recent study by New America, a Washington think tank, found that since the 1990s there has been a sharp decrease in low-income students at the nation’s top public universities and a sharp rise in wealthy students.

Two years ago, Antenori moved out of Tucson to rural Cochise because he “couldn’t take the hippies anymore. They were raising my taxes for every stupid little thing, like bike paths and puppy palaces.”

He lived in a tightly packed subdivision, with a homeowner’s association that gave him grief because his pick-up truck was slightly too big for the driveway.

So now he and his family live in a low-tax patch of desert in the shadow of the Dragoon Mountains. He can bow-hunt for deer on his own land, keeping one eye out for mountain lions.

“The only noise I hear is the coyotes howling at night,” he said, looking out over the mesquite trees under perfect blue skies. “My blood pressure has dropped 20 points since I moved here.”

And he loves that Trump’s White House is less “snobbish” and more welcoming to people like him. Antenori is tired, he said, of being condescended to for thinking universities should be more practical, not havens for “damn crybabies and spoiled brats.”