#why aren’t we instead pointing and making books about the HUMAN eugenics happening right in front of our eyes.

[samuraisharkie]

that virtualtoybox person literally told me they aren’t reading what I said and then tried to talk to me w about as much in their tags lol. i never understand people that go ‘I’m not reading all of that but you should read what I have to say” bc like. imagine how infuriated ur gonna get when that response is leveled right back at you? and judging by their tags they didn’t read past my very first line. bc they started comparing animals and animal rights to eugenics which is EXACTLY what I was saying is extremely dangerous to do. That’s exactly how people start calling things that happen to animals a ‘Holocaust’ and I’m positive such a statement is made in that book they told me to read. I’m disabled too. I know what I’m talking fucking about too. In the animal section, I for SURE know more than you do! Because if you knew and truly cared about animals and their welfare, you wouldn’t be talking like PETA. Here’s a trick to other disability activists: learn about animal welfare by volunteering on farms and educating yourself on breeders and the industry rather than getting involved in PETA! And another critical trick: NEVER compare animals to people! That’s exactly what the freaks that think any living thing with a deformity that should die are doing. These people would clutch their pearls the moment they hear farms cull undesirable animals bc they can’t afford to keep every single one and have to streamline their breeding and raising to what will help keep the farm running. That doesn’t mean these farmers want to do the same to people, because the animal is NOT a person and doesn’t live like one. Our lives are not even remotely comparable! People like OP are the people that keep a wild bird with an amputated wing alive bc in their mind it would be insinuating all amputees should die if the bird is put down, and next thing the bird is on the Dodo as inspiration porn. Duex Face is an exception to two headed animals, not the rule. Don’t tell me to do my research when you’re spouting talking points from people that have caused more problems for animals as a whole second only to the commercialization of animal industry. Maybe you need some research (field research) instead! They’re going to block me and I’m assuming that’s why I can’t rb the post anymore even if I wanted to (like I said I didn’t want to start a fight so like. I’m not going to be yelling and acting like an asshole. I swore a bit in the tags initially bc I feel very strongly about how animal rights activists have fucked up disability activism by acting like there’s equivalency in our existences, but that’s not targeted. Most was going to respond telling them that if they feel this strongly they need to be reading more about the animal industry rather than relying on people that are in no way experts on animals talking as an authority on them, and using that to tie with their human rights activism as if animals rights and humans rights are even remotely the same in any way. Whatever though at least the tags are there if anyone who cares enough actually reads them and thinks about them. Will most likely just attract militant vegans and ARAs like the op but whatever)

[mst3kproject]

I Was a Teenage Frankenstein

Have I somehow not already reviewed this? Shit, I better get on that.  If the title alone weren’t enough, I Was a Teenage Frankenstein has Gary Conway from The Viking Women and the Sea Serpent, Phyllis Coates from Invasion USA, and sure enough, Whit Bissell from I Was a Teenage Werewolf playing more or less the same mad scientist character. Though sadly, there was no part for Pepe the Latino-Transylvanian janitor.

Professor Frankenstein, yet another modern descendant of the fabled Baron, is looking for medical applications of his ancestor’s work.  He thinks he can bring dead tissue back to life, and allow it to be used in organ transplants.  Naturally Those Fools at the Academy tell him it’s impossible, so he’s determined to Show Them All.  Conveniently, shortly after this declaration a car full of drunk teenagers crashes just outside Frankenstein’s home.  He and his buddy Dr. Carlton sneak off with one of the corpses, and over the next few weeks they assemble bits and pieces into a boy.  Problems arise when Frankenstein, true to form, refuses to acknowledge the humanity of his creation.  The boy wants to see the world outside the lab, the Professor’s fiancée Margaret is getting curious about what goes on down there, and Carlton is having more and more qualms… there are many ways this can end, but none of them are happy.

We’ve got some awesome mad science going on here, with a lab full of blinky light machines and a secret stock-footage alligator pit that, yes, the mad doctor does get chucked into at the end.  Lots of severed body parts are thrown around, all of them enormously fake but pretty gruesome nevertheless.  The horrible, horrible monster mask falls into this same category.  My favourite moment in the film is when Frankenstein takes his creature out to pick out a new face, and comes back with a severed head in a birdcage! My second-favourite is the traumatized witness to the car accident wailing “what a crash!”  I’d be hard-put to choose between the two for a stinger. And at the end, the movie does the same thing as War of the Colossal Beast, suddenly switching from crisp black and white to shitty desaturated colour, and it has the same effect.

But none of that is what the movie is actually about.  If there’s one thing I want to say about this film, it is the truly astonishing fact that I Was a Teenage Frankenstein appears to have been written by somebody who actually read Mary Shelley’s book.  This is not a claim that can be made of many Frankenstein movies, and certainly not of any that previously appeared on this blog.  I’m not sure the writer of Frankenstein Island had even seen any of the movies.  Although I Was a Teenage Frankenstein borrows only the barest of bones from the book’s plot, the emotional center of both is the doctor’s relationship with his creation.

The reason it’s a teenage Frankenstein, by the way, is because the professor believes one of the reasons his ancestor failed at creature-creation is because he used old, worn-out parts.  By choosing bits from young men cut down in their prime, he feels the result will be healthier and more resilient both physically and mentally.  He seems to be right, too.  His creature is not a shuffling abomination, but an intelligent and articulate young man who longs to ‘go out among people’ and is absolutely crushed to find that the ones he meets are terrified of him.

The Professor is proud of the progress he makes in teaching his creation to do things like walk and speak, but he seems entirely uninterested in the boy’s happiness or personality.  When he sees his creature crying, he is pleased that the tear ducts work.  When Margaret expresses fear of the ‘monster’, Professor Frankenstein tells her to think of him as something ‘like a machine’, a creation of science.  Finding he needs to get his creature out of the country in a hurry, he has no qualms about taking the boy apart to ship and reanimate later.  He never even bothers to give his creation a name, addressing him simply as ‘my boy’ – never just ‘boy’, but always ‘my boy’.  The possessive is important here.

Indeed, as his creature gains humanity, Professor Frankenstein seems to lose his.  At the beginning of the movie, the Professor (who never has a first name, either – he is a scientist, not a human being) seems very much in love with Margaret. As events progress, he becomes colder and colder towards her, and eventually manipulates his creation into murdering her.  Shortly thereafter is a tense moment in which we worry that the same thing will happen to Dr. Carlton.

Don’t think Frankenstein started off as a good person, though.  Though he claims to love her, he slaps Margaret when she asks what he’s working on in the basement.  When he first describes the experiment he’s about to perform to Dr. Carlton, he says he’s using the ‘principle of selective breeding’, choosing the best parts to put together into a human body.  This will be a step towards ‘perfection in the human race’. That’s the sort of language that should worry just about anybody, especially when it’s coming from somebody with a German name.  Unfortunately, the movie shies away from actually exploring the issues of eugenics or racial purity that it seems to bring up here.  You can see why they might not want to go into that, but it’s a shame they left it hanging there.

With this for his upbringing, the creature is not a model of morality either.  He eventually escapes from the lab and goes outside to interact with human beings. The first person he sees is a girl sitting and brushing her hair – when she notices him, she screams, and he accidentally kills her as he tries to make her stop.  The incident clearly has a terrible effect on him, but this has far more to do with the way people reacted to his face than with the fate of the dead woman… the creature never seems to feel a moment’s guilt about the latter.  Perhaps this is because of the way Frankenstein raised him, or maybe it’s because, being a reanimated corpse himself, the boy does not think of death as a permanent fate.  Again, the question is not explored.

That’s the main problem with I Was a Teenage Frankenstein – it keeps suggesting things it doesn’t want to follow up on.  This becomes a particular problem at the ending, which is very unsatisfying.  Frankenstein sets about taking his creation apart for transport, the boy objects and kills him, and then commits suicide by electrocuting himself.  Throughout the movie, the only thing the creature has expressed a desire for is to interact with people who aren’t afraid of him.  Having just removed that stupid monster mask had his plastic surgery, he is on the cusp of being able to do so… but he never gets the chance.

Not only is this disappointing in itself, it also leaves another plot point unsettled.  In order to get a normal-looking face, Frankenstein and the creature killed and beheaded a young man named Bob, traumatizing Bob’s girlfriend Arlene in the process.  We see Arlene’s mother describe the incident to police officers, and offer them a photograph of Bob so they can identify him if they find him.  All these characters then simply vanish.  The next scene is Frankenstein telling Carlton that they’re going to take the creature apart for shipping, and then the movie ends.

What I wanted to see at this point was the creature going out and talking to people like he always wanted.  It would seem to be going awkwardly but not bad, but then he would run into Arlene, who identifies him as Bob and tries to spread the word that he’s still alive. This would make the creature feel that he has to kill her to keep her quiet, and ultimately bring the police to Frankenstein’s door.  Instead, the movie goes with an ending that feels like kind of a cop-out, like they ran out of time and just had to finish the story as quickly as possible.  We don’t even get a decent explanation of how he knew the two scientists were going to take him apart.

This is doubly disappointing because they could have had time.  There are early, talky scenes that could have been cut down a little in order to show us things we’d rather have seen.  The movie doesn’t drag much, but there are bits where it lingers on stuff we don’t need to see, like Margaret getting the key to the lab copied, or establishing that Frankenstein knows where the Lover’s Lane is.  Alternatively, since it wasn’t going to make a plot point out of Arlene, they could have cut that scene with her mother talking to the cops entirely… that would have made the ending feel less irrelevant.

In the end, I Was a Teenage Frankenstein reminds me a lot of another favourite bad Frankenstein movie of mine, Lady Frankenstein.  The two films share a lack of ambition.  Both have everything they need to be a much more interesting and thought-provoking take on the original material, but Lady Frankenstein chose to be about Rosalba Neri’s tits and I Was a Teenage Frankenstein tosses ideas around willy-nilly without ever giving any of them a chance to stick.

The weirdest thing about the movie is that it doesn’t even make any effort to appeal to teenagers!  You’d think a movie called I Was a Teenage Frankenstein would feature the title character interacting with teenagers, or trying to do ‘teenager’ things from the 50’s, like go to sock hops or race cars.  But no, besides the creature, all the major characters are adults.  The closest they come is by encouraging teenagers to identify with the boy as he chafes against parental restrictions.  I Was a Teenage Werewolf was about actual teenagers.  Why didn’t this film, obviously a partner to it, do the same?

[cassandra-tangled]

Cassandra Appreciation Week Day 5: Happiness

Hey guys! Here’s my one-shot for Cassandra Appreciation Week day 5: happiness. So, I took a little bit of a liberty with this one, it’s a bit experimental and in first person. I’m honestly not too sure how I feel about it, but it was fun to play around with! Also, it does loosely connect to my one-shot for day 1 (here on AO3). Anyway, I hope y’all enjoy! Here’s the AO3 link 

The word count is 2,475

And a brief summary is: Cassandra makes good use of the journal that Rapunzel gave her as a birthday gift. 

The only thing of any concern is some light cursing. Enjoy!

Dear Diary, 

Dear Journal,

Wow. This is really not my speed. 

So, a journal. I don’t really know what to write, I’m not a...journal-ly person. Raps is, sure, but not me. This stupid, leather-bound book was a birthday gift from her, though, so I want to make sure I use it.

Not that Raps would ever snoop into my private life (at least not intrusively enough to read this) but if she did, I hope that last part wouldn’t hurt her feelings. I love the gift, really. It’s only stupid because it’s frusturating me that I don’t know what to write.

I guess I can start with where I got this journal. Like I said, it was a birthday gift from Raps. My birthday was a little under a week ago, now. I didn’t even know it was my birthday, but I turned twenty-eight. I feel old. Raps threw me a dinner. There was good food, cake, and alcohol. I fucking hate parties, but I love my friends, and it was only the five of us. Raps and Eugene got me this book, and a quill, and a knife, and some clothes and other fun things. It was really sweet of them, honestly. They didn’t need to get me anything, I wouldn’t have known the difference. Varian got me a bag of rocks, basically. Wait, that made me sound ungrateful. They’re beautiful rocks, and it was a cute gift. Or are they stones? Or gems?? Or crystals?? Fuck, I’m not a rock expert. But whatever they are, they’re pretty, and he found them all around the kingdom. It’ll be like having Corona with me when I leave again. Oh, and Lance got me a bag of Monty’s candy. Score.

So, I don’t really know what to use this for. I guess if I go back on the road I can...write or doodle in here like Raps did when we were younger. I mean, I’ll probably write, if anything. She’s all about doodles. I wonder how many notebooks she’s filled up by now.

When I asked her what she thought I should do with the journal yesterday, she told me to write about the things that make me happy. That’s a good place to start, I suppose. I’m not her, though. She could probably write a novel and a half on what makes her happy--but not me. Most things make me angry, and I could probably write a novel on that. Screaming children make me angry, although they’re cute when they’re quiet. Parties and social interaction make me angry. People who pronounce ‘vase’ as ‘vayhse’ make me angry (it’s ‘vahz’). Being awake makes me angry. Being asleep makes me angry. Freeloaders and thieves make me angry--reformed ones are okay, though. Most people make me angry. Especially Fitzherbert. Don’t get me wrong, I love him...sometimes. 

But I’m supposed to be talking about things that make me happy. Honestly, I’m hard pressed to think of many, but I can think of some.

My weapons make me happy. I could stare at them for hours, in all honesty--I have so many (thanks Dad), and they’re all beautiful. I love polishing them, and admiring them, and of course...using them. Not in a creepy killer way or anything. Dueling is just really, really fun, and let me just say--I’ve made good use of my Fitzherbert sparring dummy since coming home.

My favorite weapon is my halberd. I keep it well cared for, sharp, polished, and shiny. It was the first weapon Dad gave me, for my eighth birthday. At that point, it towered over me, but not anymore--I’ve had it twenty years now, and it’s rather proportionate. I mean, it’s taller than me because it’s supposed to be, but seriously...watching eight year old me trudge around with it was probably a sight to see. Anyway, he chose it as my first weapon because it’s the weapon of choice for Corona’s guard. I was eight when he started really training me with them. Before, I’d sat on the sidelines and watched, but by eight, I was a full-fledged trainee. People thought he was crazy for raising his daughter to be a guard from such a young age, but I’m glad for it. I wouldn’t be able to protect myself otherwise.

I love all my weapons, though. I couldn’t take my halberd with me on the road, so I took two of my daggers and my favorite sword instead. Oh, how I wanted to take my mace, but it was too heavy to justify. My favorite dagger, I’ve had since I was sixteen. I had a few before it, but my favorite one is absolutely beautiful. It’s probably the most valuable thing that I own. It was a gift, too, a blade carved of steel and the handle of beautiful gold. It’s badass--the handle is carved into this weird...I don’t know, dragon? Lizard? Sea serpent? Whatever it is, it looks cool, and my name is engraved on the blade. The sheath is encrusted with small gems. It’s not from my dad, but from an ‘anonymous castle staff’ or something who leaves me gifts every year. I don’t know why they bother or how they afford it, but I love it. It’s not the most practical, because of the handle, it’s more ornamental. I don’t usually use it in sparring or fights. I didn’t bring it on the road with me, as much as it pained me to leave it home, because of its obvious, glaring value. So, it was nice to see it again when I got back here.

Hmm...I’ve been talking about my weapons for a while. What else makes me happy?

Books. I love books. I grew up with them as, well, my best friends. I was privileged enough to be educated, and educated well. I was reading fluently by the time I was six or seven, and when I wasn’t training, working or otherwise helping my father, you could be sure to find my nose buried in a book. One of the biggest perks of growing up in a castle is the library. I mean, usually, servants can read the book if they please and are able, but aren’t allowed to take the books out with them, or anything like that. I guess Queen Arianna likes me, because I was allowed. My father said it was a special privilege, since I was a learning child, and she valued the concept of book-smart young girls. Anyway, since I started working, I don’t use the library as much anymore--not because I dislike reading nowadays, but because I buy my own books. 

Funny story, here. Growing up, I read a lot of fantasy books, about...you know, damsels in distress and princesses who were saved by handsome knights in shining armor. I used to think that maybe, just maybe, if I trained hard enough, I could be the one to bring the lost princess home, and maybe even…

Well, a rogue thief beat me to it. And it wasn’t even on purpose.

Anyway, back to happy--animals make me happy, too. It doesn’t matter what kind, although I am sort of biased towards a certain owl and two particular horses. I don’t know what it is about animals, but despite the fact that they don’t speak our language, they’re a lot more capable of love and empathy than most humans are. There are a lot of great Coronan horses, but two are particularly dear to me. I remember when Max and Fidella were born, actually. They’re pretty close in age, though I think Max is a tad older--he was born when I was fourteen, and she when I was fifteen. Max was fathered by my father’s previous horse, and by the time he was weaned from his mother, it was clear he’d be taking his father’s place as the Captain’s horse. Fidella was actually born to my childhood favorite horse. I learned to ride on her mother, so it seems only appropriate to me that she became the one to accompany me on my journey. Her mother was a beautiful mare named Eliza. Eliza was quite similar to Fidella in color and stature--she certainly takes after her mother, not her father. Eliza was my first equine love, if you will. For a kid without any friends, a faithful horse can fill the gap. We had a lot of fun together, but she got sick and died a year or two after birthing Fidella. It broke me, honestly. Horses can live to thirty years, and she was only twelve at the time of her death. 

Right, happy. Oh people, I guess. I mean, as I said before, a lot of people piss me off, but some of them are more than okay. Dad is pretty great, and it’s been nice to be back and see him again. I didn’t appreciate him as much as I should have in my childhood--but then, isn’t that the way it goes? Raps is amazing too, and so is the rest of the gang. I don’t know where I’d be today if it weren’t for their fighting so hard to save me and, honestly, I don’t want to imagine. I’d probably be dead. Despite my...occasional bitterness, especially before, I’ve had some of my best times by their side. Actually, I’ve had nearly all of my best times by their side. Before Rapunzel came back and, well, pretty much forced me to be her friend, I had no one. I’m glad she did. If it weren’t for her, I probably would have died without letting anyone in, without having a single friend outside my father, Owl, my weapons and my books. But Rapunzel is���Rapunzel is impossible to resist. I learned eventually that there was no use in even trying to resist her--and she ended up being the best thing that had ever happened to me. She’s the first person I let in, the reason that I know what it means to be a friend (and how to become one), and the sole reason my friendship extended to Eugene, Lance, and Varian.

I mean...I had some dark times. Some really, really dark times. Happiness was the furthest thing from my mind. Instead, I was enraged, jealous, bitter, cold, and most of all, I was hurting. At that point, if you’d asked me, Rapunzel was the worst thing that had happened to me, even though deep down inside I loved her and cared for her more than I ever would have admitted at that point. I did some bad things, some horrible things. In my greed, in my...selfishness and lust for power, I committed some fucking heinous crimes. I hurt all of the people who were most dear to me. I almost caused the downfall of Corona--and the entire world quite easily could have followed.  

Yet still, when it was all said and done, Rapunzel still saw the light in me. Eugene, Lance, Varian, my dad, they all still saw the light in me. Despite all the pain and destruction, despite all the fear and uncertainty and my horrid crimes...they forgave me. They loved me.

I hated myself, and I wanted so badly for them to hate me, too. Maybe it’s what lesser people would have done, or maybe it’s what they should have done. I’m still not quite sure. Either way, they didn’t. They chose the path of forgiveness.  

That’s what love is. 

Rapunzel likes to say that I was never a bad person, and that I just lost my way. I hope that that is true, but honestly, I have no way of knowing. When I think of that time in my life, I’m detached. The memories are vivid and yet blurred. I don’t see that woman as me. I don’t. I can’t believe what I did, that my own two hands committed such offenses. I see that version of myself as a lost, sad, broken woman, descending further and further down a dangerous, shadowy path that would have ended in nothing but pain and destruction. I’d given up on myself. But my friends? They never gave up on me. They saved me from that.

Whether I was truly bad or just horribly lost is beside the point, because that’s not me anymore. It haunts me every waking moment, but it’s in the past. It hangs permanently in the back of my head, but I try to push it away, to ignore it. I’ve changed drastically. I now realize that I have, and always have had, so much to be grateful for. I still yearn for more. It’s almost as if it’s in my nature. But if it’s destined to come to me, then it will be manifested through my hard work. If it’s not, at least I tried.  

Most of the time, for me, happiness is hard to come by. Honestly, it is--even now, even though I realize I have much to be grateful for. It’s not such a bad thing to me, though, because when I do feel happiness...it’s exhilarating. It’s life-altering, and the taste of it sticks to my tongue like Monty’s taffy. When I do feel happiness, it makes all of the pain and all of the suffering that I’ve endured worth it. 

So, what is happiness to me?

Happiness...happiness is sharpening my weapons on a rainy Tuesday afternoon. Happiness is curling up by the fire, nose deep within a book, reading like my life depends on it. Happiness is  dark, windy, winding roads far from home, and the shiver that runs down your back when you realize, ‘I’m deciding my own destiny’. Happiness is a Coronan stable. Happiness is flying from town to town on horseback, meeting new people. Happiness is hunting with Owl, and sitting by the fire with Fidella. Happiness is a cup of ale, a shot of whiskey, and warm food. Happiness is laughing with friends, and melting into their arms after years apart. Happiness is the fact that you converse as if you hadn’t been away at all. Happiness is taking the horses out to the wall with Raps, and bickering with Eugene. Happiness is helping a greasy-handed Varian with one of his many ambitious projects, or screaming at Lance for eating your lunch. Happiness is having tea with Dad, and the prideful joy on his face when he pulls back from a hug. Happiness is loving, whether things, animals, or people. Happiness is being loved in return. 

Most of all, happiness is being alive. 

If it’s true that we only get one life, I’m happy that I’ve had the privilege and opportunity to spend mine the way that I have. 

That’s all for today. It’s time for this girl to get some rest.

Until next time,

Cassandra

[theramseyloft]

Pigeon domestication: Feral Pigeons are not wildlife.

There were some inaccuracies in the first post on this topic, so I’m making a new one. A second edition, if you will.

One of my followers once asked me why it was that pigeons in wildlife rehab should be held when other animals should be handled as little as possible.

I misunderstood the crap out of her question! And it took three posts to realize I had!

Injured or orphaned Wildlife in a rehab center need to be handled as little as possible to avoid imprinting onto humans. They need to be able to survive on their own, and developing the habit of asking humans for hand outs will lead it to becoming malnourished at best and get it killed for being a nuisance at worst.

Mammals in particular may be killed on approach as fearless approach of humans by a wild animal is one of the warning signs that it might have rabies, which requires brain tissue to test for.

Pigeons are not wild animals. On principal, imprinting avoidance should not apply to them.

Furthermore, it causes them a lot of harm.

Pigeons are intensely social birds! Nestlings suffer from touch starvation as intensely as a human infant and can be mentally stunted or even out right stress to death from lack of interaction.

More urgently: We are simply not capable of teaching a domestic pigeon peep to survive in the wild.

Pigeons are social and observational learners, with cognition equivalent to a human 5 year old. Like human children, pigeon squeakers are TAUGHT how to be pigeons. 

Their social structure is VERY human like! Their father takes them out on foraging trips (because mom either has or is getting ready to lay the next clutch) and teaches them where to find food, water, and nest materials, what to eat, where to shelter, and how to interact with other pigeons. How and when to defer to the status of older established flock mates to avoid a fight and how and when to stick up for themselves to make sure they get their fair share of resources.

Songbirds and nearly all other columbids kick their kids out as soon as they are self feeding and they either make it or they don’t. Their parents will chase them out if they come back.

Feral Pigeons only leave their families if the flock has grown too large for local resources to support. 

Truthfully, orphaned feral pigeons do not belong in wildlife rehab at all. Pet shelters should be set up for them. 

Feral Pigeons are not wild animals. Imprinting avoidance should not apply to them any more than it should apply to an orphaned puppy.

Feral puppies don’t get raised among fox kits or coyote or wolf pups at a wildlife rehab and sent out for release “into the wild”.

Seriously. Take a moment to consider the following scenario:

A shelter gets an orphaned or injured puppy. They bottle feed it until it can reliably feed itself, heal it’s injuries, and clean out its parasites.

And then they return that just weaned, newly healthy puppy to the alley from whence it came.

How many of you, of you actually saw this happen, or heard the plan for the puppy’s release, would not be INSTANTLY concerned for its well being?

How many of your guts just clenched at the thoughts that flooded your minds of it getting hit by a car? Going hungry enough to have to eat garbage? Getting into something poisonous or sharp? Dying because it was left alone with no shelter or resources in a hostile environment?

How many of you, upon hearing that that puppy was going back into the street, would protest that it needs a home? That it’s a pet? That it’s helpless? That it’s most likely to die if it’s released?

What would your reaction be if that rehab brushed all of those aside by pointing out that there are adult strays eating garbage and dodging cars, and they’re fine?

How many of you would get upset? How many would protest that those strays aren’t healthy? That they are skinny, full of parasites, visibly sick, and limping from old wounds?

How would you react if that rehabber looked you dead in the eye and said “Those are wolves and they should be free.”

What if, at all shelters, only purebred puppies, or puppies with obvious fancy traits were put up for open adoption, and all mutts were “released” back onto the street, with all offers to adopt them turned down because they were born outside? What if you could only request to take home a mutt puppy if it lost the use of a limb and was deemed unreleasable?

This happens to pigeons every day, and they are no less domesticated than dogs are.

Dogs have been traveling with humans since the time when there were several species of human!

But pigeons have been with us since our settlements became permanent, and that relationship is nothing to sneeze at!

Do you know why doves have the religeous significance they do?

Because of the Wild Rock Dove, which is to domestic pigeons what the wolf is to domestic dogs.

Rock Doves are cliff nesters native to Turkey, India, the northernmost coast of Africa and southern Europe, who live only in very specific locations: Seaside cliffs on the edge of deserts.

They are grain eaters that need to drink a certain amount of fresh water every day.

If you were lost in the desert, finding a Rock Dove would save your life, if you could keep it in sight. 

During the day, it would lead you to water because it can’t go a day with out. 

At night, it would lead you back to safe, habitable shelter. After all, if there are predators or noxious gas in abundance, the Rock Doves couldn’t live there either.

It’s true that pigeons were initially domesticated for meat, but the Rock Dove’s bond to a specific home site and the unerring navigation that returned them reliably to it every night lead them to being domesticated more like dogs than any other livestock.

Pigeon holes are really easy to make. It’s just an even opening in a mud or stone wall deep enough for a fully grown bird to be completely sheltered and wide enough for two pigeons to build their nest and raise two peeps in.

Babies could be collected from the wild at around two weeks of age, feathered enough to thermoregulate and just starting to wean from pigeon milk to seed. At this age, they could be moved into the man made pigeon holes and hand fed until they could feed themselves.

It would be three to four weeks before they began to be really capable of flight, so the man made dovecote became the Home site onto which the babies imprinted to just as much as their handler.

If the keepers were smart, they brought home a group of babies, because rock doves are social with a cooperative family structure.

If taken at the right ages, that group formed a mini flock, just big enough to watch each others backs and their surroundings on foraging trips farther and farther afield. 

When pigeons take mates from another flock, the pair decides which family to join based on the security of the nest site and availability of resources, so pigeons from a man made dovecote always had the advantage of superior security. New mates came home with the tamed peeps and learned by observation that the human care takers were harmless protectors.

If the farmer was smart, they’d only harvest meat or eggs sparingly and at night so that the pigeons would not associate the human with being preyed upon.

Because pigeons could go out and forage for themselves and be trusted to return, the farmer didn’t have to feed them, and a person could not be too poor to own pigeons.

Not only were they live stock that fed themselves and brought more birds back with them, the guano of a well fed pigeon is one of the most nutritious fertilizers on earth!

If you want crops to grow in a desert landscape, moist pigeon guano worked into the ground will work wonders!

Pigeon guano eventually became so highly prized that people who could afford to hired armed guards to protect their cote!

We kinda ALWAYS knew about pigeon navigation, but the Greeks and Romans wrote a LOT about their use as messengers.

Messengers were not just any domestic pigeon! Speed and navigational accuracy were the traits their lines were selected for exclusively, so these were expensive specialty birds, especially beloved by the well-to-do and the military.

Every fort and palace had a cote for messenger pigeons so that they could recieve the most urgent of messages in situations where a human runner was just not fast enough.

Royal emissaries and platoons of soldiers out on a mission were sent with a supply of birds from that palace or fort so that if they needed to get a message out, they could send it by the fastest carrier over the straightest path.

Pigeons continued to be used in the messenger capacity until only about 50 years ago. 

During this time when every one depended on them for swift communication, EVERY ONE loved and revered pigeons!

Their diversity so inspired Charles Darwin that he did a TON of his genetics research using them as models! And pigeons were so beloved by Victorian England that his editors tried to twist his arm to write a book entirely about pigeons instead of what became the Origin of Species!

When Eugenics began to fascinate the European well to do and dog shows came to be, pigeon varieties also blossomed! 

There were pigeons all over the world at this point, and different regions had so many different ideas of what shape and color and pattern made a beautiful Pigeon! While some valued the appearance, others valued a unique areal performance or a more musical singing voice.

There are at least as many distinct breeds of pigeon now as there are of dog! I have heard that there are more, possibly even considerably more, but I don’t know enough about dog breed diversity to say for certain whether or not those assessments are accurate.

We have taken pigeons EVERYWHERE with us! And when we loved and took care of them, everybody benefited.

But about 50 years ago was when technology caught up with and surpassed the speed of pigeon borne messages, and pigeons were slower with more expensive upkeep.

As previously stated, the military were not the only people who loved pigeons.

But a LOT of the people who kept them after the military phased them out in the US were immigrants and people of color. 

It was a status symbol not to need gardens or farms or livestock, so pigeon coops became associated largely with poor neighboorhoods and immigrants. 

As pigeons fell out of favor, and more and more ferals started living on the closest thing to a comfortable environment: Buildings. 

As they were fed by fewer and fewer people and had access to less and less grain, it became more common to see the white streaked splatters of the pure uric acid that pigeons excrete on an empty stomach.

Uric acid eats stone, concrete, asphalt, and especially metal.

Feral Pigeons thus became linked to property damage, and the smear campaign that coined the description “Rats with wings” ( http://www.audubon.org/news/the-origins-our-misguided-hatred-pigeons ) and linked them with filth and disease was the final blow to the public’s esteem for this animal that has been our partner and companion through THOUSANDS of years of history.

That description of pigeons was all it took to turn thousands of years of adoration and respect into knee jerk revulsion. 

Add the fact that domestication favors year round reproduction, and 50 years later, the feral population of pigeons is staggering. 

Millions are spent to kill them off and drive them out using everything from poison to spikes to nets, tar, traps, and fines levied on the kind souls that recognize their hunger and feed them.

The Street Pigeon Project spearheaded in Germany has found that the most effective way to decrease the feral population and minimize the damage they cause to buildings is to, get this: Take FUCKING CARE OF THEM!!!

They built a big, comfortable rooftop loft with lots of nesting spaces, provided a good mix or grain, seed, legumes, and calcuim, and swapped out the eggs with fakes.

The unrestrained, non-coerced feral pigeons spent 80% of their time in that loft, only leaving to stretch their wings.

It was more comfortable than the awnings, eves, attics, and signs that had been the best nesting grounds available, so they left! 

With no need to range out to look for food, they didn’t go very far.

On full bellies, with good food, their poo wasn’t just pure uric acid anymore!

With eggs swapped out as they were found, reproduction decreased by 95%!

And the best part? It cost SO much less to house and feed the ferals than it did to try to exterminate them!

That’s not even scratching the surface of the OTHER benefits that could be extended from that project!

Pigeon eggs are edible! Even if the thought squicks out people and they can’t be regulated, animals can eat pigeon eggs too. They could be donated to wild life rehabs and animal shelters.

A street pigeon project could partner with community gardens to clean the lofts and keep the fertilizer they gather. THEY could also use the eggs to compost!

Cleaning the loft could also count as community service!

Pigeons did not invade cities. We abandoned them there, after they helped us coordinate building and connecting them.

They are, in every sense of the words, abandoned, forgotten sky puppies.

And they deserve to be treated with the same concern and compassion as every other lost pet.

Adult ferals would be more hurt than helped by capture, but they should have the option of a safe place to go to be fed and cared for, and weaned babies deserve to go to loving homes.

I know there are too many to home right now and that isn’t feasible for rehabs that get hundreds of them, but where rehoming isn’t an option, they should at LEAST be acclimated in a group with supplemental feeding until they find their way in the world.

Pigeons were made what they are by us. They were abandoned by us. 

Everything we complain about regarding pigeons are traits WE intentionally bred into them! And we inexplicably treat *them* like the invaders after abandoning them the second they were no longer deemed useful. 

We even forgot that the pidge we see every day on the street are domesticated birds! 

They are literally stray dogs with wings!

It’s time we remember that relationship and remind other people.

And please, please… be kind to the Sky Puppies. 

They deserve to be loved again.

[wolfwhiteflowers]

Issue 175 thoughts and speculations, and tv show’s remixes.

*Michonne  *Richonne

> TWD comic spoilers

> TWD tv spoilers

(keep reading. vvv)

---------------------the comics

-OMG! Issue 175 had been out for awhile and I’m just still shocked about Michonne and that she’s on her way finding her daughter(s?).  I did not see this coming. It’s like I should have known. Because yeah it was kinda obvious or I just didn’t think it would happen at all. lol

In issue 168, I think, when Michonne decided to lead the Ohio group for Eugene, I was wondering why Michonne have to leave her bff Rick when he’s grieving over Andrea(wife) and alone in ASZ. I thought this was some plot that was setting up for Rick and Negan to parallel or get Rick downward spiral or something. I thought maybe Michonne didn’t want to be around Rick like maybe she have feelings for him. Idk or Michonne wants change, something new. But instead, Rick kinda adopts Mikey. He’s doing alright rn. I guess that’s ..also.. the point Kirkman wanted on Rick’s side of the story. We’ll see. My main point is that the reason why Michonne went to Ohio wasn’t all about making Rick alone (Jesus/Aaron at Hilltop. Carl at Hilltop). Kirkman wanted Michonne to leave ASZ to get to the story plot of her finding her missing daughter(s)! I did not see that coming. I think others thought of that but I was like ehh Michonne didn’t find them in Oceanside so? She grieve it out and was like feeling better lately. So yeah, now she gets see her Elodie soon and perhaps Colette!

-So this issue was such a big deal for Michonne. OMG Ok. Michonne is my fave in the comics. I don’t really trust Kirkman and sometimes doubt his writing, but I’m surprised he did this...or not. I mean I feel like this is what it suppose to happen. Make Michonne a mother again. I think her character journey is all about not finding her daughters and dealing with that pain, slowly letting it go and being more open with her past lovers, being close with the Grimes boys, being more human. And now she’s finally getting answers and closure to what happened to her daughters and ex-husband. She may even be a mom again to Elodie. This moment is something that I wanted before Kirkman would someday decides to finish the comic book or kill off Michonne. This was what I want and hope for her and her character’s journey, and so I’m like idc what else happens. I got what I wanted. (unless Kirkman screws up something else or I want more stuff. whatever. no can trust writers. lol)

-I am starting to think around issue 175 and on, is the beginning of the end. It seems like everyone’s getting closure or something. Maybe the end is not coming but everyone’s getting new chapters in their journey. Eugene and Siddiq learned the truth of Rosita, Jesus loves Aaron & wants to stay with him, Negan is changed, Maggie got closure, Michonne will find her daughter or what happened. idk about other characters. Grimes boys are changing..Rick is a widower and adopts Mikey?,Carl is starting to lead, Dwight wants to lead?..

-Even communities are changing. They’re all rebuilt from the Whisperer War but there’s this a whole new community, Commonwealth that is really protected, strong and huge. Idk if they’re safe or the good guys, but Kirkman including Elodie makes us fans interested in the community! I really wonder what will happen next with the Commonwealth in OH and other communities in VA.  Will the main characters leave Hilltop, Sanctuary, ASZ, Kingdom? Will Commonwealth and other communities become like an east coast territory being led by a higher rank group or person? Will our main characters even want to live in Commonwealth? idk I mean like Rick would he even want to go there ...maybe he would want to stay at ASZ where Andrea is buried at. Anyways, it’s gonna be interesting to know what will happen.

-There could be other potential drama to it with Elodie and Michonne, and the communities/people. Like what if Michonne is all excited about finding her daughter and everything’s great but she’s like I want to go back home. Elodie be like why? What is home to you? Then Michonne realizes she got another family back in home, VA. Riiiiiiiick. ok lol idk. Maybe the Ohio traveling group can’t leave Commonwealth or something. Maybe there will some civil war with all the communities against Commonwealth, or Rick or Carl will be president some day(of the east coast..like Falling Skies show). IDK i just want Mikey and Elodie to meet and be like some crossover ship-name thing with Stranger Things. El and Mike.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~TV~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s crazy how in issue 175, comic-Michonne found her daughter(s) (Jan.) after in the show where tv-Michonne’s (and Rick) will lose her second son, Carl(Dec.). It was just all emotional to think of those two stories. It’s also reminds me of this speculation or theory that I did long ago that seems like ..I was right or will happen or something like that. :P

My old-ish theory of the comics (issue 169, before s8 happened) and TV show. My theory or speculations are about tv-Richonne and comic-Richonne. #twd remix theories  I was trying to think of ways on how tv-Michonne will still live on after comic-Andrea died. Like how tv-Michonne still be Rick’s wife and perhaps adapt to comic-Michonne as well. *If only the tv writers wanted Michonne to live on and NOT take comic-Andrea’s death too. If Rick will not lose both Carl AND Michonne.  So, future stories are gonna be hard to remix or they will be a couple. My point is, my theories of tv-Richonne/comic-Richonne might not even work out and it’s kinda impossible. I’m not sure about comic-Richonne becoming a couple. Though they’re one of the leading characters and best friends.

But......one of theories? right now is that the TWD show writers killed off tv-Carl like how comic-Andrea did, so that tv-Michonne can live. And, since Michonne will lose another son, maybe Michonne will do what comic-Michonne did in future stories based in the comics; leave ASZ(pirating or Ohio traveling trip) to grieve or something else.

Here’s a bit of my old post of my old theory....

* Instead of miscarriage, it’s death of Carl. *Carl’s death = Negan redemption.

So far I got an idea that popped in my head and it’s instead of Michonne dying based on comic Andrea’s death, maybe Michonne would have a miscarriage or they lost their child from walkers/enemies. So it’s all angsty and tension between Rick and Michonne. It’s hard for parents to deal with their death of their child. idk why I thought of this :( …overthinking is bad (ok I’m kinda thinking Fringe’s final season with Peter and Olivia dealing with their issues since their daughter went missing). …Oh I know..I kinda was thinking of something that Rick and Negan could bond or whatever Kirkman have in mind later on in the comics. In the comics, they lost their wives recently-ish. I think Kirkman wants Rick and Negan to bond or something really in common in the story right now.

*Michonne left because she wants to. Later, Kirkman had in mind to have Michonne finding her daughter(s).

I am also thinking of comic michonne’s storyline. Right now, comic Michonne left with a group to check out Ohio/another community(ies). She said she has to go. We don’t know why, it could be just Kirkman wanting Rick to be alone and go crazy…

*more speculations

….So with that thought, Michonne’s leaving Rick and my thought of how tv show adapting it with loss of their child, it’s like tv-Michonne needs a break and think about her life and grieve her own way and stuff and same with Rick. And then…Michonne comes back home, ASZ, and Richonne are able to move on and still be in a loving marriage. (And like… comic-Richonne happens after Michonne comes back from the Ohio trip.)

I guess I was thinking of this because of issue 169. Andrea died and I think it develops to another plot with Rick and Negan. Then Michonne left. Like how does tv show do it without tv-Richonne being over.  I know there’s many other scenarios. Like maybe tv-Michonne wouldn’t go to Ohio.

So, I guess it’s like I’m saying Michonne will leave ASZ for awhile to do the pirate arc or Ohio trip or anything. But!.... I think the whole “Michonne leaving ASZ” part doesn’t matter or it’s a need in the story. Because, Carl died during All Out War and we already know Oceanside from Tara, Carol being away in that house, and Siddiq. So, I think there would be other remixes. Like someone else will take comic-Michonne’s part of going to Ohio or to the sea(Morgan?).  Plus, s8B and on will be more different than the comics. Anything could happen in the show. It’s just a theory.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Michonne’s child remix~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I feel like Idk anymore. lol  Some stories are already remixed and happening, so some stories aren’t needed. ..Now that comic-Michonne will most likely see and be around Elodie, Idk how TV show will do it. Maybe things will make sense later on when we get more comic-Rick story and other stories, later.

I don’t think tv-Michonne will find Andre again. We’ve been told Andre is dead. Unless Michonne is also totally surprised like us if we see see Andre alive and found again.

It’s also doesn’t quite be the same as comic-Michonne’s story. I think this is so comic-Michonne’s thing…like ever since. I think for her not knowing where her daughters are and if they’re alive, was what made her who she was/is since she was introduced in the comics. Comic-Michonne is like tv-Michonne in s3 but for a long time. I don’t think any TV character is that way, imo. Tv-Michonne and Carol isn’t like her. I’m saying how comic-Michonne found out about her daughter and the emotional impact of it, wouldn’t be the same in the show, imo. So I don’t think this plot will happen..to Michonne or about Andre.

It can be done similarly, I guess. Like Michonne can’t find Judith for 3 years and Richonne split or something. Like Carol adopting Henry but can’t find him for 3 years. Oh, it’s like repeated misery for the characters. I feel like that’s too much for those characters. Like Michonne just lost Carl, had a child with Rick or Judith went missing in short time. That’s just so sad. Idk..so I think it’s better if a new character was introduced and was always grieving their missing child or someone. Like (for a couple) Desmond reuniting with Penny from tv show Lost.

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

So yeah so much is happening for the comics and the show in 2018. Speculating is crazy and fun to do ..and confusing. overthinking is bad. I think the show will be even more different than the comics now because of tv-Carl’s death and comic-Elodie’s return. (and with Kang showrunning in s9) Also, who knows how long the show will be on air.  

[preservationandruin]

Edgedancer Liveblog 4

Lift has her mission--find another Radiant in the city before the Skybreakers do. In the process, she writes a friend, talks to an assassin, encounters a dysian aimian, realizes who the city’s other radiant is, and the series successfully passes the (low) bar of Elantris’ ableism. 

Due to the Weeping stopping, and a surprise Highstorm hitting, the seasons and the planting are all off, which is worrying the farmers--understandably. There’s been no new rain in the city for too long. 

And apparently, Lift has met Hoid: 

“Ol’ White-hair said you can’t be crass, so long as you’re talkin’ ‘bout art. Then you’re being elegant. That’s why it’s okay to hang pictures of naked ladies in a palace.” 

“Mistress, wasn’t this the man who got himself intentionally swallowed by a Marabethian greatshell?” 

“Yup. Crazy as a box of drunk minks, that one. I miss him.” 

Listen, if that’s not Hoid, I will eat a shardblade. 

Anyway, Wyndle makes the point that he can’t read every book in the archive in order to find anything weird happening, and so Lift has to come up with another plan--so she decides to go steal some “important-looking” clothes. This is gonna be good. All I’m picturing is like, the trench coat that’s just three kids in a trenchcoat, except instead of three kids it’s just Lift and Wyndle, and Lift is somehow standing on Wyndle, who’s make his vines look like feet. 

Anyway, Lift is saying she’s from Azir and is a friend of the emperor, which...isn’t false? Although it sounds like a bullshit lie. 

Anyway, Lift does not convince people, and instead they realize that she matches the description of the person the Guard Captain told them to look out for, which is Bad, especially because Hauka is there when they realize it. Lift is almost captured but manages to get a message to Azir on a spanreed (with help from Wyndle, who is the one who is actually literate out of the pair) and Azir responds in time. 

To the message “This is Lift, Tell Fat Lips I need her. I’m in trouble. And somebody get Gawx. If he’s not having his nose picked right--”

Which, you know, the fact that they responded to that says a lot about how highly they see Lift. So Gawx manages to bail Lift out, which is great. And Lift gets some food. Somehow, she also ends up with someone else’s hat. 

And she’s demanded the title of “Your Pancakefullness.” I’m gonna laugh my ass off I love Lift. 

Anyway, Gawx is worried--he’s heard reports, now, of the storm that blows backwards, the one with red lightning. Lift writes to remind him that while the future is terrifying, he can’t forget about the present, the mundane. Of course, she says it in a much more Lift-ian way. 

She also has gotten people looking for reports of strangeness--strangeness like herself, she says, giving a description that makes her glow and the seeds on her pancakes start sprouting. 

And then we get this touching part of conversation: 

“’Lift,” Ghenna read. “Are you going to come back? We miss you here.”  “Even Fat Lips?” Lift asked.  “Vizier Noura misses you too. Lift, this is your home now. You don’t need to live on the streets anymore.”  “What am I supposed to do there, if I do come back?”  “Anything you want,” Gawx wrote. “I promise.”  That was the problem. 

Anyway, the storm comes, and the scribes are trying to get Lift to go to a bunker. Well, good luck with that. But Lift realizes that she can tail the work of the other Skybreakers. 

Also, the scribes have just sort of learned to accept that Lift will do her own thing so they’ll be like “go to the shelter! the door will be locked where you’re going” and then sigh and just be like “...don’t break anything please” 

Lift is also feeling for the Parshmen who will be left out for the storm--even though they’re going to turn to Voidbringers. They still don’t deserve that. 

Anyway, Lift runs into the Skybreakers, including Szeth, who is talking to Nightblood--who he calls “sword-nimi.” 

And Wyndle says he can sneak into the room. All on his own. He’s getting braver!!! I’m so proud of him. 

We get a bit more about Lift’s mother. 

When you were always busy, you didn’t have to think about stuff. Like how most people didn’t run off and leave when the whim struck them. Like how your mother had been so warm, and kindly, so ready to take care of everyone. It was incredible that anyone on Roshar should be as good to people as she’d been.  She shouldn’t have had to die. Least, she should have had someone half as wonderful as she was to take care of her as she wasted away.  Someone other than Lift, who was selfish, stupid.  And lonely.

So Lift’s mother had been caring for people, and then had wasted away and died, probably from illness, and Lift was the one caring for her at that point--Lift, who was around ten. That’s...that’s enough to break someone. 

Anyway, Wyndle comes back, and the two main Skybreakers walk past without noticing her--but Szeth (or, more likely, Nightblood) does, and first tosses a sphere at her, then unsheaths Nightblood--to see if she’s evil or not, I assume, and Lift experiences the nausea that good people feel around Nightblood--and then leaves. 

But they’re all three heading to execute someone, so Lift and Wyndle follow them. Turns out, it’s very hard to follow people in an abandoned city. The two main skybreakers start flying--Lift is jealous--and Szeth, pointing out that the last time he flew in that storm he died--refuses to. They say he’ll never really become a skybreaker. 

Anyway, so he stays behind and talks to Lift, which she isn’t expecting. She backsasses him, which is great. She also is clearly wary of him--and more wary when it becomes clear that he’s a bit deranged. 

Anyway, turns out they’re looking for the weird guy from the Orphanage--so Lift starts going there. One of her, against two Skybreakers, and Weird Guy might be a Lightweaver; we just don’t know. 

She gets to the orphanage and is taken inside, asking for her last meal there; she listens to the other children there. And she realizes what she wants--she wants a little control. Over her powers, over her life. She wants to be the one who chooses her fate, and she hears the uncertainty of the other children. 

And Lift also realizes she may have healed Mik’s disability, which I...have mixed feelings about? It looked like it was caused by a head trauma, so that seems reasonable to me, but if this goes down the line of “surge of growth can heal mental illness” I’m gonna be a little skeeved off. 

But Lift chooses to go outside, to see what happened to the old man. And she finds something--a body--and thinks it’s the old man’s--

But it’s not. It’s the body of one of the Skybreakers. The other is there, too, also dead. The walls start moving. 

What the fuck is this old guy because it’s not a lightweaver. He says that his people are watching the radiants--he’s made up of cremlings, yikes. And says that the Old Radiants named him an ally. 

“We watch the others. The assassin. The surgeon. The liar. The highprince. But not you. The others all ignore you...and that, I hazard to predict, is a mistake.” 

He also says “I pass for human almost as well as a Siah, these days.” 

Aimian. This is what a Dysian Aimian is! A human-shaped sentient colony of cremlings. Holy shit. His name is Arclo, and he calls himself one of the Sleepless. He also mentions Axies. 

HOLY SHIT. 

The Stump is the radiant! Lift didn’t heal Mik--she did! She launders money to get spheres that aren’t dun because she needs the stormlight! 

...and just earlier today, Lift had people write up a warrant for her arrest, putting her under Nale’s jurisdiction. 

FUCK. 

And also we get the confirmation that stormlight doesn’t heal people who were “born sick” which honestly is such a step up from Elantris’ autism-curing eugenics bullshit (I’m sorry, I’m calling it like I see it). 

So Lift runs into the Orphanage, starts letting off Light, and yells this: 

“Darkness! The one they call Nin, or Nale! Nakku, the Judge! I’m here!” 

[zrtranscripts]

Radio Abel, Season Three

Part 2 of 7

ZOE CRICK: And we're back. So, as we were saying before the break, Eugene and I have been working on a little project recently. Lots of the messages we get from our listeners include their own stories of surviving the outbreak, and what they did in the days since.

A lot of these are very personal and often very touching, so we didn't want to belittle these experiences by prattling on about them. Instead, we wanted to play you all a collection of these stories, to give them the respect they deserve.

EUGENE WOODS: Exactly. We know how hard it is to talk about experiences like these, but we also know how important it is to do so. So here we go: your stories of the outbreak.

CALLER: How did I survive? Well, I'm a family practice physician, and my patient, Mister Smith, started to change while I was getting ready to go into the room to see him. It's like nothing I'd ever seen before. I yelled for my nurse. That was a bad idea. I was able to get myself out of the way, but he attacked her. The next thing I know – something different – he started to change faster, and so did she. We later found out he was patient zero here in the Portland/Vancouver area.

Well, I cornered them into the exam room as best I could. The only thing I had available was one of the electronic automatic defibrillators. It wasn't the best idea, because when it went off, I ended up with two zombies that were partially on fire. The only thing I had left was the ax that was near the fire extinguisher. I was able to finish them off, and that's the only way I survived.

SCOTT: Hey, guy! My name's Scott. Long time listener, first time caller. [laughs] I've always wanted to say that. Before the zoms, I was actually a radio DJ myself! Strange to be on this side of things. You're doing great, by the way. Keep up the great work.

Um, but... memories. One of the things I always enjoyed doing before the outbreak was to sit out under the fall evening sky with my wife, and I'd play her songs on my guitar. And those were always such peaceful moments. That's actually what my wife and I were doing when we got the word of the outbreak. A neighbor screamed the details from his yard as he was packing his family into the car, and they ended up speeding away.

I can't remember his name, and we'd been neighbors for three years. I take time to learn names now, though. Might sound funny, but somehow it seems more important. Anyhow, uh, even with the heads up from my neighbor – man, I wish I could remember his name – we just didn't move fast enough. It's amazing how quickly things can shift from calm and peaceful to just utter chaos! I still play guitar from time to time, it's just a little harder to do without her.

CALLER: During my second year of college, uh, there was this one storm in April that knocked down a bunch of trees on campus, and we lost power for two whole days. So my friends and I spent the next two days making blanket forts and raiding my supply of glow sticks, and joking about what we would do if the apocalypse had actually happened.

Then it did, and I'm halfway across the world studying abroad while they're back in America. But mostly I just... I really want to know if they carried out our zombie escape plan, and if they actually are on some remote island in the Bahamas, making blanket forts again.

JACK HOLDEN: We'll be back with more of your stories after this.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Now it's time for more of your stories.

FIRST CALLER: I am – well, I was – an astronaut in training for NASA. My four crewmates and I were doing a six week mission in NEEMO, an underwater laboratory off the coast of Florida. We had been at 60 feet deep for about three weeks, simulating a trip to Mars. We were allowed to check in with our teammates on the surface – whom we referred to as Mission Control – for just a few minutes once each day.

On day 22, we made our daily check-in and were told several people had just come down with some sort of virus. We assumed it was a particularly nasty flu, maybe even food poisoning. On day 23 we got a very brief transmission that mentioned... well, zombies. But we just thought Mission Control was just playing a joke on us, although honestly, we didn't find it very funny. That was the last time we ever heard from Mission Control.

We waited three more days and then decided to abort the mission. It took us six hours to go through the decompression protocols, make it to the surface, and take our emergency boat back to shore. We never found a single living human.

SECOND CALLER: Hey. Thanks so much for all you do. It keeps my spirits up, even though some days, when I miss my dad and my dog, I feel bad just being here. Anyways, I thought that if I pass on something that lifts my heart, it might make me feel like I'm giving back.

On those dark days – or nights, really – I got outside and look up at the stars. The fact that we can not only see the brightest constellations like Orion or Ursa Minor, but without the light pollution, we can also see the glorious sweep of the Milky Way again. Teeny tiny stars that must be millions of light years away, shining down on us from so long ago.

I don't know... I guess feeling small makes me feel better. Weird, huh? Anyway, I better get back to digging for worms. We're going on a fishing trip today, and I can't wait to taste some fresh fish. Thanks!

THIRD CALLER: I missed hot chocolate. A lot. It kept running through my head as I ran from zombies, shot zombies, hid from zombies. I just couldn't stop thinking about it! So I snuck into town and raided a high-end chocolatier. Pulled a sack of vacuum-sealed powder out of the back.

Then I needed milk. Whole milk, the thick and creamy stuff. Did you know that milk cows go feral if you leave them alone long enough? Yeah. Did you know that feral milk cows make enough noise to attact zoms if you try to milk them? That was a fun surprise.

So, [coughs] now I'm sitting here in the rundown remains of a hastily-barricaded dairy farmhouse, heating this [coughs] milk very carefully so it doesn't scald, while the bite in my leg festers. I'm going to drink the best hot chocolate in the entire world, and then I'm going to use my last bullet. And it was totally worth it.

ZOE CRICK: I really hope that was one incredible hot chocolate.

JACK HOLDEN: I'm sure it was.

EUGENE WOODS: I just wanted to take a moment on behalf of all of us to thank everyone out there for sharing their stories. Our hearts go out to you all. Stay safe, everyone.

JACK HOLDEN: Now, our next set of messages are... pretty interesting.

EUGENE WOODS: I love them.

JACK HOLDEN: Well, you do have a well-documented love of crackpots and weirdos.

EUGENE WOODS: Still with you, aren't I?

JACK HOLDEN: ... walked right into that one, didn't I?

EUGENE WOODS: Could not have made it any easier.

JACK HOLDEN: Well, you know what they say -

ZOE CRICK: Do you think you could leave the flirting for the music break, boys? It's lovely and all, but -

EUGENE WOODS: Oh! Sorry. Guess we get a little -

JACK HOLDEN: - carried away. [laughs]

EUGENE WOODS: [laughs] - carried away sometimes. Anyway, the sounds you're about to hear are transmissions we picked up from across the pond. Ever since Janine upgraded the receivers around here, we've been catching bits and pieces of other stations out in the states, and we thought we'd bring you some of our favorites.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: They're your favorites. You left out the best one.

ZOE CRICK: Someone reading old phone books on the air hardly counts as entertainment, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Aw, it was soothing! She had such a calming voice. It was like listening to the shipping forecast.

ZOE CRICK: You really are a man of singular taste, aren't you?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, you know what they say -

JACK HOLDEN: Oi!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What?

JACK HOLDEN: Pot, kettle. Flirting.

PHIL CHEESEMAN and ZOE CRICK: We are not flirting!!

JACK HOLDEN: [snorts] We know, we know. Just colleagues. But the point stands. Now, let's get on with it, shall we?

EUGENE WOODS: Yeah, we're running on now. Let's do a song first.

JACK HOLDEN: You're the boss. And we'll be right back with our transatlantic transmissions.

JACK HOLDEN: Okay, here we go. Now this first transmission is certainly something special.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] That's one way of putting it.

EUGENE WOODS: Here he is – Nick Trapezius, with Brawn of the Dead!

[epic rock music]

NICK: What up, swole-diers? This is Nick Trapezius, back with another Brawn of the Dead. Somebody asked me the other day, "Nick, why are you still hitting the gym and getting so huge? Doesn't the zombie plague mean we've got to be lean and mean?" No, ma, it does not. Running all day is fine if all you want to do is run away. But if you want the bad guys running from you, then size matters!

I know. "But Nick, zombies don't fear muscles." Doesn't matter, ma, because muscles don't fear zombies. You don't need a shotgun when you've got these guns. Sweet bicep flex. [rock music] Until next time, bros, this is Nick Trapezius saying keep picking things up and putting things down.

EUGENE WOODS: [imitates NICK] Ooh yeah! [ZOE CRICK laughs] You don't need a shotgun if you've got these guns.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Sound, sound advice.

JACK HOLDEN: [imitates NICK] Sweet bicep flex.

[ZOE CRICK and EUGENE WOODS laugh]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We all heard the clip, guys.

EUGENE WOODS: [imitates NICK] Keep picking things up and putting things down.

[JACK HOLDEN and ZOE CRICK laugh]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right! Enough! Could you please play a song, Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: [imitates NICK] What's the matter, Phil? Did you never dream of being a swole-dier?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Not really, no. Music!

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] All right, all right, party pooper.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay, we're back! And even though it's not my favorite, here is a transmission that I did enjoy. We've got Father Neil here with some lovely biblical discussion.

[soothing music]

FATHER NEIL: Welcome to another episode of "Revelations." I'm Father Neil.

Thomas writes, "Father Neil, wasn't Jesus a zombie, since he rose from the dead?" Well, Thomas, I can't find a single instance in the Gospels of Jesus biting anyone, before or after the Resurrection. And while Christ did bear the marks of his crucifixion (John, chapter 20,) there is no mention that his flesh was rotting off his bones, which is, I think, something the apostles would have noticed.

So to answer your question, Thomas: no. Not everyone who rises from the dead is a zombie, just like not everyone who swims is a fish. [soothing music] Until next time, this is Father Neil, reminding you to praise the Lord, and pass the ammunition.

ZOE CRICK: Not exactly the most holy of discussions, is it?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What do you mean?

ZOE CRICK: "Was Jesus a zombie?" It's hardly the stuff of great scripture.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, in case you hadn't noticed, Zoe, we're a bit short on bishops and pastors right now, and I'd rather have this sort of discussion than some meathead talking about his "guns."

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Am I detecting some jealousy here?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What? Why do you think I'd be jealous?

ZOE CRICK: Well, it's not like you have an arsenal of your own, is it?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: How - ? I don't know - ! Oh, stick it up your arsenal. Play a song, would you?

ZOE CRICK: Ooh, touchy!

EUGENE WOODS: All right, we've had Phil's favorite -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: My second favorite.

EUGENE WOODS: - Phil's second favorite, so now it's time for mine.

JACK HOLDEN: Oh. Oh, it's so creepy.

EUGENE WOODS: Well, you know what I like.

JACK HOLDEN: ... I do. I do.

EUGENE WOODS: So here's Eric Luke, all the way from Hollywood.

[static]

ERIC: Hello? Hello? Is this transmission being received? Will I ever know? My name is Eric Luke. I am camped in the hills above what used to be Hollywood. I look out over the endless necropolis of the film industry, now crowded with zoms that careen through the streets with the same howling hunger for human flesh that propelled them through their careers.

I found a high-powered rifle scope the other day and was finally able to peer into the top floors of all the studio towers that I used to haunt, making pitch after pitch. I'll be damned if in every palatial penthouse office, there wasn't a rotting corpse sitting at every massive desk, staring into space. Some things never change.

Hard to believe, but with the city shut down, the desert is reclaiming its own. And it gets cold up here at night. To keep warm, I'm burning the Hollywood sign one bit at a time. First, it became Holywood. Then, Holywod. Then, Holywo. Then Howo, then Owo, then just O. Or zero. You tell me.

This is Eric Luke, signing off. Oh, and if you've got a second, I've written an audiobook called Interference. See, it's about an audiobook that starts killing people when they listen to it. And you're listening to it, see? And there's this guy, and he's – [drowned out by static]

JACK HOLDEN: Well, at least he's not as bad as Father Michael.

EUGENE WOODS: I still don't know why you hate that guy so much.

JACK HOLDEN: Uh, because he's about a 10,000 on the creepy scale. He's an evangelical preacher, and a conspiracy theorist. That's like sharks with lasers.

EUGENE WOODS: Yeah! Perfect! I wonder what happened to him.

JACK HOLDEN: Probably wandering around the wilderness somewhere, trapping people in pits or something.

ZOE CRICK: You know we have no idea what you're talking about, right?

JACK HOLDEN: Oh, it's um, it's just this old thing that Eugene thought was great, but actually it was really disturbing.

ZOE CRICK: Fair enough. Do we have any more recordings to play?

EUGENE WOODS: We do, actually. One more, and it's just for you two.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This isn't another trick, is it?

EUGENE WOODS: No, no! Wouldn't dream of it! Don't worry! Let's have a song, and then we'll get back to our last transmission.

ZOE CRICK: Sounds good. Here's one for you, Eric.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right, Eugene, what do you have for us? I'm all nerves over here.

EUGENE WOODS: This is something that came in the other night. Jack, ready?

JACK HOLDEN: Yup! Here we go.

CALLER: So the camp I'm at is letting us send out messages, try to find family if we can. I don't have anyone left, and I promised myself I'd do this if I ever could, so... before all this, I had a crazy overactive conscience. Like, "couldn't even be mean in video games" level of guilt. Not really surprised it never went away, even given the circumstances.

Jack, Eugene, you guys were a bit of bright in this darkness. And Phil and Zoe, when you took over, I judged you guys unfairly, and since then, it's been eating me up that I did that. Solo shows, all together – you guys are helping people feel safe and happy, and that's huge. So I'm sorry, even if it doesn't mean anything to you guys. Guilty conscience, promised myself, all that. So there it is. Thanks for everything. All of you.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh...

ZOE CRICK: What a nice message.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You didn't... like us?

ZOE CRICK: Not the point, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But-but we were trying so hard!

ZOE CRICK: They like us now! That was the whole point of the message.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, but... I thought we were doing a good job.

ZOE CRICK: We are doing a good job.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, but - !

ZOE CRICK: Listener, thank you for your message. It was very sweet of you to let us know, and we're glad we brought you around.

JACK HOLDEN: Amen. Listeners, uh, well, it's been great to hear all your messages, and we want to thank you all for sending them in.

EUGENE WOODS: We really couldn't do what we do without you guys, and we hope we've brought a little light into your lives, wherever you are.

ZOE CRICK: But that's all we have time for right now, so until next time: stay safe out there, everyone.

ALL: Stay safe out there!

[paper rustles]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [clears throat] The names for tonight: Olivia Bore, Joseph Cates, Hailey Corlitt, Fay Corney, John Crips, Christina Decker, Peter Grier, Odelle Kennan, Duncan Knox, Alexander Lassiter, Sonja Liggens, Jared Little, Anita Little, Bertram Lund, Finn McDonald, Danielle Onstadt, Dale Platt, Marguerite Robicheau, Gillian Scoville, Lucien Siba, Omar Sip, Louise Stockhard, Marty Stockhard, Katherine Williamson, Sigrid Witter. May they all find peace. We return shortly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: And now, a moment of silence in which to remember all of those we've lost. Let us give special thought to those out there who knew today's interred.

[silence]

[door opens]

EUGENE WOODS: Oh, hi, Phil! I, uh... sorry, uh...

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Shh.

[silence]

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [whispers] In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, amen. [out loud] Sorry, Eugene. Can't sleep? Want to sit down.

EUGENE WOODS: Yeah. Thanks.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No problem. We're about to go for a break anyway. Listeners, we'll return shortly.

EUGENE WOODS: So you do this every night?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Unless I'm ill or there's an emergency or something, yeah.

EUGENE WOODS: And the names?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, the cleanup crew make sure to check for I.D.s or anything before the burial. I asked them to start keeping a list.

EUGENE WOODS: That's... that's very kind, Phil. Why do you do it on your own?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I don't know. It felt right, I suppose, and I wasn't really sure Zoe would understand.

EUGENE WOODS: I don't know. She puts up a tough front, but -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: - she's a softie, really. Yeah, yeah, I know. Still, felt like something I should do on my own. [laughs] Uh, my granny used to tell me how she waited for my granddad to come home. All those weeks waiting, not knowing if it would be him knocking at the door or if it would be a letter from the Army. She said not knowing was the worst thing.

When I started doing the radio, I thought, you know, if only there'd been a man on the radio for my gran. We can't send letters anymore, but I thought for the people we know are gone, we can do this. Because knowing is better than not.

EUGENE WOODS: I... yeah. Yeah, I suppose it is.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Would you like a cup of tea?

EUGENE WOODS: That'd be nice, thanks.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No problem. Here's a song while they brew up.

[PHIL CHEESEMAN snores]

EUGENE WOODS: [slurps tea, sighs] Hm. Oh. Oops. [laughs]

[PHIL CHEESEMAN snores]

EUGENE WOODS: [sighs] Good morning, guys. Afraid it's just me right now. Phil's asleep, and uh, well, I'm not sure where everyone else is. [clears throat] It's nice to have some peace, to be honest.

One of the things about the apocalypse – one of the things you don't think about before it happens – is how hard it is to get your own space. You're living in each other's pockets, sharing a bathroom with dozens of other people. You can't go off anywhere in case you get, you know, eaten. [laughs]

But I guess you have to take pleasure in the small things, sometimes. So I'm going to sit here with the sun coming up, trying to ignore Phil's alarmingly heavy breathing, and enjoy this cup of tea.

[PHIL CHEESEMAN snores]

ZOE CRICK: [indistinct conversation from outside of the room] It took me a while to get used to it, as well, but you'll soon learn the layout. I once got lost trying to find a bathroom, somehow ended up on the other side of the castle, [laughs] locked in a pantry! [JACK HOLDEN laughs] Oh, here we are.

[door opens]

JACK HOLDEN: Ah, home away from home sweet home. Aw, hey, Gene! I was wondering where you'd got to.

EUGENE WOODS: Shh! [whispers] Phil's sleeping!

JACK HOLDEN: Oh! Oh. [laughs]

ZOE CRICK: Oh God. Again? The amount of times I find him sleeping up here, you'd swear he didn't have a bed to go to.

JACK HOLDEN: Shove up a bit.

EUGENE WOODS: All right, all right.

ZOE CRICK: [quietly] Phil. Phil! Wakey-wakey! [out loud] Oh, for God's sake. Phil!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [jolts awake] Good - good rise, ci-ti-zens! It's time for morning and shine here on Radio Cabel!

[others laugh]

ZOE CRICK: You're a true pro, Phil. Come on. Let's give you some time to wake up, eh? Listeners, your normal programming will resume shortly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [mutters] Tea.

ZOE CRICK: All right, and we're back! How are you feeling, Phil?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [yawns] Oh, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Thanks, Zoe. You're not normally up this early.

ZOE CRICK: No. I promised to show Jack the ropes in the breakfast line.

EUGENE WOODS: Ah, getting the grand tour without me, eh, Jacky boy?

JACK HOLDEN: Yeah, well, we couldn't find you. Sorry.

EUGENE WOODS: Hey, no problem. I was enjoying a nice cup of tea with Sleeping Beauty here. Any insider tips for the New Canton resident?

JACK HOLDEN: Ah, well, you know how in Abel, you have to get lottery tickets for laundry and showers and stuff?

EUGENE WOODS: I remember the smell in the shower

JACK HOLDEN: Yeah, well here, it's all divided by where you live, and you get to do laundry and showering and stuff according to that.

EUGENE WOODS: Okay, I see how that could work. When's our next day?

JACK HOLDEN: Uh, well, we're in Unit 15, so um... Zoe?

ZOE CRICK: A week on Thursday.

JACK HOLDEN: Oh.

EUGENE WOODS: Great.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh, don't worry, Eugene. I've  been keeping something to one side for this very occasion.

ZOE CRICK: Clean socks?

EUGENE WOODS: Deoderant.

JACK HOLDEN: Febreze? ... what? It's an effective solution to certain hygiene issues.

EUGENE WOODS: No comment.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: But no, it's none of those. What I do have is this tub of Vicks VapoRub.

JACK HOLDEN: Phil! I did not take you for a raver, you sneaky beast.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What?

JACK HOLDEN: Oh. Uh, nothing.

EUGENE WOODS: I'm not sure I see how this is going to be useful.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, Eugene, I'm glad you asked. You see, all you need to do is take a little bit of the stuff and rub it just under your nose.

EUGENE WOODS: ... okay...

PHIL CHEESEMAN: See? Now you can't smell anything. [sniffs]

EUGENE WOODS: Oh God. My eyes are watering. Oh God, this is strong stuff, Phil. Ow, ow, wow, wow. This is powerful.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, um... sorry. You might want to wipe that off, then. But trust me, once it gets muggy in those bedrooms, you'll be glad of a bit of menthol.

EUGENE WOODS: I'll take your word for it. Okay, listeners, we're going to send you off for a song while I get this stuff off my lip.

ZOE CRICK: [laughs] Back soon, guys.

EUGENE WOOD: So, I tell a story -

JACK HOLDEN: No no no, you tell two stories, one true, and one false.

ZOE CRICK: And then we all guess which is which.

JACK HOLDEN: Right, right. And if you get it wrong -

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We drink some cider.

EUGENE WOODS: And why can't we just drink cider anyways?

JACK HOLDEN: Because this is more fun, Eugene. Come on!

EUGENE WOODS: Fine, fine. Okay, who goes first, then?

JACK HOLDEN: Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No. Uh, I mean, uh, why don't you go first and show us how it's done?

JACK HOLDEN: [sighs] Fine! Okay. So, um... [whispers] sorry, I need to think of a story. Uh, story... Uh, okay, story. Here we go. [clears throat] So, I have been arrested -

ZOE CRICK: Truth.

JACK HOLDEN: Ha ha ha. No, no, I've been arrested. Was it either for a) being naked in the town hall, or b) stealing a bottle of wine from an off-license?

ZOE CRICK: Hmm. Okay, let's figure it out. You probably would have got off with a caution for public indecency, but not for stealing.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: You seem to know a lot about this, Zoe.

ZOE CRICK: You haven't heard my stories yet, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right, all right. So it's probably A, right? Jack's never been to prison, have you, Jack?

EUGENE WOODS: It's B.

ZOE CRICK: You sure?

JACK HOLDEN: No no no, don't listen to him!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Ah, you've let it slip. Eugene's sure to know all this stuff. It's B. I choose B!

ZOE CRICK: Okay, B.

JACK HOLDEN: Nope! It was A.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: What?

JACK HOLDEN: Everyone drink!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: That's a gyp. Eugene was so certain.

EUGENE WOODS: Oh no, I knew it was A. I just wanted to drink some cider.

JACK HOLDEN: Speaking of which, drink up, everyone. Forfeit's for stalling in my game.

JACK HOLDEN: Okay, Zoe's turn.

ZOE CRICK: Oh God. Okay, okay, um... okay, so. Story one: I have broken so many bones that my local hospital has enough X-rays to make up a complete X-ray version of me. Story two: I have never been admitted to hospital.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Uh, definitely one. Zoe is super super clumsy.

EUGENE WOODS: I don't know, that's a lot of broken bones. But then, it's also hard to believe that you've never been to hospital.

JACK HOLDEN: Well, my uncle was like 70 and he's always said he'd never been admitted to hospital.

EUGENE WOODS: Your uncle is also an inveterate liar, Jack.

JACK HOLDEN: Oh... oh yeah, yeah. Um... whatever. Story one is true. That's my guess.

EUGENE WOODS: You're so wrong. Story two.

ZOE CRICK: Phil? What's your poison?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Oh God, I don't know. [sighs] On one hand, my first thought was story one, but then maybe it's two, and... okay, yup. Two, two, two. It's two.

ZOE CRICK: Wrong! I was a very clumsy child.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Damn! This game is going to kill my liver.

[ZOE CRICK laughs]

JACK HOLDEN: Hey, you're the one that made the cider, buddy.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly. It's your own fault, Phil, for giving us such encouragement. Now get drinking.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah, yeah. Yeah, yeah.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: All right. Seems I can't seem to pick the right thing, and I don't want to die from booze, I think it's my turn to tell some, um... uh, to... stories.

EUGENE WOODS: Yep, yep.

JACK HOLDEN: The floor is yours, Philip.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, I like that!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Right, right, right. Okay, okay. Uh, story one: I am the reigning world champion at the game Donkey Kong... Junior. Story two: when I was a baby, I was the face of a popular brand of toilet tissue.

ZOE CRICK: Two.

JACK HOLDEN: Yup.

EUGENE WOODS: Has to be.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Wait, don't you want to have a chat, or...

ZOE CRICK: Nope. Definitely two.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Bugger. Fine, yeah.

EUGENE WOODS: What can we say, Phil? It's just clear you were a very, very cute baby.

JACK HOLDEN: Hey, hey, wait, wait, now you have to drink, because we all got it right, and we're the best, and you suck!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Seriously?

ZOE CRICK: Yeah. It's the rules.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: This game is the worst.

ZOE CRICK: I'm really not sure.

JACK HOLDEN: Oh, come on, Zoe! It'll be fun!

ZOE CRICK: It's not exactly my idea of a relaxing getaway.

JACK HOLDEN: Well sure, we'll be working, sort of, but still -

EUGENE WOODS: It'll be nice to get out, have an adventure, meet some new people, see some new places -

ZOE CRICK: Like the inside of a zom's stomach?

EUGENE WOODS: We'll have protection.

ZOE CRICK: Forgive me if I don't have much faith in the ministry's goons. They can't even land a bloody helicopter properly.

EUGENE WOODS: Hey, to be fair, I think that was a mechanical failure.

JACK HOLDEN: Smoke monster.

EUGENE WOODS: Mechanical smoke monster failure, right.

ZOE CRICK: Still. How do we know they'll keep us safe?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: We don't.

ZOE CRICK: Exactly.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: No, I mean, we don't know it for sure, but listen. We can stay here for the rest of our lives, staring out at the world, straining to hear whatever scraps of news come our way until we starve, or die of old age, or zoms break through the walls, or whatever.

Or we can take the Ministry up on their kind offer, roll out the gates in that van, tour the country raising morale, find out how people are living out there, and spread the good word. We can survive stuck in here, or we can go out and live out there.

JACK HOLDEN: I think I'm going to cry.

EUGENE WOODS: That was a very rousing speech, Phil.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Thanks, Gene.

ZOE CRICK: Oh, bloody hell.

JACK HOLDEN: Are you in? You're in, aren't you? Yes! She's in! [laughs] [sings] "We're all going on a zombie holiday. No more sitting in this stupid room."

ZOE CRICK: I already regret this decision. [laughs]

EUGENE WOODS: So, it's decided, then.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yup.

EUGENE WOODS: We're going for it.

JACK HOLDEN: We are actually bloody going for it.

ZOE CRICK: I guess we are. Yeah. Yeah, let's do it.

EUGENE WOODS: It's decided, then!

ZOE CRICK: It's decided.

EUGENE WOODS: Cool!

JACK HOLDEN: Cool, cool, cool!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Torch.

ZOE CRICK: Check.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Spare batteries for torch.

ZOE CRICK: Uh, you're kidding, right? Spares?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: [laughs] I know. Nice one, Mister "CDC Emergency Preparedness Plan." What are we, made of batteries?

ZOE CRICK: "Pleased to meet you, dear chap. Mister Pennyfeather Cornelius Rockefeller at your service. Here, have some batteries. No, no, I insist. They're spares." [sighs] That was a bit of a long walk, wasn't it?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Yeah. Just a bit. Anyway, the torch is one of those windup doofers.

ZOE CRICK: All right, what's next?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Thermal blankets.

ZOE CRICK: Pair of old rugs, check.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Tinned food?

ZOE CRICK: Hunting knife and trapping cord, check.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Bottled water.

ZOE CRICK: Having lived like this for bloody ages and knowing how to clean your own water, check.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Okay. Last one: "Though we do not condone violence in any situation, it would be wise to have something with which to defend yourself."

[weapons clatter]

ZOE CRICK: Check.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: My God, Zoe, that's... that's a lot of weapons. Is that a machete?

ZOE CRICK: Runner Sixty-Two owed me some favors.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: I thought you were the non-violent type.

ZOE CRICK: Well, you know what they say: better to have it and not need it than need it and not have it.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, yes, but this looks like you're planning an armed coup in a Central American state.

ZOE CRICK: Viva la revolución!

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Quite. Ooh, can I take the ax.

ZOE CRICK: But that's my favorite!

EUGENE WOODS: [clears throat] All righty, what's on the list?

[paper rustles]

JACK HOLDEN: Spare jumpers.

EUGENE WOODS: Check.

JACK HOLDEN: Bobblehead dog from that insurance advert.

EUGENE WOODS: Check.

JACK HOLDEN: Flappy hat.

EUGENE WOODS: Check.

JACK HOLDEN: Sword.

EUGENE WOODS: Check.

JACK HOLDEN: Sir Geoffrey the cricket bat.

EUGENE WOODS: Check.

JACK HOLDEN: Swanny the cricket ball.

EUGENE WOODS: Check.

JACK HOLDEN: No Pun Intended.

EUGENE WOODS: Oh God, not that, please.

JACK HOLDEN: Oh, come on! Look, you know it's dear to my heart. I had to trade my flick knife for this. You remember, with that girl in that hotel.

EUGENE WOODS: I remember Ashley, Jack, but that doesn't mean I like the jokes.

JACK HOLDEN: Look, I'm still packing it.

EUGENE WOODS: Fine, whatever. What's next?

JACK HOLDEN: A hug.

EUGENE WOODS: You are such a softy! Aw, come here.

[JACK HOLDEN and EUGENE WOODS hug]

EUGENE WOODS: So it's north to start with?

ZOE CRICK: Yup. Until we hit this settlement here.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: They're going to take us in?

ZOE CRICK: Mm, the Ministry says they've agreed to resupply us and let us shelter there for a couple of nights.

JACK HOLDEN: Well, that's nice of them.

ZOE CRICK: I imagine they're getting something in return. Increased patrols, medicine. Hell, even just food.

EUGENE WOODS: I had no idea we were so important.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, we are post-apocalypse Britain's flagship light entertainment and informational broadcast.

JACK HOLDEN: Fancy. You just made that up, didn't you?

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Well, not just.

ZOE CRICK: Moving on. After that, we'll head east northeast for a while. The Ministry's keen that we include some coastal settlements on the tour.

EUGENE WOODS: Must want to make sure they hold up until trade routes can be restored.

JACK HOLDEN: Either that, or they want to make sure we get nice tans.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: On a British beach?

JACK HOLDEN: All right. Either that, or they want to make sure we get bitten to death by midges.

ZOE CRICK: Sounds about right. And after that, well, they've told us we'll receive further instruction en route.

PHIL CHEESEMAN: Sounds like a plan to me.

EUGENE WOODS: So what do we do now?

ZOE CRICK: Now we wait for the green light.

JACK HOLDEN: All right. So, music it is.

[kelseycoppinger]

Class #21: Why we Should Ditch Anthropocene: is a Name Just a Name?

Kelsey Coppinger November 11, 2018 Class #22: Why we should ditch Anthropocene: is a name just a name? In Donna Haraway’s chapter Tentacular Thinking: Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Chthulucene from her book Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene she discusses what we should name this current epoch that we’re in. She begins by asking a series of hypothetical questions about what will happen in the future. From these questions she concludes that “surely such a transformative time on Earth must not be named the Anthropocene!” (pp. 1) which starts the main point of her chapter. She explains that anthropocene is a term first coined by Eugene Stoermer. He referred to this term as the growing evidence for the effects that humans have on the Earth. Later, Paul Crutzen proposed that we needed a new term for this new epoch marked by a high magnitude of human activities. These Anthropogenic markers were evident in the air, water (dying coral), and rocks (pp. 4). Haraway sees that this name is fitting but believes we need to move beyond this. She believes that human exceptionalism which is based on the idea that humans are unique is not longer grounded in evidence. She claims that this warrants a new name for our age. Man is so clearly cound up with other organisms that it's not right to name a time period solely after humans.

Next, Haraway adds that many have a naive faith in technology. They hope that it will eliminate the effect  that burning fossil fuels have on our environment, and save us all. However, this really isn’t the case. As Brad Werner points out “global capitalism “has made the depletion of resources so rapid, convenient and barrier-free that ‘earth human systems’ are becoming dangerously unstable in response” (pp. 5). Haraway then brings up a second view that some hold of utter despair. These people believe that there is nothing to be done. What Haraway is trying to do is subvert these two opposing attitudes towards climate change and massive species extinction. Haraway state what we should do instead is stay with the trouble. This means taking an active stance; it involves the activity of making kin and changing our understanding of what kinship means.

Thirdly, Haraway suggests that the name Capitalocene is better, but still not quite there. Capitalocene is defined by the capitalist economy being the main cause of environmental issues. Haraway asserts that no individual revolt against capitalism would do anything. It will take a collaborative effort against capitalism to change our society. However, Haraway state that we shouldn’t be like Eickman: a nazi organizer who failed to think. What she means by this is that currently we are all going with the flow of capitalism instead of incorporating new ways of thinking that aren’t embodied with in the ideology of capitalism. Despite Capitalocene being an improvement it still makes the figure of man big.

Lastly Haraway makes a final suggestion that the name Chthulucene is the most fitting for the current epoch that we’re in. She explains that we need to figure out how to live on a damaged planet. Chthulucene is embedded with in the world and rejects the idea of progress for the sake of progress. She calls for being together in this heap of tentacles.

My biggest issue with Haraways line of thinking was that naming our epoch anything besides the “anthropocene” would lift the blame off of us as a species. It is indeed true that we alone are the ones destroying rainforests, killing off species, polluting our oceans, and much much more. We are the sole destructors of our world. As soon as we name our epoch something un-human oriented it may suggest that we somehow aren’t to blame, or are less to blame. For instance Capitalocene immediately puts the blame on just the way our society is. Does this really get individual people to feel any sort of burden on the fact that their are sea turtles with plastic up their nose? It’s so much easier to turn a blind eye when “it’s just the way our society is.” The one part that convinced me that maybe it shouldn’t be names anthropocene was point 8 on pp. 7 of the objections of anthropocene. This point suggested that the name was privileged. It doesn’t make sense to blame everyone equally. Some people in some parts of the world truly do not contribute to environmental change. This term is very Westernized. Is there a name that we could come up with that could place the blame on Western human activity?

Word count: 748

“Tentacular Thinking: Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Chthulucene,” in Donna J. Haraway, Staying with the Trouble: Making Kin in the Chthulucene, Duke University Press, 2016.