Thinking of writing a book called Not Kidnapped Yet, detailing all of the times old men have tried to get me to follow them. It’s happened three times in the past month, including today, and its starting to feel like a bad omen.

"There is only one bed" "Exes forced to work together" and "Accidentally cuddling in sleep" with homeboy Dickie please <3

There were certain members of the Titans who said Dick’s superpower was being friends with his exes. Not very many of them had ill feelings for him after breakup despite everything that happened in their relationship. You tried to be like them. Kori could laugh at his jokes while he dated Barbara. Zatanna would often give him an open mouth kiss when she saw him and yet had no interest in dating him again.

But you weren’t like that. You didn’t know how to act around him. Possibly because you didn’t exactly break up normally, or at all. He just disappeared. It had been for a mission but still. He could have called or talked to you afterwards. That’s why you were mad. It was inconsiderate, you thought as you ignored the tiny voice that told you that you couldn’t be normal around him because you still liked him.

And currently you were dying because you had teamed up with Dick on a mission. Both of your skill sets matched for the mission’s needs and so this is how you ended up at the front counter of a Swiss hotel high in the mountain trying to get 2 hotel rooms instead of one. Or even just another bed.

“Madame, I apologize but there is no other room at this hotel. We are very sorry for the mix up but this is all we have. The nearest hotel is 30 kilometers north so I have very little I can do. Again, I apologize,” said the man. “It is the busy season.”

You sighed. “That’s fine. I’m tired. It’ll be fine,” you said grabbing the keys a little rougher than necessary. Dick looked at the man apologetically before following you.

The hotel was actually really nice. Very traditional with red ornamental patterned rugs and golden brown beaded board halfway up the wall. A gold chandelier hung in the front entry. A bellboy carried your bags up to the room and let you in.

The room was just as nice but tiny. Barely had enough room for the bed and a small table with 2 chairs and a tv stand. A little closet sat behind door and the tiny window with covered in thick curtains.

You tossed your bag in the closet without a care and pulled off your shoes. You groaned and stretched your toes before flopping on the bed.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” Dick said grabbing a pillow.

“No just get in bed. There isn’t enough floor to sleep on. It’ll kill your back to sleep weird,” you said with a yawn. Dick stood awkwardly. You hadn’t thought about it but you were probably his only awkward ex and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“You sure? I don’t wanna be in your space,” Dick said tentatively laying down the pillow. You patted the mattress.

“You could sleep in the room beside me and I think you’d still be in my face with how tiny these rooms are,” you said and he chuckled.

“Yeah, this hotel is probably like 500 years old or something,” he said laying down. He was on his edge of the bed and you on yours. “Did I ever tell you that we toured out here when I was a kid in the circus?”

You turned to look at him. “No you haven’t. What was it like?”

“It was cold but fun. My mom got mad when I tried to do flips barefoot in the snow,” he said with a laugh. “I was probably 6. She thought I was going to get deathly sick from the cold.”

“That sounds exactly like something a mom would say,” you said with a smile.

“I also remember one of the sword swallowers tried to learn the language to speak to all the pretty women that came to the shows but he learned Swedish instead,” Dick said and you both laughed.

“I bet that didn’t go well.”

“He got lucky and the first woman he talked to spoke Swedish! It was pretty funny,” Dick said with a yawn. “We should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” you said and the pillow felt like heaven. Your eyelids felt heavy and before you knew it, you were asleep. Hours later you woke to light hitting your eyes through the curtains so you snuggled closer to get it out of your eyes. Arms that wrapped around you tightened a little and you felt a humming noise that threatened to put you back to sleep.

Hot breath against your cheek made you move again. This time you woke up to take in your surroundings. A collarbone. Arms around your back. Legs tangled in your own. You hadn’t taken anyone home last night. Who was that? You blinked before realizing that you were in Dick’s arms.

You pulled back a little and he whined in his sleep and held you tighter. His touch was warm and comforting and you almost wanted to be lulled back to sleep with him. But Dick wasn’t your boyfriend and you needed to move. You shifted again and he opened his eyes to look at you in surprise.

“Oh,” he said. You both froze. “Sorry,” Dick muttered before moving his hands away slowly. His didn’t scoot away from you.

You looked at him and the way he looked at you stopped you from moving. It was raw and unfiltered in the mornin light and he clearly wasn’t over you. He looked down at your lips before looking back at your eyes.

“Morning,” you said softly. You looked down as he licked his lips. They looked soft and shiny. You slid your hand to his arm. Almost painfully slow, Dick scooted closer to where your lips were almost touching. You inhaled a little faster than normal.

“Can I,” he said already hold his head slightly turned. You leaned up to meet his lips. Dick’s hands went back around to grip your waist. The kiss started out tentative but didn’t take long to deepen. He tasted the same as you remember and his touch was familiar and comforting.

After a little bit of you both laying on your sides, Dick laid back and pulled you on top of him. You straddled his hips and kissed him hard. Dick made a moan against your lips and gripped your thighs. You rubbed down against him. You could feel him grow hard in his thin sleep pants. Dick pulled back to breathe.

“Fuck baby,” he panted. You huffed out a laugh. “What?” He asked and you grinned.

“Still has the same weaknesses, I see,” you whispered and he chuckled before shrugging. You ground down on him and he inhaled quickly.

“Yeah but so do you,” he said before flipping you over and pinning your hands above your head. You gasped into a moan as he nipped at the spot behind your ear. Dick smirked against your skin. “Yep the same spot.”

“Hmmm using it against me,” you asked and he nodded.

“Always take advantage of weaknesses. That how I was taught,” Dick said. He bent and sucked hard on the spot and you pulled at his hands, wanting to put your hands in his hair. Dick kissed down your neck to your collar and nipped at your collarbone. You made a keening sound.

“Not fair Grayson, not fair,” you said breathlessly and he chuckled.

“I could always stop,” Dick said, his breath was hot on your skin. You groaned and he chuckled. Dick slid his hands under your shirt and pulled back to slide it off. His fingers traced a new scar that you had gotten since the last time you had been together.

“Two Face,” you commented and he nodded before kissing the arcing curvature of lighter skin. You pulled at his shirt and he pulled it off too. He had some more scars too. A pair of red healing marks on his forearm that looked like claws you touched with your thumb.

“Killer Croc,” he said before kissing the valley between your breasts. You hummed in agreement before realizing what he said.

“Killer Croc? You got very lucky,” you said and he pulled back a little.

“Yeah. I mean, it got mad infected and I was out for 2 weeks but yeah, he could have ripped my arm off,” Dick said. He ran his hand along the waistband of your sleep shorts. You inhaled quickly.

“You’re too casual for a man that almost died,” you said.

“Yeah, I know,” Dick answered sliding his hand in your shorts to play in your folds. Your eyes closed and you forgot all about scars and Killer Croc as he fingered you.

“Condoms?” You gasped. He grinned as he kissed along the column of your neck.

“One minute,” Dick said getting up. You watched him move around the room. His boner extremely obvious in his sleep pants. He came back with a few attached together.

“3?”

“Let’s start with one and go from there,” he smirked and you laughed. That was Dick for you. Cheeky no matter what. He pushed down his pants and rolled it on as you slid out of your panties and shorts. Dick stared down at your wet pussy. He already knew from fingering you but he certainly wasn’t complaining about the sight.

Dick climbed back over you and kissed you soundly. “Ready?” He asked and you nodded. Dick slowly thrust in and you made a soft sound. He started moving and found a good pace. It was great for missionary but it wasn’t like either of you didn’t have the ability to be a little more flexible in positions.

“I want to try something,” you whispered in his ear and he looked at you with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Go on,” Dick said excitedly. You pushed him off of you and he eagerly complied. You stood up and bent at the waist and wrapped your arms around the back of your knees with your legs closed giving Dick one hell of a show.

“Oh fuck,” he whispered. Dick moved behind you. “Like this?” He asked and you nodded. Dick slowly slid in with his hands on your hips making all kinds of little noises. “You look fucking amazing baby. Truly.”

You let Dick move for a while in this position. He alternated between holding your hips and grabbing your ass to slightly spread it to watch better. It was possible he’d never been that horny in his life. It felt amazing on your part but there was something you wanted to try without telling him.

You slowly moved your hands to the floor and put your weight on one leg. And with a smirk, you lifted one leg up and Dick inhaled deeply as you lifted it up to his shoulder. He held your leg and moaned loudly. His hips stopped and he was panting.

“Fuck, you almost made me cum right then,” he groaned. His hips started moving and all of took was a little shake of your ass for him to cum despite himself. “Fuck,” he groaned while burying himself deep. As soon as he was done, he pulled out and helped you stand up. You noted a little dusting of pink in his cheeks and ears.

“I’ll get you back. Lay down,” he said and you nodded and laid on the bed. It was no time at all that he had his lips wrapped around your clit and fingers in your core as your grabbed his hair in pleasure.

“Fuck! Dick! Fuck!” You cried, completely ignoring the fact that it was 7 am and you were in a hotel. He seemed to be hell bent on making up for the fact that he came first. Your thighs shook and you weren’t even sure but you probably screamed when you came. Dick peppered kisses up your body with a smirk as you heaved in breaths.

“Like that,” he said wryly, pulling you into his arms.

“You already know that,” you answered. He ran a finger along your arm and kissed your hair.

“So this...” he started but trailed off.

“Yeah...”

“Do you wanna... try again? Us?” He asked.

“Maybe,” you said biting your lip.

“Give it a shot?” He asked hopeful. You sat in silence for a second.

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Yeah?” He said with a smile.

“Yeah,” you answered shyly. He grinned and kissed you again. He rolled on top of you.

“Since I fucked up the first round, I should make it up to you,” he said playfully. You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“If. You. Can,” you whispered in his ear. By the end of the morning, the hotel security had come to knock on your door to quiet down.

Anonymous asked: Don’t you miss London in any way since you are British? Wouldn’t you love to come back especially after Brexit? Do you think London has changed for the worse that its not worth living there anymore?

Yes, I do miss London. I do want to go back....but not yet. I’m enjoying living and working in Paris. Brexit doesn’t affect me as I also have a Norwegian passport and I qualify for carte de séjour (a sort of residential work permit).

It was the wit Stephen Fry who said “The English language is like London: proudly barbaric yet deeply civilised, too, common yet royal, vulgar yet processional, sacred yet profane.” He captures the essence of London it’s so diverse that anyone can fit in. That is its strength and its weakness compared to other maga cosmopolitan cities like New York in the West or Shanghai in the East as its only rival.

But to my mind London has  more - arguably the same as New York but definitely more than Shanghai - in terms of energy and vibrancy with a very unique English topping of eccentricity. Something you would never find in Paris for instance where things are quite socially stodgy and snobbish. The dinner parties I attend in London are far more down to earth and vibrant as well as eccentric and very fun compared to the ritualised boerdom of super pretentious dinner parties of the Parisian crowds I get roped in - a caveat, most but not all.

London to me is like city state much in the spirit of a medieval Florence. It has no moorings to the rest of the country or the nation. It’s a bubble. or I should say bubbles within a giant bubble. There a diversity of communities each rubbing up against each other. Mostly for the good but some times not so good. Despite urban problems that affict growing mega capitals London for me still remains a wonderful place to live. 

When people ask me about if I enjoyed living in London I have to ask which London? We all live in our concentric social circles in London and people as much as place help define our sense of belonging and happiness. I don’t look at London in an abstract way in terms of favourite places but in terms of the bonds of friendships made and sustained from childhood onwards. 

Samuel Johnson said “When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life; for there is in London all that life can afford.” In my case, it’s because I wanted to expand my life experiences that I left London. I get bored easily and I have restless feet. I left London because it became too small for me. Or rather the world I inhabited became too socially claustrophobic for my tastes. I needed to get out and seek adventure and challenges elsewhere at least for the next chapter of my life.

I do love London and I often go back there for work reasons as well as personal ones when I can. I am a member of a few gentlemen clubs (many allow women in now) and its old genteel atmosphere centres me and paradoxically helps me to see London in slow motion even as London around me is fast moving and changing. I also don’t miss key events that I can only experience in London like the ballet and the theatre which is unrivalled in the world. And of course there are some events on the social season calendar which I can’t miss because of family obligations.

Every city has its unique charms but only a few touch the heart and soul. London - or at least the London of my childhood - is one of them. But for how much longer I don’t know.

London seems to be galloping towards a new and uncertain identity, one that puts ‘stuff’ before substance, and more importantly, money before class (as in good taste). Brexit’s impact on London doesn’t bother me in the slightest as London will adapt as it always does. It will muddle through which has always been the English way to solving any problem: just muddle through.

Still, it’s the little things I notice rather than the obvious macro ones. It niggles me and prey on my mind long after I witness the offence.

So let me give you an example of what I mean.

I did a hard day’s shopping in Knightsbridge and was waiting to meet a dear old friend from boarding school to play catch up. She’s always bringing me up to speed on the gossip in our circles and most of it goes in one ear and out of the other as I’m bored by it but interested and polite enough to listen if only to feel happiness and relief that I actually do live away in Paris.

So there I was waiting for her. She was late as usual. I was sitting in a quintessentially English hotel restaurant in Knightsbridge over Christmas. I watched a young man about the same age as me approach the door. He was dressed in a wool long coat with a velvet collar that looked a little snug, although it was beautiful and had the look of Turnbull and Asser about it.

My heart soared, as he held the door open for an elegantly dressed woman who was on her way out, then approached the restaurant and confirmed he was there and waiting for a guest, a living illustration that manners maketh man.  When he took his coat off it was to reveal what was the uniform of my father’s generation, right down to the waistcoat, bottom button left open, and polished shoes. The suit he was wearing could well have been inherited from his father - probably Savile Row - but the whole was a thing of modest beauty and seemed to fit with the Christmas decorations and season of traditions. This was a well groomed young gentleman who had dressed for the occasion, and the occasion was a treat, an extravagance, something not of the every day.

I ended up at a table diagonally across from him and his companion, probably his wife or partner, excited to be there and also impeccably dressed and I watched as a party of flashy men of indecipherable East European origin arrived five minutes later. They didn’t speak much English and were wearing a selection of very tight floral shirts with white cuffs and collars. Block printed, purple and lime and many other colours unsuitable for December, but there you have it and while my suited object of admiration sat unserved, the party in the middle of the restaurant made up for their lack of fluent English with magnificent finger clicking skills.

You might say this is and always has been the way of the world, the wallets were on the table, money clips clearly visible through the skintight shirts, but one thing was different about this picture, something unpleasant. The restaurant staff fawned on them, and the couple opposite me sat, waiting politely for the two gin and tonics they had ordered.

Meanwhile, gaudy bottles of Ace of Spades Champagne arrived stage centre, possibly the world’s flashiest wine container, gold and shiny and terribly gauche. They were closely followed by four sets of twins, female ones, who sat down at the table amongst the flowery shirts and were each poured a glass of fizz which they silently sipped in minimal clothing.

Meanwhile in the other corner, the unassuming couple who had come in first were still waiting for their drinks, and I watched while the gloss went off their day, and the pall of poor relations settled on them in the corner.

This scene will be familiar to anyone who lives in Central London and it’s sad. The bottom line has always been a vital consideration in the London restaurant scene, there has always been a special table for regular customers, that’s the way of things. Until recently however there has also been that very British recognition that the chap who has saved up all year to take his wife to a special lunch should be treated as if he is also a regular guest and one of equal value at that.

It’s these little acts of tradition and custom that are the life blood of the civic life of a city. Lose this and you slowly erode the pillars of civility.

This obnoxious veneration of money to the exclusion of everything else has reached fever pitch. Restaurants that used to be just that, dining rooms that you could sit and eat lovely food in, providing a bubble away from the day to day stresses that we are all party to, are now restaurants with private clubs upstairs. Meanwhile private clubs that used to be simply  private clubs now have VIP areas – VVIP areas – which is at least a bonus in that you can avoid the more ghastly members as they are all in those bits.

What does this all mean? Does it mean that everything from eating out to where we shop is now Instagrammed or Facebooked, leaving us defined by our purchases and spending habits alone? It is certainly starting to feel like it in London (and worryingly small signs of it Paris too with rich Russians and Arabs buying up most expensive aprtments in the city), where a hundred pounds is the new tenner, and consumption has reached improbable proportions.

Strangely though, no one seems any happier, quite the contrary. Are the new Rich Kids of Instagram really something to aspire to? Is bad taste the new good taste?  Strange times are upon us, when 16 year olds sit in a cordoned off areas of clubs and restaurants flashing their cash and getting on and off jets. I see this first hand as I sometimes get to fly on private jets purely for work reasons at the largesse of my corporate clients. I always thought the Euro trash aristocrats girls at my Swiss boarding school were entitled airheads but the present nouveau riche incarnation don’t even have a sense of ironic self awareness or taste.

Human beings love a boundary, well they have for the whole history of mankind to date, anyway. If in one generation we get rid of all the traditional social conventions, from buying our own homes, saving, working hard, not buying whatever we want whenever we want it, where will we be?  Perhaps instant gratification will lead us all to a new kind of life, a new place where we all live for experiences instead of taking out a mortgage, where nothing we do is our fault and no consequences to our actions.

I have always loved the quote ‘Don’t give up on what you want for what you want now’ and believe that delaying gratification is the defining characteristic of mature adulthood.

Perhaps values, traditions, less is more and simple kindness will make a comeback. In the meantime, restaurants will empty of customers like the well mannered gentleman on the corner table, and I will continue to feel uncomfortable that we are losing something vital not just in London but increasingly elsewhere in great European cities I travel to.

Thanks for your question.

This is for you @sirbeepsalot 🌹🥀🌺🌻🌼🌷⚘

I've had a bunch of asks in my inbox forever and need to finally get around to them. I was inspired by @drakeandcamilleofvaltoria and her one shot about Drake meeting Camille at her flower shop. I went in a totally different direction, but hopefully this little story is just as fluffy. 💗

....

Paint me a Picture 🎨🌷🌼

Drake hummed happily to himself as he stepped out of his office. He had just finished a conference call with his fellow council members finalizing the plans for Kate's upcoming baby shower. They had put off the party for the past two months amid fears of the Coronavirus spreading into Cordonia. Kate's due date of March 12th was fast approaching and they had reached the decision to reduce the guest list to under ten people. This suited Drake just fine because he wasn't much of a party person, plus Kate found too much attention and fussing around more tiring than exciting at this point.

Checking his watch, Drake realizes that his call had taken him well into the lunch hour and he was quite hungry. The plush carpet of the stairs muted his footsteps as he descended toward the main hall. He could feel the empty space blanket him in its silence, and he wondered where Kate, Hana and the corgis were.

When he had last seen Kate that morning she had been reorganizing the supplies in the nursery for the fourth time. He had chuckled at her restless nesting and kissed her on the cheek before leaving to make his phone call.

"Go get some fresh air and sunshine, it'll do you good."

Kate sighed, rubbing her aching back. "I guess so. I wonder what Hana's up to this morning."

Drake shrugged, "Send her a text to come get you and take your mind off baby stuff."

"Thanks, I will."

..

As he turned the corner toward the kitchen, Drake could smell toasting bread, and the delicious aroma of chicken soup. His mouth waters and he swallows, breathing deeply as his stomach rumbles. The sound of laughter, clink of plates and drawers opening and closing made him smile. Over the past 8 1/2 months the kitchen staff had become familiar with Kate's unusual cravings at all hours of the day. Early on she had wanted salty snacks, and then halfway through her second trimester her cravings had her wanting sweets, during the last month she had started combining the two in odd ways. It made Drake shake his head in wonder, but he obliged her desires. And if Kate was happy, Drake was happy.

Walking into the kitchen unnoticed, he sees the staff loading up a tray with a platter of sandwiches, and a pitcher of iced tea.

"Good afternoon Ladies," he says, and the laughing chatter amongst the women stops.

"Lovely day indeed, Your Grace." Marie the head cook replies with a smile.

Drake eyes the sandwiches on the platter hungrily. He could imagine sinking his teeth into the golden toasted bread, and hearing the crunch. "Are these for Kate and Hana by any chance?"

"Why yes they are. They're taking lunch in the sunroom. I can add another drinking glass and another plate if you'd like to join them."

Drake nods, "That would be wonderful. How about if I take lunch to them then?"

Claire, the young kitchen helper, protests as she sees Drake reach for the tray. "Oh my goodness, Your Grace, let us do that. You go on ahead and we'll bring lunch to you. "

Drake grabs half of a sandwich, "Well, if you insist. I'll just take this to go then, thanks."

Turning around to leave the kitchen Drake raises the sandwich to his mouth and checks the contents before taking a bite. Lettuce, tomato and a slice of swiss cheese. Not bad, but could use some bacon.

..

In the sunroom the atmosphere is that of a bright summer's day despite the dull late winter landscape outside. Lush greenery, tropical flowers and golden sunshine fill the space and give it a pleasant warmth. Off to one side, chair cushions are clustered together on the tiled floor. At the moment they're serving as lounges for sunbathing, sleeping, corgis; but earlier the cushions had served as a comfy surface for a gentle yoga session for Kate and Hana. Now the two friends were standing at easels and painting, chatting back and forth about what to hang in the nursery.

"So you and Drake still don't know if you're having a boy or a girl right?"

Kate nods, "As much as I want to know now, it's still a mystery. Our doctor knows though."

Hana purses her lips in thought as she dabs some blue on her canvas, "So do you mind if I paint a gender neutral landscape instead of flowers?"

"Not at all. I'm still sticking with flowers though. The ones in here are just too beautiful not to paint. If it doesn't suit the theme of the nursery I'll just hang it somewhere else."

Hana rinses out her brush, setting it aside and selects a different one to line in some happy little trees in a dark brown. "I suppose Drake is hoping that you have a little boy."

"He won't admit it, but of course he does. He's itching to go camping and fishing, to kick a football around, toss a baseball with a son."

With a shrug Kate draws in some green stems on her yellow daffodils, "Of course these are all activities he could do with a daughter as well. I remember tossing around a baseball with my Dad in the backyard."

Opening the door and stepping into the sunroom Drake is met by the wall of heat and fragrant scent of flowers. He immediately feels overdressed as a trickle of sweat runs down his neck. "How do you ladies stand it in here?"

Kate turns away from her painting to look at Drake, "Oh Hi Honey, welcome to summer in March."

Under the shade of her Sun hat, Kate is wearing one of Drake's old denim shirts as a painter's smock, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. There's a green smudge of paint on her cheek. Drake notices that it appears that she's wearing little else other than flip flops.

"Uh, Kate? Are you naked under my shirt?"

Kate giggles, covering her mouth, putting another smudge of green on her face. "No silly. I'm wearing a bikini top and shorts." She glances down at herself, "I can see it looking that way though."

Hana is wearing a short summer dress, and her own Sun hat. "You look a little warm there Drake. I wouldn't mind if you decided to take off your shirt."

Kate snickers as she goes back to her painting, "Yeah Honey, don't be shy."

Drake clears his throat, loosening his top two buttons and rolling up his sleeves. "I think I'll just open a couple of windows instead."

Kate watches Drake crank open a window, appreciating the flex of the muscles in his forearms. The fresh air blows the fabric of his shirt against his chest, making it stick to the sweat on his skin. She realizes that he isn't wearing a tee underneath. Probably why he was reluctant to remove his shirt in Hana's company. Drake notices her watching him and gives her a wink as he walks across to open another window. "So what are you ladies painting today?"

Kate feels the cool breeze brush the hair off the back of her neck and she shivers with delight. "Thanks honey, I didn't realize just how warm it was getting in here."

Drake does a quick bow with flourish of his hand, "Always pleased to be of service, Your Grace."

Hana giggles, "We're painting flowers and landscapes, to answer your previous question."

Drake settles down on the floor with the corgis, resting his elbow on a cushion and rubbing a belly as one dog happily rolls over. "I have the pleasure of informing you ladies that iced tea and sandwiches are also on the way, for our lunch."

Hana wipes her brow, "Anything with Ice in it would be welcome right now. I first experienced cold tea when we were in Texas for Savannah's wedding. I wasn't sure if I'd like it."

Kate sighs, "Mmm, I love lemony iced tea in the summertime. I miss it from being back home."

Drake's stomach growls again, causing one of the corgis to give him a look and then retreat to a spot in the shade, "Sorry Fluffers, didn't mean to disturb you. Don't worry I'm not hungry enough to eat you, close but no."

"I could go for a big bowl of spaghetti and meatballs right now," Kate says wistfully as she paints a tomato red poppy onto her canvas bouquet.

Drake groans, folding his arms behind his head as he leans back on the cushions and closes his eyes, "Oh stop, you're just making me more hungry."

Kate bites her lip, "Ooh, or pizza. A nice big slice of ole New York thin crust with extra cheese."

"STOP IT!" Drake barks out a laugh, chuckling as he wipes the sweat off his brow. "I ate half a sandwich on my way here, and it's really tasting like another half right about now."

Kate wipes her hands on a rag, "Ooh, what type of sandwich?"

Drake shrugs, "I dunno, there was cheese and some lettuce in there, maybe tomato?"

Kate kicks off her flip flops and walks across the warm floor tiles to stand over Drake, casting a shadow across him, hands on her hips. "And you didn't think to bring the rest of the sandwiches with you?"

Drake cracks an eye open to look up at his wife, his face scrunching up in amusement at her paint smudged face and raised eyebrows. "Hey, I tried to take the tray with me. But I don't think the girls in the kitchen trusted me to get the sandwiches this far without eating a few."

Kate nudges his leg playfully with her foot. "So true. We've all seen how much you like to eat."

Drake growls playfully, reaching out to grab for her ankle but she steps back out of his reach, "Can't help it if I'm a hungry man, c'mere you. I bet you taste like chicken."

"Nah ah, if I get down on those cushions with you I might never get back up. I'm going to wash up my hands and then take a seat over there at the table. Besides I think cannibalism is frowned upon in Cordonia."

Drake smirks at her and rolls over on his stomach, watching her walk away. "Mmm, golden fried chicken. You know how much I'm a breast and leg man."

Hana bursts out laughing, "Geez guys get a room."

Continue on to the next part

Our trip to Ghana (part 2)

Keta

This village town is about two hours drive East of Accra. It's got great views of the Volta River, it's got its own lagoon and is close to the sea so a great place for water lovers. We came here to stay in the holiday home of my mum's friend's brother-in-law. His place was really nice, large rooms with en-suite, a swimming pool and plenty of things to do in the river like canoeing, paddle boarding, jet skiing. It was the first place that I have ever kayaked, and the place where Hannah got terrible sunburn in her legs but it was fun.

We drove far east of Ghana and were almost an hour away from the capital of the next country. During the journey back we stopped over at our first slave trade fort, Prinzenstein one owned by the Danes. It was in pretty bad condition considering more than half of it was washed away by the sea, but there was enough of it left for us to get an idea of what went on. Our tour guide told showed us where the women used to bathe, where they slept, and where they were sold. We saw a model of the full fort which looked large. Unfortunately, the upstairs was too dangerous for us to walk on but that's where the generals quarters would have been.

Cape coast

Our time in Accra and Keta was fun and although we enjoyed the tourist attractions we seemed to be the only ones around. That was all about to change when we entered the former capital of Ghana. Cape Coast is a place booming with tourists attractions as well as local and international tourists.

Cape Coast castle

The first of two castles we visited at Cape Coast and I would say the first proper museum we visited in Ghana not because it was large and had loads of tourists in it (we were unfortunate to have a large group of schoolgirls in front of us), but because of the information that was provided. There were books and pamphlets in the ticket hall, a gift shop, and the self-guided tour section had loads of pictures and text to go along with it. There was a section that replicated the inside of a slave ship and another that replicated the ring where slaves would be sold. It was impressive and added to the effect of the area's sad history.

The castle itself was very well built and was better preserved than the one in Keta. Originally built by the Swiss for trading slaves it was taken over by the British who did the same thing. We saw the dungeons where the male and female slaves were kept. Our tour guide was very good and simulating what it felt like to be down there by giving us detailed descriptions while turning off all electric lights as there wouldn't have been any in those times. The floors which were originally brick were caked with a layer of hard grey which was years of human [faeces] and dirt which was a surprise to me, as well as the bad sanitation that was in the dungeons.

We saw a prison that was used for both slaves and misbehaving officers which was built in an interesting way. The first section had a door with holes where the white soldiers were kept for a day. The second section behind the first had a much thicker door which no holes and it lead to a place which no ventilation whatsoever. This is where the misbehaving slaves were kept and were left there until they died. We walked along the edge of the castle closest to the sea which had loads of cannons, these were used to fend off invading pirates and attacking countries. Each castle had a fort nearby built on a hill so a lookout could spot the enemy from afar. Unfortunately, we didn't have time to visit any forts in Cape Coast but we might do that on a future trip.

We then walked up to the place where the governors would stay which was a drastic difference to the dungeons. They had large rooms with plenty of windows, there were kitchens and bathrooms. Many of those rooms had been modified and were being used as offices. I know Osu castle (which we didn't visit) has been completely taken over by those in government and used as offices.

Cape Coast castle was such a great tourist attraction and I recommend it for anyone visiting Ghana.

Elmina castle

This castle is a similar size to Cape Coast castle but was originally built for a different purpose. This was the first castle built in Africa around 1400 by the Portuguese to share the gospel and for fair trade. They traded gold for things like mirrors, guns, gunpowder and so on. However, when Columbus discovered the Caribbean islands and the riches it contained, they realised they needed people to work on them, for various reasons they decided to take the people from Ghana to those islands and the castle changed from a place of goods trade to a place of the slave trade.

I don't want to go too much into the history of what happened but I will say once again our tour guide did a very good job of explaining it to us and showing us around.  We started in a church at the centre of the castle, then moved to the storage places which later became the dungeons for slaves. There were loads of similarities between this place and Cape Coast castle. The conditions in which the slaves were kept in was worse than animals. Misbehaving officers were kept in a prison with air and light for a day whereas misbehaving/revolting slaves were kept in a much worse prison and left to die. We saw a ball and chain in the courtyard of the women which was used to torture the slaves who refused to sleep with the generals that requested them. It was all very moving, especially seeing the gate of no return, the place where the slaves would leave to go on boats.

This castle, unlike Cape Coast, showed clear signs of a takeover. The Portuguese lost it to the Dutch who had reinforced it after destroying parts of it and built their own protestant church as opposed the Catholic Portuguese one and built their own kitchen.

I think it's amazing how much of the castle was preserved in the condition that it was. This castle, in particular, was around 600 year old and rooms were still being used as offices and gift shops.

Kakum National Park

Our final tourist attraction in Cape Coast was the Kakum National Park. I had heard a lot about this place before visiting Ghana, the famous canopy walkway that was so high up people were so afraid to set foot on it. I spoke to someone at work who closed her eyes all the way across.  So upon entering the park I was pretty nervous, I didn't know what to expect.

Upon paying for our tickets we sat in the wooden waiting area and watched a documentary on the cape cost tourism board. A group of American students also came to the waiting area before our tour began.  Once again, we were touring with school kids. We let them go ahead of us as we toured through the rainforest.  We were told there were 240 elephants in Kakum, all sorts of snakes and birds, but unfortunately, we didn't see any of them, what we did see however were large ants, driver ants. Our tour guide told us not to step on them as their death would all an army of them to attack. Inevitably someone didn't listen and killed a few ants, we were told to run quickly across the path as not to get swarmed, so we did, this made the tour feel a bit rushed.

We got to the canopy which was really high up above the ground but it was incredibly well reinforced. The wooden walkway was on top of a metal ladder type structure placed horizontally. The walkway was walled with a thick rope mesh and there were ropes all around it to keep it from falling, this put my nerves at ease, this and the knowledge that since the park had been built no one has ever fallen through the walkway.

We walked through first and the Americans walked behind us. There were about 20 students overall which made the bride feel very wobbly but safe enough for us to take videos and pictures of it. We were on and off all 4 bridges in less than 15 minutes and I wanted to do the whole thing again.

Conclusion

Although I wasn't a huge fan of the humid heat, the long long car journeys, and the mosquito bites I enjoyed my time in Ghana overall.

I really missed having Hausa Koko, Tom brown or Cerelac for breakfast with hard dough bread. The taste of fried plantain and beans, goat meat kebabs, grilled chicken with Jollof, Malta Guinness, and of course, Milo with evaporated milk. Fresh coconut juice, watermelons, sugar cane, pawpaws, and mangos were also great additions to my diet.

I enjoyed having conversations with family members I hadn't seen in a while and brushing up on my [Fante]. It was weird at first seeing billboard, adverts and TV shows with just black people on them, especially for brands that are in the UK as well like Vodafone and Barclays, but I got used to it after a while and it was actually sort of refreshing. It was also quite shocking to see loads people on the roads selling food, open shipping containers on dirt pavements with shops, and driving on bumpy dirt roads. A lot Ghana to my surprise looked very third world, even in Accra, the capital. I was shocked to see that at first, but like most things there I got used to it.

For those who have been swung by this article and really want to visit Ghana, I have a few tips for you. Make sure you keep the fan on when you sleep, it makes it harder for the mosquitos to bite you. Don't drink water from the taps or eat any vegetables. The water is safe to drink and eating vegetables that have been washed in said water isn't good either. Take a face towel with you or buy one when you're there, you'll sweat so much that it will be uncomfortable so the towel will be your best friend. Take money out of an ATM instead of a forex bureau, the exchange rates are usually better. And finally, be a generous tipper.

Congratulations Alexandra! You have been accepted for the OC role of The Crestfallen with the faceclaim Blanca Padilla.  Please be sure to check out the accepted applicants checklist! Also be sure send us a link to your blog within the next twenty-four hours. Welcome to St. Augustine!

OUT OF CHARACTER

Name/alias: Alexandra

Age (18+) : 21

Gender/Preferred pronouns: she/her pronouns

Timezone: EST but PST when i’m home for holidays aka Tuesday when I fly home

IN CHARACTER

Character Label: So I really like ‘The Crestfallen’ because of how it ties into Poppy’s sense of hope and then sudden disappointment but since it does have ‘fallen’ in it, I get why it would be weird given her origins with the Fallen Angel, even though they have fairly different meanings, so I’d say maybe ‘The Pariah’? It’s really up to the admins, so whichever you prefer!

Character Name: Poppy Charlotte Northcott

Poppy was the choice of her mother: a Brit, through and through, she’d allowed her husband to choose the name of their first child, but insisted upon naming their second. Her father, naturally, had played up the flower name’s symbolism with regards to soldiers, claiming it was in honour of his daughter’s maternal grandfather, a veteran of the second World War.

Charlotte was in honour of her paternal grandmother, a woman well-known in their community for being a staunch supporter of Connecticut Republicans. She died just after Poppy’s high school graduation, but she’d left a great deal of money to the girl she proclaimed loudly and often to be her favourite granddaughter.

Northcott, of course, was her father’s name, tying her to a family of rather politically-involved, staunchly Catholic Connecticuters, a line which stretched back rather far in the state’s history.

Age (18+): 20

Gender/Pronouns: cis woman, she/her

Desired Faceclaim: Blanca Padilla

Home Town: Greenwich, Connecticut

Three Positive Traits: Kind, faithful, charming

Three Negative Traits: Self-conscious (in the sense that she’s very overly aware of her actions and how she’s perceived, more so than in the sense that she’s not confident), repressed, stubborn

Major: History Major, Art Minor

Year: Second

Quote: “Is she a sinner, or is she a martyr? Some days she cannot remember the difference.”

Character blurb: For the briefest of moments, she is radiant. Clad in a perfectly fitting white sundress, dark hair escaping a bun in the softest tendrils, framing her face as if they’d been styled to do so, she steps off the train and onto the bustling platform. Her footsteps are almost instinctive, with little uncertainty as to their goal, and it is instead her eyes which hold reservations. As she walks, whispers follow her, not overtly, but as she passes, students cluster together, murmuring words you cannot hear — though you’re certain she can. As she draws nearer, making eye contact with what is certainly a familiar face, you can see a spark of hope grow, and then die out, in her expression. Her shoulders sink, almost imperceptibly, and as she draws close enough for you to see the exhaustion on her face, you understand: this is less of a homecoming, more of an ordeal.

Developed Head Canons:

family and youth —  Poppy was born to Bridget Alston-Northcott, British socialite turned supportive housewife, and Phillip Northcott, former lawyer, current politician. She was not their first child: Eleanor, born ten years earlier, was a wild-child even at 10, but she adored her little sister, admiring her little fists as they waved in the air. Both girls were raised by their mother, taught to be polite, elegant, and quiet, always subservient to their father, and in the future, their husband. While Poppy, always the softer, gentler of the two sisters, did well in this domain, Eleanor was less of a fan, and it was rather unsurprising when, after a series of expulsions from boarding schools throughout the world, she ran away at age 17, choosing to live with Bridget’s mother, her grandmother, rather than fulfill her parents’ expectations. Poppy grew up with little knowledge of this, having only the vaguest childhood memories of her sister. She was always a perfect child, good at her schoolwork, obedient to her parents, and as her father transitioned from mayor to senator, she was always on display, a doe-eyed, polite little girl who learned how to smile and shake hands, attending church ever Sunday, and winning hearts for herself just as much as they were for her father. She never witnessed any hints of her mother’s frustration, nor any sign of her father’s occasional infidelity, and grew into a young adult that was as much a trophy as she was a daughter. Her parents were firm about their beliefs in theory more so than in action, and so Poppy adopted them, about the sanctity of marriage, about children and the responsibilities of women. From her mother, she learned always to present the perfect image, to stay skinny, to keep her teeth white, to exit cars in ways that prevent wardrobe malfunctions… Her image was everything, and she learned to protect it. Though her views changed a little, particularly in high school, she never questioned her parents openly, reserving physical intimacy for men, and only those she believed she would marry. Though she rebelled against their strict demands in the smallest of ways, attending parties and having fun as any teen would, she was careful to never go too far, never do anything overly wild or illegal, and always showing a smiling face to the world.

(tw: mentions of miscarriage and addiction-shaming in the next two headcanons)

the destruction of her reputation  —  First was her decision to go to a party in town, not something she ever would have done before she’d witnessed her boyfriend kissing another, but then, perhaps she was owed a little leeway for impulsive decisions, after everything. (It wasn’t like one act of rebellion could have any real lasting consequences…) It surprised her, if she was honest — St. Augustine students had a tendency to look down on the town’s resident youth for their provincialism, but really, they weren’t all bad. Difficult to understand, especially with her rudimentary grasp of Swiss German, and with abysmal taste in alcohol, but what they truly were was different, which was precisely what she needed. No reminders of him, nor of whoever he’d been kissing — god how it shattered her, that he’d cheat on her with someone else — and when she thought of either, the solution was another shot. It’s how she met him, on one of these nights, a scruffy blond, too-tall and awkward as anything, but the way he smiled at her made her feel as though the sun had emerged on a bitter winter day. And the way he touched her, well, it was magical and beautiful, and they both knew it wouldn’t last, but it didn’t matter.

Then was: forgetting to take her birth control a few days in a row, and then losing it in the chaos of a particularly paper-filled week, and then not replacing it — a recipe for disaster, under any circumstances. But that’s when they fell apart, Poppy and this local boy, and so it didn’t matter if she was on the pill or not, because she wasn’t sexually active and so what would be the point? Four months pass, and maybe she gained a little weight, but without her mother there to constantly criticize her body, with studies and internships and her missing classmate and her cheating ex to consider, it was easy to ignore, really, easy to lose herself in the routine of wine and cheese on Sundays and late-night study sessions and everything in between. Maybe she felt ill more than she ever usually did, maybe she had trouble sleeping, developing dark circles under her eyes that never seemed to truly go away, but that was just stress, right?

And lastly, well. It’s May, they have found Frederick’s body, finals are well underway, and so when Poppy began acting oddly during a morning exam, hands shaking and face pale, school gossip acknowledged it, but only just. Trembling, in pain, but incredibly conscious of the room full of her classmates, she finished the exam before going to the infirmary. She’d intended only to find the problem, take some pain medication, and return to her studies, but the nurse, recognizing the pain and bleeding and eager to rule out every possible cause, gave Poppy a pregnancy test, which came out positive. Confused and insistent that she wasn’t pregnant, that she couldn’t be, even in the face of the nurse’s certainty that it was a miscarriage, she simply took the strong pain medication that she was given, and returned to her room. There she lay, curled on her comforter, pale and sweating and terrified, ignoring all of her roommate’s concerns in favour of staring blankly at the ceiling of their room. All too soon it was the evening, and the candlelight vigil for their deceased classmate. Naturally she attended — even ill, with the possibility of something she refused to belief floating around in her mind, there was little question of missing it, and inviting the questions that would draw. In such a small school, Poppy was ever conscious about the way whispers spread, the way any little thing could draw attention, and in these moments she thought of her parents’ teachings on the importance of public appearance.

It would have almost been magical if it hadn’t been so sad, the woods filled with little sparks of light, rows of students illuminated with candles, tears in the eyes of so many, and perhaps flickers of guilt, or shame, in others — though there was little chance of Poppy even noticing any of it. It was as much as she could do to hold a candle, almost swaying, face tight. It was all she could do to keep from passing out, to hold on to consciousness in the face of the dizziness from missing lunch and dinner, and from the medication, and from the stress that threatened to overwhelm her. Chest tight, darkness all around her, and unable to even comprehend any of the words of grief being murmured, someone bumped into her, and that was it. She grabbed the arm of the friend nearest her and explained that she had to leave, that she didn’t give a fuck what it looked like. But her words were far too loud in the moment of silence, voice somehow strong despite the way the world seemed to spin, and when all eyes were drawn to her, Poppy realized she’d made a mistake, and threw up before fainting.

The hospital said, first, allergic reaction to the pain medication, and then, even worse:miscarriage — she’d lost the chance at a child she’d never even known she had, and not even the doctors could tell her why. The alcohol, maybe? The smoking she’d started only to keep from feeling ill in the morning? No matter how many times Poppy pleaded that she hadn’t known, that she hadn’t wanted this to happen, the result was the same: this could have been a child, this could have been… something, and now it wasn’t. Not a soul at Saint Augustine knew, beyond the nurse, and all they’d seen was a dizzy mess of a girl, being sick at a vigil and saying she didn’t give a fuck: it was a catastrophe. And with her stay at the hospital preventing her from returning to school before the end of the year, there was little chance of her preventing the gossip that made its way throughout her classmates. She was branded an addict, a trashy, tragic person who couldn’t even go to a vigil without getting high or being drunk (the rumours varied on substance, but were consistent with their condemnation of her actions). Poppy was pathetic, a joke, and as the hours passed, her reputation as the beautiful, untouchable girl was destroyed. Even her parents heard, kept from the true knowledge of what had truly happened by the privacy she was awarded as an adult, and so rather than return to their home in Connecticut, she was simply shipped off to her grandmother in London, ostensibly to detox before they would do so much as speak to her. Alienated by her family, condemned by her friends, and terrified to even admit to herself that she’d been pregnant, there was little Poppy could do to dispel the gossip, or to defend her actions, and so she, heart-sick and lonely, could do nothing but watch.

the aftermath — Unable to bring herself to tell her parents what had happened: that she’d had sex before marriage, that her wild actions with alcohol and cigarettes had caused her to miscarry a child, that she’d sinned, and sinned to such a horrific extent, she went willingly to London, withdrawn and silent in the face of their fury. Not only had she disgraced herself, she’d damaged their family name; more than one of Saint Augustine’s students had political or media connections, and in-school gossip soon made its way out into the world. Perhaps the seeming addiction of the daughter of a gubernatorial candidate was minimal in the face of a world filled with news, but in their Connecticut community, it was a scandal, and like her sister before her, Poppy was a thing she’d never before been: a disappointment. The implication, though neither of her parents ever explicitly said it, was that if she improved, if she took the summer and made better choices than those she’d made, it was possible for her to return to their family at the next Christmas. If not, well. Her parents would accept the damage done, and she would never see them again, though they’d naturally pay for the remainder of her university. After graduating, her disappearance from their family could be explained away as simply a busy, successful career, and so their image of a perfect family would be repaired, if only a little. There was zero acknowledgement of the possibility of her not returning to Saint Augustine, and distraught as she was, Poppy understood only that if she could not get her addiction under control, she must at least keep it secret: appearance must be everything, as usual.

Her grandmother, a rather severe British woman who disapproved of all of her daughter’s choices, from her parenting to her choice in husband, was also surprisingly more liberal in view than her daughter. She brought in a therapist to talk to Poppy, and though Poppy refused to talk to him, she faced no criticism from her grandmother, only love. She could sense her granddaughter had suffered, though from what (beyond, of course, terrible parental guidance) she was unsure; she knew, though, that Poppy needed love. And so she immediately facilitated a reunion between Poppy and Eleanor, the older sister, thefirst disappointment to the Northcott family. Her older sister was now an openly lesbian artist, her sexuality being the reason for her departure from the intensely Catholic family, and she was rather popular for her sculptures in France. She was also, unsurprisingly, far more accepting of everything Poppy had done. Though she spent the summer with both her grandmother and sister, who were incredibly supportive throughout the ongoing ordeal of gossip and familial expulsion, Poppy still struggled with all that had happened, and it was only towards the end that she admitted she was not an addict, but she was a child-killer. Even this, to her surprise, was met with nothing but love, with both reacting only with tears and hugs. She had done nothing wrong, they told her, only made mistakes that, though they had serious consequences, showed little cruelty or negative character or sin on her part. This, though, Poppy was unable to accept. She had done wrong, and so she was suffering for it.

At the only Saint Augustine’s party she attended during the summer, thrown by a fellow student, for all of the school’s finest who found themselves in the United Kingdom, she was asked about the her addiction, a question to which she responded with a resounding slap, to be documented on video on the private instagram accounts of other attendees, and one which also made the rounds of her classmates, essentially confirming the gossip: that this girl, once so perfect and polite in every action and word, had fallen, and it was undoubtedly a fascinating thing. Though she strove to ignore the gossip, it was difficult, and she dreaded her return to school nonetheless. A letter from her mother, explaining the love she and her father had for Poppy and the way their decision was for the best, only served to confuse her, and make the entire situation even more difficult. Even confession did little to quell her nerves: the priest advised her that she should tell the truth about her sins, and never commit them again, did little but add another conflicting idea to the many in her mind. She was unable to reconcile all these things, unable to decide if the truth, shameful as it was for her and her family, though on occasion, when her hope was the strongest, she wondered if perhaps at school things would go back to normal, if upon seeing her all her friends would return, if her parents would welcome her back to their Connecticut home with open arms. Other nights, she wondered if it would be better to give it all up, to live with her sister, to embrace everything about herself she’d ever denied and hid in order to follow by the rules of her parents. (And with that came the question of her attraction to those who weren’t men: just an added aspect of stress upon everything else, and one that Poppy refused to even consider in light of the already high list of her sins.) Even her return to school brought no reality, and no clarity, and Poppy is still torn between these two variations on a theme, these two potential realities.

her room — When Poppy ‘was ill’, as the school described it, at the end of her sophomore year, she didn’t return to her dorm room and pack up her things for her return home and subsequent move to a single room. An Augustine worker, along with her roommate, more than a little eager to be rid of Poppy’s things, did so instead, sending boxes of clothes with her, but with all room decor packed away for her return. This meant that when she did return, newly friendless and alone, what she found in her new room was boxes of photos. Polaroids, still with blu-tack on their backs, of her with people who now whisper to others when they see her, smirking in amusement. It cuts like a knife, but something in her cannot bear to throw the boxes out. Rather than deal with walls now bare of friends and parents, she has walls covered in art — with prints of Monet’s lilies or abstract tapestries on every wall. One remaining fragment of her life is a pair of photos from the summer, one of her and her sister, as taken by their grandmother, and the other a selfie of the three of them. Her bedding is all soft blues and whites, her bed is stacked high with pillows, and it always smells of vanilla. It truly is her sanctuary, where there is no-one to gossip about her, and there are no expectations but her own.

Plot Ideas:

Specific connection ideas:

a note: I know this sounds a little god-mod-y, but Kayla (Damien’s player) and I are actually friends + we planned this all out, so it’s def okay with them!

Misc:

For her Minor in Art, Poppy is focusing on photography, and while she does prefer still life and landscape photography, she does the occasional portrait. She’s recognizable for having a camera in hand, and this could either lead to a bond with someone else who enjoys photography, or perhaps her photographing someone who very much likes having their picture taken. (I speak from experience when I say it’s difficult at the best of times to get friends to pose for photos, and considering the state of most of Poppy’s friendships, I don’t doubt that she’d take literally anyone’s photo if they were willing to pose for her)

Sure, Poppy is relatively innocent and sweet, but her hopes as they pertained to her first relationship weren’t misplaced. They spent so much time together, and for her to lose her virginity to him, with the thought that they’d get married, wasn’t entirely ridiculous. Still, he did cheat, and it did break her heart, though that was less painful than everything that followed. I’m open to connections here both with her ex or with the person her ex cheated on her with! Poppy doesn’t hate easily, but I do think she’d hate both of them, and it’d be easy on either of their part to just dismiss her, given her overall image. I envision her ex as having been exactly what her parents would have wished for her: the perfect potential husband, in essence, but that doesn’t mean that his image can’t have been a facade of sorts. As for whoever he cheated on her with, I’d be open to really any genders, any personalities, and really any motivations for doing it! They don’t even have to have known that he was in a relationship. Maybe he betrayed them just as much as he betrayed Poppy, who knows!

Poppy is more than a little uncertain about religion right now, and really she could go either way: returning to her Catholic roots with full strength or going full atheist or agnostic. I could definitely see her having interesting late night conversations or debates about religion with someone else with strong beliefs one way or another, and that then influencing her actions.

Writing Sample:

Tendrils of smoke swirled around her hair as she breathed out, the last of the summer sun’s warmth tempered by the cold breeze off the mountain, making her long for a jacket. Taking another drag from her cigarette, Poppy leaned against the bell tower, posture casual, with shadows under her eyes betraying her late night. She’d been unable to sleep, first too restless to lie down properly, and then endlessly disturbed by a few girls in a nearby room. Not that they’d been loud — their voices had been soft, and Poppy was certain they hadn’t bothered anyone else, but their disruption of her had been more related to their companionship than anything else. She missed all of what they had, that close friendship, late night conversations about anything and everything, and that longing had kept her away, contemplating what she’d once had. At the sound of rustling in the long grass at the base of the tower, she crouched, hand outstretched and dark eyes curious. It rustled again, and Poppy, realizing she knew very little about Switzerland’s wildlife, pulled her hand back. A third rustle, and the head of what was very obviously a fluffy tabby emerged, looking just as curious about her as she was about it. “Meow?”It asked her, and she almost laughed aloud at her caution, dropping her cigarette on the ground and grinding it out with her heel.

“Hey, little buddy. You’re not going to nibble on my fingers, are you?” With little care for her clothes, she plopped down on the grass, all else forgotten in this adorable scene. The cat walked up to her, sniffing her hand with an aura of uncertainty before climbing into her lap. “Are you lost? There’s no way you live in the wild, and we’re not allowed pets…” Poppy, stroking it gently, felt for a collar, only to find nothing. It began to purr, and she smiled, kissing it on the head. They sat like that for a while, the girl and the cat, and Poppy found herself lost in a moment of perfection. The cat didn’t care who she was, it only cared that she was warm and kind, and very good at petting it. Cozy and delighted, it rolled onto its back, batting a lazy paw at her long dark hair, and making her giggle. “Why can’t I keep you? I wish I could.” She kissed it once more, and then became aware of an audience: a pair of sophomores she vaguely recognized, looking at her and whispering to each other. In that moment, Poppy felt something within her crumble, and she felt almost like crying. With a deep swallow, she straightened her back, making eye contact with them and raising a perfectly-arched eyebrow. Away they ran, and she sighed. The peaceful moment was officially over. Scooping up the cat — and ignoring its little mew of indignation at the disruption of its lounging — she strode in the vague direction of the cable cars. “You are going in my backpack, and then we’re going to find that animal shelter so you can have a home away from terrible, awful people, okay?” Her voice was soft as she spoke to the cat, but nonetheless there was venom in it, and a little resignation. “At least — at least one of us can have that.”

Requiem for a Bartender

By David Himmel

When I was growing up at summer camp in Decatur, Michigan, I would overhear tales of a mystical place called the M-40. The camp counselors—men and women of drinking age and those close enough—would gather at this M-40 after long days in the summer sun wrangling rambunctious children. In the mornings, huddled over Styrofoam cups of coffee from the mess hall, they’d reconnect the pieces from their nights. Some wore M-40 t-shirts purchased from the bar. Kids with a few bucks cash could find the right counselor to buy them a shirt. They would wear it with pride until the camp owners caught wind and banned the t-shirts. After all, you can’t have alcoholism advertised by thirteen-year-old kid billboards at a summer camp designed to churn out intelligent, diversified members of society.

I never had the scratch for a t-shirt, but I was determined to one day go drinking—whatever that was—at the M-40. And when I could do that, I’d get me a t-shirt.

It wasn’t the beer that I was so drawn to. It was the camaraderie the counselors seemed to share because of this place. The M-40, I’d come to learn, was the closest thing to reattachment to the real world beyond the bubble of a summer spent in ignorant bliss. Because of the way legend takes form, this little bar in this little southwestern Michigan farming town transcended drinking. It was a mecca of love and good times.

✶

I’m struggling to write this. It’s almost a year since we went in to pandemic lockdown. I’m struggling to write this in the same way I’ve struggled to write anything over the last year. In short, I’m tired of sitting. Tired of typing. Tired of completing almost every interaction through a computer screen. But right now, the struggle is comfortably different. Right now, I want nothing more than to be at a bar, slouched over the wood engaged in deep conversation and debate over the most importantly trivial of matters, drinking beer—lots of it—from room temperature mugs that began frosty while pumping five dollar bills into the jukebox stacking the playlist with ’90s grunge and alt-rock with the occasional disco, Motown, or Credence Clearwater Revival slipped in for spice.

Specifically, I want to be drinking at the M-40. The M-40 before the fire. Before it was gutted and cleaned up. The M-40 with the gently tilted pool table and the low lights and the bathroom doors that don’t latch. The M-40 where we could smoke and dance on the banquet chairs. The M40 where all our summer friends were together all at once and where Steve the bartender kept the good times rolling by taking our money and filling our pitchers, feeding us quality burgers and the most perfect mozzarella sticks to ever grace a taste bud.

That’s all I want to do now. That’s the only place I want to be. And I have Steve to thank for this kind, nostalgic struggle.

 ✶ 

Steve McIntyre, who died February 17 at 47 years old from complications of diabetes, wasn’t the first bartender I met. He wasn’t the first bartender I befriended. But Steve was the bartender that was most impactful. I learned to drink in Decatur. First, as a teenage camp counselor where three cans of Miller Lite would put me on my ass like I was leaving Las Vegas. I graduated to Jim Beam and Coke on picnic blankets late at night down at the Lake of the Woods Public Access boat ramp. And then, finally, when I was twenty-one and old enough to saddle up to three foot of wood in front of a mirror and a rack of snack size potato chips, I drank pitchers of beer at the M-40.

As camp counselors, we were a ragtag group of kids from mostly midwestern states. The rest of us were Australians, Brits, Israelis, Dutch, Germans… A global economy with collective goals—drink, laugh, dance, play pool, maybe screw, try not to puke.

The Decatur Townies didn’t like us. We were the “Jew counselors” from that “Jew Camp” down the road. It was far from an accurate description of us, but the feeling was palpable. We always tried to make friends with Townies—an affectionate and accurate term for the year-round regulars. Despite the stinkeye that came from those select townies, we camp folks thrived. And, while I’ve never seen the M-40 books, it’s impossible to assume that our time there did anything other than help feed the bottom line with delicious American USD.

Steve ran the joint. Tending bar was the family business. His father, Tom, ran it the generation before mine. Steve and I became fast friends. That’s the bartender’s job, after all—to befriend their loyal patrons. But I was also young, boiling over with energy, and thirsty to learn the ways of drinking legally in public. Steve gave me, gave so many of us that arena.

The drinks were cheap. The food was good. The company was always preferable to any other. There were the big nights out where twenty of us counselors would make the short drive from camp to the M-40 and join the twenty or thirty Townies for loud dancing and heavy drinking, but there were the quieter nights, too.

I shouldn’t, but I do remember the night I, along with Jorg Stender, my counterpart back down at the sail dock, saddled up at the bar. Jorg was in the mood for Beam and Cokes. Steve happily obliged. A few Townies were at the other end of the bar as Jorg and I drank and talked, drank and talked, drank and talked. Every other drink, as if he were a finely tuned Swiss watch, Steve would come by, join us for a few minutes of casual conversation. He slid perfectly into and out of the deep, drunken nonsense Jorg and I were churning out.  

I worked at the camp only one summer while old enough to drink at the M-40 but I kept in touch with Steve over the winters and the years. He (and the bar) was on my Holiday Letter mailing list. On occasion, when drinking on my own, I’d pick up the phone and (drunk) dial the bar just to talk to Steve. It wasn’t out of loneliness, it was out of a desire to have a drunken conversation with my favorite bartender. He’d always say, “When you come back out here, Dave, we gotta go fishing.” I would have liked that. But distance and other silly excuses kept that fishing trip from happening.

A few times we made our way to The 40 to see Steve during the winter months, again, long after I had stopped working summers there. So, sometimes, it’d be years from when we last saw Steve. The surprised but welcoming look on his face when we’d walk through the door felt better than even that first cold beer.

In early 2001, a small group of us headed to The 40. I was home from college in Las Vegas. Dan Bates, Doug Bates, James Boulware, and Jeff Miner all made the few hours’ drive to meet at the M-40 for a single night of revelry. The bar was mostly empty. We had Steve all to ourselves. The six of us got good and loaded falsely accepting invitations to go fishing with Steve, but desperately wishing we had the availability that coming summer to cast a line and crack a beer in Steve’s fishing boat on that summer lake of ours in the woods.

We brought an even bigger gang of summertime friends in October of 2004 to celebrate Miner’s fortieth birthday. Miner was the elder of the group and about thirteen of us old camp pals traveled in from all over the country to celebrate Miner’s advanced age at the most appropriate place possible: the M-40. This celebration even gave me and one of the great loves of my life an opportunity to reconnect as part of the party planning committee. No romance was rekindled, but we hadn’t talked in more than four years proving that Steve’s M-40 was the Great Uniter. Would everyone have flown in to celebrate Miner if the party were at a Dave & Buster’s? I’d like to think so, but probably not.

✶ 

During the summer of 2000, there was a second bar counselors would frequent on nights out called BT’s located a town over in Sister Lakes. BT’s was easy on fake IDs, so the underage kids preferred it to The 40. One day, my seventeen-year-old brother asked if he could borrow my ID to get into the bar. Despite him being a few inches lankier than I am, we could easily pass for one another.

“Yeah, you can use it tonight,” I told him, “but do not take this to the M-40. Steve knows me. You won’t get it. It’ll be a bad move. BT’s only.”

The instructions were simple. My brother did not follow them. The next night, I went to The 40 not knowing what my brother had tried and the first thing Steve said to me was, “Dave.” He was disappointed. “What’s this bullshit with your brother using your ID to get in her last night?” I was embarrassed, apologetic, and furious.

The following morning, I caught up to my brother walking back from breakfast in the mess hall. “Eric!” I shouted to him as I ran to catch up. “What the fuck were you thinking?”

“What?” he said incredulously.

“You took my ID to The 40. You did the one thing I asked you not to do.”

“So? I didn’t get in.”

“I know! But you pissed off Steve and made me look like an asshole. And you put the rest of the counselors in a bad light. Steve’s my friend and you tried to pull one over on him.”

Eric got more defensive. I got more angry. Then Doug and James had to pull me off of him and remind me that beating my younger brother to a pulp in front of campers was an even worse idea than trying to get one past Steve. But was it?

As the years went on, the M-40 lost its status as the bar for counselors to go to. The next generation didn’t have the affection for it, didn’t see its charm, didn’t appreciate how Steve and his bartenders wouldn’t let nineteen-year-olds drink. And after too many of-age counselors causing too much trouble, the M-40 unofficially closed its doors to those counselors from that “Jew camp.” And I get it. These kids ruined a good thing they never took the time to understand.

✶ 

The news of Steve’s death came to us via the M-40 Facebook page. Dan Bates texted a small group of us the link. I quickly shared it in a larger text then a Facebook message. Through our phones, these old camp friends had our own little memorial for Steve, the lovable bartender, the best Townie in Decatur, the man who wanted to take us fishing.

Today’s M-40 doesn’t look or feel like it does in our memories. It’s brighter now, fresher. A fire a few years back cleaned the place up a bit. I think it lost the charm in the smoke and flames, but Steve was always there. And like any bartender worth their salt-rimmed glasses, that was enough to keep me charmed.

An AU where the Wonka kids aren't completely messed up from the tour and go on to live decent and somewhat fulfilling lives.

[Prompt meme: drop a prompt in my inbox, get a one-shot/drabble]

((Thanks for this prompt, anon!  Sorry it took so long.))

He can feel someone’s eyes on him.  The man seated next to him is giving him a very long look.  And this isn’t really that kind of bar.

“Didn’t you used to be Mike Teavee?” The man asks, shaking his finger like someone has tried and failed to pull a fast one on him.

It’s going to be one of those conversations.

Mike Teavee turns on his stool and gives the man a close-lipped but not unfriendly smile.

“I like to think I still am,” the twenty-seven year old says.

The man laughs, like they always do, and it only grates a little.

“Man, that Wonka contest,” the man says, shaking his head, and Mike lets him go on, because that’s all people really want, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the time.  “I spent an entire month’s allowance on Wonka bars.  Can you imagine doing something like that now?”

“Not really,” Mike replies, chuckling politely, even though he never spent a single penny in the first place.

“Still,” the man says, pointing at him again.  “You got to see inside.  You lived the dream.” 

“I definitely lived it,” Mike agrees.  “It was a trip.”

“Lucky sonuvagun,” the man says.  “Oh, and hey, my little nephew?  He loves your games.”

By which, Mike has learned over the years, the man means: he has no nephew and is speaking of himself, but is too embarrassed to admit he still games in his thirties.

“Lemme buy you drink,” the man offers.

Mike waves him off.

“Thanks, I don’t drink,” he says.  And then, because he can feel the question of why he is in a bar at all start to form in the man’s mind.  “I’m here meeting some friends.  But: it’s always great to hear people are enjoying my stuff.  I gotta go; nice meeting you though.”

He gives the man a firm but distinctly final handshake, and moves toward a back corner where he has spotted her lurking.

“I think you did not even roll your eyes at this one,” she says, her Russian accent slightly more muted than it was at twelve.  “I am impressed.”

“Prozac,” Mike insists.

Veruca laughs, and it doesn’t grate at all.  The slender young woman is wrapped in a scarf he thinks might be longer than she is tall, a slouchy sweater, leggings, and well-worn over-sized boots.  This seems to be one of the default uniforms of all off-duty ballerinas (and some models).  Her blond hair is pulled up into a tidy bun.  His own hair, by comparison, is a spiked quiff that is a mess by design.

“It’s good to see you,” he tells her.

“Hug me, you idiot,” she demands flatly.

He does.  When he pulls back, a meaty hand lands on his shoulder.  He turns to face its owner.

Augustus Gloop looms over him.  Augustus Gloop looms over almost everyone.  A growth spurt at fifteen that Mike cannot help but envy eventually left the German six feet and six inches tall.  It thinned him out somewhat as well, and although he will never not be big-boned, Gloop is no longer as wide as he is high.  He retains soft edges, a rounded stomach, a slightly ruddy complexion, and a warm friendly face.

“Hallo Michael.”

Like Mike, Augustus has long since lost his high pitched prepubescent voice, but he has retained more of his German accent than Veruca has.  He has also retained his blond hair, but it no longer looks like it was placed under a bowl to be cut.  In a flannel shirt and hoodie that his mother did not knit for once, Gloop looks pretty cool.

Mike lets the German envelop him in a nearly rib crushing bear hug that momentarily lifts him off his feet.  Once released, he goes immediately for Gus’ messenger bag, crouching down, because Gus wears the bag low on his hip, and running a hand over the soft leather.

“This is one of yours, right?” Mike asks.

The German nods.

“Goat leather.  Mother had gotten more orders for them, so she had sent me more hides.”

Sewing, apparently, runs in Gloops’ blood as much as sausages do.

“I have made a batch,” Augustus continues, “and that same shop downtown will take them.  But also there is a crafting fair that maybe I will go to if I have the days off at the restaurant to-…”

“Shut up and take my money,” Mike says.

Augustus laughs.

“Michael, you know I never charge you.  In black, you will want it?” Gus guesses correctly, because Mike remains somewhat predictable about certain things, and Mike is already imagining studding the strap of such a glorious beast as Gloop embraces Veruca somewhat more gently.

“Do we wait for her?” the blond woman asks, more or less rhetorically.

Mike shakes his head.

“We all know she’s gonna be late,” he says.

They head through a door and down a flight of stairs few people know about.  A girl at the bottom recognizes Gus from restaurant circles and ushers them into an intimate space where they take a seat in a comfortable booth with privacy curtains.  Gus is only still a rising star on the chef’s circuit, but it’s funny how small New York actually is.

It’s funny, how they all ended up in New York, at least, for the time being.

(It’s funny that they are here at all.)

Well.  Not that funny.  Each of them walked out of Wonka’s factory exactly as they walked in.  It was their parents who were altered (although also: not physically).  

No magic spells, no potions: just as the Candy Man promised, but one thing Wonka certainly was, was an illusionist.  And he had seen immediately who needed to be shown the error of their ways, and few things are as motivating to a parent as the idea of their child in peril.

“I was barely in the chocolate,” Augustus had been the first to explain, the first time they all reunited.  “I fell through a bottom.  I was not in a pipe at all.  It was, I think, a doll to look like me.  The falling in was still startling.”

“Yeah, the bloating was not fun,” Violet had said.  “But those Oompa guys gave me some antacid and it went away.  I got no idea what my dad thought was me that exploded, or what he medically thinks is inside of people, but, uh, thanks for groovin’ on a bop while y’all thought I was dying.”

“Also doll,” Veruca had told them.  “How could I call for my pappa with my head removed?“

“…V.R.,” Mike had reluctantly admitted.  “I thought I seriously got shrunk and teleported inside the internet, but then it went black and I was just down a trap door with a V.R. headset on.  I was kinda bummed, honestly.  But on the plus side: I did get a eight inch remote control replica of myself.  That was pretty awesome.”

And they had all watched as their parents had reacted to their apparent untimely demises.  Had realized the peril their parenting (or lack their of) had placed their children in.

(It had taken Mike slightly longer to realize that his mother had not really been happy about the idea of him being shrunk; that the idea of seeing something like that done to her son and not being able to do anything about it had actually driven his mother temporarily insane, which is probably the strongest and most negative reaction it is possible to have.  But he had gotten there.)

After the factory, things had been…different.  

None of them had been punished (because none of them had been truly to blame), but all of their parents had certainly changed their tunes.

And somehow it hadn’t been so difficult to get used to after all.

They sit around a table now, well adjusted young men and women.  Or: woman, at the moment.

Augustus Gloop has been making a steady name for himself as a gourmet chef.  He is working under a celebrity at the moment, producing the epic tasting menu’s the Swiss establishment is known for, but he has headed his own pop-up’s and food carts to great success and reviews.

Veruca Salt is currently a soloist at ABT, after training and dancing at the Bolshoi and the Vaganova.  They have all seen her perform: she is generous with her comp tickets.  She is also undeniably talented.  There have been rumors circling that she may be promoted to principal next season.

Mike Teavee designs video games.  Because of course he does.  Immensely popular games that require strategy, and critical thinking as much as hand-eye coordination.  Some of them have won awards for serving educational purposes.  These games, along with several well-received apps have left him unexpectedly wealthy.  His first apartment is in San Francisco, but he likes the vibe and the weather in New York so much so that he has a residence in the city as well. 

And Violet Beauregard is always late.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She says, breathlessly, as she joins them.  “A thing.  But you all know.  I don’t even gotta tell you.”  

Violet is a celebrity hair and make-up artist.  She made her name on YouTube, but she’s as legitimately trained as Veruca and Augustus are.  She’s in high demand from both companies and clients.

She frowns at Mike’s hair.

“What happened to the blue?” She pouts.

Mike runs his hand carefully over his ‘do.  

“It faded really fast and I didn’t wanna rebleach,” he explains.  “It’s fine.”

“I know you’re punk rock as all hell, but seriously: let me do it,” Violet insists.  “I will do it in yo’ bathroom sink for the sake of your authenticity if I gotta.”

He eventually agrees.

“Your mothers are having the good time,” Veruca says, with a smirk.

Both Mike and Augustus freeze, because it is their mothers she is talking about.  Mrs. Teavee and Mrs. Gloop have long since struck up an unexpected single lady friendship and enjoy taking vacations together.  They are currently on an Italian river cruise making the most of Italy, Italian food, and Italian men in a photograph that is burned in both Mike and Gus’ mind that neither of them are sure they were meant to receive and both are afraid to ask about.

“Yes,” Augustus says, smiling a little more rigidly than usual.  “…jah.”  

“Did she drop a new post on Instagram?” Violet asks Veruca.

“I will never get over the fact that you follow my mom on Instagram,” Mike says.

In her retirement, Ethel has joined Instagram.  Instagram is very about her retro aesthetic.  She has been interviewed for ‘Racked’.

“She is crushing it,” Violet tells him.  “Did you teach her hashtags?”

He maybe guided her in her hashtagging.

“Annnnnnyway,” Mike says, changing the subject and turning towards Veruca.  “How’s what’s-his-face?”

“We do not speak his name,” Veruca hisses.  “Ballerinos!  все мужчины сосать.  All men!”

She looks pointedly at Gus and Mike, who know better than to argue with her.

“Yeah, speaking of,” Violet says.  “No more 3am Teavee specials?”

“What is this?” Gus asks.

“I kept getting these late night texts from him, and I’m all jazzed because I think Teavee’s got some serious tea for me that can NOT wait and instead I get bull.  What was the last one?” Violet asks, while scrolling through her phone.  She stops and reads:

“‘Treasures in disguise as monsters’.  What in the Dungeons and Dragons is that supposed to mean?”

Mike has buried his face in his hands, but he’s laughing behind them.

“It was the Ambien again, I swear,” he swears.  “I got off it.  At least I didn’t buy any more non-refundable plane tickets to Shanghai.”

“That was fun, though,” Augustus points out.

“Yeah, it was,” Mike admits.

Off of Paxil, it turns out Mike likes to eat.  Like, a lot.  And still has the metabolism to mostly deal with it.  Gus had been very willing to join him on a tasting trip through Shanghai, lest the tickets go to waste.  The trip had left both with fond memories of Ci Fan Tuan, and You Dunzi, as well as up a pants size, but that’s what vacations in your twenties are for.

Gus, Violet, and Veruca order and then sip cocktails.  Mike sticks to ginger ale and truffle fries.  He has never had a problem with alcohol, because he has never let himself have one, and he knows himself (and his family history) well enough to know that he too easily could. 

Things are too good to wreck like that, you know?

He checks his phone.

“Hey, it’s time,” he says.

The others put their drinks aside, and Mike…unfolds his phone.  The palm sized device becomes twice its size, then three, until it is a twenty-inch tablet with an extendable stand that Mike places in the middle of the table, and then taps on.

An app connects.  A screen pops up.  A hand reaches through the screen.  They all help Charlie Bucket until he is sitting in the booth with them.

Bucket is thin, for a chocolatier.  He is only a little taller than Mike, who is short.  He has the same boyish grin he had back when he and his family had nothing.

Mike refolds his device, until it looks like just a phone again.  He spends the rest of the evening wedged comfortably between Gus and Violet.  Plans are vaguely made for another trip like Shanghai, and more concretely for a sort of pub crawl that consists of, instead of drinking, eating dollar slices of pizza until they have located the best one.  Veruca refuses to take part, but will still come along.  Charlie cannot make it: he has a factory to run, but they promise to send him a winning slice.

It’s just one of many good days in a more than decent life.

From Grey, chapter 6

Temperance_V: So this is a special blog post featuring a guest blogger, which I've never done before but it seemed like a pretty fun idea since *basically* we talk more than enough to do this without going out of our way anyway. So, this week the blog is in the form of this chat log between me and Paleanghostly, who's mostly active over in the 'ghostlanx' fandom.

Paleandghostly: You have to put the scare quotes around it to remind people that I basically devote my days to looking at pictures of superheroes like a fourteen year old, of course. TV: I think most of your gang spend more time staring at their butts than most fourteen year olds do, P&G. P&G: You might be surprised. I remember being fourteen. TV: Anyway, we met a while ago now when P&G commented on my blog to insult my taste in whiskey and was somehow sort of charming about how stupid I am, and we ended up chatting. Now we play chess over the mail. P&G: Actually over the mail, on actual paper. It's a thing. TV: I genuinely look forward to the letter sneering at my last move once a week. So we're here to discuss something we've already been talking about anyway but it's been a *particularly* interesting chat, so we thought we'd share some thoughts with the wider internet. So this discussion got kicked off by the fandom reaction to this photograph of the Ghost and Phalanx from I think three weeks ago now? P&G: They'll remember the fandom reaction. It's the kind of wank that's so much bigger than the incident that caused it ever could be. TV: I'm not actually in the 'ghostlanx' fandom, btw, I should put that disclaimer out for anyone who's reading this *from* that fandom. If I seem like a n00b, forgive me. P&G: Please god stop putting it in scare quotes. Temperance usually blogs about anything interesting in the media and reactions to the media, for those who have followed *me* from phandom, and it was during one of her posts on Mad Men that I found it necessary to educate her in what we drink and what we use to clean toilets with. And it's *whisky*, please tell me you are actually drinking the stuff that is worth drinking and is not overpriced rebottled mouthwash by now. TV: Moving on. The photograph is a candid caught behind a police van, and shows the Ghost and Phalanx in conversation with a police officer - in suit and tie, so I'm guessing a detective but he looks a little young for it. No-one appears to be trying to arrest anyone. You'd think that would be have been the main point of discussion, P&G? P&G: *snort* Have you *met* fandom? Get to the interesting substance of the issue? No! We want exactly what we want and we want it exactly when we want it, anything deviating from this is a cause of deep personal offence to me and the *entire internet must stop and feel my pain!!* TV: So, it wasn't the crime scene they *weren't* arrested at that most people were talking about (though presumably, the 'enemy' you actually face on the streets you have more in common with than you do your own boss in their high rise office; if I was police I think I'd think we had bigger problems than superheroes too). P&G brought the discussion to my attention via the medium of much swearing, because she has a lot of feelings about these things. P&G: Oh please do make me sound like one of them. The reason I drew Temperance's attention to the response was - well, threefold. One is that in terms of gender politics and misogyny and homophobia amongst those who claim to not be bigots it was *fascinating*. Slash depressing. Two is that it was an eyebrow-straining example of the fandom entitlement complex. Three is that it gives us a very interesting insight into their identity and how very un-black-and-white that is - because people are more complicated than their labels, always. TV: Let's deal with gender first, though these issues do run through each other. This all came about because of the Ghost's posture in the photograph. He's standing quite close to Phalanx, who's facing and speaking to the police officer - I'm sorry, is that police officer really tall or is he actually that short? It's kind of adorable. P&G: He's like the Swiss army knife of superheroes. Flexible crime fighter, folds into your pocket afterwards. TV: Phalanx is speaking, standing with his feet apart, hands apart, gesturing - something, to what he's saying. Possibly just emphasizing a word. No-one even mentioned how Phalanx was standing? P&G: No. Because the Ghost was innocently standing next to him. TV: The Ghost is standing with his left arm crossed over his chest - his cloak makes it a little hard to see, but he's probably supporting the opposite elbow with his hand, because his right hand is held up loosely at shoulder height, as if propped off a desk. And he's got his hip cocked, and his head tilted the other way, it's a great photograph actually, his posture's like a da Vinci composition. P&G: I knew I liked you for a reason. It is a great picture. It's just enormously aesthetically pleasing, Phalanx standing sort of open and easy, the Ghost a longer but narrower zig-zag of angles, eyes on him. Both the Ghost and the cop are looking at Phalanx; the Ghost's expression, as much as you can make it out under the hood and mask, looks attentive and relaxed. Like you would look at your lover, mid-sentence. What fandom chose to cry and cause wank over is, Jesus fucking Christ, the way he's standing. TV: It's not the most masculine posture in the world. P&G: Why the *fucking* hell should it be? TV: Let's go through this in bite-size chunks so it's not just a string of expletives again. Why, as succinctly as possible, did fandom start a flamewar over the Ghost standing like that? P&G: Because they, the idiot ignorant children, fetishize homosexuality in the most contorted and disturbing way possible. Because they're fine with him being gay - happy that he's gay, since they can use his name and form for all their little m/m fantasies on a whole different level of appropriation now. But how dare he, human being in his own life, how *dare* he not conform to strict gender stereotypes at the same time. He's perfectly well allowed to be gay, as long as he does it the 'right way'. God forbid he be any kind of queer that disturbs them, though. TV: There was a lot of negativity. P&G: They don't want to see a male hero stand in a 'feminine' pose. It demeans him. It makes him less heroic. TV: Because to be female is to be less, and to be a male imitating a female is possibly the worst thing it's possible to be. Some of the responses were genuinely unsettling, I read some of your replies to them. P&G: I might have been angry, but I do not disown a single word of what I said. Disgusting self-absorbed ignorant little shits deserved it. TV: But not everyone was so negative about it. P&G: No. Some of fandom is actually populated by feminists and not by people who think that they know what that word means but have never actually thought it through. And then some of fandom is populated by people who further fetishize his femininity in again the most contorted way possible. We kind of had perfect storm conditions for the wank after that. TV: You posted a short piece of meta about it at the time. P&G: I posted a rant, please don't dignify anything that happened during that shitstorm with a respectful title. I hammered out at my keyboard my undying rage that these people were treating him like a doll to dress up how they pleased, and then throwing tantrums when he failed to live up to what they'd dressed him up as in their heads, or subsuming him under the further homophobic, misogynist, *the opposite of accurate* image of him as a swooning 'heroine' in need of big strong Phalanx to 'rescue' him. TV: Little strong Phalanx. P&G: I sense some favoritism developing. TV: He's really cute now I've *looked* at him. Look, I'm not in this fandom, this is not my war to step into. But it *is* interesting. Because, obviously, there's a lot of misogyny involved in campophobia - even in the queer community, the feminine man is despised. P&G: Yes. A loud part of the queer community, weirdly, strives for heteronormativity. We focus on gay men and women as being 'normal', the way straight men and women are 'normal'. Possibly just because it makes us less threatening to straight people, or helps us deal with internalized homophobia, I don't know. But that 'normality' is a lie whether the person in question is gay or straight, these categories are weird, and troublesome, and some of them are actively steeped in hatred and lies. The only thing to do is let it go. 'Normal' has only ever been an illusion. It is all so much more complicated than that you would not *believe*. Let gender be whatever it will be, and stop trying to shame people into going about it the way you're comfortable with. People are who they are and they love who they love. No-one should ever have to sit in a labelled box that someone else nailed the lid down on. TV: Fandom's largely female and yet we still perpetuate the weird misogyny wrapped up in all of this. P&G: Fuck the patriarchy that lives in our own heads most of all. TV: And the weirdest part of it is, everyone knows who he is - he's a hero. There is so much photographic evidence of his extremebamfery that it was a struggle to narrow down which gifs to illustrate the point with. P&G: He haunted New York on his own for five years before Phalanx showed up. Criminals are terrified of him, there's enough documented evidence of that. He can take down a dozen guys all bigger than him and then stroll away when the cops arrive, the last man standing and still unarrested. He kicks so much ass and we've always admired that. He also just copes with what must be a frequently distressing and draining occupation - most of what he deals with on any individual night could be completely traumatic to many people. I admire his strength and bravery utterly. And somehow people cannot square that strength, bravery, and bamfery with the image of him standing with his hip cocked *like a girl*. TV: Because, really, the two just aren't connected. They literally have nothing to do with each other. It's not that either should make the other difficult, there is no logical inconsistency in his not being traditionally masculine and his simultaneously kicking lots of ass. P&G: No. It was never his testosterone-fuelled uber-manliness that kicked ass. It was him. Exactly as he is. He's the same person kicking ass as he is standing next to Phalanx, in what is to him an unconsciously comfortable position - it's only since Phalanx came along that he's started relaxing like that, btw, *that* is clearly what's comfortable to him, not that wary cloak-covered hunch he always wore before. And it says so much more about fandom, about *people*, than it does about *him* that people somehow cannot make the image of the butt-kicking man who stands 'like a woman' sit right. TV: Because - what, heroism is manly? Girls don't kick ass *like that*? Because like you said, there are those who emphasize and fetishize his femininity, and in so doing they often fail to capture the bamfy aspect of him. P&G: What this links in to is the fandom entitlement complex. TV: Go ahead, I can feel your need to preach. P&G: I have a rant brewing, if that's what you mean. The fandom entitlement complex links into fandom sexism in a really strange and powerful way. Because fandom feels like it *owns* its figures of fetishization; they are what they are because we made them that. There is an enormous sense of ownership, like they're just the scaffolding, *we* construct who they are. And of course, they can't live up to that. They're real people, not our dolls. And when they fail to live up to our particular construction we either ignore the facts and go on as before or else we get *really fucking angry*. How *dare* they be actual human beings. They're supposed to be *my doll*, not any real person. Especially not any complicated real person! They should be as simple as possible because I can't conceptualize more than three personality traits in my head at any one time, I am *actually* that dumb! TV: Ahem. Plus we live in a patriarchal society and we construct our dolls along the strict and misogynist gender lines given to us, which oversimplifies them in very dangerous ways. P&G: That's what worries me about many of the people who make the Ghost out to be 'girly' - they're often people who obviously really *identify* with the Ghost, and they still make him out to be weak. So what does that say about the psychology of some women in this world, that society taught us to hate ourselves so *effectively* that we even want our *heroes* to just be rescued, that when we use him as a stand-in for ourselves in *fiction* we still *make him weak*? Because the fic and meta where the Ghost is effeminate *and* is the still the strong, life-saving hero - well, I've rarely found it under the sheer mass of 'basically all the Ghost really wants is for Phalanx to *save* him' fic. TV: I mean, ouch, but yeah. It explains the bizarre popularity of misogynist romance fiction written for women by women, after all. P&G: Mm. So we construct our dolls as manly male heroes, and then throw a shitfit when the queer man actually turns out to be *too* queer. Or we construct them as weak and flimsy *caricatured* women with dicks, who angst and cry and need a more masculine partner to 'rescue' them. The entitlement complex is so strong that we either write over them with our own images - rewrite the Ghost entirely, forget that he kicks ass, forget his *strength*, because a 'girly' man could never be strong because *girls aren't strong* - or we rage and scream about all our butthurt that the hero turned out to not be a cardboard cut out MAN. The part where he's a hero - do I actually need to remind people that he stopped New York being blown up? (with Phalanx; they are partners, after all) - who is both 'feminine' and 'masculine', because we all are, because those labels fix to characteristics and not to people, *that* part gets forgotten. We want them to be what *we want them to be*. We forget that they're not obliged to be a damn thing for anyone except themselves. And often people in writing their definitions of other people do want to wipe queerness out. They want us to go back to that gender dichotomy. They either want him to be a 'man' (caricatured) or to be basically a 'woman' (caricatured) in male form, but they can't *stand* that he's actually just a human being, and human beings are difficult. TV: No middle ground? P&G: Are you shitting me? This is fandom. TV: So tell us how to fix this, great wise Ghostly. P&G: I appreciate your sarcasm so, so dearly. There is middle ground, I was being facetious. There was a small, feminist, pro-queer faction fighting this corner as loudly and rationally as they could. And Blackbindings - one of the fanficcers in the ghostlanx fandom - wrote a piece after that photograph was published called Graduation, which tried to actually ignore the wank and deal with what the photograph *did* teach us about the relationship between the Ghost and Phalanx. Because all that wank is nothing like the most interesting part of that photograph. In this fandom, *everyone* should have responded to that photograph how Blackbindings did, but unfortunately she's the only one with the brains to see what's actually important. TV: I haven't read the fic. P&G: It's a meditation - all of her fics are strolls around a subject, giving you new angles and a wider perspective to actually *see* something from, I swear she makes me realize I have my eyes *closed* half the time. It's a meditation on the balance of 'power' in their relationship. What power means, and doesn't mean, and how it doesn't have to dominate, those who have power can *share* it. We think of it like it's a limited resource but why can't everyone be powerful, if it's the right kind of power? It's about their teacher/student relationship. TV: You're going to have to explain that for those of us who aren't in the fandom. P&G: Tell me what you think it might mean from looking at that photograph. TV: I don't know. The Ghost is standing slightly behind Phalanx's shoulder, relative to that cop. It could just be that the way Phalanx is gesturing has knocked their shoulders out of alignment. It could be that Phalanx has *put* himself between them. It could be that the *Ghost* put Phalanx between them. It could be that Phalanx is taking the lead and the Ghost is happy with that. It could be that the Ghost is watching over him . . . P&G: Yes. It could be all of those things. And not one of us mentioned it because we were just too fucking busy screaming about the Ghost standing like a girl. The Ghost was there first, and it's pretty long been assumed by many that they had a teacher/apprentice role - the classic superhero/sidekick relationship. But it becomes obvious in that photograph - and when you look back, there's a lot of other pictorial evidence for it - that it's really not that simple, and maybe it never has been. TV: You know I love it when you elaborate. P&G: I'm sexy when I'm verbal. When you look back through gifs and photosets, whenever they're dealing with crime victims, the Ghost tends to be in front. His attention is all on the victim and Phalanx is looking at *him*. When they're dealing with criminals they're usually side by side and their attention is focused on the threat. But whenever they're dealing with anybody else - cops, reporters, fans, bystanders - usually Phalanx is the one in front and talking, and usually, the Ghost isn't looking at who they're dealing with, his gaze and his posture are orientated towards *Phalanx*. The Ghost often isn't even fully visible in those situations. Look at that photograph again; Phalanx is standing very at ease and in control of the situation, very relaxed being the one talking, and the Ghost is looking at *him*. This is not a hero/sidekick relationship. They have strengths and weaknesses and they complement each other. They actually are, in every sense of the word, partners. TV: That's quite sweet actually. P&G: If you're contemplating joining the fandom I advise you not to, it's populated mostly by cretins and children. Blackbindings is special. Very special, actually. She does cryptic crosswords for *shiggles*, I don't know if you've ever looked at one but they are torture for the mind. But it affects her brain in interesting ways. She called it 'Graduation', because partly the fic is about how they educate each other, empower each other (of course education is empowering: in her fic, knowledge elevates). But the fic is also very steeped in color terms. It gives it a really physical, sensual, *there* atmosphere, almost close enough to touch, and it was only when I remembered her twisty-turny cryptic little brain that I realised that 'graduation' is only a letter away from 'gradation'. It's the sort of thing she'd notice and play on, cunning little creature that she is. The way hues run into each other. There is no dividing line. The labels are a lie. Strictly, once you realize how difficult drawing a line between colors is, there aren't any *colors*; there's just *color*, and we fumble through labelling instances of it as best we can, pretending that the labels create real categories. They, the Ghost and Phalanx, are so much more complicated than anything we can paint them. Their identities are human identities and the labels are a *lie*. It's not that the labels aren't labelling something real but that they're only labelling *parts* of people when they are *wholes*. They are complex. They live in a world of gradations. They're not superhero/sidekick except for when they are, but who is which is a very blurry thing. Isn't it for all of us? TV: I can't tell if you're a fan of ghostlanx or of Blackbindings right now. P&G: Probably both. Sometimes I just contemplate that her mind exists and give a satisfied sigh that the world *must* be a reasonable place after all . . . TV: We should probably get back to the wank we were discussing. Did you have any closing thoughts on the subject? P&G: Just that being a fan is a very peculiar thing. We never know the person that we 'love' so much, though I do think that that love is often very sincere and fierce-felt, but we only actually know the doll we made of them in our own heads - with masked heroes the problem intensifies. And what we should do is be relaxed, and accept that people are always more complicated than we think they are - this has wider implications than fandom alone - and discuss these things in a way such that we can *learn* from it. Because learning, and the openness to strange new things that learning requires, empowers. The close-mindedness that treats people as characters to be owned by us, that demands simplicity where simplicity is an act of psychological aggression, that sense that we're entitled to special access to their identities almost more than they themselves are - all those things harm both them and *us* in thinking like that. And if people could not be dicks about gender norms that would also be really cool. TV: Indeed. The sheer scale of the meltdown is something to be appreciated, I dabbled in to take a look and - whoa, basically. P&G: It's a big fandom, when we make wank we make a *masterpiece* of wank. Still, most people did stay out of it. The sensible majority who just duck their heads and reblog gifs whenever the shit starts flying. TV: And do you have this week's move ready yet? P&G: It's in the mail, and you really should have seen it coming. TV: We'll see. So next week I'll probably be discussing US remakes of other countries' movies and TV shows, unless something more interesting happens in the meantime. P&G: Oh god, don't even get me started on that bullshit. TV: And it looks like you'll probably see Paleandghostly in the comments section next week too, ahem. Thank you for your contribution this week, P&G, couldn't have done it without you. P&G: You're more than welcome. I hope it was educational, at least insofar as discouraging people from irritating me quite so much. TV: See you guys next week, signing off!

June 29th 2018

First full day in the Jungle, and we have many activities planned. Our breakfast was eggs, pineapple, watermelon, plantains, yoghurt and granola, and coffee. Last night I slept on the queen bed, but I had to get up and pee about 7 times because the sound of the Napo River was messing with me. I’m still sick today, my lymph nodes have been super swollen for like over two weeks now, but onward we go. I whipped out my blue-green poncho, and everyone got rain boots for the boat ride. I sat next to Ginger, my boat buddy, and we drove through the Napo River for over an hour to get to the Amazoonica animal rescue center.

Amazoonico is a wildlife rescue center located in the Ecuadorian Amazon rainforest that rehabilitates, reintroduces, and cares for animals who are victims of illegal trafficking. All of the animals that arrive at the center are brought by the Ministry of the Environment, the result of confiscations from people who have kept them as pets or intended to sell or trade them on the black market. Some animals arrive suffering from multiple physical and behavioral problems which make it impossible for them to live free in the forest. In those cases, they are provided with enclosures similar to their original habitat, where they can live in the most natural conditions possible. In other cases, if the animals arrive in good physical and mental condition and after passing through quarantine, various examinations, and a rehabilitation process, they can be successfully reintroduced back into their natural habitat.

Founded in 1993, Amazoonico is a non-governmental organization created by a Swiss-Quichua couple named Angelika Raimann and Remigio Canelos. Together with Christine von Steiger, they wanted to protect the fauna of the Amazon, creating a center that would receive, treat, rehabilitate, and reintroduce wild animals that had been confiscated from illegal trade. In order to fulfill the plans for reintroduction it was important to create another project that would be exclusively dedicated to protection the rainforest itself, working with the community towards a common goal of sustainable and practical resource use. So came the birth of Selva Viva: a large umbrella project which would come to include 1750 hectares of protected forest, a trilingual school for the neighboring community, and two Eco-lodges which promote ecotourism. The project has been widely embraced by the nearby community and those who visit it daily, and has come to be well-recognized as a sanctuary of care and respect for wildlife. The driving force behind amaZOOnico are the Padrinos, volunteers, and tourists. Each day, they take care of the work with the animals, educational campaigns, and the maintenance of the infrastructure, the collection of funds and the general upkeep of the center.

Our tour guide was from Switzerland and she is working there for two months. She was kind of ditzy, but I think it is because she wasn’t comfortable with her English. On our tour we met toucans first, who while beautiful, are known to be incredibly aggressive and territorial. Their feathers had been plucked for ancient local rituals, and they had been taken to the center to regrow them. However they are now too acclimated to living in a cage around humans, so they must stay in the rescue center for the remainder of their lives. Next was the three and a half meter long Anaconda, who had her sensory organ taken out from her tongue, which helped to determine if her prey was dead or alive. She was found as a tourist attraction, and must stay there forever, with her roommate the Boa Constrictor. The Macaws we saw were very special, but very loud. They are often kept as pets, but given away after two years because their owners did not anticipate how noisy they would be. These birds choose their mates for life, and one wild Macaw chose a mate inside the cage, so every day he comes and perches on the top of the chain links so he can be with his wife.

We moved onto the monkeys, and I especially like Mono Capuchinos. This species uses its tail as a fifth hand, and every time tourists come around, one of the monkeys puts on a show. Hunted for their young, the mothers are usually shot so that the young they carry will fall to the ground and can be captured. Oftentimes Capuchinos arrive at Amazoonica paralyzed from the fall off their mother’s back. Pecaris, or relatives of wild pigs, were grouped together as a pack in this reserve. As a common dish for holidays, Amazoonica tries to release 8-10 a year away from civilization so they won’t be captured and eaten. Other attractions were the Coati, which reminded me of a possum or raccoon, a wild cat similar to Jaguars, and Amazon River Turtles. My absolute favorite were the Spider Monkeys and Chi Chico. Amazoonica’s Spider Monkeys were to be released soon, with a pack that hung around their group cage. The Chi Chico, Ecuador’s smallest monkey, was found in a backpack being smuggled across the border of Peru. His brother died due to parasites, but he now calls the reserve his home.

Of all these animals rescued, 1/3 survive at stay, 1/3 die, and 1/3 survive and our released. To be honest, this was identical to a Zoo for me. I didn’t feel that their project had stayed our course for its goals and mission. Yes they gave the animals similar habitats to that of their natural homes, but to allow tourists to come view them in cages for money, and their ratio of those rehabilitated in the wild, did not convince me that they were truly following the founders’ beliefs.

After our fairly brief visit, we traveled a short distance to eat lunch by the river. We were served this rice conglomeration with chicken, corn, and all sorts of vegetables mixed in. For sides we had tomatoes, lettuce, apples, huge bananas from Colombia, and water. I was pretty much choking on the rice the whole meal and attracting way too much attention. I sounded like a dying squeaker toy with a tomato face to boot. I blame the Ahi sauce and my closed off throat, plus the drizzling rain and cold wind. Lunch was quickly over and we were off to visit the Tiyayaku indigenous community guided by Marco. Our first demonstration was artisanal gold mining. The community is named after the river they mine in, and there are 15 families with approximately 68 people. To mine they arrive along the river at 4 am, carry big pots that weigh around 40 kg. They stay there till 3pm, usually waiting till the water is high and coming from the north, for that is when they find the most gold. It’s important for the Tiyayaku to have strong metal sticks, helping dig up more minerals to bring back to the village. Once they have dug up the ground and moved it into the circular bowl, they partially dip it into the river, moving the bowl in a specific circular motion to keep the gold grain inside. After this practice, they used to put the gold in their mouth to separate it from the iron, but nowadays a magnet is used. Women and men alike carry these heavy pots about 15 meters, either on their shoulder or their back. About 90 pots is one gram of gold, and one gram is 20 to 30 dollars in market.

Walking into the village we saw a diverse array of flora species, such as the well-known paradise flower with over 57 types in Ecuador. The indigenous use this plant for shampoo and sweet water; because of this sweet water, its inside petals are house various insects. A wide variety of this flower contributes to many different species of Hummingbirds.

We were led into a large wood-gated common area, where Rosalina, a grandmother of 35 grandchildren, showed us how they utilized the Yuca. With three different types harvested in the beginning, middle, and end of the year, it is the most important and most nutritious of their harvest. They also make the chichi drink, by fermenting this plant. It is so integral to their culture that spouses are chosen based on how well the woman can make this alcoholic beverage. After we all had a taste of the strange-milky vodka-tasting drink, two volunteers were brought up to make ceramics out of clay. This activity has been lost my many communities, because children simply aren’t interested in learning ancient skills. The making of ceramics was vital to this culture, so they could feed their families from pots and bowls, each with a specific purpose.

Our last activity was shooting darts out of the blow guns to hit a wooden toucan. Tactics like this were used to fight off the conquering Incas from invading the Amazon. At the gift shop I purchased a hand-made bowl designed with butterflies, toucans, and a woman. Then it was back on the boat for a quick ride to our cabins. I felt awful after sitting in the cold and the rain. In my opinion, cultural ecotourism activities like this do more good than harm. It seems to be keeping the culture alive against waves of modernization and outsourced labor. Not only does it provide income for the Tiyayaku, it also forces them to keep practicing ancient traditions to showcase their history and development. In terms of our cabins, I also think it is the most practical and sustainable way to combine humans and the environment. By integrating cabins into the landscape, destroying as little of the rainforest as possible, a deeper appreciation of nature is established, and visitors are encouraged to protect this house of biodiversity.  

As soon as we got home I took a shower and napped until dinner. But when I woke up I felt even worse; my eardrum was swollen, itchy, and pounding, my throat hurt, I was hacking up globs of mucus, and my head was killing me. After our dinner of cornita frijo, fish, and fruit, I asked Felipe for an ibuprofen, and went to bed around 8:30pm.

The plan is to go to the doctor in Quito tomorrow, so here’s hoping.

Travel to Venice

1/05/2019: We planned for ten o'clock departure to the airport. The plane was to fly out at ten to one and arrive in Venice at two thirty. We flew Air France of course, the second deadliest airline in the world. Earlier on, Shane took a walk a bit up L'Avenue des Champs-Élysées to get some photos with minimal traffic around. It was still a bit nerve racking trying to cross the road around Place de Concord. The cars seemed to come out of nowhere, from around bends and out of lane ways at what seemed excessive speed.

Roofscape from our apartment

Walking back, there was an interesting area to the left with an impressive column at its centre. Place Vendôme was at the end of Rue de Castiglione and the start of a popular shopping street, Rue de la Paix. Originally called Place des Conquêtes, Place Vendôme was set up as a monument to Louis XIV and the glory of his armies. The square today is surrounded entirely by hôtels particuliers and although once tenanted by fashionable and high end hotels as well as numerous famous designers, they are mostly gone with only a few remaining.

Napoleon's Column had a more interesting history. Originally, an oversized equestrian statue of the Sun King was erected in the centre of the square but only lasted until the revolution. During 1806, at the direction of Napoleon to celebrate his victory at Austerlitz, construction of the first column was commenced. Four years later and modelled after Trajan's Column in Rome, it was completed. A statue of Napoleon graced the top. Following the Bourbon Restoration, the statue was removed and melted down to partially contribute the bronze required for the statue of Henry IV on Pont Neuf. A couple more Napoleon statues have been placed at the top of the column over the years but the whole thing was brought down during the Paris Commune and re-erected a few years later after the commune's demise, another copy of Napoleon on top.  

Napoleon finally toppled. 1871 (Wikipedia)

Napoleon's Column today

Although, with most of the packing done last night, there was still a bit to do, particularly with ensuring that all of the suitcases that were packed to spot on twenty three kilos and the rest carry on. We also had one more call to make, to the taxi driver who dropped us off a few days ago. No luck as it turned out. Through his daughter he apologised for not being able to take us. Not enough notice or his day off maybe. It was after all, May Day.

The decline wasn't too much of an issue, we were ahead of schedule and on the footpath well before ten where we immediately encountered a small Peugeot wagon out front. We needed another one that would carry three suitcases. A few minutes later, some sort of Volkswagen van drove passed. We hailed it, filled it with suitcases and women and Tom and sent it off to Charles de Gaul, Terminal 2. Beau and Shane took the other costing fifty-five euro each. The trip was quiet and non-eventful owing to the public holiday.

It was the May Day public holiday which had a tradition of violence in Paris with protest marches being the norm. During our journey Cecilia noticed small groups of individuals walking in the same direction in one of the outlying suburbs, and up to no good. Who knows what could have been brewing. We were in fact lucky as today was Tuesday so it ruled out the sometimes violent yellow vest protests that occurred on Saturdays and we were also lucky that the unions had a programme of industrial action that shut down the airports. They advertised in advance and today wasn’t part of it. The rest was yet to be seen.

Continuing on from the uneventful was the flight and boarding process, once we got past the stickers on bags bit at check-in. Through security, swiftly through duty free looking at the overpriced everything and down to the eating area which would leave Sydney for dead, although the prices reflected this. A point in case was Cecilia's thirty-nine-euro pikelet with salmon and caviar on sour cream. Tasted delicious but was only about four mouths full. There was plenty of ritzy food around but still plenty for the plebs. We were okay.  A couple of hours waiting around, onto the boarding area, and onto the plane. Everything worked like a dream.

Nice looking tucker. If you can afford it

This flight was a budget short haul flight which was excellent. About the same distance from Newcastle to Melbourne yet they provided us with a small ham roll or vegetarian wrap with a drink. The wrap was delicious. Jetstar could learn a thing or two from Air France (except for the crashing bit).

Paris–Le Bourget Airport. Once Paris's No.1

Crossing the mostly obscured Swiss Alps, and probably Austrian and Italian Alps as well, and touching down at Marco Polo was also non eventful. The banking of the plane on approach to the airport showed the surrounding fields, townships and hamlets located on the outskirts of the airport and Venice Mestre on the mainland. Quite picturesque. After landing, the arrival protocol was pretty easy. We headed through the supposed immigration, picked up our bags from the carousel and walked down the long corridor walk to the water taxi station. We showed our tickets to old mate near the desk who promptly pointed us to another and in turn our taxi driver. It was after twenty past three before we got on the boat. It was nothing flash but roomy and comfortable and in no time flat we were cruising through the timber poles that marked the channel across Laguna Veneta toward Venice.

Initially, Cecilia wanted to have the “elite” experience which included being greeted at arrivals by a chauffeur holding a sign with our names. We were then to be transported, luggage and all in a golf buggy through the airport to a jetty with a super schmick timber speedboat alongside. We would then travel “George Clooney style” through the Grand Canal as he did at his wedding. Problem was that this was worth 130 Euro each and although she insisted on paying, we took the Jo Average taxi boat for 50 Euro for all of us.

Marco Polo water taxi rank

All packed and ready to go

The channel wasn't all that wide so a follow the leader approach was required, particularly with oncoming traffic. Although boats could pass if required, it would be squeezy and care required. We firstly passed the small battery island, Isola di Tessera on our left followed by the famous glass producing Murano. Then straight across the lagoon to the northern most,and second largest of the six Venetian  sestieri, Cannaregio. Sacca Misericordia Marina was on our right and a well worn servo to our left as we entered rio di Noale on our way to the Grand Canal.

About to enter rio di Noale

Looking down Rio della Sensa

Edging our way amongst the floating barrage before us, we worked our way beneath the Rialto Bridge, were dropped off next to San Silvestro vaporetto stop, through Campo Silvestro and to our apartment. All an hour after we jumped in the taxi.

Approaching the Rialto Bridge

Congestion on the canal

After finding our building, the next challenge was to work out which door bell to ring on the panel. We worked it out and were buzzed into an impressive foyer, heading up the stairs to meet our hosts. Two youngens greeted us at the door. After a warm greeting they explained that they were brother and sister and were renting the apartment out in an attempt to keep it in their family. A common explanation that people with larger apartments in fantastic locations were telling us. Something sus, though Jo didn’t agree, seemed to be going on though as we surprised them when we knocked on the door and later found a pair of knickers that she may have left behind. It was apparently their grandmothers house but before granny some sort of commercial building in its previous life. Huge rooms and six metre high ceilings, and in a brilliant spot. One hundred metres from the Rialto and an old church, Chiesa San Silvestro, straight across from us.

Bedroom One

While we were all settling in and unpacking, the boys went to look for a shop for milk, juice and some basic supplies, and of course a supply of grog. Cecilia headed out for a walk, firstly to look through the church and secondly to find a nearby watering hole. While inside the church she paid one Euro and lit a candle in memory of her dad. The church was about to close and as Cec was saying a prayer, an old lady sweeping up and finishing off blew the candle out as she was leaving.

Cec didn't take long to look around the campo before stumbling across Vineria all'Amarone, a wine bar that were friendly and had an interesting menu. She returned for a rest before insisting that we all head along there for dinner. Seated by half past six, typical Italian tucker was the order of the day. A couple of pastas, diavola, lasagne and spaghetti al negro (in squids ink) was dished up by a very friendly and welcoming staff. One hundred and ninety one Euro later we were back at the apartment, playing Pass the Pigs and planning the next day.

Vineria all'Amarone 

Two fat ladies

We may have dodged a bullet today with the Paris protests. After we had left the city violent protests resulted in over one hundred arrests.

Tomorrow we travel to Murano for some glass and Burano for a look, and some lace if we can find some non Chinese stuff.

It Could Take 8 Years to Get This Patek Philippe. If You Can Get on the List.

© Marcos Chin

If you are thinking of buying an automatic Patek Philippe Ref. 5711 in stainless steel with a black-blue dial, think again.

The Nautilus sports watch line, which includes the Ref. 5711, has been produced without interruption for 43 years. But demand for that particular model has so surpassed supply in recent years that neither Patek Philippe nor any of its retailers will sell one just because a customer is waving cash around. New watches go to carefully vetted clients who gained places on the waiting list thanks to longstanding relationships with the Swiss watchmaker.

And, while no one will specify, the wait is said to be as long as eight years.

“Why is the Nautilus so popular,” Thierry Stern, president of Patek Philippe, asked rhetorically in an interview last October in Milan during one of the family-owned house’s promotional events. “Of course I am happy about it, but honestly I don’t know the answer.”

For Mr. Stern, the subject is at once both somewhat irritating and a source of pride. “We make about 140 different models at Patek Philippe, and the basic Ref. 5711 in steel is just one of them,” he said. “We have many other models that are more complicated and arguably more beautiful.”

Tell that to frustrated buyers.

The first Nautilus, the Ref. 3700, was introduced in 1976, while Mr. Stern’s father, Philippe, was still leading the company. Gérald Genta, who had created the Royal Oak for Audemars Piguet four years earlier, designed the timepiece, both its name and the rounded octagonal bezel and case (inspired by a ship’s porthole) referencing Philippe Stern’s passion for sailing.

“When the Nautilus was introduced, the watch industry was confronted with the quartz crisis,” said Nicholas Foulkes, author of “Patek Philippe: The Authorized Biography” published in 2016. “Philippe Stern had an incredible vision that mechanical watches would come back.”

The advertising tagline said “one of the world’s costliest watches is made of steel.” And that, too, was something of a revolution for Patek, which previously had made only classic watches in precious metals. “What was interesting then was not that it was a steel watch,” Mr. Foulkes said, “but that it was a Patek Philippe in steel.” Within a few years, women’s versions were introduced and complications added.

In 2006, the Ref. 5711/1A debuted — a reworked version of the Ref. 3700 model in steel but with a bluer dial and an automatic caliber.

It was not Patek’s most expensive watch nor its most complicated. But the consensus among watch fans is that it is the most coveted.

“If I had a penny for every client who came in every day asking for a Ref. 5711 in steel, I would be long retired,” a salesman at Tourneau, an authorized retailer in New York, said last fall. The official retail price is $29,803 (or, in Europe, 27,040 euros).

Founded in 1839, and closely held by the Stern family since 1932, Patek Philippe does not disclose its annual production or revenue — but reports have estimated it produces 60,000 timepieces annually and generates 1.5 billion Swiss francs in sales. In January Bloomberg reported that the company might be offered for sale, with analysts estimating it could be worth $8 billion to $10 billion.

“We don’t discuss production quantities, but clearly we don’t make enough Ref. 5711s,” Mr. Stern said. “Today we are meeting maybe 10 percent of the demand, and it is going to stay that way.”

“For us, this is not a race to make more money,” he said. “It is a race for beauty, for the long term, and for greater choice in our collections.”

World record

Rarity breeds desire, but also speculation. The scarcity of the Ref. 5711 on the primary market has resulted in corresponding price increases for new and pre-owned models at auction.

Consider the new automatic Ref. 5711/1A in stainless steel with a so-called Tiffany dial that was sold in November at a Phillips auction in Geneva. The timepiece was accompanied by its Patek certificate of origin, showing it had been sold on July 30 at the Tiffany & Company Fifth Avenue flagship in New York.

Tiffany, an official Patek retailer since 1851, has stamped its name on the dial of certain Patek models; other retailers have had similar arrangements in the past, but now only Tiffany has such an agreement. Tiffany will not say how many Ref. 5711 dials it has stamped or how many have sold, but the watches are widely considered to be among the rarest in production.

For the consignor, whose identity was known to Patek, Tiffany and Phillips but was not made public, the payout was immediate and exponential: The watch sold for 125,000 Swiss francs or $124,362, including the buyer’s premium, setting a world record for a steel Ref. 5711.

“If you want to distinguish yourself with a Ref. 5711, you need that Tiffany dial,” said Aurel Bacs, the auctioneer who brought down the hammer. “This is the endgame in Ref. 5711s.”

Six stories

Several owners have their own histories with the Ref. 5711.

A PRIVATE COLLECTOR

Claude Sfeir is a prominent Patek Philippe client who says he owns “almost all” the watches in the Nautilus series, including a one-of-a-kind prototype Ref. 3700 that he acquired a few years ago at auction.

“This prototype is the symbol of the success of the Nautilus and proof of the genius of Gérald Genta,” Mr. Sfeir said in a phone interview from Beirut, Lebanon. “This watch carries the history of all the Nautilus watches in a simple design that is still very current.”

The collector Claude Sfeir said he owned “almost all” the watches in the Nautilus series, including a one-of-a-kind prototype Ref. 3700. © Dmitry Kostyukov for The New York Times

In May 2015, a 1978 timepiece called the Albino Prototype, for its white dial, came up for sale at Sotheby’s in Geneva. To bid without attracting attention, Mr. Sfeir recalled, he left the salesroom before the watch — lot 116 — was announced and made his bids over the phone from the hallway outside.

Estimated to sell for 30,000 and 50,000 Swiss francs, the watch was sold to Mr. Sfeir for 250,000 francs.

“My Ref. 3700 is unique,” Mr. Sfeir said, “and its real market value is in the millions.”

A 50TH BIRTHDAY GIFT

Patek’s well-known advertising slogan says an owner is “merely looking after it for the next generation.”

François-Jean Daehn, president of Montaigne Publications and director of Monsieur, a French men’s magazine, says he surely will pass on to his son the Ref. 5711 that he bought in 2014 as a 50th birthday gift to himself.

“I happened to be in Geneva, and it was my birthday, and also beginning of a new love story,” he said. “It is a watch I love because it has even more special significance for me.”

François-Jean Daehn plans to leave the Ref. 5711, which he bought as a 50th birthday gift to himself, to his son.

Mr. Daehn, who said he had been thinking about buying the watch for a long time, said its purchase made him realize that his tastes are actually very mainstream. “I always thought of myself as an independent tastemaker with a penchant for more exotic timepieces,” he said. “I see now the extent to which I am moved by established luxury icons.”

“When people ask me, ‘How did you get this watch?’, it is a little embarrassing,” he said. “ I wish it could go unnoticed.”

THE WISH LIST

Alexander Rosenbeck may be based in the small Danish town of Slagelse, about an hour’s drive southwest of Copenhagen, but he has 2.3 million followers on Daily Watch, the Instagram site he co-founded in 2013.

And guess what is at the top of his list.

“I already own the Audemars Piguet Royal Oak 15202 with an ultrathin movement,” Mr. Rosenbeck, 25, said in a phone interview. “But the watch I want now is the Ref. 5711, because it is classy and sporty, and you can spot it a mile away.”

Alexander Rosenbeck has an Audemars Piguet Royal Oak 15202, but “the watch I want now is the Ref. 5711, because it is classy and sporty, and you can spot it a mile away.”

Mr. Rosenbeck became interested in watches after he began working on Daily Watch, augmenting his knowledge with visits to various manufacturers. Today, the site’s events held in collaboration with watch brands allow him to live off his Instagram activities alone. But buying watches can be a bit difficult.

He hopes to get his name on a waiting list or to buy one on the secondary market, if he finds a “good deal.”

“Every month that goes by, the watch gets more expensive,” he said. “My friends think that paying so much just to see the time on your wrist is crazy.”

He is even considering a sacrifice.

“I might sell my Audemars Piguet because my budget will not allow me to keep both,” he said. “It is difficult to let go of this baby, but I am considering selling it for the Patek.”

INSTAGRAM QUEEN

Misha Daud is the woman behind Watch Fashionista, with 151,000 followers in Instagram. Based in Oman, Ms. Daud took over the women’s watches site started by Anish Bhatt, one of the best-known watch influencers, whose Watch Anish site now has 1.7 million Instagram followers.

“I have always loved watches, and people liked the photos I posted on my private profile,” Ms. Daud said in a phone interview from London. She said she owns all the watches she features (she wouldn’t specify how many that is) and attributes the site’s appeal to its fashion-savvy orientation (watches are shown worn with a stack of Cartier Juste un Clou bracelets or a Van Cleef & Arpels Alhambra chain, for example).

Misha Daud owns a Ref. 5711 in gold and wears the Ref. 5712 she bought for her husband.

“The watch world takes itself too seriously, but a lot of women don’t want to be like that about watches,” she said. “For me, I will buy a watch if I love it. I trust my own judgment and taste in everything from art to watches and fashion.”

Ms. Daud said she owns a Ref. 5711 in gold — and when she had a chance to buy the steel version, she chose the Ref. 5712 with a moon phase complication instead.

“The 5711 is an appealing watch with a clean classic design,” she said. “But I prefer the Ref. 5712 and bought it as a gift for my husband, but he will not wear it because he has more classic tastes.”

So she wears it.

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

John Reardon, who managed Patek Philippe’s sales in the United States for nine years, was at the company in 2006 when it introduced the Ref. 5711.

“It was like a breath of fresh air and we were all very excited at Patek Philippe,” Mr. Reardon said in a phone interview from New York, where he has been international head of Christie’s watch department since 2013.

“The retail price was around $17,500 then,” he added. “People wanted the watch, but there was no craziness over what was just a new watch in a line that people appreciated.”

In 2011, after he had left Patek, a reseller offered Mr. Reardon a pre-owned Ref. 5711 for $13,300.

John Reardon said he loved his Aquanaut, which has a rubber bracelet.

“I didn’t pull the trigger then and it is a decision I will always regret,” he said. “I should have said yes; it was my chance to buy a Ref. 5711.”

Instead Mr. Reardon opted for an Aquanaut, a similar model with a rubber bracelet, which he loves.

A LOVE AFFAIR

The watch that Mr. Bacs, a senior consultant at Phillips, wears almost every day is the Ref. 5711, a timepiece he bought 10 years ago at Patek’s Geneva salon for about 20,000 francs.

“I put it in on, it made a clicking sound and I fell in love,” Mr. Bacs said in an interview in Geneva. “Since then, this has been my universal watch.”

“It has traveled with me many times on every kind of business occasion, on airplanes, on the auction podium, and to every exotic destination I have traveled,” he said.

His passion for the Ref. 5711 began with a Ref. 3700: His mother gave it to his father as a 50th birthday gift in 1983.

“Back then, the Ref. 3700 was the ‘nec plus ultra’ in terms of style and wearability for an everyday watch,” Mr. Bacs said, using an expression that translates as “nothing further beyond.”

He worked his way up through a Ref. 3800, a smaller version of the Ref. 3700, to the Aquanaut, before finally purchasing his Ref. 5711 in 2009.

“Technically speaking, this may be the simplest Nautilus reference, but I like it because it does everything I ask from a watch without going beyond,” he said.

Aurel Bacs, an auctioneer, worked his way up the brand to buying a Ref. 5711 in 2009. © Pascal Mora for The New York Times

“It has the comfort of sneakers with the elegance of a tailored Savile Row suit. It still gives me the same pleasure as on the first day.”

In November, just as Mr. Bacs was about to close the record sale of that Tiffany-stamped Ref. 5711, he said that he saw no waning of the Ref. 5711 craze — and recently, he said his Ref. 5711 will never be for sale.

“After many horological one-night stands, this is the one you keep,” he said. “I can see myself growing old with this one.”

[Source]

TOP 10 BEST & TOP 5 WORST FILMS OF 2016

BEST FILMS OF 2016:

1. HUNT FOR THE WILDERPEOPLE Following the unexpected death of his Foster Aunt, chubby, rebellious foster kid, Ricky Baker runs away into the New Zealand Bush, followed by his cantankerous Foster Uncle (Sam Neil). They presently get lost and a nationwide manhunt is organised to track them down. Since its release I have watched this film a few times and it gets better on each viewing. Director Taika Waititi has produced a work that is a wonderful concoction of dry humour, farce, pathos, charm, sweetness and heart. Hunt for the Wilderpeople is truly “majestical”.

2. THE REVENANT In the 1820s, frontiersman, Hugh Glass (DiCaprio), sets out on a path of vengeance against those who left him for dead after a bear attack. Immersive, beautiful and masterful filmmaking from a director at the very top of his game. Backed by an Oscar winning performance by Leo and Oscar nominated performance by Tom Hardy (who was robbed, by the way). Very edge of your seat stuff from beginning to end. Two hours of overwhelming visual and sensory brilliance.

3. SING STREET An uplifting and heart-warming (I know, I’m sorry!) coming of age tale set in Dublin during the 80s. A young outsider starts a band in order to impress an older girl, along the way learning about The Clash, Joy Division, The Cure, New Order et al. The soundtrack was enough to entice me but the film goes beyond expectations and is a beautifully crafted triumph and a return to form for writer/director John Carney.

4. THE HUNTING GROUND Whilst it may not be my best film of the year, The Hunting Ground is the most important. A startling expose of rape crimes on US campuses, their institutional cover-ups, and the devastating toll they take on students and their families. This shit happens. And more people need to realise it and do something about it. Affecting, alarming, distressing and frustrating. A must watch for everyone. This stuff needs to be heard and discussed.

5. 10 CLOVERFIELD LANE Waking up from a car accident, a young woman finds herself in the claustrophobic bunker of a man (John Goodman) who claims that the outside world is now uninhabitable. The reliably brilliant Goodman gives a career best, is he/isn’t he, performance. A fantastically tense, thrilling and almost flawless little movie that is thankfully not quite ruined completely by the ill-advised last five minutes. Other than that though, wonderful.

6. THE LOBSTER Greek director Yorgos Lanthimos' The Lobster is one of the strangest comedies in recent memory but also one of the best. In a dystopian near-future, a single man (Colin Farrell) checks into a hotel where, by law, all singletons must find a mate within 45 days or be transformed into the animal of their choice. A hilariously deadpan examination of love, relationships, marriage, and the basic human need for connection. Not for everyone’s tastes, but certainly for mine.

7. SWISS ARMY MAN To say that Swiss Army Man is not going to be for everyone is an understatement. However, if the concept of Daniel Radcliffe as a loveable, flatulent corpse is something that sounds somewhat appealing then there is an awful lot to truly enjoy in this bizarre, unique and idiosyncratic film. Equal parts low brow and high brow, stupid and touching. Just go with it.

8. GREEN ROOM In the aftermath of a murder, a young punk rock band find themselves trapped in a secluded venue run by neo-Nazis. The most hardcore and relentless thriller in years, and exercise in extreme, nail-biting suspense, anchored by a terrifying and understated performance from Patrick Stewart as head honcho Nazi man. Lean and mean B-movie brilliance.

9. CREED Nobody was really crying out for a seventh film in the Rocky saga. Certainly not one that would replace Stallone with a younger model. It would never work! Creed, however, certainly does work and works wonderfully. Never straying too far from what made the original Rocky films great but also adding in grit, heart and true power. Stallone’s Oscar nominated return is affecting, Michael B. Jordan continues to exude charisma and ability in every performance and I am becoming increasingly impressed with director Ryan Cooler, who after Fruitvale Station and now this, is proving to be a true talent.

10. I, DANIEL BLAKE The lives of two people struggling on benefits in modern Britain intertwine as the help each other to simply get by and get on. I, Daniel Blake’s depiction of life on the dole makes for a brutal, often uncomfortable watch. As well it should. But it is also full of humour, hope and wit. At 80 years old Ken Loach has still very much got it.

WORST FILMS OF 2016:

1. GHOSTBUSTERS When this film was initially released I held off reviewing it for political reasons; there was so much furore around the fact that the cast was all female that anyone who spoke out against it was immediately labelled a closed minded misogynist. Now, I think enough people have seen it to realise that this is just a really, really terrible movie. The fact that the cast are all women is of no consequence, the fact that they are the WRONG women along with the WRONG script and the WRONG director, kind of is. Headache inducing, depressing and maddeningly dreadful.

2. SAUSAGE PARTY I like me some Seth Rogen, though the films he puts effort into and the films he makes while stoned are becoming increasingly obvious. This is clearly the latter. A dumb concept can’t cover the fact that this is simply not funny or entertaining. How it got made in the first place is beyond me.

3. SUICIDE SQUAD It should have been easy. David Ayer, Jared Leto and Margot Robbie? They should have knocked it out of the park! What happened?! As it is, Suicide Squad is barely a movie. With so much to work with and so many characters everything is glossed over and the whole thing comes across as a 2 hour trailer for a film that we are never getting… and doesn’t look that great anyway.

4. INDEPENDENCE DAY: RESURGENCE When I was 11 or 12 one of my best mates at school was very much into video games, I never really have been. He always had the latest consoles and games. When I went round to his house after school, if it was raining or dark outside I used to have to sit quietly and watch him play on this PlayStation, or whatever, for hours on end. Politely staring blankly at the shapes, colours and noise whilst actually taking very little enjoyment from the experience. This is what Independence Day: Resurgence is like. That they managed to gather the majority of the old cast is incredible. This is really an embarrassment for all involved and everyone should be thoroughly ashamed.

5. LIGHTS OUT A horror movie should be scary right? That’s kind of the point? An interesting concept (ghost can only been seen in darkness and disappears in the bright) is bogged down in unnecessary context and exposition. Dull.

well, today was fine. I didn’t set a wake up alarm at all so I woke up sometime after 12 lol and just was kinda lazy and stayed in bed for a while before finally getting up. I hadn’t made a proper breakfast in forever since we’ve been getting breakfast so much, so I made a blueberry dutch baby which was of course very good, and I ate it while I looked at internet stuff and tried to decide what I wanted to bake today. I was disappointed in my last batch of macarons, idk what I did wrong but for some reason the cookie part tasted really nutty from the almond flour which is not something I’ve had an issue with in previous batches so idk what’s going on here. The cotton candy buttercream I made to go with them though is on point, so that’s a win at least. I was debating between just making some normal meringue cookies or starting the homemade oreos project, which was going to be a bit of an undertaking. I’d made a recipe of them before and it turned out pretty well, but it was very complicated and took a lot of effort, and I think this recipe is going to be even more complicated, but hopefully I’m a better baker now so I can deal with it better. basically the thing is bon appetit magazine (or however you spell it) has been putting out youtube videos of a pastry chef trying to recreate iconic snacks and such and at the end of each video they give you the recipe they ended up with, so I’ve been wanting to try to do their oreos, it’s just rather complex. I decided for today I would just stick with meringues, mostly because there aren’t a whole lot of people around right now (cough Jess cough) to eat them and I’d rather make them when they were fresh for people to eat. So I started the meringues. this was a recipe for a swiss meringue, as opposed to a french one, and a swiss one required combining the egg whites and sugar over a double boiler until the sugar is dissolved, then whipping them into stiff peaks, so I managed to do that, and then added a few drops of purple food coloring (just to change it up a little, so they’re like a light lavender color) and a few drops of the cotton candy essence I’ve been using in recipes. It was super sticky so getting it into the piping bag was a bit of a mess, it actually reminded me a lot of marshmallow fluff in both taste and feel, and I mean it was probably pretty close to it. but I got it into the piping bag eventually and piped them out, then stuck them in the oven to bake. This recipe was going for “chewy” meringues instead of crunchy ones, so they were being backed for a bit shorter. they came out pretty good except almost all of them cracked in some way, I don’t remember what the issue is that makes them crack but I know I read it somewhere so I’ll have to look that up. Between all of this I was of course also cleaning the kitchen and doing the dishes as I continued to make things. After they were done the question was of course do I want to make vanilla pudding with the two egg yolks I have left over? and of course the answer is yes because I have a really foolproof recipe that gives great results every time, so I did that and it turned out quite nicely. I eventually made myself a grilled cheese (one of these days I’m going to need to eat meat, but today is not that day) and sat on the couch to watch some game of thrones, ended up finishing the sixth season, and let me just say, holy crap. so much good and crazy stuff happening. First off, I love Jon and Sansa being a united front to take back Winterfell and all the ass kicking they did doing that. I LOVED Sansa finally getting to kill Ramsay, I’ve been waiting for the son of a bitch to die for way too long now. Rickon :( I kinda knew it was coming though. But let me tell you, I was absolutely living for 1) Sir Davos fucking screaming at everyone over what they did to Shireen, and also 2) the pint sized Lady Mormont fucking eviscerating all the old men who were the other leaders of the houses and just fucking lambasting them for their cowardice, like girl, I fucking love you you perfect child. Let’s see what else. Arya getting revenge of the Frey guy (I think that’s his name?) was fucking epic, and I hope she continues to use her newly found assassin training to continue to kick ass and avenge her family, but I also hope she makes it to Jon and Sansa soon, they should be together. the battle scene between the Stark army and the Bolton army was pretty intense, definitely open of the longer straight up battle sequences I’ve seen in a show, and of course we all know they do not hold back on the gore in this show, so that was ever-present. Oh, and my girl Daenerys. I’ve been warned she’s going to be making some bad decisions in the future, so I’m trying to brace myself for that. Them sending off the masters was pretty epic. Also the scene between her, Yara, and Theon was great, the banter between the two women was fucking amazing, so that was fully enjoyable. but yeah I think those are my abbreviated thoughts for now (I would perhaps go into more details if it wasn’t past 1 am). After I watched two episodes of 30 Rock, funny as always, then started getting ready for bed and here we are. Like I said, it’s late, so I’m gonna end here and go to bed. Goodnight darlings. Sleep well.

Sleep Smarter: 21 Proven Tips to Sleep Your Way To a Better Body, Better Health and Bigger Success (Stevenson, Shawn)

                                                                                                                                    ANNOTATIONS

 1.       If there’s light in your bedroom, your body is picking it up and sending messages to your brain and organs that can interfere with your sleep.

2.       Melatonin has been proven to: Improve immune system function Normalize blood pressure Reduce the proliferation of cancer cells and tumor growth (including leukemia) Enhance DNA protection and free radical scavenging Decrease risk of osteoporosis Decrease risk of plaques in the brain (like those seen with Alzheimer’s disease) Alleviate migraines and other pain Improve thyroid function Improve insulin sensitivity and weight reduction

3.       Not getting enough sleep, and not sleeping in darkness, will age you faster and suck away your vitality.

4.       Sleep experts suggest that your room be so dark that you can’t see your hand in front of your face.

5.       Even a simple nightlight could cause myopia in children and lead to significant vision problems

6.       Sleeping in total darkness is something that our genes expect us to do.

7.       zapping

8.       LEDs emit some of the most sleep zapping light spectrums of all.

9.       Sleeping in total darkness is something that our genes expect us to do.

10.   The alarm clocks with the white or blue digits are more disruptive than ones with red digits. You can start by simply covering the alarm

11.   Getting rid of the light pollution in your bedroom is a huge key to getting the most peaceful and rejuvenating sleep possible.

12.   Muscle, for example, is a reservoir for anti-aging hormones that help to protect your DNA from oxidation.

13.   It’s essential to being the healthiest version of yourself.

14.   Morning workouts are ideal if you want to get the best sleep at night.

15.   Reparative

16.   One of the big issues with working out late in the evening is that it significantly raises your core body temperature, and it can take upwards of five to six hours for it to come down again.

17.   your body goes through a process called thermoregulation to lower your core temperature to create the optimal environment for sleep.

18.   it’s also foolish to interrupt your sleep to get up at 3 a.m. to go trudge along on the treadmill.

19.   exercise at the best time to have the body and health you deserve.

20.   Remember, we are not just products of our environment; we are creators of our environment!

21.   His workouts were short, but intense, and within days everything changed. He said I don’t know what you did, but I slept like a bay-be.”

22.   purpose of your running is not for fat loss, but instead, it’s meditative and something that you just enjoy, then go for it! Just be aware and be smart about it, and To get the best hormonal response, you need to lift heavy weights.

23.   at least 50 percent of Americans sleep with their cell phones right by their side.

24.   surefire

25.   Ending your day by kissing your cell phone goodnight and laying it by your side is another surefire way to set yourself up for failure.

26.   lingering

27.   the spectrum of light emitted from your cell phone screen triggers your brain to secrete more “daytime hormones” which delays and reduces the secretion of the sleepy time hormone melatonin.

28.   out-of-whack,

29.   Electric fields are easily blocked by walls and other objects, but magnetic fields can pass through walls, buildings, and the human body with ease. EMFs have been found to cause disruption in communication between the cells in our bodies.

30.   The World Health Organization has now classified cell phone radiation as a Class B carcinogen.

31.   children and teens are at greatest risk, both for parotid gland tumors and brain tumors, because their thinner skull bones allow for greater penetration of cell phone radiation.

32.   remember a time very clearly when cell phones didn’t exist, whereas countless people alive today

33.   issue today is that kids face longer lifetime exposure. I remember a time very clearly when cell phones didn’t exist, whereas countless people alive today were born into the widespread use of cell phones.

34.   I remember a time very clearly when cell phones didn’t exist, whereas countless people alive today were born into the widespread use of cell phones.

35.   They act like they’re going to fallout and die if they don’t have their cell phone within texting distance.

36.   Don’t keep cell phones around your body needlessly, and communicate this to the young people in your life as well. And, knowing these effects, why in the world

37.   Get the electronics out of your bedroom!

38.   Keep your bedroom reserved for sleep and sex.

39.   Having these electronics in your bedroom is like a first-degree assault on your sleep.

40.   Many people use their phone as a Swiss Army Knife to replace a lot of other useful devices.

41.   Just stop using your cell phone if you don’t have to.

42.   union. If you want to get the TV out of your bedroom and you are worried that your partner won’t want to go along with it, simply have a compassionate heart-to-heart with them. Explain why this is important to you, and ask them if they’d be willing to work with you on this because you respect them and want them to be happy as well.

43.   If you want to get the TV out of your bedroom and you are worried that your partner won’t want to go along with it, simply have a compassionate heart-to-heart with them. Explain why this is important to you, and ask them if they’d be willing to work with you on this because you respect them and want them to be happy as well.

44.   One of the most overlooked problems with getting great sleep is having too much body fat on your frame. Being overweight causes severe stress to your internal organs, your nervous system, and disrupts your endocrine system like few things can.

45.   People with a healthy weight showed a five percent increase in cortisol levels after consuming a meal, while cortisol levels of overweight and obese individuals increased by a whopping 51 percent! These high cortisol levels translate to higher blood sugar, lower insulin sensitivity, and increased levels of inflammation.

46.   One of the more obvious issues that being overweight can have on sleep quality is sleep apnea.

47.   When we talk about weight loss, we’re talking about an issue that plagues millions of people worldwide each year.

48.   Your body’s major fat-storing hormone is insulin. You may think of it only in regards to diabetes, but it’s one of the most important hormones to your survival (and it can make you very fat if you don’t know how to turn it off).

49.   Increasing protein intake led to enhanced weight loss and improved blood fat levels.

50.   By eating a higher ratio of protein and healthy fats you’ll enable your pancreas to produce more glucagon instead of insulin. Glucagon triggers the breakdown of stored fatty acids for fuel, and is essential to utilize if fat loss is your goal.

51.   Micronutrients are things like the vitamins, minerals, trace minerals, phytonutrients, and enzymes that all enable our body to function at its highest level. Simple mineral deficiencies like low magnesium can lead to over-eating regardless of your macronutrient focus.

52.   Remember, fat loss is all about the hormones!

53.   Bottom line... to get the body you want to have, you have to get reconnected to nature again.

54.   Again, leptin is known as the “satiety hormone” because it plays such an important role in regulating appetite. Chances are, when you’re tired or sleep deprived, this is the hardest time to resist the junk food that you know you should be avoiding.

55.   Whereas if you eat a higher carb snack before bed, your blood sugar will spike, and the impending blood sugar crash can be enough to wake you up out of sleep.

56.   eat right before bed

57.   Give your body a solid 90 minutes (more is better) before heading off to bed after eating.

58.   Keep insulin down through the first part of your day

59.   A breakfast of a vegetable omelet, sliced avocado topped with kelp granules (a sea veggie that’s great for thyroid function), and some omega-3 supplements is a hormone healthy way to start your day.

60.   Green leafy vegetables like spinach, some berries, protein powder, some cacao powder (real chocolate powder), cinnamon, unsweetened almond milk, and maybe half a small banana or stevia to make it taste nice.

61.   Start your body off in a fat-burning state, instead of a fat-storing state.

62.   One of the most valuable, and overlooked aspects of sleep, is an operation called memory processing. This is where short-term memories and experiences get converted into long-term memories. Memory processing is predominantly

63.   That you actually get smarter while you sleep? One of the most valuable, and overlooked aspects of sleep, is an operation called memory processing. This is where short-term memories and experiences get converted into long-term memories. Memory processing is predominantly

64.   One of the most valuable, and overlooked aspects of sleep, is an operation called memory processing. This is where short-term memories and experiences get converted into long-term memories.

65.   sound sleepers.

66.   It’s possible that alcohol affects women’s sleep more because women metabolize alcohol faster than men.

67.   One of the more obvious sleep interruptions from drinking alcohol before bed is the uncanny need to urinate.

68.   Getting up to relieve your bladder interrupts your sleep pattern because, well, you’re peeing.  Every time you

69.   Drinking close to bedtime can also exacerbate current health problems that someone is dealing with.

70.   It’s possible that alcohol affects women’s sleep more because women metabolize alcohol faster than men.

71.   Drinking alcohol is synonymous with belly fat, so obviously this will not help in your weight-loss campaign.

72.   To help nullify the effects of the alcohol faster, you need to drink more water to help flush out the metabolic waste products left behind.

73.   Alcohol is also a diuretic, meaning it will cause your body to expel more fluids and increase your likelihood of dehydration.

74.   chiropractor

75.   Any good chiropractor can educate you on the fact that the brain stem running through your spine is directly connected to every major organ in your body. If your spine is compromised and there’s a break in the information between your brain and your body, chronic and catastrophic problems can take place. Some of these problems can be rooted in the way you’re sleeping.

76.   The reality is that your sleeping position matters.

77.   gravitate

78.   Many experts will tell you that sleeping on your back is the ideal position to be in.

79.   You will also have less likelihood of digestive distress, like acid reflux, in this position.

80.   Many experts will tell you that sleeping on your back is the ideal position to be in.

81.   sleeping on your back allows your facial skin to breathe and you’ll be less prone to having breakouts and early-onset wrinkling. The downside of sleeping on

82.   sleeping on your back allows your facial skin to breathe and you’ll be less prone to having breakouts and early-onset wrinkling.

83.   your spine can be in the best position here

84.   The downside of sleeping on your back is the greater likelihood of snoring and sleep apnea.

85.   This can be remedied by losing excess body fat and utilizing a different sleep position.

86.   Using a huge pillow: Some people’s beds look like a full-on pillow convention. It’s okay to have a bunch of pillows for decoration, but this does not mean that you have to sleep on all of them. Having a pillow (or pillows) that are too big under your head while lying on your back, totally misaligns the natural curve of your spine. You can end up with neck pain, back pain, headaches, or even worse. There’s also poor circulation to your brain all night because the blood is trying to move uphill past Mount Pillow.

87.   Break the pillow addiction immediately, because it’s bad business for your back and your brain.

88.   You don’t have to get the most fancy-pants mattress in the world, just make sure that you’re not sinking in so much that your spine’s natural curve is compromised..

89.   lie on their bellies

90.   On the brighter side, some research shows that lying on your stomach can help prevent snoring and some symptoms of sleep apnea.

91.   Lose the pillow: If you’re going to sleep on your belly, then ditch the pillow, because you really don’t need

92.   Lose the pillow: If you’re going to sleep on your belly, then ditch the pillow, because you really don’t need it.

93.   Side sleeping can be a quick fix for snoring and help to improve breathing, more so than lying on your back. Sleeping

94.   Sleeping on your side (the left side in particular) has been reported to ease troublesome digestive problems like acid reflux and heartburn.

95.   The downside, as most side-sleepers know, is the dreaded “dead-arm” and finger numbness from this position. Sleeping

96.   The downside, as most side-sleepers know, is the dreaded “dead-arm” and finger numbness from this position.

97.   slathered

98.   novocaine.

99.   Sleeping on your side (the left side in particular) has been reported to ease troublesome digestive problems like acid reflux and heartburn.

100.                        There’s nothing better than going to sleep with, and waking up with, your favorite person each day.

101.                        Play Your Position Power Tip #1 Our sleep position habits are just like any other habits: they can take some time to change.

102.                        The simple solution is to communicate with love and respect.

103.                        “My bed is a magical place where I suddenly remember everything I was supposed to do.”

104.                        People hop into bed, and then proceed to think about the when, where, who, why, what, and hows of their life… all while they’re supposed to be sleeping. If this sounds familiar to you, then you have a serious issue with something we call “inner chatter.”

105.                        “My bed is a magical place where I suddenly remember everything I was supposed to do.”

106.                        turn the volume down

107.                        The inner chatter that you experience is a result of the stress and untamed busyness of the day.

108.                        That important practice is meditation. Meditation doesn’t have to be complicated,

109.                        It also doesn’t require you to sit cross-legged on the floor, chanting a mantra, either. It can be as simple as sitting quietly and focusing on your breathing, counting your steps as you walk around the park, or you can even turn everyday activities like taking a shower or washing your clothes into a great meditation by follow a few basic principles.

110.                        The more you meditate, the more calm and presence you’ll have in your day-to-day life.

111.                        meditation increases “feel-good” hormones and endorphins, lowers stress hormones like cortisol, and even reduces inflammation in our body.

112.                        people trained to meditate over an eight-week period were better able to control specific type of brain waves called “alpha rhythms.”

113.                        Our data indicate that meditation training makes you better at focusing, in part by allowing you to better regulate how things that arise will impact you.”

114.                        meditation alters the structure of your brain, thickening the regions associated with attention and sensory processing.

115.                        meditation lowered blood pressure and reduced the risk of heart disease and stroke.

116.                        people begin a meditation practice.

117.                        Stress is at the top of the list of reasons why people begin a meditation practice.

118.                        meditation is an effective treatment for insomnia.

119.                        “Results of the study show that teaching deep relaxation techniques during the daytime can help improve sleep at night.”

120.                        Whereas using drugs to treat insomnia is associated with organ damage, hormone disruption, and significant chemical dependency.

121.                        Beta waves (15-40 Hz): This is the brain rhythm in the normal state of wakefulness, associated with thinking, conscious problems solving, and attention towards the outer world.

122.                        The “alpha state” is where meditation begins and it’s a brain wave frequency that heightens your imagination, visualization, memory, learning, and concentration.

123.                        Theta waves (4-8 Hz): Theta brain waves are present during deep meditation and light sleep,

124.                        slowest of the frequencies and is experienced in deep, dreamless sleep.

125.                        occasionally in very experienced meditators. The delta state is critical to the body’s healing processes.

126.                        The delta state is critical to the body’s healing processes.

127.                        The ability to change your brain waves is why meditation works.

128.                        One of the best times for meditation is when you’re already close to the alpha and theta brain waves. This would be as soon as you wake up in the morning, or right before bed at night.

129.                        If you ever find yourself in a situation where you wake up too soon and have trouble going back to sleep, simply lay in your bed and practice a breathing meditation to put your brain into the alpha and/or theta state to mimic some of the benefits of the sleep you would normally be missing out on. This is an incredible

130.                        This is an incredible resource to have at your disposal when you need it. It’s all about having tools

131.                        This is an incredible resource to have at your disposal when you need it.

132.                        If you decide to meditate at night to help you wind-down for sleep, try doing it before you get into the bed, not while you’re in bed.

133.                        busy-minded people

134.                        meditation/mindfulness practice

135.                        Take a deep breath, breathing in for five seconds, holding for five seconds, then breathing out for five seconds, and holding out for five seconds. Do this sequence three times.

136.                        Lay peacefully on your back with a comfortable pillow to support your head if you need one. Take a deep breath, breathing in for five seconds, holding for five seconds, then breathing out for five seconds, and holding out for five seconds. Do this sequence three times. Now shift your focus to breathing and circulating that oxygen to your toes. Visualize the air coming in through your nose then traveling down to your toes, and then back out (following the same breathing count above). Next, move your attention to your feet. Breathe in through your nose and circulate the air to your feet following the same breathing count above (five seconds in, five seconds hold, five seconds out, five seconds hold). Next, move your attention to your ankles, then your shins, then your knees, then your thighs, going all the way up your body until you gently drift away. Many people fall asleep before reaching their knees. You’ve got to experiment and find out what works best for you. Give this one a try anytime you like.

137.                        Today numerous studies are proving the true efficacy of this ancient plant. For example, a study highlighted in Molecular Medicine Reports showed that chamomile flavonoids have significant anti-inflammatory properties and trigger COX-2 enzyme activity that reduces physical pain.

138.                        are not the ideal choices, due to the fact that they’re not natural herbal preparations like the previous three. These are isolated chemicals,

139.                        Some people swear by the sedating effects of GABA to help manage stress.

140.                        feel more groggy in the morning.

141.                        This goes for food, supplements, and even exercise. You’ve got to experiment to find out what works best for you with intelligence, safety, and the best results long-term.

142.                        This goes for food, supplements, and even exercise. You’ve got to experiment to find out what works best for you with intelligence, safety, and the best results long-term.

143.                        You’ve got to experiment to find out what works best for you with intelligence, safety, and the best results long-term.

144.                        testosterone therapy or estrogen therapy,

145.                        Do safe, smart, natural things first, then only bring the supplements in to “supplement” the good things you’re already doing.

146.                        Height, weight, gut health, stress levels, inflammation, and more are all factors that play into how much of a supplement would be ideal for you.

147.                        “Going to sleep early and waking early syncs the body clock with the earth’s natural circadian rhythms, which is more restorative than trying to sleep while the sun’s up.”

148.                        There was a time, not that long ago in our history, that humans were prey, and in tremendous danger if they were rummaging around at night.  It’s often forgotten

149.                        There was a time, not that long ago in our history, that humans were prey, and in tremendous danger if they were rummaging around at night.

150.                        Sure, you can smell the lady walking past you at the gym wearing far too much perfume (what is she trying to cover up anyway?) but nocturnal animals like the opossum can smell trouble from a mile out.

151.                        Truly, what good is innovation if we don’t have our health to enjoy it?

152.                        Quote

153.                        It’s not just how you sleep, but when you sleep, that helps to create the best version of you.

154.                        Waking up earlier obviously isn’t the only factor with getting good grades, but it’s definitely a correlation to take notice of.

155.                        early birds are more proactive than evening people, and so they tend to do well in business

156.                        Other studies suggest that night-lovers tend to be smarter and more creative than morning types, have a better sense of humor and can be more outgoing in some instances.

157.                        So, whether you identify yourself as a morning person or night owl, you can do amazing things with your life.

158.                        you’re health is up to par to create the life you really want.

159.                        honoring your body’s natural hormonal clock. Humans are designed to be up during the day and sleeping at night. Being a “night owl” is

160.                        Other studies suggest that night-lovers tend to be smarter and more creative than morning types, have a better sense of humor and can be more outgoing in some instances.

161.                        So if you’re goal is to wake up at 6 a.m. and you are currently getting up at 8 a.m., set your alarm for 7:45 a.m. instead. Do that for a few days, then move to 7:30 a.m., then move to 7:15 a.m. and so on. This will allow your body to adapt to the new schedule in a much healthier and sustainable way.

162.                        The night before, think of one thing you’d like to do in the morning that excites you. It could be something you want to write, or a new yoga routine, or meditation, or something you’d like to read, or a work project that’s got you fired up.

163.                        Yes, jump out of bed. With enthusiasm. Jump up and spread your arms wide as if to say, “Yes! I am alive! Ready to tackle the day with open arms and the gusto of a driven maniac.” Seriously, it works. 3.

164.                        Put your alarm across the room.

165.                        Then, get into the habit of going straight to the bathroom to pee once you’ve turned it off. Once you’re done peeing, you’re much less likely to go back to bed. At this point, remember your exciting thing. If you didn’t jump out of bed, at least stretch your arms wide and greet the day.

166.                        beat the urge to go back to bed,

167.                        When you get out of bed get your senses stimulated with something good. A common thing to do is to get that coffee or tea brewing and drink it. The smell, taste, and touch are all enlivening for you senses.

168.                        I’m a huge advocator of drinking a big glass or two of water first thing in the morning. I call this an “inner bath.” This will replenish your hydration levels that went down while sleeping, help your body to clear out metabolic waste products, and give you a sensory stimulation to help wake up your body.

169.                        use more of your senses by turning on some good music and

170.                        use more of your senses by turning on some good music and opening the curtains to let in the natural light.

171.                        diurnal patterns of the earth.

172.                        By waking up early, you start helping your endocrine system link up with the diurnal patterns of the earth. Get up when the sun rises.

173.                        “For early to bed, and early to rise will make a bear happy, and healthy, besides.” Early to Rise Power Tip Go to bed within 30 minutes of the same time each night and wake up at the same time each day.

174.                        cortisol, then going to bed earlier and taking advantage of the natural release of melatonin. A quote from one of my son’s favorite books, the epic masterpiece, Winnie the Pooh: “For

175.                        “For early to bed, and early to rise will make a bear happy, and healthy, besides.”

176.                        Go to bed within 30 minutes of the same time each night and wake up at the same time each day

177.                        Remember, a consistent sleep schedule is important for your health.

178.                        attire

179.                        thermoregulation is a critical aspect of managing sleep quality. Research shows that certain forms of insomnia are linked to faulty body temperature regulation, and an inability to cool

180.                        thermoregulation is a critical aspect of managing sleep quality. Research shows that certain forms of insomnia are linked to faulty body temperature regulation, and an inability to cool down enough to enter deeper stages of sleep.

181.                        putting on clothes that will inherently affect the quality of your sleep.

182.                        Clothing that is too tight can literally cut off the flow of your lymphatic system. Your lymphatic system is the cellular “waste management” system of your body, and an important part of your immune system. It transports and circulates extracellular fluid throughout your body, and you actually have four times more lymph fluid than you have blood.

183.                        it’s cut off in any way, it’s like bending a water hose and blocking its ability to flow out. The water pressure will swell, and you can mess up your internal pluming or worse.

184.                        The most common culprit here is tight socks. You’ll know this because when you pull your socks off, you can still see the imprint of the sock perfectly on your skin. It’s a nice party trick, but this is not good at all.

185.                        study found that women who slept in their bra had a 60 percent greater risk for developing breast cancer.

186.                        When you take off your bra and see those indentions around your back, sides, shoulders, and breasts, that’s a clear indication that you’re cutting

187.                        When you take off your bra and see those indentions around your back, sides, shoulders, and breasts, that’s a clear indication that you’re cutting off lymphatic flow and circulation.

 188.                        Wearning Bra

189.                        study found that women who slept in their bra had a 60 percent greater risk for developing breast cancer.

190.                        Many women have been trained to wear their bra 24-7 for fear of what society will think, sagging breasts, and even back pain. Though these ideas can become very real to an individual, the research simply shows that these worries are not valid.

191.                        Bras can make breasts look amazing while they’re being worn. But if the breasts are constantly held weightless by the bra, they have very little opportunity to develop the ability to support themselves. It’s just like any other body part, if you don’t use it, it will atrophy.

192.                        Women: Boy shorts, your own or your significant other’s t-shirt or boxers,

193.                        If you and your partner both sleep in the nude, you can be reaping the benefits of the feel-good hormone oxytocin.

194.                        Oxytocin is a potent anti-stress hormone. It reduces signs and symptoms of depression, combats negative effects of cortisol, and helps regulate blood pressure.

195.                        We are cooped up in our homes or offices, spending more time indoors consuming technology, and less time interacting with the source that all of our technology comes from. Sure, we may walk outside to get into our cars, but most of us wear non-conducive rubber-soled shoes that ensure our bodies never get that intimate connection. We rarely touch the ground, rarely touch a tree, and rarely touch the source that creates every cell in our body. Scientist are discovering that this is having a huge impact on our health.

196.                        All the rage in health and nutrition today has been centered around antioxidants. Antioxidants carry free electrons that neutralize free radicals and stop overly-aggressive oxidation right in it’s tracks. Inflammation is reduced, and health is improved.

197.                        Scientist have discovered that the earth’s surface is brimming with free electrons that are readily absorbed by the human body when they come in contact with each other. This is known as an electron transfer. The effects of this electron transfer are being researched rigorously, and the impact on sports performance, healing, and overall health are shocking.

198.                        “Grounding increases the surface charge on red blood cells and thereby reduces blood viscosity and clumping. Grounding appears to be one of the simplest and yet most profound interventions for helping reduce cardiovascular risk and cardiovascular events.”

198.

199.                        As for stress, it’s been confirmed that earthing has a measurable impact on stress reduction by shifting the autonomic nervous system from sympathetic to parasympathetic dominance, improving heart rate variability, and normalization of muscle tension.

200.                        grounding during sleep improved sleep quality, reduced pain, and lowered stress.

201.                        it’s absolutely critical to get your body in contact with the earth on a regular basis to displace the positive charge you’re carrying, absorb free electrons to improve your recovery, hormones, and heart health, and most importantly to get a great night’s sleep.

202.                        Get your direct Vitamin G. Make it a regular practice to get some quality time with your feet on the ground. This means conductive surfaces like soil, grass, sand (at the beach), and even living bodies of water like the ocean. There are other surfaces that are conductive, like concrete and brick, but their effectiveness depends on several factors. It’s best to get your Vitamin G (your daily interaction with the earth) from the soil and grass itself.

203.                        Get your direct Vitamin G. Make it a regular practice to get some quality time with your feet on the ground. This means conductive surfaces like soil, grass, sand (at the beach), and even living bodies of water like the ocean. There are other surfaces that are conductive, like concrete and brick, but their effectiveness depends on several factors. It’s best to get your Vitamin G (your daily interaction with the earth) from the soil and grass itself.

204.                        Plus, I bring my Earthing Sheets with me, and always get a great nights sleep just like I’m at home.

205.                        Plus, I bring my Earthing Sheets with me, and always get a great nights sleep just like I’m at home.

206.                        Well, in the year 2000, a study was conducted with 2,632 women and found that 39 percent of those who masturbate reported that they do it in order to relax.

207.                        Initially, putting the things that you’ve learned in this book into action will put you in a phase of conscious competence

208.                        It’s not that you were hypnotized by an evil mutant, it’s that you’re brain has freed up space to do other things because driving has become a strong unconscious competence. Your conscious mind can hop in if there’s an irregularity or problem, but overall your brain has this activity on cruise control. To put getting great sleep every night

209.                        Parents throughout time are well aware of the power of bedtime rituals for their kids. Some may include a warm bath, putting on pajamas, a bedtime story, relaxing music, or something as simple as a kiss on the forehead and a loving tuck into bed. If you establish a consistent bedtime ritual, your kids drift off to sleep before you know it.

210.                        Reading fiction or having someone else read you fiction is powerful for relaxing our overused, analytical left-brain. There are few things more capable of disconnecting you from your stress, worries, and tension than escaping to another world within the pages of a book.  Non-fiction can be okay if it’s a biography or something along those lines. But the best bet is too avoid the analytical, methodical, teaching, or training types of books.

211.                        A warm bath or shower shortly before bed can help you unwind and relax. Water by itself can have a very calming effect, but adding aromatherapy or magnesium bath salts to the equation can make it even better.

212.                        For the intents of a pre-bedtime ritual, you can use your journal to capture stray thoughts; to get any of the random ideas out of your head and out onto the paper. That alone will help free up mental space.

213.                        You can use a gratitude log to simply capture three to five things that you were grateful for today. It could be big things, it could be small things. Just the act of paying attention and writing them down to end your day will make you more receptive to all of the good things that happen that we end up taking for granted.

214.                        Evening Ritual Checklist: [ ] Electronic screens off 90 minutes (minimum) before bed  [ ] Stretch and/or bath or shower [ ] Read some fiction [ ] Brush your teeth [ ] Use the bathroom [ ] Journal [ ] Meditation, prayers, or give gratitude [ ] Lay down in bed to sleep [ ]Time to say goodnight

215.                        It is my hope that this book helps you to reconnect to nature, reconnect to joy, and reconnect to what’s most important about yourself.

216.                        if you make a mistake, forgive yourself and fix it.