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tanadrin · 5 years

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Of the many worlds

"There are some--and forgive me if this question seems a bit silly, perhaps you get it from new species all the time--but there are some who worry that with this discovery, with first contact, we humans will struggle in the future - that in understanding ourselves to no longer be alone, we also understand ourselves to no longer be special. Do you find that's often the case when a world discovers it's actually part of a greater interstellar community?"

Ambassador Molkudai cocked his head, putting on an almost quizzical expression; though the interviewer had been warned repeatedly that trying to read human expressions into the alien face was a recipe for misunderstanding. The Ambassador was not unexpressive--his long, narrow face had a kind of elegance, ended in soft lips that moved according to a fixed set of expressions that no doubt were of great significance to those who knew him well, and his large, bright eyes, though they were entirely inhuman in their particulars, nonetheless seemed to impart an electric, curious gaze at everything around him. He sat, awkwardly large, on the soft armchair across from the interviewer, his heavily-muscled, many-limbed body mostly statue-still, except when he made some small gesture for emphasis, though these seemed always to come at strange times and for strange reasons. Resting in one ear was a little electronic device which, the interviewer had been told, was a kind of translator. t was to this he now seemed to be listening.

Molkudai made another quick, fluid gesture. "I am afraid I find the question difficult," he said. His English was slow and heavily accented. Despite the translator, the interviewer was told, the Ambassador had had to learn English like everyone else. What was the point of the thing, then? But for eight weeks of study since first contact, he was doing remarkably well.

"Why do you fear you are lesser, for not being alone?"

"I suppose lesser isn't the word I would use," the interviewer said. "Not diminished in our capacities, only in our... rarity? Our value?"

The ambassador paused to listen to his translator again.

"I am not certain I understand. The concepts are a little strange to me, I think."

"We can move on to another question, if you'd prefer?" They'd already had to do this a few times. There were some questions people insisted on asking questions that even the interviewer--who was a journalist and a TV presenter, not a scientist--could have told them would just be confusing and frustrating for everyone involved. Religion, Earth politics, perceptions of Earth culture. I mean, honestly, they had landed less than three months ago--they barely had enough time to form an opinion on the weather, even *without* the language barrier. "Another issue of vocabulary, perhaps."

"No. Not at all," Molkudai said. "I mean, the question is perfectly intelligible to me. It is an issue of... values."

The interviewer perked up a little at this. The ambassador and his colleagues had been surprisingly cagey on their own values and beliefs in all their interactions with the humans so far--perhaps some kind of Prime Directive thing?

"You are creatures of rarity, yes? Creatures of loneliness-in-the-world?"

"I'm afraid I have to admit that this time I don't understand, Ambassador."

The ambassador fiddled with his translator for a moment.

"Scarcity economics?"

The interviewer raised an eyebrow. He knew what the aliens thought of their economic system, anyway.

"No, that is not the term. Infernal device!" The ambassador plucked the translator from his ear and slipped it into a pocket. "Useful for some things. Not others. Forgive me. It is... a help-of-memory, for words I do not know. We use them also to translate the things that are beyond language. Habits of the body, of the expression, of gesture. And for simulating the minds of aliens."

"Are we so strange?" the interviewer said, smiling.

"Yes and no. And this is what I mean. You are not so strange to me, an arnovate of the motile stage. Not much stranger than are most of my alien colleagues. Your body, your language, your psychology is that of a savannah-runner, a family-clan-maker, a gatherer, a live-young-birther, conditioned to life around your yellow sun, in a place where the trees fail and give way to grasses. You are not so far removed from that past that that is where your mind yet rests, just as I am not so far removed from the foggy swamps and the glowing nights of my ancient past--and where my most ancient kindred would have died of heatstroke and dehydration in an afternoon in your ancestral environment, yours would have succumbed instantly to the crushing pressure of mine. Yet even across bodies developed for such different places, and minds developed for such bodies, and cultures developed for such minds, we may speak. How very fortunate."

"With some help from technology."

"Less than we might hope."

The interviewer laughed. "Quite so, quite so. But this goes back to my question, I suppose: you and the other ambassadors have said that life out there"--gesturing vaguely up at the ceiling--"is very diverse. A dizzying array of species and worlds and cultures, many at very different stages of development. Cooperating, or at least not constantly fighting. In our own stories, we've often fancied ourselves unique, in some ways. Perhaps superior, at least in the narrow things we particularly prize. I guess we've had only other Earth animals to compare ourselves to. But I'd lay odds we must be quite average compared to the rest of the universe."

"Rarity, scarcity. Value in rarity, that is what I mean. Savannah-hunters, still! Mindset of fear of winter, fear of starvation, fear of loss. Must a thing be rare to have value? Is a star less brilliant for being part of a shoal of jewels in the night sky? I think not."

"Forgive me, but that seems a rather anemic platitude."

"Perlin noise."

"What?"

"Apologies. My mouth races ahead. Bear with an explanation, please.

"There are mathematical ways of generating pseudorandom noise; one such quick and easy method is called in English 'Perlin noise,' I believe. To the human or arnovate eye, the underlying mathematical formula is invisible. It is unpredictable, for we are, in the grand scheme of the universe, quite mathematically stupid, though perhaps if we were cleverer it would seem no more random than a list of the natural numbers, who next value can be quite easily inferred. Yet for all the randomness of such noise, it is not diverse. The pattern-recognition capacities of our brains, though very different in how they operate, would both be quickly bored by an endless sea of Perlin noise. No two regions would be quite alike--but none would be dissimilar enough from the others to justify our interest.

"You fear, maybe, that because the universe is filled with life, there will be nothing in the end to distinguish a human much. That here, on this world, are other savannah-hunters who give birth to a small number of live young; here on another world, city-builders struggling with the consequences of rapid industrialization; here, on another, and throughout our region of the galaxy, others unlike you in some details but like you in enough generalities that Earth must necessarily be nothing more than a footnote in the history of civilization.

"I wish to emphasize to you how utterly and entirely mistaken you are. Your error cuts to my heart like a spear of grief, for in it I see, I think, some of the ancient loneliness and privation of your kind. Out of it, you are accustomed to giving value to rarity, to prizing gold as much for its uncommon occurrence as for its shine. Alas! your view of the universe is too watery, too thin."

"It's not just about rarity, is it?" said the interviewer. "It may be a human value, but I don't think it's a foolish one, to want to feel like your life has purpose. What, in a vast, crowded cosmos, can any individual human hope to contribute in the way of math or science or art that hasn't already been done a million times before?"

The ambassador laughed--well, did whatever his version of laughing was. "Not at all a strictly human feeling. Yet I am delighted to inform you, you are still in error! Hmm, how to say..." He seemed to think for a long moment.

"I am no physicist, but my physicist friends inform me that, though often elegant and beautiful, the laws governing nature contain great depth and sophistication. And as you observe, the universe is vast--possibly infinite. Let us for argument’s sake restrict ourselves to a finite universe. A bounded one, even if it is in practical terms bounded only by the horizon of our best telescopes and the swiftest beams of light.

"For all the diversity of the configuration of matter and energy within this vast but finite universe, the term 'infinity' might still reasonably apply. For between the Big Bang and the death of the last star, no human, no arnovate, no machine intelligence of the highest order, could compute the total interesting configurations of matter and energy within that volume; to say nothing of the uninteresting ones as well.

"And even attending to the iron laws of physics, the merciless laws of physics, the tyrannical cruelty which requires our ships to limp at relativistic fractions across the voids between the stars, life may arise in an astounding variety of conditions. To be sure, chemistry favors some configurations over others. Worlds that teem with life are confined to a narrow band around long-lived, stable stars. Worlds on which that life masters steel and fire and interplanetary travel must have conditions which favor metallurgy and orbital flight. All true, all true. Constraints toward a common middle, perhaps. Limits on diversity.

"But oh, how foolish we are to suppose that even in that island in an island in an island of possibility there is in any practical sense a limit! Within those confines, the configuration space of environments, of biology, of evolutionary solutions to environmental problems, is still vast. Vast beyond reckoning! And of everything *else* that ensues--of minds which are built on these evolutionary substrates, of cultures and languages built on those minds--the scope of possibility blossoms outward yet again. Beyond exponential. Finite, maybe, in some austere and philosophical sense. Not in any practical one.

"You are thinking of the living worlds as banks of snow, yes? Fields of perlin noise. From far away, all the same. I shall tell you how we see the matter.

"Your sun was picked out as a candidate star for habitable exoplanets in the 102nd stellar survey from the star Daiamirra, and the presence of an oxygen-bearing world in the habitable zone confirmed two hundred and seven years later, when the first survey ships were able to get close enough to take careful readings. The instant this was confirmed--protocol at the time dictated at least five transits, though the scouts were overeager, and observed only three--a message was transmitted back to the Contact Institute to prepare a mission.

"When we received that message, every world around Daiamirra celebrated for seventy-four days. We declared the holiest of holidays, one that would be commemorated for all time. We sent word of our discovery to every inhabited star system within reach; even now, centuries since, I expect that that message is still winding its way from star to star, and I assure you, as certainly as I know that one and one is two, on every world that that message is received, the most solemn and the most joyous rituals are observed; the most abject thanks given to whatever gods are worshipped.

"And Earth is not unique in that respect. For each of the ten thousand living worlds, it has ever been the same. But even being one among ten thousand, it shall never be said Earth is not rare, or Earth is not beautiful. Its rarity and its beauty is utterly undiminished, though it is set against ten thousand planets equally rare and equally beautiful. And for each new world we find, our hearts are moved to joy and grief at once: joy, that we are so much less alone! Joy, that the universe contains such wonders in it! Grief, that they are so far away; that until our swift scouts and our alien gifts reach them, they shall believe themselves unknown, or forgotten.

"I know of no world even remotely like Earth. And I have studied thousands of worlds. I know of no world of brilliant blue skies where vast leviathans sing slow songs beneath the waves. I know of no world where the moon sometimes is framed by the sun as a burning ring, let alone where this event is so common that every tongue on the planet has a word for it. I know of no world of deep misty jungles where nonetheless ancient stone cities were raised, of no world where the silent can speak with their hands, of no world that burned two cities with nuclear fire then never used that terrible weapon again. I know of no world which, on visiting their satellite, left behind a message of peace, to whatever traveler might pass by in some distant day; I know of no world with your wars, and your sorrows, and your triumphs, for all these things are yours and yours alone, and I marvel, I revel, that I have lived to learn of them and see them.

"There is no world like yours. There is no people like yours. There is no world like Daiamir-Sho, with its towers that pierce the atmosphere; there is no world like Utashanna, whose forests are perpetually burning; there is no world like Farren, high above a deadly pulsar, whose people have never seen the sky; there is no world like Cairasten, all whose deserts are replaced by endless flowering meadows for one day every hundred years. And oh! You do not know of the lives of the saints of Irenost, the holiest martyrs in all the galaxy; you do not know of the joy of Ucaren, who redeemed a world from death; or of Palas, who bargained with the gods for the sake of all Creation, or of her sister, who crowned herself with the pains of hell to save her. You of course have your own tales and your own histories--but so does every world, and they are alike only in that they are as full of beauty and horror and triumph and ruin as yours.

"Earth is not a grain of sand on a beach. It is more like... a moment of time, within all the moments that make up a life. Nor do we, of the stars beyond, overlook its souls: for in microcosm, every soul is like a world. Like a world, a soul is vast, and full of things which are beautiful, and things profane.

"There is a ritual--once unique to the world of my home, but I have endeavored to commend it to others, and so I shall now commend it to you, and all who are listening. The ritual is thus: choose an arbitrary instant in time. Now, say, as my hand strikes the arm of this chair. In that moment, somewhere--on Earth, on Daiamir-Sho, on Utashanna or Cairasten, or somewhere yet unknown to us--a new soul has come into being. You do not know its name, its future, its family, or its condition. You know only that it exists. But that is holy. That is a thing of joy beyond all words. Hold that solemn and that joyful thought in your mind; carry it with you like a warm, comforting jewel. You may perform the inverse as well, of course, to mourn the dead whose names you do not know; to mourn the dead who will be forever forgotten. But you must remember, if you do, that they did live; and without all such lives, even the forgotten ones, we would not be here to seek one another out, to speak, to share our fates, to look up when the sun is hidden from view, and to observe the shining stars."

#tanadrin's fiction

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simplekpopstan · 6 years

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Love

**There are a lot of warnings for this fic, please read at your own discretion. Some of these themes are hard to stomach. I do not condone this type of relationship. If you are experiencing something similar to this please, PLEASE talk to someone and get help. In no way do I actually believe any of the boys would ever treat their significant other like this.**

Pairing: Kim Namjoon x Reader

**Warning(s)**: Emotionally abusive relationship, sort of physically abusive relationship, graphic drug use, forced drug use, implied cheating, skewed view of love, manipulation, dubious consent, sadism, mentions of sex, alcohol/drunk mentions, suicidal thoughts, angst

Summary: He controlled your life, the beating of your heart, the consistency of your breathing. Your life was in his hands and he played with it like a puppet master.

Genre: Angst to the absolute max, there is no semblance of fluff or etc. in this. (unless you got a fucked up view of love too)

Prompt: “You’re my toy.”

Song Inspiration: The Moment I Said It - Imogen Heap

Word Count: 1,427

Infatuation, love, the feeling of butterflies in your stomach all synonymous with the idea of unconditional care and compassion. A faithful emotion that all of mankind is looking for in some shape or form.

You thought you found all of those things, someone who made your blood sing with just a glimpse. He was the center of your world, taking up every centimeter of your being and each second of your day. Nothing could compare to the way he made you feel regardless of his disinterest for your beating heart. He effortlessly took over your mind and home. He was everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time. His time devoted to you was fleeting, he knew you were hooked by the moment he crossed the threshold of your apartment. You were caught in his headlights with no place to hide, you were done for.

His mood change happened during fall, you could feel the shift in him as the leaves shifted from green to shades of yellow and orange. Life had been good, amazing until this point, the two of you went out on dinner dates every Friday - happy just being in each other's company.

Everything was darker once winter's chill appeared, the shade of his hair, the color of his liquor, the bruises littering your skin. He stood perfectly straight, looking down upon your crippled form. Beyond proud of his newest painting on internal bleeding, a new masterpiece lying before him.

This was his love.

Pushing yourself up from bed to inspect the new lacerations across your back from his nightly game of pain, wincing as a harsh slap resounded through the bathroom. You must have woken him up too early. "I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again." Quickly left your mouth to avoid another session of torture.

His hands pressed softly against your back, the devil's eyes scanning the expanse of your body in the mirror. "This is what love looks like, you should be proud to bare these marks. It proves that someone cares about you in this world." Nails dug into your flesh as searing pain registered, he would never get tired of your cries. Nothing was more amusing than the sobs that wracked your body when he finished his painting. It was beautiful.

"How about you make me breakfast? Then I'll teach you more." Your neck moved on it's own accord, obediently nodding affirmation. He placed gentle peck to your temple, smirking at the control he had over you, a demon controlled your life, sucking away anything that made you an individual.

This was his love.

"Where do you keep getting these bruises from?" Your mother spoke up as she looked over your exposed arms. She glanced from you to Namjoon, meeting her gaze proved to be the challenge of a century. Fortunately, your caring boyfriend always at the ready with a new excuse to explain away his artistic creations. "Actually she just went to the doctor for a check-up, turns out she's extremely anemic, but she's on iron pills now. Nothing to worry about."

He brushed your mother off like a joke, watching as she relaxed into the couch - happy to know her daughter was far from danger. "Thank you, Joon. Taking such good care of my baby." She placed a hand on your shoulder, none the wiser to the way you moved from her touch. This monster had another one wrapped around his fingers with just a few honey glazed words, god his game had no flaws, everyone played swimmingly into his trap. He was untouchable.

Namjoon found the idea of spending a dinner your parents rather bland and unsatisfying, his mind was crying for him to do anything to get you to squirm at the dining table. While still holding conversation with your parents he crept his hand under the table, easily finding his fleshy target. Your skirt hiked up as his nails found purchase in your skin, leaving crescent shaped indents in its wake.

Your parents smiled and laughed as the devil played with their daughter under the table, enjoying the stupidity of those around him. This was all his fantasies coming true, no one knew better than to follow his charming features and lilted voice into the depths of hell.

Shaking from the fear of what your parents might notice, you attempted to pull away from his calloused touch. The reaction wasn't what he wanted, he abruptly pulled back at your disobedience - a scowl contorting his face into an unreadable mask. "I'm afraid we'll have to cut this short, (Y/n) and I have an emergency back at the apartment." His delicate tone covered any trace of undoubted anger.

He more or less ignored your parents as he rushed you to the car, only one thing occupied his mind. God he wanted you dead. Upon reaching the car out of sight of your parent's house, he pulled his fist back.

Moments passed as you felt the pain of knuckles meeting your jaw, the flashes of blood shook you to the core. As you crumbled to the ground, his touch hauling you into the backseat almost felt like that of a lovers - gentle and loving. But you knew better.

This was his love.

Clubs were his favorite place to show his power over you, he had forced you to drink more shots than you could count - each of them burning a hole in your throat.

Clubs were also your favorite place when it came to being near Namjoon, you were someone else when smashed between bodies and so drunk off your umpteenth shot that is was easy to forget the man you would be spending the night with.

Even Namjoon could take away your high with one quick swipe of the arm, leading you to a lounge that was far from friendly. You know this corner well even with your lack of steady, conscious thoughts - these people were beyond life, ascending every idea of heaven, their blood was singing with a rotten substance you had attempted to avoid your entire life.

The point of pulling away from the cruel male had come and gone, this way your fate for the night. Maybe God would take pity on you, maybe Namjoon would put too much in the syringe, maybe you would just pass out and feel the claws of the true devil digging into your arm, dragging you to the undeserved spot in hell.

You were so far gone, you could only watch on as he tightened the band to bulge out your veins, he was an expert. The syringe was filled to the perfect amount, pristine and ready to penetrate skin. Even your vodka buzz couldn't save from the initial pain of the prick, but you knew it would quickly wash away and ascend into a euphoric hallucination. Your fidgeting easily gave way to the force Namjoon was using to keep you in place, maybe this was love. He could take away the pain with a simple pin prick, truly he must have meant well if he was doing this for you, right?

Everything was beautiful, a spinning world that held gems like Namjoon - ready to hold onto you all night. You loved this feeling, you were free, maybe not as high from other substances but you felt blessed. The affliction of Namjoon's presence had finally changed to something pleasant, he made you feel heaven for once in your relationship.

Namjoon couldn't help but chuckle at your tinted cheeks, you were gorgeous with this new substance running through your veins. He leaned down to your ear, gingerly brushing his lips against the lobe. "Do you want to have some real fun, baby?" His breath reeked of alcohol as it whistled through his teeth. "You want to watch as I find a new toy? You'd like that wouldn't you, doll?" Glistening teeth lower to the taut skin of your neck, eventually smearing with blood as incisors broke skin. He was the personification of death but god did you love it.

"Anything for you." You were fully aware of the bitter taste of Namjoon and its affect on your life. But you couldn't imagine life any other way. You had already submitted to rotting away, at least you wouldn't be put in the ground alone. Your personal devil would be six feet under holding your hand at every step. Beatings, sex, and drugs - this was how he proved his love, you the willing victim always at the ready to accept his intimacy.

You loved him and you couldn't help it.

A/N: Honestly I hate how I ended this, I had planned on adding more to it but I couldn’t really bring myself to do it. I’m not fond of myself for writing this, it leaves a bad taste in my mouth so we’ll see how long I actually keep this up for. Once again I do not believe any of the boys would ever put someone through this, I was given a prompt and I wanted to write something so here it is. Sorry. Also this is slightly unedited so I would like to apologize for that and as my final note I am currently looking for a beta reader - I unfortunately can not catch all of my mistakes and there are major parts of writing where I lack finesse. Tbh I really liked how this read in the first few paragraphs and then it turned it to useless word vomit :/

#kim namjoon #kim namjoon x reader #bts #bts fic #bts imagines #bts drabble #dubious consent #trigger warning #tw #cheating #abuse #drug use #alcohol #angst #bts angst

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keywestlou · 3 years

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HAND SANITIZERS TOXIC

The FDA this week issued a warning. BEWARE of hand sanitizers. In January alone, hundreds were poisoned.

The hand sanitizers are ones primarily imported from Mexico.

In the January just concluded, there were more than 900 cases of accidental poisonings involving hand sanitizers. Five hundred involved children under the age of 5.

Poisoning can occur by the mere act of hand washing. Ingesting, also.

Nancy Pelosi is concerned about the safety of Washington lawmakers. She is uncomfortable especially with what she considers threats of violence from an “enemy” within Congress.

She may have a point. A lot of unbelievable trash coming out of the mouths of Representatives and Senators.

The Justice Building Blog discovered some “whatever happened to…..” A step back in time for those old enough to remember. Like “Whatever happened to predictability? The milk man and paper boy.”

Edgar Allan Poe’s The Raven was first published this day in 1845. One of the most popular books of all time.

Poe’s earnings not consistent with The Raven’s popularity even in the immediate years following publication.

Poe’s lifetime earnings from The Raven totaled $9. You read the number correctly. $9. In today’s money, $277.

Poe had other writings, made speeches, taught, etc. His total earnings for the 20 years he worked were $8,200. In today’s money, $191,087.

A comment in this morning’s Citizens’ Voice food for thought. Reflecting misplaced concerns: “Feed the homeless, not chickens.”

Information on wednesday’s Publix website clear evidence that the rich receive attention more rapidly than others.

Monroe County received 200 vaccines. Palm Beach County 8,000.

Concededly, Palm County has more citizens. However not 32 times more than Monroe County.

In every respect of our lives, the affluent always have a step up on others.

I see Governor DeSantis’ hand in the mess. He made the Publix deal and has been on the airwaves bragging/telling the people about it. Never the shortcomings from a distribution point of view however.

The CDC reported this week Florida has used only 53 percent of vaccine ready received. Where’s the other 47 percent?

Another bumbling result by DeSantis?

Today a significant one in American history. It was on this day in 1919 that the ratification of the Eighteenth Amendment was certified. Prohibition had arrived! A glaring error pushed by do gooders who knew not that of which they spoke.

Prohibition was a folly that wrought more evil than the consumption of legal alcohol.

Big time crime was born.

Key West’s Januarys are sometimes cold and sometimes hotter than you would believe. Tend however to be on the cool side rather than warm.

May Johnson was teaching school in the morning of this day in 1897. It was so cold that at 11 am the schools were closed.

May was happy to go home earlier. It gave her time later in the day to “write a long letter to Everest.”

DAY 4…..Greece The First Time

Posted on May 30, 2012 by Key West Lou

I survived today. I finally fell asleep this afternoon for four hours.

I am sitting at the computer in the library of the apartment I am a guest at. It is a library as you would imagine from days gone by. Two walls of books floor to ceiling. Furniture galore. The room is not small. Furniture all antiques. The desk I am working at is the strangest I have ever seen. Strange only because new to my eyes. Different. Long, tall, wide, fancy heavy wood. A poor description, but the best I can do. Old prints and paintings adorning the walls.

It is wednesday evening. Normally, I would be doing this blog in the morning. However, I must be up and out of here at 8 in the morning in order to get to the plane timely. I am not going out tonight. Too tired. So nothing will be missed by doing the blog at this time.

I hope to sleep tonight. Last night and this morning were disasters. I even took a pill this morning. I forget the name. It is what is taken in the United States to reduce swelling. It also induces sleep. It did not help me.

I lunched in at the apartment. The housekeeper took pity on me. She prepared a light lunch for me. She cooked a fish. A whole fish. Actually microwaved it. In oil. The fish is native to the Mediterranean Sea. I do not know its name. The name unimportant. The fish delicious!

She served me the fish and a fish knife. She said you know how to clean of course. I smiled and said, no. What would I know about deboning a fish and otherwise preparing it for consumption! She thought it cute that I was so inept.

I followed up the fish with a bowl of fresh strawberries.

When I was walking the streets of downtown Novara yesterday, I saw a chocolate shop. There were many. This one a Lindt. A Swiss company. The store had small thin hollow Easter bunnies. I love them! Bought one. Ate it as part of my lunch.

A couple of months ago, I read an article on Yahoo re chocolate producers. Lindt was listed as #1. The best chocolate in the world! I had asked Lisa to get me one for Easter. She still buys her father candy for Easter. She could not find Lindt in Key West.

I have spent a lot of time in bed the past 36 hours. Not necessarily sleeping. Trying to sleep. The mattress is wonderful. Hard. I love a hard mattress. This one the hardest I have ever slept on.

I inquired how so hard. The mattress is stuffed with sheep wool. Stuffed till the enclosure is at the breaking point. The covering holding the sheep wool was thicker than an American mattress and box spring combined. Big time comfortable! Even the pillows were so stuffed.

The mattress and pillows were not as down filled. The one I am sleeping on the rock of Gibraltar!

I mentioned the other day my acoustical theory about how pedestrians avoid cars. I was wrong. As far as I myself was concerned. Five times yesterday I almost got hit. I never heard the cars coming. Someone had to pull me aside each time. My theory needs adapting to I guess.

I am anxious to share with you my cherry and strawberry experience.

At dinner the first night, fresh cherries and strawberries were served. A huge bowl of each. Both looked anemic.

The cherries were small. The red coloring dull. Most yellowed.

A large bowl of water was set in the middle of the table. Spaghetti bowl size.

One of the guests had picked the cherries that afternoon. He took his ladder and climbed a tree to pick them. A bushel full.

I noticed everyone was picking up a handful of cherries and dipping their hand full in the water. Hand and cherries combined. Why, I asked. To clean the cherries was the response.

Although the cherries did not look appetizing, when in Rome do as the Romans do. I did. The cherries were the most delicious I have ever eaten

The strawberries looked anemic also. Small. Dull red. White in spots. Sweet! I asked if any sweetener was added. The host looked at me as if insulted. I explained why the query.

I shop at Publix in Key West. The cherries are huge and a deep purple. The strawberries fat and robust. No comparison between the taste of the fruit purchased in Key West and that eaten at the dinner party. The artificial additives to American fruit adds to its appearance, not taste. Whereas the natural fruit served in Novara with no artificial additives had a fantastically superior taste.

The weather is consistent. Hot by day, cold by night. Notice the use of the word cold as opposed to cool. From humidity in the afternoon to three blankets at night. The weather is much like that found in our Adirondack mountains in the summer. Think Old Forge. The only way to avoid the three blankets is to have body heat next to you which, unfortunately, I do not.

I will be in Athens tomorrow night. Another world I am told. I have been advised to be prepared to dance syrtachi and bouzouki. I am sure I have not spelled them correctly. My mind is already filled with Greek music. I can envision tomorrow evening and its pleasures.

So much for today. My next blog will report on my first day and evening in Greece. As much as some of you may not be able to wait to read it, I cannot wait to experience it.

Enjoy your day!

HAND SANITIZERS TOXIC was originally published on Key West Lou

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thisgodwontforgiveyou · 7 years

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letting go isnt so hard when youre smiling

im in a hospital, surrounded by my loving family, i hold my youngest grandchild’s hand feebly with mine, my digits wrinkled and anemic. i dont have long.

i look them in the eye, a single tear rolls down my face. my throat is too dry to speak, and my son in law helps me take a single tiny sip of water, which i almost choke on.

the atmosphere in the room is beyond grim. i look back at my tiny grandchild, the only person in the room besides me brave enough to cry. i look them dead in the eye, and gesture for them to lean closer.

i can still barely speak. only they will hear what i have to say to them. i smile softly, and the early morning light breaks through the window, a rich warm yellow gold. i utter my final words

“dance commander”

my body goes rock stiff, back arching in a violently seizure with my crotch thrust as far as possible in the air and i tremble incessantly as Electric Six’s entire discography plays with perfect accuracy in real time inside my head

everyone in the room is too terrified to get a doctor, and the doctor already in the room has gone dumb with fear. every so often you can vaguely hear my bones reverberating with the exact drum groove of specific electric six songs

after eight hours, forty five minutes and nineteen seconds, the exact length of electric six’s entire studio album discography, my body suddenly relaxes

im already pushing off the bed before my back hits the mattress, and do a flawless olympic vault over the assorted bodies of my kin, rendered unconscious by the lethal level of party radiation saturating the entire room

i run out of the hospital parking lot and am never seen again

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abiteofnat · 7 years

Photo

BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE CALCULATED FEASTING AT TASTE OF CHICAGO...

Because when your goal is to eat as much as possible, it becomes a game of food Sudoko. You have to manage salty with sweet, not tire yourself out with only fried foods, make sure there’s some kind of green in there, and the most important part- finding never-been-tasted tastes! After going 2-3 times a year for the past four years, it’s become difficult to find booths with new options that are both vegetarian and something I actually want to spend my golden tickets on.

In that case, you would think going to the Taste that much would get old! But it has remained so the opposite. I see it as my Six Flags, my Lollapalooza part 1, my... DARE I SAY... Hunger Games. (HA). It’s the one weekend every year that entirely dedicates itself to food with music on the side, instead of the other way around, and brings in thousands upon thousands of people. It’s kind of cool to see people of every part of Chicago together at this f r e e festival along Columbus, with restaurants from all over offering new cuisines and experiences for every attendee. People are gnawing into turkey legs, sticking forks into three different types of cheese fries at once, and just enjoying a day out with the fam in the middle of this amazing city. Pretty cool! Even when I’m sweating like a cold beer on a hot day and little children who are not mine and covered in ~sticky~ are stuck to my legs, it’s the best thing ever. I LOVE THE TASTE.

As per usual I ate a large amount of things and could have easily eaten soooo much more, however it was pretty clear they boosted the # of tickets per item at each booth. Usually it’s about 3-5 tickets for a “taste” of something versus the full item, but this year it was 4-6 tickets. I call BS. But, that’s why it becomes a fun game of arcade-prize selecting with the tickets! Before we dig into the meat of this photo essay style post, I want to give a giant shoutout to my new DSLR camera that has revolutionized the way I take photos for this blog. While iPhones do a great job taking people photos, the iPhone 6 that I own has taken quite a beating in my possession and has become a grainy disaster when focusing on anything detailed. Taking photos for the-hungry-sloth has now become my absolute favorite thing in the world, and photographing food is seriously tooooooooooo much of a passion for me because I get a HIGH from the crumb details you’re about to witness. Like, seriously, get ready to lose your shit because of how high-def this food looks. (I am so late to the professional game, y’all).

I didn’t post everything I ate, but these are the highlights!

Stop #1: PUNKY’S Pizza & Pasta

You know when you’re a kid and if you behave super well at the doctor’s office you get to choose a treat after? Like ice cream from your favorite place or McNuggets from McDonald’s? Fried ravioli at the Taste is my post-doctor treat. I wait for it, crave it, dream of it for 364 days and then the first morning of the Taste I wake up like it’s Christmas because I know it’s RAV DAY. I AM READY TO ZOOM ON THE BACK OF A PASSING PLANE DOWNTOWN BECAUSE HOT DAMN, THERE ARE TOASTY RAVIOLIS WAITING FOR ME.

My dear friends were rearing to go see local band Twin Peaks at the bandshell area where you can bring a blanket and get real cozy under the sun and Chicago’s skyline, however I needed a carbo boost or else they would get “hangry” Nat and not “calmly enjoying the free music” Nat. Usually I get the toasted ravioli from Tuscany’s tent, however this year we past by a new, checkerboard-clad tent that caught my eye and the smell of marinara sauce overwhelmed me and before I could stop myself my hands were throwing tickets like confetti at the nice young man behind the counter and THEY WERE M I N E.

These ravioli were breaded to perfection, fried evenly and not dried out at all, allowed the pasta to stay moist and not tough, and had the IDEAL cheese-pull once bitten into. The sauce was sweet, robust, but not too chunky and therefore got rid of the fear of dripping on my very ~girly~ skirt. I was in a cheese-y, saucy, fried-crumbs-errywhere blackout for a solid two minutes and then came back to earth a better person. Fried ravioli are always worth the ticket.

All smiles on the lawn, patiently waiting for Twin Peaks to start and enjoying the shade this fence attempted to give us. That twinkle in my eye? The afterglow of fried cheese.

Sorry, Tuscany tent, I’ll catch you next year.

Stop #2: La Mexicana

These paletas are the ROCKSTAR of the Taste! It’s hard to pass by anyone not holding a brightly-colored fruity refreshment, flavors ranging from watermelon (my pick) to strawberry to lemon-lime. They offer a much needed pick me up amidst all the “real food” options, or are the best sweet treat to use your final 3 tickets on at the end! Made with real fruit and a lot of love, these tastes or full size paletas are not something to miss. And super fun to slurp, which will become necessary after they begin to melt.

Stop #3: I’M THE WORST I DON’T REMEMBER?! If anyone knows where these tots were from, let me know! My friend got them had I h a d to photograph them, because if this isn’t #foodporn nothing is. Ugh. Tater heaven.

Stop #4: Brightwok Kitchen

I’m going to be honest, this did not initially catch my eye. As someone who uses the Taste to try a bunch of unhealthy food I would never order for a meal in real life, I avoid most healthy looking items. However, I am also so very anemic, and nothing there is protein/iron packed unless you eat copious amounts of meat... so I saw tofu and vegetarian friendly symbols and headed over. I was proved WRONG for being skeptical because this little bowl of goodness was sooo yummy! I got the taste of salad topped with tofu, edamame, carrots, sesame seeds, and a miso-ginger dressing that was surprisingly refreshing on a hot summer day. This place is located downtown by DePaul’s Loop campus, and I will for sure make a point to stop by there on my way to evening classes come the fall.

Stop #5: ONE OF THE SO MANY ITALIAN ICE BOOTHS. Can’t go wrong with a palate cleanser, and check out Ivana’s fantastic nails. She doesn’t even need a spoon to scoop some up!

Stop #6: Star of Siam

My foodie partner Erin RAN to this booth the minute we got to the Taste, as these potstickers are her version of my fried ravioli. They are very full of meat so I did not eat them, however I was enamored by their smell and enjoyed the pad thai as per usual. Not pretty to photograph though, it literally just looks like noodles.

Stop #6: Oak Street Beach Cafe

THESE SHRIMP BLOW BY MIND EVERY TIME. The garlic potatoes? Unreal. They are literally halves of whole potatoes cooked so perfectly and saturated with garlic, butter, and toasted on the outside to a delicious french fry consistency. OH my LORD. Me and Erin shared this full ticket price plate of wonderful, and I am still thinking about it.

Stop #7: O’Briens Restaurant and Pub

OK so this corn was the surprise of my life. As someone with a messed up jaw and a terrible fear of biting into an earn of corn due to past trauma, I was weary of Ivana’s desperate search for the corn. It was late in the afternoon, we were all sweaty, and I was already dreaming up the double scoop of Elephant Tracks ice cream I would force my dad to drive me to once I got back to Linden. HOWEVER. I counted my tickets, 6 left exactly, and we found the corn at a busy intersection filled with buttery people eating bright yellow, shining corn that just called to me. I just knew it would be so juicy, so salty, so *scrumptious* that I ordered one as well and said “to heck with my jaw!”

They pulled fresh ears, still in husks, out of the basket of corn carcass and then shucked them right there, revealing the most DANK ear of corn I’ve ever seen. Then, they were dunked in a vat of steaming butter, twisted with a napkin ‘round the bottom, and then handed over like a newborn baby. Y’all. We doused these things in salt like an arsonist and a very old wooden house, and they were FIRE. The corn was soft but ripe, sweet, so juicy, and literally- I’m so sorry for using this word- squirted when you bit into it. It was straight up porn. Right there in the streets of Chicago.

I am still in awe.

LAST BUT NOT LEAST, CHECK OUT THIS FUNNEL CAKE. IT’S FROM THE FUNNEL CAKE PLACE, AND IT SMELLS LIKE ALL YOUR BEST MEMORIES PUT ON A PLATE.

I am already counting down the days until the next Taste of Chicago (360 days) and hopefully will have more time, $100 dollars to spend, and couple new vegetarian options in the lineup! FOOD IS THE BEST. So are friends. This was a great marriage of the both.

Until next time, Happy Eating!

-Natalie

#foodblog #chicago #tasteofchicago #tasteofchicago2017 #city #vegetarian #snacks #lunch #dinner #bites #foodporn #funnelcake #fried #lit #bloggers #fresh

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