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valerie · 3 months

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TWITL - week 8 - sunshine through the clouds

MONDAY - 19 February Is it weird that I remember that it's someone's birthday today? Too bad he's not on social media. https://flic.kr/p/4vCFMr no, my name was never "Valerie Hayward" TUESDAY - 20 February https://flic.kr/p/2pzkSgc Back to work today. It was a dreary gray day and the rain started in the afternoon. I was able to take my walk to the library so small blessings, I suppose. I had my window open until it started raining. The breeze was lovely... WEDNESDAY - 21 February We'll be in Ireland in a month. I AM SO EXCITED!!! We need to book a couple of tours so that we get out of Dublin a couple of times but otherwise I'm just looking forward to going to different pubs and restaurants and shops and just enjoying somewhere different. I'm also looking forward to the accents. ;) Have I ever mentioned that I love reading a particular gossip blog? I do! They report on a lot of royal gossip, mostly adoring the Sussexes and mostly wondering what the purpose of the British royal family is. This gossip blog is one of the only places where I *like* to read the comments. Most of the people who comment love the tsismis, of course, but they also have thoughtful perspectives. It's not all "oh, they suck!" or "oh, I just love them!" I mention all of this because there's a bit of a thread on one of the recent posts about how the Sussexes should have an IG. They do not, instead relying on updating their recently launched website to post news and photos. The Sussexes have made it quite clear that they do not like social media so it's not really a surprise that they aren't using it. And I'm all for it. Let's get back to posting on our own domains instead of relying on social media to house our content. I say this even though I love my social media. Having your own website, where you can control your own content and the people who might comment, is the ideal thing. Maybe I'm old school (no maybe, I am) but I still look for the "official" sites for the people I follow and I appreciate them even more when their sites are current and updated. Even if their sites aren't updated and merely point to where else on the internet you can find them, it's still a good thing. Don't depend on the social media for your presence on the internet, my lovelies. https://flic.kr/p/2pzqYRc William Gregory Lee on the episode, "Protect Us," of Genius: MLK/X I was randomly looking through the IMDB and saw that Greg had a new credit so of course I had to check it out. I did some screenshots but didn't listen to his few scenes. After the screenshots, I checked the IMDB on the filming location for this iteration of the show and yes, it was Atlanta, Georgia. Why do I feel like Greg has moved back to the east coast, perhaps even to Georgia? His latest credits have been for productions that filmed in Georgia. I wonder if I would see him whenever I finally go to Georgia to visit. Now that would be cool. SUNDAY - 25 February I was super annoyed the other day from a comment on something I posted. I wanted to vent about it, so I took it to Spoutible. I was glad for the support on my feelings about the scenario. It's easy to dismiss things that are said online and I've done that most of the time. The fact that this time I needed to vent meant that the annoyance had built up enough for me to say something. I should probably talk about here but maybe as a "disconnected" post. Hmm, now there's a thought. https://flic.kr/p/2pzybDL MOVIES Oppenheimer - We watched this one last night (Saturday). It started off a little slow but it picked up after the first hour. I thought it was well done and super interesting. It's a very encompassing movie with non-linear storytelling but it weaves its way well enough. So many familiar faces in the cast! Cillian Murphy was amazing, of course. Emily Blunt seemed a bit underused. Florence Pugh made the most out of her scenes. Robert Downey Jr. was excellent as well. I've now seen two of the 2024 Oscar nominees for best picture and if I had to choose, well, I think I would choose this movie to win. (Though it would ROCK if Barbie wins.) Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning Part One - These movies never disappoint in terms of action sequences and the latest one has them in spades. Another action packed installment with gorgeous vistas and heart stopping action. The non-actions sequences were thrilling in their own ways. And of course, there has to be a gut punch or two. Cannot wait to see how this one ends. The next one will be the last, right? https://flic.kr/p/2pzvYkh Here's to a good week to you all! It's going to be a 5 day work week after two 4 day work weeks. I miss the long weekends already. Oh well! Read the full article

#movies

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ch-postal-company · 4 months

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Waffles

It's another holiday. In years gone by, it would be a day for us to stay home, sleep in, have fun. Now, between high work loads, third party contracts, and low staffing, there are only three holidays a year that we don't have to work. This is not one of them.

Leading up to MLK day, everyone scheduled to work it was starting to get salty and discouraged. Amidst the complaints, I thought to myself that there must be some way to make the rough day better, since there was no avoiding it. I bounced my idea off a co-worker; what if we made fresh waffles for the whole office that morning? He liked the idea and offered to bring toppings if I brought the waffles. Deal! Throughout the week, I dropped hints to the Monday crew about waffles. Also I gave the elderly holiday shipment driver a heads up about the waffles, jokingly telling him that, if he came an hour later than usual, there would be fresh, hot waffles waiting for him. He reluctantly begged off, saying he had sugar issues and had to be careful. I got a text message at home one day, asking for more details about the "waffle party". The hype was building.

This morning, much to my amusement, the holiday shipment driver backed up to the building an hour later than normal, right on time for breakfast. I quickly set up my mini, heart-shaped waffle maker in the staff "kitchen" that only had a sink and a fridge. Within ten minutes, the truck was unloaded and he peeked into the kitchen to see if the promised breakfast was waiting for him. With a surprising eagerness that sharply contrasted his previous hesitations about sugar, he slathered his waffles in butter and syrup, then dug in without even taking the time to sit down.

Later on, the mail carriers arrived with topping supplies in hand. I asked one if they wanted to start breakfast now or wait until right before they were ready to head out for the day. She didn't let me finish my question before telling me she was ready for waffles RIGHT NOW. With a chuckle, I headed over to start cooking again.

Every 3 minutes, a new waffle was ready and I called out the carrier's names one at a time. With glee, they transformed their breakfast cuisine into dessert with heaping spoons of homemade strawberry jam and other sweet goodies. One of the carriers came in to get his portion, stopped in his tracks, and in surprise said, "OH! You are cooking???" I guess he thought I had brought microwaved Eggos or something. Now, he was doubly eager for the promised meal, seeing it was fancier than anticipated.

The conversation amongst the crew was lively and cheerful, this morning. Despite each person's short breakfast break, they were all out on the road in record time. I expect they will finish and return to the office just as quickly, today. An army marches on its stomach, after all!

Now, I wonder to myself: what should I make for the next staff breakfast???

#postal company #mail #postal service #waffle party

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ianmhill · 8 months

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5.23

Well, my daughter and her husband jetted off to Chicago on Tuesday morning, so the rest of the week has been pretty tame.

But boy did we get through some stuff while they were here!

Despite the later than scheduled arrival, we still dragged them out for beer and pizza on Friday evening, which had been at their request after I had mentioned the beer selection at that restaurant a few weeks ago.

Then on Saturday we went long-haul and walked to the Lincoln Monument, Korean War Memorial, Washington Monument, Smithsonian National Museum of American History (including a reasonable lunch), National Gallery of Art Sculpture Garden, Hirshhorn Gallery and a look at the MLK library before crashing in a bar for a couple of beers. To round off the day we hit Tonic and dosed up on tater tots (and more sensible food items).

Unfortunately, on the Sunday my daughter was not feeling too great, so there was a bit of sitting around while she recovered a bit before we went to the Phillips Collection and a spot of late lunch at Emissary…when it started to rain. At least it wasn't raining (much) when I had to grill the swordfish for dinner.

Monday was another action-packed day, starting with a walk down the canal and back along the river for a decent lunch at Nick's Riverside Grill (amazing that we've never actually been there before, except for a coffee). The highlight of that venue - and possibly their whole visit - was my daughter and her husband getting ID'd. They are 41 years old!! My assumption was that because my wife and I look so young, they assumed the "kids" were teenagers!! In the evening we went to watch the baseball - not only a new experience for my daughter but one of very few visits by her to a sporting event. Obviously the Nats lost (1-6) but it was still an enjoyable evening.

My bass guitar came back from being looked at on Saturday. They had already told me they couldn't find anything wrong and sure enough when I plugged it in I discovered the problem - somehow I had the Gain setting on the amp turned up halfway. Turning it almost off solved the problem completely. Doh!

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kellexplainsitall · 1 year

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January was a very trying month.

My left foot flared up with plantar fasciitis out of pretty much nowhere. I ultimately took three weeks off from running, am still going to physical therapy twice a week and still dealing with a bit of discomfort. However, it has definitely improved and I am feeling hopeful I will make it to the start line in Boston. I didn't run from Jan. 9 - Jan. 30. Running is as much a physical thing to me as it is a social and mental thing. So despite the fact that I was still able to spin (very grateful!), I felt very lonely and detached from everyone.

I've been in a bit of a depressive funk since our Thanksgiving was canceled. I thought things would look up as January progressed, but I just ended up feeling so worn out and like giving up.

In the second week of January, Keegan got sent home twice for diarrhea, meaning Tim and I had to juggle trying to work from home, as there is a 24-hour rule. I am thankful to work for a flexible organization, but it was difficult to manage childcare and working.

On MLK, I was off from work and my mom had come down to watch Keegan, since his school was closed the next day. I ended up going to bed at 3 p.m. after my physical therapy appointment. Tim came to take my temperature and it was 103.4. I couldn't eat and didn't get out of bed except to use the bathroom until 7 a.m. I hadn't been that sick for a long time, I had to take the day off. My mom ended up taking Keegan with her so that they didn't get sick. It was weird/hard to not have him there, but Tim didn't feel well either, so we were able to rest and recharge.

Long story short, I had to go to my parents' anyway because Tim's family was doing their Christmas on Saturday. My parents and I got into a huge fight because they said I had an awful cough (I did and had since Christmas) and that I was going to get everyone sick. It was miserable and terrible. But I sure loved their peloton.

Only for us to come home that weekend and Miles passed very early Tuesday morning.

And then we left for Disney World Saturday. It was good to get away from the house and sadness. Tim's mom came with us, and we stayed at Animal Kingdom Lodge, which was so cool. We flew out of Baltimore, which was smooth and easy. Keegan loved the plane! He did really great on a long day of travel.

On Sunday, we went to Magic Kingdom, where we met my college roommate, Linds, and her family. It was such a delight to see them. She works for Disney and was able to get us a nice discount on our hotel, which was much appreciated. They also sent cupcakes to our room, which was so nice.

On Monday, we went to Epcot. We did the most walking this day. I was so happy because I was able to run 3 miles with no pain, just slight discomfort. Epcot was probably my least favorite - there wasn't a lot for Keegan to do, but we still had a great day. And right before we left, he was able to meet Minnie and Goofy.

Tuesday was the one day Keegan was up very early. He slept in our (king) bed and generally did very well. Tuesday, for whatever reason, he was up before I was (I get up at 5) and so he crashed pretty badly in the afternoon. But we had a great time at Magic Kingdom again. The park closes at 4:30 on Tuesdays so it was pretty much empty - a great idea if you don't plan to stay late.

Keegan slept in his stroller and then we went to the hotel pool for a bit.

On Wednesday, we went to Hollywood Studios, which was my favorite. There were a lot of rides for everyone and tons of characters.

We also went to a fancy dinner that night at Saana, Keegan was well-behaved, we all enjoyed our food, so that was a relief!

Our last day we spent at Animal Kingdom, which I loved much more than I thought. They had great rides and so much to do. Keegan loved seeing all of the animals. The safari ride was super cool!

I definitely recognized I am having a bit of a depression and I started to see a new therapist this week! While Disney was fun, it was also exhausting and I still feel worn out. I also feel that my mental health is suffering without having a dog. I miss Miles so much and no one will ever replace him. But I realize that walking him and listening to podcasts was a huge outlet for me. So we are slowly dipping our toes into looking for one to adopt.

And that's January in a nutshell. Tough month, but I got through it. I hope February is better.

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didanawisgi · 3 years

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Martin Luther King Jr., Guns, and a Book Everyone Should Read

BY JEREMY S. | JAN 15, 2018

“Martin Luther King Jr. would have been 89 years old today, were he not assassinated in 1968. On the third Monday in January we observe MLK Jr. Day and celebrate his achievements in advancing civil rights for African Americans and others. While Dr. King was a big advocate of peaceful assembly and protest, he wasn’t, at least for most of his life, against the use of firearms for self-defense. In fact, he employed them . . .

If it wasn’t for African Americans in the South, primarily, taking up arms almost without exception during the post-Civil War reconstruction and well into the civil rights movement, this country wouldn’t be what it is today.

By force and threat of arms African Americans protected themselves, their families, their homes, and their rights and won the attention and respect of the powers that be. In a lawless, post-Civil War South they stayed alive while faced with, at best, an indifferent government and, at worst, state-sponsored violence against them.

We know the Supreme Court’s Dred Scott decision of 1857 refused to recognize black people as citizens. Heck, they were deemed just three-fifths a person. Not often mentioned in school: some of that was due to gun rights. Namely, not wanting to give gun rights to blacks. Because if they were to recognize blacks as citizens, it…

“…would give to persons of the negro race . . . the right to enter every other State whenever they pleased, . . . and it would give them the full liberty of speech . . . ; to hold public meetings upon political affairs, and to keep and carry arms wherever they went.”

Ahha! So the Second Amendment was considered an individual right, protecting a citizen’s natural, inalienable right to keep and carry arms wherever they go. Then as now, gun control is rooted in racism.

During reconstruction, African Americans were legally citizens but were not always treated as such. Practically every African American home had a shotgun — or shotguns — and they needed it, too. Forget police protection, as those same officials were often in white robes during their time off.

Fast forward to the American civil rights movement and we learn, but again not at school, that Martin Luther King Jr. applied for a concealed carry permit. He (an upstanding minister, mind you) was denied.

Then as in many cases even now, especially in blue states uniquely and ironically so concerned about “fairness,” permitting was subjective (“may issue” rather than “shall issue”). The wealthy and politically connected receive their rights, but the poor, the uneducated, the undesired masses, not so much.

Up until late in his life, MLK Jr. chose to be protected by the Deacons for Defense. Though his home was also apparently a bit of an arsenal.

African Americans won their rights and protected their lives with pervasive firearms ownership. But we don’t learn about this. We don’t know about this. It has been unfortunately whitewashed from our history classes and our discourse.

Hidden, apparently, as part of an agreement (or at least an understanding) reached upon the conclusion of the civil rights movement.

Sure, the government is going to protect you now and help you and give you all of the rights you want, but you have to give up your guns. Turn them in. Create a culture of deference to the government. Be peaceable and non-threatening and harmless. And arm-less, as it were (and vote Democrat). African Americans did turn them in, physically and culturally.

That, at least, is an argument made late in Negroes and the Gun: the Black Tradition of Arms. It’s a fantastic book, teaching primarily through anecdotes of particular African American figures throughout history just how important firearms were to them. I learned so-freaking-much from this novel, and couldn’t recommend it more. If you have any interest in gun rights, civil rights, and/or African American history, it’s an absolute must-read.

Some text I highlighted on my Kindle Paperwhite when I read it in 2014:

But Southern blacks had to navigate the first generation of American arms-control laws, explicitly racist statutes starting as early as Virginia’s 1680 law, barring clubs, guns, or swords to both slaves and free blacks.

“…he who would be free, himself must strike the blow.”

In 1846, white abolitionist congressman Joshua Giddings of Ohio gave a speech on the floor of the House of Representatives, advocating distribution of arms to fugitive slaves.

Civil-rights activist James Forman would comment in the 1960s that blacks in the movement were widely armed and that there was hardly a black home in the South without its shotgun or rifle.

A letter from a teacher at a freedmen’s school in Maryland demonstrates one set of concerns. The letter contains the standard complaints about racist attacks on the school and then describes one strand of the local response. “Both the Mayor and the sheriff have warned the colored people to go armed to school, (which they do) [and] the superintendent of schools came down and brought me a revolver.”

Low black turnout resulted in a Democratic victory in the majority black Republican congressional district.

Other political violence of the Reconstruction era centered on official Negro state militias operating under radical Republican administrations.

“The Winchester rifle deserves a place of honor in every Black home.” So said Ida B. Wells.

Fortune responded with an essay titled “The Stand and Be Shot or Shoot and Stand Policy”: “We have no disposition to fan the coals of race discord,” Thomas explained, “but when colored men are assailed they have a perfect right to stand their ground. If they run away like cowards they will be regarded as inferior and worthy to be shot; but if they stand their ground manfully, and do their own a share of the shooting they will be respected and by doing so they will lessen the propensity of white roughs to incite to riot.”

He used state funds to provide guns and ammunition to people who were under threat of attack.

“Medgar was nonviolent, but he had six guns in the kitchen and living room.”

“The weapons that you have are not to kill people with — killing is wrong. Your guns are to protect your families — to stop them from being killed. Let the Klan ride, but if they try to do wrong against you, stop them. If we’re ever going to win this fight we got to have a clean record. Stay here, my friends, you are needed most here, stay and protect your homes.”

In 2008 and 2010, the NAACP filed amicus briefs to the United States Supreme Court, supporting blanket gun bans in Washington, DC, and Chicago. Losing those arguments, one of the association’s lawyers wrote in a prominent journal that recrafting the constitutional right to arms to allow targeted gun prohibition in black enclaves should be a core plank of the modern civil-rights agenda.

Wilkins viewed the failure to pursue black criminals as overt state malevolence and evidence of an attitude that “there’s one more Negro killed — the more of ’em dead, the less to bother us. Don’t spend too much money running down the killer — he may kill another.”

But it puts things in perspective to note that swimming pool accidents account for more deaths of minors than all forms of death by firearm (accident, homicide, and suicide).

The correlation of very high murder rates with low gun ownership in African American communities simply does not bear out the notion that disarming the populace as a whole will disarm and prevent murder by potential murderers.

Centers for Disease Control (CDC) estimated 1,900,000 annual episodes where someone in the home retrieved a firearm in response to a suspected illegal entry. There were roughly half a million instances where the armed householder confronted and chased off the intruder.

A study of active burglars found that one of the greatest risks faced by residential burglars is being injured or killed by occupants of a targeted dwelling. Many reported that this was their greatest fear and a far greater worry than being caught by police.48 The data bear out the instinct. Home invaders in the United States are more at risk of being shot in the act than of going to prison.49 Because burglars do not know which homes have a gun, people who do not own guns enjoy free-rider benefits because of the deterrent effect of others owning guns. In a survey of convicted felons conducted for the National Institute of Justice, 34 percent of them reported being “scared off, shot at, wounded or captured by an armed victim.” Nearly 40 percent had refrained from attempting a crime because they worried the target was armed. Fifty-six percent said that they would not attack someone they knew was armed and 74 percent agreed that “one reason burglars avoid houses where people are at home is that they fear being shot.”

In the period before Florida adopted its “shall issue” concealed-carry laws, the Orlando Police Department conducted a widely advertised program of firearms training for women. The program was started in response to reports that women in the city were buying guns at an increased rate after an uptick in sexual assaults. The program aimed to help women gun owners become safe and proficient. Over the next year, rape declined by 88 percent. Burglary fell by 25 percent. Nationally these rates were increasing and no other city with a population over 100,000 experienced similar decreases during the period.55 Rape increased by 7 percent nationally and by 5 percent elsewhere in Florida.

As you can see, Negroes and the Gun progresses more or less chronologically, spending the last portion of the book discussing modern-day gun control. It’s an invaluable source of ammunition (if you’ll pardon the expression) against the fallacies of the pro-gun-control platform. It sheds light on a little-known (if not purposefully obfuscated), critical factor in the history of African Americans: firearms.

On this Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I highly recommend you — yes, you — read Negroes and the Gun: the Black Tradition of Arms.

And I’ll wrap this up with a quote in a Huffington Post article given by Maj Toure of Black Guns Matter:

https://cdn0.thetruthaboutguns.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/huffpo-maj-toure.jpg”

#books #black history #history #american history #Guns #civil rights #constitution #supreme court #gun control #martin luther king jr.#dread scott #concealed carry #concealedcarry #everydaycarry #gun confiscation

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kareniliana · 3 years

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Elijah: Bloody Introduction Part 2

A//N: I had been so incredibly busy these past few weeks. My parents came to visit, so I had to clean the place up. Then on MLK day, I got together with my sister and her friends. Since we had no classes on that Monday, I had to push my tutor session to Tuesday, which meant an even busier day than normal. That cause my to have to push everything on my schedule to fix that. then this weekend, my sister and her friends hung out again. Making it really hard to write on the weekends. BUT, hopefully I can make it ALL up this week. It’s suppose to be a little light this week, my first exam is this Friday. But I feel confident that I’ll do just fine. I have a tutor for that class and so far the homework hasn’t been too difficult.

okay that was a lot. I’m sorry. But I have been getting a few requests about Bloody Introduction, so here I am updating y'all.

I hope you enjoy!

xx Karebear 💛🧸

Part 1, Part 2

The following weeks after Elijah helped you from death, he met up with you. He would constantly check in with you at your job, making sure no vampires, werewolves, or witches cause you any trouble. Which you quickly calm his racing thoughts, you have friends who are supernatural and care about you too. They wouldn’t let anything happen to you, just like Elijah. He made it his mission to walk you home safely every night, but both you and him know it’s not just because he’s a good man.

He fancies you, and you know it.

You were cleaning up when suddenly you felt another presence in the bar, turning around you see Elijah fixing his suit as he sat down at the counter. You smiled at the 1,000 year old vampire.

You were comfortable around him, you felt safe and seen. When he looks to you, he really sees you. Not as a practice dummy or a blood bag or even just human.

He looks at you like you’re his light. The light that casts away any and all demons that haunt him from behind the red door.

He looks at you like you’re his glimmer of hope.

That’s how you know you mean more to him than anyone could comprehend.

“How has your night been?” He asks, like the gentleman he his.

You lean on the bar, “Better now.” He smiled at you, lifting his hand to tuck a strand of hair and caress your face.

“I want to take you somewhere, I think you would enjoy it.” His deep and soft accent make you go weak in the knees, thankfully the bar counter was holding most your weight. His hand slowly and reluctantly pull away, standing up shortly after.

You mentally regrouped yourself before answering, “I just have to lock up.”

“I will leave you to it, I am rather famished.” He buttoned his suit back up, straightening his clothes.

You walked around the bar and to him, straightening his tie but wanting nothing more than to just rip his clothes off. The sexual tension between you was thick, but you never wanted to pull the first move. Being too shy and scared, but slowly getting more and more comfortable touching him.

He could hear the sound of your heart beat rise, you were getting nervous. Standing so insanely close to him, with your hands on his chest. Suddenly without thinking, his arms wrap around your waist. He was pulling you closer, which only made your heartbeat race.

He smirked, lifting his hand back your face. Looking up into his hazel brown eyes, you see nothing but love and lust. You trail your hands from his chest up to nape of his neck, wanting nothing more than to kiss him.

Slowly Elijah leaned his head down, closing the space between you. Closing your eyes instantly, feeling him hold you in place as your lips touched. The electricity of the kiss tightening his hold on you slightly. The dark atmosphere became romantic, just the two of you soaking in the moment. His fingers getting entangled into your hair, the softness of his kiss held passion. you moved perfectly in sync.

It was the perfect moment.

That was until his brother came barging in raging on about something Marcel said or did.

Pulling away almost instantly but not bothering to move form your positions. Klaus walked closer, getting the full view. You pulled your hands to your sides as Elijah removed his hand from your hair, fixing a few fly aways.

“Oh dear brother, I mean not to interrupt” Klaus started out gently but began to raise his voice louder and louder with each word. “as the MAN I ONCE THOUGHT OF AS A SON IS FORGING MY DESTRUCTION!”

Elijah had turned to his brother, standing slightly in front of you. “Save the dramatics for an authentic villain, brother.”

Klaus scoffed with an amused look on his face. Looking over to you then back to his brother. “I see, this is your new damsel in distress. What? Hayley finally decline your advantages?”

You furrowed your eyebrows, who was Hayley?

Elijah sighed, “Brother, Marcel is quite the trigger for you. He cannot kill you without killing himself. And Hayley and I came to a mutual agreement. Just as you have come around to agree that everything you do from now and on, Hope will find out. Now out of the goodness in your heart, I do wish you go back to her.”

Klaus and Elijah had a few moments of a stare down before Klaus reluctantly left the bar. Elijah turned as he sighed, deeply disappointed in himself and his brother.

“I do apologize, my brother can be a bit..”

“full of rage, vengance, psychopathic tendencies... you just let me know whichever fits best.” You joked, trying to get Elijah to crack a smile. He just shook his head.

“Yes, I do believe he is all of those things but above all else, he's a worried father.” He sighed, taking a hold of your hand.

“I think you love your brother but you can’t keep making excuses for his murderous behavior. He isn’t your responsibility.”

“Let us not talk about my brother. You know what, let’s not talk at all.” Elijah said mischievously, his smirk making you giggle a little.

His swiftly pulls you into his embrace, leaning his forehead on yours. Smiling at each other like a couple in love with one another.

This was it, he was it for you.

You were done looking for that one thing that was missing from your life.

Love.

You love him. You love Elijah.

#elijah mikaelson #elijah mikealson imagine #elijah x reader #elijah mikealson x reader #the originals #the originals imagine #the originals x reader #tvdu #TVD universe #to

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clunelover · 2 years

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Last week after school care couldn’t run on Thursday because too many staff members have covid. Friday was a no school day (in addition to Monday off for MLK day). Over the weekend we got an email that Edie had been a close contact to covid at after school on Wednesday. No need to quarantine because she’s vaccinated, per the guidelines we have here at least. Then today, an email that they’re still under staffed and can’t run today or tomorrow (at least).

All this is just a preamble to say: it snowed a ton yesterday and then again last night. Jeremy shoveled yesterday. I can’t shovel because the twisting motion fucks my back. It all falls to him. Today I came out of the basement for lunch and saw shoveled sidewalk. I know Jeremy has been super busy at work so I doubt he shoveled. Normally this would send me into an anxiety tail spin - omg who did this for us and did they do it because they were SO MAD that we hadn’t gotten to it, and do we have to do their shoveling next time it snows, etc etc….but today, I don’t give a shit. I have literally reached capacity on agitation, something I didn’t really think was possible.

#everything is stupid #i feel like I’m barely holding it together #even though nothing that bad has happened #yes it’s cumulative #but also I gotta find some reserves #for when some or all of us inevitably do catch it

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semperintrepida · 4 years

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The Sellout, chapter three

three: the bad news

"So are you going to look at it, or what?"

Ellen was talking, from her favorite seat on the couch with the best view of the register, but Kyra just stared at the jar on the counter, at the card lying face down and innocent on top of all the other cards inside it. She knew damn well what company that card came from — she'd seen the flash of green as it spun in the air from being dunked into the jar with savage glee.

Starbucks green.

"Kyra?" Ellen's voice was closer now. Right at the counter.

Kyra wordlessly pushed the jar in her direction, and Ellen pulled up a sleeve and stuck her hand in, her head tilting into a question. Is this it?

Kyra nodded.

Ellen fished the card out of the jar, her eyes widening as she read it. "Motherfucker," she said. "You were right — she is bad news."

"Show me." Kyra held out her hand.

The card landed in her palm, and as she flipped it over, her fingertips slid across bumps embossed onto its surface. Braille. On a business card. There was nothing a billion dollar company wouldn't do to give itself the tiniest edge over the competition.

The Starbucks logo greeted her on the front of the card. No surprise there. She scanned the text, eyes glancing over the woman's name — Kassandra Agiadis — but her name was less important to Kyra than her title: Vice President of International Real Estate Development.

The words on the card began to smear, and it was like falling while roped in during a climb; that sudden, twisting spin before the world dropped out from under her.

Real estate development. What's the premium for a high visibility retail space in this neighborhood?

She considered the card in her hand — amazing how something so weightless could be so crushing — then tore it in half, flinging the pieces onto the counter hard enough for them to fly off the edge on the other side.

Ellen's head swiveled to follow their flight path, and then she silently walked past the counter and stooped to pick the pieces up from the floor.

Kyra knew this day would come, but like all disasters, it had sat off in the distance until the moment it showed up on her doorstep. For years, Starbucks had been content to keep mostly to the west side of the river, with seventeen stores crammed between I-405 and the waterfront.

Seventeen stores. Down in the Pearl District, there was a Starbucks on every fucking corner, choking out all but a handful of indie shops. But the river had made a good moat, and with Starbucks contained, she'd been able to make a decent living within the rougher, more corrugated edges of the Central Eastside and Distillery Row.

She'd survived Dutch Bros putting in drive-throughs north and south of her on MLK, the coffee shortage of 2011 that tripled the price of beans, and the slow sprouting of competing coffee shops across the neighborhood. She'd managed to stay on the right side of the profitability line, but she'd been clinging to survival by the smallest of handholds for months now. One slip would be enough to send everything plummeting to earth.

She should have taken Thal's money and opened up more shops. She should have sold to Stumptown when she had the chance. She should have—

Her eyes began to sting. She resisted the urge to flee to the storeroom; if she went back there and let the tears leak out, she wouldn't be able to stop them again. And running off wasn't an option even if she wanted to — she was the only one working this shift and someone had to watch the fort.

She breathed in slowly, breathed out, until the prickle in her eyes faded enough for her to push the retail mask back into place.

Ellen was still standing there, watching her. "You'll figure something out, Kyra. You always do," she said, placing the torn halves of the card on the counter. "Hang on to this shit, huh? Just in case."

Ellen made it halfway back to the couch when Kyra spoke up again. "Do you have your laptop with you?"

"How else would I abuse your wifi?"

"Can I borrow it for a few minutes?"

Ellen's grin was feral. "I thought you'd never ask."

.oOo.

It took a while to get the laptop sorted, much of it involving frantic clicking and password after password as Ellen rambled something about needing a VPN and not trusting the government, but eventually Kyra found herself looking at an empty browser window with a cursor blinking lazily in its address bar.

"Where are we stalking first?" Ellen asked, rubbing her palms together in anticipation.

Kyra pulled up LinkedIn and typed "Kassandra Agiadis" into the search field, and when the results appeared, the photo at the top of the list smiled a familiar smile, the woman's confidence captured in pixel form along with that sharp glint in her eyes.

Kyra opened the profile.

Executive leader and consummate strategist with a proven record of results in aligning real estate acquisitions and portfolios with business goals...

She skimmed the suit-speak until she reached the background part of the profile.

MBA, Sloan School of Management, Massachusetts Institute of Technology BS, Economics, Stanford University

A lengthy list of job titles followed. Kassandra had only been at Starbucks a little more than a year. Before that, stints at Apple, Chipotle, CVS. The list went on. She'd rarely stayed longer than three years in a position.

Ellen whistled. "That's a lot of different companies."

"She's a mercenary," Kyra said. "Hired to do something specific and then move on."

Kyra opened another tab and searched Instagram, finding the woman's profile easily enough. The grid of photos featured a lot of concrete and metal, clean lines and minimalism, more Dieter Rams and Mid-Century Modern than any ostentatious displays of money being tossed around. Kyra kept scrolling. Except for the cars. And motorcycles. Apparently Kassandra liked her cars fast and her motorcycles retro.

"It's all very sterile, don't you think?" Kyra said, tapping a finger against her lips.

"I'll say. It's fucking fake. No one lives like that."

"I'm not sure all of it's fake, but it's definitely curated." She wiggled the cursor over a photo of the interior of a cabin, blonde wood and floor-to-ceiling windows framing a view of a lake. "She's paying someone to manage this for her."

"What's the fucking point of that?"

"Maintaining an image. Projecting a sense of old money." But something didn't add up, and Kyra couldn't pin down what it was.

She opened a third tab, this time for a good ol' Google search, and skimmed the list of results. A press release announcing Kassandra's hiring at Starbucks. More press releases. Talks at various conferences. Nothing particularly revelatory in the first few pages, but then a headline caught Kyra's eye and she clicked through.

Agiadis leads Stanford to national championship win

NEW ORLEANS (AP) — Led by a scintillating performance from Kassandra Agiadis, Stanford won its second consecutive national championship in a come-from-behind victory over rival Tennessee on Monday night.

Agiadis scored 24 points, muscled her way to 12 rebounds, and was two assists away from a triple-double as she powered Stanford to a 76-72 win, including sinking three crucial free throws in the final 34 seconds, in a game where Stanford found themselves in an early 12-4 deficit at the end of the first quarter.

"She wants to win more than anything, and she showed that tonight," Stanford coach Tara VanDerveer said of Agiadis. "We were in a hole after that first quarter, but Kassandra lifted this team up and said, 'Whatever it takes.' She simply refused to lose."

The article was old, and the photos accompanying the text were small, but unmistakably her: Kassandra, basketball in hand, pushing past two orange-clad players under the hoop. There was plenty of broad-shouldered muscle in that white Stanford jersey, but it was Kassandra's eyes, bright and clear with relentless focus, that caught Kyra's attention.

Ellen snorted from over Kyra's shoulder. "So she's a fucking jock. Why am I not surprised?"

Kyra didn't respond, too distracted by the second photo, which showed Kassandra surrounded by her teammates in a storm of confetti as she held an enormous trophy over her head in triumph, her smile as radiant as the sun.

And now she wore a suit instead of a basketball jersey and cut real estate deals for fun and profit. Seemed she was good at it too, but did it ever make her smile like she had while holding that trophy?

Kyra hoped the answer to that question was no.

.oOo.

She drifted through Wednesday and Thursday, irritable by day and sleepless at night, and when Friday evening arrived with its expanse of free time, she made three attempts to dig into Green's translation of the poetry of Catullus before setting the book aside and walking out to the shed in her back garden where she'd built her bouldering wall.

The faint scent of sweat, chalk, and dusty earth greeted her inside. It was her sanctuary, her shrine to defying gravity. Every handhold was as familiar as a lover.

But tonight she couldn't even climb the simplest problems. Her toes kept slipping and her fingers faltered.

She'd lost her grip.

Eventually she gave up and lay on her back on the crash pad, staring at the curving shadows the holds cast upon the wall, thinking of how problems she'd solved a thousand times could suddenly become so impossible.

.oOo.

Five minutes before closing on Saturday night, Kyra was wiping down the fridge under the counter when the door opened and a presence entered the shop. Maybe it was the way her visitor displaced the air in the otherwise empty room, or the sound of heavy footsteps, but Kyra knew exactly who she'd find when she stood up again.

Kassandra was standing next to the table closest to the register. This time, she wasn't wearing a suit — just an untucked linen shirt over tailored slacks — and she'd pulled her hair up into a loose chignon. The effect was to make her seem casual and relaxed, but no less moneyed.

Kyra wiped her hands on a clean rag to keep her eyes off the intersecting curves of Kassandra's jawline and neck. "Are you going to ask me to make you another fucking cappuccino? Because if so, I'm closed."

That drew a short laugh from Kassandra. "No. As much as I loved the one you made for me, even I'm not evil enough to ask for another this late."

"Then why are you here? So you can gloat before you put me out of business?"

"I don't want to put you out of business." Kassandra pulled a chair out from the table and made herself right at home, stretching her legs out before her. "I want your business."

Kyra's eyebrows lifted.

"I'll buy this," Kassandra said, as easily as if she was ordering a drink. She gestured around the room. "All of it. Right now."

"You can't be serious."

"I'm very serious. How much would it take to get you to say yes?"

Kyra walked out from behind the counter to the narrow wooden bar that ran along the windows, and began flipping stools over on top of it. "Never mind buying me out — why are you here? Don't you have some lackey to work deals like this for you?"

Kassandra shrugged. "I like your coffee."

"Enough to buy my shop." She tugged the pull cord on the OPEN sign to turn it off.

"It beats the alternative."

Kyra skirted around Kassandra's outstretched legs on her way past, and when she reached the counter, she leaned back against it and crossed her arms. "And that would be..."

"We put in a new flagship store down the street from you on MLK — and you take your chances."

Ten years ago, Kyra would have been thrilled at the news that Starbucks was opening a store nearby. In those heady days, Starbucks was a tide that lifted every coffee shop around it. It was Starbucks that taught the average American that there was better coffee out there than freeze-dried instant — and that it was worth paying more than fifty cents a cup for. The spillover in foot traffic from a nearby Starbucks could launch a shop's profits to stratospheric heights.

Those days were long gone. Coffee had become cutthroat and commoditized, and now people bitched that her lattes cost a nickle more than the ones they could get at Starbucks. Sure, there were people out there who cared that her coffee was sourced from a roaster who paid a fair price for beans from small, family-run farms, but there weren't enough customers like them to keep her lights on and her espresso machine humming. So she kept trimming her margins, trying to stay competitive on price while offering better product, knowing it was unsustainable in the long run.

Kassandra's offer was tempting. She could take the money, take a real vacation for the first time in years, make the funds last long enough to find a job, somewhere. Fuck, she could go and work for Thal at his chain of shops over in Bend. She'd probably make more money with a lot less stress, and she'd even have time to climb—

The sound of the door opening again brought her back to reality. A man stumbled into the shop, disheveled and dirty, wearing an oversized puffy coat and a shredded pair of work pants. He shuffled closer, stopping a few steps away from Kassandra. His body swayed with the restless twitching of an addict, too far gone to know where he was, much less care about sweltering in a heavy winter coat during a spring heatwave.

Trouble piling on.

"I'm sorry sir, we're closed," Kyra said as neutrally as she could, threading the line between being welcoming and unwelcoming.

His eyes darted to and fro, unfocused, and he kept shifting his weight from foot to foot while he gestured aimlessly around him.

Kassandra eased herself to her feet. "Hey man, what do you need?" she asked, her voice taking on that even, reasonable tone that most people used when talking to the unhinged.

"Got any spare change?" He was shaking now, deep in his need for another hit.

Kassandra slowly lifted her hands. "Sorry, I'm all out," she said. Then she nodded back towards Kyra. "She's all out too."

Kyra shook her head apologetically.

Her movement caught his attention, and he peered at her with manic eyes. "What you doing here? Huh? Huh?" He reached up and pulled angrily at the hair above his ears. "My house. Mine."

"Nah," Kassandra said. "You're all turned around. Your house is out that way." She motioned towards the door.

He didn't seem to hear her, his eyes hardening to glare at Kyra as his face twisted. "You!" he shouted, and then the moment crystallized into a series of quick-cut images, unfurling into a jerky slideshow: the man lunging towards her, Kassandra sliding in between to intercept him, Kyra dodging out of the way as he slammed into Kassandra, knocking her off her feet...

Kyra could only watch helplessly as it put Kassandra's head on a collision course with the display case on the counter.

Chapter three of The Sellout. Continued in chapter four...

Author's Note: I've taken some liberties with NCAA women's basketball history here. Apologies to UConn fans — I've borrowed a couple of your titles and given them to Stanford. Creative license, eh?

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #sorry this update took so fucking long #the sellout

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acommonloon · 5 years

Text

- Happy MLK Monday!

- “We have a problem.” D shouted up the stairs. What? “It’s 58degrees down here.” As visions of calls($$$) to HVAC contractors danced through my head, I got dressed and went downstairs. Our gas furnace is fifteen years old. That’s old-aged for appliances these days. We’ve replaced the heat pump twice already. When I say “we,” I mean we paid someone else to do it. I knew only two possible fixes for my furnace. After cycling the on/off switch once I noted the furnace did begin a preliminary start before returning to cold silence. I hurriedly changed my pajama bottoms for yesterday’s jeans, slipped on my Sketchers, and stepped out the back door in a cloud of steamy breath. I was elated to find the plastic louvers of the furnace vent had frozen closed. It’s 63deg inside now and climbing to 67. Fingers crossed.

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intoxicatingimmediacy · 5 years

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Hi! I was wondering if it's possible to post the whole of the Vincent Academy article (if not, that's totally fine!)? I've just tried to go on the link to read the whole thing but it's not available to view in the UK :(

Of course! I’m in Europe myself, bless trustzone for being a reliable VPN. Here ya go:

Daveed Diggs comes home to rap with kids at his adopted West Oakland school

The students of Vincent Academy in West Oakland aren’t old enough to have seen Daveed Diggs’ most celebrated works, like his Oakland-centric film “Blindspotting” or his turn as part of the original cast in the award-winning musical “Hamilton,” but these kids do recognize him.

As the 37-year-old actor-rapper-filmmaker walks through the elementary school Monday, May 13, students start calling out, “Hey, Daveed Diggs,” and, “It’s Daveed from the videos.” One first-grader stops Diggs and asks if he knows Elmo, the furry, red Muppet from “Sesame Street.” Diggs crouches his 6-foot frame slightly to make eye contact.

“I spent the whole day with Elmo,” he tells the student.

The boy is clearly impressed. Diggs is pleased he scored points with his audience. “I knew the day I did that it would be the most popular thing I ever do in my life,” he says of the “Sesame Street” appearance.

Diggs made 2018’s “Blindspotting” in the same neighborhood where the 3-year-old charter school for kindergarten to fifth grade is located, which was one of the factors that made it the right school for him to partner with as a part of Turnaround Arts: California. It’s also not far from where he grew up near 44th Street and Martin Luther King Jr. Way.

“I’m always looking to get involved in Oakland schools; when Turnaround approached me, it was exactly the right thing,” Diggs says. “I’ve been in education, I’ve worked as an arts educator for a lot of my life. I’ve witnessed the cutting of arts funding to schools, particularly for this age group. It’s nice to be back at a school in that way.”

Diggs adopted Vincent Academy at the beginning of this year as part of the program, which facilitates arts education to high-need schools by ensuring the arts are involved in the curriculum. The program also delivers art supplies and, sometimes, artists to these schools. Malissa Shriver, the co-founder of Turnaround Arts: California, says that as the program has evolved over the years, it has become not only about placing artists in the lowest performing schools, but also about placing artists with personal connections to the community whenever possible.

“It adds something for the artist, the community and the children,” Shriver says. “We try not to have them be a random drop-in; it’s about building the relationship. To have someone like Daveed come to your school who is part of that community is a life-affirming experience for a child and the staff.”

Because of Diggs’ busy schedule — he’s been filming the TV adaptation of the film “Snowpiercer” and appeared in the play “White Noise” in New York — Monday was his first visit to Vincent Academy, but he’s followed the school on Instagram and checked in with video messages to the students. It’s part of Diggs’ effort to remain connected to his Oakland roots personally (his family still lives in the area) and artistically.

“I went to Berkeley High School and remember rappers who went there coming to just hang out — there was a model for these things,” Diggs says. “As those things disappear, you lose (arts) as an option.”

Diggs also talks about the necessity of the arts in expanding students’ worldviews and developing their capabilities for empathy. Performing, he says, is all about being “an empathy merchant.”

“Being in plays forced you to imagine a reality outside your own,” Diggs says.

Diggs doesn’t have children, but he’s at ease with them. He tells the fifth-grade English class that when he worked on the film “Wonder,” his first movie role, he sought advice from the child actors on set because they were mostly seasoned pros. The story carries an extra connection for the students, who are reading “Wonder” in their class. He also admits to the students that he is a little nervous speaking to them, but that it’s OK to be nervous, as long as you’re authentic.

“You have no idea what a big deal that was,” says school Principal Monica Rasmussen. “For a kid to hear that Daveed Diggs is nervous is a big moment.”

After visiting a second-grade music class, Diggs is off to the big event of the day: the all-school assembly where students will be performing a number from the school musical and reading poetry. After the performances, Diggs takes questions.

How long has he been rapping? Since he was 13.

How old is he now? An old man, he jokes, 37.

How did he become an artist? By making art, he says.

Finally a student asks Diggs to rap:

“I’m from Oakland, that is where I was born,” Diggs raps, the students clapping the beat. “That is where I spent my days, that’s the norm. West Oakland sometimes, in the North too. Had family in the East so we were all cool. Every day out on 44th, MLK that was in the North … I couldn’t wait to get back home and start a career of my own. I realized arts was the thing for me, that’s when an artist I decided to be.”

Immediately after the visit, Diggs had to fly back to Los Angeles. He’s hopeful his schedule in the coming year will allow for more time at the school, but for now it’s back to work. His role with Turnaround, he says, feels like coming full circle.

“My access to the arts definitely changed my life,” says Diggs. “The Oakland that I grew up in is unrecognizable, but I’m glad these kids are getting to participate in art in the same way.”

#amylaurelm #answered

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