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askpetethelibrarian · 3 years

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ALA is so Square

ALA made the announcement about their Free Speech Zone to attendees in the last week or so. A couple tweets capturing most of the basics:

Credit where due, the long text was posted by @flexlibris on Twitter.

We’ll talk about it as “the square” from here on out, just for brevity. Ish.

Also, it should be noted that ALA has rolled this back, most likely based on the backlash from librarian Twitter.

As an aside, librarian twitter is possibly the worst twitter. It’s the worst I’ve been a part of. Because...well, it’s a very sensitive version of twitter, and...oof, I hate to say this, but it’s heavily trafficked by librarians who have nothing better to do than get outraged about shit on twitter. I don’t think ALL librarians have nothing better to do, but some of ya’ll, based on your timelines, need a little more workload. Just sayin’.

The Intent?

In tent? Eh?

I like to start with intent. Because while I know the popular vote right now swings towards impact over intent, I think it matters, and because it’s not talked about so much, I think we’ll have a period of time where intent might be lost. Once things are more balanced, I think we’ll want to talk intent again. So I’m ahead of the game and a goddamn genius is what I’m saying.

The intent is difficult to parse here. A lot of the arguments were along the lines of ALA continuing to prop up the white patriarchy or something, which I didn’t totally understand because, to be perfectly honest, I thought that this was sort of the naughty jail for people sharing views that, well, to reuse a phrase, prop up the white patriarchy. I thought the intent of the square was to put people in there who were sharing views that are viewed as racist/sexist as opposed to putting in people who are sharing views that are seen as progressive. But that’s how you know you fucked up: nobody likes it. People sharing views that go against the progressive grain (who I don’t think are huge ALA midwinter attendees, but whatever, that’s a whole ‘nother topic) think they’re going to bad boy jail. People sharing progressive views think they’re being restricted, continuing a path of blah blah blah.

I don’t mean to be disrespectful to either group. I’m just not really arguing either side in this debate because BOTH sides have the same problem with ALA’s idea, and BOTH sides feel attacked by it (in theory, at least. I didn’t actually see anyone willing to say “I wanted to say some anti-diversity stuff” at a library conference).

I make it a habit to assume best intent. That’s a fraught idea, but I think about it like this: #1 it’s up to me if that’s how I want to live life, not you. I’m not prescribing it for everyone. #2 if doing this is a result of privilege...then I’ll take it. Assuming best intent seems like a good use of privilege to me.

So, if I assume best intent, I think ALA probably wasn’t trying to make a free speech jail. I think they, like many institutions, were trying to figure out a way to have legitimate discussions about topics without people just sitting in sessions tweeting about how horrible they are.

For example, if I were to present at a conference, I might present on the topic of men in libraries. Which is going to touch some nerves. I might also present my personal feeling, which is that it’s unreasonable to expect that male representation in libraries will resemble male representation in the community. That view is based in a much longer discussion, which is that the majority of men, who cluster in spots on the gender spectrum, just aren’t as interest in books, reading, and librarianship. Now, this is not a progressive viewpoint. The progressive viewpoint is that we’re all indoctrinated from a young age to like what we like. I don’t tend to believe that so much, but in a session, I would tend to agree to disagree and move on with the fact of male librarianship being abysmally low, and that masculinity being redefined, if possible, will only lead to better representation in, say, 30 years.

I think the square was designed as a space where people could have those discussions without those discussions derailing sessions. Not that I think these discussions aren’t valuable, but I think there are plenty of options to attend sessions based around those topics. I think it was also a way to silo those discussions in a place where all who enter are more in the “assuming best intent” mindset. That’s my guess. Heavy emphasis on “guess” because I really don’t know.

I also think that because ALA includes academic libraries and because librarians are an academically-inclined bunch, this is probably libraries following a model that has been used on college campuses. Several campuses use almost this exact model for protest and free speech, including the need to reserve time slots, and we’ll get into that shortly.

SEE, THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS

I’m not so quick to blame ALA for making a boneheaded move. I think that librarians have brought this on ourselves.

I don’t think we’re great at having the hard discussions about sensitive topics. Librarians tend to get very defensive about their work products and their professions, and it’s a problem on both the micro (single library) and macro (ALA) scale.

I’ve mentioned this many times, but I can’t really talk about the lack of dudes in libraries without someone getting pissed off at me.

I don’t know, but I suspect that as a librarian of color, you’d probably wander into similar defensiveness if you talked about the whiteness of the profession.

We can’t even talk about the square without basically accusing ALA of being a racist, nazi-esque mess. Our own organization, we can’t approach it with a question or even a “Can we talk about why this isn’t a good idea?”

CAN WE TALK ABOUT WHY THIS ISN’T A GOOD IDEA?

There’s an agnostic way of talking about this without getting into how or why it benefits one group or another. Because truly, it’s to no one’s benefit.

The ACLU is against this concept. In short, speech that’s confined to a specific area is in no way free. But, more importantly, the purpose of attending a conference should be about learning and discussing, and rather than promoting learning and discussion, things like the square reduce discussion. They reduce opportunities for people to talk openly.

To take it further, a free speech zone indicates that the rest of the conference is NOT a free speech zone.

If we can’t have civil discourse about our profession and views at a professional conference, then were ARE we able to have it? If librarians need referees to monitor and control conversations among colleagues, how will we interact with the public when there is no referee? If we can’t politely disagree, ask questions or make statements because we’re hurting someone’s feelings, then how are we ever going to address anything that actually matters?

SUGGESTION 1: ABANDON SAFETY-ISM

I think ALA is engaging in a bit of safety-ism, which is counter-productive.

Safety-ism isn’t the same as safety. Safety is making sure people are, well, safe. Safety-ism is prioritizing safety over all other things, and it coincides with the idea creep of safety including emotional comfort.

People should not be harassed at a conference. If they are, the issues should be immediately dealt with by whoever’s throwing the conference.

But, emotional discomfort shouldn’t be something that take priority.

The ALA site says that attendees should vote with their feet, meaning that if they don’t like what’s going on in a session, they should leave. I 100% agree with this. If you don’t like what’s happening, if you’re feeling emotionally unsafe, leave. This applies to boredom or uselessness as well, but I digress.

There’s a famous saying I’ll paraphrase: If you walk into a library and can’t find anything that offends you, that’s a sucky library. Likewise, if you go to a conference and can’t find anything that offends you, it’s probably a sucky conference.

Safety is a priority. Physical safety. Safety from harassment. But emotional discomfort isn’t top dog.

SUGGESTION 2: SET GROUND RULES

I think simple attendance ground rules really do solve this problem.

1. Speakers have the floor Please don’t interrupt speakers. You may have disagreements with a speaker, however the purpose of speakers is for them to express a point of view or explain a project. Different speakers have different styles, and they need to be given the room and space to express themselves completely.

2. Attendees always vote with their feet This is always within your rights. At any time, stand up and leave.

3. The Protest Veto is a No-Go Please don’t try to silence any speakers or events via protesting or other methods. It’s not just about the speaker’s right to express themselves, it’s about the rights and needs of others to hear what that person is saying.

4. We value diversity of viewpoint We’re a very homogeneous group of people in a lot of ways. In trying to disrupt that, we will need to make room for people who don’t look like us, and we’ll need to make room for people who don’t think like us.

5. Best intent It’s very unlikely someone spent the time and money to come here and be a jerk. If we can’t assume best intent, we can’t open ourselves up to new ideas and ways of thinking. If we can’t do that, we may as well not have a conference and everyone can continue doing what they’re doing, believing what they believe, and working the way they’re working currently.

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yobaba30 · 4 years

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Brace yourself, dear reader, for today’s topic is rage. Not just any garden-variety rage, but its narcissistic kind, one of the darkest and most destructive manifestations of our Shadow.

A narcissist’s rage is always there, sometimes barely under the surface, sometimes hovering above it in the form of sadistic cruelties dispensed casually without specific reason, just because (that stupid dog was in my way, you are so fat and ugly, only idiots park their cars in this spot, and no one talks to me like that — any or no reason would do). There are, however, solid enough explanations of its existence.

You may have heard of Donald Trump’s very bad day the other Tuesday — or rather what would have been a very bad day for any normal person / presidential candidate confronted with his inaccuracies and lies. For Donald, however, it was just Tuesday as usual, complete with playing the Perpetual Victim™ of the Cruel and Unforgiving Press, and humiliating people who dared to question him about these pesky things known as facts.

The sordid as usual spectacle was instructive, as is everything else coming from the man, in the dynamics of narcissistic pathology.

First, the bombast. His over-the-top pronouncements about his huuuge charitable efforts are meant to shock and awe the audience into unquestioning submission.

Second, should any audience member retain his or her bearings and still manage to persist in their questioning, next comes the unloading of the massive victimhood complex designed to cow them into silence filled, presumably, with commiseration and appreciation for the Put Upon Donny and His Unique Suffering (and, oh, how he suffers! only a narcissist can suffer so — you mere mortals / losers cannot possibly comprehend it).

Third — since, remarkably enough, the first two options did not quite work, a sign perhaps that some of the press members are growing spines — there followed a predictable, but still shocking, dose of sadism in the form of insults, direct and less so, meant to shut everyone up for good.

It is instructive to watch The Donald, who epitomizes dishonesty and sleaze, rage at the reporters for being “dishonest” and call them sleazy — for trying to extract some honesty and truth from him. He shames them — or futilely attempts to, given that his moral standing is non-existent and reality is decidedly not on his side — with the ease and force that indicates the extent of his own fear of shame.

This sequelae, seen above, in response to shame is classic for any narcissist, especially one of this extreme caliber, for very obvious reasons:

The narcissist tends to be very sensitive to shame, which he perceives as humiliation: a blow to his ego (sense of self) and/or a threat to what he sees as his important status compared to others. This sensitivity is the reason why he tends to lash out at those who shame or appear to shame him in any way. His reactions to shame are grossly disproportionate to the “offense;” he will hold grudges and seek revenge sometimes till death, his own or his “offender’s,” whichever comes first. Hell hath no fury like a narcissist scorned.

Shame is so difficult for a narcissist to tolerate because it arises from an exposure of some flaw of his to others. He has many serious shortcomings; but in his own eyes he is perfect and surpasses everyone else, as he will let you know time and again, directly and not. He must retain this grandiose delusion of superiority and perfection at all costs because this is all he has. His bigger than life persona hides an empty inner core, devoid of meaningful values and attachments. A prick of shame exposing any flaws in the narcissist’s façade has a potential of deflating it and effectively destroying him since there is nothing of substance to fall back on within his inner world.

The rage with which a narcissist reacts to shame or humiliation thus deflects attention from his inner emptiness. That rage is often a predominant emotion, particularly in a narcissist who feels chronically deprived of the admiration and perks he believes he deserves (and as his need for admiration and perks is bottomless, so then is his sense of deprivation). It does not take much to provoke it: a simple, neutral observation or a request can suddenly unleash it on an unsuspecting victim.

The vehement defense against shame is also another reason why a narcissist never takes responsibility for his behavior. Why should he anyway, when he’s perfect and does no wrong? Nothing is ever his fault, no matter how great a mess he creates. Responsibility is always projected outwards, onto others, as blame. Admitting his culpability in anything could lead to shame and cracks in the false façade that defines his character — and his ego won’t allow that. It is a matter of life and death, ‘psychically’ speaking.

The flip side of his shame intolerance is his desire to humiliate others. It comes as naturally to him as breathing. He derives pleasure from inflicting on others the kind of pain he himself wants to avoid at all costs. Humiliating other people is almost as satisfying as winning. It helps that the two often go together in the narcissist’s life. In fact, humiliating others is itself a win. And he likes to win.

What we have seen in Donald’s behavior was a relatively mild version of narcissistic aggression in response to shame, but it gives us a glimpse of what’s beneath it. We are still in the wooing phase, and Donald is, believe it or not, on his best behavior.

He is still The Charming Donald (or what passes for charming in Trumpland), trying to curry our favor and votes. If he makes it into the White House, then we will get to know his true self, unhampered by all these frivolous niceties.

We must appreciate the often sadistic and always revealing quality of insults dished out by The Donald at the people who try to confront him with reality, because, in the Freudian-slippage way, they expose his shadow — take this one, directed at ABC’s Tom Llamas on Tuesday:

You’re a sleaze because you know the facts and you know the facts well.

In this breathtaking attack, The Donald conveyed more than he wished. While his intent was to imply that he was being unfairly (but of course) criticized by the reporter who should know better, he let us know, Freudian-slippage style, what we have observed time and again: that reality as we know it with its pesky facts is optional — and threatening — for him, because he lives in his own version of it, where we all should join him (if we knew what’s good for us).

This again ties in with his pathological defense against shame. A narcissist’s facts and facts as most of us know them are distinctly incompatible, and you bring it up at your own risk.

Should the truth — those inconvenient realities of his life and his character as the rest of us see them — be revealed, he would be emotionally annihilated, so he cannot allow that. Yes, a narcissist would kill, easily, to protect his fragile ego from this unforgivable, to him, insult of the truth.

That narcissistic rage attacks can be deadly we see in, for example, the tragic and seemingly incomprehensible instances of lethal domestic violence where a narcissistically injured spouse, usually a husband, lashes out at his wife who may have offended him “for the last time” by confronting him with some imperfection of his (as in, Would you take your shoes off the table, please?). We can also see it, brazenly displayed, in the lives of genocidal tyrants. Saddam Hussein, for instance, was known to invite his advisers to give him honest feedback, and then execute those who took the honest part seriously. Ditto Stalin.

The epidemic of gun violence in the US, particularly mass shootings — a persistent clamoring of our Shadow to pay attention to its presence, something we equally persistently refuse to do — is also driven largely by narcissistic rage. During a news conference several days ago about the UCLA shooter, the chief of LAPD said the following:

Everybody tries to look for a good reason for this. There is no good reason for this. This is a mental issue, mental derangement.

He was correct that there is no good reason for this and that “mental derangement” is the cause — but we should learn to identify and name this specific mental derangement, called aggrieved entitlement, which is a form of narcissistic rage, already. Our failure to do so, repeatedly and with the kind of stubbornness that suggests willful blindness, is deadly. Whatever other difficulties the UCLA shooter may have experienced, we can assume with a fair degree of certainty that narcissistic entitlement and rage were among them, as it is nearly always the case. For it takes a grand dose of faith in one’s specialness to believe that one has a right to take another’s life — or many — in revenge for whatever slights, real or imagined, one may have experienced.

Tom Llamas’ offense, like those unlucky honest Hussein’s advisers, was, in addition to confronting Trump with cold facts about his charitable inactivities, ignoring those central facts that comprise the narcissist’s reality:

It is not, however, as though his understanding of himself and the world is entirely fact-free. There are three major facts around which his whole reality is organized:

1. I am great.

2. People unfairly malign me.

3. I will show them (they will pay).

Those are not just beliefs — they are facts etched deep in his psyche, and they evoke corresponding emotional states of 1. grandiose pride, 2. sense of victimhood and resentment, 3. desire for revenge, all of which form the core of his sense of self and motivate his actions.

“You’re a sleaze because you know the facts and you know the facts well” — the real facts, about the narcissist’s unsurpassed and unquestioned greatness — and you choose to ignore them. You will pay.

Trump’s gratuitous putdowns hint at the reservoir of narcissistic rage within. If physical violence (or a lawsuit) is not an option, sadistic insults will do. We all remember his gleeful mockery of a disabled reporter; yesterday, he gave us another example when talking about John Kerry’s accident in France last year:

He goes into a bicycle race, and he breaks his leg, and he’s incapacitated. And you know what they’re saying to each other? ‘How dumb is this guy? How dumb?’

The crowd laughed, as WaPo reports.

Narcissistic rage is easily evoked by the weakness of others, which the narcissist finds contemptible and deserving punishment, sometimes giving us hints at his own early traumas he may have experienced as a weak and helpless child at mercy of his harsh and/or cruel caretakers.

It also gives us a close look at other aspects of his shadow. Here is what Trump said about Hillary Clinton this week:

She’s a total mess, she’s unstable, and she can’t be president.

And how he responded when asked why he engaged in Twitter wars with Elizabeth Warren:

Because she is a nasty person, a terrible senator, and it drives her crazy.

These grade-school level barbs, which, like everything else that comes from the man’s mouth, are based on projection, tell us most about his shadow, facts which he does not want to — cannot, at a risk of grave injury — acknowledge of himself: that he is a nasty person, a total mess, unstable, terrible at his job (whatever it really is), and easily driven crazy by petty insults and criticisms. Oh, and that he can’t be president. If only Donald listened to his shadow…

Narcissistic rage is one of the darkest and deadliest forces known to mankind. Before it erupts, it usually simmers and percolates for a long time, fueled by resentment, envy and entitlement, the latter always aggrieved as the narcissist’s need for adulation and glory is insatiable and he can see the world populated by the undeserving, inferior people who nevertheless dare to be happier and/or more successful than he is. It thus creates enemies out of the innocent and often weak who become vessels for the narcissist’s hateful and envious projections.

These sustained projections form a basis of an attitude called the narcissism of minor differences, first described by Freud, where we exaggerate small differences in people who are our neighbors — their dress, the shape of their noses, etc. — in order to feel superior to them and exclude them from our group. This attitude, like anything else based on fear and hatred, easily infects others, already narcissistically predisposed; and the sharing makes the hateful projections grow and spread. The co-existent phenomenon of collective narcissism, which intensifies the in-group ties (and which is unsurprisingly associated with authoritarianism) at the expense of excluding and demonizing those who do not belong to our group, strengthens this pathological, but common and predictable enough process.

Once established as a more or less legitimate shared worldview, the narcissism of minor differences leads to an easy dehumanization of The Other, entrenched in racism and other forms of prejudice. It culminates in mob actions, gang violence, terrorism, and endless internal conflicts and wars, which — because of their grand scale and the magnitude of destruction — are the ultimate expressions of narcissistic rage and the deadliest manifestations of our Shadow.

And we allow this to happen.

Much cyberink has been spilled on analyzing Trump’s enduring appeal to American voters, and lauding his purported political mastery. This predictable but misguided adulation that stems from widespread narcissistic collusion and denial it creates (and the other way around) is exactly what the narcissist desires and aims at extracting from others.

It is unforgivable that our media not only legitimize this destructive individual, but imbue him with all kinds of special skills, attributing to him, with admiration and awe, political genius and media savvy.

Not coincidentally, the same happened with other leaders in human history who shared this character defect: while they were ridiculed by some, they were lauded by the press, domestic and foreign, for their “eloquence” and “brilliant political skills” as they peddled their grandiose dreams of glory alongside contempt and hatred for their “enemies,” The Others.

“This is a marvelous demagogue who can really inspire loyalty.”

“This guy is a clown. He’s like a caricature of himself.”

That’s how the media both idealized and devalued another similar character from the past who set out to show the world how great he was and how much adulation he deserved, Adolf Hitler.

This happens every time with an extreme (psychopathic) narcissistic leader / public character, because his pathology evokes just that very kind of response in people, media people included: it makes us either laugh in disbelief and contempt, or idolize his hyped-up “skills” — which are really nothing more than expressions of his pathology — often both at the same time. And while the public is both amused and mesmerized by the future tyrant’s larger-than-life persona, he ever so persistently marches toward his ultimate goal unimpeded — because the number of those who fall for his narcissistic manipulations is always too large.

The predictable and co-occurring idealization and devaluation are two emotional states that generally define a narcissist’s attitude toward himself (idealization) and others (devaluation; see the insults discussed above). He projects them, primitively — i.e., without any self-reflection or inhibitions, as there is no functioning conscience to impose such “obstacles” on his mental processes and behavior — onto the world and constructs an entire ideology from them.

When dressed up in grandiose and empty sloganeering on patriotism, faith, national purity, and other perverted “ideals,” this pathological process is mistaken for “political brilliance” and other such dangerous nonsense, as it inspires too many people to follow the leader, even if straight into an abyss. His irresistible pull lies not in any specific policies he may be promising (and being blissfully unacquainted with reality, he is always short and/or vague on those), but in the feelings his words engender in his followers, specifically a narcissistic identification with the strongman, which compensates for his followers’ inadequacies; and narcissistic rage, which the strongman embodies and already unleashes on the nation through inciting chaos and violence. The only promises that matter are those which bring in a possibility of revenge for the real and imagined hurts of his followers. That, too, is our Shadow at work.

This phenomenon, part of narcissistic collusion that develops between narcissistic leaders and their followers in any human group and organization, is as common as it is dangerous. It should be obvious that any promises and “serious” pronouncements such a leader makes are not worth the air he wastes uttering them. The only “skills” that he possesses come from his emotional primitivism combined with his grandiosity and lack of conscience, which allow him to unleash the disordered contents of his psyche on the world without any inhibition or compunction.

This appeals to and “awes” people who are psychologically similar, but frightens and repulses, correctly, the rest who are not as primitive and/or disordered and who see where this dangerous process leads. Unfortunately, too many journalists, not to mention Trump’s admirers and supporters, apparently belong in the former camp, as their shadow dangerously colludes with his.

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lokisgame · 5 years

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Rainbow’s End [2]

[part 1]

What a strange man, Dana said to herself and looked inside a box full of dinnerware, knowing that she should wash everything before putting it away into drawers and cabinets but having no time to do that. She picked two plates, and set aside everything else. They probably will eat out of cartons but she wanted to at least have the chance to offer. Fox, what a strange name, didn’t look like someone who stood on ceremony. She cleaned up the table, straightened the chairs, and leaving a carton on one of them, started to take out and rinse mugs, lining them up on a rag to dry. Coffee and tea was all she had around the house for now.

Mulder went downstairs with a silly grin on his face. Talk about small world, fate and fortune coincidences. Her warm smile was just as he remembered, real, he didn’t imagine it. A little angry at himself for not locking the door, he found the menus under the coffee table, took his wallet and stoped holding the doorknob. Calm down, relax. Where’s the fire? You know nothing about her, she might have someone, a guy, a girl perhaps. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Going through this silent rant, he double-backed to the fridge, white wine or beer? Beer, less alcohol, and anyway she can always opt out. He was locking his door when Alex passed him in the hallway, noticing the six-pack under his arm. “Wow, you’re cheap Mulder.” “Maybe for you Krycek,” he turned and went in the opposite direction than the other man, dislike quickening his step. “You know who moved in upstairs?” He called after him, but Mulder didn’t have time to answer. He knocked on the door and let himself in, “I’m back.”

Dana huffed out a small laugh without bothering to turn around, this guy knew nothing about boundaries. But as in other men it annoyed her, he made it feel casual and safe. She heard the clank of bottles and looked over her shoulder. “Don’t you have enough glass for one day?” “Something to wash down the food, totally optional, I’m not counting this into your tab,” he set the bottles on the table and spread out the pamphlets, “pick a place.” “I just moved here, how should I know which one is best?” “It’s like an adventure, come on, they’re all great so there’s no wrong choice to be honest.” “Okay, how about this,” she picked the most subdued design. “Not bad, best egg rolls of them all, mean sweet and sour chicken, but it’s your choice.” “Okay, let’s have that, I’m really not picky, and you seem to know your way around.” “You sure?” “Yup, go wild.” “Such a vote of confidence, I’m touched.” “Oh, just order already.” He picked up the phone, ordered and laughed with the person on the other side of the line, it sounded as if he was a regular customer. In the mean time she went to the box with kitchen utensils and found a bottle opener. “One hour tops,” Mulder said hanging up and took the bottle she offered, lifting it in a small salut, “to new friends.” “And safety glass,” she added and sipped from her bottle then went back to washing and drying the mugs. “So, Fox,” she started and he barked out a laugh. “Please, just Mulder, nobody calls me Fox, not even my parents.” “Alright, Mulder, what do you do for a living?” “I write horoscopes,” he went to his usual joke. A small lie combined with the fact that his novels were published under a pseudonym, bought him at least a few of days to get to know people without signing copies of his books for friends and relatives and answering questions about extraterrestrials. Life of a sci-fi novelist was hard. However the side effect of such innocent lie was her gaping mouth and bewildered smile. “What?” He chuckled, “someone has to do it.” She looked cute, frozen mid-wipe of a blue china cup. “How do you do that?” Dana forced herself to remain calm, “you had some kind of training?” “I took a four year course in Oxford,” he pushed on, wondering how far he could go with pulling her leg, before she burst out laughing, “came back to the states and now I run a little column for Cosmo, I can read your palm if you want.” And that was that, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, she bent over, arms crossed over her stomach and laughed, and laughed, and he laughed with her, marveling at the wonderful sound. “No, seriously, what do you do,” she gasped, siting at the table, wiping her eyes. “I’m a psychologist, not practicing, but I work for the FBI sometimes, mostly consulting jobs.” “And that leaves you with time to read people’s futures?” She teased, resting her chin in the palm of her hand. “Enough to balance dabbling in criminals’ past.” She laid both her hands on the table, palms up. “Okay, what do you see in my future” Mulder chuckled, but took her hand in his awkwardly, his right still throbbing under the bandages. “I see a tall dark stranger, completely harmless, no need to worry,” a wink earned him a smile, “a charming young man who could be a true friend if you’ll let him, well versed in neighbourhood politics, a wellspring of knowledge about best parking spots, local take-out joints and deli stores.” “How many girls did you try to pick up with that line?” Her gaze was honest and she made it clear his BS made no impression, except maybe being slightly amusing. “Not as many as you’d think,” he let go pf her palms and dialled back on the teasing. “It’s not very effective,” she went back to washing the mugs, “so about those neighbourhood politics, are there some unwritten rules I should know about?” “Not really,” he could feel that he crossed some line, but didn’t let it scare him away. Dana Scully didn’t suffer fools and he made note to remember that. “The guy above you, Alex Krycek doesn’t like noise, I don’t mind either way, the couple downstairs, the Petrie’s are away on an extended holiday, haven’t seen them in three months, and I don’t expect them to be back anytime soon.” “Where did they go?” “I didn’t ask, they kept to themselves, and I respected that.” “So you do not make a habit out of barging in on your new neighbours on their fist day?” That stung a bit, he was beginning to regret his forwardness. “No, I do not, and if you like, I can leave,” he pushed the bottle aside and started to get up, “you did enough for me as it is, and I see you have a lot to do.” “No,” suddenly alarmed, Dana turned to face him, “I didn’t mean it like that, please, stay. I’m just not used to being,” she stoped, he wasn’t sure why, but a cloud of shame passed over her face, “called someone’s friend after 20 minutes since meeting them. People usually take me for the Ice Queen.” “You didn’t meet me 20 minutes ago,” he sat back down, trying to bring her back from the shell she was crawling back into, “we met this morning.” “We did?” “Yeah, you passed me when you were leaving the diner at the end of the street, great waffles and coffee, probably the best in D.C.” “I did?” She raked her memory, but pulled blank. “You probably were too busy to remember, with the movers arriving soon.” “How did you know that?” Her eyes grew wide, and she became worried a little, despite his assurances. “Calm down, simple observation, I saw the truck, I remembered your clothes and hair, eidetic memory, just a simple matter of putting two and two together.” “You do work for the FBI.” “Part time, but you pick up a habit or two, I swear I mean you no harm.” “Even if you did, I took a self-defense class, so I know how to take care of myself.” “I don’t doubt that,” he tried to smile his most sincere and non-threatening smile, and she began to relax, still he was curious. “Why do people call you Ice Queen? I see no reason for that.” “You seem like the exception to all rules,” she sighed and dried the last mug. “I guess I’m skeptical of all new acquaintances, you can call it trust issues if you want.” “I’d rather call it reason,” he got up and rounded the table. “You’re going? What about the food?” She sounded anxious but didn’t step back. “No, I’m not going anywhere,” he pushed up the sleeves as much as he could with his bad hand, “put me to work, how can I help?” “But your hand.” “I’ll manage, and if I break anything I’ll pay for it,” he was completely serious and she saw it. “Come on Scully, I’m at your disposal.” “Okay,” she let slide the use of her last name, with what he said about his own name, it seemed kind of fair, “maybe we’ll leave the dishes for now, I don’t want you to get those bandages wet, we could unpack the books, you think you can handle that?” “I’ll hand them to you, and you’ll arrange them inside the bookcase, because I’m sure you have a system.” “Yup,” she smiled and led the way to the stack of boxes in the living room, “I sure have.”

The process went quite smoothly as they waited for the food to arrive. Thanks to her sensible packing, the books were basically ordered the way she wanted them, the only problem was picking bookshelves. He didn’t skip a chance to laugh at some of the titles. “’Inflammatory Bowel Diseases: A Personal View’ now that must be a real page turner,” he laughed handing her another pile of books. “You have no idea, Steven King has nothing on this one.” “Nope, wait, we have a winner, this one I got to read,” he picked a medium-sized volume and started to page through it. “Give it back, Mulder,” she reached for the books but he turned away. “Hold on a second, this is great.” “What have you got there,” she tried to take the book from him but he escaped her again, “a layman shouldn’t read this stuff, you’ll read something and you’ll think you’re sick or dying.” “I’m not a layman, I’m a psychologist,” the book was hidden behind his back and smile, “not a hypochondriac.” “All men are,” she laughed and her arms went around him, searching for the book. Mulder froze and she realized what she was doing. She was holding on to him, her arms around his waist and he was looking down at her with a wicked grin. “Like I said, you’re no Ice Queen,” he took half a step back, still in her space but no longer in her arms, and showed her the title. “DIY Brain Surgery,” he said and gave her the book back, “you have to lend me this one sometime.”

The doorbell saved them. Scully from thinking too much about the hard muscle of his chest, and Mulder from trying to remember when was the last time a woman putting her arms around him made him laugh with excitement. He went to the door and paid the Lin boy, as always, tipping him handsomely. “You want to eat here?” She asked walking to the kitchen, ready to set the table. “Sure,” unpacking the food, he grimaced as she set the plates and napkins and silverware, “I thought we said no dishes.” “I want to try everything, so we’re sharing, I’ll do the dishes.” He didn’t argue, and she did try everything, eating with gusto, as befit someone who did a honest day’s work. The sight made Mulder almost as pleased as if he cooked for her himself, although he never did things like that. “I like this chicken thing, not too spicy to burn you through,” she said around a mouthful of moo goo gai pan. “Easy on the deep fried shrimp then, the sauce is pure fire,” he warned. “Really?” Taking a piece and dipping it cautiously, she nibbled at the end then gasped, “oh-ghod-wha-ish-thish” She covered her mouth breathing deeply, hoping the beer could put out the fire, gesturing with her chopsticks for him to take the shrimp. “Put it down,” he said and she did, the shrimp and the beer, looking down, flushed at being caught taking too much liberties. “You don’t pass food like that,” he said with a smile, picking the shrimp of her plate and dipping it in sauce, “it’s a funeral custom in Japan.” He bit of half without flinching, then licked his lips, and the sight made her feel warmth that had nothing to do with the hot sauce. She wanted to argue that they were having chinese not sushi, but he licked his lips again and she lost her train of thought for a moment. “Try the dumplings,” she heard him say a moment later and time picked up its’ usual pace.

The food was great as promised, and they had a second beer with it, each. “This was probably the best Chinese I ever had.” Scully sighed, leaning back in her chair with a contented smile that suddenly turned into a frown. She looked over his shoulder to the living room, “do you have some strength left in you to help me clean up the couch?” “Sure,” he said looking back to the overstuffed monster he saw before, now stacked with bags, most likely clothes, “you want to unpack or just move it?” “Move it, I’ll do that later or tomorrow.” “‘key.” So they moved the bags and sank into couch cushions, shoulder to shoulder. “I think I’m in danger of falling into a food induced coma,” Scully giggled and pulled her feet up, folding them underneath herself. Elvis record he found and she let him put on, made another circle and the King crooned softly about things that couldn’t be helped. Mulder reached over and pulled down the blanket she left on the back of the couch over her, gently drawing her into his side. “Sleep,” he said quietly, shifting to make them both more comfortable, “I know a good doctor.” Scully half laughed half sighed, but sleep was stronger than either of them. Mulder closed his eyes, and drifted off, rocked by her steady breath and the King’s lullaby.

One floor below, phone woke the answering machine who beeped, startled, and then reciting her line, took a message from the woman on the other side. “Fox, I can’t meet you tomorrow, maybe some other time.”

#rainbows end #MSR fanfic #x files fanfic #x files au

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I prefer the fried batter since it is straightforward to fry and cooks quick too. This is the final step of cooking your chicken since it's now ready to be put in hot oil. chicken recipe grain-free dry dog food -fry the fowl in some oil. There are numerous options like edible oil, olive oil, coconut oil or ghee. Heat the oil properly as a result of when the oil is not hot sufficient the coating will fall off the bird and it'll grow to be greasy. And even if you heat the oil a lot the caponmight simply burn. My suggestion is which you could heat the oil at a medium level however not smoking and you may take a look at it by dropping a small piece of the fowl in it so that you know the way hot the oil is. Also you can put the capon one piece at a time and make sure they remain separate. The fried hen is often ruined and does not cook additionally by crowding it whereas frying. Cook it till the chook is golden brown for about 10 to 20 minutes. Adjust the heat accordingly if you are feeling that the batter is turning brown very fast. Don't panic if couple of items change into brown. Once the chick is completed, you may remove it from the pan and pierce it with a fork to see whether it is cooked. Set the cooked fowl on paper towels and allow the oil to drain. Now do not waste your time in waiting, Just decide it and take pleasure in consuming.

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