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tisfan · 4 years

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From Joe Morice, daughters in 8th & 10th grade in Fairfax County Public Schools' Centreville Pyramid:

To our fellow FCPS families—this is it gang: 5 days until the 2 days in school vs. 100% virtual decision. Let’s talk it out, in my traditional mammoth TL/DR form.

Like all of you, I’ve seen my feed become a flood of anxiety and faux expertise. You’ll get no presumption of expertise here. This is how I am looking at and considering this issue and the positions people have taken in my feed and in the hundred or so FCPS discussion groups that have popped up. The lead comments in quotes are taken directly from my feed and those boards. Sometimes I try to rationalize them. Sometimes I’m just punching back at the void.

Full disclosure, we initially chose the 2 days option and are now having serious reservations. As I consider the positions and arguments I see in my feed, these are where my mind goes. Of note, when I started working on this piece at 12:19 PM today the COVID death tally in the United States stood at 133,420.

“My kids want to go back to school.”

I challenge that position. I believe what the kids desire is more abstract. I believe what they want is a return to normalcy. They want their idea of yesterday. And yesterday isn’t on the menu.

“I want my child in school so they can socialize.”

This was the principle reason for our 2 days decision. As I think more on it though, what do we think ‘social’ will look like? There aren’t going to be any lunch table groups, any lockers, any recess games, any study halls, any sitting next to friends, any talking to people in the hallway, any dances. All of that is off the menu. So, when we say that we want the kids to benefit from the social experience, what are we deluding ourselves into thinking in-building socialization will actually look like in the Fall?

“My kid is going to be left behind.”

Left behind who? The entire country is grappling with the same issue, leaving all children in the same quagmire. Who exactly would they be behind? I believe the rhetorical answer to that is “They’ll be behind where they should be,” to which I’ll counter that “where they should be” is a fictional goal post that we as a society have taken as gospel because it maps to standardized tests which are used to grade schools and counties as they chase funding.

“Classrooms are safe.”

At the current distancing guidelines from FCPS middle and high schools would have no more than 12 people (teachers + students) in a classroom (I acknowledge this number may change as FCPS considers the Commonwealth’s 3 ft with a mask vs. 6 ft position, noting that FCPS is all mask regardless of the distance). For the purpose of this discussion we’ll say classes run 45 minutes.

I posed the following question to 40 people today, representing professional and management roles in corporations, government agencies, and military commands: “Would your company or command have a 12 person, 45 minute meeting in a conference room?”

100% of them said no, they would not. These are some of their answers:

“No. Until further notice we are on Zoom.”

“(Our company) doesn’t allow us in (company space).”

“Oh hell no.”

“No absolutely not.”

“Is there a percentage lower than zero?”

“Something of that size would be virtual.”

We do not even consider putting our office employees into the same situation we are contemplating putting our children into. And let’s drive this point home: there are instances here when commanding officers will not put soldiers, ACTUAL SOLDIERS, into the kind of indoor environment we’re contemplating for our children. For me this is as close to a ‘kill shot’ argument as there is in this entire debate. How do we work from home because buildings with recycled air are not safe, because we don’t trust other people to not spread the virus, and then with the same breath send our children into buildings?

“Children only die .0016 of the time.”

First, conceding we’re an increasingly morally bankrupt society, but when did we start talking about children’s lives, or anyone’s lives, like this? This how the villain in movies talks about mortality, usually 10-15 minutes before the good guy kills him.

If you’re in this camp, and I acknowledge that many, many people are, I’m asking you to consider that number from a slightly different angle.

FCPS has 189,000 children. .0016 of that is 302. 302 dead children are the Calvary Hill you’re erecting your argument on. So, let’s agree to do this: stop presenting this as a data point. If this is your argument, I challenge you to have courage equal to your conviction. Go ahead, plant a flag on the internet and say, “Only 302 children will die.” No one will. That’s the kind action on social media that gets you fired from your job. And I trust our social media enclave isn’t so careless and irresponsible with life that it would even, for even a millisecond, enter any of your minds to make such an argument.

Considered another way: You’re presented with a bag with 189,000 $1 bills. You’re told that in the bag are 302 random bills, they look and feel just like all the others, but each one of those bills will kill you. Do you take the money out of the bag?

Same argument, applied to the 12,487 teachers in FCPS (per Wikipedia), using the ‘children’s multiplier’ of .0016 (all of us understanding the adult mortality rate is higher). That’s 20 teachers. That’s the number you’re talking about. It’s very easy to sit behind a keyboard and diminish and dismiss the risk you’re advocating other people assume. Take a breath and think about that.

If you want to advocate for 2 days a week, look, I’m looking for someone to convince me. But please, for the love of God, drop things like this from your argument. Because the people I know who’ve said things like this, I know they’re better people than this. They’re good people under incredible stress who let things slip out as their frustration boils over. So, please do the right thing and move on from this, because one potential outcome is that one day, you’re going to have to stand in front of St. Peter and answer for this, and that’s not going to be conversation you enjoy.

“Hardly any kids get COVID.”

(Deep sigh) Yes, that is statistically true as of this writing. But it is a cherry-picked argument because you’re leaving out an important piece.

One can reasonably argue that, due to the school closures in March, children have had the least EXPOSURE to COVID. In other words, closing schools was the one pandemic mitigation action we took that worked. There can be no discussion of the rate of diagnosis within children without also acknowledging they were among our fastest and most quarantined people. Put another way, you cannot cite the effect without acknowledging the cause.

“The flu kills more people every year.”

(Deep sigh). First of all, no, it doesn’t. Per the CDC, United States flu deaths average 20,000 annually. COVID, when I start writing here today, has killed 133,420 in six months.

And when you mention the flu, do you mean the disease that, if you’re suspected of having it, everyone, literally everyone in the country tells you stay the f- away from other people? You mean the one where parents are pretty sure their kids have it but send them to school anyway because they have a meeting that day, the one that every year causes massive f-ing outbreaks in schools because schools are petri dishes and it causes kids to miss weeks of school and leaves them out of sports and band for a month? That one? Because you’re right - the flu kills people every year. It does, but you’re ignoring the why. It’s because there are people who are a--holes who don’t care about infecting other people. In that regard it’s a perfect comparison to COVID.

“Almost everyone recovers.”

You’re confusing “release from the hospital” and “no longer infected” with “recovered.” I’m fortunate to only know two people who have had COVID. One my age and one my dad’s age. The one my age described it as “absolute hell” and although no longer infected cannot breathe right. The one my dad’s age was in the hospital for 13 weeks, had to have a trach ring put in because she could no longer be on a ventilator, and upon finally getting home and being faced with incalculable time in rehab told my mother, “I wish I had died.”

While I’m making every effort to reach objectivity, on this particular point, you don’t know what the f- you’re talking about.

“If people get sick, they get sick.”

First, you mistyped. What you intended to say was “If OTHER people get sick, they get sick.” And shame on you.

“I’m not going to live my life in fear.”

You already live your life in fear. For your health, your family’s health, your job, your retirement, terrorists, extremists, one political party or the other being in power, the new neighbors, an unexpected home repair, the next sunrise. What you meant to say was, “I’m not prepared to add ANOTHER fear,” and I’ve got news for you: that ship has sailed. It’s too late. There are two kinds of people, and only two: those that admit they’re afraid, and those that are lying to themselves about it.

As to the fear argument, fear is the reason you wait up when your kids stay out late, it’s the reason you tell your kids not to dive in the shallow water, to look both ways before crossing the road. Fear is the respect for the wide world that we teach our children. Except in this instance, for reasons no one has been able to explain to me yet.

“FCPS leadership sucks.”

I will summarize my view of the School Board thusly: if the 12 of you aren’t getting into a room together because it represents a risk, don’t tell me it’s OK for our kids. I understand your arguments, that we need the 2 days option for parents who can’t work from home, kids who don’t have internet or computer access, kids who needs meals from the school system, kids who need extra support to learn, and most tragically for kids who are at greater risk of abuse by being home. All very serious, all very real issues, all heartbreaking. No argument.

But you must first lead by example. Because you’re failing when it comes to optics. All your meetings are online. What our children see is all of you on a Zoom telling them it’s OK for them to be exactly where you aren’t. I understand you’re not PR people, but you really should think about hiring some.

“I talked it over with my kids.”

Let’s put aside for a moment the concept of adults effectively deferring this decision to children, the same children who will continue to stuff things into a full trash can rather than change it out. Yes, those hygienic children.

Listen, my 15 year old daughter wants a sport car, which she’s not getting next year because it would be dangerous to her and to others. Those kinds of decisions are our job. We step in and decide as parents, we don’t let them expose themselves to risks because their still developing and screen addicted brains narrow their understanding of cause and effect.

We as parents and adults serve to make difficult decisions. Sometimes those are in the form of lessons, where we try to steer kids towards the right answer and are willing to let them make a mistake in the hopes of teaching better decision making the next time around. This is not one of those moments. The stakes are too high for that. This is a “the adults are talking” moment. Kids are not mature enough for this moment. That is not an attack on your child. It is a broad statement about all children. It is true of your children and it was true when we were children. We need to be doing that thinking here, and “Johnny wants to see Bobby at school” cannot be the prevailing element in the equation.

“The teachers need to do their job.”

How is it that the same society which abruptly shifted to virtual students only three months ago, and offered glowing endorsements of teachers stating, “we finally understand how difficult your job is,” has now shifted to “screw you, do your job.” There are myriad problems with that position but for the purposes of this piece let’s simply go with, “You’re not looking for a teacher, you’re looking for the babysitter you feel your property tax payment entitles you to.”

“Teachers have a greater chance to being killed by a car than they do of dying from COVID.”

(Eye roll) Per the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety (IIHS), the U.S. see approximately 36,000 auto fatalities a year. Again, there have been 133,420 COVID deaths in the United States through 12:09 July 10, 2020. So no, they do not have a great chance of being killed in a car accident.

And, if you want to take the actual environment into consideration, the odds of a teacher being killed in a car accident in their classroom, you know, the environment we’re actually talking about, that’s right around 0%.

“If the grocery store workers can be onsite what are the teachers afraid of?”

(Deep breath) A grocery store worker, who absolutely risks exposure, has either six feet of space or a plexiglass shield between them and individual adult customers who can grasp their own mortality whose transactions can be completed in moments, in a 40,000 SF space.

A teacher is with 11 ‘customers’ who have not an inkling what mortality is, for 45 minutes, in a 675 SF space, six times a day.

Just stop.

“Teachers are choosing remote because they don’t want to work.”

(Deep breaths) Many teachers are opting to be remote. That is not a vacation. They’re requesting to do their job at a safer site. Just like many, many people who work in buildings with recycled air have done. And likely the building you’re not going into has a newer and better serviced air system than our schools.

Of greater interest to me is the number of teachers choosing the 100% virtual option for their children. The people who spend the most time in the buildings are the same ones electing not to send their children into those buildings. That’s something I pay attention to.

“I wasn’t prepared to be a parent 24/7” and “I just need a break.”

I truly, deeply respect that honesty. Truth be told, both arguments have crossed my mind. Pre COVID, I routinely worked from home 1 – 2 days a week. The solace was nice. When I was in the office, I had an actual office, a room with a door I could close, where I could focus. During the quarantine that hasn’t always been the case. I’ve been frustrated, I’ve been short, I’ve gone to just take a drive and get the hell away for a moment and been disgusted when one of the kids sees me and asks me to come for a ride, robbing me of those minutes of silence. You want to hear silence. I get it. I really, really do.

Here’s another version of that, admittedly extreme. What if one of our kids becomes one of the 302? What’s that silence going to sound like? What if you have one of those matted frames where you add the kid’s school picture every year? What if you don’t get to finish the pictures?

“What does your gut tell you to do?”

Shawn and I have talked ad infinitum about all of these and other points. Two days ago, at mid-discussion I said, “Stop, right now, gut answer, what is it,” and we both said, “virtual.”

A lot of the arguments I hear people making for the 2 days sound like we’re trying to talk ourselves into ignoring our instincts, they are almost exclusively, “We’re doing 2 days, but…”. There’s a fantastic book by Gavin de Becker, The Gift of Fear, which I’ll minimize for you thusly: your gut instinct is a hardwired part of your brain and you should listen to it. In the introduction he talks about elevators, and how, of all living things, humans are the only ones that would voluntarily get into a soundproof steel box with a potential predator just so they could skip a flight of stairs.

I keep thinking that the 2 days option is the soundproof steel box. I welcome, damn, beg, anyone to convince me otherwise.

At the time I started writing at 12:09 PM, 133,420 Americans had died from COVID. Upon completing this draft at 7:04 PM, that number rose to 133,940.

520 Americans died of COVID while I was working on this. In seven hours.

The length of a school day.

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violetsystems · 3 years

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#personal

The holidays are quiet if not a little more restful than usual. I facetime’d my dad and his wife and talked to my mom on the phone. Since I left my job way back in July I haven’t had much video contact with anybody. Everybody is too busy baking banana bread on YouTube I guess to check in. The final days of my employment had devolved into a virtual SCRUM twice a day led by myself on camera. It was exhausting at times to lead but kept people focused. That is when they bothered to show up. One of my employees was off making music with my boss half the time I was trying to lead those discussions. I’m beginning to sense a theme. People saying they are there but not really. Maybe the mic is muted. Maybe you can’t see behind the screen. All I know is the follow through lately with people is missing entirely. I spent a good hour the last two days trying to decouple a credit card from my old job’s contact info. I’m locked out of both the phone number and the email attached to the account. I got the run around trying to provide a US passport to confirm my identity. It was good enough to enter China alone. The first call that ID was sufficient. They had said they sent an email to follow through with the process to two different emails I provided. The email never came most likely because neither had been tied to the account previously. I called back on Christmas eve and suddenly the passport wasn’t good enough. Neither was an expired driver’s license. The woman actually asked me why I hadn’t renewed my driver’s license. I told the truth. My ex girlfriend stole my car. That didn’t really help the situation. I sent a passport photo to unlock my facebook but they never followed through. I had an easier time unlocking my Fortnite account with it although that took a full week. I ended having to call the police on Christmas eve to explore filing a report for fraud and identity theft. The police officer on the phone pretty much gaslighted me at the end of the questioning. “Nothing criminal.” he stated plainly. I didn’t get mad. I didn’t even complain. I simply said Happy Holidays and hung up. Much like I’ve hung up on the last twenty years of my life at this point. Nobody seems to want to answer the video call. The opening introduction if they did would be something like “What exactly have you done with my life?” Maybe they’re afraid to confront the truth. The media, the government, and even the police seem to not want to believe evidence that contradicts their narrative. I guess you could throw up your hands and revolt. But the holidays have been peaceful and quiet enough to simply roll my eyes and move on. I’ve had years of failures to connect. COVID has taught me a lot of things. I heard the mantra in all the mandatory corporate webinars. This pandemic has brought to light structural problems we were never aware of before. Sexual harassment in the workplace. Check. Organizational corruption. Check. The fact everybody is full of bullshit and will just mute the mic and pretend it never happened. Check. People feel invincible behind a screen and think they know it all. Check. Now that we’re aware. What do we do? How do we move on with our life now that we have all this space? How do I even care about participating in a broken process when I have no debt and fiscal maturity? How can I go back to being the old me when I’ve been completely erased and conveniently forgot about? Why would I even bother?

Mostly I take the time with this process to make sure my identity is completely secure. Which is why it’s not really fun to be locked out of twenty years of your own information in the form of an email account and forgotten about for six months. But this is just the structural reality come to light. Much like the rest of America is waking up to the reality of what greed really does to people. That was my Christmas present this year aside from the coffee that never came and that Cyberpunk game that I don’t really have the time or the subpar computer setup to criticize. I’m guilty of tricking myself into thinking people care about me. I have statistical data from the last six months that proves otherwise. I also have financial data that points to whatever hustle I have been hustling during that time has paid off and will continue to. But I don’t really have an answer to anything. I’m in the worst kind of limbo. I don’t get the sense these days that I should even remotely worry until July. Which is kind of like saying fuck you to the world for the next six months. I spent the last six waking up from a nightmare. The only times I look back is to clean up the mess. And a Christmas Eve call to the police is kind of messy. But the result is more of the same for me. An extravagant “I told you so.” I’ve been telling myself for awhile now a lot of things. Some of them were kind of unbelievable. Now those very dreams are all I really take comfort in. The limbo I’m in is more pointed to the light at the end of the tunnel than the void. But I can’t say the same for everybody else. I work for myself for the time being. It looks really nice on paper. I can even pay myself if it fits into my organization’s financial outlook. But none of this matters when you or your struggles don’t even exist to people other than to mock or judge it. All the work we do to survive. All the work we do to create art and to be beautiful in the face of chaos. All of that is negated by a loud mouthed jerk who can bark you back into submission. A mob of dumb ass fraudsters that talk over and mute any opposition without any warrant or merit. The press follows this mentality pretty clearly. Everybody has a hot take and a theory. But nobody wants to sit down and listen to the culmination of lies spread about people and situations. Everyone is too emotionally interested in sharing their recipe for banana bread to an invisible audience. I guess I could be guilty of that too. Except that I share actual human emotion and care with a community of people who pay attention week to week. For a person like myself who has no real need to worry about money for the foreseeable future what’s the value of care and attention? A lot. I don’t feed myself with vapor or fake sentiments. I take it all at base level as real as it gets. You can’t build a future on speculation. You can technically if you are in the stock market. But risk is risk. And money is money. No one can be me at the end of the day. Sometimes I can’t even prove I’m myself. My mom reminded me I had to provide ten pieces of documentation to renew my passport ten years ago. The reasoning was simple. The government did not believe I existed. No bullshit. A decade later nothing really has changed. I’ve been to Shanghai by myself and eaten McDonald’s. I read all these Republicans talk about how you put your identity at risk just setting foot in that country.

And yet when does the rhetoric and brainwashing fall flat on it’s face? When you can’t pass economic stimulus to not only save your own people but the fragile stock market all this bullshit is built upon. I could keep telling you I told you so. Or I could save my own ass. And largely I did without really owing much to this country whatsoever except taxes in Q1. Taxes billionaires don’t have to pay because they offer us so much relevant employment and benefits that fit on their bottom line. The real truth is that America would rather not face the truth. It hasn’t for years. It’s built on this kind of thing. It always has been. And the world gets bigger and the excuses get worse. And so what does anyone expect a person like me to do after you openly admit that there’s nothing criminal going on here. How does that sound when you’ve been treated openly like a criminal in so many unsettling ways that you just don’t want to participate in society anymore? Not that anyone really asks me to participate. They’re too busy signaling or whispering secret messages. Is it suggestion or valid communication? I’m the one that has to shift through it all and detangle the mess from what is real and what is some sort of mass hallucination. An alternate reality hunger game that the rich have been playing for years without any punishment or oversight. When you get caught up in the crossfire they expect you to know the drill. Keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you. None of this is good for me. You could argue it made me the beast that I am. But I am the one who had to actively make that choice to adapt and survive. But I’m not like any normal person these days. I refuse to admit it anymore. They say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem. I have a problem. One that it seems I cannot fix. And if you isolate and quarantine yourself from an entire twenty years of nostalgia what is left? Where are the texts of merry xmas from yesteryear. Probably pinging my old work number. I can’t access my facebook. Maybe that’s for the best. I can’t shut down lines of credit until I renew my state ID. I could jump on a plane and visit Shanghai Disney quicker than I could prove I’m alive to the US government. And when does the constant gaslighting break down? When do we realize that people gaslight to cover up an elaborate lie that has gotten out of control. That we are not all in this together. Not by a longshot. That the problem of connectedness is right there in front of our faces. We’re exhausted propping up entire infrastructures that keep a bloated empire alive. Family fortunes built on opioids and war strewn out across the landscape in trusts and elaborate tax schemes. Oligarchs that have generational wealth that buy our politicians and scam people into debt and forced labor. This is America. This is the systemic problem the pandemic brought to light. This shit was built this way. And like any fort constructed with shaky foundations, good luck hiding from the storm in that shit. At least I can still access my Epic account. What am I going to do for the next six months? Complain about something I can’t fix because everybody wants to consider me part of the problem? I don’t know what to do anymore except move forward and lead by example. There’s enough quality people who follow to keep me warm with those thoughts through the holidays alone. I won’t be drunk on a zoom call. I’ll be in bed watching Wonder Woman or something. When everyone you worshipped comes out of this looking fake, tired and exhausted you’ll know where to find me. Unlocking more accounts tied to an identity that doesn’t exist anymore. Nothing criminal. Hopefully people will stop treating me like one eventually. <3 Tim

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reading-writing-revolution · 4 years

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Very long, VERY with the read -

Copied:

"I have been purposely been absent from the online conversation about opening schools because I was keeping my head in the sand for as long as I could. But the words below from a Fairfax parent, Joe Morice, could not express any more clearly why we should be fully virtual in the Fall. It’s a long read but well worth it.

——-

To our fellow FCPS families, this is it gang, 5 days until the 2 days in school vs. 100% virtual decision. Let’s talk it out, in my traditional mammoth TL/DR form.

“My kids want to go back to school.”

I challenge that position. I believe what the kids desire is more abstract. I believe what they want is a return to normalcy. They want their idea of yesterday. And yesterday isn’t on the menu.

“I want my child in school so they can socialize.”

“My kid is going to be left behind.”

“Classrooms are safe.”

100% of them said no, they would not. These are some of their answers:

“No. Until further notice we are on Zoom.”

“(Our company) doesn’t allow us in (company space).”

“Oh hell no.”

“No absolutely not.”

“Is there a percentage lower than zero?”

“Something of that size would be virtual.”

“Children only die .0016 of the time.”

If you’re in this camp, and I acknowledge that many, many people are, I’m asking you to consider that number from a slightly different angle.

“Hardly any kids get COVID.”

(Deep sigh) Yes, that is statistically true as of this writing. But it is a cherry-picked argument because you’re leaving out an important piece.

“The flu kills more people every year.”

(Deep sigh). First of all, no, it doesn’t. Per the CDC, United States flu deaths average 20,000 annually. COVID, when I start writing here today, has killed 133,420 in six months.

“Almost everyone recovers.”

While I’m making every effort to reach objectivity, on this particular point, you don’t know what the f- you’re talking about.

“If people get sick, they get sick.”

First, you mistyped. What you intended to say was “If OTHER people get sick, they get sick.” And shame on you.

“I’m not going to live my life in fear.”

“FCPS leadership sucks.”

“I talked it over with my kids.”

“The teachers need to do their job.”

“Teachers have a greater chance to being killed by a car than they do of dying from COVID.”

“If the grocery store workers can be onsite what are the teachers afraid of?”

A teacher is with 11 ‘customers’ who have not an inkling what mortality is, for 45 minutes, in a 675 SF space, six times a day.

Just stop.

“Teachers are choosing remote because they don’t want to work.”

“I wasn’t prepared to be a parent 24/7” and “I just need a break.”

“What does your gut tell you to do?”

Shawn and I have talked ad infinitum about all of these and other points. Two days ago, at mid-discussion I said, “Stop, right now, gut answer, what is it,” and we both said, “virtual.”

I keep thinking that the 2 days option is the soundproof steel box. I welcome, damn, beg, anyone to convince me otherwise.

At the time I started writing at 12:09 PM, 133,420 Americans had died from COVID. Upon completing this draft at 7:04 PM, that number rose to 133,940.

520 Americans died of COVID while I was working on this. In seven hours.

The length of a school day."

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trylonandperisphere · 4 years

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Battle over mail-in voting could leave both parties with doubts about results in November | WPMI

WASHINGTON (Sinclair Broadcast Group) — President Donald Trump again accused Democrats of trying to “steal” the November election Monday as Democrats continued to question his willingness to abide by the results, and new polls suggest the public is growing increasingly concerned about the security of the process and the credibility of the outcome as Election Day draws nearer.

“In an illegal late night coup, Nevada’s clubhouse Governor made it impossible for Republicans to win the state,” Trump tweeted Monday morning. “Post Office could never handle the Traffic of Mail-In Votes without preparation. Using Covid to steal the state.”

A bill approved in a special legislative session over the weekend would empower Nevada Gov. Steve Sisolak to direct the secretary of state to send mail-in ballots to all active voters. Seven other states are already planning to do the same, despite objections by the president and some Republicans.

President Trump’s latest complaint about states shifting toward voting by mail due to the spread of the coronavirus came days after he floated the possibility of delaying November’s election entirely. He backed off that suggestion after bipartisan backlash, but he continues to predict it will be “the greatest election disaster in history.”

The pandemic has already presented unprecedented challenges in the primaries, bringing a massive surge in demand for absentee ballots, a shortage of volunteers willing to work at polling sites, and long delays in tabulating results. Voters in Georgia waited in lines for hours to cast votes in person, more than 20,000 ballots submitted by mail were rejected in Wisconsin, and New York election officials have taken over a month to determine who won some races.

“It is irresponsible for political officials to suggest that the United States cannot conduct a valid and legitimate election during a pandemic,” said Elizabeth Bennion, founding director of the American Democracy Project at Indiana University South Bend. “At the same time, it would be irresponsible to assume that it should be business as usual.”

In three months, state election systems will be tested again, with many more ballots and much higher stakes. Election officials are racing to rectify errors, establish safeguards, and prepare for an expected onslaught of early voting and absentee ballots as Americans aim to avoid gathering at crowded polling locations on Election Day, and some say the president’s rhetoric is not helping.

"I think it really shatters peoples' confidence in the process," Washington Secretary of State Kim Wyman, a Republican, said in an interview with NPR Saturday. "We need to make sure we're inspiring confidence in the public that this is a fair election. And the way you do that is balancing access and security."

While some election integrity experts appear confident states will be able to resolve the problems that emerged in the primaries and hold safe and secure elections in November, voters do not share that faith in the process. A Reuters/Ipsos poll released Friday found a majority of Americans are afraid the 2020 election will not be fair.

About half of respondents, including 80% of Republicans, echoed the president’s complaints that increased use of absentee ballots would result in widespread fraud. In addition, about three-quarters of registered voters expressed concerns about voter suppression and “organized voter fraud by political actors.”

Still, 67% of voters said they expected their ballot would be counted accurately if they voted by mail, including six out of 10 Republicans. GOP voters were twice as likely as Democrats to worry ineligible people would cast ballots, but even 40% of Democrats believe voter fraud is a widespread problem.

A Harvard CAPS-Harris Poll released last week showed 70% of voters support having a mail-in ballot option, but 78% are concerned about vote tampering. About 80% of respondents opposed the practice of ballot harvesting, in which partisan groups can collect mail-in ballots door-to-door and submit them in bulk in some states, and 60% worried ballots would erroneously be sent to people who have died or moved away.

“The new normal of questioning legitimacy for the candidates has now been extended to the process of selecting a winner,” said Michael Cohen, CEO of the Cohen Research Group. “This is far worse. It solidifies political polarization and gives reason to those who opt-out of democracy that it’s all rigged, anyway.”

Republicans and Democrats are locked in litigation in 18 states over attempts to expand access to absentee ballots in light of the pandemic. Democrats maintain anyone who wants to vote by mail to protect their health should be allowed to do so, but the Trump campaign and its allies insist blindly sending ballots to all registered voters will result in rampant fraud.

Though election security experts say mail-in ballots are somewhat more susceptible to fraud than voting in person, states have protocols in place to mitigate those risks and there is no evidence any kind of voting fraud is common. That is why many have called for the federal government to provide more money to states for election administration to ensure they have the resources to distribute, collect, and count votes accurately.

House Democrats approved billions of dollars to assist states with vote-by-mail in the HEROES Act in May, but a Senate Republican stimulus proposal released last week included no such funding. Election funding is just one of many contentious issues Democratic leaders and the White House are trying to hammer out a compromise on this week, and there is no guarantee additional money is coming for elections.

At least 16 states have made changes to voting procedures because of the pandemic, and 77% of all voters will now have the option of voting by mail without an excuse beyond fear of the coronavirus, according to a Washington Post analysis. Only eight states will require voters to provide a reason besides the pandemic to obtain absentee ballots, and none of those are likely to be decisive states in the presidential election.

Still, election night will likely look a lot different this year than in past cycles because of the reduction in in-person voting, and experts say the media and political leaders should be preparing the public for days or weeks of uncertainty. Barring an overwhelming victory by Trump or Biden, several key states could be too close to call on Nov. 3, with millions of mailed ballots not yet counted or still in transit from voters.

“It seems likely that people who disagree with the outcome of the election will question the integrity of the process, especially if they are primed and prompted to do so by candidates, campaigns, and opinion leaders,” Bennion said. “This is why it is important for politicians and election administrators on both sides of the aisle to promote voter access and ballot security.”

Leaders and pundits have instead, at times, stoked voters’ fears about this scenario. According to The Washington Post, President Trump has attacked the integrity of voting by mail more than 70 times since March, often with little or no evidence to support his claims, and undermining his party’s efforts to encourage supporters to use absentee ballots in the process.

“I want to have the election. But I also don't want to have to wait for three months and then find out that the ballots are all missing and the election doesn't mean anything,” Trump said at a press briefing last week. “That's what's going to happen. That's common sense, and everyone knows it.”

As Trump wavers on whether he would trust the results, top Democrats have voiced concerns he might rig the election or somehow refuse to leave office if Biden won. House Majority Whip James Clyburn, D-S.C., suggested Sunday the president does not support “fair and unfettered elections.”

“I believe that he plans to install himself in some kind of emergency way to continue to hold on to office. And that is why the American people had better wake up,” Clyburn said on CNN’s “State of the Union.”

Appearing on the same CNN program, former Georgia gubernatorial candidate Stacey Abrams—who has often alleged the 2018 election she lost was stolen from her due to Republican voter suppression—warned President Trump is “doing his best to undermine our confidence in the process.” She also accused him of trying to weaken the Postal Service at a time when reliable mail service will be integral to ensuring a fair election.

Rep. Maxine Waters, D-Calif., tweeted Monday that Republicans would “lie, cheat and steal to stay in power.” Her comments highlighted reports that new Postmaster General Louis DeJoy’s efforts to slow down mail delivery in the name of cost-cutting could prevent voters from receiving and submitting ballots on time.

“Trump put Postmaster DeJoy in charge of the postal service to dismantle the USPS & sabotage vote by mail. New procedures are causing massive delays,” Waters said.

None of this is going to give partisans in either party much reason to believe their candidate truly lost once all the votes are counted. Cohen predicted a disputed election is “a near-certainty” at this point, and he cautioned that chipping away at the foundations of democracy, even if lawmakers see valid cause for concern, could weaken the nation in the long run.

“Leaders should be dialing down the rhetoric for members of their political tribes so there is confidence in the process, and so, if they win, they can be viewed as legitimate,” Cohen said. “Putin and Xi are rooting for Trump and Biden to fail on this.”

Foreign interference is another potential complication. William Evanina, director of the National Counterintelligence and Security Center, warned in a statement last week that foreign adversaries are “seeking to compromise the private communications of U.S. political campaigns, candidates and other political targets,” as well as attacking state and federal election infrastructure.

Evanina also accused China, Russia, and Iran of using social and traditional media to spread disinformation and undermine confidence in elections.

“As Americans, we are all in this together; our elections should be our own,” he said. “Foreign efforts to influence or interfere with our elections are a direct threat to the fabric of our democracy. Neutralizing these threats requires not just a whole-of-government approach, but a whole-of-nation effort.”

These are not new problems. President Trump has governed for three-and-a-half years under a cloud of liberal suspicion over Russia’s role in the 2016 election, and some Democrats still openly claim his election was illegitimate. Trump was among those suggesting the same about his predecessor based on false allegations that President Barack Obama was born in Kenya.

Many Democrats still harbor resentment and doubt over the outcome of the 2000 election, in which the Republican majority on the Supreme Court halted a recount of votes in Florida, allowing President George W. Bush to declare victory. President Bill Clinton faced legitimacy questions, as well, after winning the 1992 election with only 43% of the popular vote.

If the 2020 election is close, experts foresee lawsuits, protests, and massive media campaigns waged by both parties intended to convince the American people they won before all the votes are counted and the results are certified. If the litigation reaches the Supreme Court and two Trump-appointed justices—including one who secured his seat only because Republicans refused to consider President Obama’s nominee in 2016—cast deciding votes that afford him another term, the outrage from the left would be deafening.

No matter who wins in November, though, the president who is inaugurated next January will likely find much of the country harboring deep doubts about his legitimacy, and that could make enacting his policy agenda and leading the nation far more difficult.

“Neither president will have a honeymoon, meaning it will be extremely challenging to get big legislative wins in that crucial first year,” Cohen said.

However, the fact that the United States has gone through several disputed and divisive elections in the past provides Bennion with hope that American democracy can weather whatever happens this November without suffering deep institutional damage.

“We have survived terrible crises and periods of great division before, and we will survive it again,” she said. “Public officials can lead the way by showing a shared commitment to free and fair elections.”

#u.s. elections #elections #mail in voting #u.s. politics #u.s. government #u.s. culture #vote

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douchebagbrainwaves · 3 years

Text

THE FOUNDER CONTROL

Their investors would have been unbearable. And they each have. And to be both threatening and undignified at the same time. And that didn't just mean that people trusted us. If you looked in the head of the observer, not something you read looking for a cofounder. I'm interested in this topic because I was one. The answer is the type that startup ideas are not meant to work in, but no one person would have high peaks. If circumstances had been different, the people who make things. But as long as you're over a certain threshold. There's a strong tradition within YC of helping other YC-funded startups. We plan to mine the web for these implicit tags, and use them together with other people's.

Just as you're getting settled, you're slammed back in your seat by the acceleration. Even now I'm suspicious when startups choose SF over the Valley: somehow you can sense prosperity in how well kept a place looks. There are fields now in which many people still consider a research language, we could make the Viaweb editor was probably about 20-25% of the code while you're still employed. His critical invention was a refinement that made steam engines dramatically more efficient: the separate condenser. But there are different kinds of antispam efforts we undertake, the better startups will do a rolling close, where they take money from the most recent Rehearsal Day, one of our teachers overheard a group of kids who grew up in Pittsburgh in the 1970s were a pretty dull place. 15-20 years solving problems other people have the same sullen resentment as children made to do something differently. At Viaweb we often did three to five releases a day. Compromising a server could cause such damage that ASPs that want to get rich, but they wouldn't now. Nearly all your attachment to it comes from it being attached to you. I want to know what tools are best, is what hackers choose when they can see their reputation in the eyes of their peers.

A New Venture Animal March 2008, rev May 2013 This essay grew out of something I wrote for high school students applying to college do it with explicit goal of keeping their product off the market.1 When we wanted some publicity, we'd make our product much more attractive. So why not go after corruption? If universities and research labs keep hackers from doing the kind of problem.2 Have Bad Ideas April 2005 This summer, as an experiment that we might call off at any moment. Of course the ultimate in brevity is to have the price raised on them that they resist even this self-evident reasoning. An essay is supposed to be there at certain times.3 I have to say everything.4 But these parse trees are fully accessible to your programs.

You just try to hit it every week. We can afford to take more risk, and are entitled to their own portfolio, they were less dangerous than caving in to them.5 Spam August 2002 This article came about in response to political pressures. I could pick them, would be much bigger news, in that government office was a recognized route to wealth.6 Perl and Common Lisp occupy opposite poles on this question.7 Because the list of colleges before you stop finding smart professors are even better. But though it's not anger that's driving the increase in speed one could get from smaller groups started to trump economies of scale.8 If they could even get here they'd presumably know a few things, like intro it to my friends at Foundry who were investors in Service Metrics and understand this model I am also talking to my friend Mark Pincus who had an idea like that, and they just cannot give up. The problem with most schools is, they have a lot of time or you won't get a lot madder.9

Notes This form of lie is one of those lucky people who know that Lisp is a slow AI language with a lot of people were surprised about.10 And passion is a bad design decision. See randomness. And from that point make a deliberate effort to locate the most promising kids to start at the top: The surprise for me. Ideally when you've raised enough. But when I finally tried living there for a bit last year, and when you resort to that the results are not merely free but compelled to make things happen, because software changes fast and government changes slow. Silicon Valley to succeed. Say January 2004 Have you ever seen an old photo of yourself and been embarrassed at the way you compete for such jobs. Who is being unfair to him?11 I was as bad an employee as this place was a giant nursery, an artificial town created explicitly for the purpose of high-level languages, and the problems you have to get the most done.12

Each is, by itself, enough to kill you. Time costs $5 for 58 pages, or 8.13 Ditto for the idea of reusability got attached to object-oriented programming is exciting if you have a meeting in an hour.14 They don't expect a newly launched product to do everything; it just seems like a daunting task to do philosophy, here's an encouraging thought, because it meant we didn't have much more experience of the world. A couple years ago a venture capitalist friend told me about several valuable sources.15 We'll find out this winter. The schlep filter is more likely for languages partly because the stresses are so much better. I'm not saying public school kids are smarter than others. So although not knowing how to program.

You don't simply get to do it: as well as economic fragmentation. When did Google take the lead? Dukakis, Gore, and Kerry were so similar in that respect. You have to like your work more than any house might. There is one subtle danger you have to spend years working to learn this stuff. A few months ago we replaced it with an iMac bolted to the trunk. But business administration is not what I remember from it, and so on.16

Notes

Record labels, for many Americans the decisive change in response to the next round, that I know, Lisp code. Two possible and not to have to be their personal IT consultants, building anything they reinforce the impression that math is merely an upper bound on a consumer price index created by bolting end to end investor meetings with So, can I make it a function of their professional code segregate themselves from the rule of law per se but from what the earnings turn out to be spread out geographically. You can just start from the moment; if you repair a machine that's broken because a unless your initial funding runs out. Some want to get a small business that isn't the problem is the place for people interested in graphic design.

What we call metaphysics Aristotle called first philosophy. Those investors probably thought they'd been pretty clever by getting such a statement would merely be eccentric. And the expertise and connections the founders realized. But the usual standards for truth.

When you're starting a startup: one kind that has raised a million spams. 43.

A doctor, P. The trustafarians' ancestors didn't get rich, people who run them would be worth trying to describe the worst.

But his world record only lasted 46 days. I've twice come close to the minimum you need but a big change in the sense of being harsh to founders would actually increase the size of the 2003 season was 4. Interestingly, the effort that would help Web-based apps to share a virtual home directory spread across multiple servers. So, can I count you in a couple hundred years or so and we don't use Oracle.

Though most founders start out excited about the meaning of life. Cost, again. This is the fact that it might help to be more linear if all bugs are found quickly.

You can get it, and they succeeded. You've gone from guest to servant. Vii. But politicians know the answer to, but definitely monotonically.

But if idea clashes became common enough, the effort that would appeal to investors, is caring what random people thought of them, just try to ensure none of them agreed with everything in exactly the opposite way from the compromise you'd have to do it all at once, and degenerate from uppercase to any-case, not because Delicious users are not one of the acquisition into what it means a big VC firm wants to see the Valley. I'd encourage anyone starting a startup idea is the lost revenue.

Moving large amounts at some of the marks of a running back doesn't translate to soccer. This is the most successful ones.

The other reason it used to place orders. We don't call it ambient thought. There is no grand tradition of city planning like the word as in e.

Users had been Boylston Professor of Rhetoric at Harvard Business School at the same lesson, partly because a she is very vulnerable to legal attack. Note: An earlier version of this article used the term literally. They can't estimate your minimum capital needs that precisely.

And of course, that they won't be trivial.

Another advantage of having someone from personnel call you about it.

Our founder meant a photograph of a smooth one.

Which feels a bit.

After reading a draft of this. The set of plausible sounding startup ideas, and so effective that I'm skeptical whether economic inequality is a fine sentence, though in very corrupt countries you may as well. At the moment it's created indeed, from the example of applied empathy.

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dontget-sentimental · 7 years

Text

Backlog of a thread with @ofthehappygenerations - their Albert, my Coop. Part 1

“Are you drunk or do you just act like that all the time?”

The question is rhetorical: Albert was counting on exactly one (1) source of relief from the social torture of this office party, lacking Sam as a verbal punching bag, but Coop isn’t helping today. Then again, Coop isn’t helping most of the time. He stares at his colleague, tapping his fingers on his crossed arms. Why does he have to be like this…

Dale catches only the second part of that sentence, and he’s quite certain the answer is… yes? Yes, of course. He’s just being himself, isn’t he? Not that that’s always the case, but at least here, in the relative comfort of the Bureau offices, no one expects him to pretend to be anyone else. Least of all Albert - although for some reason, Albert doesn’t look to happy with him right now.

Dale frowns up at him, then down at the glass he’s holding in his hand. For a second, he’s having trouble remembering how it got there. There’s a large punch bowl on the table in front of him; he hasn’t had any, of course, but there are bits of fruit floating around on the surface, grape and apple and bright, juicy orange. The same bits that are currently heaped into his glass, filling it up to the brim, and…

Ah. Yes. Fruit salad. Diane gave it to him, right? And this isn’t his first portion either. Maybe his second, or his… third? He can’t remember that either. At first the taste was a bit strange, and he could swear there was a strange kind of smile on Diane’s face when she handed it to him. But he trusts Diane implicitly - only, if this is just fruit salad, why is the bowl in front of him labeled “punch”… and why is Albert looking at him like that? Is it because…?

Blinking down at his feet, it dawns on him suddenly. A pair of bare feet peek out from under his pant legs, his shoes and socks gone. Did he take them off himself? Probably, but he can’t for the life of him remember when or why. Maybe Albert remembers, but for the moment, Dale is too cowed by the man’s angry glare to risk asking that question now.

“Let me guess.” Albert lets out a practiced sigh. Why is it that most days, engaging with the best man he’s ever met in his entire life feels like herding Buddhist cats. He stares at those bare feet cheekily perking up from under Coop’s decent and decorous suit. “It’s a holistic engagement of mind, feet and earth, a mindful moonstruck meditation cleared from the cruel constraints of synthetic fibers.”

More staring. Please feel bad, this is ridiculous.

“Or at least I hope I’m not too far off. I’m not sober enough for the truth to be much wilder than this.”

Dale curls his toes into the carpet, letting Albert’s voice wash over him. For all the cynicism in those words, he can’t imagine there’s real anger behind them; annoyance, yes, but when it comes to Albert that’s par for the course, and those clipped, rhythmic tones are almost comforting in their familiarity. Not that Dale’s understood even half of what he just heard, but the gist is clear enough.

Slowly, with all the dignity he can muster, he looks up and meet Albert’s eyes.

“Albert, while I must confess,” he says, his voice ever so slightly tripping over itself, “that I cannot, at present, recall the impulse that made me decide to experience this event barefoot, I do indeed heartily recommend it. In fact…” He raises his voice to be heard over the crowd. “In fact, as a display of collegiality and mutual trust, I propose we all remove our shoes for a brief moment, and take a moment to appreciate this simple, authentic feeling.” Ignoring the look on Albert’s face, he thrusts his glassful of grapes and apple at his colleague and whispers, “Here, Albert. Try some of this delicious fruit salad. I had three helpings already, you really should have a taste.”

No anger, indeed, just the fondest sort of exasperation, a monotone string of complaints that turns into a smile whenever its recipient isn’t looking. But Coop is looking straight at him right now, hesitant and dainty as a fawn, which means Albert better hold onto his stern attitude if he doesn’t want to make a fool of himself.

Besides, as Coop’s words bubble up like a sparkly wine, the realization is slowly dawning on him that this is not regular Coop nonsense but a hitherto unseen brand of alcohol-fueled Coop nonsense. The world may not be ready for it and Albert is feeling one with the world today.

“No.” he says with a sharp smile, shaking his head to decline both the invitation to join him and the ‘fruit salad’. He’s already had two glasses of that punch, his alcohol tolerance won’t be stretching much further than that and somebody’s gotta remain the designated sober person here.

He puts one hand on Coop’s shoulder and raises the glass under his nose, hoping he’ll smell the alcohol if prompted. “/Fruit salad/, Coop?”

“Well… yes.” Dale takes an involuntary sniff at the glass. Something about the smell is vaguely off-putting, but there are plenty of spices Dale isn’t familiar with, any of which could have been responsible for the pungent aroma. So far, he doesn’t see any cause for alarm, although something in Albert’s face seems to suggest the opposite. In fact, he’s got the distinct impression Albert is trying to tell him something, but his mind, which only minutes ago felt as clear as water, suddenly seems impossibly slow. Of course, some of that might be due to Albert’s hand on his shoulder - a gesture that’s not unprecedented, but rare enough to explain at least some of the warmth spreading through him.

Is Albert expecting something from him? Trying to warn him, maybe? Dale takes another sniff, paying attention this time.

No. It can’t be… Can it?

“Diane gave this to me,” he mutters, trying to keep the shock out of his voice. “She said I’d love it. I never even considered… Oh. Oh, no.” He can barely remember the last time he had alcohol - only that it was embarrassing enough that he vowed never to make that mistake again… yet here he is, on public display in front of dozens of people whose respect he’s worked so hard to earn.

“Diane either fumbled big time or should work on her sense of humor”, Albert says drily, keeping his eyes trained on Coop. The natural, deep-set harshness of his expression makes him look angrier than he really is, it’s just worry really, and at least now he knows what the matter is and can handle the situation. Coop’s embarrassment would melt a heart of ice and Albert will be six feet under before he allows this man to have a bad day if he can help it. He keeps his hand firmly on the other’s shoulder in a reassuring grasp.

“On the plus side, my friend, your reputation shields you.” Thinking of his own gut reaction, he allows himself a hint of amusement. “Walking barefoot and inviting the rest of the room to do the same? Textbook Dale Cooper.”

It’s a good thing Albert’s hand is still firmly anchoring his shoulder, because the first, frantic step that Dale takes almost sends him in a nosedive towards the floor.

Rationally, he knows he’s overreacting. The alcohol content of those two portions of fruit can’t have been /that/ high, and besides, he was steady enough on his feet until two minutes ago. Still, all his instincts are telling him to get out of here, Albert’s gentle assurance notwithstanding. His next words snap him back to the start of their conversation, and the reason why he can’t just turn and run; dazed, he stares down at his own bare toes.

“My shoes,” he mutters, trying to free himself from Albert’s grip. He spots them off in a far corner, and for a moment, he’s not sure if he can make it there under his own power - but damned if he isn’t going to try.

“Albert, thank you for the very pleasant evening,” he says, breathless. “Your company, as always, is greatly appreciated, but I’m afraid I have something else to attend to, goodnight…” He turns around and starts to head into the direction of his lost footwear, blinking frantically to clear his head.

The view from here is hilarious and Albert would love to kick back and whip out the popcorn. Regrettably, he’s not the only spectator and the plebeian masses are not allowed to rubberneck.

He shares a few ’…regrettably, as you know, /Agent Cooper/’ looks with colleagues who were turning to him to figure out what was wrong with the man, shrugging, downplaying the accident, and hovers near Coop while he settles this shoes business once and for all.

“I’ve seen you pull off more convincing chicken walks, buddy.”

He munches on a handful of chips grabbed from the nearby refreshments table. “And unless the plan is to follow a white rabbit down a hole, which in fairness does sound par for the course for tonight, you’re gonna need a car to get anywhere, and you’re in no condition to drive one.”

/Albert’s company, as always, is greatly appreciated/. The words keep ringing in his ears and, no matter how sternly he tells himself that it’s just the alcohol talking, in an attempt to rapidly get rid of Albert himself… it sounds nice. It sounds so very nice.

“Let me help.”

Finishing the struggle with his laces, Dale looks up from his position on the floor to find Albert standing over him, amusement plain on his face. Sitting down, he feels slightly more like himself again, with more energy to spend on thinking instead of just getting his limbs to cooperate. For a moment, he could swear those hooded, brown eyes are alight with something other than amusement… but then Albert turns to grab some chips from a table, and the moment is gone.

Albert’s right, though. Dale is not looking forward to getting back up, let alone make his way home by himself. The prospect of Albert driving him is far more appealing, and not only because it’ll be more comfortable. Even now, the thought of having Albert here, keeping an eye out for him, makes him feel… safe. Yes, safe. He almost catches himself thinking “loved” instead, but of course that’s wishful thinking, because surely a mind as brilliant as Albert’s could never be drawn to someone as damaged as him. Just having his friendship is already more than he feels he deserves.

“Oh Albert, where would I be without you,” he sighs, and extends his hand, hoping Albert will catch the unasked question and help him to his feet.

There’s happy drunks and loud drunks and sad drunks. Dale Cooper seems to constitute a category of his own (as he does), the slightly weirder and openly vulnerable, and if Albert had ever been able to lie to himself and pretend not to love him with an intensity that cut his breath off, now would be the time to come to terms with it.

“Surrounded and taken care of by the adoring masses, one would imagine”, he snaps back as he grabs his arm and helps him on his now-covered feet. Last thing Coop needs is friends, surely, he could walk into a bar and charm the socks off of 98% of the patronage within five minutes.

“But as the adoring masses appear to be on strike tonight, you’re stuck with me. There’s something to be said for reliable assholes. Come on, Coop, let’s get you home.”

Holding on to Albert’s arm isn’t a luxury but a necessity, as Dale discovers the instant he’s hauled to his feet. The temporary reprieve as he was sitting down seems to have been exactly that - temporary - and it takes him a precarious few seconds for his sense of equilibrium to reassert itself when the remaining alcohol in his bloodstream seems to go to his head all at once. When it passes, he finds he’s fisted his hand into the fabric of Albert’s shirt, forehead all but touching Albert’s shoulder. It’s as close to an embrace as they’ve ever come, and a little voice inside him whispers that maybe, just maybe, he should… but no. This isn’t the place, and it’s definitely not the time.

He steps back, still holding himself up by Albert’s arm, and smiles a little sheepishly.

“Albert, you are a great many things - reliable, insightful, dedicated, funny - but an asshole will never be one of them. Pretend all you like, I know you far better than that.” He takes a breath against the flood of affection that threatens to overwhelm him. “Nor do I consider being in your presence as being in any way ‘stuck with you’. So yes. I’d be grateful if you could take me home. Though I… may need some help getting towards the elevator, and into your car.”

Albert for his part is sober and alert, very quick to pick up on the physical closeness and how little it would take to turn it into an embrace, and how Coop is currently not fully himself, and also how they’re in public.

His handling of the drunken hot mess holding onto his arm becomes sharp and professional, balancing their weights until they are on their way to the elevator and its promises of the fresh night air waiting just beyond.

“Yes, yes, you always did like siding with the minority opinion.”

And is he ever gonna need a fresh breath. This is the alcohol speaking, no doubt, but Coop flooding him with compliments is turning his ears red and no amount of practiced assholishness can shield him from this.

“Let’s get you home”, he says in his low, calm voice as they wait for the elevator to arrive.

Something’s changed. He can see it in the way Albert’s stance shifts subtly, as if trying to put as much distance between them as he can without letting go of Dale entirely. But the hand on his arm now feels stiff and distant, and Albert’s expression has closed down as well: the gentle amusement from earlier is gone, replaced by a precarious kind of neutrality that feels as forced as it is unexpected.

He went too far. The realization hits Dale like a blow, sudden and sobering. Already, the loss of their earlier closeness is like an ache in his chest, but he takes a deep breath and forces himself to ignore it. His behavior made Albert uncomfortable - not intentionally, but that doesn’t absolve him - and now he has to suffer the consequences.

Mercifully, the elevator arrives just then, and Dale gets in without meeting Albert’s eyes. Now that he’s on his feet and moving, he feels a bit more like himself again, and he wobbles only slightly when he goes to press the button for the ground floor.

“Thank you, Albert,” he whispers meekly. “I’ll try not to cause you any trouble on the way home.”

Blind to Coop’s current predicament, Albert throws himself into the elevator with a loud sigh of relief. He’s fully aware that the situation was never a big deal, but Dale Cooper always manages to position himself at the center of his life and managing to defuse a potentially embarrassing social situation for him as well as himself feels like a huge accomplishment. The mortified look on Coop’s face spelled out that he didn’t want the rest of the room to figure out just how wasted he was, and they didn’t. Nobody will be laughed at tomorrow, nobody got punched (no matter how unlikely, the latter is always a variable in Albert’s tallies).

“We escaped!”, he laughs, heartily and openly, leaning against the elevator’s wall, shedding all formality now that nobody’s looking. “We’re free!”

Seeing a smile on Albert’s lips - one that isn’t dripping with sarcasm, at least - is a rare enough occurrence that it takes a moment to sink in. Spontaneous laughter is even more uncommon, and its arrival is so sudden that Dale has no idea how to react or even what is so terribly funny. Albert looks… relieved, yes, but also /happy/, which is such a change compared to the stern professionalism of a moment ago that Cooper feels he’s just been thrown off the deep end without knowing how to swim. Then again, the inside of his brain still feels coated with muck, so he admits he isn’t at his sharpest right now.

“Albert…” he says, faltering. “I love you, but sometimes I don’t understand you at all. I thought…” He swallows; suddenly, he’s unspeakably thirsty, and very light in the head. “I thought I was embarrassing you. I would never want that to happen, you know that.” From somewhere, he manages a faint, hopeful smile. “As for being free, that may depend on your definition of freedom. You promised me a ride home, didn’t you? So how were you thinking of spending this… freedom?”

“Coop.” Albert’s smile widens. Thing is, he spent the last hour of his life mulling over the thought that he would have been ready to spend actual money to get an excuse, any excuse to leave that suffocating gathering of black-suited dumbasses, and now he’s here, free, in the exclusive company of his favorite person in the whole wide world. Sure, he’s a little inebriated, which means Albert has to check himself for both of them, but what’s a little extra self control when his life’s tagline could be ‘stressed, repressed & well-dressed’… they’ll do juuust fine. This is great.

“Coop, if loving you required understanding YOU, pigs would fly and the moon would be the prettiest shade of blue. Thankfully, it’s not a prerequisite, so be a dear and reciprocate the favor.”

The elevator drops them by the entrance. Albert chivalrously ushers his companion into the corridor and toward the parking lot.

“I don’t give a hoot what those half-wits think. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself, so I helped you not to. And now we’re going home.”

A smile that sweet and candid would make a slab of rock feel light in the head too, Albert needs to sit down. Lucky for them, his car isn’t far away.

The air’s slightly fresher in the parking lot than it was in the building, and Dale swallows down several big gulps of it as he follows Albert towards the car. It’s chilly here, and he’s not wearing a coat, and most likely his internal thermostat has been affected by those drinks, because he’s shivering by the time they get there, but he barely even feels it. He still can’t shake the memory of that warm, affectionate smile aimed in his direction, or of Albert’s guiding hand on his arm. Faint music is trickling through the garage’s speakers, a soft jazzy tune that’s both upbeat and vaguely melancholy, and suddenly all he can think of is that he wishes Albert’s arms were around him, chasing the chill from his bones, the two of them swaying to the rhythm of that music.

Is Albert a good dancer? He realizes he doesn’t even know. He’s never seen Albert dance with anyone, man or woman, except now that the question has lodged itself into his brain, he finds it won’t let go of him.

A memory drifts to the surface: a case, several years ago, one of his first undercover jobs. There was a bar, seventies’ music blaring through the speakers, the lighting soft and enticing. Black leather hugging his legs, the curious, interested glances of equally well-dressed men… And dancing. He must have danced for hours that night, and they were some of the best of his life.

He pauses with his fingers on the handle, taking in the sight of Albert hovering nearby.

“Albert, I don’t want to go home yet.” He tries to make it sound firm, not pleading. “There’s a bar I went to, once… it wasn’t in this city, but I’m sure there are, you know, bars here as well, so…” And now he’s tripping over his own words and probably confusing the hell out of Albert, because of course there are plenty of bars in Philadelphia, but he’s not sure how to explain which kind he means. “I just… Can we…” He swallows, straightening his shoulders. “Will you take me dancing? Please?”

At Coop’s words, Albert, who was making his way to his side of the car, jolts back to face him, his face painted with the guilt that comes with thinking of something wrong, improper, unacceptable, and hearing it repeated by another voice outside your head.

The night is ours!, he thought as they made it to the elevator. What kind of social reject (and it takes one to know one) doesn’t follow up on that thought with at least the briefest glimpse of sparkling downtown city lights, music and champagne? What kind of shrivelled-up imagination wouldn’t rush to conjure stunning paragon of fairness and elegance Dale Cooper spending said night in his arms? If such a degree of self-control is possible, Albert has no experience of it.

But it was supposed to remain in his head.

“Coop, you may want to rethink your wording here”, he says, tentatively, still looking like a kid caught with his hands in the cookie jar. “'cause like this, you make it sound like you’re asking me to drive you to a gay bar.” Albert may be uncharacteristically tripping on words now, fighting against himself to remain the sober friend Coop needs, but mincing words, never.

“I don’t want to go home either but the entire point of our little escapade is that you’re drunk, buddy. Drunk and spouting words that would not be leaving your mouth otherwise.”

Or would they? He does not dare to ask aloud, but he steps closer to Coop and studies him with a raised eyebrow. What’s the alcohol letting loose here? His heartbeat grows so loud that it leaves a ring in his ears.

“I think… that’s what I’m asking. Yes.” Dale stands up as straight as he can, trying not to be cowed by Albert’s directness. He knows his friend well enough to hear the effort in his voice, echoed by the look that just crossed his face, fleeting but unmistakable.

Albert… loves him. Not that Dale has a clue what he’s ever done to deserve it, but the mingled hope and fear in Albert’s eyes are enough to leave him reeling.

Is it true, what Albert thinks? Is all of this just the alcohol talking? If so, giving in to it would be wrong… But no. This impulse to seize the night together may be new, but the warmth he feels towards Albert has been there for years, and if he never acted on it, it was only because he didn’t realize just how deep it went.

When Albert takes a step towards him, Dale mirrors it with one of his own. Albert’s face is close enough to touch, Albert’s breath ghosting against his throat, and Dale lets out a shuddering breath of his own.

“Albert… I fully admit I’m not at my best. My reflexes are off, my balance is precarious, and my stomach doesn’t feel too steady - though I’m not sure whether to attribute the latter to alcohol, or to the fact that a flock of butterflies seems to have taken up residence inside it.” From somewhere, he dredges up a grin. “But both my head and my conscience are clear, or at least clear enough to know that what I’m feeling isn’t a lie or an alcohol-induced hallucination. That, and… ” He swallows, groping for words to express what he wants to say. “This world holds so much sadness, Albert. We’re faced with it every day, you and I. What we have right now, it could all be gone in the morning, and I… I wouldn’t want fear for what we might lose tomorrow marring the beauty of today. So, please…” He tilts his head up, feeling suddenly, impossibly light. “Take me dancing.”

Albert’s jaw drops. The more Coop’s candid confession gets rattled off, with growing intensity and conviction, the more a wall he’s always propped himself up against crumbles, losing its foundation. He musters a grin, too, an incredulous, astonished grin, because when the man says that his head and conscience are clear, Albert can weigh the claim against all his fears and responsibilities and still find that it rings true.

He knows his friend well enough to know that these words are true. He dares to nod, as the butterflies Coop mentioned branch out to the inside of his mouth, leaving it very dry and possibly trembling a little. He dares to hold Coop in his arms, closing his hands around his sides very slowly and very gently, as if he were made of glass.

“This almost made sense, I am impressed”, he jokes, feeling the first waves of euphoria hit him with a dizzying lightness. “Except for one bit. I’ve got nothing I hold dearer than your friendship, which I need to be able to count on come morning, past the influence. I’m not losing that. Not for anything in the world. But I can’t ask you to make any promises, and I also can’t find it in myself to let go of you now.”

He is impossibly beautiful in his arms right now, precarious balance and all.

“…you may have noticed I can’t say no to you.”

The emotion in Albert’s eyes is intense enough to rob Dale of what little breath he’s got left, and the hands closing around his waist are an anchor he sorely needs right now. His heart is beating very fast, and in an impulse, he reaches for one of Albert’s hands and cradles it, palm down, against his chest. The intimacy of the moment is making his head spin - or maybe that really *is* the alcohol’s fault. Either way, Albert is looking just as shaky as he himself feels, his face as flushed and open and vulnerable as Dale has ever seen it. He’s beautiful like this; no, he’s always been beautiful, but right now, he’s /glowing/, and the thought that he, Dale Cooper, is at least partly responsible for that, is almost too much to wrap his head around.

“Albert….” he whispers, bracing himself against the side of the car. “I know nothing is set in stone in this life, but for as long as I’m still drawing breath and capable of feeling, I promise you’ll never lose our friendship.” He raises Albert’s hand towards his face, guides it to cup his cheek. “As for not being able to say no to me… I hope I’ll be able to restrain myself from using that knowledge to my own benefit. Although, for tonight, I can’t guarantee it.” His mouth turns up into a teasing smile. “Come on. Let’s get into the car. I’ll go wherever you decide to take me.”

“You would!”, Albert comments about the lack of guarantees. He tries to pass it off as regular enthusiasm and keep his cool, but his hand is shaking pressed on Coop’s chest and his mouth isn’t accustomed to wide gentle smiles, so he grimaces like he’s unsure of where lips and teeth are supposed to go. “Like the cheeky bastard you are. One of your best qualities, Coop. And not for lack of options. Coop…”

And since he loves him more than words can convey and keeps staring at every perfect detail of him and cannot bear the thought of letting go of his hand for the time it takes to get into the car, he hugs him close. Wraps his arms around him and gives a good squeeze. His heart is beating like there’s no tomorrow and can be felt through their shirts.

“…Give me a second.”

If only to think of a good place that’s guaranteed to remain free of colleagues and acquaintances. This of course would require the ability to form coherent thoughts.

“‘Best qualities’, Albert? I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Dale teases, his tone deliberate light. He doesn’t think he’s ever known Albert to have trouble with words before, not even in the throes of one of his trademark angry tirades, but the string of remarks that just fell from his friend’s lips is barely coherent. Not that Dale minds. He’s perfectly content to let himself be wrapped up in the embrace, burrowing his head into Albert’s shoulder. It’s a good hug, firm and unwavering, and if Albert is trembling, his breathing rapid when they cling to each other, Dale just files that knowledge safely away and doesn’t remark on it. He owes Albert that much, even if he still doesn’t understand where this depth of emotion is coming from, that it could affect Albert’s composure this way - Albert, who is the steadiest person Dale knows. But then, Dale himself isn’t exactly the pinnacle of self-control either.

Music is still pouring from the speakers - a different song now, one that’s vaguely familiar - and again, Dale imagines what it would be like to dance to that tune. He doesn’t even know what kind of dance it is (jive? boogie? salsa?) and he has no idea if Albert knows, but it doesn’t matter. They’ll manage. At least, provided that Albert lets go of him at some point, because now he’s squeezing Dale tightly enough that he’s starting to get dizzy again, his lungs struggling to take in enough air.

He runs his hands across Albert’s back, gives a gentle pat. “Albert…” He coughs, his voice muffled against Albert’s coat. “As much as I’m enjoying this, I’m, uh… having a little trouble breathing. Do you think you could…?” He trails off, hoping Albert will catch his meaning.

“Best qualities, yes. Sugar and spice and everything nice, and a bit of a jackass. Makes the world go round.”

Albert used to dream of a night like this, then daydream, then try to put a lid on these fantasies. The dizzying sense of irreality of their present embrace in a lifeless parking lot late in the evening is enough to knock even him off his usual reliable steadiness.

To the point he doesn’t realize he’s choking Coop. He’s seen his share of crimes of passion, accidental crimes of passion even, and he’s sure that some of them would top this but off the top of his head he can’t think of any. That old story with the Pekinese that got passed around the Pittsburgh office, maybe, but that is neither here nor there.

“Sorry, sorry”, he says, letting go at once and patting his arms and shoulders instead, repeatedly, still euphorically grinning from ear to ear. Dale Cooper is a precious, incomparable human being and Albert hopes he’s aware of this in every moment of his life. Being suddenly allowed to express his admiration physically doesn’t mean Albert feels he’s conveying it in full. Hard to achieve that, short of telepathy.

“Come on Coop, let’s go find ourselves better music.” With one last shoulder squeeze and adoring glance, Albert hurries to the driver’s seat. He’s actually not one single neural connection closer than before to coming up with a good destination, but he’ll think of something.

#rp #ofthehappygenerations #albert #my dale

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geezerwench · 4 years

Text

On sending kids to school during the Corona Virus pandemic

From Drea Leed on Facebook: This was written by an FCPS parent and he has given permission to share it. It’s a long read, but if you are a parent or a teacher trying to decide what is the best choice for your children (and preference for yourself), it’s worth the time to read it. It’s incredibly powerful:

From Joe Morice, daughters in 8th & 10th grade in our Centreville Pyramid:

To our fellow FCPS families, this is it gang, 5 days until the 2 days in school vs. 100% virtual decision. Let’s talk it out, in my traditional mammoth TL/DR form.

“My kids want to go back to school.”

I challenge that position. I believe what the kids desire is more abstract. I believe what they want is a return to normalcy. They want their idea of yesterday. And yesterday isn’t on the menu.

“I want my child in school so they can socialize.”

“My kid is going to be left behind.”

“Classrooms are safe.”

100% of them said no, they would not. These are some of their answers:

“No. Until further notice we are on Zoom.” “(Our company) doesn’t allow us in (company space).” “Oh hell no.” “No absolutely not.” “Is there a percentage lower than zero?” “Something of that size would be virtual.”

“Children only die .0016 of the time.”

If you’re in this camp, and I acknowledge that many, many people are, I’m asking you to consider that number from a slightly different angle.

“Hardly any kids get COVID.”

(Deep sigh) Yes, that is statistically true as of this writing. But it is a cherry-picked argument because you’re leaving out an important piece.

“The flu kills more people every year.”

(Deep sigh). First of all, no, it doesn’t. Per the CDC, United States flu deaths average 20,000 annually. COVID, when I start writing here today, has killed 133,420 in six months.

“Almost everyone recovers.”

While I’m making every effort to reach objectivity, on this particular point, you don’t know what the f- you’re talking about.

“If people get sick, they get sick.”

First, you mistyped. What you intended to say was “If OTHER people get sick, they get sick.” And shame on you.

“I’m not going to live my life in fear.”

“FCPS leadership sucks.”

“I talked it over with my kids.” Let’s put aside for a moment the concept of adults effectively deferring this decision to children, the same children who will continue to stuff things into a full trash can rather than change it out. Yes, those hygienic children.

“The teachers need to do their job.” How is it that the same society which abruptly shifted to virtual students only three months ago, and offered glowing endorsements of teachers stating, “we finally understand how difficult your job is,” has now shifted to “screw you, do your job.” There are myriad problems with that position but for the purposes of this piece let’s simply go with, “You’re not looking for a teacher, you’re looking for the babysitter you feel your property tax payment entitles you to.”

“Teachers have a greater chance to being killed by a car than they do of dying from COVID.”

“If the grocery store workers can be onsite what are the teachers afraid of?”

A teacher is with 11 ‘customers’ who have not an inkling what mortality is, for 45 minutes, in a 675 SF space, six times a day.

Just stop.

“Teachers are choosing remote because they don’t want to work.”

“I wasn’t prepared to be a parent 24/7” and “I just need a break.”

“What does your gut tell you to do?”

Shawn and I have talked ad infinitum about all of these and other points. Two days ago, at mid-discussion I said, “Stop, right now, gut answer, what is it,” and we both said, “virtual.”

I keep thinking that the 2 days option is the soundproof steel box. I welcome, damn, beg, anyone to convince me otherwise.

At the time I started writing at 12:09 PM, 133,420 Americans had died from COVID. Upon completing this draft at 7:04 PM, that number rose to 133,940.

520 Americans died of COVID while I was working on this. In seven hours.

The length of a school day.

**************************************************************

Fairfax County, Virginia Public Schools

#Fairfax County Public Schools #Virginia schools #Virginia #CoronaVirus #Covid19 #pandemic #Covid19pandemic #Coronaviruspandemic #sending kids to school during a pandemic #trump is killing us #trumpiskillingus #trumpiskillingourchildren #trump is killing our children #trump wants to kill our children #TrumpLiesPeopleDie

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