#i literally was hired at my writing job off a sample that was a response to carey purcell's im tired of being the jewish man's rebellion

[abyssaldyke]

Every single stupid culture op ed about how you should stop baking bread or goyim no longer celebrating Hanukkah or how much millennials hate mayonnaise was written by some freelancer on the day of their deadline bc they have to submit something and if their article gets enough clicks maybe Slate or the New York Times will finally open their pitches instead of just filtering them through to some intern and God they've got to put food on the table and if that means churning out rage click content to be fed into Twitter's gaping maw then that's what they'll do.

#ya girl #source: i was a culture writer #doesnt mean these people arent still jerks writing bad articles but i guarantee nobody feels as strongly as they seem in their articles #i literally was hired at my writing job off a sample that was a response to carey purcell's im tired of being the jewish man's rebellion #carey purcell's stupid take literally kept me alive during the pandemic bc writing was the one job i didnt lose #i should send her an edible arrangement someday

[flying-guinea-pig]

Not What He Seems (ch.1)

(Prefer to read this on AO3?)

(It’s happening folks. The big reveal, four years in the making.)

NotWhat He Seems: Chapter 1

Thomas' heart always beat a little faster when he summoned something, even after several years in this job. It was the thrill of calling a powerful being into this reality with only your wits and some chalk lines as protection.

Beëlzebob was an intermediate-level demon. He took the appearance of every cliché devil ever - hairy black goat legs, a ridiculously buff and gleaming red upper body, large curled horns. The works.

He was also not cooperating at all.

"You are... di̵s̢tra͢c̢te͜d," the demon whispered, his voice echoing back strangely from the corners of the summoning lab. The shadows seemed to thicken.

Thomas kept his face impassive. These were just some special effects, after all. His binding circle was perfect, he didn't need to worry.

"I have outlined our offer in this document. These are the terms you have previously discussed at length with my colleague," he said, reaching out slightly to hand Beëlzebob the carefully rolled up contract. "All should be in order."

The demon unrolled it and took his sweet time reading it through. He would make a good addition to the safe summons list, despite being a bit higher level than their usual choices. This old-fashioned approach, with the written contract and all - it would teach the students to be patient and give them time to focus on the details before shaking on anything.

"Yes," the demon said, dragging a black claw over the parchment. "These terms are acceptable. However, there is one issue."

"Is there?"

A horrible, fanged grin. "The contract must be written in your o̦̰͚w̮̮n̬͇̹̕ blood, mortal."

Maybe it was his experience with grandstanding demons, or Tyrone had been rubbing off on him, but Thomas was not impressed. "That wasn't in the agreement."

"You will rewrite it. Ḩè̲̙͙̩̤r̦e̹̦ ͏͕̥a̝̱̺͟n̘͔d ̛̦̱̲̖n̩͈̪o̰̻͓͓͢w̺͍͎̦.̪̣͇̩́"

"No, I don't think so," Thomas said, mildly. Seriously? All that work was just wasted? Typical. He was not going to use his own blood to write it, sheesh. With all those clauses and addendums the thing was way too long. Not to mention willingly given human blood had power - power that wasn't a part of this offer.

The shadows twisted - the candles flared. "You will, little mortal, or I will step over this boundary and write it myself, straight from your veins."

"This attitude is not convincing me you're a good fit for our list."

"You have summoned me and I will not leave without my deal!" Red-tinged smoke filled the circle, edging over the chalk lines and spreading into the room. It stank of sulphur and decay.

Thomas coughed. Dramatics aside, maybe it was time to get rid of Beëlzebob. Too bad, Hicks would be disappointed to cross off another name on the safe summons list… It had shrunk a lot in the past years. If this kept up their students would soon only get to summon the Organ Duck. If they couldn’t offer a proper practical education they might eventually run out of interested students as well, which was bad news for the survival of the demonology department.

"Whoa, did someone drop a rotten egg in here?"

Tyrone usually didn't barge in during summonings, especially when they were trying to get more demons for the safe summons list, but this time Thomas didn't mind. The open door let in some fresh air and that was very welcome at the moment.

Tyrone entered the room, waving away some of the smoke. "Hey, Hicks mentioned you wanted to have a talk?"

"What? Oh, yeah," Thomas said, distracted. The smoke was dissipating with record speed and Beëlzebob was visible again, staring at Tyrone in abject terror. "I'm a bit busy right now though."

"Do you need any help?" Tyrone offered. His smile was perfectly friendly.

Thomas glanced at Beëlzebob. "As a matter of fact, he was just leaving."

"Yes! Yes indeed," the demon hurried to say. "Just leaving. Right now. I’m going. Big misunderstanding, you know how it is, have to be somewhere else, goodbye now!"

“Thanks buddy," Tyrone said. "Very accommodating of you, leaving without a deal like that. I will remember this. Here, have a snack."

With a snap of his fingers a familiar deep-fried ball appeared, partly wrapped in a festive paper towel.

Beëlzebob caught it with a flinch and popped away without another sound.

“So, what exactly did you want to talk about?”

“Just a second, let me clean up first.” He frowned at Tyrone. “Speaking of cleaning up, what happened to your shirt?”

“What?” Tyrone glanced down at the brown stains on his usually so crisp white shirt, and made a face. “Aw man, seriously?”

“Do I want to know?”

“I bumped into Banerjee on my way here. He was carrying samples. And he didn’t even apologize, can you believe it?”

Banerjee was the Cryptozoology department’s newest hire, working on his doctorate involving – honestly, Thomas had no idea, he just knew it involved a lot of mud. He wasn’t aware of Tyrone’s true identity. The university staff tried to keep that one under wraps. Parents might object to their children coming to a university where Alcor the Dreambender was frequently hanging around.

“He owes me a new shirt.”

Thomas rolled his eyes. “You can literally make it brand new with a thought.”

“He doesn’t know that. It’s about the principle of the thing.”

Shaking his head, Thomas set to work. To his students it often came as a surprise that practical demonology involved a lot of cleaning up. The preparations were extensive, of course, but afterwards someone had to put away the candles and mop up the chalk, blood, and other assorted fluids the demons occasionally left behind. Beëlzebob in particular had left footprints of some kind of sulphurous ooze that he probably shouldn’t handle without gloves…

Safely removing summoning circles was an art, really. It’s not like you could just start scrubbing away with these things – the outer part was usually the binding circle, and you never knew if the demon was still hanging around, invisible, waiting for you to make a mistake. Not that he expected something to happen while Alcor the Dreambender was literally waiting at the door, but proper caution was a good habit to have.

“You know, I could clean this up for you with a snap of my fingers,” Tyrone mused, lounging against the wall while he waited. His shirt held no trace of the brown stains.

“Are you offering?”

“For free?”

Thomas snickered at the almost scandalous look on Tyrone’s face. Put down his cleaning supplies. He had planned to do this differently, but you know what? Now might be as good a time as ever. And it would be fun, wouldn’t it, to put Tyrone off-balance for a moment? “How about a deal then?”

Tyrone perked up.

“You get this room back to its cleaned-up, usable state,” said Thomas, and felt the smile break through on his face. “In return, you get to be my best man.”

To his credit, it didn’t take Tyrone long to realise. “Thomas! You finally popped the question then?”

“Yep. I said I was going to do it soon, this can’t be a surprise –“

“And she said yes?”

“We did talk about it beforehand, you know –“

“Congrats!”

“Thanks,” Thomas grinned. “So, what do you say? Fair warning though, being my best man comes with certain responsibilities. Making sure I’m on time at the wedding and such.”

Organising the stag night as well, technically. Though Thomas suspected Brad already had some thoughts in that direction.

“I’ve been someone’s best man before, I know how it goes,” Tyrone said. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Thomas.”

The room around them shifted, the magical arrays fading away and taking the trailing odour of brimstone with them.

Tyrone’s expression shifted too, as he let go of Thomas’ hand.

“What’s wrong?” Thomas asked.

“Nothing.”

“You seem upset?”

“I am happy for you,” Tyrone said. “It’s just… you’re getting old.”

“Wow, thanks.”

“No, I mean – look at you! Getting married. Maybe kids and a house, soon.”

“I’m not buying a house on a teacher’s salary,” Thomas said. “The rest… who knows? We’ll see how it goes. Is that what’s upsetting you? That I’m growing up?”

Tyrone shrugged awkwardly. He seemed smaller somehow. “You’re going to be very busy with all that – that life stuff. It’s happening already. Everyone is so busy. Your dates with Elisha, Eddy’s got his new job, Brad’s mucking around in his dad’s company - when was the last time we all hung out, just for fun? Not because it was someone’s birthday or anything? It’s been ages since we had a game night.”

That… had been a while, true. “I guess that’s what happens when you get older. There are more demands on your time, you get to juggle more responsibilities.”

“I’m not getting older.”

“Right.” Thomas took a deep breath.  “Listen, so… we’re busy more often. And it’s not like in college, where we all could just hang out all the time. But you’re basically part of the family, Tyrone. Alcor. You’ll always have a place here. And I’m sure the rest of the gang would say the same.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Thomas said. And smiled, to lighten the mood. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“You’d just miss all the amazing deals I make with you.”

“Of course” Thomas said, glad Tyrone was now teasing instead of moping. “I’m clearly only using you for your clout as Alcor. You’ve made my life so much easier.”

Tyrone mimed a gasp. “Sarcasm, Thomas? Ouch.”

“Not entirely sarcasm,” Thomas admitted. “You do make my life easier, sometimes. When you feel like it. For instance, vanishing that sulphurous stuff Beëlzebob left behind, I was not looking forward to handling that. The smell lingered.”

Tyrone suddenly looked way too innocent. “Oh, I didn’t exactly vanish it.”

Oh Stars. “What did you do?”

“Might have put it somewhere. Like, oh, I dunno… Banerjee’s car.”

Thomas facepalmed. Serves him right for making a vague deal like that. “Is it at least safe?”

“Define ‘safe’.”

“Tyrone!”

“Don’t worry, Thomas, I promised not to deliberately harm the university’s students and faculty, remember? He’ll be fine.”

“All this for an accidental stain on your shirt, really?”

Tyrone folded his arms in front of him. “He didn’t apologize.”

Thomas shook his head, exasperated.

Demons. They really knew how to hold grudges.

--------------

The Mindscape was a vast, endless realm where the strong hunted the weak and territories were defined, invaded, and redefined. This was the place where demons lived, and they didn’t like each other any better than they liked humans. The collective noun for a group of demons, as they say, is ‘a carnage’. Teaming up was rare, and more often than not ended in the stronger one destroying the other as soon as their goal was met. That was just the natural order of things.

Even so, sometimes even they needed a neutral place to go. Somewhere deals could be made without worrying about being devoured. This place was the Midway Bar, run by a demon known only as the Bartender, and for the past six years it had attracted a group of regulars.

They took over the table in the corner. Sometimes the group lost a member, occasionally it gained one. They weren’t here to make deals. They were here to drown their misery and sneak away before a stronger demon took advantage of their intoxication to ambush them outside these walls.

Beëlzebob entered the Midway Bar. He went straight to the Bartender, who after a short conversation pointed in the direction of the gloomy table in the corner.

“Get lost,” Flaga the Eagle-winged said, at his approach.

The demon next to her, who mostly looked like a giant fungus with teeth, curled a green tendril around their glass. “Yeah. This is a private party.”

Beëlzebob paused. He was stronger than each of them, he knew. But this was no place for threats. “Apologies for the interruption. May I sit?”

That wasn’t how demons talked to each other, especially not to a bunch of low-levels like them. They shared a suspicious glance. The one across from Flaga, some kind of feathered crocodile hybrid, raised his empty glass meaningfully.

Of course. “Listening can parch the throat so,” Beëlzebob said. “Let me get those refilled for you, and then we̙̮'̥͉̘ll̟̮ ț̳̮a̪̩̗̥l̯̹̹k̰.”

#transcendence au #alcor the dreambender #thomas strange #fic: not what he seems #the midway bar #demons #I mean it's TAU so that's a given

[wellntruly]

I love Brass so fuckign much.

Anyway, it’s Season 3, babey! Greg has finally made the creds, with Doc Robbins coming along as well—good job honeys, make me proud. Day shift supervisor & enemy Conrad Ecklie does not appear in this whole season, but VIOLA DAVIS and MAHERSHALA ALI do, setting my current number at 2 for eventual Oscar winners hired for unnamed bit parts in CBS’s CSI. Meanwhile the cast of Lost is now tied with Desperate Housewives with 3 actor crossovers each, and though I did enjoy seeing folks like Eleanor’s mom from The Good Place or the dad from Even Stevens or that one actor from my rural hometown whose name even I don’t know, I think my personal favorite was lovely human special effect Doug Jones showing up in the season premier as simply an extraordinarily lanky poker player with one line.

Recurring asshat Hodges is finally introduced this season as well, first appearing in 3x11 and then not for a second time until 3x17. By just his third appearance in 3x19 everyone already openly hates him for always being so rude, as Sara puts it—“Curt,” Hodges corrects her—and by the time it seems he might have blown up Greg in the season’s penultimate episode, the whole squad is absolutely ready to FedEx him back to the LA lab. However, Hodges was of course not the one responsible for the lab explosion.

Nope, that was in fact CATHERINE, rather an intense end to another season of her and Greg playacting as if they have an open-secret affair, a vibe I still love so much. Literally just discussing processing an old DNA sample: “Age is irrelevant in our relationship.” / “Maybe so. But let’s face it Greg, you just don’t have the equipment.”

But I believe in my soul that after their fade-to-black heart-to-heart in Greg’s hospital room, these two…

will recover no problem. Especially since as soon as he’s back in the lab Greg is quietly processing sensitive DNA comparisons for her off the record. Man I really did not expect I’d get so invested in Greg & Catherine rewatching this show, but hey here we are!

I also continue to wonder about whether the SHOW expected to get so invested in Greg Sanders period. He’s a total outlier character as he’s the only one whose function changed over the first half dozen seasons. When CSI begins, Greg’s job, in a storytelling sense, is to provide horny DNA exposition and bother people. And he’s very good at his job. But after what I suspect was an accident in season 1, and then an experiment inspired by it in season 2, in season 3 they clearly decided to Just Dew It, and right from the jump begin to actively convert him into being a more put-upon figure instead of the one putting it on. It makes sense internally as a journey for the character, and from a production standpoint his growing up arc is always able to be assuredly moved along by what they discovered in that one unusual scene with an angry Grissom late in the first season, and confirmed with a literal field test in the second: putting Greg in a scary situation pays really interesting dividends. And not just for Greg, but the characters around him as well, and that’s REALLY valuable for writing. Particularly affected by changes in Greg are Grissom, Sara, and Nick, and that’s a big swath of the key cast right there. Oh and also: the audience. It’s GREAT fun or GREAT drama, depending on how far you take it, to put the comic relief through the wringer.

So that’s what they do in season 3, promoting Eric Szmanda to main cast and proceeding to take Greg from a shameless, cocky goofball to a tired, stir-crazy literal lab rat, from the beginning of the season with the hilarious HR nightmare where Grissom cracks the case by unconsentedly infecting Greg’s foot with a mildew-induced foot rash that only affects Norwegians (an episode I found I had a practically photographic memory of because the whole THING is that nutty), to being blown up in fucking lab explosion at the end, leaving his hands shaking on his print-outs. And throughout his trials both funny and traumatic, he still continues to try to avail himself to the CSIs to do more for their cases than just analysis work. Professional Model Greg. He would like to connect with you on LinkedIn. (Where he will then immediately send you a work-inappropriate meme.)

Catherine, eyeballing him in 3x21: “You being cagey?” Greg, wearing an actually well-fit striped button-down coordinated to the blue of his lab coat: “:) Trying to transition out of cagey.”

Godspeed You! Young Sanders

Continued Nickname Date: We get just a couple Nicky’s this season, still only from Catherine and Grissom and only in the first handful of episodes. We get one more G from Nick, and one Greggy from Catherine—surely a one-time thing. Warrick has gone from the #1 user of Greggo to most commonly referring to him in conversation as Sanders, which on him feels like an increase of respect. Warrick also takes to using Cath, particularly during and after the episode where she gets attacked at a scene and he elects himself her steady, emotionally checked-in protector (we loove it, we loove them). Grissom calls her Cath once too, and Sara even calls her Cat in one episode—the only other one to do that before was Greg and Catherine immediately called him out on it, but Sara she lets. Meanwhile, Greg uses Stokes exactly one time, and it is an instant red flag that he is mad—Nick took Archie out into the field instead of him. Finally, Grissom pulls an Arch at one point, wild, at another point calls Dr. Robbins ‘Albert’ (his name is Albert?), but the biggest deal is when he reflexively calls Sara HONEY as he worries over a deep cut on her hand after the lab explosion. I don’t think he notices he says this. Sara does!!

Soundtrack Corner: What makes me so mad about CSI: Crime Scene Investigation having an episode where they licensed both Missy Elliott’s ‘Get Ur Freak On’ and Radiohead’s ‘Everything In It’s Right Place’, is that these song choices are insane, expensive, and outrageously on-the-nose, and therefore frankly magnificent for this television program. It’s the same fun-having, “lol we’re CSI!” energy with which they’ll put their latest establishing shot of the Strip at a Dutch angle, or the ‘Fight Night’ episode where they MAKE A JOKE using the fact that we all know their MUSIC STING that always leads into the opening titles. I just LOVE episodic television formulas sometimes I really really do!!

Speaking of episodic television by the way, I’ve realized what I like about when the characters walk around the lab and all these extras are just milling around behind them going about their work, is that it is Star Trek.

A few other assorted things:

- The Los Angeles REALLY comes through in some of the locations this season, especially when they hit a stretch of the production schedule where the area was apparently experiencing a lot of rain. I know I didn’t write down every time it was raining and I still have five separate notes about it.

- There’s a case that involves someone putting venom from his pet snakes in someone’s coffee where Greg refers to the suspected snakes as “hoses”, and it felt like a slur from an alternate universe. Do people say...hoses??

- Sorry to just bury this in the middle here but in episode 3x19 ‘A Night At the Movies’ Nick Stokes name-drops the filmmaker Quentin Tarantino. EXCUSE EXCUSE?! !! Did they already know Quentin Tarantino was a fan when they wrote that line and it was like a hiii gesture? Did they not know and then later when Quentin Tarantino revealed he loved the series where they like *blush* senpai noticed us. What does it mean that Quentin Tarantino exists in the world of this show and also wrote & directed a two-part episode of it. FEATURING THE CHARACTER WHO REFERRED TO HIM.

Anyway speaking of cinema, damn okay this high contrast hazy heat shot with the mountains

Arty?!

Before he heads off not into the desert, but to Desert Palm to get his inner ear surgery in the S3 finale, Grissom partnerly tells Catherine: “Take care of the case,” and I 100% thought that was going to end “kids.” He really is everyone’s forensics dad, particularly the boys. Warrick makes multiple references to the Ancient Greeks this season, Nick keeps piping up with all sorts of information about birds—and Grissom calls them both out for just trying to impress him with their facts. Meanwhile when Grissom cuts off Greg’s latest little rambling presentation with “Greg, why are you always doing this?”, Greg simply responds like this should be perfectly obvious: “Because you make me nervous.”

Finally, to end where we began: gonna be honest, if I had to, as Sara does at one point this season, collect evidence from an uncooperative drunk criminal, I can think of worse backup than Jim Brass sitting next to me just reiterating everything I said at a gruff cop shout. Brass is ♡our asshole♡. He’s a jerk and sometimes to his nerds but usually on behalf of them, because the fundamental State of Brass is that he just doesn’t give a shit what anyone says or thinks of him. He’ll be the bad guy, he doesn’t fucking care. Someone will say to him, “I don’t like you,” and Brass just remarks unbothered: “Well I guess I’ll have to live with that.” Hot take but Brass is actually the funniest person in this show. He takes such quick-witted joy in following the letter but not the spirit of whatever angle a suspect wants to take with him. Brass to a professional dominatrix, conversationally: “Yeah I’d like to feel more secure in my role as a homicide detective.” God I lost it. There’s also this amazing bit in 3x10 where he’s telling Warrick about La Lluvia de Peces that I truly cannot even describe, it’s just this odd, disjointed little monologue capped by him walking off at the end and Warrick suddenly calling after him: “Wait what were you doing in Honduras?” BRASS.

#CSI #why is CSI the only thing right now I feel not only capable but *destined* to talk about

[jranbrandt]

What Are You Worth?

I have been laid off four times. Each time, it was called something different: “Realignment”, “Redundancy”, “Furlough”, “Here’s Three Weeks’ Pay for Not Coming In Anymore”. 

I made that last one up.

But regardless of branding, the fact is, you must qualify yourself for a new job that likely differs greatly from the old one. Towards that end, there are books, blogs, and bulletins a-plenty on the topic of discovering, nurturing, and marketing one’s in-demand skills.

But skills are only part of the equation. What about the money? How much is a good offer? What is the value of your skills and experience today, in your industry, in your locale? Pay rates, both literal and hearsay, can be found scattershot through any sampling of job-board listings. There is no single source of truth here – some figures come from recruiters, others from internal HR, others from peers. Some quotes are meant to entice, others, unfortunately, to lure. Besides, what use is it, knowing the salary of a position 2,000 miles away?

The exercise of pricing oneself in a market is often not performed until it has to be: at the workforce center, while completing an online application, when asked point-blank by a hiring manager. How likely is it that you’ll compose an informed, objective response on the spot? What’s worse, what’s the risk of basing your job search on a dream figure, holding out for so long that you wind up having to take any offer, no matter what it is? 

Before the circumstances are thrust upon you, here is an approach that I have found to be both useful and rewarding.

Check out Occupational Employment Statistics (OES). This website, maintained by the Bureau of Labor Statistics, provides a wealth of data that can serve as the basis for valuing yourself in your industry in your location.

Why consult government data? Objectivity comes to mind. Many salary surveys are driven by figures supplied by current and former employees (who <gasp> might not be completely honest), or by placement professionals (see previous gasp). OES data comes from the employers themselves as reported to the government. There is little incentive for them to distort and possibly serious consequences if they do.

Start by navigating to the “OES Data” page. Then get a pen, something to write on, a refreshing snack, and start fact-finding. This article is not meant to be a training manual, so there will be no step-by-step instructions or screen shots. Suffice it to say you must first determine how what-you-do or what-you-wish-to-do maps to official occupational classifications. There might not be a precise match. That’s okay, the object is to get as close as possible. Combine that with your geographic area and execute a search.

The results will include Percentile values and an Annual Mean Wage. Look at the 25th, 50th, 75th, and 90th percentiles. Ask yourself:

What is the median level of experience in this profession in this area? 5 years? 12? 20? How does my length of experience compare?

How does my current or most recent employer rank me on my performance reviews? Am I a rock star? Above average? Adequate? What percentile am I in value to this employer compared with my peers?

Chances are you have arrived at two different percentiles. That’s okay. Look at the range of earnings values between the two. That’s what your skills and experience probably command in the marketplace right now.

These results might be surprising, but not necessarily depressing. Either way, you will have a much more objective basis on which to form a job-seeking strategy.

This exercise has even more value to those who are not in a state of transition. For example: 

If you are “ahead of the curve” in terms of percentile –

And you are not looking to make a change, allow yourself a feel-good moment. But, if you are in the 90th percentile today, what are your prospects for continued increases? Think about how well your skills and experience position you to reach for the next rung.

And you are looking to make a change, ask yourself: What are your chances of doing the same or better elsewhere? How would you demonstrate to a new employer that you are worth your present place on the curve? This is a good means to sharpen your skills at informed self-advocacy.

And you sense a change is imminent, compare your present spot with the Annual Mean. Are you prepared to absorb a decrease if you had to? If so, for how long?

If you are near the Annual Mean Wage –

And you are staying put, this is a good time to compare your earnings with your performance reviews. Are you a 75th-percentile employee earning a 50th-percentile wage? This would be a solid talking point for your next performance or salary review. Even if you cannot persuade your employer to close the gap in one fell swoop (and you most likely cannot — they have budgets and other employees to consider), you may get the momentum going in your favor. The main thing is: your employer will know where you stand and the factual basis backing you up.

And if you are looking to make a change, you are probably more competitively priced than many of your displaced peers. But don’t sell yourself short. Ask yourself the same question as above and work on that informed self-advocacy.

And you sense a change is imminent, the opportunities for a lateral move are probably more abundant. If you can afford to wait for something better, you’ll have a more accurate picture of what “better” looks like.

If you are below the Annual Mean Wage –

Ask yourself, right now: “Is this worth it? How happy am I right here, right now?” You might have nowhere to go but up.

No matter what your situation is today, there is something to be gained from improving your fiscal self-awareness, today. 

#salary #jobsearch #employment

[dorcasrempel]

What is the Covid-19 data tsunami telling policymakers?

Uncertainty about the course of the Covid-19 pandemic continues, with more than 2,500,000 known cases and 126,000 deaths in the United States alone. How to contain the virus, limit its damage, and address the deep-rooted health and racial inequalities it has exposed are now urgent topics for policymakers. Earlier this spring, 300 data scientists and health care professionals from around the world joined the MIT Covid-19 Datathon to see what insights they might uncover.

“It felt important to be a part of,” says Ashley O’Donoghue, an economist at the Center for Healthcare Delivery Science at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. “We thought we could produce something that might make a difference.”

Participants were free to explore five tracks: the epidemiology of Covid-19, its policy impacts, its disparate health outcomes, the pandemic response in New York City, and the wave of misinformation Covid-19 has spawned. After splitting into teams, participants were set loose on 20 datasets, ranging from county-level Covid-19 cases compiled by The New York Times to a firehose of pandemic-related posts released by Twitter. 

The participants, and the dozens of mentors who guided them, hailed from 44 countries and every continent except for Antarctica. To encourage the sharing of ideas and validation of results, the event organizers — MIT Critical Data, MIT Hacking Medicine, and the Martin Trust Center for MIT Entrepreneurship — required that all code be made available. In the end, 47 teams presented final projects, and 10 were singled out for recognition by a panel of judges. Several teams are now writing up their results for peer-reviewed publication, and at least one team has posted a paper.

“It’s really hard to find research collaborators, especially during a crisis,” says Marie-Laure Charpignon, a PhD student with MIT’s Institute for Data, Systems, and Society, who co-organized the event. “We’re hoping that the teams and mentors that found each other will continue to explore these questions.”

In a pre-print on medRxiv, O’Donoghue and her teammates identify the businesses most at risk for seeding new Covid-19 infections in New York, California, and New England. Analyzing location data from SafeGraph, a company that tracks commercial foot traffic, the team built a transmission-risk index for businesses that in the first five months of this year drew the most customers, for longer periods of time, and in more crowded conditions, due to their modest size. 

Comparing this risk index to new weekly infections, the team classified 16.3 percent of countywide businesses as “superspreaders,” most of which were restaurants and hotels. A 1 percent increase in the density of super-spreader businesses, they found, was linked to a 5 percent jump in Covid-19 cases. The team is now extending its analysis to all 50 states, drilling down to ZIP code-level data, and building a decision-support tool to help several hospitals in their sample monitor risk as communities reopen. The tool will also let policymakers evaluate a wide range of statewide reopening policies.

“If we see a second wave of infections, we can determine which policies actually worked,” says O’Donoghue.

The datathon model for collaborative research is the brainchild of Leo Anthony Celi, a researcher at MIT and staff physician at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center. The events are usually coffee-fueled weekend affairs. But this one took place over a work week, and amid a global lockdown, with teammates having to meet and collaborate over Slack and Zoom.

With no coffee breaks or meals, they had fewer chances to network, says Celi. But the virtual setting allowed more people to join, especially mentors, who could participate without taking time off to travel. It also may have made teams more efficient, he says. 

After analyzing communication logs from the event, he and his colleagues found evidence that the most-successful teams lacked a clear leader. Everyone seemed to chip in. “In face-to-face events, leaders and followers emerge as they project their expertise and personalities,” he says. “But on Slack, we saw less hierarchy. The most successful teams showed high levels of enthusiasm and conversational turn-taking.”

Another advantage of the virtual setting is that teams straddling several time zones could work, literally, around the clock. “You could post a message on Slack and someone would see it an hour or two later,” says Jane E. Valentine, a biomedical engineer at the Johns Hopkins University Applied Physics Laboratory. “There was a constant sense of engagement. I might be sleeping and doing nothing, but the wheels were still turning.”

Valentine collaborated with a doctor and three data scientists in Europe, the United States, and Canada to analyze anonymized medical data from 4,000 Covid-19 patients to build predictive models for how long a new patient might need to be hospitalized, and their likelihood of dying.

“It’s really useful for a clinician to know if a patient is likely to stabilize or go downhill,” she says. “You may want to monitor or treat them more aggressively.” Hospital administrators can also decide whether to open up additional wards, she adds.

Among their findings, the team found that a fever and shortness of breath were top symptoms for predicting both a long hospital stay and a high risk of death for patients, and that general respiratory symptoms were also a strong predictor of death. Valentine cautions that the results are preliminary, and based on incomplete data that the team is currently working to fill. 

One of the pandemic’s cruel realities is that it has hit the poorest and most vulnerable people in society hardest. Datathon participants also examined Covid-19’s social impact, from analyzing the impact of releasing prisoners to devising tools for people to verify the flood of claims about the disease now circulating online. 

Amber Nigam, a data scientist based in New Delhi, India, has watched conspiracy theories spread and multiply on social media as contagiously as Covid-19 itself. “There’s a lot of anxiety,” he says. “Even my parents have shown me news on WhatsApp and asked if it was true.” 

As the head of AI for PeopleStrong, a predictive sales startup in San Francisco, California, Nigam is comfortable with natural language processing tools and interested in their potential for fighting fake news. During the datathon, he and his team crawled the web for conspiracy theories circulating in the United States, China, and India, among other countries, and used the data to build an automated fact-checker. If the tool finds the claim to be untrue, it sends the reader to the news source where the claim was first debunked. 

“A lot of people in rural settings don’t have access to accurate sources of information,” he says. “It’s super critical for people to have the right facts at their disposal.”

Another team looked at Covid-19’s disparate impact on people of color. Lauren Chambers, a technology fellow at the Massachusetts American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU), suggested the project and mentored the team that took it on. State by state, the team found disproportionate death rates among Black and Hispanic people, who are more likely to work “essential” service-industry jobs where they face greater exposure to people infected with the disease.

The gap was greatest in South Carolina, where Black individuals account for about half of Covid-19 deaths, but only a third of residents. The team noted that the picture nationally is probably worse, given that 10 states still do not collect race-specific data. 

The team also found that poverty and lack of health care access were linked to higher death rates among Black communities, and language barriers were linked to higher death rates among Hispanic individuals. Their findings suggest that economic interventions for Black Americans, and hiring more hospital translators for Hispanic Americans, might be effective policies to reduce inequities in health outcomes.

The ACLU can’t afford to hire an army of data scientists to investigate every civil-rights violation the pandemic has brought to light, says Chambers. But collaborative events like this one give community advocates a chance to explore urgent questions they wouldn’t otherwise be able to, she says, and data scientists get to hear new perspectives, too.

“There’s a dangerous tendency among data scientists to think that numbers are the beginning and end of any good analysis,” she says. “But data are subjective, and there’s all kinds of other expertise that communities hold.”

The event was sponsored by Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center Innovation Group, Google Cloud, Massachusetts ACLU, and the National Science Foundation’s West Big Data Innovation Hub.

What is the Covid-19 data tsunami telling policymakers? syndicated from https://osmowaterfilters.blogspot.com/

[cookiemonsterindisguise]

the whole thing .__.

“Oh great, you’re back! Get dressed; we’re going out in half an hour.” My roommate’s sister and temporary roommate, Olivia states matter-of-factly, as soon as I enter my shared flat, completely ignoring my wrinkled work clothes, wind-blown hair and weary eyes.

“I’m sorry but I can’t, not tonight.”

“Did she just say she can’t?” My roommate, Grace pops her head in from the kitchen, looking at Olivia.

“Yes, she said she can’t because she cannot be bothered to drive you bitches around until 3 in the morning when I’ve got an early shift tomorrow.” I mutter as I make my way to the couch and flop down on it.

My friends look a fraction more sensitive upon acquiring this new piece of information.

“That asshole is making you work early again? After making you work until –” Olivia pauses to check the time, “like 8 tonight?! What’s he playing at?”

I shrug my shoulders, dejected.

“Why don’t you just quit? What he’s doing is so unfair.” Grace huffs angrily.

“Because I need the money.” I say, “I really need the goddamned money.” Even though I’d be happier if I was mopping floors than I am at my current job.

Olivia puts a hand on my shoulder, bright green eyes boring into my coffee ones with concern.

“Listen Alex, I think it’s time you leave this job. Grace and I’ll help you find another one and do the rent and groceries and stuff until then.”

“I agree. You’re miserable and you’ve been complaining about this for months – it’s time.” Grace adds, picking up the house phone and holding it out to me, “Call the scumbag and tell him you’re done, say you’re not coming in tomorrow.”

I look at both of them and I know they’re right but the idea of sitting around all alone, doing nothing makes me worry.

“Go on, call him.” Urges Olivia.

“But I can’t just be a potato watching you guys work and pay for things!” I murmur.

I’m met with expletives from both sides of me and then Grace says, “You can pay us back later, okay? Now for fuck’s sake, call him.”

I tentatively take the phone and stare at it for a couple of seconds, before dialing my boss’ number.

“Um hi Nathan, it’s Alexandra.” I say quietly and wait for him to respond until Grace says, “Cut the niceties. Just tell him he’s a dick and you’re quitting.”

“Yeah, what?” He replies brusquely and it gives me the courage to say what I was afraid of.

I take a deep breath, clear my throat and begin, “Do you know what Nathan? I work for your company; I wasn’t employed to answer to your individual becks and calls or to get your coffee or your lunch. I’m a well-qualified and honourable human being who will not put up with your shit any longer. So yeah, I’m officially quitting and I won’t bother with writing a Letter of Resignation because frankly, you don’t deserve it. I expect you to pay me for this month’s work by the end of the week and I’ll be around sometime tomorrow to clear my desk. Bye, I hope I never have to see you again.” And I hang up.

Both my friends look at me with shocked but satisfied grins on their faces, thoroughly impressed.

“Didn’t know you had it in you Alex,” Olivia compliments, walking towards her bedroom, “now get your butt off the couch and put on that grey skirt. We’re getting shitfaced tonight!”

~~~~~

It’s been nearly two weeks since I quit my job. So yeah, as of now, I’m unemployed. I’ve applied to several places but haven’t heard back from any so I’d say my current state of unemployment is here to stay. I get off the Underground and make my way to the shop to get groceries because while my roommates are decent with money, they suck at domestic stuff. They wouldn’t know they’re out of food until they’re starving and realise their fridge is empty. Naturally, stocking up is one of my responsibilities. As I’m filling my cart with cereal and grains and vegetables, my phone pings. Since I’m not the kind to text for idle chat, I’m slightly taken aback but I take it out anyway.

It’s an email and on seeing Farley Media as the sender’s name, my heart skips a beat since it’s one of the companies I’ve applied to. I quickly open it and upon reading through the first paragraph, I’m disappointed. They don’t think I’m right for their organisation and blah, blah, the usual excuses you make when you don’t want to hire someone. As I reach the end though, my heart starts to pound again.

Apparently, Farley Media works really closely with Parlophone, the record label, the huge ass record label that The Beatles, Coldplay and Paul McCartney are signed by. Turns out they’re looking for someone to handle the website management and other related stuff of one of their wings – I’m a web developer by the way –  and that I’d be perfect for them and they’ve recommended me to Parlophone and there’s a number that I need to call to schedule an interview and I might actually get this job. AM I DREAMING OR WHAT?!

Breathing heavily, I grab whatever food I can see and quickly rush to the checkout. Once I’ve paid for my groceries, I make my way back to the underground station and as I wait for the Tube, I call both Grace and Olivia, telling them about the email. They urge me to contact Parlophone instantly and after arguing for about two minutes, I give in. The number from the email belongs to some guy named Jackson Grier and he asks me when I can meet up with him, which frankly surprises me because they’re the big guns, I should be the one asking when they’re free because I’m just begging them for a job. Anyway, because I didn’t want to sound rude, I told him that anytime next week would be fine with me so he suggested Wednesday and obviously, I agreed but I honestly don’t know what a record label is looking for in a web developer (especially me) and what the protocol to interview with them is.

Once home, I fire up my laptop with the intention of thoroughly researching every possible scenario.

~~~~~

It’s Wednesday.

I’m stood outside the Parlophone headquarters in Brook Green, London, dressed in my best black, formal dress that hugs my slight frame in a sort of flattering way, along with a coat and I. Am. Shitting. Bricks. Not literal bricks, of course, but you get my drift. Although I am curious about how that works.

Mr. Jackson Grier told me to get here by 2 o’clock and it’s only half past 1 right now, because I left early to avoid traffic. Even though I mostly travel on the Tube. But hey, if I had a car, I would be stuck in traffic, wouldn’t I?

I walk into the building which is all sleek, shiny metal and contemporary design and glass and it seems so detached and far away from the real world, it scares me a bit and I wonder how on earth I’d fit in here. If I get the job, that is. I walk to the reception where there’s a smartly dressed man sat, engrossed in his Mac screen and I feel a bit rude interrupting him but then I remind myself that I was invited here by someone who is most likely his boss, so I go ahead.

“Excuse me?” I try to sound confident and I think I succeed to some extent.

He looks up, annoyed but I’m far too nervous of my own accord to dwell on his demeanour.

“I have an interview with Mr. Jackson Grier scheduled for 2.”

“Well it’s not 2 yet, is it?” He speaks in an irritated voice. I’m slightly affronted but I power on.

“No, it isn’t, but I was wondering if you could let him know that I’m here anyway?”

He rolls his eyes and glares at me for a second before picking up the phone.

“If you could just wait over there, that’d be great.” He says, pointing to the couches off to the side of the lobby.

“Of course.” I smile at him, trying to be polite and move to one of the couches. I pull my phone out and check to see if I’ve missed anything.

I haven’t.

Of course, it doesn’t surprise me since I’m rather antisocial. I’m usually very reserved and quiet, don’t have a lot of friends but do have a more than mild case of agoraphobia, general anxiety disorder and OCD. Yeah, I’m just your usual dork who hibernates in the comfort of her home in her spare time.

I wasn’t always this nerdy. There was a time when I tried to channel my awkwardness into being a rebel, trying to be different while still being ‘acceptable’ to others. Clearly, it didn’t work out. I grew out of it soon enough and realised, gradually, who I am.

“Mr. Grier is ready for you!” The receptionist calls out, breaking my chain of thoughts.

I get up, smooth down my dress and am about to ask him where to go when he states the answer anyway.

“Straight down the corridor, last door on the left.”

Hurriedly thanking him, I walk towards Mr. Grier’s office, trying to calm myself on the way.

I knock on the last door to the left that has his name on it.

“Come in.” He calls out and I walk in.

“Ah, Miss Mason! We spoke on the phone, good to meet you.” He gets up from his chair and shakes my hand, smiling kindly.

He is middle aged and looks experienced, but humble. He doesn’t have that obnoxious quality about him. Or at least it seems that way.

“Do sit down.”

“Yes, thank you.”

“Look, I’m not going to beat around the bush here. We saw your work samples and my team and I honestly feel like you’re very good at what you do. We just need to make sure that you’re a right fit for us because as you know, we’re rather big and we need to be overly precise with all our operations, leave no room for second guessing or doubts.”

I nod along.

“So, can you convince me that hiring you will be the right decision?” He asks, and since this is the most commonly asked interview question in the history of interviews, I launch into my well-rehearsed answer, careful not to make it sound too practiced, speaking slowly but thoughtfully.

~~~~~

“Alright, do her eyes.” Grace calls out to Olivia, who is standing in front of a mirror, putting on lipstick.

It’s Saturday night and I’m being passed around, courtesy of my best friend and her sister who completely ruled out a quiet night in. They know no such thing. As a result, I’m being slathered in makeup and made to wear high heels and a short dress.

“Do I need all this?” I ask, knowing fully well that it’s pointless to try and refuse their orders. It’s just not worth the fight.

“If you want to go out, yes.” Olivia says, stalking over to me in her scarlet dress and easy, confident elegance.

“But I don’t want to go out!” I whine, once again knowing it’s pointless but trying to find an out anyway.

“No one asked you, love.” Grace flashes me a smile and proceeds to curl her shiny blonde hair into pretty beach waves.

I exhale a loud sigh and surrender myself to Olivia and her makeup skills.

Minutes later, I’m hauled up to my feet and am standing in front of a mirror. Much to my surprise, I don’t look bad at all.

“Can you believe how good this bitch looks dressed up when she just lazes around in baggy clothes?” Grace asks Olivia, both of them staring at me with an adoring expression.

I frown at them.

“Alright, let’s get this party started!” Olivia yells, ignoring me.

The three of us pile up in Grace’s car with Olivia choosing to drive. I’m in the backseat and once we’re on the main road, Grace leans back to look at me.

“I’ll give you 10 to get drunk and pick up a guy.” She says.

I laugh. She always tries to get me to drink.

“Not enough money.” She opens her mouth to retort but I cut her off.

“Besides, who’d drive you lot home?” I add.

“I could. I’ll be sober if you want to have fun Alex.” Olivia volunteers but I shake my head.

“Hey, I can have fun without alcohol okay? And I don’t mind it guys, honestly, don’t worry about me.”

Yeah, I’m one of those no-alcohol freaks, or teetotalers. I’ve had no problems with it in the past and there are no alcohol related issues in my family either but I abstain from it nonetheless. The truth is that I just don’t like the idea of voluntarily inhibiting your senses and doing stupid things under the influence of alcohol. Where’s the fun in that?! My friends gladly provide me counterarguments from time to time but still respect my decision at the end of them all, so it doesn’t really matter.

We reach our regular bar and my friends order vodka shots to ‘get in the mood’ while I order a Coke. When we’ve downed our drinks, I check my phone but my friends drag me over to the dance floor. The track is an upbeat dance number and I can’t help but move in time with the beat. As soon as the next track starts though, my phone starts to buzz in my hand and I move away from the dance floor.

“Hello?”

“Miss Mason, this is Jackson Grier.”

It’s hard to hear anything over the loud music but I make out his name.

“Oh, hello Mr. Grier. How are you?” I speak into the phone.

“I’m very well Miss Mason, but I was hoping to speak to you about some things. Is now a bad time?”

“Um, no. Just give me a minute.” I say and make my way out of the bar and onto the sidewalk where the music can still be heard but is not as deafening.

“Yes Mr. Grier, you were saying?”

“I just wanted to inform you, on behalf of Parlophone Records that we would be thrilled for you to join our team, should you so wish. You don’t have to give me an answer right now, take your time and if you do decide to take up the job, we can discuss the specifics whenever it is convenient for you.”

I open my mouth a couple of times, my mind reeling from this news and despite not having done anything all day, I feel exhausted. One million thoughts run through my head and I try to come up with some appropriate response, but I suspect I stay quiet for longer than I’d assumed because Mr. Grier speaks again.

“Miss Mason? Are you still there?”

It pulls me back down to the Earth.

“Yes, sorry, I’m here.”

“So, are two days enough for you to decide if you want to do this?”

“Actually, Mr. Grier, I’d love to do it.” I say, a grin creeping its way on to my face.

“Are you sure, Miss Mason? We’re willing to wait a couple days?” He offers but my mind is made up. Who says no to Parlophone anyway?!

“Yes, I’m sure. Thank you so much for the opportunity, I’m really excited about working with you.”

“As are we.” He says and I hear a hint of a smile in his voice, “Just to let you know, we’ve decided to hook you up with Coldplay. Have you heard of them?”

My eyes widen and my hearts pounds louder than the bass in the bar.

Are you honestly joking?! I love Coldplay’s music.

“Yes, I do like them a fair bit.” I lie, containing my delight.

“Then you’d love it at The Bakery. I’ve forwarded your details to their creative director, Phil Harvey, to whom you’d be reporting and he’ll take it from there.”

“That sounds wonderful! Again, thank you so much, Mr. Grier.”

“It’s a pleasure, Miss Mason. Good luck.”

Grinning, I thank him and head back to dance the night away.

~~~~~ 

"Why is it that I've nothing to wear?!" I exclaim, slamming my closet shut with a bang.

I'm supposed to be meeting with Phil Harvey from Coldplay in two hours and I. Don't. Have. Anything. To. Wear!! A tad dramatic but I'm very nervous so I think it's acceptable. Barely. But still acceptable.

Since my conversation with Mr. Grier a week ago, I’ve received several emails from Mr. Phil Harvey, Coldplay’s ‘creative director’ – his words, not mine – and he’s informed me that I’d be working under him and another man called Dave Holmes, who is the official manager.

Grace walks in my room, mouth set in a thin line and arms full of a mountain of formal dresses. She glares at me and sets them on my bed.

"Pick one so I can iron it for you. I can't take anymore tantrums, Olivia is already throwing one because I'm making tacos today." She throws up her hands as if she cannot quite understand why Olivia would do that.

To be honest, I'm glad she was the one to take the fall this time. Grace's tacos are a bit... Well horrible, if I'm being kind.

I make a big show of deciding but actually, I randomly pick two dresses and hold them up, "Which one's better Grace?" 

She looks convinced enough as she considers both of them.

"The peach one makes you look too pale, so not that. The emerald one's good enough I suppose. Give it here, I’ll iron it out and then you can put it on, we'll see then.”

I nod and hand her the emerald green dress. She takes it and then re-emerges with the smoothed dress just a minute later. Complimenting her efficiency, I head into the changing room. When I walk out, Grace is smirking lightly.

"What?" I question gruffly.

"You can keep that dress Alex. It was a little too tight on me anyway." She answers simply and it makes me smile. 

I thank her, quickly putting on a pair of moderately high, black heels because I hate wearing heels. I'm much better off in my Vans. I sling my bag over my shoulder, run my fingers through my hair to make it look a little less like… I don’t know, a bird's nest, to put it simply, and am almost out the door when I hear Grace call out my name.

"Yeah? What is it?" I question from the doorway.

She appears in front of me and takes me by surprise as she wraps her arms around me.

"Good luck." She says once she has released me.

I grin at her and run out to the elevator.

I reach "The Bakery", apparently the headquarters for all things Coldplay, with ten minutes to spare. After about two minutes of debating whether to wait or not, I walk in to the visitors lobby and I'm immediately struck by how different it looks from the Parlophone HQ. If that was cold and detached, this is incredibly homely and welcoming. 

A young man, not more than twenty five years old, sits at the reception and he smiles as I approach him. I'm about to introduce myself but he beats me to it.

"Alexandra Mason, isn't it?" He even sounds smiley and it’s kind of contagious.

“Yes, I hope I’m not too early?”

He smiles widely at me.

"No, you’re right on time. Dave isn't in today but Phil is and his office is just down the corridor. He told me to send you right in when you came."

Oh.

"So I can just go in, then?" I ask stupidly, still a bit unsure if I've heard him right.

He nods enthusiastically and I have to suppress a laugh. This guy is way too joyful.

"Oh, okay. Thank you."

Giving him a genuine smile, I walk to the only corridor that's connected to the lobby.

Once I reach the door that says Phil Harvey, I take a deep breath and knock.

Several seconds pass without any action and then I hear footsteps descending towards me.

A tall man opens the door and as soon as I make eye contact, I feel my face heat up because this man in front of me is wearing an emerald green shirt, untucked and unbuttoned at the top. And yes, the emerald green is the exact same copy of the colour of my dress, in case you were curious. For a couple of seconds, I just stare blatantly, forgetting all my manners along with the fact that he's my boss to be.

Then, a slow, understanding smirk spreads over his face as he gives me a cool once-over and my cheeks flush. I look down on the floor.

"Alexandra Mason, right?" He asks, jolting me into consciousness.

"Uh, yes. Mr. Harvey, I presume?" I question stupidly, offering my hand.

He takes it and shakes it firmly.

"Call me Phil." He beams, then gestures to a chair inside. "Come on in, let’s discuss your work."

I walk in and just stand in front of the table, feeling a bit frazzled at our first interaction. When he stalks over to his own chair on the other side of the table and gives me an expectant look, I sit.

Phil Harvey is a well-built man with spiky yet shiny brown hair and warm, brown eyes. His cheeks have a pink tinge and I would have thought he was blushing if his eyes weren't so full mirth, telling me otherwise. In fact, he's rather handsome and seems very charming but he's more Grace's type than mine. If I have one, that is and I really don’t think I do. He also looks quite young and although I’m not aware of his exact age, I suspect he’s at least in his thirties because Coldplay has been around a long time –this, I know for a fact.

"So I'm sure you've heard of us?" He asks me, still smirking.

"Yes I have, and I must say, I'm rather thrilled to be working with you." 

His smirk grows bigger and I find myself smiling at him.

"Very pleased to hear that. Now I'm sure Joe has already told you that Dave isn't in today, but you don't really have to worry about him. You'll mostly be working with me and the rest of the team. Dave has very little involvement in that."

"Okay." I nod my head.

"You'll find out the absolute specifics of your work once you start but it's mostly to do with our website maintenance and such, so I hope that's clear enough?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"There is one little thing..." He says and pauses for effect and it makes me want to laugh. But of course, that'd be inappropriate, so I control myself and look at him in anticipation, instead.

"If you're okay with public attention, it won't be a problem but if you're keen on avoiding it, I'd suggest you come up with an alias because our social media and website posts are written by the web team and we believe in giving credit where credit is due. So all our posts have some initials or aliases at the end of them to indicate who created that particular one. Since there is always media attention surrounding these things, and mind you there would be lots of it once the album comes out, I want to make sure if you'd be comfortable under the spotlight."

"No I'm not comfortable getting that kind of attention, I'll come up with an alias." I respond without a second thought and my promptness makes him smirk again.

"Alright then. Glad that's sorted. I believe that is all, unless you have some questions?" 

"Would I be working here at The Bakery?" I ask.

"Yes, for the time being you'll be here. But once we go on tour, depending on our requirements at the time, we might need to take you with us." He grins. I have a feeling that it’s either at my expense or he’s enjoying some inside joke.

"Oh. Okay. And when do I officially start?" 

"When do you want to?" He asks, still smiling charmingly.

"Soon?" I say uncertainly, making it seem like a question.

"How about next Monday? I'm leaving town for a few days but I'll be back by then, so I’d be able to brief you and make sure you settle in okay.”

“Sure, that sounds good.” I smile.

“That’s great then. I look forward to working with you, Alexandra.” He says, his shining eyes boring into my soul, it seems, and I flush.

“Likewise.” I force a smile and within a couple seconds, the atmosphere gets awkward.

“Uh, I’ll see myself out.” I mutter, hastily getting up.

Phil Harvey jumps to his feet and ambles towards the door, opening it for me.

“Here, let me walk you out." He says.

I arch a brow at him, wanting to snap that I'm perfectly capable of walking out by myself but I bite my tongue.

We walk silently to the main door until I turn to him.

"Monday, 10 o'clock, then?" I ask tentatively.

"Monday, 10 o'clock." He nods with a smile.

"It was nice to meet you Mr. Harv-"

"Phil, please." He cuts me off and then apologises for interrupting me, making me laugh.

"It's alright Phil." I emphasise his first name and he grins at me.

"Goodbye then." I add with a small smile.

"Goodbye, Alexandra." He says my name slowly, deliberately, making me uncomfortable and for a split second, I'm almost tempted to be that open and tell him that I prefer Alex, but that moment passes as soon as it arrives and I turn, bow my head and walk out.

I walk a few feet and when I turn around, I see Phil still standing at the door, watching me. He waves when he notices me and I smile at him, then turn back around and march on.

~~~~~~

"Did he say anything about your dress?" Olivia asks through a mouthful of pizza.

I bestowed kindness upon myself and Grace, and decided it better to simply buy a pizza than to bear Olivia's cooking. As a result, we’re sat in the middle of my bed, surrounding a box of pizza at dinnertime.

I shake my head.

"He's my boss, Liv. What would he say about my fucking dress?" I say rolling my eyes, but as if on cue, my cheeks redden as I remember the… um... incident. 

"Oh my god! What happened?" Grace shouts mid chew, forgetting all her manners and successfully deciphering my expression.

I shrug, trying to appear nonchalant as I take a bite of my pizza.

"The shirt he was wearing was the same colour as my dress." 

"Aw, that's so cute!" Olivia jumps in.

I glare at her and with narrowed eyes.

"Was he handsome?" Grace questions excitedly.

"Very, but he isn't my type. You'd like him though Gracie." I say, ruffling her hair.

"What do you mean he isn't your type? Does your type come with wings or something?" Olivia snaps, unable to understand why starting something with my boss would be a bad idea. Not to mention, to get into anything, the other person needs to like you back as well and I don’t think Phil Harvey would go for someone like me but I don’t say this out loud.

"No, but my type doesn't pay me a salary." I mutter.

"Why would I like him?" Grace pops up.

I shrug again.

"I don't know, he was the tall, fit kind you know. Shiny hair, shiny eyes, doesn’t that describe your usual type?" 

Grace blushes a little and ignores my dig.

"Sounds like you're rather taken with him." Olivia comments, no doubt still stuck on some idea of me and Phil, but when she notices the thunderous expression on my face, she wisely adds, “I mean in a completely platonic way, like ‘he’s your boss, so you respect him’ kind of way.”

“You could say that, he wasn’t intimidating or bossy, as I expected but he still had that no-nonsense attitude with just the right amount of nice.”

I pop the last bite of the pizza in my mouth and grab another slice.

“It seems like he’s a far cry from Nathan, so at least you’ll be happier here.” Olivia states and Grace nods her head solemnly.

“Yeah, there’s that. Along with the fact that I work for Coldplay now!” I squawk, finally letting my excitement show, and it earns me smirks from both my friends.

“What?” I question, rather abruptly.

“Nothing, it’s just that you’re gonna be a sort of a celebrity now.” Grace says dreamily.

“Yeah, in no time, people will be coming up to you for pictures in the streets and whatnot.” Olivia adds, widening her eyes for emphasis.

I shake my head violently, confusing them.

“That’s another thing we talked about. He asked me if I was comfortable under the spotlight.” I explain.

“And you obviously said no.” Grace concludes, rolling her eyes.

“Yeah, and so I need to come up with an alias to put at the end of the things I post and manage and basically, the fan base, and the world in general, will know me by that name and hence, Alex Mason will be safe.” I smile smugly and my friends have identical, understanding though slightly disheartened looks on their faces.

All of us chew our pizzas in silence. Olivia looks up at me after a beat.

“Have you thought of anything yet?”

I shrug my shoulders.

“I don’t know, I haven’t thought about it that much but as soon as Phil suggested an alias, all I could think was ‘Cookie Monster’.” I roll my eyes at my own immaturity.

“It’s not that bad.” Olivia suggests.

In a rare show of extreme coordination and solidarity, Grace and I cock our heads to one side, and give her looks as if saying, ‘Really?’ Olivia throws up her hands in response.

“Geez, sorry for trying to make you feel better.”

“Eh, don’t worry. I’ve got until next Monday to figure something out. In the meantime, I need you two to take your butts along with the rest of the pizza to your respective bedrooms and let me sleep.”

They grumble in annoyance at their abrupt dismissal but eventually get up and stalk out of my room. Grace even flips me off before slamming the door shut and it makes me grin.

My friends, I fondly think to myself, are dicks.

~~~~~~

I rip open a packet of Lays and pop a couple into my mouth, making a loud munching noise. Olivia and Grace turn as one to glance at me, frustrated knits of their brows clearly revealing their inner thoughts of wanting to murder me, but then they look away, knowing that it’s a waste of time to bother with me.

I stare moodily into the distance and am aware of my friends pushing a shopping cart around me while saying my name but the thoughts in my head are too overwhelming so I ignore them and fill my face with more crisps almost unconsciously.

“Why can’t we just leave her here to brood?” Grace’s voice floats into my ear, sounding really far away.

Suddenly, I snap out of my mind as an overwhelming sense of panic grips me and I feel my knees threatening to buckle beneath me.

“What if he fires me?!” I yell in alarm and turn around to find my friends.

Thankfully, they’re right behind me but the roll of Olivia’s eyes and Grace’s continued engrossment in the shopping list tells me they’re impassive to my outburst.

I widen my eyes for emphasis and repeat myself, stressing on the enormity of the situation.

“Guys! What if he fires me?! I have to go and face him tomorrow!” I wave my hands around.

Grace finally looks up from the list and stares at me for a second, before turning to face Olivia.

“Can you believe how dramatic she is?” She asks, as if I throw a fit every damn day.

“Dramatic?! Dramatic?! I’m serious; this is my job I’m freaking out about, for god’s sake!” I shout in a louder voice, perhaps proving her point.

Olivia rolls her eyes again and walks over to me.  She looks me straight in the eye and I get a little worried that she’s going to slap me, but she puts her hands on my shoulders and shakes me forcefully.

“He is not going to fire you just because you can’t come up with an alias Alex!” She tells me through gritted teeth.

“But what if-” I begin but Grace cuts me off.

“From what you’ve told us, he seemed rather impressed and he’s going to help you come up with one, if anything.”

I had more than a week to find an alias that works for me – that was my only job and I couldn’t even do that, so I don’t think Phil’s going to be impressed with me any longer. I want to voice these perfectly legitimate thoughts but the looks on my friends’ faces shut me up.

“We, on the other hand, might just end up snuffing you out if you don’t help us find Nutella. You’re the only who eats most of that, anyway.” She adds in a threating tone and it makes me smirk.

“Eats most of that? She’s like a crack addict for it!” Olivia snorts.

“If I found it for you, it would just defeat the whole purpose of getting you guys to do it.” I say, acting all high and mighty because I know not only the exact aisle that contains Nutella, but also the shelf, although I would rather just stand and watch them struggle. Partially because I’m a bitch, but also because, and this is the more important reason, they might have to live without me for extended periods and they need to know how to shop, in the least. Ever since my conversation with Phil the other day, Grace and Olivia have constantly been stressing over what they’d do when I’m not around, so I have decided to make sure that they learn the basics of survival, like grocery shopping and making dinner, and don’t starve to death while I tour across continents with the biggest band in the world.

“You’re a right ho, you know that?” Olivia says and I fake a bow, graciously accepting the compliment.

They push the cart past me and head into another aisle as I munch on more Lays, chomping over the music playing in the store. I start to follow them but my phone pings with an email.

When I open it, I realise that it’s from Joe, the receptionist at The Bakery and it’s my schedule for the week. I smile to myself, remembering his enthusiasm and in that instant, I feel an unexpected rush in my body and with it comes the Eureka moment I’d been waiting for.

“GUYS! GUYS! GUYS!” I shout and run into the aisle Grace and Olivia disappeared into, accidentally pushing some people and their carts in the process. They tut loudly but say nothing else as I skid in front of my friends with a face splitting grin.

“Guys, I found it!” I manage to huff out, still out of breath from running. That’s what happens when a potato tries to run.

“For the last time, Alex, Cookie Monster is not the best choice for a twenty-four year old grown woman!” Olivia mutters in exasperation.

I try to ease my breathing.

“It’s not Cookie Monster!” I throw my hands up and roll my eyes.

“What is it then?” Grace asks, scanning the shelves.

“Zephyr.” I declare with a triumphant smile and both Grace and Olivia turn to me immediately, eyes wide in shock or horror or joy, I’m not entirely sure.

Then, as one, they start jumping up and down and squealing like they’re four year olds in the middle of a relatively crowded aisle in a grocery store. It was joy, that much becomes clear, so I grin and they tackle me into a hug, shouting things like, ‘That’s brilliant’ and ‘we’re proud of you’ and blah blah. It’s kind of hard to decipher what they’re saying because both of them are speaking at the same time and for some reason, the music has also gotten louder now, making it increasingly difficult to hear anything over it.

Once we’re all done celebrating, Grace looks at me with a serious expression.

“Listen, there’s still a ton of things on the list we haven’t found. Could you please help? We’ll watch and learn?” She suggests tentatively and Olivia flashes her baby blue eyes at me accompanied by the most sincere look on her face.

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. Their faces light up and they know I’m a given.

“Last time.” I say sternly, jabbing my finger threateningly at them and they nod heartily in agreement.

“Last time.”

[topicprinter]

Proof >> http://ift.tt/2iifAFg of app & admin panel >> http://ift.tt/2jhCL6O incase you want to double check:Darrell Hoberer, MCSE, MCSA IT Director, Cooke County, Texas 101 South Dixon Gainesville, Texas 76240 Email: [email protected] Phone: [phone]Honorable Jason Brinkley Cooke County Courthouse 101 South Dixon, Suite 132 Gainesville, TX 76240 Email: [email protected] Phone: [phone]Just a bit of backstory on me...Apps were my thing since the iPhone came out. I've probably dropped over $100K+ building apps over the course of 6-7 years. However, I have pretty much never broke even on most of my projects.Why?... Because I was too busy drinking the fucking Kool-aid for a long fucking time.Ever heard people say:You need to re-skin gaming apps to make moneyYou need to build a local,social,photo-sharing,"insert-buzz-word-here" appYou need to make a free app & focus on making it go "viral"You need to worry about "ASO"..who the fuck cares about ASO!..just kidding, you should ;)A while back there was an AMA from Mr Allen Wong /u/regoapps... He got into the game early, cornered a rabid niche, and made millions.Did he bust his ass? yeahDid timing/luck have a lot to do with it? Uhh hell yeahBtw, I'm still waiting to hear your "real" marketing tactics Mr. Wong.. don't give me that "ASO, beautiful app icon, keywords & description" bullshit lol....I read your book haha ;-)If you think you can simply replicate what the Mr. RegoApps, Evan from Snapchat, Jan from Whatsapp or Travis from Uber did, you probably have a better luck catchin' Trump making out with Rosie!A lot of it has to do with timing, luck, & relationships. If you don't have those, then you're out of luck my friend. TBH, It wasn't until I decided that I'd rather be "boring" & rich, then "cool" & broke, that my luck started changing. Now all I do is give a thumbs-up to people who are telling me they're making the next Snapchat, then keep grinding away selling apps to boring industries.These industries are literally "begging" to stay relevant with the "Instagram" generation, and they're spending a ton of money doing so. There's also virtually no competition because everyone's too busy trying to fucking pickup girls by saying they've "created the next Snapchat".Case in point, the iPad "kiosk" app I built & sold to a local county court for $6,750. It only took me like 2-3 weeks to do it. It's not a "billion dollar valuation"...but who cares? It's still a nice chunk of change for virtually little effort.This is probably one of the smallest projects I've worked on. Now most of my other projects range between $25-75K. I normally only focus around selling to mid-market B2B firms or local counties.Craziest thing?I only have 2-3 full-time developers working for me in India that I pay $700/mo total out of pocket.I find high quality, cost efficient vendors for anything else I need done. Like I said, boring/rich beats cool/broke. Gotta love globalization right?I've been lurkin' around for a while, and figured I'd pay it forward. The goal of this writeup is to provide an actionable plan to help you make an app similar to what I made. You can use these steps to replicate for your own county. Most importantly, YOU DON'T NEED TO KNOW CODING. Whatever you can't do can be easily outsourced for a few hundred bucks.The main point is to prove that there is a massive opportunity to make money in boring, unsexy industries. People are just too caught up in their own ego to actually exploit it.Disclaimer: Results vary case by case, so don't be a whiner if this doesn't work for you.Now without further adieu:My Actionable Plan To Build A Courthouse Kiosk App & Profit:Please note, some steps may not apply to you. Feel free to skip steps as needed. I'm writing this for n00bpreneurs. Who are n00bpreneurs? They are 1 level below wantrepreneurs....wantrepreneurs would probably already have a company formed, business cards, an email, a snazzy site, etc...but don't actually "make" any money...they probably take on "investments" from family, or try to raise "funding", without actually validating their idea. You do know investors don't give a fuck about your idea. Validate your idea by actually making $$ or getting users, and they'll be all over you like white on rice. You won't even have to pitch them.For wantrepreneurs, it's all about the "image" of running a business...without actually understanding the point of running a business (to making fucking money).N00bpreneurs are even worst. They simply spend time "reading" on how to become rich, but sit on their ass and do shit. It's all good...I've been there, done that... For many fucking years.Anyway, if you're a wantrepreneur and higher, then you can skip some of these steps. However if you're a n00bpreneur, then keep reading:N00Bstructions:1) Come up with a catchy company name, and make sure it's available to use in your state. However, don't do anything with it just yet.2) Once you settle on a name, find a $.99c Godaddy promo code, buy a domain, and setup a company email (use Zoho Mail, they're free). Then setup a snazzy signature.Sounds pretty wantrepreneurish..but the main reason we're doing this is because you'd look like an idiot if you were trying to pitch something to a high ranking decision maker using your personal email address. You want to seem like you're a baller. Anyway the point is, don't look like an idiot. Promise? cool, keep reading3) Go to Google, and type in "your county name + state name". For example, "Archer County Texas". You should get the official county site: http://ift.tt/2iiiIkz) For courthouses, the decision maker is normally the County Judge. So if you went to Archer County's site & went to County Offices > County Judge > and you'll see the Judge's phone & email right on the website. Sweet right? K..moving on...5) Steal my email pitch template -> http://ift.tt/2iOA1xa, and use it to contact your local county's judge using your newly formed business email. Don't forget to attach the Kiosk image as well. A photo speaks a 1,000 words. Or... feel free to call the judge directly.You can say Scorch "subcontracted" the project to your agency. Customize the pitch as needed, and feel free to use my references.Mind you, so far you've only spent enough to buy some chicken nuggets off a dollar menu. You've simply created a "fake" company name/email, and started cold-pitching the app idea.6) If you get a response from the Judge or decision maker, convince them as to WHY this would be "such an amazing app" for their Courthouse.This is the most important step as you're actually trying to close a deal first before spending money.Here are the some of the benefits of the app you can mention:The ability to view county services and department locations.The ability to view an employee directory.The ability to view department hours.The ability to view courthouse building maps.A Courthouse admin panel to update the app on the fly without touching code.If they're interested, you may have to send them a proposal with payment milestones, etc. Feel free to get creative with this step. Remember, don't quote some bullshit amount like a thousand bucks. You're going to look like a kid working out of a garage or something...Shhh, they don't have to know that you prolly are LOL ;-) ..Don't forget you're dealing with the government!Heck feel free to quote higher then what I did. I charged $1K upfront, $5K on completion, and $750 for 3 months of hosting. In hindsight I think I could've probably charged more. You look like a real company when you charge real $$. Don't settle for less.Anyway, the BEST way to close a deal is to pitch this app idea to your own county courthouse. You can say that you're a resident of your county running a small business, and you're trying to grow it. They love helping out small local businesses, as you're creating new jobs and bringing value to the county.7) If they give you the green light, grab a beer real quick..pat yourself on the back for closing a deal, then quickly get back to work!You can now "officially" form your new company. Do this by visiting your State's site (they're pretty fast).For example, if you live in Texas, you can go here: http://ift.tt/2j8VMEo and do it yourself and save like $300 bucks, or if money ain't a thang, just hire a company like Legalzoom.com. (no affiliation).8) Get an EIN (employer ID number) from the IRS website http://ift.tt/1ovdItx. This is the "social security number" of your business. You'll need this for creating your bank account.9) Setup a business bank account. This is for you to start collecting your dough. You'd need to take in your Articles of Incorporation (that you got from your state or Legalzoom) and SS4 Form (that you got when you made the EIN) to the bank. Get the most basic account setup and deposit like $20 bucks. Tell the banker that you've left some checks at home, and you're going to be making a big deposit soon (so they don't just write you off like a loser haha).10) Send over a sample contract, and an invoice for the first installment. I prefer to use a company like Pandadoc or Echosign (no affiliation). It just looks more official. However, if they have their own process, then follow that. Once they sign the contract, you can ask them for all their content, branding docs, logos, etc.Don't worry, I suggest you collect all their stuff and kickstart the project while you're waiting for your first installment check. If a county has signed a contract with you, it's almost a done deal that you'll get your money. However that's entirely your call.11) You can then take the app & admin panel screenshots I provided earlier, and hire someone from Upwork, Elance, Craigslist, Fiverr, or wherever to get this app built for you. Or you can PM me if you want my code (TROLLS: Yes, I'm going to charge for it, because I spend time/money actually building it..durrhh... But I can GUARANTEE that you won't be able to find someone from any of these freelancing sites to do it cheaper for you. I estimate that the design and development of the app & admin panel may cost you about $2k. I won't charge anywhere close to that. PM me if you want it...12) If you downloaded my code, I've provided detailed instructions on how to deploy it to the county. Once you've tested & deployed it, ask them to test it too. Remember, a ton of Courthouse goers are going to be using your app.Anyway, If all looks good, send the final invoice and wait for your check to arrive.13) Remember our promise earlier about not being an idiot? Don't blow your fucking money buying bottle service on Friday night. Re-invest profits, & keep hustling.Anyway, that's a step-by-step plan on how you can actually MAKE money while staying CASH-FLOW POSITIVE making apps.Is it going to be as easy as some of those stupid Facebook ads you see promising to make $100K within a month? No.Is it a sexy app like Snapchat? No.Are you going to become a billionaire doing this? No.However, it'll help you make a few thousand for a little bit of time & effort. The point is that you can actually make money selling apps to unsexy niches. Plus it's low competition since everyone is trying to make the next "awesome" photo-sharing app that sends disappearing nudes.If you truly want to make money, put in some damn work and quit fucking around!Anyway, now that I've given you an ACTIONABLE PLAN, will you actually run with it? Or are you going to waste away another year dreaming, and not actually "doing" anything as usual?GET TO WORK!

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