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#time for public transport odyssey i guess
beaft · 2 months
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got to the station and discovered that they have, without prior indication or warning, cancelled all of the trains that would ordinarily take me to my place of work. just another of god's little jokes
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mwsa-member · 4 months
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Steel Soldier: Guadalcanal Odyssey by James J. Messina with Charles Messina
MWSA Review Pending  
Author's Synopsis
My father, the most influential person in my life, passed away on March 20, 2008. As an intimate gift to his children, he wrote and illustrated his life story.
In the end, it took him eight years to complete his autobiography, and I was so impressed with his storytelling and artistic talent that I reached out to a journalist who had an interest in regional history. Following an interview with my father, the local newspaper ran a two-page article chronicling his life growing up in West Aliquippa, Pennsylvania, and his time serving as a Marine in World War II. The journalist applauded his work as an enormous achievement and an important part of history. He encouraged me to publish his story and share it with the public, which is something I had wanted to do for a long time. However, my dad was not interested and said it was merely a token of love for his children to remember him by.
This is an American tale about a working-class man who lived an honest life, believed strongly in God, and fought for his country. He represents thousands of other hardworking Americans with untold stories of integrity and honor. It’s also a compelling story of survival that begins in a gritty Pennsylvania steel town during the Great Depression and then transports the reader into the steaming jungles of Guadalcanal, where a young Marine faces death in one of the most pivotal and bloodiest battles of World War II.
Steel Soldier serves as a testament to the special man my dad was. It’s not a gripping mystery that concludes with a thrilling climax. Rather, it is a series of vignettes with some entertaining moments of a bygone era, which have been compiled by a very talented storyteller.
To look at him, you’d never guess this mild-mannered, unassuming, and kind man had once been a fierce warrior. He was loved by everyone who knew him, and to me he is a true American hero Semper Fi, Dad
Format(s) for review: Paper and Kindle
Review Genre: Nonfiction—Memoir/Biography
Number of Pages: 306
Word Count: 93,670
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kthynes · 2 years
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a fuck stop
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18+
With every journey there’s a destination.
trucker!ransom x fem!reader
warnings: course language, brief mentions of harassment, smut, bordering dub-con (but both parties are willing participants), either way MINORS DNI. This contains the following acts: oral (m receiving), face fucking, semi-public, rough protected sex (p in v), cum play, pet names. Slightly innocent fem!reader.
author's note: I was definitely over my head while writing this. Lmao it is what it is.
taglist: @patzammit @mrs-djokovic @ysmmsy
This has not been beta’d, any fuck ups are my own.
Somewhere in the middle of sandy, bum-fuck Arizona, Ransoms rafting truck churns to make a short pit stop. Al’s Handy Gas Mart, the peeling marquise board reads.
Get where you’re going with Al’s help.
The scorching summer heat sirens a gradual buzzing noise that is distinct to the human ears and could have easily been mistaken for the seasonal cicadas that did their usual dance.
There's some reluctance as the delinquent trucker squints past the harsh orbital rays and flips off the switchboard radar that proctors every signal and call. In this groveling instant, his transporter buddies, mostly old and balding men in their late 40s, were having a hoot, cruising down the winding i-95 and every interstate toll. Their whereabouts were scattered with very little indication. Some could be laundering south of the border, maybe shuttering the eastern seaboard or comrading the mid-west. Inevitably, Ransom didn't care to know, tuning into utter radio silence and a pint size of disassociation that came along with it.
The gravel rickets and crunches against the tough leather tires as he slowly approaches a designated haul over. While still learning shift, he finally yanks down the gear shift into park while the engine chugs on for life, rattling the offloaded truck bed behind him. Eventually the keys fall out of the ignition slot and he starts to regather his thoughts.
He does this a lot. Contemplates. Staggers. Hopes to get a call of some sort but then is left disappointed. Harlan's dead. Marta has a settlement order out for him and his own mother has disbanded the idea of spawning a son in the first place. Insipidus if you ask him. But that was it. He'd have to work for his money now, see counsellors, his PO, Callista who retrains him to be a better man and not reoffend if there's ever a given will and/or reason. His odyssey is only his and for that he exhales, profoundly.
While distracting himself through means of people-watching, Ransom runs a steady hand over his now abundant 5 o’clock shadow that covers his once cleanly shaven and youthful physiognomy. He holds himself at the sight of nothingness.
It’s a piss off and with more than two days on the open road he's finally had enough.
🌵
“Well there’s a tune you don’t hear often.” A stocky, old man rivets the second he steps into the shoebox shop. “What a guy, I tell ya.”
Hans Olson was the topic of discussion. His music inflates from the dodgy surround sound. You, on the other hand, barely gave a rat's ass.
“I guess.” You carelessly gnaw on your necklace, looking past the sprawling window pane to make sure that no cracksman stole gas from the loose latches. To your surprise there’s not a single soul that idles by, gas prices were at an all time low (in a utopian society) yet you could never be too sure.
“Pump 2, doll face.” Pudgy Patterson states, leering over the counter as a way to grab your attention. He’s inadvertently chewing on something, tobacco? Gum? His unfinished meal you’d assume.
"Credit, debit or cash?" You dryly reaffirm, scrunching your nose at his heady body odor.
His unsaid expectation falls short when you start up the till, punching in an abstract combo code and then punting a hellish smile that demurs your discomfort.
“Can you break a hundred?” He eventually sifts through his wallet and puts down a mangy, water damaged bill.
Your hesitation persists, slowly retrieving the note as your eyes return to survey the outside yonder.
Ching! The register drawer pops open and you begin to count his change while doing a not-so-subtle double take out the glass aperture.
In the orange hue glow, you owlishly stare at Ransom Drysdale who hops out of the truck and slams the door shut. He stands his ground while adjusting his Guns ‘n Roses ball cap that sits atop his mousy swept tresses. You admired the fine, towering man, clad in a pair of faded blue jeans and a size too small black tee. His large feet were anchored the muddiest pair of Windriver boots as he kicked up his stride.
Your watchful eyes go dry with interest, quivering innately at his presence. He’s someone new. Someone absolutely insatiable.
“You know, a pretty little thing like yourself shouldn’t be working at a truck stop.” You’re forgetful of the grimy stranger who’s still around, leering at your candor that falters just the slightest.
“Shouldn’t be your concern.” You snap while giving him his exact change. “Have a good day now.”
“Not so fast peaches. Gimme a pack of Dunhills will ya?” He wags a finger behind you where there’s a closed filing cabinet stocked with easy to buy cigs and cartridge pens.
“All out.” You say.
“You’re a no-good liar. You didn’t even check.”
“I don’t have to, I know my inventory.” You deadpan.
“Why don’t I check for ya.” He rudely insists, coming around the counter to ambush your parole.
“Oh what the fuck dude!”
One by one he rifles through the unit and tosses each box onto the plexiglass counter.
“Let’s see we’ve got Camels, Marlboros, Pall Mall, Backwoods…” And then he looks at you, deviously licking his chops, eyes darkening like the abysmal night. “Hmm and what’s this?”
Behind the till you’re a sore sight to see; frayed short shorts and a busty white v neck that has a matching grease stain the size of Arkansas, compliments of the job in itself. He pokes his nose forward, sniffing out the sweet aroma of flora, gasoline and the slight notes of coffee you had prior to. Like a predator drawn to his prey, you have his vices in check.
“A dainty ol’e Sue... Oh would I love to taste you.” He touches and tosses your hair, you recoil with disgust upon contact. He longingly sneers, taking on your discomfort as a power play to get his erection going. Fucking wacko. “I gotta say, Al is a true Hefner for hiring ‘em young and ripe.”
The stranger edges forward and you scoot back, letting your manicured claws drag along the porous ledge with each walk in step. You heed caution and warning, something you were so desperately trying to work on as your voice trembles.
“I’d appreciate it if you back the fuck off.”
“No can do sweets not until I get some.” His dirtied paw reaches to cup your face and you narrowly turn away, ready to invoke a knee jerk reaction. “C’mon baby, give me a chance, hmm? I promise it’ll be good fun…” He sanctions right under while you pinched your eyes shut.
“We can do it right here, where no one's watching—“ His knuckles rub up the side of your thighs, coaxing you to spread your feet apart and be a willful contender. It’s broad daylight. Sin becomes a sinuous resolve. “What do you say?”
Ransom clears his throat right in time. It’s a glottal record scratch that stops ‘Jimmy’ in his place. His jaw ticks in stride of his heinous pursuit, a hand that rests by your bare leg turns into a balled fist.
There’s some dense relief. Your malignant heartbeat steadies and soon after an easy, unintentional breath escapes your lips, thanking your luck and savior.
“One of the pumps out front isn’t giving. You might wanna throw a sign on it.” Upon interaction, Ransom modulates a low, dangerous twang that isn’t native to the county you were in. Your curiosity piques while he awaits his turn, barely meeting your eye.
“Oh OK, I’ll, um, have that looked at shortly.” You salute his less than verbose demeanor. “I-I can help you whenever you’re ready.”
“I don’t think we’re done here.” The man encroaching your space sticks an arm out and cages you back into the corner. Your dismay stouts him as he expects you to turn the other trucker away.
Ransom stands stock still, eyes drawn to his flap wallet. He’s nonchalantly looking through cards and loose change, thinking out loud almost.
“Come meet me out back.”
“How ‘bout you hit the road, partner.” Ransom finally grovels. He doesn’t tolerate bullies and weak men who assert their sexual dominance on women who counter with no, a full perfunctory sentence.
“Not a chance. You can pay and leave us be.”
Ransom sibilants in defeat, murmuring something crassly unheard of. There’s a daunting fixation that furrows his brows together, deciding he’d pay you with fortitude instead.
“You know this guy, sweetheart?” He turns to stare at you and you’re astounded by the brightest baby blues known to man.
“U-Uh, no sir.”
Sir. Ransom liked the sound of that. He sucks in a deep breath, not expecting to cause a scene or be an unfavorable vigilante. But the sweet look on your face was absolutely beguiling, merciless of his ill-thoughts that came to him in the darkest hour. It’s been a long time coming, maybe you could be a pure succor. Suck or…
“Hmm,” he hums to himself. Toady Tom eyes him with vengeance that silently remunerates the atmosphere that grows heavy. “And do you want him to stay or leave?”
Ransom slides a weightless 50 on top of the scratched up counter and you swallow thickly, finding your voice again. “Leave.”
“Well then, I guess that settles it.” The perverted man behind the counter scoffs. He’s incredulous, tongue pressed against the shallows of his cheek. He almost surrenders but the jaunt stubbornness prevails.
"Yeah right."
"You heard the lady.” Ransom reminds the impolite patron.
“Far from a lady.” He instantly sneers before turning to you with a loaded threat. “You watch yourself now little one, I’m only just a few doors down. Don’t think I won’t find ya.”
“Fahk outta here.” Ransom enforces, growing agitated by the second. They share some imparted words, one man sizing up the other.
After a few Milkyways and bags of Lays splatter across the tile floor, the door chimes violently rattle with his obdurate departure. He’s gone like the wind. But that isn’t enough to detract you, to have you thanking the beautiful man in front of you who now looks completely unfazed.
“Thank you… for that.” You shakily express and he nods, properly sighting your illustrious figure.
“Of course.”
“Will that be all for today?” You mistakenly ask, mid-transaction and innocuous of his furthering insinuations. He simply smirks.
🌵
Your naivety and his spare will took an iniquitous turn.
The ‘Be Right Back in A Jiffy’ sign is flipped over while you’re quaffing down a nicely sized dick to the hilt. The warm, heavy appendage slides against your tongue that grafts each vein along his shaft. His leaky tip knocks at your tonsils while you manage to savor him to the fullest.
Ransom is helplessly in awe of your talents as he lets out a foul, debauched whimper. You’re glomming onto his cock for dear life as a thank you, needn’t he forget.
“Fuck sweetheart, you ain’t holdin’ back one bit.” He bucks as your hands go to knead his bare ass, gyrating him into a slow release. His large hands gather themselves in the root of your hair, yanking your head back when your testy teeth gently graze against his shaft.
“Watch the teeth, pretty girl.” He grits and you listen, humming a doe eyed look that overcomes him with a painful groan.
You’re a slobbering mess, jaw slack and locked in place. Your bare knees were planted on the perforated safe grip mat behind the till. His back, pressed against the ledge and away from an unseen crowd.
Midday was a rueful misdeemed fuck and you both reveled in it, letting out a symphony of taunting moans and grunts.
“So, so fucking beautiful.” He growls as you retreat, using your saliva and hands to sloppily lube up his manhood. You start fisting him, swirling your tongue just around the tip and that was enough for him to meet your eager pumps. He’s completely wrecked, caroling his sound praises and the ebb of your motions. His face puckers when the endorphins tingle right through his cock, an impassioned ache that needs relief.
“Just like that.” He breathes, feeling himself emancipated with tightness that recoils deep in his balls. “Mmm, that’s it. Fuck.” He tightly binds his eyes shut in the climb.
“Christ, I’m gonna cum.” Ransom is so close. His hands move your head back and forth with the propulsion of his hips sawing into your mouth.
With determination, you milk him dry, suckling on his tender flesh that slowly sears a hot opening and releases his furling spend in your oral cavity. The syrupy white substance coats your throat as you slither away to graciously swallow, stringing along spit and pride in your resurgence. His wet cock is semi-hard, bobbing after a good blow. His chest rises and falls as you rest on your haunches, appeased by the savoring musky flavor. The glassy look in his eyes stagnates when he tilts your chin up between his forefinger, assessing the damage with high praise.
“Well done princess.” He runs a thumb over your bottom lip, collecting a bit of his cum that seeps out before bringing it to his lips to taste.
“Anything else, sir?”
Oh you were a helpless one. “Get up.” He orders, wanting something quick and dirty.
“You don’t ask, you take,” You mewl at his disorderly aggression as he turned you around, his front pressed against your back. You swell at his dominance, not taking into account that you could be gutted any second and left for dead. "But only if you want to. Do you want this?"
You wordlessly nod at his manifesto.
“What was that?” He breathes heavily in your ear, hands trailing up the side of your body.
“Yes, sir.” You meekly reply, all the air vacuumed out of your lungs.
“Good girl.” Not letting a second pass, Ransom yanks down your cut offs and thong, bearing him your wet throbbing cunt and an unsparing ass. He takes his time admiring your backside and spreads your cheeks apart, bemused by the line of slick that glistens under the fluorescent lighting. He wets his bottom lip as a sign of fascination, adjusting his stance forward while you’re preening with anticipation.
“Please.” You pathetically whisper letting his thick fingers swipe through your folds, just merely grazing your entrance.
“Please what?” He curtly rasps.
“Please fuck me.”
“Fuck you good or fuck you quick?”
“Both.” You pant, slumping forward with your body halfway across the countertop.
“And would you like my fingers or my cock, princess?” He tests even though his middle and ring fingers are already circling your clit and making you cower.
“I-I don’t know.” You cry from pleasure that clouds your overall judgement, brows furrowed at the bubbling sensation in your core that short circuits your poor brain.
“You don’t know?” He mocks, going up a baritone.
“I—“ You wheeze, feeling his deft fingers work in and out of your pussy with slow tenacity. The way your body gave out to him was humiliating. From the slurping wet scissor thrusts to your shrewd little moans egging him on, Ransom couldn't be any more dignified. He needed this form of control and ousting, it made him feel godly, salaciously taking him back to the way he's always been. “Oh god.”
In your blissful state, Ransom reaches for the accordion pack of condoms that were left hung up on the side. He uses his teeth to rip one open before abandoning his finger fucking strife to properly pinch and roll the condom on. You moan at the loss of contact and then he harrumphs with a compliant thrust just to shut you up.
You squeal, feeling his fullness only reach halfway into your cunt. You were ill prepared. The initial burn and stretch was agonizing and it became too impermeable to let go.
"Shit." Ransom respires with discomfort, he didn't mean for that happen as your mouth falls open and your head rolls back, impartially cock drunk.
“I need you to relax, princess. Can you do that for me?” He whispers in your hair while using a hand to leverage your legs apart, slightly bending at the knees to ease his drive. Your pelvic floor muscles loosen up a bit as he fed you inch by inch. Your toes begin to curl up against the rubberized mats, your bodies finally come together as one. Your tight cunt does the honorable thing and sucks him right in without give. With a sharp intake of breath, Ransom tries his damned hardest not to bust his load in you, stiffening his movements to implore a faintly found. “Fuck... you feel s'good, princess.”
He’s fully seated in you, not budging one bit and questioning his need to cherish the moment.
“Mmm.” You hum desperately rolling your hips to alleviate the straining ache in your core while bracing the ridged tabletop.
"All for me, huh?" Ransom took it upon himself, your seldom plea, to fuck you senseless. He soon grunts and ruts his hot cock into your weeping little cunt, startling you in the endeavor.
Your squeaks prevail at a piercing octave. The fiery sensation, thrust and drive has your eyes rolling in the back of your skull. The sounds of slapping skin, loose change rattling in the register and the breathy high pitched moans calibrated the impactful sex. It’s an infinite juxtaposition of two strangers sharing bodily fluids and momentary, carnal pleasure that remained completely oblivious to the ghost towners around.
“God you’re taking my cock so well.” His hand comes around and cups you above your pubic mound, feeling his bulge and sidling some pressure to amount your acclimating climax. He intuitively stimulates your g-spot and that’s enough to drive you buck wild.
“Fuck!” You flutter around his cock as a sure fire sign that you were about to cum.
“You feel that?” He husks, steadily rocking his hips.
“Harder, baby.” You urge, a hand reaching over your shoulder to ghost his cheek, craving his physical closeness in your undoing. He follows through on your order, tightly gripping on your waist to continue his ramming thrusts.
Your straining breasts jiggles as both your hands slam onto the wooden flange for support. After a few rigorous pumps, your internal coil snaps, a warm electric release floods through you.
Ransom continues his chase through your pulsating schlump. He hisses as the dam bursts and ropes of his seed balloon up in the condom, unfulfilling you of him.
There’s that clarity. You’re both breathless and spent, wasting in each other's coital recollection. It’s fucking bleak for two self-effacing individuals who weren’t on a first name basis, wrapped up in a shoddy service station and dribbling in each other’s cum.
“You good?” Ransom asks while hovering over you. He lets his dick soften before pulling himself out and leaving you warmly hollow.
“Yeah.” You murmur, looking over your shoulder to dazzle a light grin. He’s appeased, carelessly eyeing the line of your bitten lips and mirrors an opaque smile of his own. He's not a mind reader but there's definitely something more to you that he can't ascribe.
“Sure?”
“Mhm.” You sing.
“Good.”
He discards the banded condom and lets you redress. There’s some muddling silence that thrives with naughtiness.
“Thank you for stopping by Al’s Handy Mart. We hope you come again.” You charm while readjusting yourself behind the till, very well knowing that you're probably going to have to take a bird bath in the restroom later. Ransom is fully dressed for his travels, trouser button left open as he rounds the corner to grab some Gatorade from the stock fridge and a couple stray bags of chips.
“Oh I'll definitely come for you.” He jokes, swigging his drink with one foot out the door and his dick still twitching for more.
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kazlifeadventures · 5 years
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Boston, you knocked my Sox off!
(See what I did there!)
Loooong travel day, 6.5hr bus trip back to DC, followed by a train to the airport. I had allowed a good 5 hrs from the bus arrival to the flight departure, so when the flight was delayed by another hour it turned out to be a very long day!! All part of travelling though, and I am still the worst sleeper ever, so that doesn’t help either! I booked a brand new hotel that is part of a chain I have stayed in before. Good choice Kaz, it seems familiarity is still something you crave even when you have been on the crazy odyssey I have been on! Not the most expensive, but not the cheapest either, although research showed me that Boston is not the cheapest place for accomodation! Good news is I again lucked out and have ended up in walking distance to all the stops on the freedom trail, as well as the Tea party ships in the harbour. Oh, I almost forgot, more importantly walking distance to little Italy... seriously , yum...
My first day here, was a colder, wet day, and after my late night and big sleep, I decided to explore my local area, and find a laundromat, get the boring but necessary part of travel out of the way. I ended up at a local coffee shop while I was waiting ( in the Italian quarter - I worked out later.... in my defence I was tired!!) Anyway I had some great chats with some locals at both the coffee shop and the laundromat. Yes, I still talk to strangers....
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I will admit it, I am in love with Boston. This place seems to have just the right balance of everything. Public transport system is not the newest or cleanest (or cheapest..) BUT it still got me in all the feels. The history here is amazing. I thoroughly enjoyed walking the freedom trail. Cheapo that I am I didn’t want to buy the map or books, I found a free online interactive map, that told me the stories of the sites, and conveniently the sidewalks had a tiled red section indicating the trail (no arrows or numbers like the one in Hanover though). Apparently a journalist had suggested marking the path to the 16 landmark sites some time in the 1950’s - fabulous idea!!! The walk itself apparently takes about 2.5 hours (its about 4 miles) and covers the sites that are integral parts of the history of not just this city, but of the entire country. The freedom trail takes you on a journey of the major players who were a part of the Boston Tea Party, an uprising that set the country on a course that ultimately ended in a war with England, and the birth of a new nation. Charleston, the site of the Bunker hill monument ( the final stop of the trail), a giant 67m tall granite monument erected between 1825 and 1843 was one of the sites of the first major battles between the British and the Patriot forces in the American Revolutionary War.
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Luckily one of the guys in reception had suggested a local Italian deli that make, the best, Italian sub I have ever put in my mouth. Seriously. Tastiest thing ever. the fact that they shave the meat to order as they make it, only adds to the appeal. I then located a shop that makes Italian pastries getting a couple of cannolis that I was destined to eat over the next couple days. (Sad to say they may have been nicer than the ones I had in Sicily recently —-eeek yep I said it!!!) There are no rules about following the freedom trail, so truth be told I kind of did some on one day, then wandered and decided to start from the beginning the second day I was here, starting in the famous Biston Common, taking in such beautiful buildings as the Massachusetts state house, kings chapel, the site of the Boston massacre, Feneuil hall, and some amazing cemeteries (Google the whole list if you're interested!) It was then time for a lunch stop, and where better than Boston's oldest restaurant, the Union Oyster. I had to have the clam chowder and a lobster roll! The building was amazing, the interior covered in historical pictorials. The food was good, probably not worth the price, (and the roll was not as nice as the one I'd had in NYC) but hey it's the ambience and the history you sign up for!
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After lunch I stopped before heading to Bunker hill, Instead heading to the Tea party ships and museum (in the opposite direction). Thinking about it, its not much different to how I have done everything else on this crazy adventure. I kind of just wing it and seem to end up in the right place at the right time. When I arrived at the tea party museum, I was just in time for the start of the next tour. I had no idea what I was getting myself into, these things are awesome. They have actors who take on the role of historical figures and lead you through the events of the past. You are given a card with your own character on it and encouraged to join in (as if I need more encouragement...) My kind of leaning really!!! The mix of live interactive performance and the films they show you gave me an incredible insight and understanding of the events that have been dubbed as the ‘Boston tea party’. The Boston Tea Party was a political protest that took place on 16th December 1773 at Griffin’s Wharf. American colonists, frustrated and angry at Britain for imposing “taxation without representation.” They boarded the ships and smashed open and dumped about 350 or so lead lined chests of tea, imported by the British East India Company, into the harbour. This event was the first major act of defiance to British rule over the colonists.
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My last full day I spent out in Salem. The story of the witch hysteria, and what occurred back in 1692 is unsettling in the least. Understandable in way, given the time period it occurred, (hey its easier to look at anything in hindsight and go - ‘hey why did that happen’). Anyway it was another rainy day, which added to the intrigue. The city itself plays on its witch history, something I’m not sure sits quite right with me, but I guess you either own it and make it work for you or end up with al the tourists anyway! The historical area of the town has some amazing buildings. The witch museum tour was another tour presented by actors and gave me more if an understanding of the events at that time. The memorial for the 19 people who died as a result of the trials was very well done. A simple space that details the date and manner of thier death, with their final statements carved into the stone entrances to the space. 18 of the accused were hung, with one man (whose wife had already been hung), crushed to death. The law at the time required a trial and a plea to be entered before any punishment was dealt out. Giles Corey refused to enter a plea, so the torture of the day was applied in order to get him to speak. He apparently lasted almost 3 days of having boulders placed upon him, his only words each time, "more weight", his final words apparently a curse upon the town and the office of Sheriff. There is alot more interesting history that revolves around the Salem witch trials. The fact that they recognised they had been wrong and made restitution to the families of those who had been killed was a big step. They still have only theories as to how and why it all began, but I guess an onus of proof instead of heresay is one big thing that came out of it!
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I then headed back to Boston on the train, catching a local train to get me over to Bunker hill memorial (yeah- I didn't feel like walking a mile by then!). I didn't climb the memorial as it was too late for the last entry, but it's impressive and kind of humbling to stand at its base knowing what occurred here.
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All too soon, my time here is over! 😪
I'm off to Chicago to see another friend from my Morocco tour - more Boston photos to come (as usual!!)
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betsynagler · 5 years
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Ten Things I Did This Week That Prove I Have Learned Nothing in 50 Years
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1. Forgot to move my car and got a street cleaning ticket.
I know, those of you who don't live in New York may not know what this is or why it's embarrassing, but here we have something called alternate side of the street parking, and it's how car owners organize their lives. You know that you'll have to move your car once or twice a week, depending where you park it, and so you must plan for this every time you take your car out – or don’t. Because there have been times I chose not to drive somewhere because I knew I'd have a hell of a time parking when I got home from work at midnight on a Monday — Monday night being the worst in my neighborhood of Tuesday, Wednesday, Tuesday-Thursday, and Monday-Thursday spots — so I decided, instead, to take the subway, even thought it added an hour to my commute (I know I'm lucky to have a decent public transportation option when a lot of people don't, and I do try to use it whenever possible. It's just that when getting to Greenpoint at 5 am can be either a 20 minute car ride or a 1.5-hour odyssey on the train if everything goes according to plan, and these days it rarely does, one does tend to opt for using the fossil fuels. I'm sorry). You also become obsessed with spots. Even when you're walking around like a normal New Yorker, you'll just notice a really juicy one and think, “Ooh, that's a good spot!” After all those nights of driving in circles and scanning the streets while having to keep your eyes propped open because you've already been awake for 16 hours, is it any wonder that your mind becomes trained in this way?
Which is why it's so ridiculous that I was fifteen minutes late to move my car on Wednesday. I mean, I know all the moves — the temporary double park, the fifteen minute car sit (I actually know people who plan to sit in their cars for the full 1.5 hours of street cleaning twice a week), I even have all the technology, deploying the Best Parking app for both lots and spots, setting alerts for this shit on my calendar, texting my husband to ask/remind him to move it when I'm not there (he finds it funny when I say I'm “reminding” him and it's the first time he's heard of it), and the fact that I managed to forget to ask him on this particular Tuesday, but then actually remembered when we got home at 10 pm, despite having had two beet martinis, then made the critical decision to get up at 8 am to move the car before the 9:30 am street clean, instead of doing the desperate night crawl, then completely forgot when I woke up the next day, is just not something that should happen. It's been a few years since I got a ticket for this, which I guess means I'm doing something right, but as someone who's lived in NYC for going on 29 years, and had a car for about half that time, it’s still sad.
2. Ate a lot of cheese and ice cream, even though I'm lactose intolerant.
Because turning 50 sucks, and they are delicious. And because I’m lucky to have a spouse who is very understanding.
3. Forgot to bring my mouse to work at my editing job, then bought a mouse and returned it the same day.
Part one – being that forgetful – sounds like something I shouldn’t really be doing for another ten or 15 years. Part two sounds like something I should have stopped doing in my teens, around the time when I learned how dumb it was to try calling the high school office claiming to be my mother to get back my confiscated Walkman (they didn’t buy it for a second). 
For the record, I took very good care of the mouse. I didn’t even eat while working the way I usually do.
4. Walked into one of those huge maps encased in metal and glass on the subway platform while reading my phone. Again.
I first did this some time in 2018, hitting myself squarely in the forehead. This time, I looked up just as I was about to hit the thing, so I hit it with my hand instead. It still hurt. It still felt stupid. 
I can say for a fact that this isn’t just about phone addiction, because I was reading the New Yorker on my phone at the time, and as a kid, I used to try and read books while walking to and from school. So this is really more about love of reading, or perhaps the use of reading as a means of escape, which I absolutely still do. I feel like maybe that’s somehow less immature than walking into something stationary while checking my Instagram for likes or taking a selfie. (For the record, I never take selfies, unless they’re of me reflected in something interesting, where my reflection is just one element of an attempt at being artsy. So there’s that.)
Yesterday, my hand was hurting and I couldn’t remember why. This is the great thing about being old and immature at the same time.
5. Lost to my husband at ping pong and Asteroids, but I did beat him at foosball.
My degree of skill at playing games that require good reflexes is pretty much the same as always: completely random. I often start off doing surprisingly well, then my opponent gets better as playing goes on, because that’s what’s supposed to happen when you remember how to do something, while, if anything, I get worse, because I lose focus and get distracted. If anything, my attention span has gotten shorter as I’ve gotten older, like most of us, because of how technology encourages that. I can’t get through writing this piece without checking my email and text messages and oh look that’s a notification that it’s my turn in Carcassonne…None of this applies to strategy games, oddly enough, which I do seem to improve at over time. Maybe it’s because I don’t have to use my brain and my body at the same time.
You might think the bigger question is, Why were you playing ping pong, Asteroids and foosball on your birthday (because that’s when we played these games)? But at this point you might not, since it kind of fits in with the whole narrative I’m building here.
6. Drank too much.
When I was younger, drinking too much meant getting sick or getting a hangover (rarely, because I was one of those lucky people who had to drink a lot to get either hungover or throw up. I’ve only been sick from drinking or hungover maybe twice each in my life), or, more likely, making an idiot out of myself. That was pretty much the worst thing that happened to me in my younger drinking years, because while I liked being relieved of my inhibitions, of which I have many because I’m a control freak, I very much don’t enjoy the idea of people noticing that I am relieved of my inhibitions, because I’m a control freak. But I can’t even get to any of those points these days, because now, drinking too much means just getting to the point of my acid reflux acting up, which, sadly, or not, happens after far fewer drinks than any of that other stuff. It’s also cumulative: if I drink four days during the week, I can probably get away with feeling okay on the first or second day, but by the fourth day, the jig is definitely up. Of course, this being the week of my 50th birthday, I went out four nights and drank on all of them, and now I feel pretty crappy. Maybe this doesn’t really count for this list, though, since I’ve only had the acid reflux thing for about five years. My body keeps changing as I get older and I’m constantly having to learn new rules about how it’s going to react to stuff. So it’s not 50 years, but five also does seem long enough to have figured this shit out by now.
7. Spent way too much time applying for something I know I’m not going to get (and may not actually want).
When I was younger, I applied to big writing and screenwriting competitions, the kind that everyone applies to, like the Nicholl Fellowship. I never won anything. Then I started getting more scientific about it, and started at what specific contests looked for, and looking for smaller competitions, like at smaller literary magazines, or competitions only for women, or only for women over 40, and started applying for those. I made it to one quarterfinal, and got a couple of nice rejection letters, and I did get some of my essays published in online magazines. I didn’t stop writing (blogging in particular did give me a small amount of instant gratification so I wasn’t going to quit doing that), but when it came to sending my writing out, I felt like I had better ways to spend my time. One of them was making documentaries — but that, of course, meant applying for grants and festivals. I got a few, and, more importantly, got some finished films out of that process that I was proud of, whereas the screenplays never got made, and so that seemed like progress. Then in the past few years I started trying to change careers and applying for editing and teaching jobs. Out of countless applications over several years, I’ve gotten maybe six interviews, but I’ve learned to streamline the process and only do applications that aren’t crazy complicated — especially because it seems like all of the editing jobs want recent college grads who are willing to work stupid hours for $40K a year and don’t care if they have health insurance.
For some reason, recently, I started adding the screenwriting applications back in. I don’t really know why. Maybe I’m hoping the world is actually changing and that people are now going to be more interested in the stuff I write, which is mostly about women, and I do see more women with writing and directing jobs in TV. But you can’t streamline an application that has 42 questions and requires you to upload a completed screenplay and a video of yourself (those of you who are aspiring screenwriters probably know the application I’m talking about because you also spent an absurd amount of time on it). And the worst part is that I probably spent as much time trying to decide whether or not to apply as I did on the actual application. Because I’m just that good at wasting time. And if I did by some miracle get this thing, I’d have to stand up and pitch my project in front of a room full of people, which is basically my worst nightmare — especially now that I’ve experienced a preview of that in the 12 takes I did of the video, and seen every little thing wrong with my word choice, and that annoying thing I do with my chin, and oh my God why can’t I stop blinking?
8. Repeatedly replayed several conversations I’ve had in the past week in my head, thinking about the stupid things I said and what I should have said instead.
I will point out that I did not do this with every conversation I’ve had in the past week, so, again, progress! But since one of those conversations was a Facebook argument about something political, I’m breaking even on this one at best.
9. Decided to write a blog called “Ten Things I Did This Week That Prove I Have Learned Nothing in 50 Years,” and then only came up with eight.
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cheap used cars to insure for young drivers 2015
cheap used cars to insure for young drivers 2015
cheap used cars to insure for young drivers 2015
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stacks-reviews · 7 years
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Must Reads Part 9
Happy Friday! I’m posting this a few hours later than I usually do. I’ve been distracted by my missing cat. But! This week we have a lonely alien sent to observe Earth, apocalyptic London(s), a haunted home, and more!
--The Chanegling by Victor LaValle “Apollo Kagwa has had strange dreams that have haunted him since childhood. An antiquarian book dealer with a business called Improbabilia, he is just beginning to settle into his new life as a committed and involved father, unlike his own father who abandoned him, when his wife Emma begins acting strange. Disconnected and uninterested in their new baby boy, Emma at first seems to be exhibiting all the signs of post-partum depression, but it quickly becomes clear that her troubles go far beyond that. Before Apollo can do anything to help, Emma commits a horrific act - beyond any parent’s comprehension - and vanishes, seemingly into thin air. Thus begins Apollo’s odyssey through a world he only thought he understood to find a wife and child who are nothing like he’d imagined. His quest begins when he meets a mysterious stranger who claims to have information about Emma’s whereabouts. Apollo begins a journey that takes him to a forgotten island in the East River of New York City, a graveyard full of secrets, a forest in Queens where immigrant legends still live, and finally back to a place he thought he had lost forever.”
Was mainly drawn to this title because of the places that Apollo will visit. Especially the graveyard and the forest full of immigrant legends. I’m guessing that Emma might have some kind of magical background or that her and the baby are changelings. I read a little of the preview on Goodreads. The first few chapters looks all like setup. First chapter follows Apollo’s mother and how she met her husband to how he suddenly disappeared. Second follows Apollo as a twelve-year old and how he starts up Improbabilia. 
--Down Station by Simon Morden “A small group of commuters and tube workers witness a fiery apocalypse overtaking London. They make their escape through a service tunnel. Reaching a door they step through...and find themselves on a wild shore backed by cliffs and rolling grassland. The way back is blocked. Making their way inland they meet a man dressed in wolf’s a cloak and with wolves by his side. He speaks English and has heard of a place called London - other people have arrived here down the ages - all escaping from a London that is burning. None of them have returned. Except one - who travels between the two worlds at will. The group begin a quest to find this one survivor; the one who holds the key to their return and to the safety of London. And as they travel this world, meeting mythical and legendary creatures, split between North and South by a mighty river and bordered by The White City and The Crystal Palace they realize they are in a world defined by all the London’s there have ever been.”
The description reminds me of A Darker Shade of Magic by V.E. Schwab with the whole multiple London’s and having at least one person who can travel between these London’s at will. Though this one sounds like there is more than four London’s. Though I suppose they could all be from the same universe but each being a different London that was created after the world ended, since this is an apocalyptic story. And maybe the world they are transported to is all those London’s that ended are brought here and formed a new reality. Maybe. Or it could always be something like the Avatars series by Tui T. Sutherland. Where a select group of people are ‘saved’ from the apocalypse only to realize they are reincarnations of ancient gods in a fight to the death to determine which group will be the ones to rule for the next millenia and then do it all over again the next time the world ends.
--Everyone's an Aliebn When Ur a Aliebn Too: A Book (graphic novel) by Jomny Sun “The illustrated story of a lonely alien sent to observe Earth, only to meet all sorts of creatures will all sorts of perspectives on life, love, and happiness, all while learning to feel a little better about being an alien - based on the enormously popular Twitter account, @jonnysun. Here is the unforgettable story of Jomny, a lonely alien who, for the first time ever, finds a home on our planet after learning that earthlings can feel lonely too. Jomny finds friendship in a bear tired of other creatures running away in fear, an egg struggling to decide what to hatch into, an owl working its way to being wise, a tree feeling stuck in one place, a tadpole coming to terms with turning into a frog, a dying ghost, a puppy unable to express itself, and many more. Through this story of a lost, lonely and confused alien finding friendship, acceptance, and love among the creatures of Earth, we will all learn how to be a little more human. And for all of us earth-bound creatures here on this planet, we can all be reminded that sometimes, it takes an outsider to help us see ourselves for who we truly are.”
This is probably my favorite on this list. It just sounds amazing and beautiful. 
--Julia Vanishes (Witch's Child series #1) by Catherine Egan “Julia has the unusual ability to be...unseen. Not invisible, exactly. Just beyond most people’s senses. It’s a dangerous trait in a city that has banned all forms of magic and drowns witches in public Cleansings. But it’s a useful trait for a thief and a spy. And Julia has learned - crime pays. Her latest job is paying very well indeed. Julia is posing as a housemaid in the grand house of Mrs. Och, where an odd assortment of characters live and work: A disgraced professor who sends her to fetch parcels containing bullets, spiders, and poison. An aristocratic houseguest who is locked in the basement each night. And a mysterious young woman who is clearly in hiding - though from what or whom? Worse, Julia suspects that there’s a connection between these people and the killer leaving a trail of bodies across the frozen city. The more she learns, the more she wants to be done with this unnatural job. To go back to the safety of her friends and fellow thieves. But Julia is entangled in a struggle between forces more powerful than she’d ever imagined. Escape will come at a terrible price.”
Really excited for this because of the description of book two, Julia Defiant. So some spoilers here about Julia’s powers. Starting now. So scroll quickly if you don’t wanna read it.     When she vanishes it appears she steps into ‘a place just just out of sight’ but now when she vanishes it is like she steps into another world. One that fiery and hellish. Full of creatures who somehow recognize her and think of her as one of their own. “So...is Julia a girl with a monster lurking inside her? Or a monster wearing the disguise of a girl?”
--Mapping the Interior by Stephen Graham Jones
"Walking through his own house at night, a fifteen-year-old thinks he sees another person stepping through a doorway. Instead of the people who could be there, his mother or his brother, the figure reminds him of his long-gone father, who died mysteriously before his family left the reservation. When he follows it he discovers his house is bigger and deeper than he knew. The house is the kind of wrong place where you can lose yourself and find things you’d rather not have. Over the course of a few nights, the boy tries to map out his house in an effort that puts his little brother in the worse danger, and puts him in the position to save them...at terrible cost.”
This is a novella so the print edition only has around 112 pages. Regardless, this sounds really good. I read about half of the preview that is up on Goodreads. The main character never tells us his name but on one page his mother calls him Junior, as he is named after his father. Which I have this feeling we won’t know what his fathers name was until near the end of the novella. As part of a big reveal. But we start with Junior waking up in his living room after sleep walking to see the figure pass through a doorway. Who he believes to be his father and we learn a little bit about him. How his father used to want to a dancer in pow-wows back on the reservation (as told to Junior by his aunts) but as an adult he didn’t speak their tribes language, didn’t know any of the stories or songs. Then we learn about his brother Dino. How he is having some trouble learning lately, sometimes stares into the distance, and occasionally suffers from seizures. I don’t know if this figure will end up being their father or if their house is just haunted and is trying to posses Dino. I’m not even sure if this figure will actually end up being real or if it will represent something more like the Monster in A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness or the hornets in The Nest by Kenneth Oppel. Either way, I’m already spell bound by what I read in the preview.
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