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drnikolatesla · 4 months

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The Lifestyle of Nikola Tesla

Nikola Tesla was a very tall and skinny man, standing over six feet and weighing around one hundred and forty pounds. He had light blue-gray eyes, which was considered odd because he was of Serbian descent who were typically known to have darker eyes. Tesla, probably joking, said to a reporter that his eyes used to be dark, but using his mind so much had made them many shades lighter. The inventor was known to be very elegant, stylish, meticulous in his grooming, clothing, and regimented in his daily activities.

Tesla never married and remained a celibate and a bachelor his entire life. Tesla was solely committed to the principles of science above all else, and for this reason, he denied the love and companionship of a female counterpart. He chose to lead a solitary life, hoping only that this sacrifice to work would make his name live on through many centuries still to come.

One of his few hobbies other than work was feeding birds. Tesla’s respect for birds began when he was a child growing up in the Austro-Hungarian Empire. He and his local friends made a sport out of catching live birds, and when Tesla himself caught a couple of keepers, he and his friend found themselves getting attacked by a murder of crows. The revolt forced the boys to release the birds and take cover. In America, he made it a specialty of his to treat sick pigeons, which seems odd because he was quite the germaphobe. He would feed them every day on his daily walks and would also take in wounded pigeons and nurse them back to health at his hotel in New York. He seemed to have had a better connection with birds than with most people. In 1917, he was awarded the Edison Medal, and upon receiving the award, the inventor could not be found. He was later found feeding pigeons near a local library and was persuaded back to the ceremony to give his speech.

Tesla suffered from an obsessive compulsive disorder, and because of this, he developed some very strange idiosyncrasies and phobias, such as having a strong dislike against earrings, pearls, peaches, and touching other people's hair. He counted the steps in his walks and calculated the cubical contents of soup plates, coffee cups, and pieces of food. All repeated acts or operations he performed had to be divisible by three.

While living in New York, Tesla kept his laboratories absolutely clean and pure, refused to touch other people, would wear gloves while shaking hands, and insisted upon personally cleaning his own plates and silverware at restaurants with his requested 18 napkins. This cleanliness was all intentional because, as a child, he almost died from cholera, which raged in the region of his hometown Lika due to contaminated water. Many found Tesla’s actions strange, but to him, it was a very important measure to protect his health.

In another way to keep his body clean and pure, Tesla invented an electrical apparatus that could give the human body a dry bath by passing millions of volts of electricity through it (similar to his demonstrations in the early 1890s where he passed electricity through his own body). His oscillator was a small, drum-like object about two feet long by one foot wide and could apply half a million volts of electricity through his body. The large amount of electricity would affect the germs without destroying the cells of the tissues of the body. Though his oscillator seemed like a fountain of youth, Tesla maintained his conventional ideas of health. He bathed daily, believed in plenty of exercise, and would walk eight or ten miles every day. He said that he never would take a cab or other conveyance and relied on his leg power for transportation.

His diet was a crucial part of his daily routine to remain healthy and to prolong the length of his life. He was very fussy and particular about his food: he ate very little, but what he did eat had to be the very best. He wasn’t a complete vegetarian; he ate meat, just not very occasionally (perhaps once or twice a year). He did believe though that humankind should move towards a vegetarian diet, not just because eating meat the way we do is “barbarous,” as he said, but because he believed the vegetarian diet is more beneficial to the human body.

In his later years, he never smoked, drank tea, coffee, alcoholic beverages, or consumed any other stimulant. Since he saw life through the lens of his mechanistic theory of life, he took great care of his body as if it were a machine properly maintaining its best efficiency.

As for sleep, Tesla reported that he was a poor sleeper and had very unusual resting patterns. He claimed to only sleep a few hours each day and would oftentimes practice polyphasic sleep where he would take short naps for restoration instead of sleeping for a long period of time.

Unfortunately for Tesla and his clean and healthy lifestyle, in 1937, at the age of 81, he was hit by a taxicab during one of his regular walks. It is likely he was jaywalking because he admittedly was known to do so. He broke three ribs and seriously injured his back. Tesla would be bedridden for months while refusing to see a doctor, and on top of this would catch pneumonia, which would plague his health for the last 5 years of his life. I believe this accident and sickness would play a major role in the rapid decline of his health, both mentally and physically, and his goal of living past a century would never be realized.

Nikola Tesla had a unique and eccentric lifestyle and was known for his intense work habits, often spending long hours in his laboratory. So much so that his friends would seriously worry about his health. Financial difficulties were a recurring theme in his life, and he died in relative obscurity. Despite these challenges, Tesla's legacy is marked by his groundbreaking contributions to the field of electrical engineering.

#nikola tesla #science #history #lifestyle #eccentric #ahead of his time #ahead of our time

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mariacallous · 5 months

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When you think of Eastern European Jewish cuisine, which words come to mind? Light? Healthy? Plant based? Probably not. Heavy, homey and meat-centric are more like it.

Fania Lewando died during the Holocaust, but had she been given the full length of her years, Ashkenazi Jewish cuisine may have taken a turn to the vegetarian side and we might all be eating vegetarian kishke and spinach cutlets in place of brisket.

Lewando is not a household name. In fact, she would have been lost to history had it not been for an unlikely turn of events. Thanks to a serendipitous find, her 1937 work, “The Vilna Vegetarian Cookbook” (“Vegetarish-Dietisher Kokhbukh”in Yiddish), was saved from oblivion and introduced to the 21st century.

Vilna in the 1930s, where Lewando and her husband Lazar made their home, was a cosmopolitan city with a large Jewish population. Today, it is the capital of Lithuania but it was then part of Poland. Lewando opened a vegetarian eatery called The Vegetarian Dietetic Restaurant on the edge of the city’s Jewish quarter. It was a popular spot among both Jews and non-Jews, as well as luminaries of the Yiddish-speaking world. (Even renowned artist Marc Chagall signed the restaurant’s guest book.)

Lewando was a staunch believer in the health benefits of vegetarianism and devoted her professional life to promoting these beliefs. She wrote: “It has long been established by the highest medical authorities that food made from fruit and vegetables is far healthier and more suitable for the human organism than food made from meat.” Plus, she wrote, vegetarianism satisfies the Jewish precept of not killing living creatures.

We know little about her life other than she was born Fania Fiszlewicz in the late 1880s to a Jewish family in northern Poland. She married Lazar Lewando, an egg merchant from what is today Belarus and they eventually made their way to Vilna. They did not have children.

Lewando, to quote Jeffrey Yoskowitz, author of “The Gefilte Manifesto” was “a woman who challenged convention;” a successful entrepreneur, which was a rarity among women of the time. She supervised a kosher vegetarian kitchen on an ocean liner that traveled between Poland and the United States, and gave classes on nutrition to Jewish women in her culinary school.

“The Vilna Vegetarian Cookbook” was sold in Europe and the U.S. in Lewando’s day, but most of the copies were lost or destroyed during the Second World War. In 1995, a couple found a copy of the cookbook at a second-hand book fair in England. They understood the importance of a pre-war, Yiddish-language, vegetarian cookbook written by a woman, so purchased it and sent it to the YIVO Institute’s offices in New York. There, it joined the millions of books, periodicals and photos in YIVO’s archives.

It was discovered again by two women who visited YIVO and were captivated by the book’s contents and colorful artwork. They had it translated from Yiddish to English so it could be enjoyed by a wider audience.

Like many Ashkenazi cooks, salt was Lewando’s spice, butter her flavor and dill her herb. The book is filled with dishes you’d expect: kugels and blintzes and latkes; borscht and many ways to use cabbage. There’s imitation gefilte fish and kishke made from vegetables, breadcrumbs, eggs and butter. Her cholent (a slow-cooked Sabbath stew) recipes are meat-free, including one made with prune, apple, potatoes and butter that is a cross between a stew and a tzimmes.

There are also some surprises.

Did you know it was possible to access tomatoes, eggplants, asparagus, lemons, cranberries, olive oil, Jerusalem artichokes, blueberries and candied orange peel in pre-war Vilna? There’s a French influence, too, such as recipes for mayonnaise Provencal and iles flottante, a meringue-based dessert, and a salad of marinated cornichons with marinated mushrooms.

“It’s hard to know who the target audience was for this cookbook,” said Eve Jochnowitz, its English-language translator. “We know from contemporary memoirs that people in Vilna did not have access to these amazing amounts of butter, cream and eggs,” she said. “Lewando was writing from a somewhat privileged and bourgeois position.” While many of these recipes may have been aspirational given the poverty of the Jews at the time, the cookbook demonstrates that it was possible to obtain these ingredients in Vilna, should one have the resources to do so.

While the cookbook is filled with expensive ingredients, there is also, said Jochnowitz, “a great attention to husbanding one’s resources. She was ahead of her time in the zero-waste movement.” Lewando admonishes her readers to waste nothing. Use the cooking water in which you cooked your vegetables for soup stock. Use the vegetables from the soup stock in other dishes. “Throw nothing out,” she writes in the cookbook’s opening essay. “Everything can be made into food.” Including the liquid from fresh vegetables; Lewando instructed her readers on the art of vitamin drinks and juices, with recipes for Vitamin-Rich Beet Juice and Vitamin-Rich Carrot Juice. “This was very heroic of her,” said Jochnowitz. “There were no juice machines! You make the juice by grating the vegetables and then squeezing the juice out by hand.”

Barbara Kirshenblatt-Gimblett, a Jewish scholar and Jewish cookbook collector, describes Lewando as “witty.” “She is showing us,” she said, “that once you eliminate meat and fish, you still have an enormous range of foods you can prepare.” Lewando is about “being creative, imaginative and innovative both with traditional dishes and with what she is introducing that is remote from the traditional repertoire.” She does that in unexpected ways. Her milchig (dairy) matzah balls, for example, have an elegance and lightness to them. She instructs the reader to make a meringue with egg whites, fold in the yolks, then combine with matzah meal, melted butter and hot water. Her sauerkraut salad includes porcini mushrooms. One of her kugels combines cauliflower, apples, sliced almonds and candied orange peel.

There is much that, through contemporary eyes, is missing in “The Vilna Vegetarian Cookbook.” The recipes do not give step-by-step instructions; rather you will find general directions. Heating instructions are vague, ranging from a “not-too-hot-oven” to a “warm oven” to a “hot oven.” Lewando assumes the reader’s familiarity with the kitchen that today’s cookbook writer would not.

Lewando and her husband were listed in the 1941 census of the Vilna Ghetto but not in the census of 1942. It is believed that they both died or were killed while attempting to escape. “She really was a visionary,” said Jochnowitz. “It is an unbearable tragedy that she did not live to see the future that she predicted and helped to bring about.”But in cooking her recipes, said Yoskowitz, as dated and incomplete as some of them may be, the conversation between then and now continues.

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saltygilmores · 9 months

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Thoughts While Watching Gilmore Girls, Season 2, Episode 21- Lorelai’s Graduation Day, Aka Lovesick Stepcousins In The Big City, Part 3

I'm cheering Rory on as she leaves school grounds, leaving these 35 year old classmates in the dust, and as she manages to pull it off under the eyes of two teachers or administrators. Yes yes yes! Well from here on out it's going to be pure Literati appreciation with only minimal anger and rage, you know, my usual shtick. That being said, when that happens I start to sound a little disjointed, like, this episode is so pure and precious and enjoyable that I really don't have much snarky commentary on it and I can just watch it. What am I without my snark powers?

Destiny awaits. In one of many examples of what I call "Gilmore Girls Poor"*, which is a term I coined myself for how AmyShermanPalladino views lower/middle class/urban/city life, Rory manages to end up in the Port Authority Bus Terminal in another dimension. The Alternate Dimension, 100% white, Spotlessly Clean, Nearly People-Free New York City Bus Terminal where she stared down a scary dude without being stabbed and she was offered a locker to store her book bag. (*More examples of GGP: In season 4, Jess is 19 years old, a high school dropout, and is living in a clean, rat and roach free, enormous New York City apartment with working utiltiies and large windows that in today's housing crisis people would murder him to get, he just needed a bed frame and to pick his shit up off the floor but we are supposed to believe its a crack den; Rory and Lorelai live in a beautiful home and eat take out and restaurant food every day on nothing more than an innkeeper's slary)

This was cute. Rory the little mouse getting ignored by city folk. I love it so much.

I think AmyShermanPalladino inserted this smoking guy to make it look like Rory was in a rough part of town. Someone finally gives our little mouse an abrupt answer on how to get to Washington Square Park where she can meet her stepcousin and her destiny.

The little smirk before he turns around! And then, and then...and then...the big grin when he sees her!

I am STARVING for stepcousins!!!!!! ..And the Emmy Award for the whitest words ever spoken on teleivison goes to Alexis Bledel, as Rory Gilmore in Gilmore Girls:

Baring his naked forearms like a saucy strumpet. Book sticking awkwardly out of his back pocket. He either finds the smallest books or has the roomiest ass pockets that he keeps pulling that off. How does he do that?

This is all so precious and pure I could die.

He is RAPT with attention listening to her silly stories. Show me where Dean or Logan ever paid this much attention to her telling one of these stories.

We know, Bubs. We know :(

Red alert! Red alert! Our first display of physical contact!

Jess says he eats from this hot dog cart every day. Let's unpack this: 1) Holy child neglect, Batman! I mean, Liz Danes. You can't even make your kid a peanut butter and jelly sandwich once in a while? This boy is feral. These are survival hot dogs. This may be all he can afford to eat on his own. 2) How are you still as skinny as a rail? 3) How's your blood pressure? 4) Where are you getting the money?

This sweet bubba unquestionably paid for Rory's lunch like a true gentleman.

I refuse to acknolwedge any sort of Behind the Scenes Hollywood mumbo jumbo like "Milo wasn't ACTUALLY eating the hot dog" or “umm, it’s a prop hot dog”. i am firmly committed to a scenario where everyone on the set for this episode was like "Milo our precious vegetarian baby boy we will get you a tofu hot dog to eat"

Ending this chapter with this adorable face.

#gilmore girls #gilmore girls season 2 #lorelais graduation day #rory gilmore #jess mariano #milo ventimiglia #denise rewatches gilmore girls #literati #step cousins #my heart is bursting #hot dog #feral child #why isn’t Jess in school #he ate a hot dog in the movie Armored #I saw him deep throat the thing #tofu dog or commitment to the part that he will ingest meat for a role

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u-mspcoll · 1 month

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Much Depends on Dinner 2024 Showcase

In Winter 2024, students enrolled in Dr. Margot Finn's ALA 264 Much Depends on Dinner worked in groups to research and write captions for food history materials in the Special Collections Research Center's Janice Bluestein Longone Culinary Archive and in the collections of the William L. Clements Library.

These were featured on the Shapiro Library Screens in Bert's Study Lounge.

Katzen, Mollie & Mermelstein, Catherine B. (1977). The Moosewood cookbook : recipes from Moosewood Restaurant, Ithaca, New York. Berkeley, California: Ten Speed Press. In the Janice Bluestein Longone Culinary Archive.

“The most influential vegetarian cookbook of all time” – Wall Street Journal

The Moosewood Cookbook consists of authentic vegetarian food and dessert recipes that incorporate various cultures. Seven founders created the first Moosewood cookbook in 1972 in response to the rise of vegetarianism during the 20th century. These recipes range from the Mushroom Moussaka to the Cardamom Coffee Cake – an Indian spice incorporated into the classic German coffee cake. These simple yet healthy recipes are cooked at the Moosewood restaurant in Ithaca, New York. Make sure you visit the restaurant on your next trip!

[Culinary Menu : Travel - Ships]. 1905-1997. In the Janice Bluestein Longone Culinary Archive.

This menu describes the luncheon served in the three-story first class “Grand Salon” dining room of the British R.M.S “Queen Mary” on Saturday, June 14, 1952, on their weekly trip between Cherbourg, France and New York, USA. Although the cruise ship was initially catered to the upper class before World War II, it eventually expanded to include the tourist classes as well. The menu on the ship changed daily and offered some of the fanciest dishes of the time. The “Queen Mary” is now permanently docked in Long Beach and serves as a floating museum and restaurant.

Read more!

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darerendevil · 5 months

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For archive purposes: October, 2012

A lean, slight, tousled figure in a sailor-striped T-shirt and buckle-back trousers, Cillian Murphy walks into an upscale Japanese restaurant in downtown Manhattan. As he says hello, sits down, and looks around the room with his extraordinary ultramarine blue eyes, I form my first impressions: kind, gentle, sensitive, good-humoured, with no visible traces of the villains, psychopaths and other tortured souls he has played so convincingly on stage and screen. He also looks a little weary, and there is good reason for this.

“I’ve had kind of a crazy week this week,” he says in a mellifluous Irish accent with a rich grainy timbre. “I was in the Ukraine for a film festival. I’ve been all over America promoting a film called Red Lights, which I’m in with Robert De Niro. Yesterday was The Dark Knight Rises premiere here in New York, and this afternoon we fly to London for the next premiere. It’s all part of the job, I suppose, but it’s certainly not the reason why you do it.”

The waiter arrives with water and menus, and after some study, Cillian (pronounced Killian) decides on a salad of shitakes and market greens, followed by the sashimi. “I’m a vegetarian who occasionally eats meat and fish,” he says. “I like a drink too, but I won’t just now. I’ll stick with water.” I order the Kobe beef and ask the waiter to bring out a glass of red wine with it.

Some actors enjoy talking about themselves and their films, and they do it well. Cillian does not count himself among them. “I’m getting less hung about it, but when I started, the whole promotion aspect was an ordeal to be endured,” he says. “I just don’t have a great facility for it. I try to be interesting and spontaneous but it’s so hard when you get asked the question fifty or a hundred times over. You hear your little anecdotes going stale. Yes, it was fantastic to work with Robert De Niro, but you can only say it so many times, you know? I’ve always thought, just judge me on the work. What else matters? I’m an actor and that’s what I do.”

There’s an assumption in the media that actors are all competing in the same horse race for A-list stardom, and that an actor like Cillian Murphy, who seems poised on the very brink of it, with the perfect combination of looks and talent, must surely be yearning to get there. Journalists find it hard to accept when he tells them that that the only thing he cares about is the work, and the rest of it is to be endured. But this is why he avoids celebrity parties and keeps himself out of the gossip pages. He attends his own premieres, because he has to, but he won’t go to anyone else’s and he dreads the four-minute television interview on the red carpet.

Off screen, he lives a quiet, normal life that he likes to keep as private as possible. He’s married to Yvonne McGuinness, a visual artist, and they’ve been together since he was 20. They have two sons, Malachy and Aran, and shuttle between their house in North West London and the ancestral sod of County Cork.

“I’ve always felt that the less the public knows about you, the more effective you can be when you go to portray someone else,” he says.“For actors to reveal so much about themselves, and allow their personal selves to be owned by the media and the public, I find at odds with trying to lose yourself in a character. And that’s the thing I’m after. That’s what drives me. I’m 36 now, and I still have a real hunger for it.”

He thinks the desire to perform for an audience is something genetic, a personality trait that lives in the DNA, and it first expressed itself in his youthful attempts to be a rock star.“Of all the arts, music is still the one that affects me on the deepest level,” he says. “My parents were teachers, not artistic types, but there was always music in the house, and all four of us kids learned to play music. I was in a few different bands, playing guitar, singing and songwriting.”

One of those bands was called The Sons of Mr Greengenes, after the Frank Zappa song. They were offered a five-album deal by Acid Jazz records, but turned it down, because the deal was a swindle and Cillian’s parents disapproved of the music business. At the same time, Cillian recognised that he’d reached the ceiling of his musical talent, and would never be as good as he wanted to be. He went to law school in Cork “for no good reason,” and then one day he wandered into a production of Clockwork Orange staged in local nightclub.

“If your first theatre experience is a bad one, it’s unlikely you’ll go back,” he says. “But my first theatre experience was an extraordinary one. It was dangerous and sexy and electric, and just astonishing. I’ll always love music, but here was another form of live performance, just as exciting.”He pestered the theatre company, and after some starter roles, he was cast in the lead of Disco Pigs, a strange and brilliant play by Enda Walsh about a sick, twisted, obsessive relationship between a deranged boy and a slightly less deranged girl next door. The play was a huge success, touring for several years, reaching as far afield as Toronto and Copenhagen, and in 2001 it was made into a film. Pale, beautiful and androgenous, with outsized lips and impossibly blue eyes, Cillian Murphy looks as though he drifted down to earth from some other galaxy, or floated up from a cave kingdom beneath the Irish Sea. This ethereal, otherworldly quality has been a great asset to him as an actor, and many of his films have taken place in imaginary realms or the future.

His big breakthrough came in 2002 when he was cast as the lead in Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later, and required to fight his way through a post-apocalyptic London full of zombies. He went to outer space in Boyle’s Sunshine, and Gotham City for Christopher Nolan’s Batman trilogy, in which he plays the sinister psychologist Scarerow. Nolan cast him again in Inception, as the target man for Leonardo DiCaprio’s team of dream-jackers.He’s also played a transvestite for Neil Jordan in Breakfast On Pluto, a creepy villain for Wes Craven in Red Eye, and a reluctant freedom fighter turned zealot for Ken Loach in The Wind Shakes The Barley, an epic about the Irish war of independence set in his native Cork. In all, he’s done 26 feature films, and while some of them haven’t turned out as well as he hoped, there are no bad or stupid films in his biography.

“You have to go in with good faith, and believe that this is best performance you’re ever going to give,” he says. “I’ve never done a film I didn’t believe in. I’ve never done a film for the money. Fortunately, I’ve been in some big budget films that were smart, and the money has given me the freedom to do small budget films and theatre that I’ve felt passionately about. An example is this movie Broken, which is a kind of version of To Kill A Mockingbird transposed to contemporary London. It’s a tiny, tiny budget film, and I’m just so proud of it. It’s such an emotionally brave piece of film-making.”Another example is Misterman, a one-man play that he performed earlier this year in Ireland, Brooklyn and London. Written by Enda Walsh, who got him started in Disco Pigs, and has become a close friend, it required him to play seven different characters imagined by the main character, and earned him the best reviews of his entire career. “It was incredibly exhausting and incredibly satisfying. Sometimes I was doing two performances a day. I don’t think I’ve ever been so tired, or so happy. It was very pure. It was all about the work. The commerce aspect was tiny, compared to when you make a film, and there was none of the waiting around.”

The waiter sets down two beautifully presented plates, one of sashimi and one of beef, and pours me a particularly delicious glass of Bordeaux. Seeing the expression of delight on my face when I taste the wine, Cillian says, “You know what? I’ll have a glass as well then. I do like my red wine.” Then the conversation collapses into silence, grunts,and occasional exclamations, as our chopsticks deliver one morsel of culinary artistry after another into our mouths. This restaurant, 15 East, was recently named one of the best in New York, and for both of us, it’s one of the best meals of our lives. “Absolutely sensational,” says Cillian, who is finding no problem at all drinking red wine with sushi.

When the plates are empty, I ask him what it feels like to become a character. Is it a genuine transformation, or it just a matter of dressing up and pretending to be someone else? “It’s not always the same,” he says. “Some characters are just a slight adjustment, and some are a great distance away from you. I like to do research. I was playing a professional debunker in this movie Red Lights about the supernatural, so I went and hung out with physicists and professional sceptics and magicians, to understand that community. Actors tend to know a lot superficially about a great deal of things.”

I press him again: what does it feel like when you’re in character? “It’s most satisfying on the stage,” he says. “If it reaches the point of being transcendent, where you’re not actually conscious of being on stage performing, because you’re only aware of the character and his world and his needs, well, that’s what you’re always aiming for, that’s the moment that theatre people are always chasing. It’s the ultimate rush, if you will, for an actor, when the self disappears completely.”

One glass of Bordeaux leads to another. The waiter asks if we want dessert, and Cillian says no thanks, and I order something called a Shiratama parfait of red beans, matcha jelly and green tea ice cream.When it arrives, it is multi-coloured and visually spectacular with many more ingredients, and Cillian says, “Wow, look at that. My goodness, I might have to get a spoon of that.”

We both dig in, exploring an extraordinary combination of flavours and textures, with gums, jellies, brioche, red bean paste and more. “Oh man, what’s that green stuff?” he says, mining the lower layers now. “I have no idea what that is. It’s got that gummy vibe going on again. Fecking amazing.”

With a drop more wine, Cillian gets talking with great enthusiasm about books and music. Have I read the Irish writer John Banville, one of his favourites? Do I know the seminal jazz album Bill Evans Live At the Village Vanguard? Cillian found it recently on vinyl, being a great admirer of Bill Evan’s understated piano playing, and firmly convinced that vinyl is still the best way to listen to music. He loves Frank Zappa, Captain Beefheart, Van Morrison, Jack White, and the Irish writers Pat McCabe, Sebastian Barry and the late, great, mindbending Flann O’Brien. Cillian is signed up for the film version of O’Brien’s satirical postmodern comedy At-Swim-Two-Birds, along with Gabriel Byrne, Colin Farrell and Michael Fassbender, and he hopes it will go into production soon.

“I’m also hoping to do some telly,” he says. “The smart mid-budget movie, which has been my bread and butter, has been squeezed out quite a bit. People are very reluctant to take a chance on a smart $17 million movie. They’d much rather throw everything into a dumb $250 million movie. But you don’t find that in TV where the writing just gets better and better, and you’ve the opportunity to develop a character over many hours.”

When you’re interviewing an actor, it’s always difficult to know if you’re witnessing a performance or the real person, but I get the distinct impression that Cillian Murphy is not only a nice guy, but maybe even happy and fulfilled. Is this true? “Well, the insecurity is always there,” he says. “It’s a necessary aspect of being an actor, or a writer for that matter. You have to have that insecurity. I used to feel like a failed musician pretending to be an actor, but that’s less of a worry now. I’ve found my form, I’ve found the right outlet for my impulse to create, and yes, I’m pretty happy. I don’t believe you have to be a tortured person in order to make great art. It needn’t always come from a place of pain, although there seems to be a romantic view of that.”

When he was a boy, all he wanted to do was hang around with artists and creative people, but he was stuck in a school in Cork where rugby and academia were the only things people seemed to care about. “Now, weirdly, I’ve found myself in a position where all my friends are artists. It’s a good place to be, I think, and that’s a real source of happiness, especially when we collaborate on stuff.”His ambitions for the future are very simple. In theatre, film or television, in collaboration with the best writers and directors, he wants to make great art, and keep on making it. “I can’t remember which director said it, but he said it takes 30 years to make a good actor,” he says.

“Longevity matters. I’m 16 years in, just over the hump, and when I’m 50 I should know if I’ve mastered my trade, or failed gloriously.”When the dessert and Bordeaux are finished, I ask for the bill, and the waiter brings it with two complementary glasses of dessert wine and a tray of petit fours. “I’m a big fan of your work,” he says to Cillian.

“I’m a big fan of your restaurant,” says Cillian. “How fantastic. What a meal. I wish all interviews could be like this.”As we walk out pleasantly buzzed into the bright furnace of a New York summer afternoon, I notice that Cillian doesn’t appear to have a mobile phone. “I left it in a taxi yesterday,” he says.

“Within half an hour, someone had called my wife and made arrangements to return it. I’m going to pick it up now before I go to the airport. It gives you faith, man. My publicist has lost two wallets and a phone here, and gotten them all back, with none of the money missing. It’s not something people expect from New York, but there you have it.”

Then I see the waiter from 15 East running down the street towards us, and I wonder if he’s going to ask Cillian for an autograph. But no, by odd coincidence, the waiter is holding my mobile phone, which I must have left in the restaurant. “You see what I mean?” says Cillian. “It gives you faith. Alright, best of luck, and I’ll be off now.”

#Cillian Murphy #Interview

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idiopath-fic-smile · 11 months

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having a quiet afternoon in; feeling like doing that "choose a WIP and i'll write a bit of it" meme that's been going around but I only have 2 WIPs so it's really just a binary choice:

"e/R 1970's" (sequel to this)

"the patron saint of all-night diners" (sideways spin-off of this feat. Julie the waitress and the Reagan-hating fry cook falling in love)

(i don't think you're supposed to give that much context to the WIPs but *sunglasses emoji* sometimes you gotta break the rules.)

snippets under the cut. both of them are set in restaurants in the American midwest, which i mention only because it might be distracting otherwise. throw me an ask about one or the other and i'll write three more sentences. i will do this until i get tired.

e/R 1970's

Grantaire frowns down at her menu. “Suppose I’ll have to get used to lentils eventually,” she says, “if it’s bound to become part of the lifestyle. Only, remember when all you had to do to be a lesbian was want to make love to women?”

“And live entirely submerged in fear and shame?” Enjolras replies, without heat. New York’s Stonewall Riot seven years earlier—and the bolder, more confrontational movement that followed it—have changed her. With a suitable outlet for her particular magnificent energy, she is more focused than ever in work, and a little calmer in repose.

“True,” Grantaire replies. “But I worry that any day now, we’ll be issued a box of cats.” She shakes her head theatrically. “You know I can barely keep houseplants alive.”

“Houseplants don’t meow until you remember to water them,” says Enjolras. “And I admit, I have a morbid curiosity for what you’d name a pet.” She raises her eyebrows.

“Skinny Bones, if we fed him the food of our people,” says Grantaire. “Did you see they sell vegetable ice cream?”

Enjolras shrugs serenely. “We’d give him meat,” she says. “Cats are carnivores. And as far as human food goes, the spinach and black olive enchiladas aren’t half bad.”

They’re sharing a table at Viv’s Vegetarian Spot, the best lesbian-owned cafe in all of Boystown and likely all of Chicago. “Best” being perhaps a little generous, in Grantaire’s meatloaf-and-potatoes-loving book.

“You know I admire your devotion to supporting our sisters-in-arms—our sisters-in-amour, let’s say,” Grantaire counters, “but in this one particular case, I’ll never grasp why you—”

Enjolras reaches over and squeezes her hand; their waitress has swooped in, the numerous political pins rattling on her denim jacket like chainmail. “WE HAVE BEEN TOO NICE TOO LONG” reads one. “OUT OF THE CLOSET, INTO THE STREETS” reads another.

“Hi there, I’m Sandy. Can I get you two anything?” she asks.

“I’ll have the enchiladas,” says Enjolras. She hasn’t moved her hand on top of Grantaire’s. And then she beams up at Sandy and adds, deliberately, “And my date will have…”

“The enchiladas also,” Grantaire fills in, swallowing hard as Sandy nods and retreats to fetch them waters like this is the most normal and natural thing in the world. “Alright,” Grantaire says. “I think I can grasp it now.”

the patron saint of all-night diners

The first thing to know about Al’s 24-Hour Eats is that it didn’t start as a haven for the queers and deviants of the greater Indianapolis area.

The second is that the transformation was no accident.

“Julie Williams,” says Lloyd, the night manager.

Julie nods, smiles blandly. She does not adjust her unfashionable brown turtleneck or her equally out-of-date khaki maxi skirt, both chosen with care at Goodwill in an effort to look as staid and buttoned-up and employable as possible.

Lloyd’s eyes scan down her resume. She presses her lips together. Given that he’d kept her waiting in the narrow, dingy outside his office twenty minutes into their scheduled 10 o’clock appointment, it feels like he could’ve at least already read a single sheet of paper. A bead of sweat slides down her spine.

There are six lies on her resume, and seven truths. The lies: previous places of employment, mostly, retroactively fitting her with a past where she has always been known as she. The provided contact numbers belong to sympathetic friends who have been told to answer the phone cautiously over the next couple of days. The truths: her name, first of all, truer now for years than whatever might be printed on her birth certificate. Her list of relevant skills; even in her previous life, she knew her way around a tray of plates, a table full of rowdy drunks.

Also this: Julie Williams is a people person.

This will be important later.

“You ever done this before?” Lloyd says suddenly.

Julie blinks. He’s still holding the paper in his hand. The paper which says that she has a combined fifteen years of experience working as a waitress in dining establishments across the Midwest. This is not strictly true, but that’s not the point.

“Yes, I have,” she says, in her most pleasant voice. “Most recently, six years at Sunrise.”

“Sunrise in…?” Lloyd trails off.

“Lafayette. Up way past Lebanon.”

“Were you any good at it?”

“Very,” says Julie without hesitation.

Lloyd lets out a long sigh. “That’s good, that’s good. Between you and me, we’ve been having a tough time filling the night shift lately. Nobody wants to work anymore. And this part of town going the way it’s been going, we’ve been getting a lot of weirdos applying.” He raises his eyebrows.

“I’m real sorry to hear that,” she says. A second bead of sweat is slipping down to join the first one, right at the start of her asscrack. Charming.

“Yeah.” He pulls himself to his feet and shakes his head. “This place is headed downhill fast. Has been since that seedy little rathole across the street opened.” He must be talking about Hey Sailor, the windowless establishment Julie passed on her way here. Mentally, Julie updates the little dot on her mental map from probably a gar bar to almost certainly a gay bar.

“I should warn you,” he adds, “the crowd gets a little wild at night. Our last waitress quit because she couldn’t hack it. Think you can stand up to the freaks and perverts?”

She can feel her smile go sharp-edged. “I don’t let anyone push me around, sir.”

Provided the patron saint of all-night diners comes through for her and she gets the job, Julie makes a solemn vow to herself just then, regarding said freaks and perverts.

This, too, will be important later.

#wip meme #e/R 1970s #the patron saint of all-night diners #cw some mention of period typical homophobia #(ETA re: the 1970s story no slander against vegetarians; i was one for like six years. i just think it's an interesting like cultural shift

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gurugirl · 2 years

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The Tiffany Club Part 18*

Summary: Harry and Camille go to London and it's a wonderful time, until there's a misunderstanding and things take a turn for the worst

Warning: Smut, unprotected sex, dd/lg dynamic, descriptions of alcohol use, mentions of disordered eating, angst :(

Part 17*

Part 18* - Harry

London in the wintertime is very similar to New York City in the wintertime. Bitter cold chilly air, grey skies, rain drizzle, with plenty of cozy little pubs and restaurants to stop in and warm up.

Camille and I had gotten into London the night before and spent most of the day in my flat sleeping and having sex but tonight I wanted to take her out for dinner and brisk walk to get some fresh air and see the city. Camille had never been to London before.

We arrived on Saturday morning and my first of two meetings with the investor wouldn’t be until Monday afternoon. So today, we were just enjoying the city together. I took her to one of my old haunts and we grabbed a small table near the fireplace at the pub.

Camille sat down in the booth and I slid in next to her, sliding my arm behind her and pulling her in close. It was cold out and we were shivering. Our “quick” walk turned out to be a lot longer than I anticipated after leaving the corner shop near my flat. I didn’t remember this pub being a 20-minute walk away but now that we were here it felt nice to snuggle together at a booth.

Camille leaned into my hold and looked up at me, her chin pressed onto my arm, “This is nice. I’m glad I could come.”

Camille was in a good mood after she got a text from Richard with a picture of Barry laying on his back, stretched out along our brand new couch. She was happy that Barry was in good hands. It made this trip easier on her. I hadn’t realized how attached she was to Barry. I mean, I know Barry is important to her, hell, I’m a sucker for the guy myself, but I just didn’t realize the anxiety she had attached to it until the night before our flight. She was all wound up and nervous that something would go wrong with Richard watching Barry. Or that Barry would be sad or anxious himself. But now, that we’re here and she’s gotten a few photos of Barry and snippets of updates from Richard she seems lighter.

I kissed her forehead and our waitress arrived to take our order. We both get the fish and chips (vegetarian or not, you must get the fish and chips when in London) and got a pint each.

Camille had been working on being more casual with her food intake. When I first met her she was overly strict in the way she counted her calories and wouldn’t eat certain foods at all. One afternoon I arrived to her place before she had to go to the club and brought her a bagel because I’d picked one up for myself. But when I pulled it out for her she looked guilty when she told me she wasn’t going to eat it because she had overeaten the night before (I made her eat a dessert at dinner – that was her idea of overeating) and needed to let her tummy settle. I had been concerned about what I’d seen but any time I offered her a little more to eat she’d rarely accept. Bringing it up to her after she quit the club went far better than I thought it would. She was receptive to the idea and she’s been working on it ever since.

We both shift a bit to remove our coats and I take hers and mind and put it next to corner shop bag that has wine in it, and onto the other seat of the booth we’re not occupying. We settle back in the seat and she keeps her head on my arm as I wrap my hand behind her back.

The pub is busy tonight, for a Sunday evening. But that’s London I suppose.

While we’re about halfway through our meal, an old colleague of mine spotted me and made his way to our table. I stand to greet him, shaking his hand and he slides into the seat of the booth across from us.

“Wow, it’s been ages! Where’ve you been hiding?” He jokes. We lost touch a few years ago and we weren’t so close that keeping in touch made sense.

“Just been busy with the company. Opened up a location in New York City and I’m there now most of the time. Uh, this is Camille, my girlfriend.” I put my arm over Camille’s shoulder and then look down at her as I gesture toward my colleague, “This is Adrian. We worked together before I split off and started up Styles Capital.”

Camille lifts up a bit and reaches over the booth with her hand out, which Adrian promptly takes to shake, “It’s nice to meet you, Adrian.” Camille smiles at him before bringing herself back down to sitting.

In between bites I tell Adrian a little about the firm and how I met Camille but keep it vague with everything else. I love telling the story about how Camille and I met by literally running in to one another. Camille doesn’t mind people knowing she was a sex worker but she is guarded about it. There’s always a stigma and most of the time it’s just not necessary to bring up, so I don’t. I will always let her be the one to say it, if she chooses.

And Adrian is nice to catch up with, but as we’re exchanging pleasantries I’m remembering why I was never very close to him to begin with. He’s quite opinionated and nosy. He has kept the conversation mostly to asking me questions but when he begins to ask Camille more about herself he doesn’t seem to let up.

“So you do research for anthropology projects?” He asks. It’s a normal question but Camille is getting a bit fidgety.

“Yeah, it’s mostly personal projects. My goal is to start working for the Metropolitan Museum and doing paid projects. Get some more experience and maybe have some things published? Perhaps I’ll even go back to school to get my masters finally.” She picks up her beer to take a drink. I can tell she doesn’t want to keep rehashing the same thing with him, but Adrian keeps picking.

“You don’t have your masters? That’s possibly why you’ve not been published yet. So, you don’t have a job? Or you just do this as a hobby?”

Camille shifts a little and picks at the salty chip in her fingers, “No job right now. Just researching and taking it one step at a time.” She smiles at him and plops the chip into her mouth.

“So, you’ve Harry here then taking care of you. Good job.” I snap my eyes to Adrian and furrow my brow. I don’t like his comment, though it might not mean anything negative, I can tell Camille is uncomfortable.

“That’s enough about her. She’s trying to eat, mate.” I glance at Camille who is looking down at her plate and back to Adrian.

He puts his palms up in surrender, “Just asking, man. Curious about what she did for a living. It’s not like she’s prostitute or anything.” He laughs.

I slide out of the booth and put my hand out for Adrian to take and he does. Pulling him to standing I give him a gruff squeeze of the hand and move him from the table, “Nice talking to you. We’re gonna get back to our dinner, if you don’t mind. Have a great evening.” Luckily he got the hint and waved goodbye to Camille as he went back to wherever he was sat originally.

“Sorry about that, babe. I remembered why he and I weren’t friends as he just kept talking and talking. Annoying.” I lean down to kiss her forehead and she looks up at me and smiles, putting her hand on my thigh.

“It’s okay. I’m not upset. Just felt uncomfortable.”

The following day I left Camille at my flat while I had to attend meetings. The analysts put together a great pitch book for the investor we were trying to win. Monday’s meeting was the pitch and Q&A session. Tuesday would be nitty gritty, and hopefully a commitment from the investor and then dinner.

When I returned to the flat Monday it was nearly 7pm. Camille had made dinner and she had the table set, and ready for me. She was wearing sweatpants and a cropped sweater with her hair in a bun. Camille was the best thing I could have come home to any day. There was no part of me that regretted having her with me.

While we ate, Camille sat right next to me and showed me the pictures of Barry that Richard sent her. She was in a great mood. I could tell she was wanting my attention. When she cleared the table she came back to me as I was on my cellphone looking at my work emails. She gently took the phone from my hand and placed it on the dining table and then crawled onto my lap, her thighs straddling mine as she looped her arms around my neck and kissed me with a quick peck.

“Missed you all day. I know I told you already but I really, really missed you today.” She leaned in and connected our lips again. I loved her like this. Loved getting all of her attention and her kisses. I put my arms around to her bum and pull her in closer. We kiss like that for a bit. It’s soft and a little bit messy when we begin to use our tongues but it’s passionate. I love how we kiss. I love how she melts into me and sighs and looks at me like I’m everything. It makes me so weak. And not in a bad way, just in the way that I would bend to her every time. I’d do anything she wanted.

I slip my hands up slowly and skim my palms over her warm skin under her sweater. When I push my hands up further on her back I realize she’s not wearing a bra so I lean back from her and look at her with my head tilted, “No bra? Nice and comfy, huh, baby? Let’s see…” I slowly lift the fabric upward until I’ve got her breasts exposed for me. I shift in my seat and lean her backwards so her back is pressed against the table as I bend over her to kiss her soft breasts. Her hands wind into my hair as I dot warm kisses over her and lick at her nipples. I spread my palms over her ribs under her tits as I keep giving attention to each nipple and all the skin around her breasts. Camille’s little whimpers are such a turn on. Everything she does turns me on. The girl has me wrapped around her pinky finger.

Soon, Camille has her pants off and my cock is out and read for her to slide down onto. We’re still at the dining table as she climbs back into my lap and presses herself to me.

“See, Daddy? S’just for you. You want it?” She’s looking at me so innocently but she’s anything but innocent. I slide my hands over her ass and squeeze at her.

“Always my girl. Love being inside of you, baby.”

Camille leans herself back as I guide my cock to her little wet hole and I push my tip just past her entrance, both of us moaning as we look at one another. Her slick insides are so warm and inviting.

Camille grinds down over me with her mouth dropped open and her eyes wide, “So fucking deep in there. Oh my goddd…” she whimpers. I am deep too. I can feel everything around me. She begins to drag her hips over me and I assist by lifting her ass up a little each time she slicks herself up.

My legs are spread wide and Camille is using her thighs to lift herself and drop back over me the best she can. It’s slow and wet and exactly what both of us needed after our long day.

Suddenly I get a call. My cellphone is on the table and as much as I want to ignore it so I can take care of my girl, the investor situation at work means I need to be on call. It’s too much money to walk away from or ignore.

I wrap my arm around Camille’s back and lean forward to pick up my cellphone, looking into her eyes, “Sorry, honey. This’ll just take a sec. Stay right here on my lap, okay?” Camille nods at me and rocks her hips gently back and forth as I answer the call.

“Hello, Styles here.” It’s my colleague Cindy.

“Styles… good to hear your voice. I heard the pitch went very well today. I look forward to celebrating tomorrow night if everything goes to plan with the deal.”

I roll my eyes. Cindy made a point to seek me out at the office before the pitch to the investor. She’s not on the team for this deal so she wasn’t part of the meeting. I could tell right away when she found me this morning that she was going to try something.

“Yes, went very well. Our analysts did a great job of getting the numbers and pitch deck completed.”

Camille is softly panting as she slowly rolling her hips over me. Her wet pussy is dripping down my shaft and wetting my thighs. I inhale a sharp breath when she squeezes hard over me, I can tell she did it on purpose when she smirks at me.

“Look, I’m glad you’re in town. I won’t keep you long…” Cindy continues saying something I barely hear as Camille starts to lift herself up and gives me the hottest view of my cock all shiny with her arousal, stuffed into her little cunt. She drops back down and moans, keeping her eyes on mine. I bite my lip to hold back my heavy breathing.

“So, just wanted to run that idea by you. We can talk about it more tomorrow, though.”

I buck my hips upward, pressing my cock even deeper into Camille and I let out a harsh groan just as Camille whimpers. I do it again because I love how it feels having my cock lodged deep into her pussy, not caring I’m on the phone at all.

“Yeah, tomorrow…” I breathe out into the phone to Cindy. Camille’s wet pussy is gliding up and down me and it’s slick noises are so hot.

“You sound busy, I’ll let you go. Uh…” Cindy says something else and I end the call, not even caring anymore. I need to fuck my girl and she’s been so good for me.

I set the phone down onto the table and Camille and I go back to what we were doing before we were interrupted. Our bodies sliding together, my cock being fucked by her warm pussy, Camille reaches down to rub at her clit as I bring my hips upward to fuck up into her.

“Daddy… you’re so big, I’m so full with you…” I roll my eyes in the back of my head and tilt my head backward. Her words and her body are almost too much. I could come too fast.

It’s awkward, fucking on a dining chair, but with Camille, it’s hot as well. She keeps leaning back so I can watch as my cock disappears behind her lips, spreading and parting for me as I push my way into her.

When Camille’s begin to shake I pick up my pace, holding onto her hips and spreading my thighs for better leverage I fuck up into her, the sound of our bodies sticky and slapping together with Camille’s moans pushes me over the edge.

“Come on Daddy’s cock baby. Daddy needs it, need to feel you come all over me.”

Camille whimpers and continues rubbing her clit quickly as her soft moans get louder, “Ahhh… yess… oh… Daddy… you’re so deep inside of me it hurts, but I never want you stop. I need you. I love you, Daddy. Fuck…” her words are pinched and come out whiny as she’s so close. I clench my jaw and continue fucking up into her.

Finally, she’s gasping and groaning loudly, it kind of sounds like someone is being punished, or in a little pain. But she’s far from being in pain, the sounds of ecstasy fall from her mouth as she trembles and comes over my cock, pulsing and writhing over me.

I lodge myself deep into her and hold her hips down over me as I come inside of her hot cunt with a deep groan and a curse, “Fuck!”

When our breathing has evened out Camille leans in to kiss me and she wraps her arms over my shoulders and sighs, “Best cock ever. I just love you, Daddy. Thank you.”

I squeeze Camille’s hips and smile, kissing the top of her head, “Mmm… yeah? I love you, baby. Such a good girl for me.”

The following day at work goes as planned and even better. The new investor is in and after work we all go out to celebrate. The investor brings a few of his own colleagues and what I didn’t expect is that Adrian, the annoying guy from the pub, is among them. Adrian gets a little too cozy with me, talking shit about people at the dinner, making jokes about women, ogling Cindy. And as much as I’d rather just keep my distance from Cindy, she makes it difficult and I also don’t want her to hear the things Adrian’s said about her.

The whole night is uncomfortable but I’m in an upbeat mood. The deal is done and the investor is ours. That’s the whole goal. The trip has been worth it.

As the night progresses and everyone begins to relax, Cindy won’t leave my side. It’s rather annoying but she hasn’t done anything to suggest she’s trying to hit on me. Yet.

But then, “So… who did you have over last night?” She whispers to me. She’s a little, tiny bit sloshed. She’s had a number of dirty martinis and I’ve kept myself to a nice buzz with a few whiskeys.

“What do you mean?” I furrow my brow, not knowing what she’s getting at.

“I called you last night and you stopped talking suddenly but then I heard you with someone.”

I had half forgotten that she’d even called the night before as I was balls deep in Camille. Then it dawned on me that I was on the phone with Cindy while Camille was in my lap fucking me. And when I thought I’d ended the call, perhaps I didn’t?

“Uhm… I didn’t realize you’d heard anything. My girlfriend is with me here in London.”

Cindy laughed and nudged me with her shoulder, “Mmm… the girl from New York you’re seeing? Interesting… and yeah, I heard a lot actually. She likes calling you Daddy huh? I remember when I’d call you Daddy…”

I lift my head and look around to make sure no one’s hearing this, “You stayed on the call even when you heard that?” I frowned at her. It felt like a bit of a violation. She could have hung up when she realized what was going on, or maybe not even brought it up. But she was quite tipsy, so perhaps she was letting the alcohol do the talking for her.

“It sounded really good. Reminded me of when you’d fuck me back in the day. Nice big cock, mmm…” she wobbled and took another sip of her martini and I rolled my eyes.

Just then Adrian made his appearance again, “This you side piece? Or is the girl from the other day your side piece?” Adrian really didn’t have a filter. He was trying to be funny but he just wasn't. I was surprised he was working with my investor to be honest.

I shook my head, “This is my colleague. The other woman is my girlfriend. I don’t have a side piece. Don’t need one.”

Adrian nods his head dramatically and winks, “Okay, mate. I see.”

I shake my head and begin to walk away from the impending disaster. Between Cindy and Adrian, I need a breather.

I go to the men’s bathroom and take a piss and then check my phone, sending a quick text to Camille, seeing how she’s doing. She sends me a picture of Barry (that Richard had sent her) and then a picture of herself curled up on my couch with a glass of wine. It makes me smile, warms my heart. I kind of want to slip out of here and ditch this place, go back to her and curl up on the couch with her.

I click to call her, just to hear her voice and she picks up right away, “Hey! I miss you. When are you coming back?” She’s too cute and I smile widely at hearing her voice.

“Soon. Getting bored here. Would much rather be spending my evening with you. Maybe another hour?”

Just then the bathroom door opens and I look up to see Cindy. She grins and walks up to me and drapes an arm over my shoulders as I’m speaking to Camille.

Cindy’s slurred voice comes out loudly, “Maybe you can do to me what you did your girlfriend last night – whoever’s on the line can listen in too.” I quickly cover the receiver and gently peel Cindy off of me and give her a look of warning.

“Stop. That’s not happening. You need to get out of here.”

I lift the phone back up to speak to Camille and it’s silent, “You there baby? Camille?” I hear her breathing.

“Yeah. What’s going on, Harry?” She sounds upset.

Cindy speaks again, “Come on Daddy. Want that big cock, like old times…”

I rush out of the bathroom and keep the phone to my ear. I’m red in the face and my heart is pounding. I know Camille heard something and this isn’t good.

“Someone won’t stop following me. I don't know why she said that... You know what? I’m leaving now to come back to you. Sorry about that it wasn’t…”

Camille’s voice cuts me off, “FUCK YOU!” and the calls drops.

I panic as I call her back but she doesn’t answer, “Fuck!” I groan and pull at my hair. I find a few people from the office at let them know I have an emergency and need to leave. Everyone has had a bit to drink and no one cares much that I’m dodging out early.

I hail a taxi and as soon as I’m in the backseat I call Camille again. And again. And again. She doesn’t answer. I feel tears threatening to peel out of my eyes and I’m nauseated at how she must feel. If she heard anything that Cindy said I could be fucked.

Twenty minutes later I arrive at my flat, rushing inside I see the TV is still on, a blanket is crumpled up on the couch and there’s a light on in the kitchen, “Camille? Baby!” I rush around the flat and she’s no where to be found. She’s not here. Panic sets in further and I’m suddenly realizing, she’s left. She’s gone and I don’t know where she would have run off too. Camille could have gotten a taxi and hotel room but there’s no telling where she’s at.

I call her again but this time the call goes directly to voicemail. I leave her the most frantic and erratic message ever. Then I text her and note that it doesn’t go through. The little red notice telling me the text didn’t get sent. I try again and again and I feel like I’m going to vomit. This can’t be happening.

Part 19

Would you support me on ko-fi? Even just $1 tip once helps me!!

Check out my masterlist if you enjoyed this 💕

Xoxo

Tags: @wherethehellhaveyoubeenharry @michellekstyles @ssaama @angelqueen99 @sombrioinvernoemveneza @golden-hoax @a-strange-familiar @reveriehs @yousunshineyoutempter

#harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #ceo!harry #sugardaddy!harry #harry styles #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles writing #angst

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answerengineoptimization · 3 months

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HOW SERPS WORKS

SEARCH RESULTS

Imagine Search Results as a Funhouse Mirror World:

Distorted by Location: Search engines personalize results based on location. Just like a funhouse mirror makes you tall and skinny in one room, a bakery might rank higher for someone searching in Paris than in New York.

"Near Me" Makes a Big Difference: "Near Me" searches pull results based on the user's physical location. This is like a whole different funhouse room, showing local businesses a searcher might miss otherwise.

Mobile vs. Desktop: People search differently on phones than desktops. The funhouse hallway might be wider for phones, showing mobile-friendly sites first.

Beyond Text: Videos & Images: Search isn't just text anymore! There's a whole funhouse room with video and image results, ranked differently.

Time Travelers Beware: Search results can change over time, like a funhouse exhibit that gets updated. Morning searches might show different news articles than evening ones.

The Incognito Enigma: Personalized search tailors results based on past searches. An incognito window is like a secret passage, showing a more neutral (and potentially different) funhouse experience.

Preferences Matter: Search engines consider user preferences. A vegetarian searching for "restaurants" might see different results than a meat-lover.

The Good News:

By understanding these factors, we can optimize your website for various search scenarios, increasing the chances of appearing in the "good" funhouse mirrors for your target audience.

Additional Tips:

Use location targeting in your SEO strategy.

Optimize for mobile and desktop experiences.

Create high-quality video and image content.

Build a strong local presence for "near me" searches.

Consider the impact of personalized search and incognito browsing.

By explaining ranking with this analogy and highlighting your SEO strategy, you can reassure your client that while rankings aren't universal, you're working to make them appear "universally good" for their target audience.

#search #seo #engine #optimized #optimization #seoexpert #serp #results #positioning #visibility #optimised #optimizacija #optimirung

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sunriseverse · 6 months

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Top 5 cities?

this is very hard for me because i have moved a lot but i haven’t actually been that many places…….ah well, here’s a list to the best of my ability!

1. shanghai. i am wildly biased on account of having been born and raised there, but it’s my home and where my heart lies. i miss everything about it, and i plan to move back as soon as possible.

2. seoul. i’ve only ever been in the airport, during each international flight i took growing up, but the atmosphere, and the shop where you could make a craft to take with you, was wonderful.

3. kuala lumpur. again, i was only ever in the airport, and it was around three am, but it was the first time i ever had the chance to eat at burger king, since it was halal. the burger king was disgusting and i wish i had gone with a local option instead, but the indoor rainforest was beautiful and i bought some mango gum (also halal) while i was there.

4. istanbul. it would rank higher except i fucking hate erdogan so it’s tainted by association. there’s a fabulous restaurant that makes three foot long pide, though, and they’re fantastic.

5. new york city. it’s fine. i guess. in my opinion it doesn’t count as a city because it’s neither large nor particularly old. the tallest skyscrapers are like children’s toys and people talk nonstop about the statue of liberty, but in my opinion the best part is actually the manhattan public library and the numerous pizza shops. when i lived nearby i would occasionally go to a jewish-owned pizza shop that had some of the best pizza i have ever had, and due to keeping to kosher everything was vegetarian which was great for me, since it meant i could actually eat it. they did a broccoli pizza that i still dream of to this day.

#ask #ask meme

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thepavementsings · 1 year

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Hello friends. Looking for any vegetarian friendly restaurant recs in New York :)

#bonus points if you have one near or around the Schubert theatre #thanks so much mwah

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leo-and-me · 7 months

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NEW YORK — In a cluttered dressing room at the Broadhurst Theatre, Brent Carver was about to dive into a take-out dinner from a local vegetarian restaurant.

“I’ve got to eat something before I undergo ‘molina-ization’ ” he said. “It’s a new term we’ve coined around here. To be ‘molina-ized’ means to be transformed.”

#brent carver #kiss of the spider woman #the molina effect #molina-ization #love this one

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mariacallous · 7 months

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Hanukkah will be different this year. Many of us are far from family and celebrating with our small pods, if not by ourselves. So what better way to treat yourself and embrace this unique year than with a new tradition — a mouth-watering, carb-tastic latke sandwich. Crunchy on the outside, warm and soft on the inside, latkes make the perfect bun for any juicy deli meat (plus, they’re easy to assemble at home).

Here are five places across the U.S. where you can order a latke sandwich:

1. 2nd Avenue Deli

New York, New York

New York is the birthplace of the Jewish delicatessen and at the iconic kosher 2nd Avenue Deli you can order all your favorites, including a latke sandwich. To no surprise, this overstuffed sandwich is called The Instant Heart Attack.™ It can be ordered with corned beef, pastrami, turkey, or salami for $31.95.

In 2012, the Instant Heart Attack caught national attention as the star of a federal lawsuit. The Heart Attack Grill in Nevada, a hospital-themed restaurant specializing in highly caloric burgers, claimed the delicatessen was infringing on its trademarks. The federal judge ruled in favor of the 2nd Avenue Deli, noting that there’s “no likelihood of confusion” between a latke and a cheeseburger. As the Daily News reported, “Rye-t on! 2nd Ave Deli wins sandwich suit.”

2. Kenny & Ziggy’s

Houston, Texas

At Kenny & Ziggy’s in Houston, feast on the Luck Be A Latke — brisket sandwiched between two potato pancakes with applesauce or sour cream for $21.95. This melt-in-your-mouth sandwich can be ordered for curbside pick-up or delivery in the Houston area. Lucky for you, Kenny & Ziggy’s schleps nationwide; order two dozen latkes and your choice of deli meats and assemble a latke sandwich at home!

3. Schmaltzy’s Delicatessen

Seattle, Washington

Seattle is home to the most innovative latke sandwich. At Schmaltzy’s Delicatessen, Chef Johnny invented the Latke PressSandwich, a latke sandwich pressed like a panini. Schmaltzy’s, which began as a food truck, offers four uniquely delicious pressed latke sandwiches served in French fry bags, so they’re easy to hold and even easier to eat your way through. For vegetarians or brie-fanatics like myself, order the Classic Combo — Honeycrisp apple, brie, caramelized onion, spinach, sherry vinegar, and thyme for $12. For a more traditional latke sandwich, order The OG with house-made pastrami, The Schmear with house-cured lox, or the less traditional, cheekily named Jewbano, like a pork cubano. Order for pick-up by phone or on their website.

4. Manny’s Cafeteria & Delicatessen

Chicago, Illinois

At Manny’s Cafeteria & Delicatessen, the fourth-generation deli in Chicago, any sandwich can be a latke sandwich. Egg salad, chopped liver, hard salami, you name it. During the eight nights of Hanukkah you can order a latke sandwich for the price of the deli sandwich plus $3. While only advertised during Hanukkah, the latke sandwich is a secret menu item that can be ordered year-round. Available for local Chicago pick-up and delivery.

5. Corky & Lenny’s

Woodmere, Ohio

Thirty minutes east of Cleveland, Ohio is Corky & Lenny’s, the classic, unpretentious Jewish deli. Corky & Lenny’s has been a landmark Cleveland destination for 64 years. One of their house favorites is Beef & Latkes and it’s exactly what it sounds like — corned beef, pastrami, or brisket on potato pancakes with applesauce or sour cream. This sandwich is available for dine-in or pick-up for $15.95.

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schoolbusgraveyard · 2 years

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sobbing at [the big spoiler] so pls give me your tyler/sbg in general headcanons

heres some of mine: tyler was an ipad kid, logan has the biggest crush imaginable on tyler and likes flower sculptures, ben and aiden know basic sign language, taylor is an astrology geek and loves freaking out logan, and ashlyn has the worst joint and back issues ever which might as well be canon because she does ballet and as a former ballet dancer, THAT MESSES YOU UP

[pats your back and offers you tissues while you sob]

YESSS THOUGH (okay Tyler being an iPad kid is kind of funny in concept, but also if i think about it too much it makes me sad bc I feel like he had to learn a lot of skills at a really young age and ended up on youtube/wikihow a lot). I’m esp big on the Ben & Aiden knowing basic ASL--like yeah, Ben can just write or use his phone, but knowing even basic fingerspelling is so helpful when you’re nonverbal/can’t talk. That's always one of my favorites dfgdfg and same for the HC Ashlyn having a lot of joint pain--I've never done any form of dance but I've seen/heard the horrors, her having the worst back/joint pain sounds about right

I'll start with some Tyler ones and then kind of ease off into general SBG headcanons :D Under a readmore for length bc whoops this got a little longer than expected

(There are some vague spoilers ahead? But honestly, I’m p sure what I mentioned that would be a spoiler has been implied by a few episodes before the finale so)

Tyler can cook; so can Taylor, but he's a little bit more picky about how food prep goes and can get overwhelmed if anyone is in the kitchen with him and he doesn’t know what they’re doing/if they’re in his way/if they’re trying to talk to him a lot.

He will let Taylor help sometimes, though, especially if they’re both extra worried about their mom for some reason or something else is up.

He’s extremely meticulous about washing his hands/tools/cutting boards between ingredients. Even if everything he’s chopping goes into the same pot or pan, he’s going to wash that knife every time he switches to a new ingredient.

A lot of people don’t really think of it with how ~picky~ and meticulous he is with how he cooks, but he actually does enjoy it a lot. It’s grounding for him, helps him calm down (so long as nobody else is in the kitchen), and gives him a chance to think things through.

He's actually a lot better at cooking than Taylor. Nobody really expects it out of him.

He, Taylor, and their parents used to actually cook as a family. After their dad died, though, he took on the majority of cooking.

He and Taylor are vegetarians. This is oddly specific and holds no weight other than “they wore matching shirts with the name a now-closed vegan restaurant that existed in New York printed on them Once” but it kind of stuck w me after I pointed it out to my husband. I’m p sure he had a School Burger (definitely not vegetarian friendly) on his tray in one of the early episodes, but like [I Do Not See It.png]. Not sure if I have the headcanon that Mariana is also a vegan or a vegetarian, I kinda go back and forth with it a lot.

While his dad only taught him a few songs on the guitar, he would actually be really good at it, if he gave himself the time to sit down and work with it. I think he probably loved it a lot as a kid, but after losing his dad, it just kind of... Hurt to try to pick it up consistently again. If he's ever home alone or near one and alone, though, he'll absolutely pick it up and just slowly/carefully strum out a few notes or songs.

I'm p sure that it's implied to be canon based on One conversation he and Taylor had, but I'm completely saying that he prioritizes sports (especially baseball) because he's hoping he can secure a scholarship through it+essentially get a free ride to college and make shit easier on his mom. And also, y'know, make her proud.

He gets overwhelmed really easily in-general, and that contributes to a lot of his angry outbursts. Pressure stim (weighted blankets, weighted items in-general) are a godsend for him. He hides it pretty well, but after a certain point, he’ll start to get snappy--and it really just seems like it happens for no reason (but, y’know, he’s actually overwhelmed/under a lot of stress).

He also really just. Loves to hold hands with people that he's close to. He says it's so that they feel safer/more comfortable, but honestly, it's a mutual feeling. He feels safer with the people he loves/the people he cares about within arms reach.

He tends to sit really close to. Anyone that he considers a friend or family. Like, shoulder-to-shoulder with them. If they move away, he notices--and will try to remember that for the next time he sits next to them.

Taylor will also do this; it's something she kind of subconsciously picked up from her brother. She notices just as much as he does if someone moves away, but instead of just silently keeping a little bit of a distance, she'll actually ask if she can sit closer to them.

Ben loves this a lot, actually. Taylor is so physically warm (and also just generally sweet/understanding), and he loves having conversations with her, so he loves having her nearby. It’s convenient when she can see his phone easily/see what he’s typing.

Ben prefers traditional art, but he isn’t opposed to digital; he’s not used to using a drawing tablet yet, but he really likes the various tools and other features that come with it. Since his art is for him/a lot of it is art therapy, he doesn’t really post it or share it with anyone unless one of his friends asks.

Logan actually loves having his nails painted. At first, he was kind of worried (because of bullying, his grandparents, just generally afraid he couldn’t pull it off, worried about ruining his nails while working in the greenhouse, etc.), but after he heard Aiden and Taylor talk about it, he was like... Huh. Maybe I could try it. He doesn’t really like experimenting with colors or designs--he likes a lot of neutral tones (specifically dark browns), but Taylor did convince him to try a really warm orange shade once and he loved it.

When he gets extremely embarrassed, Logan will hide his face in his hands. Unfortunately, in these moments, he usually forgets he has glasses on, so those get dirty or he accidentally jabs the nose piece against his eye.

Aiden doesn’t paint his own nails often, but when he does, he goes for the brightest, most eye-straining colors. Like, the brightest neons ever.

Aiden sneaks out often, much to Ben’s panic. He tries to sneak out without Ben noticing/after Ben falls asleep, but. This happens more as the weather gets cooler/colder. It stopped happening as much after the Savannah trip, but he still slips out every now and then (and has, at least once, narrowly made it back in through his window before midnight)

Ashlyn keeps their group chat labeled “them.” Not out of any negative feelings towards anyone in it, she just can’t be bothered to change it or think of any new name for it. It’s kind of growing on her though, it’s almost endearing now.

I’ll throw One in about the parents but this has gotten a lot longer than I initially expected dfgdfg Emma is so nervous around Logan’s grandparents. She already kind of struggles socially--she isn’t the same level as Ashlyn, she’s more indifferent and “eh, if I talk to someone, I talk to someone”--but man Logan’s grandma unnerves the absolute hell out of her. She just seems so intense to her.

#headcanons #sbg #school bus graveyard webtoon #school bus graveyard (webtoon)#sbg (webtoon)#sbg (webcomic)#school bus graveyard (webcomic)#school bus graveyard webcomic #sbg webtoon #sbg webcomic #since this didn't mention the Big spoiler or having any real discussion abt it I'm gonna go ahead and post this

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