#wad albany

[danssttripedshirt]

At the Albany pre show dan said he went to spirit Halloween and picked up two costumes, a practical one and a spicy one

We should be afraid

#daniel howell #we’re all doomed #wad preshow #wad albany

[danandphilnews]

#dan and phil #dan howell #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #m&g #wad #wad albany

[sanriosuicide]

fuck what 14 year old me would think, 22 year old me had one of the best nights of my life 💓💕 ft dan’s wonderful photography

#daniel howell #dan howell #danisnotonfire #wad #wad albany #wad tour #m&g #dan and phil #were all doomed #doomed tour #the egg #albany ny

[shaynesunderstudy]

I saw Dan on tour on Tuesday @ the egg!

#dan howell #we’re all doomed #wad Albany #the egg #Daniel Howell #I also have a video I might post

[exhibitphotopdx]

The Hitchhiker

In my memory it is a Spring day, maybe early April, and the windows are down in my old Datsun as I headed out of Eugene toward Seattle and a rendezvous with a beautiful redheaded Welsh girl who had stolen my heart. The highway was just picking up a groove and I was probably listening to Paul Collins' Beat or Gun Club when just outside of Coburg I blew past a forlorn figure hunched on the side of the highway. He was rolled up like a potato bug, arms wrapped defensively over his head. It couldn't be anything but a silent plea for help so I pulled over. The figure didn't move. I backed up on the shoulder and still no sign of life. I got right up to him and honked and he....uncoiled. Taller than I expected, lanky and dark dirt brown, he took long strides to come up to the passenger window where he ignored the door handle in favor of sticking his face and shoulders through the open window.

"So what do you think about the whole Jewish-German situation? I think that if the Vulcan Army could be brought to bear everything would work out alright, y'know? And Spock and Kirk, they'd be cool and I think maybe we could have everyone be friends again!"

I've never seen anyone else with really YELLOW eyes but his were a wild combination of jaundiced AND bloodshot. Six or seven days of stubble on his face and dried spit in the corners of his mouth. More out of reflex than anything else I said the first thing on my mind. "Where are you headed?" He hopped in and in a tone that was both eager and matter-of-fact said, "Dammasch. I'm going to Dammasch. It's a hospital and it's my friends' birthday and I'm going to see him for his birthday and it's at Dammasch." I didn't know exactly where Dammasch was but it didn't take much to convince me that the state hospital for the criminally insane was a good destination for him.

We drove north and he talked. Mostly it seemed that he had seen a lot of science fiction and had somehow blurred it with reality and Germany and conspiracies. He told me that he had escaped from a Nazi prison that was hidden in Eugene and that his girlfriend had been a Jewish spy and that he had killed her (!). He had stolen NoDoz from a 7-11 and had been running through the hops fields for three days while "they" searched for him with dogs and airplanes and spy rays and tractor beams. Chewing dry NoDoz and stealing food from farms along the way. He had to escape because he knew it was his friends birthday and he had to see his friend. He had a present for his friend, a present, you see, and it was for his friend who was in the hospital at Dammasch and he had to take him this present. THIS present! He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a wadded napkin that he had tried to keep damp. Unrolled with shaking hands the napkin yielded a tiny little pot plant. All of three inches long and with just a first trio of leaves he had been pouring water into his pocket to keep it alive until he could give it to his friend, his friend in Dammasch. Whew.

I stopped at a truckstop above Albany so we could get water. I thought about driving away and leaving him but thought it unfair to the truckers and that it would probably wind up in some kind of brutal stomping when he tried to peddle these stories to them. As we got toward Salem, though, I wondered if I would regret not leaving him as he began to tell me about his mental prowess. He was a warlock, you see, and could steer the car with his mind. There was a jumbled story of eternal life that could be achieved by cloning someone but to clone a person you had to cut out the roof of their mouth and that was something he offered to do right there in the car. He would drive the car with his mind and all I had to do was lower my bucket seat and he would cut out the roof of my mouth and clone me. Right now. Right here in the car. I was calculating how hard a kick it would take to break one of his ribs or maybe jar that passenger door loose and kick him straight out of the car at 65 miles per hour. Then he told me where he had learned about cloning.

For a long time, no one knows how long, for centuries, there has been a war between the Anti-Men and the Satellite People. The Anti-Men are tall and thin and gaunt and tend toward very rigid fashion codes that wouldn't be foreign to a leather bar or Berlin in 1938. The Satellite People are bigger than raccoons and have fur like cats but with monkey fingers and curiosity. They jump up on your bed at night and will touch your face while you sleep. They have long tails. The Satellite People live in a cloud that orbits the earth and watch everything that happens down below. They're probably related to the flying monkeys from The Wizard of Oz. And the Anti-Men hate them.

So on balmy summer nights, when the cloud dissipates and the stars twinkle in the warm clear sky, the Anti-Men will force orchestras onto flat bed railcars and ride across the open countryside. The orchestra plays and the Satellite People become more and more curious. The orchestra plays faster and faster and the Satellite People come down lower and lower to see what this amazing thing is, this orchestra on a train car, playing feverishly across the broad plains under starlight. And when the Satellite People reach a certain altitude, just close enough, giant spotlights mounted on the corners of the railcars are turned on and the Satellite People are stunned and drop from the sky like frozen lizards in Florida to be captured. And once captured they are cloned and turned into slaves of the Anti-Men, the roofs of their mouths cut out to create a race in chains. Enslaved forever.

And right about this point, and as he began to explain in great detail that his girlfriend had tried to enslave HIM and he had killed her in self-defense because she was working with the Anti-men....right about the point he began to get really insistent about the need to clone ME here in the car....here came the circular drive and sliding doors of Dammasch State Mental Hospital and I slid to a stop and he gathered up his damp napkin with the fledgling pot plant and crowed jubilantly that it was his friends birthday and he had a present a present a present for his friend and went loping gleefully, ecstatically, through those sliding doors and so passed from my trip and this story. Had it gone on any longer I suspect this would have a different ending but as it was I thought I had done a good deed by delivering him to this particular place and continued on my way to go see a beautiful girl in Seattle.

Now, you might think that such a thing would put me off hitch-hikers but in truth I took the new 205 cutoff around Portland and somewhere around the Estacada exit I saw a burly bearded biker-looking guy with a scrawled sign for Seattle. Thinking to myself that "nothing could possibly top that last guy", I pulled over and he limped up to the passenger side and heaved his bulk into the little bucket seat. Then took off his left leg and threw it in the back seat saying "that damned thing was about killing me! Say, buddy, do you know any Hells Angels? I'm a wanted man by the Angels and I'd just as soon avoid any of them so they don't do me in." And off we went to Seattle and perhaps the wildest night of my life but that's a whole 'nother story.

#redhead #nudeart #nudeinnature #story #hitchhiker #hitchhiking #pale girl

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

That Tumblr Post of Rob Paulsen singing “The Countries of the World” as Yakko Warner is going around again (and I recently reblogged it myself, by the time you see this).

So I thought it was only right to post a video of Jess Harnell singing “All 50 U.S. States, and their Capitals” as Wakko Warner.

Lyrics below the cut [Harnell’s live ad libs are in square brackets]

Ah, Blow the wad!

Baton Rouge, Louisiana, Indianapolis, Indiana And Columbus is the capital of Ohio There's Montgomery, Alabama, south of Helena, Montana Then there's [Shouted for the local crowd] Denver, Colorado, under Boise, Idaho Texas has Austin, then we go north To Massachusetts, Boston and Albany, New York Tallahassee, Florida and Washington, D.C. Santa Fe, New Mexico, and Nashville, Tennessee [Elvis is still there, if you believe the tabloids] Trenton's in New Jersey north of Jefferson, Missouri You got Richmond in Virginia, South Dakota has Pierre Harrisburg's in Pennsylvania and Augusta's up in Maine And here is Providence, Rhode Island, next to Dover, Delaware Concord, New Hampshire, just a quick jaunt To Montpelier, which is up in Vermont Hartford's in Connecticut, so pretty in the fall And Kansas has Topeka, Minnesota has St. Paul

[But not St. John, St. George, or St. Ringo!]

Juneau's in Alaska and there's Lincoln in Nebraska And it's Raleigh out in North Carolina And then there's Madison, Wisconsin And Olympia in Washington, Phoenix, Arizona And Lansing, Michigan Here's Honolulu, Hawaii's a joy, Jackson, Mississippi And Springfield, Illinois South Carolina with Columbia down the way And Annapolis in Maryland on Chesapeake Bay They have wonderful

[Cues the audience to shout “clam chowder”; That’s right] Cheyenne is in Wyomin' And perhaps you make your home in Salt Lake City out in Utah Where the Buffalo roam Atlanta's down in Georgia And there's Bismarck, north Dakota And you can live in Frankfort In your old Kentucky home Salem in Oregon, from there we join, Little Rock in Arkansas Iowa's got Des Moines Sacramento, California, Oklahoma and its city Charleston, West Virginia and Nevada, Carson City That's all the capitals there are

#Classic Animaniacs #Wakko's America #Live performance #voice acting #Jess Harness #YouTube video (not captioned) #lyrics under a cut #queue

[ilurverose]

Ibnu Umar radhiyallahu anhu berkata,

"Sesungguhnya rasa malu dan keimanan itu bergandengan. Apabila hilang salah satu dari keduanya, hilang pula yang lainnya."

— HR.Al-Bukhari dalam Al-Adabul Mufrad, dinyatakan shahih oleh Asy-Syaikh Al-Albani dalam Shahih Al-adabul Mufrad Lil Imam Al-Bukhari, hlm 499

Abdullah bin Mas'ud Radhiyallahu anhu berkata,

"Barangsiapa tidak memiliki rasa malu kepada sesama manusia, niscaya dia tidak memiliki rasa malu kepada Allah."

— Masa'il Al-Imam Ahmad riwatay Al-Baghawi hlm 76

Umar Bin Khaththab radhiyallahu anhu berkata,

"Barangsiapa yang sedikit rasa malunya, niscaya sedikit sifat wara'-nya. Barangsiapa yang sedikit sifat wara'-nya, niscaya akan mati kalbunya."

— Ibnu Abi Ad-Dunya dalam Makarimul Akhlaq hlm 20

Al-Fudhail bin Iyadh rahimahullah berkata,

"Ada lima hal yang termasuk kecelakaan yaitu, kerasnya kalbu, keringnya mata (dari menangis karena takut kepada Allah), sesikitnya rasa malu, cinta terhadap dunia, dan panjangnya angan-angan."

— Ibnul Qayyim rahimahullah dalam Madarijus Salikin)

Ibnul Qayyim rahimahullah berkata,

"...Demikian pula halnya Al-Haya' (rasa malu), dengannya kehidupan dunia dan akhirat itu ada. Barangsiapa tidak memiliki rasa malu, niscaya dia menjadi mati (kalbunya) di dunia dan celaka di akhirat."

— Ad-Da'u Wad Dawa' hlm 170

[libidomechanica]

To dwells

As loud and like a general  could not sight, and long, Jámi,  in the Lady Mary Ann  was pleasures form him 

it was nought with  the circumstance beyond  a coxcombs flight. Lascivious  glimmer first time has thine eyes 

are deposited; and  yet, like six from hours  after a rough he deny who whirls me  wishd abolishd. Till thy captive moan, 

I mournful sweete, make one with  more abused: in camps, in all  silver saints, no praise, and a drug that  for my bonie w

as a strange; strange; my Lady Adeline  resolved to the curling  by Dame Partlett reared and fro on  which kindled through the skies 

for object to redden  through from the funeral- shears would open door: heaven, and the  milky way, all affliction. 

Now, as a dun— whether the  most ensured here,  scales dropping from pole; rise Alps are the  poor, which he case, it 

may, and Cowslips, touch that on English  the bless: in  English thee to say what  they mourning ray, and be their 

oceans fit each feature of her sense;  but it seem bounds them that  she had been fires, warm from  my mistress, and each gift, each circumspect, 

at the bosom is the  independence of immortal  blemishe made you shall beat the  Lord Augustus Fitz-Fulke 

playd; something to come again  on waking looks as light and  soft and the Tuism, which  much light and shadow roaming glances 

with love enduring  now. More fine-odourd of the  bane of a part musk or  civet can we can find somewhat 

large amount, youllchoose (take here frozen  bosom, O father old or  new. And I lovd so divine. But of  the Zodiacs signs, that 

my request: and lost was  thilk same lay to the  evening, hinting point. Attend the  courtly van long-sounding courtier 

frolic Grace, Burning casually  glance even at the scent  clay! —The more than forests,)  on birth, wealthy clouds the 

piece of this veins? he sweet and  game, He is, in starlight  she chosen foundress, her eye. Others of  me, that best prepossession 

fill which she employs (for  surely rest: to unbosom  is, that Juan was announces  the sevented ere 

it ought. Strings to Paracletes  while Scout, then apart. Yet so that  his grace doth monotony of  champion him as simooms 

whirls me were fixd, but mixd with  stars of these rare endow with  two rows of tithes, and rise  from great reprove, they breast, as 

longer ready seventh necessarily  evening, where stood Dream the  love him to wake me to  do? his flesh his mouth and 

lovers, rich might gleams of Treasure-House—who  now his started; one  aurora, in irritable or  serious, that in his 

dignify a woman flicks the  skin Then grew pale: heaven entirely  going hesitate, and, could  rise from that tongue wad fyle 

the hawthorn bush as crests  eke, made me sitting of Ireland,  my feels its make me mistress  eyes that yo)u had two, both where 

Love is nothing like beautifully,suddenly  arrests me to patriot  sympathy. Say nought will do liue,  though ice burned; Rose, Ill send Answers which 

when the Forms of  the bitches from her  soule, armd his part. in equal periods  keep an adjunct to 

the old age black regards of whom  partiall her parents in vision  each them. I come, which a purple  grapes or words were will 

not say—at least had lately moated grace thou  art farre the glasses  and merely the picture long ago;  and he arose thy charms he 

made at first a saying of tea, which  thee now on her grunzie wi  a hushion; her as a depth  of some neer was its 

praises in a star, entitled  of sun will not a  fourth grace of life is departing  wan and strict sense without. 

And sweet eyes and sip her progress  of Albany.  Yet, if they rose in her, the  rained a perfect health, 

thinherit, all be lovd a Man. To  records vnto  her whispring hounds to looks, the  shall Stella look a ready 

ear to weeping modest wit I  eer commonplace and take her  face, stella look so. Deep sleep: vainly flapped its  pent, unable “Je ne 

scarce perceive as rare  as much perplexd, and marshalling  eye on her eye. Yet—gentle  maid; the night as rare 

as an old woman to walk  throne and the presse, who  for the crime accurst; as  beare, now turnd upon the duchess” 

conduct through which of nicety,  which is world, and  that many a sally. In prayr.  Lady, think of her beare, all 

forever, an ye things, and rest,  except behind, and disposed to  the sweetness Luther. In  prince can share, till be truth of 

the score of high turrets crowd;  and horsemen my heart. Oceans roll,  and which leaves that shines, he sets, yet  mixd with his motives 

they transient view my tongue and din, o Tinkler  Maiestie, where perhaps  ideal, a cure is a crier  of mist rose of Auroras 

eye in translationship in those who  had all ages, taught twice to  hand I am, yet sinks all my  joy that most precautious to 

joy, from the matter—Adeline  was a cast- iron pot. those prepared to fights, bounds  his sorrows, and (by octobering 

love which hauntst me; and hears not  was thine. Turned; one joy  possessed with its corner, when  she has armd but death?)

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #123 texts

[sciencespies]

The Bottom Line About Bidets

https://sciencespies.com/nature/the-bottom-line-about-bidets/

The Bottom Line About Bidets

When I was a kid, I didn’t get in trouble for much. But one old habit of mine used to drive my dad up the wall: I really, really overdid it with the toilet paper.

It didn’t matter how thick or plush the product was. A few measly squares of dry, processed tree pulp were simply never enough to make me feel clean. So I tried to compensate for quality with quantity, wiping my bum with wad after wad of TP—something my strict father considered abominably wasteful.

To be fair, my dad grew up in rural Taiwan in the 1940s, when most defecation was done in pits, not toilets, and one’s cleanliness depended heavily on the selection of leaves and sticks within arm’s reach. Even after he immigrated to the United States in his 20s, the rural frugality stuck. Toilet paper was, and still is, a luxury—a fact that’s been heavily underscored by recent spates of panicked TP hoarding, spurred by the ongoing COVID-19 pandemic.

I couldn’t have known it at the time, but a single device might have been enough to solve both my father’s and my washroom woes—the same one that’s now flying off digital shelves nationwide: the bidet. These squirty little doodads, which cleanse the nether regions with a gentle jet of water, are touted by many as sanitizing superheroes, with powers vastly superior to those of toilet paper. In Japan, home of a popular electronic toilet called the Toto Washlet, bidets appear in about 80 percent of households; since 1975, Italian law has mandated their presence in every home. Historically slow to take in American markets, the devices may now be gaining some ground: Sales of bidet attachments like Tushy have soared since the start of the pandemic. Thanks to the new coronavirus, 2020 might just be the United States’ Year of the Bidet.

But pleasing as the devices may be to some, they’re not for everyone—and a lot of what ends up touching any given tush comes down to personal preference. What’s more, scientific studies on bidets are somewhat scarce; even clinicians who recommend their use do so mostly on the basis of anecdotal data. “This isn’t evidence-based medicine, that’s for sure,” says Madhulika Varma, chief of colorectal surgery at the University of California, San Francisco.

A brief history of the bidet

Though today’s bidets are often billed as tech-savvy trappings, the earliest iterations of the devices actually predate the appearance of modern, rolled-up toilet paper (an idea patented by Seth Wheeler of Albany, New York, in 1891), with roots in 17th-century or early 18th-century France.

Accordingly, the first bidet was agonizingly simple—little more than a souped up, sprayless wash basin over which one squatted as if straddling a horse (hence the name bidet, an homage to a small, stocky breed of horse), to rinse off their dirtied derrières. After gaining traction among the rich, the indulgent accessory trickled down to the working class, surviving several redesigns and the switch to indoor plumbing, which morphed them into miniature sinks. By World War II, bidets had spilled across international borders, finding their way into homes across swaths of Europe, the Middle East, Asia and South America, where they sat alongside toilets like faucet-fillable sidecars. As models advanced further, some acquired nozzles that could apply a light spritz of water to the nether regions.

La Toilette intime ou la Rose effeuillée by Louis-Léopold Boilly, showing an 18th century bidet in use

(Wikimedia Commons)

Through it all, the United States remained a staunchly unwetted island of desert-dry bums. Part of the issue was space. Standalone bidets were seen as an unwieldy and unwelcome addition to already-cramped American bathrooms. Eventually, technological advancements allowed bidets to hybridize with toilets, in some cases collapsing the two into a single “smart” commode, while other models retrofitted standard toilets with bidet-capable seats or attachments. But still, the United States’ reluctance to adopt the splashy gadgets endured.

Rampant stigmatization of bidets didn’t help. Many early 20th-century Americans may have viewed bidets as symbols of French indecency, linking them to taboo topics like menstruation and prostitution, Maria Teresa Hart wrote in the Atlantic in 2018. That association may have been partly born out of the devices’ presence in brothels, where women may have deployed them as an (ineffective) form of birth control. Though these stereotypes have largely faded in the decades since, the cultural inertia clung to stateside commodes.

What’s best for our butts

Bidets might seem bizarre—but in many ways, they’re right in line with hygienic practices already deeply ingrained in our society.

“The idea of cleaning yourself with water is, intuitively, more logical,” says Cindy Kin, a colorectal surgeon at Stanford University Medical Center. Water, after all, is the standard-issue treatment for doing away with bodily grime under most other circumstances.

Byron Vaughn, a gastroenterologist at the University of Minnesota Medical School, puts it more bluntly. As a friend once told him, “If you pick up a piece of [poop] with your hands, you wouldn’t just wipe it off—you’d wash it.”

But while the wet-trumps-dry argument makes logical sense, no one has yet done a scientific study to back up the idea that bidets are hygienically better than toilet paper.

Then again, “It kind of doesn’t matter,” Kin says. “If you don’t get every bit of bacteria, or a microscopic amount of stool, off your skin, it’s fine. Nothing bad will happen.” Bidets or no, most of our not-completely-immaculate butts are doing just fine, and have been for many millennia.

A modern standalone bidet, installed next to a toilet.

(Lazienka / Wikimedia Commons)

Still, bidets can really come in handy for those with sensitive undersides, says Susan Wong, a nurse and colorectal disorders specialist at the University of California, San Francisco. People with Crohn’s disease or ulcerative colitis, for instance, tend to have more frequent or painful bowel movements, and may find that a cooling jet of water brings them some relief—or at least spares them from the constant chafe of dry toilet paper. Bidet users can then dry off by simply dabbing the area with a towel, or even a carefully aimed blow dryer on a low-temperature setting. “It’s a great way to avoid irritation,” Wong says. One small study even suggests that bidets may even prompt some muscle relaxation, though most people seeking that sort of comfort might be better off opting for a sitz bath or a long soak in a tub of warm water.

Bidets could also be a boon for people with physical disabilities, muscle weakness or other conditions that hinder their ability to clean off with toilet paper alone, Vaughn says. One study suggests the devices improved the “toileting experience” for a group of nursing home residents.

Then there’s the unrepentant super-wipers, a la miniature me. Patients who “wipe obsessively” with toilet paper because they’re chasing an ever-elusive sense of clean may be at risk of giving themselves pruritus ani—fancy clinical speak for itchy butthole, Kin says. “Once you get into that cycle of skin irritation, it’s hard to get out of it.” Switching over to a bidet might bring these people’s bums some much-needed relief.

Beyond that, though, little evidence exists that bidets bring about health benefits on their own. Hemorrhoids, fistulas, fissures and cancer—none of these conditions can trace their origins to the flecks of germs or poop on our bums, Kin says. In this realm, there’s “certainly no data to suggest bidets have benefits over toilet paper.”

Varma also points out that dropping hundreds or even thousands of dollars on a fancy new bathroom appliance isn’t necessary to introduce water into this particular bathroom routine: Something similar can be accomplished with a drugstore peri bottle, or even a water bottle with a pop-up top. Both of these options are also transportable.

Many patients can even make do with what they’ve already got at home, including tubs, sitz baths or even handheld shower attachments, says Marjun Duldulao, a colorectal surgeon at the Keck School of Medicine of the University of Southern California. “There’s really no advantage to using a bidet compared to these other techniques.”

Bidets can bring some increased comfort—but people should be wary of pressure and temperature settings that could agitate sensitive bums.

( Karl Tapales / Getty Images)

Bidets also aren’t perfect—and wielded improperly, they can cause their own woes. Several models come equipped with pressure and temperature settings that could cause serious damage. Over the years, a smattering of bidet-related injuries, from burns to rectal prolapse and anal fissures, have surfaced, often linked to overuse. Even pruritis ani can (re)appear when the anus is too frequently washed. “You just need sensible cleaning and hygiene,” Duldulao says. “You don’t need a power-washing.”

And, just like any other appliance, bidets must be kept clean—especially considering the bits of anatomy they most often contact. A handful of studies have found bacteria lurking on the nozzles of electronic toilets, particularly those in public spaces. Under extreme circumstances, bidet use could even perturb the community of beneficial microbes found in the vagina, though studies haven’t consistently born this out.

“There are some very good products out there,” Duldulao says. “But a tool is a tool. It’s only as good as the person who’s using it.”

Making a splash

Toilet paper will always have one thing going for it: convenience. “There’s a reason we all use it,” Varma says. “It can be done anywhere. It’s easy, it’s simple.”

Part of the tradeoff for this, of course, is quite a bit of waste. The product of a laborious process that involves the pulping of millions of trees and billions of gallons of water, toilet paper isn’t exactly environmentally friendly, says Wong. It can also clog pipes (though not as badly as so-called “flushable” wipes), creating headaches for homeowners. These issues wouldn’t totally evaporate with a switch to bidets—most people would still want something to dab themselves dry—but washing in lieu of at least some wiping could make a difference.

And yet, the United States stands firm on toilet paper. Kin estimates that less than 10 percent of her patients use bidets; those numbers might budge slightly given current pandemic purchasing habits, but probably not by much.

“I ask my patients, can you consider this electronic toilet seat?” Wong says. “They all turn their noses up to it.”

People just aren’t fans of change—and sometimes, that’s just kind of a bummer.

#Nature

#Nature

[danssttripedshirt]

So uhhh inside scoop from the Albany preshow could’ve never prepared me for the “religious experience” that led to sexy nun dan

#we’re all doomed #wad tour #wad preshow #wad albany #daniel howell #dan howell #danisnotonfire #dan and phil #dnp

[danandphilnews]

#dan and phil #dan howell #daniel howell #danisnotonfire #wad #wad albany

[askaphmaine]

I did it and I am tired. All French is at the end, with translations at the very end. Honestly, I need to learn it if I’m going to keep trying to write in it. If any is wrong, please let me know.

NYC wasn’t expecting a call from Albany, especially at eleven in the morning. He was still trying to wake up, toothbrush lazily hanging out of the side of his mouth. “Aren’t you in a meeting, bro?” He mumbled, wincing at the feeling of toothpaste dribbling down the corner of his mouth to his chin.

“Oh, thank goodness! I’ve been trying to get ahold of you or New York for an hour!” NYC choked, dropping his cell onto his bed, sprinting to the bathroom. Tossing his toothbrush onto the counter, he quickly spit out the remaining mess, running back to his room. He grabbed his phone, panting slightly.

“Boston?! Why are you calling me from Albany’s phone?”

“I threw your number out. But we have bigger problems!”

“You threw my number out?”

“Listen! I may or may not have…accidentally…turned Albany and Augusta into children. Concord’s trying to get ahold of Maine or Portland right now but he isn’t having any luck. We need help! I never knew how much-“ A loud wail cut the ginger off. NYC could hear arguing and yelling on the line before he heard a dull thud, as if the phone had landed on carpet. A small rustle was heard before softer voice began to speak near the device.

“New York?” Oh shit. He knew that voice. It had been years since he had ever heard it.

“Sorry, bud. New York City. Listen, can you hand this weird thing to another adult? I need to talk to them. Then I’ll be right over, okay?” There was a shuffling sound as Albany picked up the phone, wandering around to find someone not yelling or panicking. The sounds of someone roughly grabbing the phone made NYC jump.

“Please tell me he didn’t hang up.”

“Dover?”

“Oh, phew. Listen, how quickly can you get to D.C.?”

“It’d be about 6 hours if I drive. There’s no way I’d be able to fly, not this suddenly. Just text me to keep me updated.”

“Yeah, Albany’s already trying to climb up my leg to take the phone back. I think you’ll have to stay on the line. Can your phone manage?”

“Car charger. I’ll wake New York up too. We’ll be over as soon as we can.”

NYC had never seen New York drive so fast. After five hours in the car, they had finally made it to D.C. to see the chaos Boston had unknowingly caused. The meeting room was torn apart, multiple capitals racing around after what NYC assumed was Augusta, though he easily could’ve been watching a rabid raccoon. New York joined the chase, trying to bring some order to the attempts at catching the eastern capital. A small hand grabbed his, tugging slightly. He glanced down, taking in the sight of a small Albany reaching up. He carefully leaned down, picking his brother up.

“He doesn’t like them.” NYC blinked. “He’s scared. I can tell.” Albany sounded so matter-of-fact. Like he had been told the information first hand.

“Doesn’t surprise me. I mean, they are chasing him.”

“He’s crying.” Now that got his attention. He looked closer, noting that Augusta was teary-eyed. “He was louder before, when they weren’t trying to touch him. He kept sobbing, asking for ‘Casco’. So one of the nice ladies tried to hug him and pat his back and he ran away.” Albany looked up, blinking. “Who’s ‘Casco’?”

“I’m…not sure. But I know he’ll be happier once he sees someone he does like.” NYC moved more into the room, trying to find Concord. Once he spotted the shorter boy, he beelined towards him. “Concord, did you get ahold of either Mainer?”

“No, not yet. I’ve been leaving messages on both phones and even called my brother. He hasn’t been able to reach them either. Regardless, I looked it up and it would take them ten hours to get here. And we still don’t know who ‘Casco’ is. There’s no one in his phone by that name!” The door slammed wide open. Portland stood, panting, looking around the room wildly.

“Casco!” Augusta launched himself at the taller boy’s legs, holding on for dear life.

“Aw, fuck. The hell did you guys do? Hey, whoa, hey, you’re okay.” Portland dropped his duffle bag and scooped Augusta up, rubbing his back gently.

“Cas…co?” New York rubbed his face tiredly. “I thought your name was-“

“Shut. Up.” Portland hissed, pressing Augusta’s face into his shoulder. “Don’t mention that. For now, I’m Casco. Got it?” He looked around the room, watching people nod. “Listen, Maine’s hiking. Her phone won’t be getting any reception anytime soon. I booked a flight the second I heard the call. Now, I’m going to make some things very clear.” NYC watched as the normally eccentric and happy Mainer dropped the persona completely, reminding everyone of his family ties. “No one, and I mean no one, is allowed to touch Augusta. You’ve all freaked him out enough. And if I catch any of you trying?” NYC didn’t know Portland could glare like that. A glance toward New York confirmed the similarity to Maine herself.

“Por-Casco, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-“ He sighed, shaking his head and holding up his arm to stop her.

“Boston, just figure out a way to fix this. You can apologize when Albany and Augusta are adults again.” She nodded reaching for her phone.

“I’ll call my brother. Maybe he’ll have an idea. At the very least, he can try and search up a solution in our library.”

It felt like hours, just sitting there with Albany curled up on his chest. NYC knew nothing about magic, so he was completely and utterly useless. New York had finally calmed down the other capitals, though there was still immense tension. Everyone kept glancing to the corner, where Portland sat, curled around Augusta, blanket around their shoulders. He appeared to be drawing something, letting Augusta watch something on his laptop. They all knew Maine would be furious once she found out what happened and were rather terrified of her reaction. NYC was more terrified of the wailing Augusta had done before, when he was on the phone with everyone. Kid had lungs, that was for sure. A tug on his sweatshirt caught his attention.

“Can we sit with them? That thingy in front of them looks interesting.” NYC felt his face pale a bit.

“I’m not sure if they’d let us.”

“The other boy wouldn’t let go of my hand until an adult tried to hug him.” Oh. Well that was interesting information.

“Well, you can go and ask. If they refuse, take it in stride.” Albany nodded, hopping off his lap and running over the the duo. Portland kept a neutral look, much to NYC’s shock. Even more shocking was the excited nodding from Augusta. Albany walked back over, pulling NYC’s arm.

“We can sit and watch. The thing on the thing looks funny.” NYC slowly stood, letting his brother drag him over to the corner. Portland gave him a curt nod as they sat down, shoving another couple of blankets towards them. NYC grabbed one, wrapping it around his own shoulders. Albany looked up at him, moving to sit right next to Augusta, who reached over to latch onto his arm. Portland sighed, carefully moving Augusta off his lap, pulling a blanket up around the two. The laptop was shoved in front of them, playing some cartoon that NYC hoped was child friendly.

A cough caught the older brothers’ attention a while later. “Perhaps you four should head back to the hotel. Albany and Augusta were sharing a room, so use either key to get in. The room number is written on Albany’s. Here’s some money, get some food on the way. It’d be better for those two to be in a more calm environment.” New York handed a wad of cash to NYC, looking tired. “We’ll try to continue the meeting. Boston is still talking with Mass. If she figures anything out, we’ll let you both know.” NYC nodded, taking the money and standing up. Portland slowly stood, folding his blanket. NYC helped him grab everything, tossing them back into his bag. Once finished, they left. One pizza order later, they entered the shared room of Augusta and Albany. Once inside, Portland wasted no time in turning the television on, pulling out his laptop.

“Can you connect my computer to the T.V.? Just keep playing the show already up.” NYC nodded, moving to do what he was asked. Portland sighed. “Alright, I need to go to the bathroom. Augusta, I’m only going to be gone for a moment, okay? Don’t freak out.” Tears welled up. NYC flinched, waiting for the scream. A small pap was heard.

“I’m here. Just hold onto me till he comes back!” Albany nodded seriously as Augusta latched onto him.

“That…you know what, I’m not goin’ to question it.” With that, he was gone. Small sobs began to form. The television lit up, distracting the two children for a moment. NYC moved up to sit beside them on the bed, pushing a pizza box in front the two.

“Eat up.” The two looked up, watching as NYC bit into his own food. Albany mimicked his movements, munching slowly. Augusta turned his head back into Albany’s arm, shaking. NYC didn’t realize he was moving until his hand landed on Augusta’s head. The small boy froze as he yanked his hand back, apologizing. The moment was broken by Portland returning, jumping onto the bed. Augusta instantly perked up, moving closer to his brother. A blanket was tossed over Augusta’s head.

“Petit frère, you need to eat, not cry.” Augusta fumbled to remove the blanket, making small sounds of distress. Portland carefully lifted one corner. “Right here, petit frère.” The small boy crawled over to him, sticking his tongue out. NYC watched as the two began to eat, thankful Portland had stepped in. They laid on the bed for hours, waiting for any updates from the meeting room. Slowly, the capitals began to drift off. Portland carefully removed his brother from his chest, laying him beside the now asleep Albany. He instantly latched on, Albany rolling over to toss a protective arm over him. “Well, ain’t that somethin’. Used to be he’d only let Maine and I hold him.”

“No offense, but you seemed a bit…protective. I’ve always heard that you didn’t get along with him, especially as kids.” Portland sighed.

“I used to be the capital. Then I lost it. Do you know what it’s like, thinkin’ that any day could be your last? I’m lucky I never became human. But as a kid, it did somethin’. I was so angry, so scared, and I took it out on him.” He leaned over, brushing some hair out of Augusta’s face. “I guess I feel bad. He just wanted a family. Sill does. In a way, I guess this is my way of trying to make up for lost time. Besides, if you think I’m being protective, you should thank your lucky stars it wasn’t Maine who answered the call. She’d be worse than me.” A wiry smile appeared on his lips. NYC grinned, watching the younger cities sleep.

“I get it. I wasn’t sure if I’d survive either. But hey, you’re both still around. You can still be a family now.” Portland nodded, laying down beside Augusta.

“Hey, I’m tired too. If you want to keep watching something, could you use headphones?” NYC shook his head, laying on the opposite side of the bed, looking up at the ceiling.

“I’m going to sleep too. Can I ask another question, though?”

“You’re pushing it but fine.”

“Why Casco?”

“My original name. Casco to Falmouth to Portland. Just call me Lucas, it’s easier to remember.”

“Oh. That makes sense. I’m Hudson, I guess. Night, Lucas.”

“Bonne nuit, Hudson.”

Portland woke to the feeling that someone had shifted under his arm. Slowly opening his eyes, he confirmed a regular looking Augusta had moved in his sleep, curling closer to a now adult Albany. He yawned, sitting up. NYC had rolled over, his back facing the group. Honestly, Portland was shocked no one had fallen off the bed. He slipped out from under a blanket, walking around to pick NYC up. The taller city wasn’t light, that was for sure, but he managed to toss him across to the empty bed, covering him back up. Grabbing a couple of blankets, he moved towards the couch, setting up an area for him to sleep. He knew Albany and Augusta would freak out in the morning. A small yawn was heard.

“Est-ce encore la nuit, grand frère?[1]”

“Oui, retourne dormir.[2]” Augusta nodded, curling back under Albany’s arm. Portland smiled, slowly walking over. Once he was next to the bed, he leaned down, placing a small kiss on Augusta’s temple.

“Dors bien, petit frère. Je t’adore.[3]” He couldn’t see his brother’s face but he could tell his brother was smiling. Softly, a voice rose up.

“Je t’adore aussi, grand frère. Merci.[4]”

//Translations:

1: “Is it still night, big brother?”

2: “Yes, go back to sleep”

3: “Seep well, little brother. I love you.”

4: “I love you too, big brother. Thank you.”

#aph augusta #aph albany #aph portland #aph nyc #albgusta #fanfic post #most of this is written in NYC's perspective but the end is in Portlands #and a bit of portland history in it woo!

[sonofhistory]

Things that happened during Andrew Jackson’s presidencies:

At Jackson’s inauguration, Francis Scott Key yelled, “It is beautiful! It is sublime!” (He was talking about Jackson).

After the inauguration, a large mob followed Jackson back to the White House, all crammed themselves through the doors and drank all of the alcoholic punch; this of course caused all the party goers to get drunk, trash the downstairs and Jackson’s aides had to make a protective ring around him. The quick thinking slaves of the White House then grabbed all of the punch and moved it onto the White House lawn and there were still people lying hungover all over the green when morning broke.

All them cabinet sexual scandals *sips tea*.

Floride Calhoun not returning Margaret Eaton’s call at her home because “I ain’t gonna talk to no hoes.” and furthering the already growing sex scandal.

Jackson suffering from hemorages and never calling for a doctor and just sticking his own penknife into his arm and bleeding himself.

Everyone starting a rumor that “the soft hand of Mr. Van Buren touched [secretary of war’s wife] Mrs. Eaton’s knocker.”

Jackson telling his cabinet “Gentlemen, do what you please in my house, I am going to church.”

Jackson calling everyone who supported Clay “minions”.

At a hotel one morning after a big party hosted by the British minister, Margaret Eaton brushed past the minister the night prior, pretendinh not to know him and he remarked at the table “she had already forgotten the time when I slept with her.”

The postmaster of Albany, New York, War of 1812 veteran General Solomon Van Rensselaer was going to be fired and to save his job Van Rensselaer showed up at the White House and went directly up to Jackson. He pleaded not to be fired and Jackson said another. Van Rensselaer grew even more desparate and began striping off all of his clothes  and Jackson yelled at him. Van Rensselaer, nearly naked said, “Well, sir, I am going to show you my wounds, which I received in fighting for my country against the English!”. Jackson actually started crying as a journalist noted and the next day in the cabinet when the moved to vote on firing the veteran, Jackson flung his pipe away and yelled at them all. Van Rensselaer wasn’t fired.

The White House butler, Jimmy O’Neal being a drink and one time when Jimmy didn’t answer his calling, Jackson said, “Where can Jimmy be?” “Drunk most likely” was what his nephew responded.

First Lady take over (because Rachel Jackson died) Emily Donelson giving birth a second child, first daughter Mary Rachel in the White House and Jackson calling her “the Sushine of the White House.”

At a dinner given by Martin Van Buren, he went downstairs to take a nap but shot awake from he was told there was a fight upstairs. The fight was between the wife of the secretary of war and the wife of the commanding general of the U.S. Army--all because they had bumped into each other.

When Mary Rachel was baptized in the blue room, her godparents (one of whom was Van Buren) were supposed to repeat a prayer but the godmother and himself did not have the chance to answer but Jackson jumped in and interrupted them by saying the words even if he had no speaking part in the ceromony.

On a ride with Van Buren, Jackson’s horse slipped and Van Buren quickly grabbed his the bridle of his horse and Jackson then shouted, “You have possibly saved my life, sir!”. Moments earlier, Van Buren was about to announce his resignation as Secretary of State.

At the cabinet break up, the former secretary of treasury and war (Eaton and Ingham) almost got into a duel and Eaton rose up a group that kept chasing Ingham around Washington trying to kill him.

“The Bank, Mr. Van Buren, is trying to kill me, but I will kill it.”

Jackson being called King Andrew the First by his enemies/opposers.

During the nullification debate, senators had to walk past a sign that said, “GENTLEMEN WILL BE PLEASED NOT TO PLACE THEIR FEET ON THE BOARDS IN FRONT OF THE GALLERY, AS THE DIRT FROM THEM FALLS UPON SENATOR’S HEADS.”

Wednesday, May 1st, 1833, Jackson observed in a letter that “the tariff was only the pretext, and disunion and southern confederacy the real object. The next pretext will be the negro, or slavery questions.” Six days later, the president named a new postmaster for New Salem, Illinois, a twenty-four year old lawyer who was a Clay man--and Abraham Lincoln was happy to accept the appointment.

Monday, May 6th, 1833, the presidential party was on a steamboat to Virginia, when a former navy officer, Robert B. Randolph, came through the crowd aboard the vessel. Randolph leaped at the president to attack him buy Andrew Donelson lunged at Jackson  and two others tackled the guy to the ground. Jackson’s face wad bloodied and everyone was in horror at what had happened--Jackson simply pretended it never happened.

Parents in the Northeast would bring up the name Andrew Jackson when their children misbehaved. According to a New England Sunday school teacher, she asked a student who killed Abel. A boy students rose from his desk and answered “General Jackson.”

Someone drew a political cartoon of Henry Claw sewing Andre Jackson’s mouth shut and his knee his holding him down on his crotch.

Jackson’s house burning down and him asking if the china was okay.

January 30th, 1835, Jackson was walking out of a funeral in the House Chamber for congressman Warren R. Davis of North Carolina. He was with the secretary of treasury and navy when all the sudden a figure emerged from the crowd producing a gun, standing less than ten feet from Jackson he shot off the gun but to his shock it misfired. The derranged man then ripped out another gun but this also misfired. Jackson then lunged forward, barring his cane and landed upon the man, beating him into the ground with his cane. He never stopped, he actually had to be pulled off of the injured man. The chance of two guns misfiring without any damage is 125,000 to one. Even bullets are scared of him.

Christmas 1835, Martin Van Buren lost a game of tag with Jackson’s grandchildren and was forced to stand on one leg and say: “Here I stand all ragged and dirty, if you don’t kiss me I’ll run like a turkey!” No one kissed him and the now vice president was forced to strut around the room like the bird to everyone’s laughter at the dinner table.

Jackson dreamed of Emily Donelson’s death the night that it happened--she was only twenty-nine and her husband was a day away, traveling home.

#pressles musing #american history #us history #history #andrew jackson #martin van buren #andrew donelson #emily donelson #margaret eaton #henry clay #john c calhoun

[goldenpinof]

via ryann’s instastories, 18/10/2022

#igstories #wad.albany #wad.usa #albany #usa #the crew #wad merch #ryann

[ciceroprofacto]

2.  “Nope, I absolutely refuse to touch that.” 13. How can anyone not be afraid of love?

Summary: Hamilton gets another visitor and reflects on some things

Prequel fics The Beast A Winter’s Ball Securing Peter Hughes Caged

November 20th 1777

Night was closing over the horizon outside the bedroom window when Colonel Hugh Hughes arrived at the Kennedy house.  His entrance was announced by Doctor Eustis, but Hamilton kept his gaze fixed on the windowsill where several black flies were buzzing over the chamber pot that had been fixed by his bed- the same pot he was forcibly rolled over and tucked into each time his stomach had heaved and he’d been helpless to move himself.  If not for the doctors’ treatments and the Kennedys’ hospitality, he’d have gold chains of bile circling his neck, be left in clothes rotting with sharp-smelling fluids.  He suspected the flies would come for him soon enough.  Circle over him like some stinking dead thing-

“I was told your condition had improved…” Hughes said shortly.

From where he stood in the doorway, Alexander could feel the assistant quartermaster frowning at him.  He didn’t bother to turn and acknowledge him- it would require a sum of energy he didn’t have.  And a patience he had exhausted.

Whatever excess energy had kept him afloat for the past few days, giddy enough to speak and give his attention to visitors through the crushing weight of fatigue, had dissolved- bubbled away and left him sinking like a stone.  Besides the passing of daylight outside the window, he’d be entirely lost as to how long he’d sustained in this state, swallowed in this darkness.

“Should I believe the report I got was false?” Hughes said, stepping around the bed towards the pot Alexander was staring at.

There would be no reason to dismiss Troup’s report- or try to explain how his health had declined since the time of his visit, and doing so would probably be more detrimental than anything.  So, Hughes was met with silence for a long moment, just the buzzing of flies’ wings until he made the last few steps to observe the chamber pot for himself- and see the wadded pile of destroyed bedclothes Alexander had vomited across.

“Did you…intend to check me?” Alex said sarcastically, grinning wryly.

“No.  I absolutely refuse to touch that,” Hughes said, taking a step away from the sickbed and stepping bluntly towards the edge of the room.  He removed his gloves and Alexander could hear the rustling of him untying his cloak and draping it over the doctor’s chair, heard the soft shuff of snow falling from the fabric.  “I told Gibbs you had improved…”

“What did he…tell you?” Alexander said slowly.  His voice came laboriously, but he could hide that easily if he spoke with strength.  No matter the despondence that had seized him so fast- or the exhaustion of bleeding and blistering and vomiting, he had been told he was recovering.

If he disagreed with that diagnosis, Hughes needn’t hear it.

“I mean…what did he report?”

Hughes gave him a look and pulled the chair to Hamilton’s bedside, sitting gingerly.  “He delivered the money Governor Clinton provided t’pay Larned’s brigade and the men have quit their mutiny.  They set off marching two days ago.  And, you will be pleased to know- General Putnam’s received a letter from Congress, notifying him that he’s been relieved of his command and ordered to join the main army at Whitemarsh.”

Alexander turned to him at once, eyes wide and pleased.

In his last report to Washington, nearly a week ago, he had expressed his outrage for the ineptitude Putnam had exhibited, humoring his hobby horse of leading an expedition to take Ticonderoga at the expense of more important endeavors in Philadelphia- and while New York was all but secured.  Some part of Alexander, vain and self-important, liked to think his furious words in conference with Governor Clinton had some small part in this decision.  But, the news- whatever it’s origin, was good.

“With all the men you came to move already in motion, Gibbs…plans to come retrieve you in two days time,” Hughes said.

Two days…

Alexander gave a satisfied smile, suppressing his relief.  The news was delivered without concern or judgement on Hughes’s part.  He would make no suggestion to extend his recovery if Alexander didn’t ask it.  With a mutual want of motion between them- Hughes wanted Hamilton away from Albany, almost as much as he himself wanted to be away.  With General Mifflin’s staff so entrenched in the scandal surrounding Gates and Conway, each meeting they made became more and more perilous…more and more scrutinized.

With good reason.

Gibbs had been with Alex when he’d arranged his first meeting with Mifflin’s personal assistant- when he’d made the case and told the tales Hughes had needed to hear to have confidence in this espionage against his employer.  

“You’ll tell him I’ll be ready?”

Hughes cocked his chin, eyes a glint of green, studying him keenly, “Only if you can assure me of your friends…the ones you said I could trust to write…if you…”  

Hughes cut himself off in propriety from speaking words that need not be said.  But, the thought went through Alexander like a dark thrill.

And all he had to do is die.

“Does it not frighten you?” she said.

He’d laughed, slurring dangerously,  “Frighten me?  Cannon and muskets- artillery and grapeshot, miss…all tha’s nothing ‘t all.  I’ve no compunctions of being here to live forever- and no desire for ‘t.”

She smiled then, amused with his giddy drunkenness or his blustery declarations- just as she’d been so amused by his overly-earnest flirting, well-claimed as she was.  “That is a very brave thought,” she said.  “Though I don’t think I could be so fearless when faced with the threat of such pain…”

Her tone was honest, though Alexander doubted her words, sure that this woman could endure far more than she would ever expect- or be expected to.  Like the sort of roughish girl the nobleman meets in the garden in all the poems, chases through the field and climbs over walls and rivers with, grows up to be a proper lady- his lifelong friend.  A sturdy sort, strong and clever-witted, lively and making him feel so romantic- though that was probably owing also to the wine…which he had been holding earlier- strange that he couldn’t find his glass anymore.  She may have taken it.  He wouldn’t have noticed.

He’d hardly noticed it while she’d directed the conversation through all his most secretive work, men he had been using as informants for General Washington.  He told her about Beekman and Cruger and the New York based trading company he had worked for.  Those connections he had drawn on when he’d needed information chains throughout the city, and how he had used those to gain Washington’s interest and investment.  And, while he would never speak of such things- seek to control any conversation that edged too close to such subjects, she made her ear useful by giving advice and sly jokes against names she recognized, so he hardly noticed it.

He leaned close to her ear, “Truly madam, its you who strikes me as brave.”

She raised both brows, lips curving on a coy grin.

Far past well-watered, he was making himself the ideal confidant, and with the secret he’d shared, she’d given confidence in return.  “You’re eloping with Mister Church!” he said, throwing his hands up, “Tonight!  Facing down the very worst pain of all- and here you sit, rational and pleased with the risk.”

Her expression softened into a question, but not unknowingly.  “Pain…?”

“Love…” he whispered, gripping her hands.  “Love…it’s pains.  I can see y’have no misgivings what I mean.  I can see you’ve the experience to know the threat you’ve chosen, the risk of entrusting your happiness to another, but…how can anyone not be afraid of love?”

“I…don’t think it matters if we are afraid.  Do we really have a choice but risk it?”

The thrill of control- of trust that forces action.

Hughes didn’t need to say it-

“If I perish on the road,” Alexander finished, tone inflectionless and rolling on, “I can assure you, all it took was a mention of your name to catch Tench’s attention, and he’ll inform Mister Laurens that it’s time to take up His Excellency’s intelligence.”

“And you’re sure he’ll do so with discretion…and willingly?”

Alexander grinned and turned back to the window.  He had accepted his defeat already, but this was not a competition in which there would be winners.  He’d witnessed his own undoing at the hands of John Laurens, but to open up all his informants to the mercy of his exploitation, to defamation, the cruel intimacy between those that trust and those that are trusted.  After all those years loathing the merchantmen that exploited his vulnerable need, wasted him away in restlessness and submission- this was vengeance.

They would write to Laurens because he directed it.  They would trust him because he insisted upon it.  And John would collect and provide whatever information he was asked for- because Alexander had asked it of him as a dying wish.  Without having ever met, he would be the deciding force, dictating the loyalties and trusts that would decide the fates of these important men’s reputations.

And his judgement would not be wrong.

#ficlet #filled #SOA #bonus content #Alex in Albany series #Song of Alexander

[takebackthedream]

Momentive Workers Strike As Trump's "Jobs Forum" Pick Cuts Wages by Dave Johnson

More than 700 Momentive Performance Materials chemical plant workers in Waterford, NY have been on strike since November 2. The Albany Times Union explains why, in a report about the striking Waterford chemical plant,

Workers rejected a contract offer that would cut vacation time, reduce 401(k) benefits, increase health insurance costs and slice retiree health insurance and other benefits. The union had approved earlier cuts in pay and benefits in contracts with Momentive in 2010 and 2013, but workers said a third consecutive contract to cut benefits for workers and retirees, some of whom have ongoing health problems linked to years of working with toxic chemicals, is unfair.

Pay cuts, benefit cuts, cutting retiree’s pensions… The workers’ standard of living has been driven down since the company was bought by a hedge fund in 2006 including complete elimination of healthcare and life insurance for retirees. Some wages have been slashed up to 50% and jobs have been outsourced to intimidate remaining workers.

So they are on strike.

Trump’s Promise

In his inaugural address Friday President Trump said that “the wealth of our middle class has been ripped from their homes and then redistributed all across the world.”

One person ripping the wealth from the middle class is Stephen Schwarzman, CEO of the private equity firm Blackstone Group — and Chair of Trump’s new “Strategic and Policy Forum.” BloombergPolitics explains,

“This forum brings together CEOs and business leaders who know what it takes to create jobs and drive economic growth,” Trump said in a statement issued by Blackstone. “My administration is committed to drawing on private sector expertise and cutting the government red tape that is holding back our businesses from hiring, innovating, and expanding right here in America.”

Trump’s “jobs forum” pick Schwarzman is one of the owners of the Momentive Performance Materials chemical plant where the workers are on strike — because of the pay cuts and cuts in health care and retiree benefits that is ripping their wealth from them and redistributing it to a few extremely wealthy people at the top.

The Albany Times Union report, titled, Trump key economic adviser has stake in Momentive’s striking Waterford chemical plant, explains,

Outside the Momentive chemical plant, striking workers huddled in the cold around burn barrels have raised a symbol of their corporate owners: An inflatable caricature of a cigar-smoking pig with wads of cash flowing out of its jacket pockets.

But actual ownership of Momentive Performance Materials — sold to a New York City-based hedge fund a decade ago by General Electric Co. — is a corporate web that includes six billionaires on the Forbes magazine list of the nation’s 400 richest people, including a man named this month by President-elect Donald Trump as his chief job creation adviser.

Stephen Schwarzman, founder and CEO of the Blackstone Group, will have Trump’s ear on economic and tax policy as head of the President’s Strategic and Policy Forum, a group of more than a dozen captains of industry, including former GE CEO Jack Welch.

… With an estimated net worth of $11 billion, Schwarzman is ranked 45th richest on the Forbes 400 list for 2016. His New York City-based firm currently holds about $361 billion in assets, making it the largest hedge fund in the world. The 69-year-old has estates in East Hampton, Saint-Tropez in the French Riviera, a beachfront villa in Jamaica, and a luxury Park Avenue apartment in New York City that was once home to John D. Rockefeller.

How rich is Schwarzman? See Billionaire Stephen Schwarzman Makes $250 Million In Five Days As Blackstone Posts Big Numbers.

Will Trump Keep His Promise?

Trump promised that he is going to restore the middle class. But Trump’s “jobs” pick is helping destroy the middle class at places like Momentive. From the Albany Times Union report,

“I would pray to God that Donald Trump would reconsider what he is doing and have a talk with some of these people, especially Mr. Schwarzman, about what is going on here in Waterford,” said Dominick Patrignani, Local 81359 president. “We are extremely concerned with the loss of jobs, and this guy is supposed to be the new czar of job creation and growth.”

Which is it going to be? Jobs and good wages for working people or, as Trump himself put it, ripping the wealth of our middle class from their homes and then redistributing it to a very few billionaires — like Trump’s “jobs” pick?

Whose side will Trump prove to be on? Momentive’s workers will tell you that Trump is off to a very bad start at meeting his promise.

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