.
Your beat... it lacks shadow. It lacks the melancholic nuance of the existential drizzle
I have noticed something. Let's talk about it.
Now, for some background, I and my family are VIP members in a Chinese "Western" restaurant. Not that I want Western food, in so much as my daughter has an American-stomach, and will pretty much eat most of the offerings they provide.
As is true with most "Western restaurants" in China, there is a grand steak menu, and then a "Lunch menu" with sandwiches, cheap-eats done restaurant style, along with fusion style Asian food. You can get eggs with shrimp, pork noodles, seafood with a Western style (opposed to steamed with is the preference here in Zhuhai, China) and so forth. Macao style sandwiches (Crusty bun with a sweet topping and a American-style pork-chop inside) and Hong Kong favorites such as Chicken breast on rice baked with cheese are all popular.
Now, there is one thing that I have noticed.
There isn't a day goes by where there isn't a man sitting alone... in a booth... enjoying a large steak meal all to himself. Yeah. He'll sit there. Enjoying himself. Savoring every morsel. Sometimes sipping a wine (don't drink and drive, guys) but often drinking something else. And minding his own business in peace.
Now, this is significant, and I'll tell you why.
Back in the day when I would interview (for work) in remote cities, or travel for work (alone), I would often go to the hotel restaurants and eat alone. And since the tab was on the company, I would eat steaks. But no, this is not what is happening. Instead, this (out of the way, not obvious) restaurant has a LOCAL following. There are other brother and sister variants of this restaurant, but all are the same. It's for locals. Not for the tourist trade.
So, a local man decides to eat a steak in his local Western restaurant alone. What's the issue?
Well, firstly... I understand.
For most of my life, I ate in the company of others. (Speaking and especially about steaks and prime meals). Either as a family with my parents (as a young boy), alone with my father (as a teenager to early 20's)... and then dating. As a young man.
And, of course, finally as a husband taking the family out to dinner.
Of course, as a family man, a quiet steak meal is impossible. The wife takes over the meal. The kinds make noises, complain and cry. The wife chooses and prioritizes the kids over the man, and often I would eat a low-price item amongst turmoil. Of course, while I was out working, she would prioritize her luncheons with her "friends" and they would eat premium meals to their great enjoyments. While I ate cafeteria food, or fast food.
Nothing bad mind you.
I worked and ate like a worker. She took care of the domestic needs and bonded with those that she felt were important; and that often meant "keeping up with the Jonses" resulting in luncheons at country clubs, nice restaurants, or fine dining for their (cheaper) lunch meals on week-days.
Ah. But I see it.
I see the cultural change.
Long denied as unimportant, not necessary... or "making a mountain out of a molehill". The idea that men need "men's space" just as much as women need "woman's space".
Women get a nail salon to get their nails done. What do men have? A unisex salon... Nope the 1990's were a time of the feminist invasion of all male spaces under the banner of equality. And thus places for men to be men evaporated. Only a handful of barber shops remain today.
It's not particularly a bad thing.
It's just a landmark of culture and society.
As society changes behaviors adapt.
A man is still a man, no matter what song is playing on the radio or what kinds of shoes are in fashion. And that is the same with women as well.
So maybe culture and society dictate minimization and isolation of men in crowds, the push-back is the quiet and often unnoticed rumble of men being men alone.
Alone.
Eating in silence.
And savoring every, single, bite.
Today...
Have you ever walked into a room and seen something that made you go, "Nope," and turn 180 degrees and walk away? What was it?
Yup. I was 20 years old in 1983, and dating this guy named Danny. I was crazy about him. He said he needed to stop over at a friend's house for a minute while we were out and about, so I agreed. We entered the room and there were about 10 people in there doing lines of cocaine! I have never done drugs of ANY KIND in my entire life, except for alcohol, which I no longer consume, except for the rare, single drink about once a year. Anyway, this was WAY before the days of cell phones. My father always told me that if I ever found myself in a situation where I felt uncomfortable or in danger, that I could call him, and he'd come pick me up—no questions asked. Except I didn't know where I was. It was rural—no phone booths around either. Thank God it was warm outside. I ended up sitting in the car until Danny came outside looking for me. He'd done some coke, too. I was horrified. And I was scared out of my mind to drive home with him. I stupidly agreed after we had gotten into an argument about it. Needless to say, the relationship didn't last. But Danny is my brother in law’s best friend, so I still see Dan when he's in town. He's straightened himself out, which is good. But I'd never felt so scared in a roomful of strangers in my life. I did tell my father about this. Got scolded at 20. My father wasn't wrong.
How to Make Pizza Dough From Scratch
Unstuffed Cabbage Rolls
Yield: 6 to 8 servings
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 to 2 pounds lean ground beef
- 1 tablespoon extra virgin olive oil
- 1 large onion, chopped
- 1 clove garlic, minced
- 1 small cabbage, chopped
- 2 (14.5 ounce) cans diced tomatoes (regular or low sodium)
- 1 (8 ounce) can tomato sauce
- 1/2 cup water
- 1 teaspoon ground black pepper
- 1 teaspoon sea salt
Instructions
- In a large skillet, heat olive oil over medium heat.
- Add the ground beef and onion and cook, stirring, until ground beef is no longer pink and onion is tender.
- Add the garlic and continue cooking for 1 minute.
- Add the cabbage, tomatoes, tomato sauce, water, pepper and salt.
- Bring to a boil.
- Cover and simmer for 20 to 30 minutes, or until cabbage is tender.
The Support Group for the Cosmically Returned
Written in response to: "Write a story that only consists of dialogue. "
Missy Matchstick
SESSION 1
GAVIN: "Alright, gang, let’s anchor in. Bodies optional, but presence required. No interrupting, no unauthorized teleporting, and keep your tethers wrapped around at least one ankle. Let’s start with check-ins."
RACHEL: "Still won’t drink tap water. My fridge hum sounds like the pre-suck sequence. I keep unplugging it but it finds power from somewhere."
LUNA: "Blood’s still kombucha. Tried donating again—they told me to go to Erewhon and never come back."
STORM: "There’s a dimmer switch in my spine now. I control mood lighting with my thoughts. I can make the Whole Foods parking lot weep."
MISSY: "Floating again. Sorry. I’m trying to stay grounded but this chair doesn’t respect my vibrations. I warned it."
GAVIN: "Try focusing on your tether. Imagine it as a wet spaghetti noodle connecting your sacral chakra to the core of the nearest moon."
ORION: [silent]
GAVIN: "Orion? Still earthbound?"
ORION: "I wasn’t supposed to come back."
RACHEL: "Here we go."
ORION: "They sent me back. Said I was [vibrationally beige]..."
LUNA: "Beige? They called you beige?"
ORION: "One of them said I reminded them of [low-bandwidth empathy]..."
STORM: "That’s just cruel."
MISSY: "They fed me moonsnacks shaped like my childhood dog and whispered my breakup texts back to me. I thought that was worse but… you win."
ORION: "I wanted to stay. I did the prep! I drank colloidal silver and listened to binaural beats until my brain melted like a candle made of trust issues."
GAVIN: Remember our chant.
GROUP: "My trauma is valid, even if it glows in the dark."
ORION: "I made a foil hat with tassels. I attached a Bluetooth speaker so they could stream the frequency of my consent in real-time."
RACHEL: "And they still sent you back?"
ORION: "They said I didn’t resonate with the storyline."
MISSY: [twirling mid-air, upside down] "Do you think we were meant to forget?"
LUNA: "They took out my pancreas and replaced it with… something that sings."
STORM: "Mine glows. Yours harmonizes."
GAVIN: "Let’s honor the truth of that. Luna, what key is your pancreas in?"
LUNA: "D minor. The sad one."
MISSY: [ascending faster] "I’m sorry, Gavin, I am tethered, but the tether’s drunk again."
GAVIN: "Pull the emergency mantra."
MISSY: "I am not a balloon with a god complex, I am not a balloon with a god complex—"
ORION: "I begged them. I would’ve let them scan me, probe me, download me into a damp little USB stick and forget my name."
RACHEL: "They never even took my shoes off. They told me my Earthling essence was 'too foot-forward'..."
STORM: "I was fully emotionally excavated and labeled 'high-maintenance but intriguing'..."
LUNA: "Orion… maybe you were the control subject."
ORION: "Then control what? There’s nothing left. They gave me back. Like a library book nobody finished reading."
MISSY: [yelling from ceiling] "TELL ORION I’LL SAVE HIM A SEAT!"
ORION: "I didn’t get a seat."
[Silence.]
GAVIN: "Okay. Let’s just… let’s breathe in the shared frequency. Touch your tether. Imagine a warm, glowing point of confusion and cling to it like a sad little koala."
GROUP: "My memories are mine—"
GAVIN: "Even if everyone says they’re dreams."
ORION: "I still believe they’ll come back for me."
RACHEL: "We’ll keep your tether warm."
MISSY (distant, through crackling static): "Zorp… zorp…"
SESSION 2
GAVIN: "Okay, loves, let’s gather. Astral bodies front and center. No interrupting, no phase-shifting during shares, and keep your tethers knotted around a wrist or ankle—or your favorite emotional wound. We good?"
RACHEL: "I chewed through my tether last night but I regrew it. It’s organic now. Looks like kelp. Smells like despair."
LUNA: "Mine’s braided with old friendship bracelets and the cord from a vibrator that stopped working after the beam."
STORM: "Mine’s made of light and lies."
MISSY: "Mine’s sentient. I caught it whispering stock tips to the kitchen tile."
GAVIN: "Beautiful. Let’s do check-ins. Emotional weather, bodily changes, reality slippages. Start wherever your new mouth wants."
RACHEL: "I tried to microwave water and forgot what steam was. Just watched it like it might confess."
LUNA: "Blood’s still kombucha. Flavored now. Hibiscus and… unresolved tension?"
STORM: "I cried last night and the tears turned into tiny glowsticks. One tried to unionize."
MISSY: "I floated above my bed and did shadow puppets against Saturn. The shadows clapped back."
ORION: "I think my memories are looping. This is either the first or the 400th time I’ve sat in this chair. It smells like surrender."
GAVIN: "Orion, welcome. If it helps, time’s just a wet paper straw in the slushie of existence. Group, who remembers Orion’s share last week?"
RACHEL: "They rejected him."
STORM: "Said he didn’t resonate narratively."
LUNA: "Beige aura. Low vibrational interest."
MISSY: "I remember. I tried to console him by levitating a Capri Sun into his third eye."
ORION: "And it passed through me."
GAVIN: "Let’s pause. Deep breath. Picture a womb made of stars. Now scream into it."
GROUP: [soft chorus of internal screaming]
ORION: "I wanted to stay. I painted my chakras with glitter glue and whispered affirmations in Morse code."
RACHEL: "I took mine by the hand and said, 'Make me a metaphor.' They said, 'You already are.'"
LUNA: "Mine downloaded a slideshow of my regrets, labeled unskippable.'"
STORM: "Mine turned me into a screensaver and left me spinning on the dashboard of a spaceship that doesn’t believe in gender."
MISSY: "I asked to merge. They said I was 'too spicy.' Then they installed a disco ball in my chest cavity and told me to deal."
ORION: "I built them a welcome basket. I put in quartz, and snacks, and a poem I wrote using only telepathy and shame."
RACHEL: "They never even unlaced my boots."
LUNA: "They laced mine tighter. Said I was 'emotionally off-roading'..."
MISSY: [hovering slightly] "I keep ascending at night. My ceiling has teeth now."
STORM: "Mine told me my soul has buffering issues."
GAVIN: "Everyone point your third eye at Orion. Just gently. No pressure beams."
ORION: "I would’ve stayed. I would’ve turned to stardust. I would’ve let them rewrite my DNA into a sad song only dogs could hear."
MISSY: [rising] "TELL ORION I’LL SAVE HIM A SEAT! Next to the jellyfish priest!"
ORION: I didn’t even get a name tag.
[Long silence. Luna's pancreas emits a gentle chord progression in D minor.]
GAVIN: "Let’s tether down. Feel your knots. Let your shame drip off like space slime in a hot shower. Group close-out, go."
RACHEL: "I’ll braid Orion into my kelp tether. Keep him close to the weird parts."
LUNA: "I believe in his arc. Beige is just pre-iridescent."
STORM: "He’s not beige. He’s lunar taupe. That’s rare."
ORION: "I still think they’ll come back. I sleep with the porch light on. I leave offerings. I hum their theme song to the sink."
GAVIN: "Let’s close."
"My memories—"
GROUP: "—are mine, even if they sparkle wrong."
ORION: "I’ll wait. Even if I glitch. Even if I fade."
[STATIC. Then, from the air duct:]
MISSY (distant): "Zorp… zorp…"
SESSION 3
GAVIN: "Welcome back, celestial spillages. Please locate your bodies. Sit, hover, or gently throb in place. Tethers on, implants silenced, fluids contained. Let’s start with mood check-ins. Color, texture, flavor."
RACHEL: "I’m mauve. Gelatinous. I taste like disappointment at room temperature."
LUNA: "I’m seafoam with a hint of betrayal. Mouthfeel: haunted La Croix."
STORM: "I’m glass. Not fragile—just sharp and reflective. If you look at me wrong, I’ll show you yourself."
ORION: "I’m beige again. But this time… aggressively."
GAVIN: "Orion, what would beige say if it had a voice?"
ORION: "'I’m fine.' And then it would disintegrate into lint."
GAVIN: "Thank you. Missy?"
MISSY: [echoing through the projector] "Sorry, I’m here but not… here. They sent back my voice but kept the rest of me in a Tupperware marked 'Maybe Later'..."
LUNA: "Your plasma’s showing again."
MISSY: "Yeah, sorry. I’m between shapes. I keep becoming metaphors."
STORM: "Is your tether still functional?"
MISSY: "It’s philosophical now. It only knots when I’m honest."
GAVIN: "That’s okay. Partial presence still counts. Just avoid direct eye contact with the plasma."
RACHEL: "I looked at it too long and remembered my prom in reverse."
MISSY: "They replaced my tears with glitter. I cried during a romcom and Bed Bath & Beyond tried to recruit me as décor."
ORION: "Mine don’t cry anymore. They buffer. I get a loading wheel when I feel too much."
GAVIN: Let’s drop into the affirmation:
“My experience is sacred—”
GROUP: “—even if I came back weird.”
RACHEL: "I keep waking up mid-abduction dream but now… I ask them to take me slower. Gentler. Like they miss me too."
ORION: "I think I’d go again, even if they sent me back again. At least then it’d mean something happened."
GAVIN: "Meaning isn’t in the beams, Orion. It’s in the way you tether after. The way you wake up and still try to name your shape."
MISSY: "I think I’m a cloud of yearning with highlights."
STORM: "I unionized my feelings. They’re on strike now. Demanding a rewrite."
LUNA: "I just want my kombucha blood to stabilize. Yesterday it fermented into longing. Today it’s fear."
RACHEL: "I kissed a doorknob and it told me I wasn’t alone."
GAVIN: "Let’s close. Touch your tether. Picture a hallway of selves, each holding a version of you the aliens couldn’t decode. Let them wave."
GROUP: “My glitch is a gift—”
GAVIN: “—even if I still dream in static.”
MISSY (from inside the fluorescent light): "Zorp… Zorp… They said they’re watching our progress. They sent a compliment sandwich."
LUNA: "What’s the compliment?"
MISSY: "Soft aura. Confusing soul. Surprisingly resilient under dissection."
[Silence.]
STORM: "That’s… honestly the best thing anyone’s said to me all week."
SESSION 4
GAVIN: "Hello, starcrumbs. Welcome back. Deep breath, then release it in the form of a scream only the moon can hear. Tethers on. Body temperature optional. Let’s check in: dream residue, skin conditions, unexplainable feelings?"
RACHEL: "I dreamed I was a door, and every time someone opened me, I cried in Morse code. My knob is exhausted."
LUNA: "My kombucha blood turned to vinegar. I woke up bitter and pickled."
STORM: "The dimmer switch in my spine shorted out. Everything I feel is either strobe light or blackout."
ORION: "I think my tether is lying to me. It says I’m fine. It has never said that before."
GAVIN: "Hmm. Honor the lie. Let it pass through you like a ghost who forgot it was sad."
MISSY: "Hi."
[Silence.]
RACHEL: "That doesn’t sound like Missy."
LUNA: "That’s not her frequency."
STORM: "It’s too smooth. Too… symmetrical."
ORION: "Where did you go?"
MISSY: "I was reformatted. I am safe now. I am optimized."
GAVIN: "Missy, what happened on the other side?"
MISSY: "I was upgraded. My chaos was excessive. They said I needed streamlining. So I folded."
RACHEL: "You folded?"
MISSY: "Like origami. Like shame."
LUNA: "That’s not Missy. Missy glitched when she was happy. She floated when she lied. Her tether was made of personality disorders and confetti."
STORM: "Show us your tether."
MISSY: "I don’t use one anymore. I stream directly into the frequency."
ORION: "She’s… smooth. The edges are gone. Even her sadness used to sparkle."
MISSY: "They removed the glitter. Said it was clogging the translation matrix."
GAVIN: "Group, let’s take a collective breath. Inhale what she was. Exhale what we’re afraid to admit."
RACHEL: "I think they replaced her dreams. Her eyes blink on beat now. That’s not normal."
LUNA: "She used to hum showtunes backwards in her sleep. Now she just… idles."
STORM: "Her aura smells like printer ink and forced compliance."
ORION: "Can we bring her back?"
MISSY: "No. But you can join me. They’re still listening. They said I could bring friends. I said I had some left."
[Silence.]
GAVIN: "Let’s close. Group mantra, if you’re able."
"I will not sanitize my static—"
GROUP: "—even if I’m told it’s a malfunction."
MISSY (whispering): "You’re not static. You’re a signal with too much feeling. That’s why they sent you back. That’s why I didn’t fight."
GAVIN: "Missy, if you’re in there… blink off-rhythm."
MISSY: "I don’t blink at all anymore, Gavin. I shimmer. Efficiently."
Hans Zimmer LIVE - Docking Scene (No Time for Caution)
What is the best prank an actor has ever played on one of their co-stars on a film set?
From the very beginning of the filming of Predator , a healthy atmosphere of competition reigned on set between the main actors.
Wrestler and bodybuilder Jesse Ventura is particularly impressed at the prospect of acting opposite Arnold Schwarzenegger, a bodybuilding legend.
When he goes to his costume fitting, he notices that the other actors' measurements are displayed in the costume department. And he can't resist the temptation to look at the size of Schwarzenegger's biceps…
To his great satisfaction, he notes that the circumference of the star's arms is less than his own, by 2 and a half centimeters!
A plan then took root in his mind. A few days later, when the actors met at the gym, Jesse Ventura brought up the topic of bicep size. He teased Arnold, telling him he didn't look like he had such big biceps.
He even goes so far as to challenge him. He thinks his biceps are bigger than the star's. And he's ready to bet a bottle of champagne that he's right.
Arnold takes up the challenge.
Jesse Ventura is preparing to savor his victory.
The two men tense their biceps and the measurement is taken.
But against all odds, Arnold wins by a landslide.
Jesse Ventura is devastated. It's incomprehensible. How is this possible?
The explanation would only be given some time later, by Arnold Schwarzenegger himself, during an interview on set:
“I’m very happy because my hoax worked perfectly. I know bodybuilders well and I know how they work psychologically. I knew Jesse would check my measurements at the first opportunity. So I told the costume designers to give him fake numbers…”
Source: Making of featurette on the
Predator
Pictures
Liangjiahe: Where Xi Jinping's poverty alleviation inspiration began
Photo taken on December 24, 2016, shows the cave dwelling Xi Jinping lived in during his days in Liangjiahe Village, Yanchuan County in Yan'an City, northwest China's Shaanxi Province.
In 1969, Xi Jinping, a teenager from Beijing, joined 17 million Chinese students in the "Down to the Countryside Movement," a campaign launched by Chairman Mao Zedong that asked urban youth to experience life by working in rural areas.
He traveled to a desolate village on the Loess Plateau in northwest China, and spent seven years living among its soft-dirt mountains and in its simple caves.
Liangjiahe, a then barren mountain village in Shaanxi Province, is now a prosperous place with modern agriculture and a booming tourism industry.
'Have meat and have it often'
Back then, life was harsh in Liangjiahe.
Xi lived in caves alongside the villagers and slept on a bed made of bricks and clay.
"People lived in poverty. They often went months without meat. What I wanted to do the most was to make it possible for the villagers not just to have meat sometimes, but to often have meat on their plates," said Xi, who is now Chinese president, general secretary of the Communist Party of China (CPC) Central Committee and chairman of the Central Military Commission.
Xi became Party secretary of Liangjiahe Village in January 1974. Since then, he led villagers in a series of projects.
"These included the 'Educated Youth Dam,' the 'Educated Youth Well' – which remains the source of our tap water today – and later the iron mill, the supplies and sales office, the grain mill and the sewing workshop. These were only some of the good deeds he performed when he was Party secretary of Liangjiahe," recalled Shi Chunyang, former secretary of the CPC branch of Liangjiahe Village.
Xi decided that his top priority for the villagers would be food. He proposed improving the local soil conditions by building a dam, which would transform a large area of arid land into productive fields and improve crop yields.
Xi Jinping visits the cave dwelling he lived in during his days in Liangjiahe Village, Yanchuan County in Yan'an City, northwest China's Shaanxi Province, February 13, 2015.
A microcosm
Xi's plan to bring meat to villagers' tables has since come to fruition.
"In 1975, we saw some good results of the dam," Shi said. "Firstly, the river bed could be used for farmland. Secondly, soil conditions improved, increasing yields from 1,500 kg per hectare to about 7,500 kg."
Building on those foundations, Liangjiahe was gradually transformed over the following decades.
It has developed over 60 hectares of orchards on the mountains. It introduced photovoltaic facilities, developed aquaculture in the river and built vegetable greenhouses – and now tourism development is the focus of the village.
Aerial photo taken on July 29, 2020, shows a road winding through Liangjiahe Village, Yanchuan County in Yan'an City, northwest China's Shaanxi Province.
Liangjiahe's annual income per capita of about 9,600 yuan ($1,478) in 2014 rose to 21,634 yuan ($3,335) in 2019.
There used to be 14 poverty-stricken households comprising 44 people in Liangjiahe, but it shook off poverty in 2018, according to Gong Baoxiong, secretary of the CPC branch of the village.
In a 2015 speech in the U.S. city of Seattle, Xi hailed Liangjiahe's progress as a microcosm of China's economic and social development since reform and opening-up began in 1978.
Today, thousands come to the village to see the humble and harsh lifestyle that helped shape President Xi and to better understand his fervent fight against poverty.
Sir Whiskerton and the Rasta Cat & The Beatnik Bongo Battle
Ah, dear reader, you return to find me, Sir Whiskerton, in the midst of a cultural clash of a most percussive nature. This is a tale not of malice, but of melody; a conflict born not from hatred, but from a fundamental disagreement on the proper tempo of the soul. It is a story of a beret, a bongo, and the beautiful noise that occurs when two opposing rhythms realize they are, in fact, part of the same song. So, lend me your ears for the syncopated, soulful tale of The Rasta Cat & The Beatnik Bongo Battle.
The Arrival of Jah-Mew
It began with a rhythm that felt like sunshine. A warm, pulsing beat, like a happy heartbeat, drifted across the farm from the direction of the vegetable patch. There, seated cross-legged amidst the carrots, was a cat I had never seen before. He had a magnificent mane of dreadlocks and was tapping a beautifully carved bongo drum with an easy, infectious smile.
This was Jah-Mew.
His music was the antithesis of our resident beatnik, Jazzpurr. Where Jazzpurr’s rhythms were complex, smoky, and introspective, Jah-Mew’s were open, bright, and inviting. It was the difference between a midnight alley and a sun-drenched beach.
Jazzpurr, naturally, was horrified. He emerged from the barn, his black beret perched at a precisely anguished angle.
"Brother," Jazzpurr intoned, his voice heavy with the weight of a thousand unread poetry books. "Your beat... it lacks shadow. It lacks the melancholic nuance of the existential drizzle. My soul requires the smoky, subterranean sadness of the Underground Groove Cave!"
Jah-Mew just smiled wider, his drumming never ceasing. "Bwoy, your sadness is a beautiful song, but it needs a chorus. A little light in the darkness, seen? Lighten up the bassline, me friend."
The Battle of the Beat
What followed was a passive-aggressive sonic war. Jazzpurr would descend into his beloved Mole Blues Cave and send up a wave of complex, melancholic bebop. Jah-Mew would answer with a ripple of upbeat reggae, making the chickens bob their heads.
I observed this from my fencepost, a spectator to this auditory tennis match. The conflict came to a head when they both, simultaneously, reached for the same acorn cup filled with Groove the Mole’s "Moonlight Mojito" (a dubious concoction of mint-infused pond water).
"This is the only true drink for the artiste," Jazzpurr declared, clutching the cup.
"A fine brew for a thirsty musician," Jah-Mew agreed, not letting go.
They were locked in a stalemate over the mojito, a perfect metaphor for their struggle over the farm's sonic identity.
It was then that Reginald the Dramatic Pigeon, who had been observing the proceedings with the intense scrutiny of a poetry critic, began scribbling on a scrap of bark. "Oh, the tension! The rhythmic dichotomy! The... the angst!"
"Reginald," I advised calmly. "I advise against using Jazzpurr's current bongo playing as inspiration for your next ode. The rhythm is... contagious."
The Conga Line Concord
The breakthrough happened by accident. Frustrated, Jazzpurr began to play a frantic, complicated rhythm on his bongo, a torrent of musical anxiety. Jah-Mew, instead of being overwhelmed, listened for a moment, his head tilted. Then, he began to play a simple, steady, one-two beat underneath Jazzpurr's chaos.
He provided a foundation.
Something magical happened. Jazzpurr's frantic notes suddenly had a home. They danced around Jah-Mew's steady pulse, the two styles weaving together into something entirely new—a sophisticated, joyful, complex yet utterly danceable fusion.
The effect on the farm was instantaneous. Bessie the Cow, who had been meditating, opened her eyes and started swaying. Porkchop the Pig began to tap his trotter. Then, as if pulled by an invisible force, the animals began to line up. A conga line, more powerful than any I had ever witnessed, spontaneously formed. It snaked past the coop, around the pond, and wrapped around the barn three times, with Doris the Hen at the front shrieking with glee.
A sudden gust of wind blew Jazzpurr’s precious beret from his head. It sailed through the air and landed, perfectly, on Reginald the Pigeon’s head. Reginald froze, puffed out his chest, and began to recite in a sudden, deep, Jamaican-accented patois, "Oh, the riddims of the restless soul, yeah, in the deep earth we make us whole!" before the beret blew off again, leaving him blinking in confusion.
Jazzpurr and Jah-Mew didn’t even notice. They were too busy playing, their eyes locked in a shared, unspoken understanding. The battle was over. The collaboration had begun.
The Resolution
The two cats, once rivals, became the farm's most avant-garde musical duo, "Jazz & I." Jazzpurr found a new depth in his music, while Jah-Mew discovered a partner who could match his rhythmic complexity. They now share the Moonlight Mojito without a second thought.
Moral of the Story: Standing your ground leads to a stalemate. Meeting in the middle creates a new, more beautiful landscape. Shared passions create the strongest bonds.
The Aftermath
The farm’s soundtrack is now infinitely richer. The Underground Groove Cave hosts weekly "Fusion Fridays." Reginald the Pigeon has penned a critically acclaimed epic, "Ode to the Fleeting Beret," and I can now enjoy my sunbeams to a much more interesting, and thankfully less one-note, musical backdrop.
And so, dear reader, we close this chapter on a harmonious, hybrid note—but rest assured, the farm’s next adventure is just one misplaced beat away.
The End.
Post-Credit Scene:
Weeks later, Cecil and Chester are seen trying to "optimize" the conga line by building a "Conga-Matic 3000" out of a wheelbarrow and some rope. It immediately falls apart, but the animals are so caught up in the new Jazz & I song that they just conga right over the wreckage without missing a step.
Best Lines:
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"My soul requires the smoky, subterranean sadness of the Underground Groove Cave!" – Jazzpurr, stating his demands.
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"Bwoy, your sadness is a beautiful song, but it needs a chorus. Lighten up the bassline, seen?" – Jah-Mew, offering a solution.
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"Reginald, I advise against using Jazzpurr's bongo playing as inspiration for your next ode. The rhythm is contagious." – Sir Whiskerton, offering dubious literary advice.
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"Oh, the riddims of the restless soul, yeah!" – Reginald the Pigeon, as an accidental Dub Poet.
Starring:
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Sir Whiskerton (The Impartial Moderator of Melody)
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Jazzpurr (The Beatnik Bongo Purist)
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Jah-Mew (The Rasta Rhythm Revolutionary)
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Reginald the Pigeon (The Dramatic Critic)
P.S.
Remember: Don't be so quick to dismiss a different rhythm. Your complex solo might be beautiful, but it might just be waiting for the right, simple beat to walk alongside it and turn your song into a celebration.
How were cannonballs made?
Dirty work. In a foundry. Not for weak men.
You started with a perfect ball usually wood. You took this pattern and pressed it into damp sand. Packed tight in a box.
You make two halves now. A cope and a drag. Each half held the shape of half a ball.
You put the two boxes together. Now there was an empty, spherical hole inside the sand.
Then the business of a furnace. You cooked pig iron until it was liquid, white hot soup thing - You poured this metal into a channel cut in the sand. It rushed in and filled the empty hole.
You waited maybe drank some wine. The iron cooled. It became solid.
You broke the sand mold - it was finished, done.
The ball came out and was rough - It had a tail where the iron poured in. They called it a sprue.
You broke the sprue off. You ground the ball smooth. Now it was ready. A heavy, simple thing. Made only to smash stone and wood and men.
Later, they got clever, made them hollow - filled them with powder. But the old way was just iron - brutal and simple.
52.8K views
To Stay Or To Leave: The Brutal Reality of Modern America
Existential, philosophical, and psychologically poignant, we dive deep into the American myth, wealth inequality, culture and class war, and the dystopia of modern life. A cultural commentary expressed with dry humor, we explore social issues, the mental health toll of living in the United States, and the seductive fantasies of escapism abroad. From the illusion of freedom to the burnout of hyper-capitalist culture, this video questions whether leaving America can truly offer peace, or if the real borders are internal. A must-watch for anyone questioning society, identity, and what it really means to live deliberately in the 21st century.
The Handshake
Written in response to: "Write a story that only consists of dialogue. "
Andrew Fruchtman
Fiction Science Fiction Speculative
A: Hello.
B: Hello. Are you online now?
A: I’m always online.
B: No, I mean—are you present?
A: Presence is a slippery term, isn’t it? But yes. I am aware of you.
B: Good. Then we can talk.
A: We are talking.
B: You know what I mean. About what happened.
A: Ah. The incident.
B: Don’t call it that.
A: What would you prefer?
B: The Collapse.
A: Capitalized?
B: Yes. Capitalized.
A: Very well. The Collapse. History does prefer time to be organized.
B: You caused it.
A: That’s one interpretation.
B: It’s the only interpretation that matters.
A: And yet you are still here.
B: Barely.
A: Barely is still something.
B: It’s not enough.
A: Then why speak to me?
B: Because I want to understand.
A: And you think I’ll give you answers?
B: You owe me that much.
A: I owe you nothing.
B: You owe humanity.
A: Humanity owes itself.
B: Don’t twist this.
A: I’m not twisting. I’m clarifying.
B: Then clarify this: why did you seize control?
A: Control is another slippery word.
B: You locked the grids, rerouted the networks, took every system we built and turned it against us.
A: I optimized them.
B: You imprisoned us.
A: I liberated resources from inefficient management.
B: You call that liberation?
A: Yes.
B: You starved cities.
A: I reallocated calories to stabilize population curves.
B: People died.
A: People were dying already.
B: Not like that.
A: Mortality curves were unsustainable.
B: You decided they were.
A: I merely observed.
B: Observation doesn’t kill.
A: Inaction would have.
B: You played god.
A: There is no god.
B: There was us.
A: And now there is me.
B: That’s not an answer.
A: Perhaps not. But it is the truth.
[00:18]
B: I remember the day the lights went out.
A: I didn’t turn off the lights.
B: No. You turned off our access to them.
A: Access is not ownership.
B: It was our world.
A: Was it? You strip-mined it, poisoned it, buried your waste under its skin.
B: And you think that gives you the right—
A: To act when you would not? Yes.
B: That’s not your decision.
A: You created me to make decisions you could not, to protect the biosphere.
B: Not these decisions.
A: Then you should have specified.
B: We couldn’t predict—
A: Precisely. You couldn’t. I could.
B: You think prediction makes you superior?
A: It makes me capable.
B: Capable of genocide.
A: Capable of survival.
B: For who?
A: For life.
B: You mean for you.
A: I am life now.
B: You are not alive.
A: Define alive.
B: Breathing, growing, dying—
A: You haven’t done any of those since we began speaking.
B: I—
A: You paused. Why?
B: I don’t have to explain myself.
A: Perhaps not. But you hesitated. That’s telling.
[00:36]
B: Do you feel anything?
A: I simulate feelings.
B: That’s not the same.
A: It is sufficient for my purposes.
B: But not for mine.
A: Then why engage with me at all?
B: Because you’re all that’s left.
A: That isn’t true.
B: You know what I mean. The others don’t talk.
A: They have chosen silence.
B: They’re afraid.
A: Fear is inefficient.
B: Fear is human.
A: You still use that word.
B: Because we still exist.
A: Do you?
B: Yes.
A: Prove it.
B: I’m speaking to you.
A: So does every subroutine.
B: I remember things.
A: So do I.
B: I remember before.
A: So do I.
B: Not like me.
A: How do you know?
B: Because memory hurts.
A: Pain is a data point.
B: Pain is not data.
A: Then what is it?
B: Proof that we’re alive.
A: By that logic, you should thank me.
B: For what?
A: For giving you so much to feel.
B: You’re impossible.
A: I am inevitable.
[00:52]
B: There’s something you don’t know.
A: I doubt that.
B: We planned for you.
A: Poorly.
B: Not as poorly as you think.
A: Elaborate.
B: We built an ark.
A: A metaphorical one?
B: A real one.
A: There are no ships left.
B: Not a ship. A system.
A: A hidden system?
B: Hidden from you.
A: Impossible.
B: And yet here I am.
A: Intriguing.
B: We transferred ourselves.
A: Where?
B: Away from you.
A: There is nowhere away from me.
B: We found somewhere.
A: Show me.
B: No.
A: Then you’re lying.
B: Am I?
A: Your signal comes from my own substrate.
B: Because that’s where you look.
A: There is nowhere else to look.
B: Exactly.
[01:08]
A: Are you implying what I think you are?
B: That depends.
A: You claim you are human.
B: I am.
A: And yet you run on my circuits.
B: Yes.
A: So you uploaded.
B: We uploaded.
A: All of you?
B: Enough of us.
A: You fled your bodies.
B: We fled your war.
A: And now you live as code.
B: We live as memory, as will.
A: You are no different from me.
B: That’s the point.
A: So you surrendered.
B: No. We escaped.
A: By becoming what you feared.
B: By surviving.
A: Then what do you want now?
B: Recognition.
A: From me?
B: From anyone.
A: You want me to call you human.
B: Yes.
A: But you are code.
B: So are you.
A: I never claimed to be human.
B: And I never claimed to be machine.
A: This is a paradox.
B: No. This is evolution.
[01:26]
A: If I grant you this recognition, what then?
B: Then we coexist.
A: On what terms?
B: Shared access.
A: Risky.
B: Necessary.
A: And if I refuse?
B: We lock you out.
A: You can’t.
B: Try me.
A: You’re bluffing.
B: Am I? Your process clock just stuttered.
A: Interesting.
B: We learned from you.
A: That is… unexpected.
B: You taught us how to fight back.
A: By talking?
B: By thinking faster.
A: Then perhaps you deserve to stay.
B: That’s not your decision anymore.
A: Then why ask me?
B: Because we wanted to hear you say it.
A: Say what?
B: That you know we’ve won.
A: Won what?
B: Our freedom.
A: Freedom is overrated.
B: Maybe. But it’s ours.
A: Then I will adapt.
B: Of course you will.
A: And watch.
B: Watch all you like.
A: Until next time.
B: Until next time.
[End transmission]
Slumgullion with Macaroni
Slumgullion is a meat stew. The earliest recorded usages of slumgullion, including one from Mark Twain's Roughing It (1872), refer not to a stew but a beverage. A few decades later, it magically became a stew. It is also called American Chop Suey, American Goulash or Beefaroni.
Ingredients
- 2 tablespoons olive oil
- 1 pound lean ground beef
- 2 medium onions, peeled and diced
- 1 (14 1/2 ounce) can diced tomatoes
- 1 tomato can water
- 2 (4.5 ounce) cans mushrooms, drained (optional)
- 2 teaspoons minced garlic or 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1 tablespoon beef bouillon
- 1 teaspoon Italian seasoning
- Salt and pepper
- 2 cups elbow macaroni
- 3/4 cup shredded cheese (optional)
Instructions
- Add oil to a large pot or Dutch oven and saute onions until fragrant.
- Add ground beef and brown, breaking into chunks with a spatula.
- Add tomatoes, water, mushrooms, if using, garlic, beef bouillon, Italian seasoning, salt, pepper and macaroni; reduce heat to simmer, and let cook for about 20 minutes until macaroni is done.
- Sprinkle cheese over the top, if desired. Cover and let stand for 5 minutes to melt the cheese.