One of the most common things that you can find in Pennsylvania are these metal water pumps. Apparently, sometime in the 1920’s or 1930’s, all the open wells (you know the kind, the stone or brick lined cylinder into the ground) was replaced by a metal manual pump mechanism.
As a boy, as we would be hiking through the woods or bike riding, we would go find a local water pump and pump up some fresh water to cool off with.
These things were great, but were also something that I haven’t seen in years. Oh, I’m sure that they still exist, but I haven’t seen them personally. So I just wanted to “throw this all out” to youse guys.
It’s one of those things that we take for granted, and then we forget as our lives change. How many other things are like that? I don’t know, but I’m willing to bet a lot more than we like to think about. For certain!
Today…
Why isn’t China doing much about the fact that their people can bypass the great firewall by simply having a VPN?
Practically it can’t; some people (e.g. businesses and researchers) need a VPN, otherwise they are unable to do their jobs in China, yet China needs businesses and researchers.
A blanket ban on VPNs — and by extension access to certain overseas websites — would be nonsensical.
There is also the cost-benefit analysis of going after VPN users. Even if it were logistically possible to do so, the state probably decided that VPNs can’t negate the firewall, because they are hard to get in mainland China and most people will never get VPNs, whereas the people who do have VPNs are likely to be educated, tech-savvy, and sophisticated enough to not do the thing that they are feared to do once they skirt the firewall; that is, turn anti-government.
Besides, letting some people skirt the firewall may be a plus for the state, because it can reduce the crave for outside information and by extension the outside world, which isn’t perfect. If your narrative as the Chinese government is that the grass is not greener outside of the firewall, preventing your citizens from ever having a taste of what it’s like outside of the firewall doesn’t really help you make that case. On the other hand, if you’re a Chinese netizen who skirts the firewall and ends up in Twitter or Reddit and nothing happens to you, you may realize that the government has a point. You may even want to skirt the firewall less!
So to China, the choice is clear: it can crack down on VPN use and risk wasting its own resources while pissing curious minds off, or it can simply keep the firewall around and let folks climb it if they want to, knowing that not everyone will, and those who do pose minimal threat to the state and won’t stay outside forever.
Sometimes, porous walls are better than rock solid ones.
What Putin and China just did to Israel is SHOCKING and the UK is Furious w/ Lowkey
What happens if a prison guard finds an inmate dead in their cell when arriving for morning or evening count?
You have to understand that isn’t possible.
It *is* possible that someone’s heart may cease to function, their brain may stop issuing commands, and tiny insects may begin to colonize the still warm meat, but inmates can’t die in prison.
You’re probably thinking that I suffer from some cognitive dissonance, or mild learning disability. But, as a matter of policy, inmates can’t die in prison. And, of course, if anybody has the superhuman ability to avert death, it would be the gargantuan bureaucracy of the almighty Bureau of Prisons.
Instead, here’s what will happen:
First, we’re going to finish count — while yelling at that one guy who just stubbornly refuses to stand as per policy.
“Goddammit Lazarus, don’t screw up my count!”
After the correct number of livestock is arrived at (and this may take several attempts because prison guards aren’t the shiniest keys on the ring), one of the guards will call for a couple medical trustees to come and fetch the dude whose temperature is rapidly dropping. Trustees are inmates from other areas of the prison who do the work that’s considered beneath the guards (i.e. “everything”). Because they are inmates, they are also subject to inventory wherever it is that they sleep, or happened to be at the time. That means that their unit also has to pass count before they can come and clean away the offending debris.
The horizontal inmate will be loaded on a gurney and taken to medical where an exhaustive battery of tests will be performed to ensure that he’s not faking anything. I have no idea what these tests are, but I suspect they’re things like fogging a mirror, and poking an eyeball with a needle.
You know, “medieval” in nature.
Ever wonder what happens to doctors who finish last in their class? Once the crack (pun unintended, but delightful anyway) medical staff is satisfied, the inmate will be handcuffed, shackled around the ankles, and loaded into an ambulance.
Outside the prison walls, he can be legally declared dead.
Requiescat In Pace.
Spanish Style Liver
Yield: 5 to 6 servings
Ingredients
- 2 pounds sliced beef or calves liver
- 4 slices bacon, cut in half
- 1/2 cup chopped carrot
- 1/2 cup chopped celery
- 1 small onion, sliced
- 1 (1 pound) can stewed tomatoes
- 1 teaspoon salt
- 1/8 teaspoon pepper
- 1 small bay leaf
Instructions
- Place liver in slow cooker. Arrange bacon on top.
- Mix remaining ingredients and pour over liver.
- Cover and cook on LOW for 6 to 8 hours.
- Remove bay leaf.
Are you proud to be a Chinese person?
Yes I am. I am a third generation Malaysian Chinese.
Truth to be told, I wasn’t that kind of Chinese kid who grew up with these Chinese pride.
It never crossed my mind until my growing interest in history lessons during my secondary school.
Chinese history was never the focus of our country’s education syllabus…
Instead, I grew up learning about Greco-Roman history, Renaissance, European history and Malaysia’s history.
So I was quite familiar with the West, but never China.
Out of pure curiosity, I embarked on a journey of reading.
I read about the China’s past, and consumed quite a lot of documentaries on Chinese history.
My interest grew further and I couldn’t stop reading.
I know I’m Chinese by blood, but never to the degree of finding a connection back to my own heritage.
The experience was quite bizzare.
Like reading histories that tells so much about you.
Your family surname, origins of your tribe, origin of why you do things the Chinese way.
You get a sense of connection to past histories, and it is still relevant to you.
China is so old, that they recorded so many of those things back then.
Then during my high school years, my interest in histories grew even further.
I was particularly fond of reading the reason behind fall of empires, like Roman empire, Ottoman empire, Mughal empire and etc….
You can’t stop but start asking yourself, where are those empire builders now?
They are all gone. Vanished into the dust of history.
But China is still there. We still call ourselves Chinese.
The realization of naming ourselves after a long dead empire is still very relevant to a Chinese conscious.
Just imagine if the people from the Gaul and Hispania still identify themselves as Roman.
They might acknowledge their Roman heritage, but in no mind those people would have identify themselves as a Roman. Rome was long dead, and every other nations formed their distinct identity, and there was no turning back.
Despite ups and down, China is still intact.
We still can read Classical Chinese.
We still worship our ancestor.
We still identify ourselves as Chinese.
It was weird, but fascinating.
If Europeans can understand the sentiment of Roman pride, then you should know what I meant.
Europeans tried to rebuild the second Rome, third Rome but all fall into the dust of history.
Like how Americans modelled their republic and metaphorically compare themselves to the greatness of Rome.
If you understand this sentiment, then you surely know why the Chinese are proud of.
But we didn’t have to mimic Rome.
We have our Rome to be proud of.
We pain stackingly preserved our identity through the age of time.
Except that, our Rome never fell.
Is Gen Z Killing Corporate Culture?
Has a store ever accidentally given you something for free?
“Has a store ever accidentally given you something for free?”
Years ago, when we had small children so that I was a stay-at-home Mom and we lived precariously on my husband’s salary, we certainly had nothing spare for adult clothes. But I couldn’t actually go around naked or in rags, so eventually I found a pair of nice-looking corduroy pants in sage green on sale at Sears, which, when it still existed, sold unfashionable but serviceable clothes cheap, and mail-ordered them by phone; this was before there was online anything. When they arrived they were just as nice as they had looked in the catalog and they were the perfect size. But with them was another pair of the same pants in beige and a size larger. I had paid for one pair.
I phoned customer service and explained what had happened, asking when their delivery guy would next be in the area so that he could come by and pick up the extra pair. The woman I was talking to turned nasty at that point; she said, in an unpleasant tone of voice, that that would not be possible and I must take them to the store to return them. I told her that I had two small children and no car, and that the nearest Sears store was a long two-or-three-bus journey away in a suburb, which was why I was using the mail-order service on which Sears had built their reputation. She said that was not her problem. I asked what she suggested I should do, pointing out that I now had a pair of pants for which I had not paid, and she said “Keep them! I don’t care.”
So I did. The larger size wasn’t that much larger, and it was handy to have two pairs. When the kids were old enough I went back to work, and then we could all have new clothes when we needed them. As the kids grew out of theirs we donated perfectly good clothes, plenty of them, to charities. I reckon that counts as paying it forward.
Is Gen X The Worst Generation?
The U.S. dollar is now attracting stiff competition from the constantly evolving multipolar currency narrative. With the BRICS ditching the U.S. dollar officially, it seems that the new world order is emerging, where local currencies are now reigning supreme. Joining in the queue are the latest ASEAN members, the robust ten-country power pact, which may hamper some of the US dollar prospects if they decide to join forces with the leading world allies.
The murmurs of ASEAN dumping the U.S. dollar earlier caught pace in 2023 when the countries contemplated embracing local currency narratives to promote regional supremacy.
The ASEAN nations, which comprise Brunei, Cambodia, Indonesia, Laos, Malaysia, Myanmar, the Philippines, Singapore, Thailand, and Vietnam, had earlier conducted a meeting to end their reliance on the USD, Euro, Yen, and British Pound.
This was primarily done to catapult the progress of local currencies and help them ascend on the global currency radar. The members also shared comments on why the nations must end the use of USD for the long haul, citing U.S. sanctions as the key issue.
“Be very careful. We must remember the sanctions imposed by the US on Russia. Visa and Mastercard could be a problem,” Indonesian Prime Minister Widodo shared during the event.
With ballooning US debt metrics and a worsening economy on hand, the United States is now attracting issues that can hinder the progress of the USD in the long run. Decades ago, the dollar stood unhinged, but with the ASEAN and BRICS narratives gaining momentum, the USD may now encounter deep trouble hampering its global ascent.
10 U.S. Sectors To Be Affected if ASEAN Dumps the US Dollar
The top ten U.S. sectors that may feel the crushing pressure post-USD dump by ASEAN nations are:
- Financial Services
- Trade
- Manufacturing
- Tourism
- Technology
- Agriculture
- Energy
- Retail
- Transportation
- Real estate
The multipolar concept, a term coined to denote a basket of currencies leading the financial system, is very much underway in present times.
With robust economic competition prevalent in space, nations have now come up with new perspectives and offerings that can help them transact better by offering eccentric services and products in return.
This narrative threatens the global supremacy of the U.S. dollar to an extent, as countries now have alternative currencies to explore, thereby fueling the multipolar regime. The inflating US debt metrics, poor administrative infrastructure, and its capability to weaponize the dollar for geopolitical manipulation are now being debated openly. This is further downgrading the currency, compelling other regions like ASEAN to compete for global power and recognition.
“This dominance continues now, with the U.S. using its clout to drive socio-political goals by imposing sanctions. And by excluding non-compliant governments and organizations from the global trade and economic systems where the U.S. is dominant. The best example of this is the sanctions on Russia. And also certain Russian citizens due to their invasion of Ukraine. In the hope of influencing their ability to conduct the war,” as shared by Sable International
Shallow Women Are ABANDONING 10+ YEAR Marriages To Find Themselves On A Bunch Of C*cks
If you were an employer, would you prefer to hire a lazy person with all the qualifications you need, or a very hard working person who is unqualified?
I had a great employee once who would wear a shirt that said “Genius by nature. Slacker by choice.” It really did suit him well. He was really quite smart and there wasn’t a job I could throw at him that he couldn’t handle with ease.
The problem always seemed to be motivating him to actually do the jobs I gave him.
I have also had an employee whose work ethic was astounding. He never complained about long hours or having too much on his plate.
The problem was that I had to double check all his work and often redo it myself.
Give me the lazy genius any day of the week.
When I hire someone to do a job, I fully expect that they will be able to do said job. If I wanted to do the job myself, I’d not hire anyone and just keep the money for me.
Once you learn what motivates someone, it’s not entirely difficult to just apply the right kind of pressure to get them to do their job. With my lazy genius, the problem with his motivation was that things couldn’t hold his interest if he found them dull and routine. My job was to make sure he was challenged enough to where he wanted to work. Sometimes that meant giving some easy stuff to the less experienced people and saving all the hard stuff for him. Often, though, it was just enough to challenge his ego. “Hey, Mike was looking at this issue and claims it’s unsolvable. Why don’t you give it a go?” In those cases, I likely had a good idea of how to solve the issue, but I needed him to do it. It would put him in the frame of mind to prove just how smart he actually was. Something he loooooved to do. Regardless, he’d get the job done and do it better than anyone else in the office.
The hard working guy, all I ever had to do was tell him I wanted a thing done. He never needed coaxing or a reminder of deadlines. He was great for the simple, mundane stuff, but if it was anything more complicated than resetting a password, he’d spend half his day trying to figure out the solution and still need help getting it right. I tried tutoring him, I tried getting him lessons on basic troubleshooting and infrastructure, but nothing seemed to stick.
No offense to anyone, but people who can handle basic tasks are extremely common. Someone who can take a real puzzler and solve it are far more rare.
No one wanted this ‘old’ shelter cat. I took her home
What was something small you went to the doctor for that turned out to be very significant?
I found a little hard lump under my left ear. It was pandemic time and there were radio and TV ads telling people that they must see their doctor if they found a lump (otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone).
So, I rang for a phone appointment, expecting to be told it was a cyst or something. Nope. I was called straight down to the surgery (thank goodness I knew that particular GP very well and trusted him).
The next week or so was a bit of a blur: multiple biopsies and ultrasounds and what have you. Then a Covid test and an operation!! It was the unseemly haste that was most terrifying.
A bit gory isn’t it!! Bride of Frankenstein. Darned near cut my ear off!! But I’m ok now – except for some quite impressive scarring. That blue/green stripe under my ear that goes under my chin – that’s bleeding under the skin acting under the force of gravity, not just a grubby neck!
Update from today. Scarring isn’t too bad, really.
Clever people, those surgeons. Most of the scar that’s actually on my face is hidden in the creases around my ear. I am so grateful to the NHS!!
Oh, and that tube? That’s one of my hearing aids. Deaf as a bloody post, I am!! Xx
Vintage fun
Why do so many Americans gain weight from eating high carb foods like rice, but people in Asian countries can eat it all day and seemingly not gain any weight?
The problem isn’t carbs like rice or flour, the problem is added sugar.
One thing I noticed when I first came to the US is how sweet everything is. And this sentiment is shared by a lot of Chinese. When we first eat muffins, it is so sweet we nearly gagged.
A lot of processed food (even savory snacks) has a lot of sugar in it.
Not to mention soft drinks.
Another thing is for urban Americans, it’s much harder for them to get fresh produces compare to urban Chinese.
For example, I used to live in Beijing. And on my way home there are farmer’s market street stalls selling fresh produces.
This kind of “farmer’s market” is integrated with pretty much all communities. People buy fresh produce on a daily basis and they cook fresh, mostly plant based food instead of relying on boxed meals or heavily processed foods like “hamburger helper”
After I come to the US, the only places I can purchase fresh produce are supermarkets and occasional “farmer’s markets” that only show up on Sundays in selected areas. Fresh produce is often more expensive than processed food.
Comparatively, the fresh produce in these street markets is pretty cheap. If you’re a poor person in China, you’ll most likely maintain a plant-based diet. If you’re a poor person in the US, you are limited to processed food and can food. All of them have added sugar.
For example, this is a regular bento box usually sold for low-income people like migrant workers. This one cost 10 RMB (about 1.75 USD)
Yeah, it doesn’t look good, but 1) they’re freshly made. 2) LOTS of vegetables. 3) looks pretty balanced with veggies and proteins.
So even if you’re poor, you don’t have a place to cook, and had to rely on cheap ready-made food, you still ended up eating pretty healthy.
China had seen a wave of childhood obesity back in the 80s and 90s when Coca-Cola and other western soft drinks and fast-food chains were first introduced to our market.
But Chinese diet somewhat reduced the effect of that, and the fast-food joints in China aren’t cheap. There are other cheaper, healthier street food options. And things started to get better once people (parents) started to realize how soft drinks and fast food is bad for their children.
So at the end of the day, it’s the added sugar and cheap processed food.
As mentioned in a comment, portion control also plays a huge part in the East Asian diet.
For example, this is the bento lunch box sold on Chinese railways
You have a good portion of leafy greens, some protein, and rice (carbs). This is usually enough for an adult male, women and children often eat less.
This is an elementary school lunch:
Pretty healthy and balanced food with some multi-grain, fish protein, vegetables, and fruit.
When my Chinese friends and relatives came to the US, and we have lunch or dinner at an American restaurant, we often warn them about the portion size, ask them to look at other tables and see how big the plates are. Many would choose to share plates. Partly because Chinese are more used to family-style, partly because American restaurant’s portion is ridiculous.
And I think the family-style meals also help with portion control. With family-style, you’re free to eat until you’re full, instead of feeling obligated to finish the food on your plate. Sure, you can keep eating from the plate, but if you’re eating with a family, it’s kind of bad manners to hog on food. So there’s some peer pressure to not overindulge.
Billionaire Does DNA Test And Finds Out His Kids Aren’t His
What are things men have to go through that women either do not understand or have empathy for?
Long time ago, about 20 years. (Damn, I’m old)
I was at a mall with a friend (cis woman) and a child started screaming and calling out for her mom. I froze and looked around. Every man just looked, and about half of the women started towards the kid to comfort them.
My friend asked why I froze. I’m not usually an indecisive person.
I explained that I wasn’t indecisive at all. I made an instant decision not to approach the girl because I assessed the risk of being identified as a predator was too high to risk. I explained that every guy there did the same math in their head and came to the same conclusion.
In western culture, the only kind of touch allowed for men is sex or violence. Neither is appropriate in the vast majority of cases, especially with kids. We are so touch starved outside of those contexts that it perpetuates and reinforces until we can’t give or receive touch outside of them.
The culture we are in would rather see men die alone and miserable than recognize that sometimes we just need someone to be with us. It would rather see our partners with our shells than with the complete men that we should be able to grow into.
The only things we are interested in are not fight or fuck, and I’m really tired of the assumption that they are.
The Bookkeepers
Submitted into Contest #251 in response to: Your protagonist is a voracious reader. Lately, they’ve been noticing odd synchronicities in the books he or she is reading. What does the protagonist discover is happening?…
Today I am including a contemporaneous short science fiction story for your amusement. This is a new idea of mine. Please tell me if you like it or not. -MM
Lying down lazily on her green velvet sofa, Jane placed her tepid coffee on the enormous rug beside her and returned to her ebook. Wind chimes tinkled in her blissfully overgrown garden outside, the lightest misting of rain tickled the windows. For the last 20 years, Jane had planned her retirement to a tee. Some of her friends had planned round the world e-tours, others were e-touring planets Jane had never even heard of. Her plans were simpler. Late nights, late mornings, and books. The rest of her days would be the same, save some obligatory human interactions. Sleep, read, sleep, read. Heaven.
She hadn’t read Of Mice and Men since she was a young teenager and had amazed herself that she remembered so many of the passages, the words, and the feelings. Not just of the book but of the person she was back when she had first read it.
Like music, books could make her a time traveller. Returning her, for a split second, to the feeling of being that young lady. The smell of overly sweet body spray, the scratchiness of school tights, the inner tumult of hormonal upheaval, the bone-deep serenity of still having parents. As she remembered the words she read, she spent a millisecond back in her family home. When she tried to capture the moment, elongate it, prolong the beautiful, painful nostalgia of being who she was then, it would simply evaporate. But when she allowed herself to just read, just keep going, the flightiest of memories would embrace her entire body and ooze through her soul.
However, towards the end of the book, the time-travelling stopped. The passages became not quite unfamiliar, but more distant. As she rounded the ending, when George and Lennie laid the first stone for their new home on the land they had bought together, she remembered something more recent.
The week before, upon completing 1984, she couldn’t figure out what was out of place about Winston and Julia escaping the Big Brother society together and ending up rearing sheep on an Irish Island. The week before that, Romeo and Juliet uniting their families with news of their new baby. And the week before that, when Daisy Buchanan falls deeply in love with Jay Gatsby. She had read all these stories in her youth. Some more than once. But their endings somehow felt at odds with her memories of them. Their endings seemed to have been born anew. They were satisfying, for sure, and truly hopeful. But they were somehow empty, not just of her recollections, but of depth: of feeling.
She knew why, of course. The Bookkeepers. Decades ago, there was a threat of war, or at least very real terrorism, when the book burnings began. The emotion that was incited on both sides was incendiary and people got caught up in a moral and philosophical warfare.
For some, literature was what it was and there was undeniable value in its unedited storytelling: a time capsule of sorts, capturing not just the events of the days they explored, but the attitudes of society and indeed the writers. For others, the content and views were deeply troubling, offensive and unsettling: there was no place in our society for saddening and unenlightened opinions that could cause upset.
Jane had taken neither side all those decades ago, too busy with work to really engage, and quietly confident that the right decisions would be made on her behalf. The Bookkeepers, ultimately, made the decisions. But should she have paid more notice? By allowing the books of her youth to be remastered, had she lost not just the books themselves, but the entryway to the person she was when she first read them. And, more worryingly, was this whole retirement really just a plan to relive her life through the books she had once read? Because considering it had been years, decades even, since her life had allowed her to pick up a book, there possibly wasn’t much to relive.
Just as she started to piece these disconcerting thoughts together, her watch gently buzzed and spoke.
“You seem to be suffering with a little emotional turbulence,” the phantom therapist stated. “Would you like to talk about it?”
“No. Not right now.”
“Sure. I’m here if you need me. Perhaps we could take a walk?”
“Actually, a walk would be good,” Jane replied with an idea fizzing in her brain. “Where’s the nearest library?”
“The nearest library is 3,757 miles away. The New York City Library,” the voice droned.
“Right. Well, where’s the nearest place to view real books?”
“The Literature Museum of Irving has a number of interesting displays that allow visitors to learn more about printed books. It is 4.27 miles away.”
“Perfect, set a course.”
It took Jane three and half hours to make the short journey. Her ageing body had no speed left in it, though her stamina remained unfailing. When she got to the small museum, located in a building that seemed to have been squeezed between two gyms, she was met by two armed guards.
“Just visiting,” Jane said giddily, her fear of authority sneaking up on her like a child.
They did not respond, noting her as unlikely to be a troublemaker. The interior of the building felt larger than it looked from the outside and the vast majority of it was dedicated to various revolutionaries who had fought, sometimes even literally, to have the classics preserved. She strolled past the memorials of these forward thinking people who had made it their life’s work to insure that politics didn’t destroy great works of literature that, though often deeply problematic, were hugely influential on the books and more importantly games, movies and e-experiences that people spend so much of their time enjoying these days.
A stern man with an eye patch stood behind a counter towards the end of the cavernous room, swiping his e-book disdainfully.
“Hi. Em, do you have any printed books?” Jane asked nervously.
“What are you looking for?” he grumbled, barely breaking his gaze from the screen.
“Of Mice and Men.”
The man pointed his dagger eye at her and raised an eyebrow.
“We have the ebook. Scan here. You don’t need to come in here for this, you know?”
“No, the actual book. I want to hold it.”
“No, there’s none left.”
“None? What do you mean?”
“There’s none left. A few in New York maybe. Or some collectors might have managed to hang on to them. But we don’t have any. Why do you want it anyway?” There was not an ounce of kindness at the beginning of his speech, and by the end he seemed to be seething for Jane’s very existence.
“Do you have a version of the original?”
“No.” The man started to peer nervously at the doorway.
“Where can I get a copy?” Jane asked, completely unaware of the inappropriateness of such a question.
“Are you here to cause trouble, is that it?”, the man said, his voice lowered to a growl. “Are you one of those protesters? Huh? Well even if we did have a file of the original, you can’t burn files, can you? And anyway, we don’t”.
“Protester? Burn? Oh god, no. Not at all. I didn’t get involved in any of that stuff. I didn’t even take sides. I thought each side had a reasonable enough point to be honest,” Jane blustered, her face flushing with shame. Her watch started to vibrate but she discreetly pushed it to shush.
“This is just a museum, okay? Whether you like it or not, those books existed and they don’t anymore. They were part of the world. An important part once. And you people got your way anyway, didn’t you? You’ve got your sanitised versions with no violence and la-di-da happy endings all round. You got your bloody AI generated revisions and ruined it for the rest of us,” he stammered, tears beading in his eye. Jane wondered if his watch was buzzing too.
“I’m so sorry. I think you misunderstood me. I’m sorry. I’ll just. I’ll go.”
And she left, fled even if her sluggish pace could be described as a flee. She hailed a carriage and was home in minutes, sweating and mortified. She held her hands to her mouth. Her watch was quaking on her behalf and she unmuted it to allow it to spill out its concern.
“Jane, you seem to be experiencing intense emotional disturbance. Perhaps a nap could help things,” it pleaded gently.
“No. I want another book. Wuthering Heights, I want to read Wuthering Heights.”
“Wonderful choice. Wuthering Heights is awaiting you on your ebook.”
“Tell me the plot.”
“Wuthering Heights is an evocative love story set on the Yorkshire Moors. It tells the story of Heathcliff and Catherine, who fall in love despite their social divides.”
“What happens in the end?”
“Heathcliff and Catherine shun societal norms and marry. Heathcliffe earns his fortune through clever investments and they grow old together in Wuthering Heights.”
“What’s the ending of the original?”
“I don’t understand the question.”
“The original book. They don’t end up together in the original, do they?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand the question.”
Jane couldn’t understand why her heart was racing, her palms clenched, a sort of sorrowful rage was overtaking her.
“Was Wuthering Heights edited?”
“In 2078, a number of revolutionaries fought to end the widespread book-burnings and hackings that had persisted for some years. These revolutionaries, known as The Bookkeepers, worked tirelessly to find a solution to the problems these books in their original forms created. Their solution, an artful remastering of many of the classics, allowed these books to be preserved for generations to come.”
“What were the problems they caused?”
“Many of these books caused emotional turbulence that can be detrimental to the human mind.”
Jane knew all this. She was a teenager in 2078, more than 60 years ago now, and remembered the celebrations. At first there were celebrations anyway. A compromise had been reached, literature had been saved. But as time went on, the books weren’t just edited to remove offensive passages, the became edited to include happier endings, to improve the messages, to soften the emotional turmoil they could inflict. These days most of the classics were totally remastered by AI; the promise was that with new technology, old writing could be improved. Wha happened was they were edited into bland, heartless mush. The masters were remastered. Programs had mined the original authors’ works and completely rewritten the books. The same voice, it was claimed, the same writing style, prose, rhetoric, but improved.
And there was another memory she was unlocking. A somewhat shameful one. Her mother belittling The Bookkeepers over the kitchen table. Her mother and father bickering with each other. Words her father had said. Something like, leave the girl out of it for God’s sake. She’s a child. It’s her future whether you like it or not and you can’t change it.
And then, something else. Something gentle and tender. Lying under a fort made from a sheet between her and her older sister’s bed. Holding books. Real books. Reading them furtively, reading them in her hands, the pages soft and padded. Her mother, smiling, shushing. Their little secret. Reading the book; printed books. Reading the temporary words printed in ink that would some day fade. Or burn.
Tears ran down Jane’s face. Not shameful, rageful tears. Big fat memory tears, the ones that cleanse, the ones that dislodge feelings and allow them to be held. She removed her watch and walked to a dresser in her kitchen and emptied it of its contents. Then the chest of drawers in the living room. Under the stairs she riffled through boxes and undershoes. Up the stairs, she searched her bedroom, her studio, even the bathroom. Finally, standing on a suitcase for height, she reached up to the attic door and yanked down the opening, a tinny staircase unfurling as she did so. She scaled the stairs unsteadily and rummaged rampagingly through the boxes of memories put on hold. Finally, she found one. A book. A real book. She sniffed the cover, the pages that had been pawed by so many people, and fanned them through her fingers. She didn’t know how much she missed holding a real book until she no longer could.
Black Beauty. Her childhood favourite. The one her mother allowed her to keep like a secret. Buried in clothes she’ll never fit into again and dolls she’ll never play with. Black Beauty. The heartbreaking story of a horse. The book that, although she may not know it fully, taught a young Jane empathy, compassion, and hope. She returned to her green sofa with some effort and lay back. And she read. And as she did so, memories were dislodged.
Memories like butterflies. There, but gone. Real, but intangible. Feelings. Memories of feelings. Her mother’s stoic tenderness and ridged fingernails. Her sister’s contemptuous companionship and the smell of her morning breath. Her best friend’s loyalty and hair bows. The dreadful feeling of Monday mornings and the smell of her pencil case. She was transported, not just into Victorian England, but to her own childhood. Her own mind as a child galloped through her aged brain.
She finished the book at 4am and slept through the following day. When she rebuckled her watch on Friday morning, it buzzed with algorithmic worries for her wellbeing. She ignored them, had a coffee, put on her comfy shoes, and walked the 4.37 miles.
Upon entering the museum, she was satisfied to see the one-eyed mad behind his desk. Not glancing up, he asked her what she needed without recognising this was the trouble maker from a few days before.
“I have something I think you might like to see,” Jane muttered, opening her satchel to reveal the spine of the book.
The man brought his pale hand to his mouth and then attempted to undo this betraying move.
“Is that real?” he said firmly yet quietly.
“Yes,” Jane said stoically. “It’s real.”
“Don’t take it out. Not here. Leave it in the bathroom. Collect it next week,” he said under his voice, returning his gaze to his screen after a quick glance at the doorway.
Jane did as she was told, thrilled by the secretiveness. She walked home the long way, unsure pf what was to become of the book, of it’s recipient, or of her.
When she arrived home, she returned to the attic and searched for more, but there were none. She lay on the sofa and wondered what she was so busy doing in her working life to have barely noticed the end of literature, never mind to have borne witness to its demise. So busy. She was always so busy. Finally, at the age of 85, she was of retirement age and had little left for her to enjoy. She had missed an entire revolution with her eyes wide shut, yet had banked her entire life on enjoying what that revolution had been destroying. She had assumed that what was decided was for the best, yet allowed her existence to be rinsed of emotion, of depth. She had offered an outstretched wrist when the watches were updated to monitor emotions and thoughts. Yet, now that she had time for emotions and thoughts, there was nothing left to inspire them.
She cried for six days. On the seventh she returned to the museum, hoping against hope that her book would be waiting for her. It was not.
Instead, there was a different book, on top of which lay a note. “I can give you back Black Beauty whenever you want it. But for now, borrow this and return it for a new one when you’re done. We don’t have many, but we have some. And that’s a lot.”
Under the note was a copy of Of Mice and Men. Stained, dog-eared, Sellotaped. And with an ending that reminded her of her mother’s perfume, and made her weep.
Have you ever watched justice be served to a rude airline passenger?
Not so much justice as a lesson for life.
My wife has a permanent disability meaning each time we transit through an airport, transportation has to be booked for the whole party. It also sometimes requires using doors & corridors not normally for public use. There is also a strict protocol on boarding aircraft. First on, last off for disabled passengers & family, which at first glance can seem a pain…
However it does come with assigned staff & we’re able chat away & build some relationships while everyone else is waiting to pass through checkin & board.
So flying back into Manchester Airport in the UK 🇬🇧 after a 6 & half week world tour, the aircraft was crammed full & a as per normal, we duly wait in our seats while everyone else stands & crams like cattle to rush to alight the aircraft & get in first to passport control.
After all the other passengers had left, we’re chatting away to the aircrew about our holiday & our assigned liaison commented there will be a delay as they were awaiting a vehicle to take us through the airport terminal, maybe 10–15 minutes. So we’re not feeling it, but hey ho, it’s been a good few weeks. Time comes to depart & despite the side doors & ‘special’ corridors, we’re thinking there’s gonna be such a backlog at passport control… understatement!
They must’ve unloaded 10 aircraft at the same time, close to 3,000 people waiting, the passengers from ours somewhere in the middle of this melee & us last off – & the passport control was just a little slow & seemed miles away! Last thing we needed… 😲
Then, to our surprise & somewhat embarrassment, the driver of our vehicle cuts down the side of all those poor people & to the unspoken chorus of stares & open mouths, pulls right up at the front & the lovely lady at passport control, calls us through & commences to have a chat, asking about our adventures & time away.
So, just shows, there’s not much point all this rushing around in life, ‘cause, much to the consternation of the fleet of foot & hassled masses, those who are last will surely be first 🤣
NATO PREPARES NUCLEAR STRIKE ON RUSSIA BORDER, EU AUTHORIZES “LAUNCH MISSILES NOW”
I’m curious as to why auto manufacturers need to continue making cars with computers in them? Seems that we COULD go back to cars that were purely mechanical. They were much easier to work on. Is it just a matter of greed?
My 21 year old grand-daughter has lived with us since she was about 1 yr old. In her teen years, she became interested in cars. A year ago she bought a 1985 El Camino project car, for the two of us to work on. The car has a primitive computer that controls timing and mixture control. It gets inputs from several sensors. We have been working on it for a year and have one engine problem left to resolve. We can’t get the intake manifold to seal.
The carb needed rebuilding. It is a very complicated, finicky carb, Quadrajet RA-E4ME. We rebuilt it three times, bought two commercially rebuilt carbs but couldn’t get any of them to work. Finally we bought two virgin carbs from EBay, that had never been worked on. I spent many hours watching YouTube videos and reading about how to do a rebuild (Thank you Cliff). We finally got one of the carbs to work correctly.
The computer has very limited diagnostics. A code reader is very expensive (OBD 1). Very few codes are stored. To read the code I have to put a jumper on the OBD port, turn the car to ON, watch a series of flashing lights on the dash to get a code, look up the code in the OEM manual and go through an extensive trouble shooting tree to try and fix the problem. Our newer cars can be scanned and get a very precise, detailed code along with the most probable causes and recommended repairs. With newer cars, you can see live data on a scanner and pin point problems. Multiple sensors on newer cars feed data to the computer. The computer makes adjustments to keep the car running well and efficiently.
Older cars require dedication, patience, intelligence and a lot of labor. But my grand-daughter and I both enjoy the process.
Spaghetti Roast
Yield: 6 to 8 servings
Ingredients
- 1 (3 pound) chuck roast
- Vegetable oil
- 3 cups ready-made spaghetti sauce
- 1/2 teaspoon oregano
- 2 medium onions, quartered
- 4 cloves garlic, minced
- 1 (8 ounce) package fresh mushrooms, sliced
Instructions
- Brown chuck roast over medium high heat in scant amount of oil.
- Place roast in slow cooker and add all other ingredients.
- Cook on LOW for 8 hours.
- Slice and serve over bed of angel hair pasta.
What is the most interesting historical fact you know off the top of your head?
I can’t believe this today and there are people who tell them and as if nothing!
In 1965, a group of adolescents between the ages of 13 and 16 decided that it would be a good idea to steal a fisherman’s boat to go sailing for a few hours.
Before sailing they brought food that they took from their homes and a few. liters of water they were able to collect.
That same day they set sail on an adventure, the problem was that the children fell asleep after sailing for a few hours.
When they woke up they realized that they were adrift and that the boat had been damaged by the waves. They drifted for several days, when luckily they reached an uninhabited island.
The children managed to get water from the coconuts and to eat the occasional fish they found. The real luck came when they climbed to the top of a cliff and found an abandoned settlement where they could stay.
The children established rules, worked in pairs, and there were even punishments if anyone disobeyed.
After 1 year and three months specifically, the Australian captain Peter Warner discovered the abandoned children after detecting smoke from a campfire.
“The children had set up a small commune with a food garden, hollowed-out tree trunks to store rainwater, a gym with weights, a badminton court, chicken coops, and a permanent fire.”
Peter Warner wrote in his memoirs.
The children were generally in good health when Warner found them. However, upon his return, the boys were imprisoned for stealing the boat. Warner secured the rights to a documentary on their survival story on the condition that they be released and recreated on camera.