tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22423214922296021442024-03-18T15:31:43.207-04:00A Woman Named SophieSophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.comBlogger759125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-53198996661082952192024-03-10T18:11:00.001-04:002024-03-10T18:11:07.814-04:00March and Keystone Coming<p>I haven't written anything here in a bit. All the usual reasons: depression, depression, and laziness. Depression includes a huge smack in the face near Christmas, <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2023/12/treating-myself.html" target="_blank">which I wrote about HERE</a>. This weekend (I'm writing this on Sunday) I've seen a lot of reminders on social media that we are approaching the anniversary of covid- four years ago all of our lives changed here in the US. There is a definite divide between pre-covid and post covid (not that we're post covid. It's still killing people, but not at the rate it was before. I'd guess those deaths continue to be among the elderly, those with compromised immune systems, and anti-vaxxers. (I wrote my TG Forum column on this topic; highlighting 45's inaction in the face of mass death. That comes out on 3/11/2024.) </p><p><br /></p><p>It's true that the pandemic, in addition to killing hundreds of thousands of Americans and globally, showed us the depth of 45's incompetence and genuine lack of morals. A human being would do everything in their power to stop the pandemic. He essentially let the states fight over the limited number of respirators available (giving preference to the states he won, of course.) </p><p><br /></p><p>As of this writing, <a href="https://covid.cdc.gov/covid-data-tracker/#datatracker-home" target="_blank">1,183,143 Americans</a> have died of covid (Source: CDC). <a href="https://www.worldometers.info/coronavirus/" target="_blank">Globally, the number is 7,004, 680</a>. That's 17% of all US deaths here in the US. Yet <a href="https://www.worldometers.info/world-population/us-population/#:~:text=the%20United%20States%202023%20population,(and%20dependencies)%20by%20population." target="_blank">we're only 4.3% of the world's population</a>. I fault that horrific difference squarely on the shoulders of 45 and the GQP. </p><p><br /></p><p>Not that my opinion matters.</p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, the <a href="https://www.keystone-conference.org/" target="_blank">14th annual Keystone Conference</a> is March 20-24 in Harrisburg, PA. I'll be there on Saturday, if only to keep my streak of never having missed a Keystone going. Last year I left early as I was so depressed I couldn't stand to be around people. I knew I was a "wet blanket" and didn't want to bring anyone else down. I drove back to State College through a driving rain. I didn't attend the gala (I donated my dinner to someone else.) </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9898_AiLSkuCjytmRTnkwwYTRrvb10dLZBTTFDVohpajDWCWQiEidgspgddVY-mIfwBjVZ-AwdveaAual6SydOG1NDLH_75At3ljwkCcuZsPe-spTCQSrZRFmKk_LhV5CAAq50bRBgQ6cSLP8Ya970aXjHW3VRQJYleS0YdZ-pi_-UY3twFQDWniWlVV/s2048/336917513_2412363442273896_3520299546231988876_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="2048" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW9898_AiLSkuCjytmRTnkwwYTRrvb10dLZBTTFDVohpajDWCWQiEidgspgddVY-mIfwBjVZ-AwdveaAual6SydOG1NDLH_75At3ljwkCcuZsPe-spTCQSrZRFmKk_LhV5CAAq50bRBgQ6cSLP8Ya970aXjHW3VRQJYleS0YdZ-pi_-UY3twFQDWniWlVV/s320/336917513_2412363442273896_3520299546231988876_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Keystone 2023 with Gina (L) and Samantha (R)</span></p><p>Keystone is now one of the premier social TG conferences in America, taking its place with First Event and Fantasia Fair. (I'm sure there are other big ones I don't know about.) I remember the <a href="https://sophielynnetheearlyblogs.blogspot.com/2013/03/keystone-conference-part-1-originally.html" target="_blank">first one</a>- there were so few of us, and it was my first year after re-discovering myself. Several days of being Sophie? Absolutely! I planned for it all year. Outfits, gown, hotel room, makeovers... I lived for it. And I celebrated it by being drunk through most of it, unless I was presenting, of course. I'm not presenting this year. I didn't present last year. No one cares about what I have to say anyway.</p><p><br /></p><p>Keystone coverage usually covered multiple blog entries full of stories and photos. <a href="https://sophielynnetheearlyblogs.blogspot.com/2013/03/sophie-goes-to-keystone-originally.html" target="_blank">Before the first one, I wrote</a>: </p><p>"<i>I don't know if I'll fit in. There I said it. I don't know that I will look good enough, act correctly, etc, to fit into the group. I mean, I'm still new at this. I know that sisters welcome each other with open arms and hearts but I'm STILL a wreck.</i></p><p><i>Adding to this, I'm lying to my wife, work, and everyone to come here. No one knows that I'm driving to Harrisburg to be a woman for a couple of days. No one but me and my sisters.</i>"</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2N2wvn62PwgLyYILhHc6xqeFPIRfTV81E7gVWVfex8dHTee07vcHjFKsDuRsHOhOnUpuG49udeRrWQxkrAto52AW5WkeGHBOcZTdmxJ5-OsK4dVDeOQcPIS1mUoF1Kkq-JjTPxGb5pj-cEpp0SGYzkBfaARrRCPDMKELsDIMLew5YgoDZVqJ0tKTyLXa2/s2576/Keystone%202009%20005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2576" data-original-width="1932" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2N2wvn62PwgLyYILhHc6xqeFPIRfTV81E7gVWVfex8dHTee07vcHjFKsDuRsHOhOnUpuG49udeRrWQxkrAto52AW5WkeGHBOcZTdmxJ5-OsK4dVDeOQcPIS1mUoF1Kkq-JjTPxGb5pj-cEpp0SGYzkBfaARrRCPDMKELsDIMLew5YgoDZVqJ0tKTyLXa2/s320/Keystone%202009%20005.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Me at the first Keystone: 2009</span></p><p>Yes, things change. I no longer care about fitting in, because I don't. Full stop. But my worries are typical for TG girls going to their first conference. I was terrified to leave the hotel room. I hear that each year from new girls. Yes, it is terrifying to defy the male "normal" and say "I'm a woman." It can even be fatal. Just ask the family of <a href="https://www.hrc.org/news/honoring-nex-benedict-16-year-old-non-binary-high-school-student-who-tragically-died-after-school-beating" target="_blank">Nex Benedict</a>. Will they ever get justice for their murder? In Oklahoma, they won't. </p><p><br /></p><p>I go to Keystone to see old friends and perhaps meet new ones. The thrill of several days of being Sophie is gone, since I've been full time for almost ten years. (<a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2014/03/full-time.html" target="_blank">My tranniversary is March 25</a>. Ten years. I can't believe I'm still here.) Maybe I'll write something to mark the occasion. Maybe I'll even go out. Probably not in either case. Well, maybe on the blog entry. Ten years out is milestone that many <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/goodbye-lisa-empanada.html" target="_blank">don't live to reach</a>. March 25 falls on a Monday this year. </p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, I'm still here and still working on my PhD. Doing the dissertation thing now, beginning my research. If all goes well, I'll graduate in December. More than likely it will be May. My dad said he would be here to see me graduate. No word on whether Wife or Daughter would attend. </p><p><br /></p><p>That's all.</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well. </p><div><br /></div><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-18262333043069747922024-02-02T10:58:00.006-05:002024-02-02T10:59:00.039-05:00For Jennell<p> <span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">Jennell Jaquays passed
away early on Wednesday, January 10.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">She
was 67.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">She was recovering from Guillain-Barré
syndrome.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt;">From the GoFundMe:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">“On Sunday evening on
October 15th, she fell ill and with[in] 36 hours she was barely alive and
hooked up to a respirator. After numerous X-rays, cat scans and blood work
finding nothing, they determined she is suffering from a neurological disease.
She is responding to the blood treatments and has started regaining motion in
her hands and feet, she is looking at a minimum of 2 weeks (more like 4) in the
hospital and six to twelve months of rehabilitation.”</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">
(</span><a href="https://www.gofundme.com/f/jennell-jaquays-has-a-long-road-back?utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_content=facebook_cta_variant&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">https://www.gofundme.com/f/jennell-jaquays-has-a-long-road-back?utm_campaign=p_cp+share-sheet&utm_content=facebook_cta_variant&utm_medium=social&utm_source=facebook</span></a><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Jennell was a legend in
both the Role Playing Game world and in the computer gaming world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As such, many different website, blogs, and
sub stacks have posted wonderful tributes and histories of her. <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/2024/02/01/arts/jennell-jaquays-dead.html?unlocked_article_code=1.SU0.llvI.anYqcwamzIN2&bgrp=t&smid=url-share" target="_blank">Even the New York Times published a tribute!</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I won’t repeat all those
things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Yes, they are matters of
Fact.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But Jennell was my friend as well
as being a legend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I want to write about
that- the Jennell I knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One facet of
an incredible person.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I know whatever I
write won’t capture how I feel or who it is that we’ve all lost.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll try though.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; line-height: 150%;"><o:p><span style="font-size: 12pt;"> </span></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-size: 12pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UcFkORHNSANnaHMdcJmhG5ii2X0WB2otuLGtd3L-_yGWHyFN0vt_e1qo2XvNAbD1bGqxTEhY0yNfu2q8wuzr5gK0r1mmzhzhNIwlG5KnFI6g5iFiCTqHb4GPk2gn6HdUYJkL6wMw6Yz3Y2lmg_bVOIKPTmiyol1uVcaVojUeZXqpKWXO07graAwqtgaz/s600/29Jaquays-01-tlmb-articleLarge.webp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="600" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-UcFkORHNSANnaHMdcJmhG5ii2X0WB2otuLGtd3L-_yGWHyFN0vt_e1qo2XvNAbD1bGqxTEhY0yNfu2q8wuzr5gK0r1mmzhzhNIwlG5KnFI6g5iFiCTqHb4GPk2gn6HdUYJkL6wMw6Yz3Y2lmg_bVOIKPTmiyol1uVcaVojUeZXqpKWXO07graAwqtgaz/s320/29Jaquays-01-tlmb-articleLarge.webp" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">Self portrait via New York Times (link above in text)</div></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">I first encountered
Jennell’s work years before either of us transitioned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In 1993, I was working as a freelance editor
for TSR, the company that created and published Dungeons and Dragons.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My assignment was to edit an adventure module
called <i>Swamplight</i> by Jean Rabe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
did general editing, including checking illustrations, etc.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One piece I was sent was the cover, which was
by someone named Paul Jaquays, whom I knew by reputation only.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I knew they’d written some epic adventures
for other companies as well as art for TSR.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Decades later, I heard
about someone in the gaming industry who’d transitioned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was building up toward that myself, so I
messaged her on Facialbook, and she was kind enough to reply.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She let me ask her a lot of questions, and
eventually we became friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We bonded
over our common gaming interests and our time working for the gaming industry
(which, for me, was in the past.)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
shared tips for painting miniatures and sent each other goofy memes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was honored that she asked me to dome
editing work for her, including writing a piece for her new Central Casting
book, which will be published posthumously.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">When she fell ill,
everyone who knew her was concerned, and were willing to do whatever we could
to help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her wife, Rebecca (a computer
legend herself), set up a GoFundMe to defray the huge medical expenses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Jennell seemed to be slowly recovering, then…
she didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Like so many, I was
stunned.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m still numb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can’t imagine what her wife is enduring
now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As per her wishes, Jennell will be
cremated wearing her Viking helmet and outfit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>If nothing else, this tells you all you need to know about her.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Jennell was a true
polymath- a genius in so many ways.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
was a beautiful soul, and her life touched so many others that she never even
met.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I will treasure our friendship, and
miss her dearly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;">Sleep well, Jennell.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May the four winds blow you safely home.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 150%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-76027388762564626252024-01-07T17:05:00.000-05:002024-01-07T17:05:36.220-05:00Simple Spiderman from the Past<p> I grew up in an old row house built in the 1870s I think. My brother and I shared a room on the top floor, which had small windows and a small wooden closet, painted white. It was very hot in the summer and freezing in the winter as we used a wood stove for heat, and it was on the first floor. </p><p><br /></p><p>Sometime when I was very young, my mum cut out a picture of Spiderman from a comic, and taped it to the closet wall, where it joined some other things long forgotten. I figured I was around three at that time, so 1969. Somehow, that Spiderman lasted for a long time- the tape never failed, and it was never ripped down by anyone's temper or play. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxST3a74vvtkZ0gbWpbIQsPXrb5SkoZ589tipIRv1W9EIhU8o1zKPR_vPaTLByENj8j8IgK_HiTtig2l_AveR9LovT_WK9GIxOSF6MzJQbhvf8VuSzlSIP3nBN8V2WMrYy30d1t8QbhDupf7ajFq12-BtWUa8saAGp2rd4p6c_g4RFwygo9sZPpnZf58s/s1743/spiderman%20cut.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1743" data-original-width="1559" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqxST3a74vvtkZ0gbWpbIQsPXrb5SkoZ589tipIRv1W9EIhU8o1zKPR_vPaTLByENj8j8IgK_HiTtig2l_AveR9LovT_WK9GIxOSF6MzJQbhvf8VuSzlSIP3nBN8V2WMrYy30d1t8QbhDupf7ajFq12-BtWUa8saAGp2rd4p6c_g4RFwygo9sZPpnZf58s/s320/spiderman%20cut.jpg" width="286" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Spiderman cut-out</span></p><p><br /></p><p>In the early 90s, my brother moved out and I knew it was a matter of time until I did as well. The room we'd shared as toddlers had become his and was now vacant. Spiderman still waited, taped to the closet- the sole decorative survivor. I decided to keep it. I removed it as carefully as I could, losing only part of his leg, and put it in my scrapbook, where it remains.</p><p><br /></p><p>The other day, I was searching through that scrapbook (for a color version of my high school graduation photo, if you must know), and saw Spiderman, still there decades after I put him in the book. I looked at him. Now, over time, I've become knowledgeable about comic books and comic book artists, but I wasn't sure who did the art. I knew it wasn't <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steve_Ditko" target="_blank">Steve Ditko</a>, as he had already left the book by then. Could it be <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/John_Romita_Sr." target="_blank">John Romita Sr</a>? Possibly, but it didn't look like his work. In all these decades, I never knew who drew that Spiderman (or which Spiderman issue it came from.) </p><p><br /></p><p>Fortunately, these days there's the Internet. I'm on a Facialbook group called <i>Marvel Comics 1961 to 1989</i>. I figured that if ANYONE would be able to answer the conundrum of who drew that Spiderman, they would. So, I took a photo of Spiderman in my scrapbook, cropped it, and posted it with my question. </p><p><br /></p><p>Wow- did they ever! Within two hours, someone not only figured out the artists, but knew the issue and everything. The artists were John Romita Sr. (pencils) and Mickey Demeo (<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mike_Esposito_(comics)" target="_blank">Mike Esposito</a>) (inks), though some people think that Esposito may have done some of the penciling too. The picture was from <i>Amazing Spider Man</i> issue #83, page 19, third panel: published April 1, 1970. When asked how he found it so fast, said Archivist wrote "I just scroll digital copies. We knew the time frame so I started at ASM 90 and went backwards." (I'd name the guy, but as I don't have his permission, I won't.) </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5g3Xsode3VDIZToYr1u0X8b08kIbf_5r6kt5uDaFerZtbwssk8isuHZhKNxBCLQetW3vGE2a_wfRI3Jfr0KoY_fBuHOKFra7gsRJLaBCwpPQS_Ze0oVqRoYW9NIunxiI1BKsQNHsAPbounyyN7w9Ld300onbMnBHO2VreHCJL5wFbP5ujv68zouIig79/s1600/spiderman%20page.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1041" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-5g3Xsode3VDIZToYr1u0X8b08kIbf_5r6kt5uDaFerZtbwssk8isuHZhKNxBCLQetW3vGE2a_wfRI3Jfr0KoY_fBuHOKFra7gsRJLaBCwpPQS_Ze0oVqRoYW9NIunxiI1BKsQNHsAPbounyyN7w9Ld300onbMnBHO2VreHCJL5wFbP5ujv68zouIig79/w260-h400/spiderman%20page.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Spiderman #83, page 19. No challenge to copyright intended.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheehJDjfP7iTUMumSvFpnnfjyWMr5-HfDpGO2CZ5TIv5Bc3Vl624XSDyOR6M3qU2YHmVyBbiPnpEUm_4Z4hElh_XvccZUfxjJYTdiInvCoY_sn-cpaqEPyPUZJ3cB3ZWhc8RXCs05KDLu5d6WiR7Au9kIE7yf5OiouSowRXhPW1xpaTGqQV8WQydvYGMmm/s846/spiderman%2083%20cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="846" data-original-width="550" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheehJDjfP7iTUMumSvFpnnfjyWMr5-HfDpGO2CZ5TIv5Bc3Vl624XSDyOR6M3qU2YHmVyBbiPnpEUm_4Z4hElh_XvccZUfxjJYTdiInvCoY_sn-cpaqEPyPUZJ3cB3ZWhc8RXCs05KDLu5d6WiR7Au9kIE7yf5OiouSowRXhPW1xpaTGqQV8WQydvYGMmm/s320/spiderman%2083%20cover.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Spiderman #83, cover. No challenge to copyright intended.</span></p><p>So, assuming the comic was recent when mum cut this out, I was three years old, and that picture is, as of this writing, 53 years old. I don't remember anything about this story (go figure), but I was reading by this time. I read the issue summary, and it rang no bells. Maybe someday when I have spare money, I'll hunt down this back issue at a comic store local to wherever I am then. You know, out of curiosity.</p><p><br /></p><p>To this day, I don't remember why mum cut out this picture and hung it. I liked Spiderman as did my brother, but he wasn't my favorite (<a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2019/08/superman.html" target="_blank">that would be Superman</a>.) Maybe the issue was pretty beat up (by two toddlers) and mum was throwing it out, and to assuage my brother and I, she cut out the picture. I don't know, and with mum gone these two years now, I can't ask her. </p><p><br /></p><p>I have very few fragments remaining from my early childhood. In fact, I think this may be the last surviving trace. But there it is- taped inside a scrapbook I filled (almost) decades ago. Knowing a little more about it answers some questions, yes. </p><p><br /></p><p>I wish all questions could be answered so "easily."</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-86084890380486029892023-12-23T20:54:00.003-05:002023-12-23T20:56:48.299-05:00Treating Myself<p> It was another life: A lifetime ago. </p><p><br /></p><p>It was April 1987. I was twenty.</p><p><br /></p><p>My parents drove up to State College on a Thursday to my apartment in Beaver Hill to pick up my things. The school year was over, but I had one final left, the next day. The next week, a subletter- the girlfriend of a fraternity brother, would move in. My roomie, Marc, moved out the previous day. I would never see nor speak to him again. That's life.</p><p><br /></p><p>Fortunately, it was a furnished apartment, so there was nothing huge to move. They left a pillow for me. As my mom left, my dad lingered behind. He gave me a twenty dollar bill and said "go out and have some fun tonight." Never mind that I had a final the next day, and was too young to get into the bars. Also, all the people who meant the world to me had already gone home. </p><p><br /></p><p>I spent a part of the cloudy sullen afternoon cleaning. I didn't want the new tenant to think we were slobs! (We were.) Then, in mid afternoon, I decided something. I had $20 in my pocket, and I wanted to treat myself. I walked several blocks downtown to South Fraser St, to a store then called Book Swap. In addition to used books, they were also State College's comic book store. I'd visit there occasionally, just to look and occasionally pick up a comic or two when I had money. Well, recently, a collected edition of an amazing comic run was released. I now had the money to buy it. As I walked to the store, it started raining- first a fine mist which eventually become a light spring drizzle- the kind that leaves that slightly musty smell. </p><p><br /></p><p>I looked around the store a bit- I used to love book stores before I worked in one. Still kind of do.</p><p>Anyway, I found the book I wanted. Nowadays, this would be called a "graphic novel" but back then it was a trade paperback. This one collected issues #227-231 of Daredevil. As a story, it's called <i>Born Again</i>. I read it in the original run, but wanted the collection.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrt4sKYMktqnewg8d0U_ov7LlzshUN0o1_ZDW3QzUksJljUgfgJMqlSIURtbqdqIIUyd-EGH2FwH__2hfelz-gBwI__YFLzgszN2uNOjTFYGJR6gMwSdhmHak3gJugAE-3I0e5idiEwuCXIPooYp9hONVyNhwsvHicS9MLITFrOqtdUBntvNtQFQ2mx6C/s375/Daredevil_Born_Again.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="266" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRrt4sKYMktqnewg8d0U_ov7LlzshUN0o1_ZDW3QzUksJljUgfgJMqlSIURtbqdqIIUyd-EGH2FwH__2hfelz-gBwI__YFLzgszN2uNOjTFYGJR6gMwSdhmHak3gJugAE-3I0e5idiEwuCXIPooYp9hONVyNhwsvHicS9MLITFrOqtdUBntvNtQFQ2mx6C/s320/Daredevil_Born_Again.jpg" width="227" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Trade paperback cover</span></div><p>This arc marked the return of Frank Miller to Daredevil after a several year absence. During that time, he'd remade comics with the publication of <i>Batman: The Dark Knight Returns</i> and <i>Batman Year One</i>. In the latter, he teamed with artist David Mazzucchelli. For Born Again, he'd do so again. </p><p><br /></p><p>Without going into detail, it's a story of Daredevil's life being destroyed, and his steps toward rebuilding that life. It's a story of redemption full of Catholic symbolism and amazing subplots (including my favorite version of Captain America ever.) I took it back to the apartment, but didn't read it. I studied for that final. Later that day, I walked downtown again, through a purposeful rain to get a slice of pizza.</p><p>The exam was 8 AM. I don't remember how I did. After I finished, I returned to the apartment, grabbed the pillow, put the few bits I still had with me into the pillow case and walked up Beaver Ave to the fraternity house. There I gave my fraternity brother my key. From there I walked across town to the bus station, and boarded the bus back to southeast PA. On the way, I read the Daredevil comic twice. It's arguably Frank Miller's best work on Daredevil. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi43j2vdQ-RYxbZAfE9zTGqZtHQDRj6QZV2x48AEk0i2UHDFiMvR5B78oxzH1lX__Si-rXQUfB79YUXFQp_LsAMS8EuIlg27AFiOL74dMNrHIxDbQETrex8GtWyLpCjZhIUzWNHW26uiVb9xWLcTEzk9bLPWY5oqcB5HufpU5NQTVwZxZ3W6T5MToZBnADm/s540/daredevil%20ba.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="304" data-original-width="540" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi43j2vdQ-RYxbZAfE9zTGqZtHQDRj6QZV2x48AEk0i2UHDFiMvR5B78oxzH1lX__Si-rXQUfB79YUXFQp_LsAMS8EuIlg27AFiOL74dMNrHIxDbQETrex8GtWyLpCjZhIUzWNHW26uiVb9xWLcTEzk9bLPWY5oqcB5HufpU5NQTVwZxZ3W6T5MToZBnADm/s320/daredevil%20ba.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">From <i>Born Again</i> by Miller and Mazzucchelli</span></p><p><br /></p><p>The past few days have been eternal. I hate the holidays. On Monday, I received bad news. I was up for a job as transgender trainer where I work- exactly: </p><p></p><ol><li>what I do for the place as a grad student and </li><li>exactly what I do for my PhD. </li></ol><p></p><p>The people deciding are a couple of my supervisors, some of my coworkers, and an HR person. I didn't even make the second fucking round of interviews for some reason. I washed out on a PHONE interview. </p><p>Now I know that my coworkers don't think I can do the job- that they think I'm incompetent. Incapable. A loser only fit for menial tasks. That the first interview was a mere courtesy, and I was never even fucking considered for the job. "Give it an interview to shut it up."</p><p>I wrote a whole blog entry about it, then took it down. I didn't want anyone sending police over for a "wellness check." Maybe I'll post it again after it's all said and done. </p><p>Anyway, I've been very depressed since. I decided today I'd take a walk downtown for the exercise. The day was cloudy, cold, and heavy. I found myself in Comic Swap- the shop is still there, but changed its name. Now, I have a version of the Born Again story in a hardcover omnibus, but the paperback copy went missing some time ago. Maybe it's in one of the still unpacked boxes I sealed up when I was <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/tossed-out.html" target="_blank">thrown out back in 2013</a>. Who knows. In any case, I was now in Comic Swap, the same store as long ago. I have little money, and bills that are overdue. My PhD program is such that I'm strongly considering withdrawing. </p><p>There on the shelf, among a section of Daredevil graphic novels, was <i>Born Again</i>. After all these years, it's still in print (that's how good it is.) I looked at it, spined along with the other titles, with my older eyes. My entire life was different now. Then, I was a kid with dreams and hopes. I was on the cusp of summer and there was so much to look forward to. Now, I'm an old, fat, transgender woman whose life self-destructed a decade before. So many dead friends. So much pain. So little left. So little that like a coward I ran back to Penn State in search of refuge in academia. I don't recognize the thing in the mirror with hollow dead eyes and thin scraggly long hair. Back then, I knew how to smile. I can't remember how to smile now- except to fake it for pictures. </p><p>I removed the book from the shelf. It was a newer edition with extra material. I flipped through the familiar pages and remembered. I decided to treat myself. I pulled out the credit card I use only for "emergencies" such as when I have no money and need food. I bought the book. The worker put it in a slim paper bag, just like a different person had done decades before. I thanked them, wished them a happy holiday, and walked up the steps to Fraser street. I turned onto College Ave and walked toward my car, parked a few blocks down the street. One block further was a new pizza place- it replaced a series of pizza places. When I was in undergrad, it was Brother's Pizza. Back then, it's where I'd stop for a slice.</p><p>I opened my car door and put the bag on the passenger seat. I walked the extra block to the new pizza shop. I'm treating myself. I'm trying to drive away the holiday hate and the Darkness of my failure. I ordered a slice of pepperoni and a drink. Sat in a booth in the empty pizza shop alone, and ate it. </p><p>After I finished, I returned to my car, and after another quick stop on campus, went back to the apartment. My roomie/bestie Linda was at work, so I sat alone. On the table sat the book chapter, one hundred pages long, that was assigned to me months before. I simply couldn't pick it up and do my job- read the damn thing. It's gotten to the point that I'm afraid of it. </p><p>I sat on the couch, and the paper and I stared at each other. The room was darkening- it was after 4, and it's winter. Next to me on the couch was the paper bag containing the comic I'd read countless times. My treat to myself. I looked over at the Christmas tree, which I'd plugged in after returning. </p><p>I removed the book from the bag, and read it again. Anything to escape the wreck I've made of my life. To escape the hellscape that elected officials are making for people like me. In <i>Born Again</i>, the characters have Hope, and the good guys win in the end. A life that was destroyed has been rebuilt but not restored. Heroes exist. </p><p>If only for an hour.</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well. Those who celebrate, please have a happy holiday season. </p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-26682759494146144172023-12-09T20:05:00.003-05:002023-12-09T20:05:42.084-05:00Sophie's 2023 TDOR Speech<p> Sorry it's been a while. Depression sucks. In any case, on November 14, I gave the keynote speech at Penn State's Transgender Day of Remembrance. It was on that day instead of the 20th because the students were on fall break the week of the 20th. </p><p><br /></p><p>This is what I wrote and delivered that night, pretty much word for word.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ6UUpxm299eEvK4nBvJWunBdAmrIX5g6Lo7QYT-NVFw1RqTPAhem5bJe09lbWULoNSp2392TRCPWdvAuk8vgpr_EgL76m8PSCbxgeNQwNWaHa6uVbGU6fJAsrQSUZputPhORjf3_ZIZR4pRoI57sEN5NZ8CcxSFZ3w5sTavwjXBWoR3jCg9J-8znPGj2Q/s1770/399679751_7048404161870656_5037071657242711295_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1770" data-original-width="1329" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ6UUpxm299eEvK4nBvJWunBdAmrIX5g6Lo7QYT-NVFw1RqTPAhem5bJe09lbWULoNSp2392TRCPWdvAuk8vgpr_EgL76m8PSCbxgeNQwNWaHa6uVbGU6fJAsrQSUZputPhORjf3_ZIZR4pRoI57sEN5NZ8CcxSFZ3w5sTavwjXBWoR3jCg9J-8znPGj2Q/s320/399679751_7048404161870656_5037071657242711295_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>************************************************************************</p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Despite
the fact that the news and policies and losses should’ve left us numb or
calloused our souls to the Pain, I offer the following trigger warnings:
murder, suicide, death, history, and Hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I also acknowledge my privilege as a person of white, western European
colonizer ancestry, and that the land where I write this was once home to the
Susquehannock people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Tonight,
we solemnly gather to honor our dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
do this to remember not just those we will name tonight, but those whose names
we will never know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many transgender
people died and were then misgendered by the police, doctors, reporters, and
families?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many took their own lives
never telling a soul about the pain that dysphoria inflicted upon their
souls?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How many homeless transgender
teens search dumpsters for scraps of food as cisgender teens order an extra
shot of espresso in their grande cappuccino?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">The
poet Lee Mokobe wrote that “<i>Oncoming traffic is embracing more transgender
children than parents</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Torry Peters
wrote “<i>If you are a trans girl who knows many other trans girls, you go to
church a lot, because church is where they hold the funerals</i>.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-themecolor: text1;">Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Why is gender non-conformity a mortal sin,
punishable by ostracism, pain, and death?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I ask for the 327 transgender and gender diverse people reported murdered
worldwide.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>95% of them were
trans-feminine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>65% were people of
color.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>[Transrespect vs Transphobia </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Worldwide].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is not new.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Joan of Arc was burned at the stake on May
30, 1431 for wearing men's clothing, which the Church referred to as
"idolatry.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Inquisition decided
that there was not enough evidence to have her convicted of witchcraft. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was 19.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Bubba Copeland, the Republican mayor
of Smiths Station, Alabama, pastor at Phenix City’s First Baptist Church, and
father of three, shot himself in the head two weeks ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They’d previously led their town through the
aftermath of a tornado that killed 23 people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite this, a far-right website
revealed that they were also Brittini Blaire Summerlin, a transgender woman who
posted photos and transgender erotica online.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They begged the website not to do this, but, as always, <a name="_Int_dTzA3KwT">the cruelty</a> is the point, and they doxed Brittini
anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Brittini was buried last
Thursday.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<h2 style="line-height: 200%; margin-top: 0in; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Dark days.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Transgender people face an onslaught of
legislation like a biblical flood of hatred.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The purveyors cover up their hate with names like “Protect children’s
innocence act” and Protecting Children from Experimentation Act”, and
“Productivity over Pronouns act.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We
are called every name except child of God by far-right politicians who use us
to scare people into donating.</span><o:p></o:p></span></h2>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Why?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I don’t understand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve studied
this very question for the past four years and can quote the research, cite the
sources, and discuss academic theories.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
am considered an expert on the topic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But
I am transgender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know what it
means to be cisgender.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, I know what
it means to pretend- I did that for 47 years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>How does it feel to not think about gender constantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How does it feel to not worry about your
rights to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness disappearing during
election day, or due to the death of a judge?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps I just don’t understand
the cisgender mind.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">However... however... dark as these
days may be, there is hope.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As the Bard
wrote “<i>True hope is swift and flies with swallow’s wings</i>.” [Richard III'
(1591) act 5, sc. 2, l. 23].<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How do I
know?<i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">A friend of Bubba Copeland’s, who
didn’t know about Brittini, wrote “<i>I just want to ask you people who thought
it humorous to publicly ridicule him, ‘Are you happy now?’ What crime did he
commit? Some of you people make me sick. I hope you are really proud</i>.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the deep red south, an ally is
forged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Allies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">And that is what we need to go
on.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If healing from these losses is
possible, it will be helped along by friends and allies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Transgender people can be very
resilient.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all, we’ve survived
through the centuries, on the fringes, shunned or hiding.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We have community, but to actually heal, we
need outside help.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We need people to
understand one basic fact above all others:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>that we are human.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That’s all-
acknowledge our basic humanity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let us
live our lives without superfluous laws designed to inflict cruelty, and with
the basic rights afforded to human beings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Friends and allies can be hard to
find, but we are finding them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We find
them in the person who says “enough is enough!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>or at least “I need to know more before I make a judgement.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We find them in people who extend their hand
and say “let me help.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of all, we
find them in YOU: this current generation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The generation of today has known transgender people most of their
lives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They have transgender friends and
relatives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They see positive transgender
representation in movies, tv, and in books.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>For them, being transgender can be just another facet making up a
person, not something to fear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These
friends and allies join their voices to ours, lend us their strength when we
need it, and vote out transphobic politicians.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">You help us heal from the
losses.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You give us the strength to go
on when everything seems bleak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You give
us HOPE- the hope that some way, somehow, things will get better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You give us the hope that someday we will be
accepted in society- that being transgender will be seen as no big deal, just
another variety of people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That day may
come, but only if we all want it, and work toward it together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Every vote, every voice raised in protest, every
gathering can be another step forward.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They can generate the hope someone needs to stay alive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As Cicero wrote “<i>While there is life,
there is hope</i>.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; margin-bottom: 10.0pt; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sleep well brothers and
sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>May the four winds blow you
safely home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We will take the baton and
continue in your name.<o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-64460373873140348612023-09-22T17:00:00.000-04:002023-09-22T17:00:14.872-04:00For Jenny<p>Last week was not a good one, for several reasons. It was my birthday, for one. However, the day before that, on the night of September 12, I received word that Jennifer Jensen died that morning.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBoNcG-eBnQkY9vl9x0tbdpi6o9pehqp10T56oYMlPPgLzsNTrLRypgJzSXnT3mrLJejv1EzgOKk9KKCZkBLqo01fuwWpQDt0v-S9bCQLTT5DD64IbZ2tFLvYZkgevFs9EQ14B0rNVedmB6INNJGoDT64NECzkmwj2URZo0wg1X5-FKiMTnOm1Vj5wQjK3/s2576/LL%20April%2010%20020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="2576" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBoNcG-eBnQkY9vl9x0tbdpi6o9pehqp10T56oYMlPPgLzsNTrLRypgJzSXnT3mrLJejv1EzgOKk9KKCZkBLqo01fuwWpQDt0v-S9bCQLTT5DD64IbZ2tFLvYZkgevFs9EQ14B0rNVedmB6INNJGoDT64NECzkmwj2URZo0wg1X5-FKiMTnOm1Vj5wQjK3/s320/LL%20April%2010%20020.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">"JJ" April 2010</span></div><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;">I don't know if Jenny (JJ) was out to her family, so out of respect for her privacy, I must keep certain personal details vague.</span></p><p>I met JJ at my first Renaissance meeting/ Angela's Laptop Lounge in December 2008. I was a mess- no makeup, rumpled outfit, bad shoes, and a cheap Halloween wig. Despite my trollish appearance, Jenny was warm and welcoming, as were most of the people that night.</p><p>After the Renaissance meeting, everyone went over to Shangri-La for Angela's Laptop Lounge, the twice monthly transgender inclusive party. At dinner, I sat next to JJ, and we talked.</p><p>I don't remember what we talked about, but she remembered me the next month and we talked some more. I told her that I'd gotten a room at Motel 6 so I could change into/out of Sophie stuff, and she replied she did the same. It made sense that we pool our resources, so for over a year, we split the cost of a motel room- usually the Motel 6. After a month or two, we started having lunch before changing at a restaurant near the motel. Jen Lehman soon joined us, and three of us became a small group. For me, it was lunch, go get my makeup done by <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2021/01/inspirations-amanda-richards.html" target="_blank">Amanda Richards</a>, then meet them at the Renaissance meeting. </p><p>Those first months of going out were frightening, but JJ was a calming influence. She was that way for everyone. I discovered that this was due to her high stress occupation during which she had to keep a cool head- a career she enjoyed since the 1970s until her recent retirement. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxqxDixgRbPF9LHY5sc3QAXoNOqpNg4yw2leHkQbJsY7dUUBExSBpyQJIugXmH8_DsJArf3sOuwVX-goUiXi6XVNeyWwnDwvrnvzBRwOq2CeZ0V_EQA54x-lRPGwX_w2bJTaKn-E2_Cj4gjVBzCXwSo_ATUZlRYAyQI_Jz-1UbEwdnHtJSzurcD71deKA/s2576/Keystone%202010%20004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1932" data-original-width="2576" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAxqxDixgRbPF9LHY5sc3QAXoNOqpNg4yw2leHkQbJsY7dUUBExSBpyQJIugXmH8_DsJArf3sOuwVX-goUiXi6XVNeyWwnDwvrnvzBRwOq2CeZ0V_EQA54x-lRPGwX_w2bJTaKn-E2_Cj4gjVBzCXwSo_ATUZlRYAyQI_Jz-1UbEwdnHtJSzurcD71deKA/s320/Keystone%202010%20004.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Keystone 2010</span></div><p>Jenny wasn't "out" to her work colleagues (and again, possibly not to family), so secrecy was a must. During our lunches we would ponder ways to keep our secrets hidden. Eventually, I came out to my Wife, then to the world, and Jenny was so supportive.</p><p>After she retired, Jenny moved back to her home state, so I rarely saw her except at the Keystone Conference. There she volunteered her time and expertise to the conference and her presence there will be sorely missed. JJ helped run the Debutante program for new attendees in addition to originating and continuing to run the popular Friday night Bingo Spectacular. She and Amanda Richards would wear outlandish costumes and gave away great prizes to winners and those who answered transgender trivia. </p><p>JJ was an incredible person. She gave of herself without thought of reward or seeking laurels. She helped because she could, and because she wanted to. She was an amazing person and an amazing friend.</p><p><br /></p><p>May the four winds blow you safely home, Jenny. I will miss you and try to live up to your example.</p><p><br /></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-19104880689246337802023-09-17T16:01:00.000-04:002023-09-17T16:01:39.695-04:00Has it been Ten?<p>I still write to Lisa Empanada. Not as often as I used to, but I still do. Yes, I know she won't read it, but it helps me sort my thoughts sometimes.</p><p>For those who don't know, I write about Lisa often, but THIS is as good a starting point as any.</p><p>I hate this time of year, as the anniversaries come one after the other. Being <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/tossed-out.html" target="_blank">thrown out</a>, <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/southern-comfort-odyssey-1-tarheels.html" target="_blank">SEC</a>, birthday, <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/goodbye-lisa-empanada.html" target="_blank">Lisa's suicide</a>, <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/final-farewell-lisa-empanadas-memorial.html" target="_blank">funeral</a>. This year it's a bit rougher.</p><p>This year it's 10.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht5TuQv_WzObEtLF5mUGspx_ITfWd21NHPfLt9WG8scvuIgx779bAzvDo7qgQh855NZL5LXDhEq6fD3Af15_XtvyqwjUbb_aJXYSgUZ8Qf1AeqwdoDC7kO6ySxwm8ikdgAywBkkYvmqv8T7DJxndKKz7nR1YdnLnwoHXlpXMFPMMmXkUENmcpFTXVvkTou/s2048/1278094_521445434615148_790728504_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1146" data-original-width="2048" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht5TuQv_WzObEtLF5mUGspx_ITfWd21NHPfLt9WG8scvuIgx779bAzvDo7qgQh855NZL5LXDhEq6fD3Af15_XtvyqwjUbb_aJXYSgUZ8Qf1AeqwdoDC7kO6ySxwm8ikdgAywBkkYvmqv8T7DJxndKKz7nR1YdnLnwoHXlpXMFPMMmXkUENmcpFTXVvkTou/s320/1278094_521445434615148_790728504_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p>Ten years since I was thrown out. Ten years since I last spoke to Lisa. Ten years since she died, and everyone endured her funeral. Is it even possible that ten years have passed? I'm much older now than she ever lived to be. (Yes that's grammar error. Live with it.)</p><p>Why do I still write about her? Why do I still talk about her? Only a small group of people have even heard of Lisa Empanada these days, compared to when she died, when she was relatively well known. After all, the transgender community has a high attrition rate, what with murders and suicides and such. Why do I still have a small urn of her ashes displayed next to her picture and one of her wigs? Isn't that creepy? Is this an obsession?</p><p>In the end, after all this time, aside from her family, who really gives a flying f*ck about Lisa Empanada?</p><p><br /></p><p>I do.</p><p><br /></p><p>She was my dearest friend (aside from my Wife). She's not the only dear friend I've lost in my life, God knows, and not even the only suicide, but she was the closest. Lisa exists now only in yellowing pictures, pixels, and memories. Her voice is only remembered by a few, as she rarely recorded it. But I remember her. And I don't want that memory to die.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWLTPaV-3OOGkrkfLYt7HjYZgbJoVxrUmdaf8rRGdetxcwjGvwAm6989eV0w0gSnRzqYvLkkiuGeH22c1mVjTpU8sUFOKosVq-VmIW1nbumy7ctbUIyPjtLh20Sw2wNmBca5QZ9v6zTS3LinMzdE2LRUChjHBapKYbsXVEPo0BbUXeoTt78Dr54WgG8_9/s1596/005.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1596" data-original-width="1358" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeWLTPaV-3OOGkrkfLYt7HjYZgbJoVxrUmdaf8rRGdetxcwjGvwAm6989eV0w0gSnRzqYvLkkiuGeH22c1mVjTpU8sUFOKosVq-VmIW1nbumy7ctbUIyPjtLh20Sw2wNmBca5QZ9v6zTS3LinMzdE2LRUChjHBapKYbsXVEPo0BbUXeoTt78Dr54WgG8_9/s320/005.JPG" width="272" /></a></div><br /><p>Lisa's story should be one of happiness and triumph, and, to a certain point it is. Her wife and children for the most part were supportive. She volunteered her time and love to the transgender community, and was an amazing ambassador. BUT...</p><p>Then she killed herself. All that life, that love, that strength... gone. Died in the back of a dirty painter's van. Alone. The way she wanted it. Then, burned to ashes, again as she wanted it. Some of the ashes were spread at certain places. Some were given to close friends. Most are inurned in her old bedroom. The urn is purple: her favorite color. </p><p>So, now she's been gone for a decade.</p><p>As I said above, in the past ten years, many of my friends died. Some were quite close. One was very recent. I've written about a few of them in this blog. I also lost many (almost all) of my old friends when I <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2014/03/full-time.html" target="_blank">transitioned</a> in 2014. I'm used to losing people, especially as I get older. When I leave a job, I want to keep in touch with people, but the ties that bind fade with time. People that once were family to me are now echoes on the internet. Maybe an occasional phone call. "We must get together sometime." I'm used to being isolated, as I had few friends growing up, and in reality, I'm really socially awkward. Anyone who knows me knows that I'm prone to saying the wrong things or committing faux pas at alarming rates. I never learned what it meant to be among people. That's the price of a lonely childhood.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixRpvFUN6H-VnsMvvRaxwJOweZXckz68iUNhGQNYh9WxiIGD6OvPyIWtyKUA3-3yqJ55dXJQuL3iwsfAOzMp6T13i_nqdzoj8WhdXZtblw5Kp8QNv2GOZCk00VlT9vOYJwHvJjdKhQnB2F9SFzGW0zQO_F-ghxe1ERLb6-dVbx6tF9jZgQtum3a1702YW/s130/LisaLast%20Days%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="130" data-original-width="130" height="130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgixRpvFUN6H-VnsMvvRaxwJOweZXckz68iUNhGQNYh9WxiIGD6OvPyIWtyKUA3-3yqJ55dXJQuL3iwsfAOzMp6T13i_nqdzoj8WhdXZtblw5Kp8QNv2GOZCk00VlT9vOYJwHvJjdKhQnB2F9SFzGW0zQO_F-ghxe1ERLb6-dVbx6tF9jZgQtum3a1702YW/s1600/LisaLast%20Days%20(1).jpg" width="130" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Taken the day before she died</span></div><p>However, that also means that I treasure the friends that I have, and especially the ones I keep. They are all that keeps me alive. They remind me that maybe my life ripples beyond what little I perceive. My closest friends, well I hope they know what they mean to me. Linda has been my roomie for almost ten years and hasn't run away screaming. Ally has also been here for me for ten years. Other friends stayed despite my transition, some of whom I've known most of my life. That word "friend" is one I don't use lightly- but I mean it when I use it.</p><p>Why do I still write about Lisa Empanada? Because she was dear to me. She was my friend, and I WANT people to remember her. I want her memory to survive as long as it can- far longer than she did in my life.</p><p>Lisa was special, and I loved her. </p><p>I miss you, Lisa, and I always will. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><br />Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-87339421526370581622023-08-08T20:57:00.001-04:002023-08-08T20:57:10.385-04:00Dream of a House<p>I want to get this down before it leaves my memory. Last night I had a dream in which my mum and my old dog Nittany appeared, as did Wife, Daughter, and my Older Brother (OB) as he usually appears in my dreams: like he was when we were in high school.</p><p><br /></p><p>The dream began (or at least this bit) with my approaching a house that my parents just moved into. It was white, as were all the doors. To my left was another door which was mostly window, like at a beach house. It had horizontal blinds, and OB exited it along with a coworker from the past (whose name I won't use.) </p><p><br /></p><p>Once I entered the house, the first room was large. The walls were white, and the carpet was tan, which I would discover all over the house. There was a wraparound corner couch (blue), a TV, and the far side opened to a small kitchen with a fridge and stove. That floor was tiled with tan tiles. My dog Nittany (dead now 7 years) lay on the couch, sleeping.</p><p><br /></p><p>Halfway through that room, on the left, was a staircase that I climbed. It led to another floor. There was a small room off to the side, with a small bed, a crib, and stuffed animals, all red and pink. There was a door on the other side that led to another bedroom, but I didn't enter that- I knew these were guest rooms. Exiting back to the hallway (where the first stairway ended), there was a short staircase of maybe 5 steps which led to a large kitchen, with wooden cabinets and marble counter. The floor was tiled to look like brick and was the only floor that wasn't tan.) There was a large kitchen "island" as well. It was the biggest non-commercial kitchen I'd ever seen. </p><p><br /></p><p>Walking to the other side of that, and turning left I entered a large room, maybe 50 by 40 feet, that was mostly empty except for a large, overstuffed couch along one wall and a huge, almost wall sized high-definition TV, on which was a football game. On the right-side wall were large windows, again like one would see in a beach house. It was night, so I didn't see the view. I knew this was the main "living room" and wasn't finished. After all, they'd just moved in.</p><p><br /></p><p>While all rooms (except where I mention) were lit, only the kitchens had light fixtures in the ceiling. I saw no lamps or lights in any other room, yet they were lit. </p><p><br /></p><p>The living room had two adjacent rooms. To the left, past a hallway back to the stairs and guest rooms, was a large entry (no door) to a room maybe 30 by 40 feet with another exit on the right-side wall (90 degrees from the one I entered). Suddenly my brother was there. I said, "this would make a great game room" and he agreed. I then said, "I assume you have your room already picked out." He smiled and left the room. I proceeded through the other exit into a long room, which also opened to the living room. </p><p><br /></p><p>This room was maybe 40 feet long and 20 feet wide, with windows on the far wall and the right side wall (which lined up with the living room windows.) On the left wall was the entry to another up stairwell which I took. It went to another floor with narrower halls. At the top of those stairs was the entrance to a room on the right, some steps up to a room ahead, and a stairwell going down to the left. My daughter was standing there, and we hugged. I told her I missed her so much, and she said she missed me too. She said that the room to the right was hers. I looked through the open door (only the second interior door I'd seen) to see a large room with a canopy bed with floral yellow covers, and some of her art on the walls. There was a white dresser and doors to what I knew was a walk-in closet. She turned and went into her room. I saw the room ahead of me was huge, with windows along the far wall, but I didn't enter it. On the left of that room, I saw another kitchen similar to the one in the entry room. I went down the stairs to the left. I remember thinking "we don't need all this space."</p><p><br /></p><p>This led to a darkened hallway with two exits. This hallway was lit by small wall sconces that had yellow glass shades. These walls were paneled in cheap fake wooden paneling like from the 60s. I took the left exit, where my mum met me. This was completely normal (despite her being dead.) She said she had a surprise for me. She opened a large set of dark wood double cabinet doors, and inside was a 40-inch TV with large stereo speakers below it. The screen was all static, as the cable hadn't been hooked up here yet (but it was upstairs?). The room with this TV was narrow, like a finished basement, and it had wooden benches lining the walls. The room was lit by two floor lamps again with yellow glass shades. I asked her where OB's room was, and she said he had a suite of rooms on the top floor, where I also knew was a balcony. I never found out where my parents' rooms were. </p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, she indicated an entryway with two steps going down to another room. This room was small, maybe 10 feet by 20, with a door on the right wall. The far wall had a window that faced out to a driveway and a highway, which I could clearly hear. The carpet was a gold shag, but the walls were white. The only furnishings were a rust covered couch, and another floor lamp with a yellow glass shade. Mum said "this is your room." </p><p><br /></p><p>Through the other door was a stairway going up, but not connected to the others. I followed mum up to the next floor, which was back to the white walls and tan carpet. She went into yet another kitchen. To the right was a hallway, at the end of which was another large room. Wife was there trying to figure out where to put things, as this was her room. It had a balcony on the other side through sliding glass doors. To the right was a stairway that I knew connected to my daughter's room. </p><p><br /></p><p>That's when I woke up, feeling very sad. The house was massive and twisting, and I knew I hadn't seen it all, but I'd seen enough. It was where life was going on without me. I'd seen places like this in dreams before with rooms upon rooms, but they were always businesses or such. This was the family house, where they would be happy.</p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-10949827711227397562023-07-30T17:57:00.000-04:002023-07-30T17:57:43.969-04:00End of July Return<p> Hey gang I'm back.</p><p><br /></p><p>I'm <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2023/06/deserted.html" target="_blank">still coping</a> with what happened in early June. It's been a brutal summer. I've visited Wife several times, but my Daughter makes sure never to be there. The Darkness tells me that I should be grateful- without Daughter to live for, I'm truly free to go. No one cares if I stay. I have no more obligation or responsibility here. I think about this night and day. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9NSPVWDWvX3eyoXPYB9It6LNwzxhZpKPzonoVFSafa2bY7xwqUN8UDYYy_IfEwoo0N5odrU0HQV-dal4HEJOiwwvEPd1QJ45DZ8LgWe6NaBeeQldgWr_xm-eTYKinEerW7u0tZKS1BAtWbXlpjhdMunJVOA6wrzFcSlKF1VCGAhwVrPMLnCFDpDlbO7Q/s1058/361835703_6624818314229245_6671162799050771698_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1058" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp9NSPVWDWvX3eyoXPYB9It6LNwzxhZpKPzonoVFSafa2bY7xwqUN8UDYYy_IfEwoo0N5odrU0HQV-dal4HEJOiwwvEPd1QJ45DZ8LgWe6NaBeeQldgWr_xm-eTYKinEerW7u0tZKS1BAtWbXlpjhdMunJVOA6wrzFcSlKF1VCGAhwVrPMLnCFDpDlbO7Q/s320/361835703_6624818314229245_6671162799050771698_n.jpg" width="159" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">It's been raining a LOT</span></div><p><br /></p><p>So what's stopping me? Part of it is that I want to finish what I started and earn that PhD. I'm ABD now (all but dissertation), so I'm almost there. I've been having problems getting things done for it, but I'm slowly moving forward. Very slowly. I defend my Dissertation Proposal on August 14. Add to that, I'd be putting my roomie/bestie Linda in a bad place, as she can't afford this apartment alone. However, she's very resourceful. She'd get by. </p><p><br /></p><p>The main thing stopping me is the fact that I'm a coward. Any method except one would hurt, and I've experienced enough pain in my life. Recently, a former coworker died when he jumped off a parking garage. I envy his courage.</p><p><br /></p><p>If you've followed the news, there's been a flood of anti-transgender bills signed into law in the last two months. The <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=soswocNtouI" target="_blank">GQP want us "eradicated", and yes, that's the word they used</a>. Where's the HRC? ACLU? Hello?</p><p><br /></p><p>So is anything else going on? Not really. It's been a relatively cool summer here in the mountains, with some heavy thunderstorms. The heat that's plagued the rest of the country finally reached us this weekend, so it's been toasty. Hasn't mattered to me, as I've been inside staring at the ceiling or sleeping. As I mentioned, I've taken a few trips to see Wife in SEPa, but that's really it. I haven't gone anywhere or done anything. I keep saying that I should start selling off the boxes of books that are in storage, or the games I have here (after all, they're just taking up space and I could use the money.) But doing that would be a lot of work, and I've been busy (see: staring at the ceiling, above.) </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnGBO0cargj4GHIDFu9Or5vzG7hhv6knPGMOywGyWatwQk_kb3Oay9acsVZD2lY6UdRrTtALFg4MXGci_xIx4Wj5Za-ULvfXYqOQmsurpR8U62xuwttP2UNezSWM45EMPmwHCmHca-MeGHGfKPsmmSaYNcFxSjXwQ7AugQiSftk2SnRPi9uEAAztbKqhW/s1964/game%20shelf%20july%202023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="1964" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEnGBO0cargj4GHIDFu9Or5vzG7hhv6knPGMOywGyWatwQk_kb3Oay9acsVZD2lY6UdRrTtALFg4MXGci_xIx4Wj5Za-ULvfXYqOQmsurpR8U62xuwttP2UNezSWM45EMPmwHCmHca-MeGHGfKPsmmSaYNcFxSjXwQ7AugQiSftk2SnRPi9uEAAztbKqhW/s320/game%20shelf%20july%202023.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">Part of the games shelf, taken as I write this.</div></span><p><br /></p><p>I saw my therapist a couple weeks back. We talked about the current situation, and she gave me some recommendations. Essentially, she recommended that I do nothing. Sigh. That solves nothing. I haven't made another appointment yet. Out of money.</p><p><br /></p><p>I wish I had something happy to write. I really do. That's why I haven't written- I have nothing positive to say. August starts next week, which means the students will be back soon. That means autumn is coming, and Halloween. My favorite holiday. Maybe I'll even do something this year. </p><p><br /></p><p>Be safe and be well.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-56940387421204528692023-07-06T11:09:00.000-04:002023-07-06T11:09:12.654-04:00One Million<p> Yesterday, the blog went over 1 million hits. </p><p><br /></p><p>Thank you! I really really appreciate it!</p><p><br /></p><p>Maybe I'm doing something good after all.</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well.</p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-68791427788203730262023-06-08T09:38:00.005-04:002023-06-08T10:30:26.500-04:00Deserted<p> This entry will be short.</p><p><br /></p><p>Last Saturday, I received a letter from my daughter (15) saying she no longer wishes contact with me- at all. She gave some reasons some of which just don't... make sense. She made me sound like I'm a horrible person. And I can't defend myself.</p><p><br /></p><p>And what if she's right? Maybe I am horrible.</p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, I've joined the sad sorority of transgender women who have been cut off from their children.</p><p><br /></p><p>As you can imagine, I'm a mess.</p><p><br /></p><p>I won't give many details as it is a family matter, but if I don't write for a bit, you now know why.</p><p><br /></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-6523123132433831372023-05-30T11:02:00.000-04:002023-05-30T11:02:04.749-04:00Summer's here and the time is wrong <p>Memorial Day passed yesterday, so now it's unofficially summer. My fave season, because I hate being cold, and I love the freedom it used to represent. </p><p><br /></p><p>I really don't have much to write today, as I'm not feeling it. I finished my dissertation proposal and turned it in last Friday, so now I wait for the next step (which will be defending it.) After that, I can start the IRB process, as I will be using human subjects in my research. Once I get through that, I can begin my actual research. </p><p><br /></p><p>Florida has become a fascist state under the GQP. The HRC and NAACP as well as other organizations have issued travel warning to LGBTQ and people of color, warning that travel to Florida could be dangerous. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXht5fcLfVwwAE8C3OXWSMolHLMjujS8Wfjcj5jRC9kBBJymSl0spY5ZyFdeF6ky0N20GrL0it_JvbEumSznu8UorwvZHor5HC_ptGvnVTLex5_0ZiHDNLT--YQLdNYJpJ9Z1ko27O90kFSIn5pnF4qYUal-mIIXx4-PvHYUjccpz091qUF4awEE5OQ/s930/Picture3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="582" data-original-width="930" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBXht5fcLfVwwAE8C3OXWSMolHLMjujS8Wfjcj5jRC9kBBJymSl0spY5ZyFdeF6ky0N20GrL0it_JvbEumSznu8UorwvZHor5HC_ptGvnVTLex5_0ZiHDNLT--YQLdNYJpJ9Z1ko27O90kFSIn5pnF4qYUal-mIIXx4-PvHYUjccpz091qUF4awEE5OQ/w400-h250/Picture3.png" width="400" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.tampabay.com/news/health/2022/11/12/florida-bans-transgender-care-minors-whats-next/">https://www.tampabay.com/news/health/2022/11/12/florida-bans-transgender-care-minors-whats-next/</a></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p>I found two articles in a Pensacola newspaper (actually, the amazing Sabrina Pandora found them, and I read them.)</p><p><br /></p><p>The first is about Florida now able to legally kidnap children,</p><p><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><a href="https://www.pnj.com/story/news/politics/2023/05/17/florida-sb-254-florida-abduction-transgender-bill-now-law-what-it-does/70206291007/" target="_blank"><span style="font-family: times;">https://www.pnj.com/story/news/politics/2023/05/17/florida-sb-254-florida-abduction-transgender-bill-now-law-what-it-does/70206291007/</span></a></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web (West European)", "Segoe UI", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;">The second is what to do if you're transgender and living in Florida.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web (West European)", "Segoe UI", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><a href="goog_33416248"><br /></a></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><a href="https://www.pnj.com/story/news/politics/2023/04/25/floridas-trans-people-parents-of-trans-kids-see-options-steadily-banned/70132161007/" target="_blank">https://www.pnj.com/story/news/politics/2023/04/25/floridas-trans-people-parents-of-trans-kids-see-options-steadily-banned/70132161007/</a></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web (West European)", "Segoe UI", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;">In other words, if you're trans, they GQP is coming for you, and this is what they want for ALL of the US. Remember, the GQP has said out loud that <a href="https://www.hrc.org/press-releases/human-rights-campaign-extremists-at-cpac-laid-bare-hatred-at-root-of-vile-legislation-targeting-trans-people" target="_blank">they want us eradicated</a>. Or parents who allow their transgender kids to live should be <a href="https://www.newsweek.com/video-pastor-saying-parents-trans-children-should-shot-goes-viral-1801663" target="_blank">shot in the head</a>. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;">So, yeah, I'm feeling a bit down. I wonder if my research is too little too late against the tide of right wing Hate. They lie, and people believe the lies. We have science on our side, but the GQP has a propaganda machine that stokes anger and fear. </span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Why hasn't the federal government stepped in? HRC? Lambda Legal? Anyone? (Answer: because we're transgender.)</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Sigh.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;"><br /></span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-size: 15px;"><span style="font-family: times;">Stay safe and be well.</span></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web (West European)", "Segoe UI", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web (West European)", "Segoe UI", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="background-color: white; color: #242424; font-family: "Segoe UI", "Segoe UI Web (West European)", "Segoe UI", -apple-system, BlinkMacSystemFont, Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", sans-serif; font-size: 15px;"><br /></span></p></div>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-69566038685105840172023-05-17T09:48:00.002-04:002023-05-17T09:48:42.997-04:00Mid May Musings<p> Spring sprung, with its pollen and leafiness. Here in the mountains, the leaves are in their raw green coats and flowers are beginning to show themselves. The spring semester ended, and a whole crop of fresh graduates are unleashed upon the world. </p><p><br /></p><p>This group is a little special to me as they arrived on campus when I returned four years ago- they in pursuit of their first degree and I looking for my third. I remember that first day of class, a cool, dewy morning as I arrived early and went to the little store that is among the East halls dorm complex. I was startled to learn that they didn't take cash- card only- as I bought a coke (I needed caffeine). I looked around at all the freshmen (East halls are mostly freshmen) and felt so old. These students were young enough to be my children. I received some odd looks. Were they due to my age or my being trans... or both? In any case, for many of them, their college days are now behind them, and they will re-live those stories they made for the rest of their lives... just probably not to their children. </p><p><br /></p><p>Parents are funny that way.</p><p><br /></p><p>Still working on my dissertation proposal, but now I have a deadline: May 26. </p><p><br /></p><p>Now 11 US states have anti-trans laws in place, with many more coming. Texas has the lead with over 60 proposed bills and several passed into law. Florida is doing its best to out-crazy them though. How long before we're wearing pink triangles?</p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, summer's here and the time is right... for doing whatever you do during the summer. </p><p><br /></p><p>Stay safe and be well.</p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-13983711342967953002023-04-14T14:18:00.000-04:002023-04-14T14:18:30.694-04:00Mutants, Devils, and ImpsThe words of Webster Barnaby, Republican state representative from Florida, on April 10, 2023:<div><br /></div><div><div>“I’m looking at society today and it’s like I’m watching an X-Men movie with people that when you watch the X-Men movies or Marvel Comics — it’s like we mutants living among us on planet Earth. And, you know, some people don’t like that, but that’s a fact. We have people that live among us today on planet Earth that are happy to display themselves as if they were mutants from another planet.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>“This is the planet Earth, where God created men male and women female. I’m a proud Christian, conservative, Republican. I’m not on the fence. There is so much darkness in our world today, so much evil in our world today, and so many people who are free to address the evil, the dysphoria, the dysfunction. I’m not afraid to address the dysphoria or the dysfunction.</div><div><br /></div><div>“The Lord rebuke you Satan, and all of your demons and all of your imps who come and parade before us. That’s right, I called you demons and imps who come and parade before us and pretend that you are part of this world. So I’m saying my righteous indignation is stirred. I’m sick and tired of this.”</div></div><div>(<a href="https://www.losangelesblade.com/2023/04/10/florida-rep-barnaby-calls-trans-people-mutants-demons-imps/" target="_blank">Source: Los Angeles Blade</a>)</div><div><br /></div><div>Oh, then he apologized... AFTER they passed yet another anti-trans bathroom bill. Like that will make it all better. </div><div><br /></div><div>So he invokes comic books AND the Bible while degrading transgender people as less than human. Insert your own joke here.</div><div><br /></div><div>Hey Rep. Barnaby, you said you're not afraid to address the dysphoria and dysfunction, but you missed one. Because you yourself are PART of the evil, and you know it. You just wrap it in a flag and stamp a cross on it like that will make it all better. </div>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-82278665083983374452023-03-30T10:53:00.001-04:002023-03-30T10:53:28.579-04:00Keystone Conference 2023 briefly<p> Last week (March 22- 25) was the 13th Keystone Conference, held for the first time at the Hilton Harrisburg downtown near the action on Second Street. The Conference outgrew its home of twelve years, the Sheraton, where so many wonderful memories were made. </p><p><br /></p><p>Thanks again to Krystin King who gave me her spare hotel room, so I could be there for two days instead of just popping in for a few hours. So I drove to Harrisburg from State College, a ninety minute rain soaked drive. My roomie/bestie Linda had to work, so couldn't come. It was just me, my overnight bag, and makeup box. Turns out, one of those wasn't needed. </p><p><br /></p><p>My first stop was over by the aforementioned Sheraton. Lee nails is right behind it, and they are TG friendly. I wanted a mani-pedi as my nails looked like a train wreck. I spent a pleasant if quiet two hours there- quiet as my tech didn't speak much English and my hearing is bad anyway. She did a fine job though! </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /><p></p><p>I arrived at the Hilton around two pm, and, after spiraling up a claustrophobic parking garage, finally found a spot near the top. Eventually, I found my way to the front desk, where check in was fast and efficient. I was given room 423, which was at the end of a long hallway. As I was to learn, the bank of three elevators were slow and unreliable, one of which got stuck and people had to be rescued through the roof of the car. That didn't inspire confidence. </p><p><br /></p><p>After picking up my name tag and conference packet, which included a Hershey bar since nearby Hersheys was a conference sponsor, I headed for the ground level where I figured most people would be- after all, that's where the bar was located. In the lobby, I saw one of my Vanity Club (VC) little sisters, Gina, and stopped to say hi to her. I saw her in passing as I was checking in. She said she knew that I'd eventually be at the bar, so she waited to greet me near there. Great- so my reputation as a drunkard still holds over a decade after I stopped heavy drinking. Joy joy.</p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, I saw my other VC little sister in the bar, Samantha. I sat with her for a while, drinking wine on an empty stomach (I didn't have lunch.) Gina later joined us. I saw Sandy Empanada (Lisa's wife) at the bar, and arraigned to have dinner with her, which, after a nap, I did. Sandy and I caught up on each others' lives in between people coming over to say hi to her- she is still a rock star in the community. She also gave me a very belated Xmas gift: a Michael Kors handbag. Thanks again Sandy!</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9gzZygFDKfywSSD7Ml9LtPsY0Le2knamX2D172XPB4Nl3HVlu72kU7qIjdwH5RFRIP7PY890I-_KYZiLOWRMagfaxLzUpmRSC9h4dwUpugbEvPmHJoI6cFormvTKQxoZorVvqgCdW-1SgZJw5MXpuQwlmet_3sNsal1nbCv9g6o9IxL6sbcFIsE--g/s2048/336917513_2412363442273896_3520299546231988876_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="2048" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjX9gzZygFDKfywSSD7Ml9LtPsY0Le2knamX2D172XPB4Nl3HVlu72kU7qIjdwH5RFRIP7PY890I-_KYZiLOWRMagfaxLzUpmRSC9h4dwUpugbEvPmHJoI6cFormvTKQxoZorVvqgCdW-1SgZJw5MXpuQwlmet_3sNsal1nbCv9g6o9IxL6sbcFIsE--g/s320/336917513_2412363442273896_3520299546231988876_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Gina, me, Samantha</span></div><p><br /></p><p>After dinner, I wasn't feeling well (go figure). I was also very tired so I retired early- in bed by 9:30. So much for seeing everyone after dinner! I saw a few dear friends earlier though.</p><p><br /></p><p>I didn't sleep well- kept waking up. At one point I gave up and stayed awake. The restaurant was serving breakfast, so I went down to eat. It was a small buffet, but good. After breakfast I bumped into friends, and chatted with them for a bit, then went back to the room for a bit. I had a meeting to attend at 10:30, which lasted until 12:15. I went to the lunch banquet, and found a seat at a table marked "Veterans/First Responders." The tables were labeled by hobbies and other things to encourage conversation. As I'm not "Outdoorsy type" and there were no seats at "Creative endeavors," I asked if "former paramedic" was good enough to sit at their table. At the table was the amazing Joanne Carroll, who is one of the founders of Keystone, as well as writer extraordinaire Bree Fam. As the room was loud, I didn't participate much in conversation (trouble hearing). That's one of the troubles with hearing loss- the feeling of isolation in a crowded room. The food was ok... or so I thought.</p><p><br /></p><p>Soon after lunch, I went back to the room as I was experiencing, um, lower gastro-intestinal distress, and spent the next eternity waiting for the Imodium to kick in. I was worn out and not feeling the whole "put on makeup and dress up" for the gala that night. I decided to leave early. (So I didn't need to bring my makeup kit, as I didn't use it.) This was a hard decision, as there were friends I hadn't yet seen, and some I hadn't really spoken to (like Alexandra or Christy), and I'd paid for the dinner. However, I knew I'd feel isolated by the din of conversation, and I really didn't want that feeling either. Or another bout in the bathroom. </p><p><br /></p><p>In the end, my sour digestive system (and laziness) won out, and, after saying goodbye to my dear friend Jenny North (who saw me with my bag), I worked my way back to my car. From there, it was out into the low-cloud rainy afternoon. </p><p><br /></p><p>Going to State College from Harrisburg involves going through several mountain passes and driving the length of valleys, making rte 322 look like a strange set of stairs. That is, except that last valley: to get into Happy Valley, one must ascend Seven Mountains and go over the top, as there is no pass. That's where the low clouds came into play- the top of the mountain was covered in very thick fog; so thick that I could barely see three car lengths ahead of me, even with fog lights on. It made for a white knuckle few minutes before I descended down the other side into the valley enough to get under those clouds and back into the rain for the last leg of the trip to State College. I arrived back at the apartment before the attendees of keystone sat down to dinner. </p><p><br /></p><p>I've never missed a Keystone conference, but this was the shortest time I've ever spent at one, thanks to my depression and my digestive tract. I <i>wanted</i> to see friends; I <i>wanted</i> to have fun, but I seemed incapable of doing it. For the most part, I wandered the convention area alone, or stayed in my room feeling sick. I was so glad to see friends when I did, and the time I spent with them was beyond precious. </p><p><br /></p><p>Hopefully better next year.</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well.</p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-39629458273712317282023-03-22T10:33:00.002-04:002023-03-22T10:33:31.391-04:00Random Thoughts on Nine Years "Out"<p> March 25th marks <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2014/03/full-time.html" target="_blank">nine years full time as Sophie</a>. Sometimes it seems like an eternity, and other times it feels like a heartbeat. In any case, I'm still here, still breathing. </p><p><br /></p><p>A dear friend (Hi Jill!) asked me what is the biggest difference from now until then. That's a good question. On the surface, I've moved several times, done classes for a PhD, gained weight (too much), sold more than I bought, and a partridge in a pear tree.</p><p><br /></p><p>Still, on a deeper level, am I better off than I was nine years ago? Nine years ago, I was living in a room by the grace and charity of a dear friend. I was working as a head cashier at a chain bookstore. I saw my Wife and Daughter pretty much every weekend and occasionally during the week. It still felt like we were a family, despite my living thirty minutes away. Still, <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/tossed-out.html" target="_blank">that uprooting</a>, sudden and swift, tore me apart (especially as it was closely followed by <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/goodbye-lisa-empanada.html" target="_blank">Lisa's death</a>.) I was still very much recovering from those traumas when I declared my Truth to the world. </p><p><br /></p><p>Should I have waited? </p><p><br /></p><p>Now, I live at Penn State, just outside of town. I'm no longer employed by the book store. In that time, I've worked for a chain grocery store for a year, and part time for an LGBT Center for two years I've completed my classes for my PhD and stalled out working on the dissertation proposal. I'd argue that my depression is as deep, if not deeper than ever. Now I spend days sleeping or staring at the ceiling when I should be working on my school stuff. </p><p><br /></p><p>In the end, what's changed? I get to wear dresses and people mostly keep their comments to themselves. I have boobs. That's really about it. Not very deep, is it?</p><p><br /></p><p>Do I ever regret my decision? Well, it's a bit too late for that, isn't it? I regret all that I lost, and what could have been. Remember, my choice was either transition or death. In the end, no matter which I decided, I lost everything. </p><p>So to answer my earlier question: am I better off? Jury's still out on that one.</p><p><br /></p><p>RANDOM THOUGHTS</p><p>Baseball season is almost here. Japan just won the WBC over the USA, despite the efforts of several Philadelphia Phillies in the US lineup. Soon I'll be able to listen to (or watch) baseball on sultry summer evenings. Heaven!</p><p><br /></p><p>The Keystone Conference is underway in Harrisburg, PA. I'll be there Saturday to see old friends and maybe meet new ones. I'm not doing my class this year. It's at a new hotel, which we've booked solid. I wonder how the staff will react to hundreds of transgender women at the same time?</p><p><br /></p><p>My brain isn't braining too well today, so I can't even come up with random thoughts, never mind thoughts worth typing, so I'll end this here.</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well.</p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-60887264060131167862023-02-28T10:24:00.000-05:002023-02-28T10:24:36.846-05:00Long Covid?<p> Today is the final day of February. </p><p>What have I accomplished? Well, I finished that literature review that I was stuck on for all that time. I won't say it was my best work, but it was finished. Now I'm working on my overall dissertation proposal. I'm 18 pages into it, and moving slowly.</p><p><br /></p><p>I've been reading about a condition called "Long covid." It's like the after effects of having it, but they stick around. I had covid in June.</p><p><br /></p><p>The following is from the <a href="https://www.cdc.gov/coronavirus/2019-ncov/long-term-effects/index.html" target="_blank">CDC website</a>: (Italic ones are ones I have). If you're interested, they also link to the actual science behind this, which I tried reading, but was over my head.</p><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bolder;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">General symptoms (<em style="box-sizing: border-box;">Not a Comprehensive List)</em></span></span></p><ul style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; list-style: none !important; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Tiredness or fatigue that interferes with daily life</span></i></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Symptoms that get worse after physical or mental effort (also known as “<a href="https://www.cdc.gov/me-cfs/symptoms-diagnosis/symptoms.html" style="background-color: transparent; box-sizing: border-box; color: #075290;">post-exertional malaise</a>”)</span></i></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fever</span></li></ul><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bolder;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Respiratory and heart symptoms</span></span></p><ul style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; list-style: none !important; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Difficulty breathing or shortness of breath</span></i></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cough</span></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chest pain</span></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fast-beating or pounding heart (also known as heart palpitations)</span></li></ul><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bolder;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Neurological symptoms</span></span></p><ul style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; list-style: none !important; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Difficulty thinking or concentrating (sometimes referred to as “brain fog”)</span></i></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Headache</span></i></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sleep problems</span></i></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Dizziness when you stand up (lightheadedness)</span></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pins-and-needles feelings</span></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Change in smell or taste</span></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Depression or anxiety</span></i></li></ul><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bolder;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Digestive symptoms</span></span></p><ul style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; list-style: none !important; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Diarrhea</span></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Stomach pain</span></li></ul><p style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><span style="box-sizing: border-box; font-weight: bolder;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Other symptoms</span></span></p><ul style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "Open Sans", apple-system, blinkmacsystemfont, "Segoe UI", "Helvetica Neue", arial, sans-serif; list-style: none !important; margin-bottom: 1rem; margin-top: 0px;"><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Joint or muscle pain</span></i></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0.4rem;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rash</span></li><li style="box-sizing: border-box; margin-bottom: 0px;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Changes in menstrual cycles</span></li></ul><p>Some of these, like depression, I had previously. However, the "brain fog" fits like a wet glove. I don't feel as 'sharp' as I used to, and working through standard tasks (like writing) seem like monumental feats. </p><p><br /></p><p>I've made an appointment with my doctor at the University health center to discuss it, and what (if anything) can be done. If I'm not working on a given day, I'll sleep 18 hours either in bed or on the couch- dozing off while trying so hard to write something; anything. I missed my column deadline for TG Forum a couple weeks back, and have been trying to put together the next column since. Oh, and to write this entry. And the dissertation proposal. </p><p><br /></p><p>At this point, the speed of my academic program is on me, and I stalled out at the gate. I should be finished the first draft of the proposal by now, and working on the next step. Instead, I have an entire section still to be written, then revisions. </p><p><br /></p><p>I'll keep plugging along I guess. What else can I do? </p><p><br /></p><p>Oh, I signed up for the Keystone Conference in late March. It's in a new location in downtown Harrisburg. I'll be there on Saturday only to see old friends and maybe meet new people. If you're a reader, please say "hi" if you see me. </p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-5727396630348019522023-02-06T09:39:00.002-05:002023-02-28T09:35:15.269-05:00Is there such thing as Early February?<p> February is here, short as it is. It's so short that we're already almost at mid February. Time flies.</p><p><br /></p><p>Or it doesn't. I don't know if it's the meds or what, but I could sleep 24/7 these days. I spend over 12 hours in bed if I'm not working, then lay on the couch, enduring the day. I have lots to do- my dissertation proposal, cleaning, and, if I wish, hobbies. All I want to do is sleep. It's not like hard labor, which many people do for a living, but its definitely the Darkness having its way. And when I sleep, that's when the nightmares return. At least I wake up from them. </p><p><br /></p><p>Lately the nightmares have been along a similar vein. I have a destination, but no matter how much I travel, it keeps getting further away. But not last night- last night was a Fridays dream. I was doing a table shift at TGI Fridays, in the upstairs section (I worked at Fridays 1989-91). All four of my tables were seated at the same time, and things just fell apart. I was glad to wake up from that one, despite seeing old friends in the dream that I hadn't seen in decades: my coworkers, exactly as they were then, even if I wasn't. I was as I am now: old, slow, and tired. </p><p><br /></p><p>Then I read the news about devastating earthquakes in Turkey and Syria, and I have no reason to complain. 1800 dead- crushed. Horrible. Helpless.</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well. </p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-43470564158973598702023-01-19T10:46:00.001-05:002023-01-19T10:49:34.712-05:00Men of the Skull Part 1, Chapter 27: Sucking Chest Wounds<p>For the most part, I've confined myself to posting chapters of my book, Men of the Skull, from Part II, which concerns Penn State. Part I was about my time at Drexel leading up to my transferring universities. To that point (2004 when I wrote that chapter, and until 2014) transferring schools was the most radical thing I'd ever done in my life. I couldn't believe I had the guts to actually take initiative and do something that seemed so drastic.</p><p>Like climbing into wrecked school buses was ordinary, but I digress.</p><p><br /></p><p>This chapter was the second to last of Part I, and, upon editing, will probably conclude Part I. It's one of the best written chapters of Part I, and that's because I had some help. A few years back, I posted an old story I'd written called "<a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2019/07/an-old-story-disorganized-light.html" target="_blank">Disorganized Light</a>." I mentioned that a dear friend of mine liked it, and threatened to re-write it. Well, he never did, but he DID re-write this chapter. He read it as one of my reviewers once I finished the book in 2007. Out of nowhere I received this chapter, re-written to the form you see now. </p><p>Chris is an amazing writer, especially detective stories. He introduced the 'dummy family' motif to the piece which I'd use while rewriting Part II. In any case, his rewrite was far superior to the original (which I'd titled "It's Over") so I kept it this way. Yes, I'll give him credit for that bit. </p><p><br /></p><p>However, none of that has to do with why I'm posting it now. The piece concerns my final breakup with my first girlfriend, whom I call Julianne. After this, I'd see her a few times before PSU took me in other directions. I saw her once after college, and once at the bookstore pre-transition (She didn't recognize me.) Well, I saw her again this past weekend. I was visiting Wife and Daughter, and was in a grocery store, and there she was. She'd aged, obviously, but still had her classic beauty and tiny nose. She didn't recognize me (go figure) and I didn't say anything to her. Even if nothing else has, that old wound has healed. </p><p>***********************************************************************</p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Chapter 1.27 Sucking Chest Wounds<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p>Saturday, June 28, 1986 <span style="font-family: "Courier New";">World Court: Aid to contras illegal</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"><span> </span> </span>“The
doors are blocked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We won’t get them
open until the towing equipment arrives, and we’re losing time!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don shouted from in front of the crippled
school bus.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Let’s
cut in from the roof,” suggested Allen.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You and Lance do it.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Don,
our captain, had sent me with Allen to the roof of the bus, because we were the
thinnest, so the initial hole could be smaller.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It was an advantage of speed that we needed, but a disadvantage when it
came to handling the massive hydraulic K-saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I steadied Allen as he pulled the big buzz saw across the yellow
roof.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Sparks</st1:city></st1:place> were still flying as he finished his
third cut and I worked to pry back the metal of our make shift entry… revealing
two steel struts and another layer of sheet metal blocking our path.<o:p></o:p></p>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikBeIx0ua1xttvmpCvDLv3M9Zx8ArYHON2kDBcTLO_UsrHhEQsiOUBD8QzmnBxu2_ziQj5zdP_Put4HpWLs1nju72oNOmdgQXXpqeP4G2f97OQtUURJ0mE1CoetYbZssr6LujcpMCaw7MttYzdxx4nE66MrdlxApo-CiXXZeZYcTJQumrdT6QB0YQbw/s500/W-K-12FD_media-01.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgikBeIx0ua1xttvmpCvDLv3M9Zx8ArYHON2kDBcTLO_UsrHhEQsiOUBD8QzmnBxu2_ziQj5zdP_Put4HpWLs1nju72oNOmdgQXXpqeP4G2f97OQtUURJ0mE1CoetYbZssr6LujcpMCaw7MttYzdxx4nE66MrdlxApo-CiXXZeZYcTJQumrdT6QB0YQbw/s320/W-K-12FD_media-01.png" width="320" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Modern K-12 Saw </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">(https://www.thefirestore.com/Partner-K-12FD-Fire-Rescue-Saw)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“What the hell is taking you so
long?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don called up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He had a couple of other guys using the Jaws
of Life on a wrecked car nearby.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“We’ve
encountered some roof struts and a second layer of metal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Five more minutes, I’m guessing” answered
Allen.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“People
inside may be bleeding to death.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cut
between the struts and have Lance climb through without his gear.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s scrawny enough!” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“You
just wish you were still so thin!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
yelled back at him as I stripped off my jacket and tossed it down to Mike, who
was tending the saw’s hydraulic line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Three minutes later, I kicked open
a flap into the school bus.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Watch
it!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That cut metal will be sharp and
hot!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don warned from the ground.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">I put my gloves back on, but could
still feel the metal’s heat through them as I lowered myself through the narrow
hole and jumped down into the bus.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A bit
of the metal cut my arm.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Ouch!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sonafabitch!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I yelled.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Watch
your language with those kids!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Allen
called down, smiling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
quickly triaged the injuries of the four people in the bus—one with a broken
arm, two with head injuries, one of those unconscious, and one… shit.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Allen
dropped a first aid kit down to me, then lowered himself through hole.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As we worked on the unconscious head trauma,
our priority, Don and some of the other guys were finally making headway on
removing the emergency exit in the back of the bus.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">“Julianne comes home from the shore
today” I mentioned to Allen as I held the victim’s head while he put on a
cervical collar.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“How
long has she been gone?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“A
week.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Allen finished with the collar, and
we started strapping the victim to a short back board to immobilize the
spine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you going to keep dating
when you go up to PSU?” he asked.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I
don’t know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess it wouldn’t make
sense really.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“Especially when it’s been in and
out of the toilet so much with you being close,” Allen added.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“Straps are tight.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Let’s move her from the seat” Allen said.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>The door in the back popped open
with a large bang as the <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:city w:st="on">Hurst</st1:city></st1:place>
tool did its job.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>‘We
need another short board, two long boards and two more people in here!” Allen
called to the back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Take
care of that person, there, next” I said, pointing at the other head injury.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Mike
and another guy jumped in and started caring for the victim I’d indicated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don brought in the two long boards and a
short board.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Allen and I strapped our
patient to a long board and carried her out the back.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Why
did you direct Mike to Victim One?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Don
asked us after we put Annie on the ground.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Victim
Three was dead, so I thought number One took priority after this one.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What
do you mean Victim Three was dead?!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Victim Three wasn’t dead, but she probably is now!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“There
was no card, so I did a quick exam and checked for a pulse… there wasn’t one,
so I figured she was dead or uninjured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Either way, it put her at the bottom of the list.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No
pulse, huh?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You think that’s funny?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, just so you know, you’re still
wrong—you’re not a doctor, so you can’t pronounce people dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If that person’s family sued…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“The dummy has a family?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t know…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m really sorry.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“That’s
why we practice” Don smiled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Are you
sure there wasn’t a card that said ‘sucking chest wound’ on her?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Not
that I saw.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Besides, wouldn’t I hear a
sucking chest wound?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Sucking chest wounds might make a wheezing
sound that you can hear, but accident sites tend to make a lot of noise of
their own.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If you come across someone
with a sucking chest wound that‘s louder than a siren, you can pronounce that
person dead.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Now, get back in there!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Allen
and I went back in the bus to take care of the driver.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We still couldn’t find a card detailing what
her injuries were supposed to be, but this time I did notice a gear shift lever
sticking out of the side of her coveralls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>“Still no pulse,” Allen called out to Don, “Is she dead, now?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
damn it, she has sucking chest wound, but she’ll be awfully damn lucky to be
alive after you two guys are done with her!”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“He
can sure say that again,” Allen said quietly as we began to minister to another
Resuci-Annie dummy.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
spent the rest of the morning training in the junk yard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We saved a lot of dummies that day; I felt
even better about it than I had in the past, now that I knew they all had
dummy-families waiting for them at home.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>After
a shower, I sat around watching MTV while I waited for Julianne to call
back.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lenny was having a party tonight
and I was hoping she would come along.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Julianne had never met Lenny—nor anyone else that I worked with for that
matter, except Chrissy, who she knew from the Springsteen show.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Chrissy’d be there tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
and Lenny were a couple now.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
hadn’t spoken to Julianne in over a week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Part of me wondered why she hadn’t bothered to call while she was down
the shore.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another part already knew the
answer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All of me didn’t want to hear
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The phone rang as Phil Collins was
singing to his drumstick <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">“She reaches in,
and grabs right hold of your heart.”</i><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“What’s
up?” she asked as if we’d just spoken to each other this morning.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Lenny—the
guy I work with—is having a party tonight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Want to go?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Sure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What time?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Seven?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“OK.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ll see you then.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“OK.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“OK,
bye.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>She
sounded happy enough.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>It
was a few minutes after seven when I got to her house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She must have been waiting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She came right out of the house and jumped in
the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trip to Lenny’s house was
filled with hearing about how great Sea Isle City was and how much fun she had,
but she seemed a bit cautious again, like she was editing and measuring her
words.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Eventually, we pulled into
Lenny’s front yard; his driveway was packed with cars.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
followed the music into the open garage where we found Lenny pulling a beer
from a nicely iced keg.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Hey!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You made it!” he said, turning toward us.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Told
you we would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lenny, this is Julianne.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Pleased
to meet you Julianne!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve heard a lot
about you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Want a beer?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“No,
thanks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My parents would kill me if I
came home with beer breath.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Well,
dating this guy has to make them suspicious, doesn’t it?” he said, nudging
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>I got myself a beer and followed
him into the living room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was wood
paneled and had a gold colored shag rug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Several bookshelves full of knick knacks and a few books lined one
wall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chrissy played with a high-speed
stereo, which had a CD player and four huge speakers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cutting edge electronics clashed with the
70’s décor… but then what doesn’t?<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Hi
Lance!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Chrissy cheered as she came over
to hug me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Chrissy!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You remember Julianne?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Yeah.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hi!” she said smiling.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>The
stereo began to blast the new Peter Gabriel record. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“This
CD is awesome!” Lenny shouted above the music.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“So’s
the tape.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I replied.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“Huh?”
Lenny asked unable to hear me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“SO
IS THE TAPE.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried again louder.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>Yeah,
‘So’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He replied pointing to the stereo.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>I
gave up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The name of the new Peter
Gabriel album we were listening to was ‘So’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He must have thought I was asking about it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe he forgot that I worked in the record
store with him where we played it to death every day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In any case, my window for making a joke out
of the fact that most people didn’t have a CD player was long gone, so I just
smiled and nodded.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>We
stayed for a couple of hours, but there wasn’t a lot of conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When the party is at the guy-who-works-in-the-record-store-with-the-really-big-stereo’s
house, music tends to dominate the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Julianne followed me around and I introduced her to everyone, but she
didn’t seem to be too interested in really getting to know these guys.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We said our goodbyes relatively early and
started back to her house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>As the Rabbit sputtered down the
road, Julianne stared out the window.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Finally, she spoke.<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span>“Lance,
we, um, need to talk.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Uh oh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Contrary to practical medical advice, I
pushed my finger into my ear and wiggled it around in an attempt to reopen my
auditory canal, so I could better hear that which I knew I didn’t want to.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“I met some guys down the
beach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And it made me feel so… so
wanted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They made me feel sexy.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“And I don’t?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“You do, but this was
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fun.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“Gee, thanks.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“That’s not what I meant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fun playing the whole ‘chase’ thing
with them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was fun flirting.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You know?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>What I mean is…”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“Well, we’ve been seeing other
people for a while.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How is this
different?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“It just is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t want to hurt you, but staying
together would just hurt us both more.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>And it wouldn’t be fair to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or
you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“So, this is it?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“I think it is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m 17, Lance - I think we both know this
isn’t “it.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I still love you, but I’m
not ready to settle down right now.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
want to be fair to us both.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></span>“Ok.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>“I still want to be friends.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Oh shit – the “friends” line.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There wasn’t anything else to say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No words can more quickly end a conversation
between a man and a woman, leaving him dumfounded, than, “Let’s just be friends.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess I should have been glad that she
didn’t use them verbatim, but the familiar stabbing pain was back, stronger
than ever.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt empty, and relieved,
yet full of rage at the same time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
knew I was just telling Allen this morning that it made no sense for us to keep
dating when I went to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Penn</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">State</st1:placetype></st1:place>, but somehow I
didn’t expect it to end like this, with so much… ‘Fairness’.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt sick.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>The rest of the short ride was
silent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At some point, I thought I heard
a faint wheezing sound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I looked over at
Julianne.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She looked fine… Too
fine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, my God, it was coming from me!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Reflexively, I felt around my torso for a
sucking chest wound.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She reaches in, and
grabs right hold of your heart.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>As I pulled up in front of her
house, she half-whispered, “Please don’t hate me.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Another cliché.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>She got out of the car and walked
up her driveway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>I drove home to my dummy-family. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><o:p><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2018/01/men-of-skull-introduction-and-first-psu.html" target="_blank">Next Chapter</a></span></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-85166323550786449482023-01-17T13:01:00.009-05:002023-01-19T09:18:43.061-05:00Clog of Academia<p> For the past few months, I've had writer's block. More than a block- it's like a clog. </p><p><br /></p><p>Need me some academic Draino. </p><p><br /></p><p>My task is to write about anti-racism diversity trainings and relate them, if possible, to transgender trainings, y'know to reduce anti-transgender prejudice, which happens to be my dissertation topic. What you thought I was writing about basket weaving or stamp collecting? No, it's not about transgender osieric or philatelic tendencies. (Look at me using the fancy words! That's me book lernin'!)</p><p><br /></p><p>As time has gone on, my fear of this particular piece has increased. Anti-racism work is everyone's concern- I truly believe that, but I'm no expert on the topic, despite classes and papers. Yes, I've felt the sting of prejudice and unreasoning hatred, but nothing like that experienced by people of color. I don't feel adequately qualified to discuss the topic. </p><p><br /></p><p>I've been working on the piece little by little. I started with an outline, and add a sentence of two daily, or double check a reference. I actually fear working on it. I guess I'm really screwed up.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWTIYuOn0IgHNFWXysNxop63X0K1utstN1BYL2DG7sHyT6S5ikzT5eLnAh8WX3vUbBAScwdiytTQup_uagfQx8XBjwv0U_viy5YWr5ixTR1L4hJbdbesEdePwdBe0qtkXMMZv_xh1gCaDhmle27ktB0XHINoevembuzNo9Q13LslcyyWpnHQK09Lx0g/s532/Log_jam_on_the_St._Croix_River_4343.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="425" data-original-width="532" height="256" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDWTIYuOn0IgHNFWXysNxop63X0K1utstN1BYL2DG7sHyT6S5ikzT5eLnAh8WX3vUbBAScwdiytTQup_uagfQx8XBjwv0U_viy5YWr5ixTR1L4hJbdbesEdePwdBe0qtkXMMZv_xh1gCaDhmle27ktB0XHINoevembuzNo9Q13LslcyyWpnHQK09Lx0g/s320/Log_jam_on_the_St._Croix_River_4343.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/1886_St._Croix_River_log_jam</span></p><p>In any case, I'll finish the damn thing sooner rather than later. Today's NYT published an article on the subject that says clearly what I've been trying to write. So, new reference and summary and then get it to my advisor. If I get up the guts to brave that log jam and hopefully the flood that will follow. </p><p><br /></p><p>Be well.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-66934853295174037572023-01-05T10:47:00.001-05:002023-01-06T14:48:03.044-05:00Computer Issues and NYC<p> Well, no sooner did I post that last entry then my old computer melted down. Blue screen of death. Done for. Kaput.</p><p><br /></p><p>SO this is a new computer. Better. Stronger. Faster. </p><p><br /></p><p>Now I'm catching up on emails I couldn't access (like school email) among others. </p><p><br /></p><p>During that down time, I went to NYC for a doctor appointment. While there, <a href="https://dottingiscrossingts.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Marion J</a>. was kind enough to show me around the Metropolitan Museum and then join me for dinner in Greenwich Village (at a BBQ place that used waaaaay to much salt.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JGZalVzMNFiF9KzhcKviCqlNRnmuM-hRWLhNBvI2sQIC0nwRie7TXgC4jF9-fP0pe5GVZjDrU3z19RV95oxJuBVVuueo6DBAAWU6P1S8uUVVz-orb5lEjDj6N57I9ztwstnLPtRh_wYmhNAANNPywUXAXwRGZ8lFXZf8NcZqe-O5SfFEU2tpGJSJHg/s2048/320686780_515823767175790_6430951039881655640_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1539" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JGZalVzMNFiF9KzhcKviCqlNRnmuM-hRWLhNBvI2sQIC0nwRie7TXgC4jF9-fP0pe5GVZjDrU3z19RV95oxJuBVVuueo6DBAAWU6P1S8uUVVz-orb5lEjDj6N57I9ztwstnLPtRh_wYmhNAANNPywUXAXwRGZ8lFXZf8NcZqe-O5SfFEU2tpGJSJHg/s320/320686780_515823767175790_6430951039881655640_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Food Cart at Twilight</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUNghavt-7oVX3p4gowEXPGPzvtkEGRf5PedOdCAeB8d-zFPNR7vvr-1NHnVokl902SVUJwMKssQxtYDfYYPlUsakYsJUOZ1d91YA_zMgPTwMHP1cI3HPT-tu13E1vHPs_fKJfWRQ718kwHMZKROPEMY_-L42InmLMAFQv5NOkINJNPEMQ4VHU3eLIug/s1816/320734921_504504601499380_8626172347830203238_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="1816" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUNghavt-7oVX3p4gowEXPGPzvtkEGRf5PedOdCAeB8d-zFPNR7vvr-1NHnVokl902SVUJwMKssQxtYDfYYPlUsakYsJUOZ1d91YA_zMgPTwMHP1cI3HPT-tu13E1vHPs_fKJfWRQ718kwHMZKROPEMY_-L42InmLMAFQv5NOkINJNPEMQ4VHU3eLIug/s320/320734921_504504601499380_8626172347830203238_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">No Avengers?</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPHbTQ1Lgy8qZOeNmgwXrGqeREInVBo5eBC-3Qv2VDqD5YXhw-oVD1CbIzXJsEm-ONlEcrSU9mBZvq0W_GN9kkIJVyHTv37ltQOSDfakePiHsRnUfJqrk0LY7xd5mi1qO5wVfQs62U2iXLY3wtVRHGQAMhgAAMZrGP1Ca_N_jCILe9C79ga5v2GS9CtQ/s2048/320804581_876246550233949_4479849809560848434_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPHbTQ1Lgy8qZOeNmgwXrGqeREInVBo5eBC-3Qv2VDqD5YXhw-oVD1CbIzXJsEm-ONlEcrSU9mBZvq0W_GN9kkIJVyHTv37ltQOSDfakePiHsRnUfJqrk0LY7xd5mi1qO5wVfQs62U2iXLY3wtVRHGQAMhgAAMZrGP1Ca_N_jCILe9C79ga5v2GS9CtQ/s320/320804581_876246550233949_4479849809560848434_n.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxOuE1Rvte2iQY6FoFIUPay6Ao72DZ-DxPloIOwNLqTUNauiJQlVpGCEoiZ1-IgSF8XRJT6sfmKBykNpgpbIZRbmrTAxXfA3trANkkt0rJW1N5EvUKJ6RapgSSOvu0I_yKMV-uJ1oDoazGuiJEATQ7uf3HUD9slniIVlSrzMecBRHr6p7NLj2coAUzQ/s2048/320967193_1357459598347036_4543134764908681218_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKxOuE1Rvte2iQY6FoFIUPay6Ao72DZ-DxPloIOwNLqTUNauiJQlVpGCEoiZ1-IgSF8XRJT6sfmKBykNpgpbIZRbmrTAxXfA3trANkkt0rJW1N5EvUKJ6RapgSSOvu0I_yKMV-uJ1oDoazGuiJEATQ7uf3HUD9slniIVlSrzMecBRHr6p7NLj2coAUzQ/s320/320967193_1357459598347036_4543134764908681218_n.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Short legs</div><p><br /></p><p>The hotel room was literally at 90 degrees despite me opening both windows to the single digit night air outside. Sweaty uncomfortable night. The appointment the next day was for GCS. The upshot was this: lose 50 pounds and then we'll talk. They could've said that on the fucking telephone and saved me the time. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMmk0r6lTnDgR5Q8Kjw4vcXJ-DLSoi2cQtTqz-qn-JXVsAXsuL9EkHGmTx_kI9MSUfFrqyKR4YJmFb9erldJc35POvJj2bt1fuxlVQ2AsuiLsKFbhdLaXLIllJbMcp5d0DcPt-_Ime_rTnspX4-CVdQ2EhLNLvjf1c-wGwMvAdkAWzke_aTiHyJvSHA/s2048/320686557_1137978013569376_4839524221082414571_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="922" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMmk0r6lTnDgR5Q8Kjw4vcXJ-DLSoi2cQtTqz-qn-JXVsAXsuL9EkHGmTx_kI9MSUfFrqyKR4YJmFb9erldJc35POvJj2bt1fuxlVQ2AsuiLsKFbhdLaXLIllJbMcp5d0DcPt-_Ime_rTnspX4-CVdQ2EhLNLvjf1c-wGwMvAdkAWzke_aTiHyJvSHA/s320/320686557_1137978013569376_4839524221082414571_n.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><p>Since I was in the area, I decided to visit the grave of one of my heroines: Harriet Quimby. She died over fifty years before I was born, yet her story really gripped me. So much done in such a short life. So, after a white knuckle drive through some of NYC's less touristy areas, I arrived at Kenisco Cemetery, where many famous people are buried. </p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AgIxZrUWuK6jZYYwqKExqt3L-6EUqneXrro519GQfgHRsQhKVTIh-ZvsyvAA3YVr4VGduL_ze7hcSvfzjuM4dhCpQfkpTUgSOkOZNEA0DSpgiXseXww3ZAqyM4TvxrMasx4beMG3NApHs1E_jkL9D0_nIxMyTSPP1X6KnDujtNatebHf21uxAtmGKQ/s2048/320987308_851215012761298_7852157635488317491_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1537" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-AgIxZrUWuK6jZYYwqKExqt3L-6EUqneXrro519GQfgHRsQhKVTIh-ZvsyvAA3YVr4VGduL_ze7hcSvfzjuM4dhCpQfkpTUgSOkOZNEA0DSpgiXseXww3ZAqyM4TvxrMasx4beMG3NApHs1E_jkL9D0_nIxMyTSPP1X6KnDujtNatebHf21uxAtmGKQ/s320/320987308_851215012761298_7852157635488317491_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzSEmS6esu8EjAODrmKr4mEbqT2f78RzLt-EdToVRsoMAUY56--MnioOGrF6gG2k21u11ho24FZ_4duCzthqPWSUBqjapeW8Go1MsJc4dY5NFgL2GI7GCB18mwSeN2bq29LBEcVID5R_cVtTf9ii0dYl5oBfNstCLK1lD2U05Yh15-TM7BJm33pYl_nQ/s2048/321095859_736887630686773_122531484869779968_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzSEmS6esu8EjAODrmKr4mEbqT2f78RzLt-EdToVRsoMAUY56--MnioOGrF6gG2k21u11ho24FZ_4duCzthqPWSUBqjapeW8Go1MsJc4dY5NFgL2GI7GCB18mwSeN2bq29LBEcVID5R_cVtTf9ii0dYl5oBfNstCLK1lD2U05Yh15-TM7BJm33pYl_nQ/s2048/321095859_736887630686773_122531484869779968_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTMauuKlDeri-up4nMEnxCyHDnk9v2Dg_uq2V8twYUbbh80vyG3NWJiZwxNkVJy05CPs8fiOWhYYarpluioMv7tidjiXHQCgsTii7WdsrCSHpMBn2xRghH3iPJcf42m_fjDYsdQFVdH5qyCZR0IPIWD4aAYVnwMf9NHGJrq5v_dUFdtHDQ2woje_mMA/s2048/321045513_722708132621343_6234857451462979390_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqTMauuKlDeri-up4nMEnxCyHDnk9v2Dg_uq2V8twYUbbh80vyG3NWJiZwxNkVJy05CPs8fiOWhYYarpluioMv7tidjiXHQCgsTii7WdsrCSHpMBn2xRghH3iPJcf42m_fjDYsdQFVdH5qyCZR0IPIWD4aAYVnwMf9NHGJrq5v_dUFdtHDQ2woje_mMA/s320/321045513_722708132621343_6234857451462979390_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="2048" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzSEmS6esu8EjAODrmKr4mEbqT2f78RzLt-EdToVRsoMAUY56--MnioOGrF6gG2k21u11ho24FZ_4duCzthqPWSUBqjapeW8Go1MsJc4dY5NFgL2GI7GCB18mwSeN2bq29LBEcVID5R_cVtTf9ii0dYl5oBfNstCLK1lD2U05Yh15-TM7BJm33pYl_nQ/s320/321095859_736887630686773_122531484869779968_n.jpg" width="320" /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPYzyMr6IfQ4p5WKc-MADXn_KQG3u1Tcb3TGTbfpofichVkLXbST-D4VTH3be7I4XOj83raeQSKIfpZb6TSSJWiZVgRlUCqO19_Q9yMnZKqCR01kxxAzdYaWgN5dtAMBx5C93FU8S0Nl6qJhw1Fxm8rk44swFZfyOu-HBsGDDtuzrm4FNubeBEcyn9yA/s2048/320926129_848713542864017_3957608031243857339_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPYzyMr6IfQ4p5WKc-MADXn_KQG3u1Tcb3TGTbfpofichVkLXbST-D4VTH3be7I4XOj83raeQSKIfpZb6TSSJWiZVgRlUCqO19_Q9yMnZKqCR01kxxAzdYaWgN5dtAMBx5C93FU8S0Nl6qJhw1Fxm8rk44swFZfyOu-HBsGDDtuzrm4FNubeBEcyn9yA/s320/320926129_848713542864017_3957608031243857339_n.jpg" width="180" /></a></div></div><br /><br /><p><br /></p><p>After leaving a purple rose for Harriet, and stopping by to see Lou Gehrig, I turned my car toward State College. It was a long drive, but at least the weather was better on the way back then the rain I encountered on the way. I arrived as the sun was setting, and immediately lay down, as my back hurt after all that driving. </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqsj3BbCSCWEhkiAcbKCofpckuCaXLMbVVstwLq2NRldAbn3mLjyMBJKS0UvCLJvBN-p0-bHy6pDNEeDDGnDUxsQAY3y8p8Q-nMsqTA77zsGtHN5aWZhQMCBLXFW0Nk9fr0fC1pjKQ7Isf70OajJZ13ny_d8pAc5YN7nw1q0IYaJ6ByielZJTPI-KAw/s1167/319555995_556554826323900_5926118931216760246_n.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1167" data-original-width="526" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivqsj3BbCSCWEhkiAcbKCofpckuCaXLMbVVstwLq2NRldAbn3mLjyMBJKS0UvCLJvBN-p0-bHy6pDNEeDDGnDUxsQAY3y8p8Q-nMsqTA77zsGtHN5aWZhQMCBLXFW0Nk9fr0fC1pjKQ7Isf70OajJZ13ny_d8pAc5YN7nw1q0IYaJ6ByielZJTPI-KAw/s320/319555995_556554826323900_5926118931216760246_n.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p>So, do I have any pithy comment or pseudo-wise conclusion after the trip? After all, I saw some of the greatest works of historical art at the Met, walked the streets of one of the world's greatest cities (during a very cold day), and visited a large cemetery to call upon a heroine. Well, aside from reflecting on my own mortality, which I always do when visiting a cemetery, I can't say that I do. Having lived in a city for two years back in the day (84-86) kind of relieved me of the shock and awe of the NYC sights. Still, I met someone who reads the blog and had a delightful afternoon in her company. </p><p><br /></p><p>I suppose that if I really think of it, I stood in front of art and objects over 5,000 years old, and the grave of a woman whose feats should make her extremely famous, but who time has forgotten. So I suppose history can be fickle, or maybe it's just us.</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well. </p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-16204309440442552662022-12-23T17:01:00.002-05:002022-12-23T17:01:44.607-05:00Fiction from the Day: Transfer<p>I found this copy of the story, rejection letter still clipped to it, in storage a few weeks back. I scanned it in and worked on re-formatting it. I thought it lost, along with the other stories- lost in a shuffle of papers when I was <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2013/09/tossed-out.html" target="_blank">thrown out</a> back in 2013. There are two others still out there, lost: <i>Nov. 1</i>, and <i>Promises of Heaven</i>, which was my longest work before writing my book (and PhD work). Maybe someday they'll turn up someday- I'm not holding my breath.</p><p>I wrote this story for an advanced fiction writing class in fall of 1987. The instructor was professor <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/William_Tenn" target="_blank">Philip Klass, better known as sci-fi author William Tenn</a>. Under his watchful eye (and sarcastic pen), this story completely changed from something really stupid to what it is now- with a FAR better ending. This piece was rejected by a noted science fiction magazine with a terse form letter in 1990. re-reading it now, I see why. It's extremely violent and dehumanizing among other issues.</p><p><br /></p><p>It started roughly as a story about why I transferred from Drexel University to Penn State, and that people joined Greek houses for parties, and such, but also for protection- people to walk with so one wouldn't be mugged. This morphed into an improbable sci-fi story of urban hell. Still, if you buy the premise, it has some very good points. Professor Klass wrote on the final version he saw "You have an ear for dialogue, and that's a rare gift."</p><p><br /></p><p>After graduation, I edited it a bit for grammar and a couple of bits of stroy that didn't make sense, and copyrighted it (and three other stories) in 1991. One of those four, <a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2019/07/an-old-story-disorganized-light.html" target="_blank"><i>Disorganized Light</i></a>, can be found in this blog. </p><p><br /></p><p>Thirty five years later, it's easy for me to poke holes in the story. It name drops a lot of my fraternity brothers both at Drexel and PSU. The antagonists- the Musloids- are broad stereotypes whose name should be evidence enough of that fact. I wrote them as almost sub-human in a way of "othering" them and therefore justifying all the killing. I recognize now, it was my own racism that caused me to do that, especially given that I assume whiteness when writing about the protagonists. Also, the lead character, loosely based on me, was very flawed in several ways doing things I actually did (cheat on someone) and didn't (cheat on an exam.) Also, I never thought through what society would be like for graduates of Sentinel. What would life be like for these former street warriors? PTSD? Or even just a transfer student from such a violent place to the "veritable paradise" that I describe as "State?" </p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, here it is, unedited since 1991. I'd be very interested in your thoughts. </p><p><br /></p><p>Trigger warning: Alcoholism, violence, guns</p><p><br /></p><p>********************************************************************</p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGgl6p2qNUpHZNQArBKh-Zi5A9hJQRor2lKS_itLhs4E7qKIsNknFNU1z0rg0R7Z6dJGNQGQ7QiAPKbp8c3LxMup79CB2PxaglumRyrTi2IsGCu_6WF--V4LQc9uGB7ZoIcvGuMTwr7xM7hkxPpJ2NOIxHTMzb9s9MOxyeXosvE8g-XyQ9CLXaYqj3eg/s872/transfer.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="872" data-original-width="701" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGgl6p2qNUpHZNQArBKh-Zi5A9hJQRor2lKS_itLhs4E7qKIsNknFNU1z0rg0R7Z6dJGNQGQ7QiAPKbp8c3LxMup79CB2PxaglumRyrTi2IsGCu_6WF--V4LQc9uGB7ZoIcvGuMTwr7xM7hkxPpJ2NOIxHTMzb9s9MOxyeXosvE8g-XyQ9CLXaYqj3eg/s320/transfer.jpg" width="257" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">The Original, printed from my Apple MacIntosh</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">His
head exploded. Blood and bone rained all over my battered body. The other
attacker froze. His eyes were real wide. He dropped his weapon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"It's
cool, man. I'll leave. Please, man! We can deal!'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
right side of his chest was instantly torn away, and pasted to the wall. The
last thing I remember before passing out is seeing six people wearing black
jackets coming toward me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
woke up in the hospital. I had a broken left arm, a concussion, and several
broken ribs. What a way to start my freshman year. That was the fourth time I
was mugged since I came to Sentinel University.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sentinel
University: guarding the gateway to the future." What a laugh. Sentinel is
located in a bad neighborhood in the city. It’s been years, maybe since the
turn of the century, since this area has been safe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They don't tell you that in the brochure.
They have a highly respected<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>engineering
program, and that's why I went there. I came from a small farming town, full of
crazy ideas about college life with its parties and stuff. I had no idea that
it didn't exist anymore. Me? I'm Darren Hoffman, Sentinel class of 2071, and a
first-class idiot for being there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was in the hospital for two days while they fixed my ribs. The Bone mender
wouldn't work on my arm because of some allergy I have. It has something to do
with bong elasticity, or something. My roommate and my parents visited. They
gave me the usual 'you should be more careful' speech. Then, ten minutes before
the end of visiting hours, in walked six guys. They were wearing black jackets
with dull yellow trim and yellow greek letters. Fraternity brothers.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
froze.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Fraternity
brothers have the well-deserved reputation of being rough.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They're just like the other street gangs,
except that brothers go to college, and usually don't come from the city. My
grandpa told me that when he went to college, fraternities were all social: all
parties and stuff. Not anymore.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Anyway,
they came in. They looked only a little older than me, except for their eyes. Their
eyes looked real old, like my dad's or something. One guy held up my wallet.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You
lost this." He tossed it on the bed. I found out later that everything was
still in it, though I didn't dare check it at the time.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yer
lucky we came along, dude. You was in a bad way. Anyway, Zonk here was comin'
in to get some new teeth, so we thought we'd return yer wallet. Why did you do
such a dumb ass thing? Never walk around at night with less than six
people."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Six
heavily armed people." said Zonk with a grin. He had only three teeth.
Ugly. Real ugly.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">They
asked me to join them. I found out why later: four brothers had been killed by
the Musloids, a gang of locals that roam the city, led by Skeletron. Skeletron
isn't his real name, but it's name enough. He is mean.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Musloids declared war on all
fraternities, because he thought they were on his turf. The scariest thing is
that they're everywhere. You see Musloids on the streets mugging people, and
you see them working at places like food stops. You can tell who they are by
the 'M' they have carved on the back of their left hands. If they have a left
hand.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
accepted the brothers' offer. I was tired of being a victim.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Pledging
was rough. I pledged with ten other guys, and three died during the process. It
was a street survival course, kinda like a military boot camp. They told us
that we had to be as tough as the locals, and then some. My big brother in the
fraternity, 'Xenon,' really helped me through, you know, with moral support. He
and his fiancée, Blair, they were always there for me. They did everything
together. She knew a lot of things about the fraternity that she shouldn't
have.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
was initiated into the fraternity on May 4, 2068, a year and a half ago. That's
when they gave us our weapons. I chose an antique: a semi-automatic .357
magnum, with infra-red sight. It’s over thirty-five years old, but it still
works. It works too well. Since initiation, I’ve killed nine people, and maimed
three, and I've been hospitalized five times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The worst part about the hospital is that they take away everyone's weapons,
but it seems safe so I don't worry. The police were never told about any of
these things. They wouldn't care anyway. Killing bothers me, but every time it
was self-defense. Yeah, self-defense.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Anyway,
some brother from another chapter is visiting. He has business in the city for
a few days, so he's staying with us. We're taking turns putting him up. He says
his name is Rob, and he goes to some big, rural university, where he's a member
of the fraternity.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“So
you guys, like, carry guns. Is it that bad here?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah,
it is." I look him over. He looks spoiled. He's got nice clothes, sunglasses,
and even a gold nose ring. I haven't seen gold in a few years, and nose rings
have been out since 2050.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Is
that why the windows have steel plates with gun ports? I mean, like, this place
is like a fortress. Why bother?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
if we had glass windows, someone'd be bound to throw a grenade in, or worse.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Like
who?'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
the local gangs usually. Or maybe an enemy house. There's seven fraternities
and four sororities on this campus, so it's not unusual for one house to fight
another."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"God!
We don't have nothin' like that out at State.'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Really?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah.
We carry knives sometimes, y' know, for, like, the locals n' stuff, but you guys
are, like, carrying artillery pieces!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Uh,
yeah. What else is different?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
there's, like, not as many cops, and hardly any anti-grav vehicles, armed or
otherwise. We just basically have, like, a good time, and y'know, like, get
high like usual, get laid, and shit like that.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sounds
like fun."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Fuckin'
A it is, man. Like, it's great when we, like, have parties...'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You
have parties?'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sure.
Don't you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No.
We don't let anyone near the door. Anyway, sorry to interrupt.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh
yeah. Where was I?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Parties."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh
yeah. Anyway, Darren, when we have parties, all these girls come out...'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"You
still call them 'girls'?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah..."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“To
their faces?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah.
Why? Don't you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“They'd
shoot our nuts off if we did. We call 'em women, or ladies, or by their first names.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Oh."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Sorry
to interrupt. You were sayin'?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Oh
yeah, uh, well, the gir...women come out, and we, like, have a wild time. Y'
know, playin' drinking games, dancing, gettin' laid...”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"ls
that all you think about?'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Gettin'
laid.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
no. I, like, go to classes n'stuff. Why?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You
keep bringing it up”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sorry.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Anyway, dude, you should like, come out, and visit us sometime.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Yeah.
I'll try.'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Last
year, one of the pledges, a city kid, chose me as his big brother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We call him 'Dusty.' It wasn't my idea: I
wanted to call him Pee Wee.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Anyway, we
hang out a tot together. In fact, he's my roommate this year.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After Rob leaves, Dusty comes back from
class.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“So,
Dusty, who're you goin' out with tonight?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Tonight
it's, uh, Faye's turn. Think I should bring her flowers or somthin'?'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Uhhh,
nah. Who's Faye?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“God,
Darren, you goin' senile? You met her last week. She's the blond with the
huge...uh, gazongas.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh
yeah! I remember now! I thought you had her already. A second date is bad for
your image as a playboy."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
she's worth a second shot.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Who's
goin' with you?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Deke,
Skorny, Lella, Hackster, and...oh shit! I need one more. You wanna come?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Fraternity
regulations require that no one leaves the house at night without a minimum of
five other brothers along with him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
don't have a date.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
could call Donna for ya!" Donna was the person he laid Monday night.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Dusty said she likes
me, too. I hate having to be fixed up on dates, and I tell him so.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
dude, if you could get your own women, I wouldn't have to do it<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">for ya.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
throw my calculus book at him. He laughs, and unplugs his jacket from the armor
charger.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">An
hour later, Donna is nibbling on my ear as we ride in a fraternity cruiser. We
have four of them. They look like eight-foot-high, street-gray, trapezoidal
solids with a small turret. Like every other house, we buy used police
cruisers. They remove the main gun, then sell them real cheap. We buy them
because they have a lot thicker armor than a regular family cruiser. Of course,
we put our own guns in the turret. The cruisers we have are relatively weak:
only twelve inches of armor, a 120-mm. cannon, and three fifty-caliber machine
guns. The Thetas claim their cruisers fire tactical nukes. Anyway, the other
brothers are manning the weapons while I drive. The anti-grav units that power
the thing aren’t working too well, so the ride's a bit rough.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
pull into the night club parking lot. 'The Sensational Strobe' is the best
nightspot in town. After shutting down and locking the systems, we open the
door, and take our weapons off safety. There are plenty of parking-lot security
men, so we reach the club without incident. Donna runs her hand over my chest
as I pay the cover. Anyone can get into these places since the drinking age was
lowered to ten. We check our guns at the door, and feel thankful that we carry
knives.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
club is crowded. I see some familiar faces from school. There are a few Beta
Kappas here, and a few Sigma women. We're on good terms with both. Midterms
ended last week, so I guess everyone's just blowing off steam. I know I am. My
last exam was astro-physics 512. I cheated off the geek next to me, and I think
I barely passed. It was rough, especially since they use cameras to check for
cheating. Fortunately, one of my brothers was working the camera room, and, of
course, didn't report me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Will the owner of cruiser license number
PKS-189 please return to your vehicle. Your lights are on. Repeating: PKS-189,
your lights are on.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
the hell, Darren! Forget to turn off the lights, you dipshit?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
sigh and get up. "l'll be right back." I pick up my gun and record my
retina code so I can get back in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
night has gotten cooler, and a mist is coming in from the river.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The only sounds I hear are the hum of anti-gravs
being charged, and the whirr of the atmosphere purifiers. I don't see any
parking-lot security, so I pull my gun, and activate the sight. I reach our
cruiser. The lights are off. Something catches my eye behind the next cruiser,
so I slowly go over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">It's
a parking-lot security man. His armor has a hole burned into it. But only
police carry lasers that powerful...The air burns past my ear. I flatten on the
ground, and crawl behind a cruiser. A thin line of red light flashes by: a
laser. You can't hear them, and they're deadly. Who's shooting at me? And where
did they get a laser? A shadow behind me. I turn and fire. A Musloid's stomach
explodes like a bloody fireworks display. My arm burns. I’ve been hit. I roll
to put out the fire. I need help. Pain. Help. Pain. I fight back the panic.
Look up. Another Musloid with a police rifle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He's smiling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Drop
it or I'll fry yer fuckin' nuts off."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
drop my gun. Pain. I'm dead. He's smiling. Pain. I think I pissed myself. He
looks up. A rain of bullets tear him apart. My brothers are here. I roll over,
and grope for my gun. I think about that school where I wouldn't need it. Dusty
picks up the police laser. Godl My arm hurts! I hear somebody running away, and
the Musloid I shot groaning behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Deke
walks over to him.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Dar-man,
yer losin' yer touch. He's still alive." He puts his shot gun to the
Musloidrs crotch, and pulls the trigger. The Musloid screams for about thirty
seconds, then Deke shoots him in the head.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Deke
smiles like a kid at Christmas. Dusty helps me up, and comments on how I won't get
laid tonight. They take me back to the house, without our dates.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
sit in my room with a bandage on my arm to cover the insta-skin graft on the
burn hole. I'm coming off the high from the drugs that the house medic gave me.
Rob, the visiting dude, is sitting with me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“So,
Darren is it?" "Yeah.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“Okay.
Darren, man, like, you guys don't , like, fool around. Hey, why don't you have
a bunch of severed hands with M's carved on 'em like whatsizname does?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Deke.
Why don't l? Guess I have taste. Those show how many Musloids you kill."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
how come no one never, like, hears about this shit outside the city?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Uhh,
restrictive information act, I think it was called. City mayors are allowed to,
uhh, declare a press blackout in times of crisis. It’s been around for four or
five years. No press allowed. Not even the governors.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Gets in the way of business.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Isn't
that, like, unconstitutional?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
guess so. Congress passed it though. President signed it. Nobody knows why.
Probably pay-offs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
never even, like, heard of it.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Press
blackout, all the way."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Xenon
stumbles in, drunk.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“So,
'lil' bro, yerrr ffucked up uh-gin.' He leans against the post of my bunk bed,
and belches.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Not
as fucked up as you. Where's Blair?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Don't
know. Probably.ggettin' sssick. She had, uh, more'n me.” He takes a large gulp
from his bottle, and grimaces.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Why
in hell do to drink that pisswater, dude?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Pputs
hair 'n m' chest.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He smiles and slumps
to the floor. He's out cold. Deke walks in, swinging some freshly severed hands
on a string.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Xenon!
Lookin' good pledge-bro!” He picks up the bottle, and pockets it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
Dar-man, guess what I heard?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You're
pregnant!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Ha
ha.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You
got your mom pregnant?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Fuck
off! Seriously, it turns out that the dude you shot tonight was Skeletron's
brother or something. One of his boys called a threat in on you individual-like."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">'That's
like the fourth or fifth brother of his we hit. Must be quite a litter. Anyway,
how many threats is that on me now? Five?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Six.
Puts you in the lead in this house. Borowski over in Theta has you beat by two
for campus lead, though. Congrats anyway!”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“How'd
he say he's gonna do it this time? The usual slow death by bad breath?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Nah.
Said he'd peel ya like an apple. Hope ya don't have worms.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
laugh until Xenon begins to puke. Rob and Deke carry him off to the<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">bathroom.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Next
day is my history class. I took national history, 'cause it sounded better than
ethnic history. Sentinel is one of the few schools left that teach any kind of
liberal arts, just like they're one of the few with all human instructors: no
computers. They're real proud of it too. They put in the brochure real big:
'the total education for a total you.' Those are the main reasons I came to
this hole. There's more to life than crunchin' numbers. Most colleges dropped
liberal arts, since the end of the tech-revolution. All the big brains were too
busy getting high to further technology. Progress stopped. Colleges panicked,
especially after the Russians built Moonbase. So to turn out engineers and
scientists quicker, most colleges dropped everything but the tech courses.
Anyway, today Dr. Goldstein is covering the Federal Drug Regulation Act of
1996.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“...So,
are there any more questions about the exam? Going once, twice, gone. Okay,
class, what can you tell me about the D.R.A. from your reading? Ms.
Sigman?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“It
generated lots of money for the government. The federal deficit was wiped out
in a matter of months."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Ah!
So all is peachy? Who signed it, and what happened as a result? Mr. Raymond.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“President
Hibowitz. She was called a hero, and then impeached on embezzlement
charges."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“And
her replacement, Mr. Raymond?'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"President
Cappeletti.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
about her?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“She
was Italian? I don't know."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Mr.
Daugherty.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Her
replacement was like a puppet of the military. Street violence in the cities
went out of control, as addicts would kill anyone for drug money."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Right.
Then, the police took the operation under federal regulation. The government
recruited the former crime families to be the sole manufacturers of the drugs,
to be sold only by police, for a hefty profit. The black market drugs are
considered too unsafe to use, due to federal poisoning. Was the transition to a
profit-hungry police force smooth? Mrs. Cliff.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No.
Since then, murder, rape, and arson are no longer important: kinda like
jaywalking. The police are only worried about turning a profit. Anyone not
payin' the police protection tax, or late on their drug money, gets real dead
real quick. It’s their way of curbing the population explosion."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Some
muffled laughter. “That's right, class. Real funny. Do you know what it really
was? The end of civilization. Millions became addicts. Then, with the press
supplying phony news to the suburbs, no one questioned what was happening on
the city streets. I mean, you need a goddamn permit to enter the city! ln the
suburbs, people are always too stoned to worry about it. Doesn't that make you
think? Even a little?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Silence.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“And
what about the Soviets? What did they think about our new policy? Ms. Wu?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“They
were more than happy to watch us self-destruct. Then they instituted a
prohibition law.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Which
led to?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">'”No
more Stoly's vodka.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
stifles his taugh. "Yes, that and the Murmansk riots of 2011. 4000 rumored
dead. Still, what were the sociological effects here? What about the cuIture?
The children?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A
muffled cough.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh,
why do I bother? Next time, we'll cover the U.S. role in the Franco-Spanish War
of 2002. Have a safe day.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Rob's
descriptions keep bugging me. People actually have fun at his college? No
weapons and no police? I didn't think places like that existed anymore. The
next day, I go down to the Sentinel registrar's office, and get information
about transferring. I leave it out on my desk, and Dusty sees it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What's
this bullshit?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What's
it look like? I want out. I'm tired of this killing, and shit. I came to
college to learn engineering, not to blow people away."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"That's
bullshit! You can't leave! Yer needed here! After Xenon and Deke, you n'
Cheever are the oldest brothers in the house. You're a goddamn former
president! People look up to you, man. You can't back out now, you fuckin'
country hick. What are you gonna do if someone crosses ya at State? Here, you
fuckin' blow 'em away! That's power, man. No one fucks<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">with you here. You
can't leave.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Yeah?
Watch me. Dusty, I heard about a college where you don't even need a gun! They
even have parties! That sounds a hell of a lot better than getting blown away
by some stupid asshole for no reason.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Shit”
And here I thought my big bro was a real man. Guess I had it wrong. Fuckin'
hick.” <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He slams the door as he leaves. I
think it's Lisa's turn tonight.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That
night is the bi-weekly chapter meeting. It’s dull as usual, until new business.
Cheever, the house president, brings it up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"It has come to my
attention that Darren might be transferring out of here. ls this true?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
sit up, and clear my throat. "Uh, well, uh, I've been, uh, thinking about
it, yeah.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
we were talkin' about this at the officers' meeting. We can’t allow you to leave.
I mean, if you leave, one of us could get killed.'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah,
and if I stay, it could be me. And besides, there's nothin' you can do to stop
me. If I wanna leave, I'll leave."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Look,
pledge bro, don't try to bullshit me. I’m ready for you."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah.
It turns out that brother Devinney has a copy of some interesting fitm he
swiped from the camera room after your 512 midterm. If we chose to send it to
the admissions office at State, you wouldn't have a prayer of gettin' in. Not
to mention you'd be kicked out of this school.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You're
bluffing.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You
know me, Dar-man. We pledged together. I don't bluff.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“You're
a bastard, Cheever.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
smiles. “I guess we can consider the matter closed then?”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“For
now. But I'll remember this.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
next day, I go out with Xenon, Blair, Dusty, and some pledge for a little
daylight drinking. Rob went home to a paradise I'll never know. It’s a
Saturday, so there's a lot more cops out than usual. Saturday is collection day
for police tax, so they're pretty busy. We go to the college bar, the “Condom,"
which is only a couple of blocks away. After a few pitchers of beer, we're all.
feeling pretty good. I hear that Dr. Goldstein was dismissed by the University
for "health reasons.' Xenon spills beer on Blair, so she wants to go home
to change. Xenon doesn't want to leave, so she asks me to escort her there and
back. She doesn't live too far away, so why not?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
air is pretty chilly, even for late October. Blair has only a light jacket on,
and it's wet, so she's freezing. She asks if we can huddle together to keep
warm. Why not?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
arrive at her apartment building, and show our lDs to the guard at the door.
The elevators are busted, so we have to take the stairs. The stairs are covered
with slime and moss, and they smell like a sewer. Or like Dusty's cooking. The
climb to the fourteenth floor is slow: I feel like gagging after the sixth.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
finally get to her room. She disables the security devices, and we go in. I've
never been here before. It’s nice, if you like earth-tones. She goes into her
room to change. A few minutes later, she calls for me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Could
you come in here and help me with something?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
bedroom is dark, so she asks me to turn on the lights. When I do, I see her
standing naked in the middle of the room. I never noticed what a beautiful body
she had, because she always wears bulky, loose clothes.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
comes over, and slips my jacket off of me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I'm
tired of being with a drunkard. I want someone who'll satisfy me for a
change."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well…”
I glance toward the .door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Did
anyone ever tell you that you have the most beautiful blue eyes?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">An
hour later, we're walking back to the bar. When we get there, Xenon is passed
out on the table. Dusty is drawing things on his face with a light pen. The
pledge is getting more beer. We sit and talk for a while, then me, Dusty, and
Blair get up to go back to the house. We tell the pledge to help Xenon back. It'll
be dark soon.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
get back safely. Blair goes to Xenon's room to wait. Dusty goes to get some
food. I do my physics homework. If this were State, I could be at a party now.
Unarmed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After
a short nap, I hear arguing down the hall. Xenon and Blair are having a rare
fight. I join the several other brothers listening at the door.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Jordan,
I'm tired of your drinking! I can't marry a goddamn lush!” Jordan is Xenon's
real name.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
I got nothin' better t' do.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Oh,
so I'm nothing better, huh. You'd rather get fucked up than be<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>with me, wouldn't you? I can't take
this anymore! I've tried. I really have. I just can't take it anymore."
She starts to cry.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"I'm
sorry. I love you. Don't wanna hurcha. Please don' leave. I can't help it.
'Sides, I thought you said it was cute or something.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“It
was cute for a while, Jordan. Not anymore. t'm tired ol watching you destroy
yourself. I don't want this anymore, Jordan. I...just don't. l'm sorry.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">She
runs out of the room, almost knocking over three of us. Xenon looks out the
window for a minute, mumbles something, then stumbles out after her. I go back
to my room to study. They usually fight it out in the attic. That's probably
where they've gone.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A
couple of hours later, someone goes up to the attic. No one is there. We search
the house, but neither of them are here. We call Blair's apartment. She's
there, apd hasn't seen Jordan since she left. The pledges at the door say he
left over an hour ago. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Cheever
organizes four search parties of ten each. My team searches the area north for
three blocks. Beyond that is posted Musloid territory, and is too dangerous to
enter, especially at night. We search for an hour, then go back to the house.
One of the other groups had found him. He was crucified to the side of a building.
His throat and genitals were cut, and a large X was slashed into his chest. We
put him in a box, and send him home on one of the cruisers. Everyone else meets
in the foyer. Deke is the first to speak.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“The
slashes in his chest are Skeletron's personal trademark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Probably done with that barbed machete he
carries. Where didja find him?'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“A
couple of blocks east of campus, near the river."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
fraternity decides to send our strongest cruiser into Musloid territory
tomorrow. They want to blow people away. I want no part of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I call Blair, and tell her what happened. She
takes it badly. That surprises me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">That
night, I can't sleep. I keep thinking about Jordan. He did so much for me, and
in the end, I betrayed him. I screwed his fiancee'. I cant help but think that
it was my fauIt that they fought. My fauIt.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Dusty
snores. I never noticed that before.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
guess I finally fell asleep, because a ptedge wakes me up. Cheever wants me to
go with the cruiser into Musloid territory.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Fuck
off.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“But
Cheever wants you to come. He told me so.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"l'm
not going, so leaye me alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
stands there, staring at me.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Did
I stutter? Get out!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">He
runs out of the room. Dusty walks in, carrying the laser he picked up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“So
you're not goin'?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“No.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
fuck you then." He leaves.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">After
a quick shower, I head down to the radio room. The cruiser is a block into
Musloid territory. All is quiet. I see a few faces on the cruiser’s inside
monitor. The outside monitors show a lot of old, wrecked houses, and some
wrecked cars. I wonder how long they've been there- at least fifty years? It’s like
a ghost town. I’ve never seen Musloid turf before. There's no one on the
streets. It’s too quiet. Three blocks in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
grab a mike. 'Cheev, your outside monitors show nothing. You thinking
trap?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Probably.
Uh, Darren, could you have a second group ready?' His voice is shaking.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Rescue?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah.
I kinda don't think we'll be comin' back.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“So
why did you want me along?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yer
my pledge bro, man. Us two, we're the last ones left from our class. I, uh,
kinda wanted you here with me when it happened. I don’t wanna die alone.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">At
State, he wouldn't have to.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Okay,
Cheev, you've got your second team. You need us, just give the word.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
spend the next five minutes putting together a rescue team. We wait in the last
cruiser, watching the monitors of Cheever's group. Six blocks, still
nothing...wait. Up ahead there's a body in the street. It has a red and white
jacket: a Theta. His head is lying a few feet away. A pledge throws up.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
hear Cheev say "Let's get the hell out of here."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Guns
come out of the windows all around. Suddenly, shooting comes from everywhere.
The monitors screens go a little fuzzy, like there's something wrong with their
transmission. The other cruiser is immobilized, but its guns open up on
everything. One of its outside monitors is hit, and it goes black.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Buildings
are falling all around from the cruiser’s big gun. Cheever is yelling something
about gas. He orders everyone out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Dar-man,
get us out of here!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">We
go full speed. We hear on the scanner that the police are on the way. It'll be
a massacre. The other cruiser's monitors go black.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Three
minutes later, we see the cruiser on our monitor. Thick, black<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">smoke is gushing out of
it. I see a lot of bodies. I see a few brothers hiding behind things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Beyond that, I see a lot of people: men,
women, and kids, firing at them. The little ones are throwing rocks. We open
fire with everything we have.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Our
door opens, and I run to the other cruiser, firing as I go. The other brothers
are dragging in the dead and wounded. There are four bodies in the other
cruiser. Everything is smashed. Cheever is slouched against the wall, coughing.
He's badly burned. I help him outside.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Darren.
Thanks, man."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">The
shooting is heavy. Someone is walking down the street toward us, like he's God
or something. He's carrying a machete, and smiling. Skeletron. I take careful
aim, and fire my last bullet. It rips his right leg off at the waist. He
screams, and falls to the ground. Someone yells from inside the cruiser.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Cops
are almost here!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">My
shoulder is hit. I'm soaked in my own blood. My left arm is useless. Pain. I
jump into the cruiser. It’s packed. Other people jump in.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"That's
all! Go!"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I
pass out.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">A
few hours later, I wake up in the house. They're evacuating us to the hospital.
I find out Cheever is dead. There's a total of twenty-two dead, and sixteen
wounded. I look over the dead bodies, remembering what each person was like.
Dusty.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Dusty
is dead, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Deke
comes over.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“What
now, Darren?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Cheever
is dead. Jordan is dead. Now Dusty. Twenty-two kids are dead.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
don't know.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">I'm
to be in the hospital for a week. On the second day, Devinney comes in. He
drops a film disc onto my bed.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“How
do you feel, Dar-man?"<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Doc
says it'll be a few days. What's on the disc?'<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Your
512 midterm film. I figured you'd want it."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Thanks.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“A
bunch of the guys are thinking of nominating you for president.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“I
can't do it. I'm transferring out to State."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Can't
say I blame you. What about us, though? We need you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">. <span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>“I can't stand it no more, Devinney. It’s
not like this is the 1990s or<span style="mso-tab-count: 1;"> </span>something.
Christ, then you could walk the streets safe at night. I'm tired of fighting. I
don't want it no more.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Yeah.
Besides, the cost of ammo is higher then the damn drugs.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">“Well,
you could always steal weapons from the Musloids.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Devinney
smiles. "Are you sure, Dar-man? About leaving? We'll miss you.”<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"I
made up my mind. I wanna graduate from college, not be killed by<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">it.” <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">"Well,
good luck then."<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">As
Devinney leaves, a doctor walks in and closes the door. He looks, kinda shabby,
like he's had a long day. As he smiles a green tinged smile at me, I notice the
letter carved on his hand. Instinctively, I reach for a weapon that's not
there.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;">Unpublished work copyright:
Sophie Kandler 1991<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p><br /><p></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-75946116558578422262022-12-23T16:20:00.004-05:002022-12-23T16:20:44.155-05:00Men of the Skull Chapter 75 First Hint & Chapter 76: Confession<p>Alert readers may notice I skipped a chapter. That's due to it being something that was more family related- my grandfather's death and the aftermath. In any case, the next two chapters are both short and related. </p><p>I like to think I'm quite observant. I see things that others don't. That said, when it comes to seeing people's reactions to me, I'm absolutely clueless. For example, in the first chapter, I should've taken the hint and saved myself a LOT of pain down the road. Now, over thirty years later, I know that I didn't because 1) I didn't want to be alone again (never mind I was going back to school with all those single people) and 2) Virginia was a remnant of a few of the best times in my life. Never mind what I knew about how I really felt, which is revealed in the second chapter of this group, which shows how utterly selfish and hypocritical I was. </p><p>Time teaches many things- it's taught me that I was not only an asshole, but a stupid one as well. </p><p><br /></p><p>**************************************************************************</p><p><br /></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Chapter 75: First Hint<o:p></o:p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Sunday, August 16, 1987 <span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Mine sinks ship outside gulf; 1 dead</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Lance,
we need to talk.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Oh
shit! I hated those words. Still do.
It always means I’m about to be hurt somehow.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
worked the matinee at Lily’s that day and made a whopping $28. It was late as I drove <st1:state w:st="on">Virginia</st1:state> home from work. That’s when she said it. Lou Graham was lecturing on the radio, with
his only solo hit.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> <span> </span><span> </span></o:p><i style="text-align: center;">“Son, life is simple- it’s either cherry red…
or Midnight Blue. Oh ohhh ohhhhh”</i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> <span> </span><span> </span><span> </span></o:p>“Ok. About what?”
I said as I parked the car near her house.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I
think we should see other people.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> The
familiar hollow pain grabbed me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Why?” I said.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “We’ve
been fighting so much and we’ll be going back up to school soon so I think we
should have a fresh start.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “A
fresh start.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Yeah. You’re going to be living in the house so
you’ll be able to meet someone.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Are
you afraid of me being in the house?” I
said.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> She
opened the car door and got out. I did
as well.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “It’s
not working, Lance.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I
think it is and will if you don’t give up.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> She
kept walking and didn’t look at me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Is
it because you want somebody else?” I
said.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “No! I love you but it’s just…”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> A
few steps.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Just?” I said.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Forget
it.” She stopped, turned to me and held
me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Forget
I said anything.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I
love you too,” I said as she started to cry quietly.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;">Chapter 76: Confession<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p>Tuesday, August 18, 1987 <span style="font-family: "Courier New";">Hitler aide Rudolf Hess is dead at 93</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
couldn’t get back to <st1:place w:st="on"><st1:placename w:st="on">Penn</st1:placename>
<st1:placetype w:st="on">State</st1:placetype></st1:place> fast enough. Everything was flying apart. My parents couldn’t say a word to me without
yelling. <st1:state w:st="on">Virginia</st1:state> wanted to break up (or did
she?) Grandpop was dead, and the whole
family was fighting over the will. The
only refuges I had were bartending and what little time I could spend with my
friends.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
moved what little I had into the tiny room, and spent the day getting phone
service sorted out and buying books. It
was good to be home, AND living in the Bone!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLmZ5kzzrHB6GFsOOckcLJYwG1BGBV8sC1EflouedTPfiXHkCsyjd8JnilxZoeTzV0XRdgktlJcGjbjBFJkiYbIuwAkDJ4oshU_FpqVOfAAXDOouqz5RJPjJ-KTNu-ByjStFdIX8Vgqrp-etUR1D_43il9cV64rHkP-4DfFTAeQ5pTQG3q0mYkMMTwTw/s750/12-23-2022%204-16-53%20PM.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="750" data-original-width="544" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLmZ5kzzrHB6GFsOOckcLJYwG1BGBV8sC1EflouedTPfiXHkCsyjd8JnilxZoeTzV0XRdgktlJcGjbjBFJkiYbIuwAkDJ4oshU_FpqVOfAAXDOouqz5RJPjJ-KTNu-ByjStFdIX8Vgqrp-etUR1D_43il9cV64rHkP-4DfFTAeQ5pTQG3q0mYkMMTwTw/s320/12-23-2022%204-16-53%20PM.jpg" width="232" /></a></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">August 4, 1987 Collegian</div></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">It was late
afternoon when Judy called the downstairs phone. “Why don’t you come down for dinner?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> She
was living with Michelle and Tracy for the year. Judy and Virginia were no longer speaking,
never mind living together. The
apartment was in <st1:street w:st="on">Sutton Court</st1:street>,
but in a different part of the building than Judy lived in before. Her phone wasn’t even hooked up yet-she’d
called from CC Peppers across the street.
Michelle and Tracy wouldn’t show up until the next day.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
arrived twenty minutes later to an apartment full of boxes. I helped her unpack a little, and then we
went to CC Peppers for dinner. We talked
about the summer, Arts Fest, her family, bartending and other things. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">We ended up
sitting on the couches as the sun was setting.
The dying light streamed in through the open curtains on the window, and
the room kept getting darker. She sat
with her back to the window, and was silhouetted by the sunset.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “So,”
Judy said, “how are things with <st1:place w:st="on">Virginia</st1:place>?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
was wondering when she was going to get around to that. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Well,
not great. We almost broke up last
week.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Really? Why?” she asked with a flat tone.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I’m
not sure. I think she probably wanted to
be free for the new semester. Or she’s
afraid of something. Either way, we
didn’t break up.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “You
talked her out of it?”<br />
“No, she kinda talked herself
out of it.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “How
did she do that?” she asked. She
obviously didn’t believe me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “It’s
really hard to explain.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “<st1:place w:st="on">Virginia</st1:place> usually is,” Judy
said with a bit of disgust.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I
really didn’t want to come between you two.
That’s the last thing I wanted to happen.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Would
you like something to drink?” she asked, standing up. The sun was all but gone, and the light was a
ghostly yellow grey.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Sure.
If you’re having something.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> She
walked into the kitchen.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “In
fact, I almost broke up with her several times” I said, quieter than I wanted
to.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Judy
returned with a coke. “Really? Why?” she asked. Her face was cold- expressionless.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Her
mood swings. I mean, she goes from zero
to bitch in five seconds. She’s got a
lot of problems. Plus maybe there are
other people who I’d rather be seeing.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “So
why are you still together?” she asked, sitting down on the other couch again. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I
don’t know. I’m afraid to be alone I
guess. Besides, the other people aren’t
available.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
looked over to the other couch. Judy was a black shadow in the growing
darkness.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Do
you love her?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: 0.5in;">“In many ways…
yes.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Like
in which ways?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Do
you want me to turn on a light or something?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “No
thank you.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Ohhh-kaayyy. Well, she’s been a part of my life for nearly
a year now, and because, um, we’re seeing each other it’s, uh, natural that
we’d get a little closer. She represents
something special to me. Like you do.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> She
stifled a laugh. “How am I special?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Watch
yourself, Lance. Be careful.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Everything
about you is special” I replied. “I wish
things were different.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “In
what way?” she asked quickly.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Lots
of ways. But… well, there’s always… I
mean…”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Lance,
what are you trying to say?” she asked, annoyed.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Maybe
I should go” I said, and stood up. “I
don’t want to make you angry.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “You’ve
become very good at it.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
turned to leave and tripped over a box- face first to the dark floor.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Shit! Oww!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Judy
turned on the light and quickly walked over to me. She’d been crying. “Are you all right?” she asked.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Oww.
Yeah. My face broke my fall.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> She
helped me up.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “You
still haven’t answered my question” she said.
<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
sighed and looked at her. Her eyes were
angry- beyond hurt. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “We
shared something special. I miss
that. I miss you” I said, staring down
at my feet. I couldn’t bear to look at
her.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “You
made your decision” she said evenly.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “No-
you made it for me. By staying with
Rich!”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “You
knew that I wasn’t leaving Rich! You
said you understood that!” tears started flowing again.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I
know- it’s just… I… I just developed some feelings for you and…”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Don’t
tell me you fell in love with me” she said sarcastically.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Now’s
your chance: tell her how her smile makes the air sing. Tell her how you live to hear her voice. Tell her how you long to hold her again, and
never let go. Tell her yes, you love
her, and you always have.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> <span> </span><span> </span>“No. No. Of
course not.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> We
looked at each other across the wide distance that had grown between us. We were physically only a couple of feet
apart, but I never felt further away from her.
<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “What
about <st1:state w:st="on">Virginia</st1:state>?”
she asked. The tears flowed freely, and
her voice trembled, ever so slightly.
“You chose her.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “No-
she chose me.” I wanted to hold Judy, to
cry with her. Instead, I just said
something really stupid.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “If
I leave her, could we…”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Judy’s
eyes darkened.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “I’m
sorry” I said quietly. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
opened the door, and started down the stairs.
Judy stood in the doorway, framed by light. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Good
night” she said.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> “Yeah. You too” I replied, looking back at her.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
felt hollow.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
walked back to the house, then past it.
The Lion rumbled, awakening from its summer slumber. Students were returning, and that meant
parties. People meeting people, and
having fun. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> I
walked up the hill, across campus.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> The Lion was waiting, as always. Crouched on
its rock. I sat on the back part of the
rock, away from the lights which continuously shone upon it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> The
stone was cool in the hot late summer night.
<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> Solid.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p>
</o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"> And
I was hollow.<o:p></o:p></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><o:p><b><span style="font-size: large;">Next Chapter </span></b></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><o:p><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2017/07/arts-festival-87-crest.html" target="_blank">Previous Chapter</a></span></b></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><o:p><b><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://sophielynne1.blogspot.com/2018/01/men-of-skull-introduction-and-first-psu.html" target="_blank">First Chapter</a></span></b></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p><br /></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><o:p> </o:p></p><br /><p></p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-35317325924705542082022-12-12T08:28:00.000-05:002022-12-12T08:28:41.772-05:00"Why do they do that?"<p> This entry is a response to the question posed in the title. First some backstory.</p><p><br /></p><p>The other day I had a <a href="https://www.lookshairdesign.com/" target="_blank">mani-pedi</a>, thanks to a generous Xmas gift (thanks Jennifer S!). I don't get to treat myself often and I needed to feel feminine, so there I was. Sitting next to me was a college age blonde getting gel nails re-done or touched up or whatever they do to those. She was beautiful, even with her hair up in a casual attempt at a bun and no makeup. The person doing her nails was also college age, and very good at her job. (Also drop dead gorgeous). </p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, as I was sitting right next to them, I couldn't help but overhear their conversation, even being as hard of hearing as I am. The blonde was talking about how a guy friend invited her to a formal (I assume fraternity) that coming weekend (last weekend.) She asked in which way was the invitation meant: as friends going or as a "date date" in which "we'd f*ck at the end of the night." He wanted her to go as a date, as he liked her. That upset her a bit. "Why do they do that?" she asked, to which the nail person shook her head and agreed "No idea."</p><p><br /></p><p>Now, I sat there quietly, and didn't reply despite having the answer she sought. After all, my listening was an act of nosiness in itself, and I didn't want to be THAT nosy (even though I am by nature: I'm a writer.)</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxs-dfPfa0_Bhb86lVl6bMqTVPHceDtKrdyMy8WSKuzCSeMWslPQtKDzGQ4nm7DtW98SVQv0IRhQIydLQgJ6uboQ8UQkVUyHWUwWbwV7Kj5KPV9ZJNGr5nl4qFGP3svx9nIY81I4GEtDc_1JqT4lADpHuzqZchXj8bbnSqrLFMcUEGLLS3pu4QgjEvQ/s960/318348924_5883174901726927_8686767034543209907_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgxs-dfPfa0_Bhb86lVl6bMqTVPHceDtKrdyMy8WSKuzCSeMWslPQtKDzGQ4nm7DtW98SVQv0IRhQIydLQgJ6uboQ8UQkVUyHWUwWbwV7Kj5KPV9ZJNGr5nl4qFGP3svx9nIY81I4GEtDc_1JqT4lADpHuzqZchXj8bbnSqrLFMcUEGLLS3pu4QgjEvQ/s320/318348924_5883174901726927_8686767034543209907_n.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Last week</span></p><p>The simple answer is "he does that because he's gotten to know you, and likes what he sees." Yes, there's a chance that all he wants is to have sex, but after a guy gets to know you, that becomes less of a possibility. In other words- he likes you for YOU."</p><p><br /></p><p>Unfortunately, I learned long ago that young women don't think that way. I've found that Mike Demone in "Fast Times at Ridgemont High" is correct: "a girl decides how far she's gonna let you go in the first five minutes." Or less. Either she wants you or it's friend's ladder. So the whole developing a love interest, it doesn't happen.</p><p><br /></p><p>A quick sidebar: what happens at a fraternity formal? Well, it's as close to a junior high dance as college gets. The guys clump together and get stupid drunk, and, if their date knows other people, she clumps with the girls she knows. The couple eat dinner together, and may hang out on and off, but, unless they <i>are</i> a couple, that's really about it. In the 80s, it was a status thing to be invited to a fraternity formal, especially for a sorority girl. I have no idea if it is still that way.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCpNtf_2dGrZo2N62pON-AuE-0m3dSgW75hshX5L2NQwn3v_GkFIh8ioGejIjZfpvGh3S6ipYCIWQ_OZoaf5wbVU44Gc-BavPZTK118m8aLyvxSgvm0MlzqK0Tmt84NdhICfKgHrEr7p8d348phXk9U0-vWB_msBbd-_9fA3QWQWTvr3DCr4WmignUA/s960/36338136_1907746605936463_4481201063684210688_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="678" data-original-width="960" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNCpNtf_2dGrZo2N62pON-AuE-0m3dSgW75hshX5L2NQwn3v_GkFIh8ioGejIjZfpvGh3S6ipYCIWQ_OZoaf5wbVU44Gc-BavPZTK118m8aLyvxSgvm0MlzqK0Tmt84NdhICfKgHrEr7p8d348phXk9U0-vWB_msBbd-_9fA3QWQWTvr3DCr4WmignUA/s320/36338136_1907746605936463_4481201063684210688_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><span style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">My fraternity house</div></span><p><br /></p><p>"But Sophie- you're a woman!" Yes, and I was then as well, much as I tried to bury it. But this is true- young women throw away so many good guys as "friends" who are exactly what they're looking for, but don't immediately get their 'motor running.' I wrote a whole story about this back in the early 90s called <i>Promises of Heaven</i>. (If I ever find it, I'll type it into the blog for everyone to ignore.) The difference between me and them is the lack of functioning feminine genitalia back in the day.</p><p><br /></p><p>I don't know if she ended up going with him to the formal or not. A large part of me hopes she did, just to prove my cynical ass wrong. But I doubt it.</p><p><br /></p><p>In any case, is this entry fueled by bitterness? Absolutely. Should I be over it by now (married almost 30 years)? Absolutely. Am I? </p><p><br /></p><p>Nope.</p><p><br /></p><p>Be well.</p>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2242321492229602144.post-15948696870113641732022-11-30T22:31:00.001-05:002022-12-01T11:59:56.831-05:00Capacitor for WorkI'm currently fifty six years old and not in great shape. Today I did the following:<div>Emptied a book shelf.</div><div><br /></div><div>After doing so, I felt worn out. I was coated in sweat, and for a time I felt dizzy. I told my roomie/bestie Linda that I didn't feel good. But I'd rented a van, and only had it for a few hours, so we had to get moving. </div><div><br /></div><div>You see, dear reader, I'd agreed to take a bookshelf from one of my bosses, as he's moving out of state. It didn't fit in my car, so I needed a van. And I needed Linda's help, as it was not only big, but very heavy- good sturdy wood. Sturdy HEAVY wood. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div> </div><div><br /></div><div>So off to Port Matilda (a nearby town) with the van, with Linda driving. We loaded the van with a little help, and drove back as the sun set. We still had a problem: how to get it out of the van, up a flight of steps, into the apartment and set up. The shelf is 7 feet tall and heavy!! </div><div><br /></div><div>Fortunately a neighbor was home, and helped us carry it. He refused any form of payment, but agreed to a dram of Glenmorangie with me. </div><div><br /></div><div>Then Linda and I moved just a few more things, and I reloaded the one shelf. I was a sweaty mess. Again, I felt dizzy and so tired. So very tired- just loading and unloading a shelf. I used to do this sort of thing all the time- stocking shelves, moving books around, with no trouble at all.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now, doing this completely wears me out. It makes me feel like my ability to work, my ability to be useful, may be coming to an end. And of course, in a capitalist society, if I can't work then I'm worthless. Maybe I need a capacitor to help my capacity to work.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">I made that vase in art class my senior year in high school.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div>In any case, the one shelf is restocked, and the other will have books and things. The apartment is small, so having more shelving helps. <br /></div><div><br /></div><div>This getting old thing really sucks.</div><div><br /></div><div>Be well.</div>Sophie Lynnehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04333071551207169892noreply@blogger.com2