Mar. 8th, 2017

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welp i just went back through my drafts until my browser crashed. didn’t find the post i was looking for, alas, don’t know how to find the post I was looking for… sigh. 

but. there’ll be some interesting blasts from the past in my queue coming up.

(How far back did I get? Well, after a while the Star Wars things faded away, and then it was Captain America, and after a while I started seeing Stargate things, so, a couple years at least.)
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adreadfulidea:

From what I’ve been hearing the 3rd Safe Country Can-Us agreement is going to be discussed soon due to all the attention on its failures : time to CALL YOUR REPS. Add your voice, it may make a difference!
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Chita dear I know you were excited about the Cheetos but there’s no need to draw blood.
via http://ift.tt/2mjNU7f:abunchofstuff replied to your post “CANADIANS ALERT”

Are they thinking about removing the loophole allowing refugees to walk across the border at non-official crossings?

No, it’s not that– but understand, those people are being arrested when they arrive. They are not being welcomed in Canada. They are coming into open arms and being given shelter, and it makes for great dramatic visuals and cute stories, but under the current law, they will be deported.

They won’t have to go to the US’s horrible horrible detention centers, which I can’t believe are real– that’s why they’re fleeing. But they won’t be safe either. They will be deported.

I urge you to click through the link and read up on the Third Safe Country agreement– as it stands, any refugee turned away by the US cannot seek asylum in Canada, because the US is presumed to be a safe country. Clearly this is not the case, clearly the agreement needs to be revisited. 
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Cut & paste?

No, the mouse doesn’t work inside the cash register program, and if you hit ctrl+v then it physically prints out its entire customer database. 
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Right, but under the Agreement, their claim is almost certain to be rejected. Sure, they’ll have a safe place to stay while it’s being processed, but they’re not likely to get a permanent place.

That’s why they’re having this debate to re-evaluate the merit of the entire agreement, because clearly, the United States is no longer a citizen state of the world and cannot be treated accordingly. 

Here, since apparently no one but me has a functional Google on their computer:

The Third Safe Country Agreement: 

Under the Safe Third Country Agreement, persons seeking refugee protection must make a claim in the first country they arrive in (United States or Canada), unless they qualify for an exception to the Agreement. Therefore, refugee claimants arriving from the United States at the Canada–United States land border can only pursue their refugee claims in Canada if they meet an exception under the Safe Third Country Agreement.

So all those people must now prove that they meet an exception, and so far, Canada has not allowed for it. (Bolded emphasis mine.) As I understand it, the fact that these people fled before actually having their claim rejected, as the rejection would have included detaining them, under current interpretation means they are currently not even eligible to make a claim in Canada. 

If you continue reading that Wikipedia page, conveniently enough, it goes into a great deal more detail about the impact of the recent US Executive Orders and the ongoing debate. The original post urges Canadians to contact their reps about the ongoing debate; I can’t find a source for that post’s claim that there’s some kind of decision coming up, but it is certainly not inappropriate for Canadians to contact their representatives. 

Please, do read up on it, it’s important. 
via http://ift.tt/2mXB547:merrily-rolling replied to your post “abunchofstuff replied to your post “CANADIANS ALERT” …”

You are incorrect. Folks who cross the border illegally _may_ be deported, but the current laws mean that if they make it onto Canadian soil, they can then ask for a hearing and request refugee status. This hearing will happen before any deportation takes place. There’s a good piece in the New Yorker today explaining the process: The Underground Railroad For Refugees

And there we go, another good resource! That one’s even about my current home town. 

I posted the link as a signal boost to my Canadian friends. (I thought it was a link. I am sad now to realize it was not.) But also because I saw a ton of “heart-warming” posts as that first ban went into effect, showing refugees fleeing into the seemingly-welcoming arms of the Canadian border patrol, and the fact remains, those are not heart-warming stories. Yes, they get a hearing, but as the current agreement stands, they were supposed to apply in the first country they arrived in, and if they have done so, they are not eligible for consideration in the second country. That is still true. 

Ultimately, this is not a US issue, and so I’ll probably not be devoting a great deal more resources to discussing it, as clearly, the US has an enormous amount of issues that I need to pay attention to. (I’m in pretty deep mourning over that, let me tell you.)
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Well, I’m not trying to memorize the number, I’m just trying to be able to read and transcribe it clearly. I have dyscalculia, so I can’t keep numbers in order while I look at them, kind of the way dyslexics have trouble with letters. It’s not exactly the same, but it’s related. 

I’m pretty good at memorization, but I was having trouble reading the thing in the first place. Looking closely at it and taking the time to make a post complaining about it was actually helpful for me in just settling what it was about the number that I was having trouble reading.

But I had no need to memorize it. I had it on a sheet of paper in front of me, and was trying to retype it on a computer. 

I know, that’s not something most people would have a problem with in the first place, so I can grok the misunderstanding here, but. I don’t ever need to know that number again.

Man I’m cranky this morning. I might have to call in, I can hardly breathe and my whole face hurts and I can’t focus. Ugh. 
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gehayi:

While all eyes were focused on the “Muslim Ban 2” coming out today [this was posted on March 6, 2017], hidden from all the hoopla was this item buried in a Memorandum to several heads of departments…

Sec. 3.  Enforcement of All Laws for Entry into the United States.  I direct the Secretary of State, the Attorney General, the Secretary of Homeland Security, and the heads of all other relevant executive departments and agencies (as identified by the Secretary of Homeland Security) to rigorously enforce all existing grounds of inadmissibility and to ensure subsequent compliance with related laws after admission.  The heads of all relevant executive departments and agencies shall issue new rules, regulations, or guidance (collectively, rules), as appropriate, to enforce laws relating to such grounds of inadmissibility and subsequent compliance.  To the extent that the Secretary of Homeland Security issues such new rules, the heads of all other relevant executive departments and agencies shall, as necessary and appropriate, issue new rules that conform to them.  Such new rules shall supersede any previous rules to the extent of any conflict.

Here is what is problematic with this.  Sure, current laws can be rigorously enforced.  But that is just campaign talk, Current laws are always enforced to the same standard extent to which they are written by those working day in and day out.  Although we may like not to have tough laws enforced, we understand that IF they are in place, the legal system recognizes their right to be used (as long as such is Constitutional).

But focus on this part of the above quote:

“The heads of all relevant executive departments and agencies shall issue new rules, regulations, or guidance (collectively, rules), as appropriate, to enforce laws relating to such grounds of inadmissibility and subsequent compliance.  To the extent that the Secretary of Homeland Security issues such new rules, the heads of all other relevant executive departments and agencies shall, as necessary and appropriate, issue new rules that conform to them.  Such new rules shall supersede any previous rules to the extent of any conflict.”

Let’s walk through this… New rules will be issued by the heads of the departments.  They can be capricious, random, or prejudicial. They can be made up on the spot; there is no way to know.  For example based on some stories already told, you can be forced to present your phone with password…or…you will be body cavity searched…or…you can be held indefinitely without further notice.  

As with any law change or new power grab, in the hands of good people they can be tolerated if they are only used on known criminals.  But in the hands of bad, they can destroy a nation through their random use.

Essentially this single clause should be considered an enabling act, one wide open which as with that of Hitler, simply says that all rules will now be made solely by X and must be carried out exactly as X says.  

Incidentally this posted memorandum is not confined to 6 nations.  It will apply to all.  We are making our borders impenetrable for those we don’t want. (JK Rowling, look out!)  It was announced here, in full view, exactly when and where no one would ever be caught looking.  

This section of writing will in the future be seen as the big news of March 6. The day to which all will look back and wonder how things took a turn so quickly for the worst.  It actually legalizes the process of the way the first ban was rolled out, allowing now for all future rules regarding entrance to the US to be implemented without warning. In truth, a lot of the effect of this will depend on Kelly himself. Will he resist some of our nation’s darkest intentions?  Or will he succumb to Bannon’s and Miller’s malevolent whims?…  Depending on that outcome, depends on the benightedness or hostility engendered by these new policies that were NOT posted in the “Muslim Ban 2” order but in a little memorandum with a boring title, right above it….

By the way, this memo seems to have been in response to this letter from Attorney General Sessions and Head of Homeland Security John Kelly:

Letter from Secretary of Homeland Security Kelly and Attorney General Sessions to President Trump 
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texnessa:

ichoosecake:

russann:

Every Tuesday my parents go to Austin’s Bar & Grill with 25 or more other old people. My parents start talking about what they’re going to order on the Wednesday after they were there on Tuesday. Sometimes it’s going to be salad and onion rings. Other times it’s hamburgers and, perhaps, green beans. They tip bigger than they would because others in their group tip smaller than they should. It’s something to do when you don’t have all that much left to do.

On their way to Austin’s, they will pass Garmin, a complex that started out small and just keeps getting wider and taller. My dad worked at King Radio for most of his adult life. It was founded by Ed King, a K-State graduate who built a company that became the gold standard for small aircraft navigational equipment. I worked there during the summers when I was in college where I shipped more 170B transponders than you could imagine. (Coincidentally, Mr. King paid for the International Student Center on the KSU campus and this is where Pete took me on our first “date” where he ate the food in the refrigerator that was not his.) 

Anyway, when he was at King Radio, Dad had a casual friend named Gary. They played softball together, talked about their young kids, got their hair cut by the same downtown barber. Gary and an Asian engineer at King went on to combine their names, Gar and Min, and formed the company Garmin. If my dad had been younger and less close to retirement, he would have gone to Garmin in those days when it was neither wide nor tall. Sometimes, as they drive to Austin’s for tacos and french fries, Mom and Dad mention Gary and wonder how things might have been had Dad been in on the ground floor.

Anyway, Austin’s and Garmin collided two days ago in my hometown. As you might have heard, two Indian engineers headed across the street from Garmin to Austin’s to watch what every sports bar in Kansas would be watching—the KU Jayhawks go for their 13th straight Big 12 conference title. A drunk, known to the Austin’s people, kept hassling the two men and was kicked out of the bar. He later returned, shouted something like “Get out of my country” and shot them. Another young man, who would have had no idea that he was going to become a hero that day, stepped in to help. One Indian was left dead, the other was injured along with the hero. Another day. Another angry white man with a gun. Another dead young man. Another time of us all saying we never thought it would happen in our town. Until it did.

And we’ll all begin the rituals that we’ve become so good at. A few days ago, I looked for a GoFundMe page so that I could donate to the desecrated Jewish cemetery in Missouri. Today I will donate to the GoFundMe for the Austin’s bar victims. Young kids and moms and teen girls will bring flowers to put outside the bar. Neighbors of the shooter will say that they knew their neighbor was a bit off but they never expected this. We will mourn the loss of a fellow human who was trying to make his way on this big earth. His body, paid for with GoFundMe money, will make its way home to his family. We are just really really good at this in America. Practice makes perfect.

Anyway, last night, with those words “get out of my country” that have been given more acceptance by Trump bouncing around in my head, I went to the town hall meeting at the church at the end of my street. Senator Jerry Moran was not there. To be completely fair, and I’m trying to be in these trying times, this was not an organized meeting. Moran had not set up this town hall meeting. He had not said he would attend the meeting. Rather, organizers set it up and invited him. Even on the website, it said that no one knew if Senator Moran had seen the invitation and no one knew if he would attend. So I can’t fairly say that he ducked out of meeting that he had never set up.

But his presence or absence isn’t really the story here. I live in Johnson County, Kansas. It’s not totally red like most of Kansas. It’s definitely not blue. But, still, parts of it voted for Hillary. Others voted for the candidates who could not win. If you add those together, more in Johnson County voted for someone not named Trump than voted for Trump. It’s not a purple area yet, but it’s definitely lavender. Olathe, though, is a red dot in that purple. It’s really red. Like maybe scarlet. And, still, the parking lot was packed. Perhaps with as many cars as would be there on a Sunday. It was dark and you could see the headlights of cars driving up and down aisles trying to find a place to park. 

My high school friend Verneda was there. We talked about the meanness that we hadn’t known existed in America. We talked about the night Hillary lost. We talked about how all this political activism was something new. We agreed that we needed to keep it up even when it was hard.

The meeting room was full. The overflow crowd had spilled into the lobby. No one in the lobby could hear the speakers inside. What most surprised me was the demographic of those there. I had expected young people in jeans and sweatshirts on this unseasonably warm evening. I’d thought there might be some moms there. They were there. But also there were so many old people. Like really old people. And they, the old people, were the ones in charge. One bent-backed lady with silver hair kept shushing those of us in the overflow area because she wanted to hear the speakers. She looked like those women who always run the polling stations. Those women who show up, do their job, get it done, and go home with no thanks. I repeat. The majority of the people there were old. I was—-surprised.

These old people had us fill out 3x5 cards with messages to be hand delivered to Moran’s office. They had a whiteboard where you could write a message to Moran, take a picture of yourself standing next to it, and as the old women told us, post it to social media. Social Media? These suddenly tech savvy ladies and gentlemen were telling these teens how to use social media to ferment discord.

When I was a teen, there was a song by Buffalo Springfield that I loved and, when I hear it, I remember Vietnam and halter tops and Jesus freaks. The song said:

“There’s something happening here. What it is ain’t exactly clear.”

That’s how it felt last night in this church lobby in scarlet red Olathe where I mingled with angry riled up Kansans. There’s something happening here. And Senator Moran and others would do well to pay attention.

here is hope

Read the fuck out of this of the day.
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I’m not striking for women’s day but i’m calling in sick to nurse my snot-filled self on the couch. :(
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So this works both as a standalone Cassian Andor backstory, and as an installment in the Lost Kings series (the OCs featured are from that series, but no prior knowledge of them is necessary). 

Salvage What You Can, 12k words, Cassian Andor coming of age in the Rebellion and sort of falling in puppy love with his mentor. 

“Took me like that the first time too,” X47 said softly, and in the dark of hyperspace with the uncanny flickering of passing stars it wasn’t weird or wrong to sit with his head in the other man’s lap. X47 stroked Cassian’s hair gently. “It gets easier. It’s okay. You did what you had to do, you know?”

“I’m afraid of what it will be like when it gets easier,” Cassian said quietly after a little while.

“Wise child,” X47 said.
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I think it’s also important to note that the “shelter” that asylum seekers are often given is in provincial prisons according to a study University of Toronto released in 2015. Asylum seekers that are detained frequently have not been charged with any criminal offence and can legally be held indefinitely.

Asylum seekers held in immigration detention centres aren’t treated any better than those held in prison. And another UofT study released in February stated that Canadian born children of detained immigrants are also often held in detention centres despite being Canadian citizens stating: “Like in prison, detained children are searched regularly and allowed outside for only one hour a day.” My country is not as nice and shiny as it likes to present itself.

oh no! oh no I wasn’t ready for this, Canada. 

I Googled for University of Toronto and found this study, called We Have No Rights. (Link is to the PDF.)

Canada, you have a vaguely left-ish government with a responsible and responsive (one hopes) head of state. You can do this, especially with the screaming garbage fire to the south to serve as your cautionary tale. 

But you’ve got to try. Try, while you still can. 
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She knows I’m home sick (snotbomb!) today so she’s looking out for me and being Helpful by sitting in my in-progress to-do list. #catsofinstagram #chita
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Oh, I didn’t mean to be so cranky about it. That is, in fact, precisely what i was struggling with, but it wouldn’t be necessary for me to memorize the string to type it in– just parse it to the point that I don’t screw up. And that’s what I struggle with. I can’t keep the numbers in order long enough to put them in correctly. I often do strings of three but the repeating patterns in that number made it not work, plus all the UPCs I have half-memorized different amounts of mean that the three-rhythm often doesn’t work along with the thing I’ve already memorized, and there’s just no one coping mechanism that always works for me to get numbers off the paper and into the computer. Especially given that, yes, the screen lags and I can’t see what I’ve typed. 

Here’s the bonus stupid: I have a barcode scanner that can input things into the computer. And my order forms print out with a barcode on them. But they’re not entered into the order-receiving software so that their UPCs are actually their barcodes. The barcodes have useless information encoded in them, like an abbreviation of the item name. Usually i have to then go to a rival company’s website, or our distributor’s, and search for the product manually to find out what the UPC code is. (Can you imagine. Our main competitor, bless their hearts, always has the UPC on the product page.)

Yes– it’s perfectly doable given our system to make it so that I don’t have to type strings of numbers at all. But the people who actually design and maintain our software don’t actually set it up to do that, and I can’t persuade them to do so, because “what’s so hard about typing a string of numbers”.

*headdesk*
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Tumblr is so impossible to search.

A couple of weeks ago there was a post going around about flower meanings. It was an image, and it looked like it linked to a spreadsheet or something? 

I have an ongoing project about flower meanings, I got a bunch of books and stuff, I’m in the midst of formulating a whole thing, and I kept meaning to look at that post, but I was always either on my phone or running late for something. I thought I saved the post as a draft, but I didn’t.

Of course, if you search for it, nothing turns up. I tried guessing at a random person I follow, thinking they were probably one of the ones who’d reblogged it, and I went back about a month, but no, they hadn’t reblogged it.

 I must have seen it forty times on my dash. I was careless about bookmarking or saving a draft of it because I saw it so many times I was just lazily sure I’d see it again. Now that I’ve been looking for it, because I’m in a mental place to read it, of course, you all have already had it come up through your queues, so nobody’s posting it anymore. Such is the nature of ephemera, and it would be no bad thing, except that you can only search by tags, and people have not tagged it by what was in it– no, we don’t do that on Tumblr, we tag things by what they are *to us*, which is great and useful but means that a post itself is impossible to find even if you can verbatim quote the text in it, because the actual contents of posts is not in any way indexed by Tumblr, only the tags. 

(Relatedly, trying to find the blog of the person I was sure must have posted it: this person doesn’t follow me, and you can’t see a list of people you follow, apparently? so I had to search, and of course, the only results are posts tagged with the person’s handle, not the actual blog of the person, so I had to comb through those until I found one where the person had actually commented, because of course this person wouldn’t have tagged her own blog name on her own posts, that would be weird behavior, but again, you can only search tags. This is so fucking stupid.)

I still can’t find the post and I just wasted 45 minutes, so. If anyone knows the post I’m talking about, I could really use a hand here. 
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this was a mistake, poe thinks, with rey’s long legs thrown across his lap. he’s following the line of her calves with his palms and she’s got her head half out the window, the wind playing with loose strands of her hair. (her skin is warm, prickly where she hasn’t shaved her legs in a few weeks, and even with the seatbelt digging into his chest poe is afraid his heart is going to crack his ribs open.)

she wrinkles her nose and says something in the direction of the driver’s seat; probably something about finn’s driving, which—poe just taught him brakes from gas (we couldn’t run away if we didn’t know how to run, finn had explained with a shrug) and he tends to drive like he’s someone’s 80 year old grandmother.

but finn only laughs, the sun glinting off his shades, his teeth. he has his arm draped out the window, and poe can see the way his muscles shift in his shoulders every time he moves. he says something too, which would probably be funny if poe could hear either of them over the radio, the blood pounding in his ears. (this was a mistake.)

the sun is hot, but they have all the windows open and the wind is cool. poe lets his head fall back against the seat and shuts his eyes. under his hand, the muscles of rey’s calf twitch, and then lay still.

.

some free advice: when your young, extremely attractive coworkers who only have eyes for one another (in blissful ignorance of the fact that you may be in love with them, whatever) invite you on a cross-country road trip to their surrogate father’s funeral—

say no.

.

“hey,” finn says. they’re sitting at the rest stop’s only picnic table, trying not to touch the unfortunately sticky patches. poe keeps accidentally kicking the heavy chain that keeps it anchored to the ground.

“yeah?” poe says absently. 

“thanks for coming, man,” finn says, and he’s doing that thing again, the sincere thing, where his eyes are wide and shining, and he’s so serious and earnest. people keep saying finn must have learned it from poe, but poe can’t remember the last time he was like that about anything. (eighteen, maybe, when he found out the community college had a library, and spent the summer devouring every book in their measly political philosophy section.

not many airmen could quote rawls, but given where it’d taken him, that was probably for the best.)

“don’t mention it,” poe says. “I’m here for you. and rey,” he adds, when she appears from the rest stop, and crosses the sad patch of browning grass to sit beside finn at the table.

she makes a face when she plants her elbow in a sticky patch, and it’s funny, it is—poe has seen her happily covered in motor oil and grass, sweat, but she wrinkles her nose, huffs. “what about me?” she asks, scraping at her elbow with a fingernail.

finn raises his eyebrows at poe, and he feels himself go hot. “no, I was just—telling finn that. well, I’m here for you. both of you.”

her expression softens into something almost tender, and poe lamely offers his half-empty water bottle to wash off her elbow. 

somehow, this ends up with rey straddling the bench beside him, close enough that he would breathe in her breath, if he could remember how to breathe just now. he gets water on his jeans, and her shirt, and he doesn’t miss the corner of her mouth, twitching at how clumsy he’s suddenly become. “there,” he says, using his thumb to wipe the last of it from the flat of her elbow. “all good.”

“thanks,” rey says, and this close he can see the old scar at her jaw where she wasn’t quick enough to dodge whatever plutt hurled at her head. (he thinks; she’s always oblique when it comes to her past, prickly and waiting to take offense at the first sign of pity.) it’s silvery-faint, but poe can’t look away.

poe walks back to the car two steps behind her. finn’s shoulder brushes his, and they’re both smiling, for no reason.

.

“move over,” finn mutters, and poe’s still mostly asleep—he grunts when finn elbows into the tacky motel bed beside him, pressing himself flush against poe’s back. he’s warm, it feels nice.

“rey keeps kicking me,” finn says. his breath on the nape of poe’s neck. he’s nosing at the collar of poe’s shirt, and poe goes practically boneless against him (is there a reason he shouldn’t? he can’t remember.)

“’k,” poe mumbles. “g’ sleep n’w.”

“okay,” finn says.

poe wakes up in the morning cold, finn having stolen every blanket on the bed and wrapped them around his waist. but he’s got a hand fisted into the back of poe’s shirt, and poe lays there for a while, feeling the ridge of finn’s knuckles against his back.

.

they’re eating at some tacky hole-in-the-wall bar google maps recommended when rey says, “han would have loved this place.”

finn freezes with a fry halfway to his mouth, and it’s up to poe to say, casually, “oh, yeah?”

rey is pushing the remains of whatever she had—something with potatoes, poe wasn’t paying attention—around her plate, frowning. “yeah,” she says. “he knew every crappy bar and diner for a hundred miles in every direction. probably knew their owners too. he had this—” she laughs a little, though there isn’t much humor in the sound. “her name was maz, I always thought she was his aunt, when actually she bought weed from him back before it was legalized. but that was han, he was always—everyone was family.”

finn puts down the fry and wipes his fingers on his shirt. lays his hand, palm up, on the plastic surface of the table. rey threads their fingers together, so tightly that poe can see her knuckles go white.

poe escapes, mumbling something about the jukebox, about needing the bathroom, another drink. (it doesn’t actually matter, he just has to put some space between him and this, or he’ll belong to it, he’ll be part of it, and he’s not. he has to remember he’s not. this is rey and finn and rey&finn and their grief and their lives, he doesn’t have a right to any of it.

he can’t believe he’s thinking about kissing them right now.)

it costs him a dollar twenty five to get shania twain on the jukebox, but it’s worth it to hear rey humming along when he gets back to the table. they’re still holding hands, but finn doesn’t move over when poe slides back into the booth. his shoulder is warm, and pressed all along poe’s side, and poe reminds himself to breathe, just breathe.

.

the next time finn crawls into bed with poe, he doesn’t offer any explanation. (neither does rey, when she joins them.)

.

honestly. just—say no. when they ask, for your own sanity, say no.

Keep reading
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beatonna:

An internet rabbithole, as they go.

Not long ago I watched the film Pride (set largely in 1984 Wales), and there was a scene where the community hall broke into the song Bread and Roses.  I was on a plane, otherwise I’d probably have googled it.

I was looking at some labor history links today after looking at some titles on Scribd and came across this by the Labor Education Service from the University of Minnesota: there again, Bread and Roses (1912, far from Wales).

So now, reading the lyrics and looking up the strike and the song both, this is how we get the name Rose Schneiderman - who coined the phrase that was turned into a slogan, poem and song.

All of this to say that I was moved by a speech from Rose herself, in the wake of the famous Triangle Shirtwaist Factory fire.  Thank you wikipedia for that.  And now perhaps I ought to find more to read of hers, but that is the beauty of internet rabbitholes, there is always more to read:

“I would be a traitor to these poor burned bodies if I came here to talk good fellowship. We have tried you good people of the public and we have found you wanting. The old Inquisition had its rack and its thumbscrews and its instruments of torture with iron teeth. We know what these things are today; the iron teeth are our necessities, the thumbscrews are the high-powered and swift machinery close to which we must work, and the rack is here in the firetrap structures that will destroy us the minute they catch on fire.

This is not the first time girls have been burned alive in the city. Every week I must learn of the untimely death of one of my sister workers. Every year thousands of us are maimed. The life of men and women is so cheap and property is so sacred. There are so many of us for one job it matters little if 146 of us are burned to death.

We have tried you citizens; we are trying you now, and you have a couple of dollars for the sorrowing mothers, brothers and sisters by way of a charity gift. But every time the workers come out in the only way they know to protest against conditions which are unbearable the strong hand of the law is allowed to press down heavily upon us.

Public officials have only words of warning to us – warning that we must be intensely peaceable, and they have the workhouse just back of all their warnings. The strong hand of the law beats us back, when we rise, into the conditions that make life unbearable.

I can’t talk fellowship to you who are gathered here. Too much blood has been spilled. I know from my experience it is up to the working people to save themselves. The only way they can save themselves is by a strong working-class movement.”

—Rose Schneiderman
via http://ift.tt/2mHiSY9:
bomberqueen17:

So this works both as a standalone Cassian Andor backstory, and as an installment in the Lost Kings series (the OCs featured are from that series, but no prior knowledge of them is necessary). 

Salvage What You Can, 12k words, Cassian Andor coming of age in the Rebellion and sort of falling in puppy love with his mentor. 

“Took me like that the first time too,” X47 said softly, and in the dark of hyperspace with the uncanny flickering of passing stars it wasn’t weird or wrong to sit with his head in the other man’s lap. X47 stroked Cassian’s hair gently. “It gets easier. It’s okay. You did what you had to do, you know?”

“I’m afraid of what it will be like when it gets easier,” Cassian said quietly after a little while.

“Wise child,” X47 said.

I’m not one for self-reblogs but people do sometimes do them. I know this isn’t a series many people follow so if you are one of the few, the happy few, the band of whatevers, I’m just making sure you see it, with an afternoon reblog. 

(I swear, I really do, it stands alone if you just want some bb!Cassian in your life. OK surly teen Cassian learning about murders.)
via http://ift.tt/2n0pukI:Victorian Language of Flowers - Floriography:

rainbowbarnacle:

tea-and-conspiracy:

gwenneth-in-wonderland:

hasty-touch:

mythrilreflections:

Behold! The grand chart for flower language compiled by @hasty-touch & @halonic. After being introduced to it, a number of folks have taken to using bouquets, delivered within Ishgard (and perhaps without) to convey messages. Can confirm that House Pepin delivers discretely and provides excellent service.

:3 This is just a thing I compiled from loads of PDFs and stuff because I was going batty from flipping between 20 different browser tabs.

Since it’s publicly viewable now I may work on neatening it some over the next few weeks!

Once upon a time @hasty-touch and I somehow ended up screeching “FLORIOGRAPHY???” at one another, and then weeks later he and @halonic made this gem happen, and suddenly the sea of books and browser tabs parted, and I was at peace.
I never close this spreadsheet.  It is my home.  We are one.

(( Signal boosting because these are the most thorough nerds I’ve ever seen and this list is wonderful.I’ve referenced it countless times already! ))

HAPPY BIRTHDAYMAS TOOOO MEEEEEEE

This is the post I was looking for here! Thank you, @serpent-moon ! (It won’t let me tag you. WTF.)

Here’s a weird thing, though. So I searched for this post, didn’t find it, but the search brought up a blog about flower meanings. So I followed the blog, meaning to go through it and look for this post, because surely it’d have it, but also because, I mean, it seemed like a nice blog to follow.

Later, I refreshed my dashboard, and this very post came up, ZOMG, and from the blog I’d just followed, wow! Good thing I hadn’t wasted any time scrolling through it to look, right? So I brought it up to reblog it, and typed in some tag art, and when I clicked “post” it… brought up a notice that I couldn’t do that. Weird? I clicked through and… the post was deleted. 

So it was a darn good thing serpent-moon came through for me. But I just thought that was a super weird coincidence!
via http://ift.tt/2m44aqD:
justsomeantifas:

jewish-privilege:

whoisdangerwoman:

justsomeantifas:

Friendly reminder that today was set up to celebrate the strike of women garment workers across all of Manhattan, a strike which had a large number of women who would later die in the Triangle Shirtwaist Fire.  That strike was primarily made up of immigrants from Eastern and Southern Europe, many of whom didn’t speak English, and the strike was attacked brutally by the police.

After a period of time, the strike was joined by a group of rich suffragettes, including the daughter of JP Morgan.  This collaboration would be…familiar, to a lot of people working today.  Anne Morgan gave a speech, in front of a group of women beaten and unjustly arrested by the police, that this wasn’t about being a worker, that the police weren’t their enemies, etc.  The ‘mink brigade’ of rich suffragettes helped negotiate the strike and eventually the strike ended with some of the goals being met, but a bunch of the provisions, including improved safety, were not.

Eight years later and a hundred years ago, another women’s strike started, in Saint Petersburg.  This women’s strike was quickly joined by other groups, and is considered the beginning of the Russian Revolution.

Reminder:“Eight years later and a hundred years ago, another women’s strike started, in Saint Petersburg.  This women’s strike was quickly joined by other groups, and is considered the beginning of the Russian Revolution.“

They were mostly Jewish women, led by Jewish women. Not just immigrants from eastern and southern women. Their Jewishness is fundamental to their activism. They pledged, in Yiddish, an adaptation of Psalm 137: “If I turn traitor to the cause I now pledge, may this hand wither from the arm I now raise.” Psalm 137 is about the Jewish people’s exile from and yearning to return to our ancestral home of Israel. It’s about our history as a diasporic people. It’s specifically a Jewish plea and Clara Lemlich’s adaptation of it as a pledge was not an accident.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Zion.
Upon the willows in the midst thereof we hanged up our harps.
For there they that led us captive asked of us words of song, and our tormentors asked of us mirth:
‘Sing us one of the songs of Zion.’
How shall we sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land?If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand forget her cunning.
Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I remember thee not; if I set not Jerusalem above my chiefest joy.
O daughter of Babylon, that art to be destroyed;
happy shall he be, that repayeth thee as thou hast served us.
Happy shall he be, that taketh and dasheth thy little ones against the rock.

Please don’t erase their Jewishness.

Sorry about that, should’ve been more explicit.

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