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Half sister Ginger passed away.
https://www.post-journal.com/obituaries/2023/06/ginger-lee-carte

Most of us that have worked here longer than a few years have seen management or other workers fail upwards into management. Today I learned upper management told local management they should have a talk to me about unprofessional conduct, specifically arguing with a customer. I did no such thing, only asked an association person, somebody that looks like a maintenance worker I've seen over and over, to stop taping notices to the mailboxes. They were half done at that time.
The association installed bulletin boards inside weather tight boxes at each group of boxes but they haven't used them since the beginning of Covid-19. More than once they've taped notices to residents over the lock so I've been removing them.
DMM 508 Recipient Services Section 3.0 Customer Mail Receptacles 3.1.3 Use For Mail
This specifically states "no part of a mail receptacle may be used to deliver any matter not bearing postage, including items or matter placed upon, supported by, attached to, hung from, or inserted into a male receptacle."
After asking them to stop, they stated they own the boxes. I said that doesn't matter and drove off. I wasn't yelling, I wasn't angry, and thought I was speaking flatly making a simple request, just stating facts.
Today I saw this person so I drove over to give them a 3849 with the above posted DMM citation number to pass on to the association so they can read it for themselves. This person said they talked to management so I asked to whom they spoke and it was nobody local. Somebody downtown said it's okay, they can post whatever they want, whenever they want. Again, I didn't argue, only stated facts and drove back to use the bathroom and speak to local management.
I've done nothing wrong, I'm simply following proper procedure. Maybe they lied and exaggerated what I said or how I said it but it upsets me that upper management doesn't know the situation, or his only heard one side of it, and tells local management to speak with me and set me straight. I think I'll be relaying this to my union steward, I'm just trying to laugh it off.
This place is becoming more and more ridiculous each year. We have manuals, I don't understand why so many are so ignorant of how things should work. There's no reason the association can't continue using the bulletin boards. It's pretty sad when you have coworkers with decades in, even one guy with more than four decades that can't wait to retire. I've seen at least two people in my office resign this year with about a decade of service. This next NALC contract better be good or I feel a lot of people will be heading towards the door!

Got the car this week, loving it! I asked the dealer to do the approach to unlock service bulletin before I picked it up and I just wanted to know, is there a version number or something I can look for in the settings to confirm this?
this is the update in question

A little back information, I signed up for my second 10 day course for May 31st through June 11th. To go to the course we all agreed to quarantine for 7 days prior to the course. Upon arrival we also had to submit a negative covid test before we could be admitted. While doing the course we have to wear a mask in all public spaces, but while meditating in the hall we can take the mask off once we are seated.
Yesterday was day two and when leaving the hall during the 3:30 to 5:00 pm meditation period (to head to the pagoda), I noticed a bulletin saying that one of my fellow students tested positive for covid. I've had to be hospitalized at one point due to covid so it had me a little spooked, but it did say that from then on we would have to keep our masks on even in the hall so I would continue on. I skipped the tea break to meditate even longer. Once in the hall for the next group sitting I couldn't help but notice only two others than myself wore a mask while meditating in the hall.
I did stay in the hall for the meditation, but during the break before the discourse I talked with the dorm manager saying that I couldn't continue the course if people weren't going to wear masks as we sit 2 feet apart from each other. I have little doubt that the student had at least infected their neighbors, he said he understood and had me talk to the teacher. When I brought up that we should be masked up and I wouldn't be able to continue since getting covid could be detrimental to me, he said I could sit further back, but I insisted I couldn't continue unless we were masked up. The first 10 day I took we everyone was masked up the entire time in the hall. I was told I could leave then if sitting further back alone wouldn't suffice.
While getting my things from the office I told the dorm manager I could stay the night then clean my room while everyone was a breakfast if possible unless I had to leave then. I was informed that I would have plenty of time to clean my room then leave while everyone was sitting in for the last part of the day. I got home last night at 1am because I was kicked out of the course for trying to adhere to their own protocols.
It is what it is, and I wont hang onto any anger, and even if I might sound like a broken record I'm taken aback that I couldn't finish the course because they wont follow their own posted protocols.

Drama! Metafilter has had one or two dramatic moments in its four decades on the Internet. From weird users to people posting their own obituary to getting stuck in an elevator, some drama is fun and some is fairly upsetting. Any dramatic moments stick out in your mind?

Source: https://web.archive.org/web/20080104105659/http://www.goddess-project.net/index.php?pid=52
I am not the original creator. Posted on the old GoddessProject fansite
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Sora Unchained Examined to Unconsciable levels.
Part one of an as yet unknown number of posts listing assorted triva, observations, and other neat stuff from the Sora Unchained arc. I've been going back over my old posts on this series and collecting whatever I'd said about the stories while waiting for others to get their copies. Now I'm going to post them in chapter order along with whatever else I might have on that chapter. If anyone else wants to contribute, feel free. Afterwards I'm going to consolidate these posts into one article and post it for general information. If this works out well maybe I'll go back and do this for some of the other arcs.
Sora Unchained arc - Dark Horse Trade Paperback number 19/20 Issued Jan. 2005, To be Reissued Feb. 2012 Kodansha Tankouban Vol. 19 and 20
Part 1 - I Choose You, Sora. Dark Horse issue 105, Feb. 2004 release Let's Decide The New Chief Kodansha chapt. 119, July 1998 release Tankouban Vol. 19
Sora Hasegawa, closet debutant.
The cover illustration shows Sora wearing a "Lolita, Clash, Lolita Lempic... , Paris" shirt. While I'm still looking for details (My daughter seems to recall a punk/SKA group called Lolita Clash) it seems more likely this is a reference to a fancy french perfume label "Lolita Lempicka". It seems to be a fairly high end brand of fragrences with VERY fancy bottles. Further information is desired.
The idea of cheating when drawing lots is a common theme in manga and anime. It's been pointed out on other sites that Tamiya and Otaki are shown setting up poor clueless Keiichi to win the drawing for who gets to be the driver in the OAV's motorcycle contest, and cheating on such selection processes has been used in story plots in Sailormoon and Maison Ikkoku.
There are several ways this supposedly random drawing can be rigged, mostly by whoever sets up the lots in the first place. Hence the comments by the club members about irregularities by Sora's promoters and Keiichi's comeback line of "is this the face of a cheater?!" (Belldandy wouldn't cheat if life itself depended on it. She'd just be sure the right decision would come about.)
The untranslated names of the club members on the bottom of the Choosing Maze are Mitsuwa, Ishii, Hasegawa, Chikafuji, and Kawada. Exactly which name goes with which member other than Sora hasn't been firmly established, but I believe the one with the mustach is Kawada (kon) Suzuki (dou) and the large gentleman is Watanabe (based on wild speculation using information from the Hill Climb Motorcycle and Singing Contest stories). Exactly how this maze game works to select someone is something I'd love to learn, anyone know?
(Addendum - see next post)
Part 2 - The Shortcut To Winning. Dark Horse issue 106, Mar. 2004 release The Way Of Competition Kodansha chapt. 120, Aug. 1998 release Tankouban Vol. 19
The Racing Board shown is a real item. I found an advertisment and website for a Tanaka Paveracer, 40cc power cart that looks remarkably like the ones in the story.
The little creature Belldandy is using is called an Airbug Spiralee. It will be appearing in later chapters. Why Dark Horse felt the need to put an "and" in the name here is unknown.
A most important developement in this story is how a running theme that has existed throughout the series is made absolutely clear here. It wasn't really obvious at first, but a character trait BOTH Belldandy and Keiichi share is that they are gung-ho competitors and nothing makes them happier than squaring off against a new opponent. In the past, their pleasure in such competitions has been clouded by outside circumstances or unhappy results if they lose, but both Bell and Keiichi love a pure challenge they can devote themselves to totally. (This is first mentioned by Bell in the Anime Otoku story.)
This wasn't very clearly shown earlier in the manga, and many stories even made it seem as if Belldandy was rather timid about taking risks. (I know I thought that at first, and from the older posts on the subject I wasn't the only one.) That's why her occasional outbursts of excessive force or effort seemed so out of character. Actually, she's an all or nothing sort of competitor, who is just very choosy about what she decides to get involved in. Normally she tries not to upset things or push herself into situations, but when she decides to go for it (or she feels she's forced to), look out! This aspect of Bell's personality will become more noticable in the manga stories from here on, and if you go back and review the older stories I think you'll see what I mean.
Part 3 - The Director's Curse. Dark Horse issue 107, April 2004 release The Cursed Chief Kodansha chapt. 121, Sept. 1998 release Tankouban Vol. 19
If you didn't notice, Sora is still steering the racing board while riding tandem with Belldandy.
Belldandy HAS driven a go-cart before. She learned by copying Diana Lockheed's moves while racing her back in Winner Take All. However, this race WAS before Chihiro and the other current club members had joined the story.
This is also one of the story arcs where her competitive nature starts showing. (Observe her efforts to win in the races, fight off the sleep demon, and how she can ignore K-1's behavior without embarassment in order to get back on track.)
And for those of you following the TV anime, the next part of the arc (What A Miracle) is where we first see Tamiya in his cheerleader outfit.
It's interesting how Sora never questions just how Belldandy has such an accurate inventory of the interesting wildlife in the area in her head. (Especially as the animals in question would be in motion and not likely to be in the same places day after day. Well maybe the owl would, but otherwise how could a normal person know all those detail with such certainty?) Of course it is Bell saying it, and Sora was distracted.
Still its fun noticing how people just accept what Belldandy tells them without worrying about how she might know such things. (P. S. The Japanese text is just slightly less specific as to the racoons and owls locations, but more specific as to where the starlings are.)
Part 4 - Special Training Dark Horse issue 108, May 2004 release Crash Course Continues Kodansha chapt. 122, Oct. 1998 release Tankouban Vol. 19
The most fascinating aspect of this story is that it shows a 180 turnabout on the part of Bell's sisters. Skuld is going off on a rant about how Belldandy and Keiichi should always be together (at least as far as racing's concerned) , while Urd is saying (at least publically) that it's okay for them to do things apart.
We also haven't seen Skuld do the "PBTTT!" bit for awhile.
I try to not take sides in translation conflicts. I cannot speak or read any Japanese so I don't feel qualified to judge who's version is correct. (I do feel qualified to compare different versions however.) In this story however there are two places where the Dark Horse and independent translations differ in ways that I felt should be pointed out.
In the Japanese version, Keiichi is commenting on how Skuld and Urd are such sisters rather than Belldandy and Skuld.
More importantly, there's a joke in the sequence where the club members are preparing for Sora's next attempt to drive through them that Dark Horse left out. In the panel where the club member in the bandana is standing in front of the really large member, in the English version the smaller member is thinking, "Am I fast enough to dive for cover?" The Japanese version goes more like, "If I have to, I'll hide behind him... " That's what the arrow that Dark Horse left between them is refering to, and if they decided to remove the joke they should have removed the arrow.
Part 5 - Drive Dark Horse issue 109, June 2004 release Everybody Races Kodansha chapt. 123, Nov. 1998 release Tankouban Vol. 19
Not much trivia to report in this story.
The biggest discussion point here is how Dark Horse reinterpreted Keiichi's comments while he's practicing with Sora and what he and Belldandy say to each other that night in the temple garden. The Japanese text doesn't have him actually challanging Sora to follow him or making statements to Belldandy later that he thought he might have been considered as helping Sora. However, the drawings do seem to be depicting him doing just that, so in this case I think the Dark Horse/Studio Proteus version is closer to what Mr. Fujishima intended.
Part 6 - Miles and Miles Dark Horse issue 110, July 2004 release Keiichi's Distance, Hasegawa's Distance Kodansha chapt. 124, Dec. 1998 release Tankouban Vol. 20
Those stamps Tamiya, Otaki, and later Chihiro, are using at their check points are their signature stamps. The letters printed by them are their names.
Keiichi DOES have a Check Point list, his senpais are just choosing to stamp his face to aggravate him.
As a bit of speculation on my part, I'm sure you've noticed how Tamiya and Otaki put on hapi coats with the Whirlwind logos on them after they've stamped both Keiichi and Sora (so Sora and K-1 won't see them wearing them). Such coats are a form of advertising used by shops and worn by people employed by the shop to do things in public places. One of these things is handing out flyers and brochures at special events, which is what I think Chihiro is having them do for her after the racers have passed. More on this in the last story.
Part 7 - The Race Gets Hot, A Goddess Gets Hotter! Dark Horse issue 111, Aug. 2004 release The Race Begins! Goddess Acts Too! Kodansha chapt. 125, Jan. 1999 release Kodansha chapt. 126, Feb. 1999 release Tankouban Vol. 20
One can only wonder how Keiichi heard them tell Sora she might have to pay a toll.
As has been pointed out by many sources, the poster next to the locker room door for the sea slug society is the same poster found on the bulletin board next to the NIT-MCC recruiting poster put up by Keiichi in the movie. I believe this is the first example of a movie reference in the manga.
Urd and Skuld's assistance to Keiichi is interesting for a number of points, not the least of which is that it shows Skuld as probably being able to teleport and levitate the same as Urd. (She seems to have gotten there on her own, and later disappears behind her smoke cloud cover. It doesn't seem like she just ran away and does wind up in the tree with Urd. Now Urd may have been providing transport for both of them, but judging from their conversation I can't see them cooperating to that degree.
They both seem to feel they have a duty to help Keiichi, like he was family. Or to score points with Belldandy. Either way, Keiichi is now an insider in their world view.
The Freaky Potion - Stupid New Machine rivalry is finally firmly established.
Urd establishes the use of a kiss (first seen in the movie) as a method of passing on a spell to someone.
The car next to Belldandy in the parking lot where she's waiting for the race to end is a Caterham Super 7, the same car driven by Sena Wakabayyashi, Ken Nakajima's stepmother in You're Under Arrest. This is the first guest crossover between the two series that I'm aware of.
The conversation between Belldandy and the club members actual marks the end of Kodansha's chapter 125. Chapter 126 starts with the aftermath of Urd's kiss and Skuld's indignation at it. Chapter 126 is then split between Dark Horse issue 111 and 112.
For those (very) few readers who didn't get it, Keiichi is making steam train sounds (chuffa-chuffa! Whoo-woo!)
The trash stalls Keiichi lands in (marked flammable and non-flammable) is a recyling station. Wood and paper goes in the flammable side, plastics and metals are in the non-flammable side. Keiichi crashed in the side with the harder, sharper objects.
911 is not an emergency number in Japan. What Sora is refering to in the Japanese text are emergency procedure numbers in the community disaster response handbook. (There are guideline procedures for fires, floods, earthquakes, car crashes, injuries, heart attacks, etc.)
When Keiichi drives off the ledge and crashes into the recycling bin, he's saved from serious injury by Holy Bell spinning an air cushion for him to land on. But why was she there to save him in the first place? Belldandy is at the finish line in the parking lot, talking to the other club members and waiting for the race to finish, and Holy Bell should be with her. Unless . . .
Maybe Belldandy had already split off a copy of herself at the start of the race and had been keeping an eye on Keiichi, just in case. (The rules of competition are sacred, but she also has a prior commitment to take care of Keiichi.) Which is why she was in a position to dispatch Holy Bell just in time to save him. And also how she knew instantly that Urd had put a spell on Keiichi.
Which would mean she might also have known about Urd kissing Keiichi, but had dismissed it as just the method Urd used to get the spell into him. (So it was probably a good thing K-1 didn't finish saying "incredible kiss". Bell might have reconsidered just how harmless it was and gotten a little jealous.)
As an additional observation, I don't think that angels can be multipled, only the goddesses. As a seperate entity the angel would need to copied seperately and giving each mini-goddess their own angel would be just a bit too much power out there. Rather, I think its more likely that the angel can manifest itself through any one of the copies as needed. Thus, if mini-Bell needs Holy Bell to save Keiichi, she can summon her, but then Bell back at the parking lot cannot while mini-Bell is using her at the recycling center.
Part 8 - The Best Magic Dark Horse issue 112, Sept. 2004 release Aberrant Kiss The Strongest Magic Kodansha chapt. 126, Feb. 1999 release Kodansha chapt. 127, Mar. 1999 release Tankouban Vol. 20
Dark Horse issue 112 contains both Kodansha chapter 126 and 127 Chapter 126 is split between Dark Horse issue 111 and 112. Chapter 126 ends after Belldandy leaves Keiichi to fix his racing board and continue the race.
It was fitting that Dark Horse would celebrate its long established habit of recombining Kodansha manga chapters with its last two comic book issue releases.
When Belldandy and Holy Bell leave Keiichi after he wakes up, they transport themselves through a piece of chromed metal (a mirrored surface).
So Keiichi re-invents the motorized skate board with just the items in his pockets. Now that's a mechanic! I wonder if Mr. Fujishima wanted a chance to do a skateboard montage without making it look like that was what he wanted to do.
It's interesting to note that since the sign says "NO BIKES OR CYCLES" Keiichi is not actually breaking any rules since what he's riding doesn't fit either of those catagories.
As is revealed at the end of this story, a hidden sub-plot of this arc was how mercantile Chihiro can be. Her plot to use the Motor Club's race as an advertising stunt to sell the racing boards is foreshadowed by the scene in the first part of the story where we see how fast Chihiro can put on her "Salesperson Face" and Keiichi's comments on how she can "Turn It On." Later there are hints that she's doing something on her own behind the scenes, then we see she's got Tamiya and Otaki in Whirlwind coats at the check points, but doesn't want Keiichi or Sora to see the coats. Finally, at the end we discover they've been handing out sales brochures, that the race had been advertised as a sales stunt, and that Chihiro has already made a sign exploiting Keiichi's emergency conversion to a motorized skateboard as a sales feature.
This doesn't mean she wasn't honestly trying to help Sora and the NIT-MCC resolve their leadership crisis. It's quite obvious she was. It's just that its also being shown that she's not above using this as an opportunity to further her own mercantile efforts as well.
Kurthy133 Question and Answer
Tim, since you had some speculations about the cover illustration involving Sora's shirt in Part One of the Sora Unchained arc, I was wondering if you had any ideas about Bell's shirt in the cover illustartion of Part Two (39 hat and all.) It is much harder to read, but I figured that if anyone might know, it would be you!
While there might be some significance to the 39, I'm not aware of any. In general what she's wearing seems to be a fairly typical example of race crew wear.
In almost any motorized vehicle race (and many others as well) in Japan where there's enough money available for such things, the support team for a racer is dressed in similar, stylized, color coordinated, semi-casual clothes, often with the name of the sport, the racer's name or number, and the event or team's sponsers on them. (This is common for most professional sports around the world.)
What Belldandy is wearing seems pretty close to what other manga and anime characters I've seen wear at such events (including in the earlier AMG manga and OAV stories.) The board is a lap board where the driver's time is recorded for each lap and held up so the drivers can see how they're doing, Whatever that logo on the shoes is, it's probably a parody of some real sneaker label. And the visible lettering on her sleeve starts with a "G" and ends with "RT", the rest being to my eyes unreadable. While in no way defendable, I'd guess it reads "Go-Cart".
Now, did you notice that Belldandy seems to be wearing the same shirt while sitting on the motorcycle two stories later? The printing on the sleeve is either missing or not visible, but the shirt back has what appears to be "Team Hasagawa" printed on it.

First off, I've (31m) never posted anything on Reddit before, I've only ever been a phantom browser (or listener for the few of us who listen to Slash), so if there are formatting errors, or if I've mucked this entire post, forgive me; but that's not what I'm here for so get bent, I'm dying to unload all of this. There's a lot to unpack here, so please bear with, and without further ado:
I'm currently dealing with the loss of my best friend James (27m) who successfully completed suicide a few weeks ago. I'm so unbelievably angry at his loss as he was one of the brightest most intelligent people I've ever known. A person who was too smart for his own good regularly led him down a dark path that I've talked him out of several times in the past. Before we get into the heart of the matter, I'd like to provide some insight to when it all started.
I've known James from our time in the Service together, when we were both assigned to perform military honors for veterans. We met back in 2016, and I'll admit, at first I was standoffish as I am with most new people I meet. After a few weeks we bonded over our disdain for the training regimen and requirements for new Honor Guard(HG) trainees. I wouldn't say we became fast friends, but we deepened our relationship over time with big dreams and even bigger goals. Talking about cars, preferably JDM, guns, technology, games, anime; actually, just everything. This man knew a lot about everything, and we found in eachother kindred spirits. Although he was much better at knowing what the best (in his opinion) of the best was, and what I should focus my efforts or should buy, and I trusted his knowledge. He really was the best.
We maintained a pretty good relationship over the next few years when I left the service in 2018 and moved back home to Ohio and he was left back in Illinois to finish out his service commitment. And during that time, we talked regularly, if not every day, then every other day. With some spotty communication between, we're guys, talking all the time isn't always necessary, and it got to the point of regular check-ins and talks about life and the bullshit going on. Mine being the transition from the military to civilian life, and his, just regular bullshit within the service, and whatever car he was dealing with at the time.
It wasn't until 2019 when things started to unravel, and he decided he wanted to be in a relationship with a woman Brenda (27f) that he'd met at the airport. I'm not sure when he had, but it might've been a few years to a few months prior to the autumn of 2019. The only significance of Brenda was that James had managed to hook up with her AT THE AIRPORT. I dogged on him for being such a smooth talker and having the ability to do that. To my knowledge, it was a one and done thing, but he maintained contact with her, which led to them developing a relationship, and being "official" the autumn of 2019.
After three months, a total of 90 fucking days, this man was smitten. To the point of which he was so torn up about her getting cold feet and breaking up with him. Something I've never seen before from this man who basically had a revolving door with women in the past. I had to talk him off of the figurative ledge because of how much he felt he gave her. Nonetheless, they ended back together, and he moved her into his house to live with him and a long-time roommate Neil (25m). James introduced Neil and I and we've been pretty good friends, but nothing as significant as James and I. Either way we were all pretty close, and both Neil and I advised against staying with Brenda, as she was, as far as we could tell, unbalanced. That was putting it lightly.
This cycle of being together and not being together, and getting angry over petty things, begins to impact the relationship between James and I. To the point where I can't just talk about the bullshit between him and Brenda. So I stopped talking to him for a few months in 2020 and tell him off about how I can't listen to him bitch about his girl anymore.
Either way, we begin talking later on in 2020 and things are friendly as usual, with the exception that we don't really talk too much about Brenda anymore. Which is a nice change of pace. Anyway, from the time I was in the service, my experience translates to driving trucks. So what did I do when I got out? I drove trucks, which sucks, but pays well. So I've always nagged James for what I should do as far as getting out of trucking, and in to computers and IT. I've tried my hand at it in the past when I tried to get my BS in Comp. Sci. in 2019, which I failed miserably.
So back to trucking I went always looking for a way out, as I've got a wife and two sons, it makes it hard to raise a family and be present. So he maintains his relationship with Brenda and keeps it on the backburner for conversations, rarely bringing it up, all the way up into 2022 when he's been out of the service for two years, and has made a name for himself in the IT community. He came out to Ohio in Nov 2022 to buy some big ticket items for his own racing setup. He convinced me (without too much arm pulling) to drive out to St. Louis with him to visit our old digs. During this 6 hour drive we catch up on all the old bullshit and what's going on in his love life. The constant fighting, bickering, and me doing my best to cheer him up and let him know, that outside of what he's failing at in his relationship, he's got a pocket full of spades and is exceptionally successful at every other aspect of his life. I mean, what other person do you know who goes from making less than $40k a year to making over $600k in two years? Nonetheless, we also spent that entire time talking about what he currently does, and he set me on a pathway of learning, specifically books, that he said I should read. After I got back to my daily life, and read them; We talked about them, and he made sure I understood the concepts held within them, and oddly he said he'd get back to me.
This is just the surface stuff, what makes James an outright amazing person, is that he's always looking out for those close to him. He had so much pull at his current company, that he was able to make a special position just for me, as a "loyalty program" to get people to train who otherwise didn't have experience in his career field. The books he had me read were primers to see if I had the aptitude to take on this kind of training. The company signed me on at my current monthly rate (as of Dec. 2022) to come on and train exclusively and meet my commitments by the end of January. From then on, it was daily talks of knowledge this, or what experience you have in that. And daily life in general. I came to find out just how little I knew about how knowledgeable and smart James was, and a new appreciation for our friendship,
Where I was once his mentor in the service, he was now my mentor in the tech world. And he was brilliant. Things that would take a whole team months to do, he was capable of doing within a week. I saw him work magic, and was excited to see how I could graft his knowledge and experience into my own. In March, we had a work requirement to meetup at the work site (because IT is remote, duh) and meet with the team that our company supported. There was a whole fiasco and we got up to some of our old shenanigans, but everything was great with the exception of one thing: her. I hadn't asked the entire trip, and he had mentioned that this was the best he'd felt in years. I just didn't want to ask what the problem was, until the day we left to go back to our respective states. I'd come to find out, that the day before he'd left to come out for our trip, his now wife, had locked him out of the main portion of the house (luckily he has over 5000sq/ft house, so he made do with the "other half" as he called it) and I just listened as he lamented about all the garbage that happened prior to his departure. How he gave up everything; his interests, his desires, just to be around her more. How after everything he's sacrificed, he just wanted it to work. That he'd do anything for her, and all she did was spit in his face and shit all over his effort. This last argument he'd had with her before he'd left was all because of him wanting to go get tacos with some of his local friends. A simple disagreement that turned into a 3-day argument.
So things like this progress and he's talking to all the people he needs advice from. His pastor, his therapist, and they're all telling him to run from this woman. These things I've been telling him for years are all starting to come together, and I feel like I can finally take a breath. From hearing stories of how he's slept under his desk to avoid confrontation with her, how he works endlessly because she won't bother him while he works. I was so excited that divorce was now finally an option for him. Until finally she was moving out, and everything came crashing down.
Friday, May 12, 2023. It was work as usual, and he'd spent a little longer at work, and was talking about going out to play pool with a friend. So I ended up talking to him later that evening asking him how things were going, mostly just because I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. When he replied that he was "big sad" and I asked him what was going on. He told me that he was tricked into going out with his friend by Brenda. That the friend was convinced to ask James out by her, so that she could come by their house and move her things out. Which she had never done before, but was prone to leaving at the drop of a hat and going to her sister's house 1.5 hrs away. I expressed that I was sorry for what he had to go through, as I had also gone through a divorce years prior. That regardless if it was for the best, that it is still a painful process. The last thing he said to me: "Can't be mad about a loss that costs me the wins when I'm the one who made the bet" I replied, "Maybe not, but I can understand the loss still hurts."
That was the last thing I said to him at 0016. I'm so fucking mad, at him, at her, at everything. The entire situation, that I would be out there to help him, I joked about moving my family out there with him in that big ass house. That we'd buy property, hundreds and thousands of acres just to bullshit with, and do "hoodrat things with my friends." I texted him and called him Saturday to check on him, but figured he had a hangover, so I didn't want to bother but let him know that I would call a wellness check on him if I didn't hear back. So I called him a few more times on Sunday, which eventually lead to me calling the wellness check at 1421 on Mother's Day. Two hours later, at 1621 exactly, I get a phone call from a detective asking me questions about James. I thought he was in a snag with the police and was doing 180 on the freeway or something, or pulled some Eminem nonsnense. Did I fail to mention that Brenda claimed to be pregnant, and would use getting an abortion as a way to control James? No? Well it was one of the first things I told the detective after they asked me about him being depressed. I didn't understand why the questions were being asked, but they eventually came to tell me that upon their arrival, he was dead. The world snapped to a startling clarity, and I broke out into a cold sweat. I didn't think it could be possible, and my brain reeled at the rushing reality of it all. The sickening reality of it, that she didn't even care because she had already given up, had pulled her claws out of him. It was done, no new memories, no grand dreams, no future plans to conquer the world. But as we know, this is only just the beginning, the aftermath is where it all hurts more.
So his body had to be transported to his hometown on the other side of the country near the coast, from the OTHER side of the country. 3000 miles just to be put in the ground, all for his parents' sake. Which was nice, and a kind gesture, that Brenda allowed and a relatively beautiful ceremony. We show up the day James shows up, a 10 hour drive with no AC and the windows down. My wife and I both knew and loved James, so we were going to be there no matter what. I meet his dad for the first time, a topic James and I regularly talked about. How his father is the best person he knows, and would do anything for. I can see that now, and James' wife had sent a picture to my wife of one of their conversations, about how I reminded James of his dad. That shit broke my heart, and was hard to see, but I appreciated it. Although I think she reveled in twisting the knife. Anyway, come to find out from his dad, that Brenda allowed him to write the obituary, and as James' dad was finalizing it with his wife and James' sisters, Brenda took it and made changes and deleted the things she didn't like.
James' dad took us all around his hometown, showing us where he went to school, where they lived, and what he liked to do. He also took us out for lunch to a local place James liked. I've never felt so at home while not at home. We even got haircuts at James' dad's favorite barber. I met James' mother and sisters, and found that they share a lot of gestures and nuances that were just uncanny. It was good, although, terrifyingly sad. I'm so fucking glad Neil was there, dude was a rock.
The day of the funeral and memorial We got to say our final goodbyes, and there was a line of James' next of kin. Starting with his mother, and ending with his youngest sister. His wife sat separately and was laughing and joking before people started showing up. She adopted a somber and sorrowful set, when we locked eyes, I saw the poison, vitriol, and hate she had for me, and anyone else who cared about James. Her eyes looked like that of Bellatrix Lestrange. She didn't cry, once. It hurt to see someone James cared about so much, not care one lick at his loss. She didn't plan anything for this funeral, didn't appoint pallbearers, nothing. Fortunately, me, Neil, another roommate James had--Jesse, and some other close relatives of James, we raised him one last time. Everything was executed by his parents and was done wonderfully. At his burial site, he was given military honors, which he and I would joke as being terribly done, but for the masses, was acceptable. For military ceremonies like this, the next of kin gets the flag. And unfortunately, they were still married at the time of death. Which she received and treated like nothing so much as a burden. James' parents knew how vile she was and STILL invited her to attend a remembrance party in Honor of James. To which she ran off and never attended. This, this is still the easiest part of the entire process.
James parents are trying to file an injunction, but Brenda hasn't even filed the proper paperwork to begin the probate process. So there isn't even anything to file an injunction against! They want to be able to handle his estate, but can't. There's nothing to do, no memories to take. We fear that everything will be repossessed, foreclosed, and she will laugh her way to the bank to cash in on James' demise. I wish he'd had a will, or started the divorce process. I wish even more, that he was still here. For anyone out there who thinks you won't be missed, you will. For those who think no one will notice them gone, you will be noticed. I would rather talk to you for hours, than be at your grave. Please, reach out, ask for help, or just to talk. I'm sorry things get tough, but you have love and support here if you need it. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help, or talk you out of it. I love you man. Til Valhalla.

1. Claudia Rosett, RIP.
   
2. Russell Hogg and Scott Sumner podcast on Japanese movies.
   
3. Foundations and Frontiers, some new essays on new technologies, by Anna-Sofia Lesiv.
   
4. “Meet the one-person team behind Antarctica’s longest-running newspaper, the Antarctic Sun.”
   
5. Benjamin Wallace-Wells on libertarianism (New Yorker).
   
6. The excellent Dan Senor podcasts with me.
   
7. How to keep people chatting.
   
8. Pentagon now hunting for UFOs with sensors actively built for that purpose.
   

The post Friday assorted links appeared first on Marginal REVOLUTION.
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Comments

](https://marginalrevolution.com/marginalrevolution/2023/06/friday-assorted-links-420.html#comments) - Is GPT4 getting worse? Discussion at ...by T. Shaffner

Hi everyone!
I am an international student pursuing masters in Canada. My course is officially 2 years, but I have the option to finish it early. I'll appreciate anyone who can help me with the below queries:
​

• Is the co-op term included in the course duration? Let's say I do a co-op for 4 months, will four months be counted in PGWP or is it only the terms where I study?

​

• Is it true that, if I finish my course before 2 years, I can still get a 3 -year PGWP? This is what I found on Govt of Canada website:
  • Accelerated studies

If a student completes their studies in less time than the normal length of the program (that is, they have accelerated their studies), the post-graduation work permit should be assessed on the length of the program of study.
For example, if the student is enrolled in a program of study that is normally 1 year in duration, but the student completes the requirements for the program of study within 8 months, they may be eligible for a post-graduation work permit that is valid for 1 year.
I would really appreciate anyone's view if they have faced similar issues.
TIA.

If it weren’t for a killer urban legend, Tina and I would celebrate Valentine’s Day on the 14th
Honestly, I was enjoying a bit of human company after several hours of driving alone, four years ago. Correction. I was trying to enjoy human company. I couldn't identify what was out of sync about Ernestburgh and its inhabitants so I wrote it off to me being picky. I am picky. That's why I was looking this far away from home for the location of my much needed warehouse. I wasn't about to spend the money demanded for run down buildings in my hometown. My odometer assured me I was 114 miles from home. In Ernestburgh. Which isn't in my GPS or on any online map I called up.
Cindy the gas station cashier dropped the cash into my hand and wished me a happy day. Then, haltingly, as if going off script and unsure about doing so, she asked, "What brought you here?"
"Good question," I said, jamming the change into my jacket's inside pocket, "I'm in the market for a warehouse, around 1,000 square feet. Anything like that in town?"
"Let the young lady be on her way," a deep voice boomed behind me. My stomach jumped, although I think I remained calm on the outside as I turned around. A tall, muscular man was nodding at Cindy and me. "Don't mind her, Miss, sometimes we forget our manners here, being we all know each other. You know how that is." He chuckled, although his eyes never smiled. To me, he looked smug. I didn't appreciate that.
"Where are my manners?" I laughed, sticking my hand out to start a handshake. "I'm Lydia from the next town over. And you are?"
He stared at my hand for several seconds before taking it in a quick handshake. "Name's Hopper, Miss Lydia, good to meet you. My wife Cora tells me I need to socialize more and work less, but, you know how it is, I'm sure." He released my hand.
He sounded like he looked, smug. Part of me wanted to egg him on. But I took a breath before speaking and told him I was looking for a motel room for the night. His demeanor softened. "The Deu Lake Inn just reopened after renovations. Go right from our parking lot, left at the second stop sign. Ask for Room Number 103. It overlooks the Lake. Hope you're an early riser. Sunrise over the Lake is unforgettable this time of year!"
Ernestburgh didn't have street lights so the stop signs were a little hard to see but I managed to find the dirt road that ended at Deu Lake Inn's parking lot. That clicked for me. If I landed MoonDoor's warehouse here, the Inn and the entire old school vibe of Ernestburgh would be an easy sell to increase tourism. Especially to boomers.
Annie McIntosh greeted me at the front desk and offered me 10 % off on my stay, which I gratefully accepted. Annie called in Enzio Morton to take my 'overnight bag' to my room and make sure the air conditioning was working. I said I wasn't worried, since it was February 9 and I would rather the room was heated. Annie's response was the a/c was just installed and it being such new technology, staff needed to make sure it worked. I chuckled a little then noticed she probably wasn't joking so I stopped, rather awkwardly.
Annie busied herself with paperwork and actively avoided talking to me after that. Knowing that someone named Enzio had to accompany me to my room, I checked out the only photo on the wall. It was a black and white photo of a man who looked eerily familiar. He wore an odd white bucket hat with the brim pushed away from his face. He had dark hair with full, choppy bangs, eyebrows raised over large eyes opened wide, a nondescript nose and mouth open as if he was either talking or gawking.
It hit me: That was Bob Denver, when he was Gilligan from Gilligan's Island, a 1960s sitcom.
A document attached to the photo frame was titled "Official History and Lore of Our Founding Father". It explained 'Captain' Johnny Ernest spent his entire life in Ernestburgh. His parents raised him on their local farm, before the town existed. Deu Lake Inn was built over his family's farm property. He was orphaned at the age of 11 and lived alone for the rest of his life. He spent 25 years building the earliest homes, post office and stage coach station for what became known as Ernestburgh. Since his death, he returns every year to eat the living being he names. The town would not and could not exist without him, according to the document.
What the hell.
"Miss Annie," I asked, unwilling to be taken in by a local prank, "is that all there is to this story?"
Annie lifted her head, smiling widely. "Yes," she said brightly, "that's our Founding Father, Captain Ernest. Once a year he returns, eats whatever living being he names, then he returns to his beloved lake until the next February 10th."
'Eats whatever living being he names.' I felt fear without knowing its origin, something I don't often experience. I turned to face the Inn's entrance so I could avoid both Annie and Captain Ernest. Enzio appeared soon after. He got me to Room 103, confirmed the a/c was good, and I was left on my own for the night.
I opened the sports bag of spare essentials I always left in my vehicle. It stems from having to be prepared to run for my life when I was younger. Some habits are hard to break. It allowed me to change into a t shirt for that night. I grabbed the remote and jumped into bed.
Covers up to my neck, horror movie marathon playing quietly in the background, I was ready to relax. That's when I remembered my odometer. Part of my being picky is me recording my mileage at the end of every journey. My odometer registered exactly 114 miles from home to Ernestbugh. Based on memory, I'd travelled mostly westbound from home. And online maps clearly showed a large, well-known city 40 miles west of my place. Seems likely I would have noticed that city, had it been in my way during my travels.
Also, traveling no more than 50 miles per hour, my trip should have taken two and a half hours, three tops if I slowed down, got stuck in traffic jams or stopped a lot. That wasn't how my drive went at all. I left home at 10 a.m. and drove non-stop until I arrived at Ernestburgh nine hours later, just before 7 p.m.
Once again, what the hell.
I called up my dashcam footage and fast forwarded through the day's journey. There was scenery I recognized, close to home, then about five hours of static, then scenery that I recalled driving into Ernestburgh. The first time I watched it, I didn't believe it. Had to be a technical glitch. The third time I watched it, my muscles tightened for fight or flight. As much as I wanted to leave immediately, I realized I'd do better to wait until morning. I set my phone alarm for 6:45 a.m. and plugged in my phone to recharge, then spent a long time staring at the ceiling.
My alarm rang a bit too early for my liking and I didn't remember setting the ring tone to 'growls and groans'. The time on my phone was 5:45 a.m. so it wasn't my alarm. For a second I attributed the noise to the horror movie marathon I'd selected for the room's TV. Nope. TV must have shut itself off while I was asleep.
I heard it again. A growl, thunderous and a bit muffled, coming from the back of the Inn where my window faced. Expecting an incoming thunderstorm, I opened the curtains a bit and stared for a second or two at a huge bubble sitting on the lake. A face smiled at me from inside the bubble. A face. In a bubble. On a lake. Smiling at me. So much wrong.
After the fastest shower ever, I shoved all my gear into my sports bag and threw on my coat. I ran to the back of the Inn with all my gear and my phone (charge cord still attached, alarm shut off) at the ready. The beach, such as it was, was about a two minute jog from the back of the Inn and extended for quite a bit before meeting the water. There was a large bubble sitting on the water's surface, a significant distance from the shore. This was the same bubble I'd seen out the window. It kept getting larger, as did the face in it.
I was trying to focus my phone's camera when I heard someone speaking behind me. Annie, the front desk clerk, asked if I was ready to check out.
"Um, Annie, do you see that?" I said as gently as I could, pointing at the bubble. As soon as I looked at it, I couldn't look away. Annie didn't answer my question but she did keep talking. She said check out prior to 11:25 a.m. was fine but I had to pay now. I asked her how much and she didn't answer, which prompted me to look directly at her.
The growling started again. Of course it was much louder than I'd heard in my room. Annie frowned but stood firm, hand out, palm up. I looked back at the lake and the bubble had moved much closer to shore, almost touching dry land. It was huge, and the face now had a full body with arms and legs. Still smiling, it pointed at me with its left arm.
My blood ran cold. I heard Annie's voice but couldn't understand the words. The bubble drew ever closer. The growls were so loud, I clamped my hands over my ears but still couldn't stop staring at the face. It seemed so familiar.
Annie might have stopped talking, I don't know. All I could hear with my hands on my ears was muffled growling. I knew she was still there because she had grabbed my right arm with both hands and pulled fiercely. Even so, I kept staring at the bubble that had stopped rolling when it made land.
The growling continued.
Annie tugged until my right hand fell away from my ear. She screamed it wasn't her time as she released my arm. At that time I didn't know if she stayed or left because I was still watching the bubble.
A crack formed, splitting the bubble in half vertically. Within a blink or two, the bubble split open and the growling changed to a low, gravelly human voice. "Annie! Annie McIntosh!" the being said. Its finger no longer pointed at me, but to my right. I felt compelled to glance beside me and sure enough, there was Annie. Her hands were balled up into fists, pushing on her temples. She was crying and shaking, and I felt genuine terror just looking at her.
"Annie McIntosh, it is your time!" the being announced as it took two steps towards her. I'm ashamed to say I felt a brief moment of relief that the being wasn't aiming at me before I realized it appeared to be hellbent on getting Annie. She was now screaming wordlessly, seemingly unable or unwilling to run.
In that moment, two things occurred to me. The being was an exact replica of the black and white photo of the town's founding father. And if the urban legend was correct, 'Captain' Johnny Ernest can only eat one person per year. He names that person before eating them. Since he'd already named Annie, I figured I was safe at least for that year, and tried to distract him. Maybe Annie could escape and live another year.
I screamed at him, "Captain, you're dead, you don't need to eat anymore!" It was the best I could think of at the time. I put my hands on Annie's left arm and tried to drag her away with me. No luck, she felt like she was cemented to the spot.
Meanwhile, Captain Ernest continued to take huge steps towards us. I'm used to living with and around weird things, but this went beyond weird. Gilligan wanted to eat someone and he seemed focused on Annie.
Something in me broke. I screamed I was sorry to Annie and took off at a full run. I didn't stop running until I got to the back of the Inn. Maybe it was guilt, maybe it was morbid curiosity, but I had to take one last look back.
Captain Ernest was still at least two of his steps away from her when he grabbed her.
She was still screaming when he dropped her into his mouth.
I folded two ten dollar bills under the phone on the Inn's front desk then jumped into my car and peeled out. When I got to Ernestburgh's main street I turned left. A right turn would have taken me back to Ernestburgh and that was a huge nope for me. As soon as I saw something resembling a freeway, I took the eastbound route and didn't stop until I was home.
The trip home took two hours and added 114 miles to the odometer. My dashcam worked just fine that whole time. The previous day's footage came up as 'corrupted' when I tried to access it. I spent the next four days in bed, waiting for Tina to return from her mother’s.
Tina's mother recovered quickly and Tina came home on day five. She asked me to retrace my steps with her in the car. No matter what we did, we couldn't find Ernestburgh. I searched for obituary notices about Annie McIntosh until Tina said I might be reaching unhealthy levels of 'need to know' when, in fact, I don't need to know. And she was right.
But every February 9th and 10th since then, she and I spend those days together, at home, without guests. We stay in bed, watch our fav horror movies and eat whatever we want. It's our customized version of Valentine's Day.
Author's note: Find me at LG Writes, Odd Directions and Write_Right

I’m an artist. Not one you’ve heard of, though that may be changing soon. Being an artist is about creation, not about commercial success. I wouldn’t mind getting the occasional acceptance mixed in with the constant stream of rejection, of course, but it’s a process.
A long process. They say that most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead. I’d always hoped that I’d make it slightly before that.
I graduated last year with an MFA from a relatively prestigious institution, along with a dozen other folks who convinced themselves that an insurmountable pile of debt was the best way to jump right into the starving artist lifestyle. We were, as mentioned, a small class, so we all went to each other’s showings and were generally supportive, but I was only really friends with two of the others, Jerrod and Albina.
The three of us ended up rooming together for the last year of the program, and we kept that going post-graduation. Having other folks in the house who look through the mail with the same mix of hope and trepidation is surprisingly helpful. Alone, it’s easy to simply look at everyone else’s filtered life and assume that you’re the only one failing. When you come down in the morning to find your roommate crying in her cornflakes because her last eleven submissions haven’t even gotten the courtesy of a rejection letter, it’s a little easier to see that this is just how life goes sometimes.
One of our favorite Friday night activities was going to local galleries to see who they had on display. There were a few reasons for this. One, it gave us a good idea of what they liked to show, helping us hone our own submissions. Two, it was very cathartic to be catty about what had been picked. Three, a lot of the galleries had free hors d’oeuvres and wine.
I guess four, we liked art, but honestly it was hard to remember that sometimes. Sometimes looking at other people’s finished canvases just made me angry. What made them able to decide that they were done? What made other people agree that they were worth hanging on the wall? What justified the astronomical price tags next to them?
I’m not saying that this was anything but jealousy. I’m just saying that art and I are in a complicated relationship.
About a month ago, we went to a newly-opened gallery, Souhait. It was the usual setup: tall glass windows in front showcasing the art placed strategically on bright white walls within. It had the standard mix of oddly angled separators allowing the patrons to wander slowly through the room and discover the paintings one at a time. Basically it looked like every other gallery, but as it was a new opening it had better wine than most.
I was taking a casual tour of the perimeter when Jerrod appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, congratulations!” he said. “You weren’t going to tell us? I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘what’ indeed.” He steered me around several corners to where Albina was admiring a painting. “‘There’s a new gallery opening, we should all go, no reason.’ Congrats!”
I stared at the painting in disbelief. It was one of mine.
I was certain that I hadn’t submitted to this gallery. I hadn’t even heard of it until Albina had mentioned that it was opening. I would have remembered receiving a letter of acceptance, and I definitely would have remembered delivering a painting. None of these things had happened.
And yet there my art was on the wall. It had my signature, and my name displayed next to it on a card. I knew the piece. I’d done it two or three years ago. It was good, very representative of my style at the time, but I’d moved on and had stopped trying to get it displayed a while ago. The last I had seen it, it was six or seven canvases deep in a stack of pieces that I had nowhere else to put.
It was fairly obvious that that was not the case now. The proof was on the wall in front of me.
Albina and Jerrod were both praising me, so I just smiled and made vaguely humble comments. I must have submitted it. It wasn’t like someone had broken into our apartment and stolen a single piece of my art. It was both confusing and concerning that I couldn’t recall offering it to this gallery, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
I was still trying to puzzle this out when another familiar piece caught my eye. I nudged Jerrod. “Oh, so I’m the one keeping secrets?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I pointed across the floor. His eyes widened as he saw the same thing I had: one of his paintings neatly framed and prominently displayed.
“I didn’t even know you’d finished that one,” I said. “I swear I saw you working on it like two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “I was.”
“How’d you get the gallery to take it before it was even done?”
“Oh my God, look!” said Albina.
In the back corner of the gallery, occupying an entire corner, was a small collection of Albina’s work. It was expertly curated. I’d watched her develop her style for years, and the eight paintings chosen here perfectly encapsulated the entire range. Clusters of people kept gathering in front of them, and I saw more than one slip off to speak to the gallery owner about purchasing a piece.
“Albi, these are amazing,” I told her after we finally managed to get close enough to see them all properly. “This—some of these are absolute perfection. I don’t think I’ve even seen all of them.”
“Seriously, when did you do all of this?” asked Jerrod. “Some of these are definitely new. Unless you have a secret studio you’ve been hiding from us?”
He narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She laughed, shoving him lightly, but behind her smile I saw the same confusion that I’d heard in Jerrod’s voice, the same that I’d felt myself. None of us knew that our work was going to be on display here. Something was very odd.
We didn’t talk about it then. Oddity or not, our art and our names were on display, and there were free drinks to toast with. We refilled our glasses, congratulated each other effusively, wandered the gallery for a bit and then did it all again. By the time we were walking home, all concerns had vanished from all of our minds. We were successful! We could figure out how and why later.
The next morning, Albina was dead.
I woke up late with a hangover. Jerrod woke up later, looking even rougher than I did. There was nothing resembling breakfast anywhere in the apartment, so we sat and sipped our coffee silently. Albina’s door was open, and I think we both hoped that she’d gone out to get bagels or something and that we would shortly be provided for.
She wasn’t answering texts, and Jerrod and I were just starting to get concerned when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a policeman asking if we knew Albina Shevchenko, and if we had contact information for her family, and if we could come identify the body.
It had been a hit and run. She’d been dead by the time witnesses had gotten to her. No one had seen the car’s license plate. The police didn’t even pretend that there was a chance of justice.
They gave us her effects, including what remained of a bag of bagels. Somehow that was the worst part for me. She’d gone out to get something to celebrate with us. It made us complicit.
At the funeral, the priest spoke about her giving spirit and her wonderful personality, but most of all he spoke about her massive artistic talent. He went on at length about what she could have created if she had not had her span cut short. The entire gathering nodded along with him.
Jerrod and I exchanged looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was amazing, and eventually the world would have known about her. It’s just that that hadn’t happened yet. The three of us were, as far as we could tell, the only ones really aware of how much potential we had. If everyone knew this about her, why had she been scraping by in a dingy apartment with us, trying to get enough money together to buy more art supplies?
“We should go back to Souhait,” Jerrod said after the funeral. “The gallery owner probably doesn’t know. We’ll need to get her pieces back before he trashes them when she doesn’t respond.”
Our trip was unnecessary. The gallery owner had Albina’s obituary blown up to large size and prominently displayed next to a tremendous collection of her work. It covered entire walls of the gallery, each piece with an explanatory card discussing when and why she had painted it. Where the prices had been on the cards, every single one was marked “SOLD.”
I was looking around for the owner to ask where he was sending the money when Jerrod grabbed my arm.
“Look,” he said, half-whispering.
Arranged in a neat circle on one wall were a dozen of his paintings.
“I don’t know that I want to be on display here,” he said. He sounded frightened.
“Then take them back. They’re your pieces.”
“Are they?” He pointed. “I never finished that one. That’s how I wanted it to look, but I couldn’t get it right. I swear I never completed it. And there! I never painted that. I thought of it, I knew it in my head, but I have never put brush to canvas for it. Not even to start it.
“How could they have any of this? How could anyone?” His voice was rapidly rising toward hysteria.
“Hey, let’s get you out of here,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll come back tomorrow and get them taken down if you want. We’re all running on fumes right now.”
Privately, I thought again about the piece that Souhait had of mine. I’d never gotten around to looking for it at the apartment. Things had been a blur since Albi’s death. I wondered how this gallery had so much of our stuff. I wondered what else had been taken.
Back at home, Jerrod rummaged through his artwork, hunting for something.
“See?” he said finally, holding up a canvas. “I told you. It isn’t done.”
He was holding up something that could have been an early attempt at one of the pieces we’d seen in the gallery. It was the same general idea, but the colors weren’t right and the composition didn’t gel. Also, as he’d said, it was clearly incomplete. Parts of the canvas still showed through in some areas. It wasn’t what was hanging on the walls.
“I told you,” he repeated. “How can they have art I never finished?”
I tried to get him to calm down. I sat him down on the couch and poured him a drink. We’d go back in the morning, I said. We’d find the owner. We’d sort all of this out. It was a problem for tomorrow, not for this evening. Not right after a funeral.
I thought I’d gotten him to agree with me. I poured us both another drink. Somewhere in the middle of that one, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Jerrod was gone.
Just one of those things, the police said. Wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been mugged. His credit cards and phone were gone. He’d bled out in the street. He was almost halfway to Souhait.
I went there to get his art taken down, like he’d wanted. They’d already expanded the collection. His photo smiled down at me from the main wall, next to an obituary lauding his talent, his bold innovation, his novelty. The rest of the gallery was plastered with his work. I recognized some of the paintings he’d been rifling through at the apartment the previous day. Most had already been sold.
And on the back wall, in a small but well-lit section by themselves, hung six of my paintings. The one that I’d seen the first night was there, along with two others I was particularly proud of. If I’d been asked to pick three pieces to best represent who I was and who I had been as an artist, those might have been them.
The other three bore my signature, but I did not paint them. Not yet. Like Jerrod, I knew the subject matter in them. I had thought of them, conceived them, and even made some attempts to put them to canvas, but they had never come out like I’d imagined. I’d set them aside to try again later, when I had better supplies, when I was better.
Yet here they hung, complete and perfect, exactly as I had pictured them. It was a triumph of my craft.
It was beautiful to see what I could become, given enough time.
It’s just too bad that I don’t have it.
Most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead.

I’m an artist. Not one you’ve heard of, though that may be changing soon. Being an artist is about creation, not about commercial success. I wouldn’t mind getting the occasional acceptance mixed in with the constant stream of rejection, of course, but it’s a process.
A long process. They say that most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead. I’d always hoped that I’d make it slightly before that.
I graduated last year with an MFA from a relatively prestigious institution, along with a dozen other folks who convinced themselves that an insurmountable pile of debt was the best way to jump right into the starving artist lifestyle. We were, as mentioned, a small class, so we all went to each other’s showings and were generally supportive, but I was only really friends with two of the others, Jerrod and Albina.
The three of us ended up rooming together for the last year of the program, and we kept that going post-graduation. Having other folks in the house who look through the mail with the same mix of hope and trepidation is surprisingly helpful. Alone, it’s easy to simply look at everyone else’s filtered life and assume that you’re the only one failing. When you come down in the morning to find your roommate crying in her cornflakes because her last eleven submissions haven’t even gotten the courtesy of a rejection letter, it’s a little easier to see that this is just how life goes sometimes.
One of our favorite Friday night activities was going to local galleries to see who they had on display. There were a few reasons for this. One, it gave us a good idea of what they liked to show, helping us hone our own submissions. Two, it was very cathartic to be catty about what had been picked. Three, a lot of the galleries had free hors d’oeuvres and wine.
I guess four, we liked art, but honestly it was hard to remember that sometimes. Sometimes looking at other people’s finished canvases just made me angry. What made them able to decide that they were done? What made other people agree that they were worth hanging on the wall? What justified the astronomical price tags next to them?
I’m not saying that this was anything but jealousy. I’m just saying that art and I are in a complicated relationship.
About a month ago, we went to a newly-opened gallery, Souhait. It was the usual setup: tall glass windows in front showcasing the art placed strategically on bright white walls within. It had the standard mix of oddly angled separators allowing the patrons to wander slowly through the room and discover the paintings one at a time. Basically it looked like every other gallery, but as it was a new opening it had better wine than most.
I was taking a casual tour of the perimeter when Jerrod appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, congratulations!” he said. “You weren’t going to tell us? I can’t believe you managed to keep this a secret.”
“Sorry, what?”
“Oh, yeah, ‘what’ indeed.” He steered me around several corners to where Albina was admiring a painting. “‘There’s a new gallery opening, we should all go, no reason.’ Congrats!”
I stared at the painting in disbelief. It was one of mine.
I was certain that I hadn’t submitted to this gallery. I hadn’t even heard of it until Albina had mentioned that it was opening. I would have remembered receiving a letter of acceptance, and I definitely would have remembered delivering a painting. None of these things had happened.
And yet there my art was on the wall. It had my signature, and my name displayed next to it on a card. I knew the piece. I’d done it two or three years ago. It was good, very representative of my style at the time, but I’d moved on and had stopped trying to get it displayed a while ago. The last I had seen it, it was six or seven canvases deep in a stack of pieces that I had nowhere else to put.
It was fairly obvious that that was not the case now. The proof was on the wall in front of me.
Albina and Jerrod were both praising me, so I just smiled and made vaguely humble comments. I must have submitted it. It wasn’t like someone had broken into our apartment and stolen a single piece of my art. It was both confusing and concerning that I couldn’t recall offering it to this gallery, but it was the only explanation that made sense.
I was still trying to puzzle this out when another familiar piece caught my eye. I nudged Jerrod. “Oh, so I’m the one keeping secrets?”
He raised an eyebrow at me, and I pointed across the floor. His eyes widened as he saw the same thing I had: one of his paintings neatly framed and prominently displayed.
“I didn’t even know you’d finished that one,” I said. “I swear I saw you working on it like two days ago.”
“Yeah,” he said, sounding a bit lost. “I was.”
“How’d you get the gallery to take it before it was even done?”
“Oh my God, look!” said Albina.
In the back corner of the gallery, occupying an entire corner, was a small collection of Albina’s work. It was expertly curated. I’d watched her develop her style for years, and the eight paintings chosen here perfectly encapsulated the entire range. Clusters of people kept gathering in front of them, and I saw more than one slip off to speak to the gallery owner about purchasing a piece.
“Albi, these are amazing,” I told her after we finally managed to get close enough to see them all properly. “This—some of these are absolute perfection. I don’t think I’ve even seen all of them.”
“Seriously, when did you do all of this?” asked Jerrod. “Some of these are definitely new. Unless you have a secret studio you’ve been hiding from us?”
He narrowed his eyes at her in mock suspicion. She laughed, shoving him lightly, but behind her smile I saw the same confusion that I’d heard in Jerrod’s voice, the same that I’d felt myself. None of us knew that our work was going to be on display here. Something was very odd.
We didn’t talk about it then. Oddity or not, our art and our names were on display, and there were free drinks to toast with. We refilled our glasses, congratulated each other effusively, wandered the gallery for a bit and then did it all again. By the time we were walking home, all concerns had vanished from all of our minds. We were successful! We could figure out how and why later.
The next morning, Albina was dead.
I woke up late with a hangover. Jerrod woke up later, looking even rougher than I did. There was nothing resembling breakfast anywhere in the apartment, so we sat and sipped our coffee silently. Albina’s door was open, and I think we both hoped that she’d gone out to get bagels or something and that we would shortly be provided for.
She wasn’t answering texts, and Jerrod and I were just starting to get concerned when there was a knock at the door. We opened it to find a policeman asking if we knew Albina Shevchenko, and if we had contact information for her family, and if we could come identify the body.
It had been a hit and run. She’d been dead by the time witnesses had gotten to her. No one had seen the car’s license plate. The police didn’t even pretend that there was a chance of justice.
They gave us her effects, including what remained of a bag of bagels. Somehow that was the worst part for me. She’d gone out to get something to celebrate with us. It made us complicit.
At the funeral, the priest spoke about her giving spirit and her wonderful personality, but most of all he spoke about her massive artistic talent. He went on at length about what she could have created if she had not had her span cut short. The entire gathering nodded along with him.
Jerrod and I exchanged looks. It wasn’t that he was wrong. She was amazing, and eventually the world would have known about her. It’s just that that hadn’t happened yet. The three of us were, as far as we could tell, the only ones really aware of how much potential we had. If everyone knew this about her, why had she been scraping by in a dingy apartment with us, trying to get enough money together to buy more art supplies?
“We should go back to Souhait,” Jerrod said after the funeral. “The gallery owner probably doesn’t know. We’ll need to get her pieces back before he trashes them when she doesn’t respond.”
Our trip was unnecessary. The gallery owner had Albina’s obituary blown up to large size and prominently displayed next to a tremendous collection of her work. It covered entire walls of the gallery, each piece with an explanatory card discussing when and why she had painted it. Where the prices had been on the cards, every single one was marked “SOLD.”
I was looking around for the owner to ask where he was sending the money when Jerrod grabbed my arm.
“Look,” he said, half-whispering.
Arranged in a neat circle on one wall were a dozen of his paintings.
“I don’t know that I want to be on display here,” he said. He sounded frightened.
“Then take them back. They’re your pieces.”
“Are they?” He pointed. “I never finished that one. That’s how I wanted it to look, but I couldn’t get it right. I swear I never completed it. And there! I never painted that. I thought of it, I knew it in my head, but I have never put brush to canvas for it. Not even to start it.
“How could they have any of this? How could anyone?” His voice was rapidly rising toward hysteria.
“Hey, let’s get you out of here,” I said, putting an arm around his shoulders. “We’ll come back tomorrow and get them taken down if you want. We’re all running on fumes right now.”
Privately, I thought again about the piece that Souhait had of mine. I’d never gotten around to looking for it at the apartment. Things had been a blur since Albi’s death. I wondered how this gallery had so much of our stuff. I wondered what else had been taken.
Back at home, Jerrod rummaged through his artwork, hunting for something.
“See?” he said finally, holding up a canvas. “I told you. It isn’t done.”
He was holding up something that could have been an early attempt at one of the pieces we’d seen in the gallery. It was the same general idea, but the colors weren’t right and the composition didn’t gel. Also, as he’d said, it was clearly incomplete. Parts of the canvas still showed through in some areas. It wasn’t what was hanging on the walls.
“I told you,” he repeated. “How can they have art I never finished?”
I tried to get him to calm down. I sat him down on the couch and poured him a drink. We’d go back in the morning, I said. We’d find the owner. We’d sort all of this out. It was a problem for tomorrow, not for this evening. Not right after a funeral.
I thought I’d gotten him to agree with me. I poured us both another drink. Somewhere in the middle of that one, I fell asleep on the couch.
When I woke up, Jerrod was gone.
Just one of those things, the police said. Wrong place at the wrong time. He’d been mugged. His credit cards and phone were gone. He’d bled out in the street. He was almost halfway to Souhait.
I went there to get his art taken down, like he’d wanted. They’d already expanded the collection. His photo smiled down at me from the main wall, next to an obituary lauding his talent, his bold innovation, his novelty. The rest of the gallery was plastered with his work. I recognized some of the paintings he’d been rifling through at the apartment the previous day. Most had already been sold.
And on the back wall, in a small but well-lit section by themselves, hung six of my paintings. The one that I’d seen the first night was there, along with two others I was particularly proud of. If I’d been asked to pick three pieces to best represent who I was and who I had been as an artist, those might have been them.
The other three bore my signature, but I did not paint them. Not yet. Like Jerrod, I knew the subject matter in them. I had thought of them, conceived them, and even made some attempts to put them to canvas, but they had never come out like I’d imagined. I’d set them aside to try again later, when I had better supplies, when I was better.
Yet here they hung, complete and perfect, exactly as I had pictured them. It was a triumph of my craft.
It was beautiful to see what I could become, given enough time.
It’s just too bad that I don’t have it.
Most artists don’t become famous until after they’re dead.
X

I'm very curious about this. My former boss just recently passed away. He was an elder. When I worked for his company, very few of us were non-JWs, but he treated us very well. For my birthday, he gave me a $100 gift card to a restaurant I like. Christmas, I got $100 visa gift card. Anytime we made a bet and he lost, he made sure to pay up on it. He wasnt super strict about what time we got to work, as long as we finished everything that we needed to do. Paid well too! He was easily one of the best bosses I ever had.
I received a text from one of my old co-workers stating that he passed away earlier in May from a fight with bone cancer. I have searched high and low on Google to find his obit, and its no wjere to be found. Is that typical of JWs?

Hi fellow name nerds,
I have been meaning to compile annual “top names lists” across countries, from official / government sources wherever possible, like what SSA releases for the US. If this hasn't been done here before, I hope you can chime in with your knowledge as well 😊
Here's what I could find. Please feel free to add your info in comments and I'll try and update this post!
Update: Seems like most of the English-speaking world is covered here now. If any of you have links to official stats from other countries, please chime in and I'll update the post at a later date
SSA (USA) : https://www.ssa.gov/oact/babynames/
England and Wales : https://www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/birthsdeathsandmarriages/livebirths/bulletins/babynamesenglandandwales/2021
Canada : https://www150.statcan.gc.ca/n1/pub/71-607-x/71-607-x2023021-eng.htm (thanks u/Retrospectrenet !)
Australia (by territory) : (thanks for the additional links, u/Polly-Phasia !)
NSW https://www.nsw.gov.au/family-and-relationships/births/popular-baby-names
NT https://nt.gov.au/law/bdm/popular-baby-names
ACT https://www.accesscanberra.act.gov.au/s/article/birth-registration-tab-most-popular-baby-names-by-year
WA https://bdm.justice.wa.gov.au/_apps/BabyNames/Default.aspx
VIC (Victoria) https://www.bdm.vic.gov.au/births/naming-your-child/popular-victorian-baby-names/popular-baby-names-in-victoria-2022
SA (South Australia) https://data.sa.gov.au/data/dataset/popular-baby-names
QLD (Queensland) https://www.data.qld.gov.au/dataset/top-100-baby-names
TAS (Tasmania) https://www.justice.tas.gov.au/bdm/top_baby_names
https://mccrindle.com.au/article/australias-top-baby-names-2022/ is a compilation of names across all territories; though I don't think this is in any official capacity.
​
OTHERS (Unofficial lists)
The Bump : https://www.thebump.com/b/baby-name-lists#most-popular-baby-names-by-year
Nameberry : https://nameberry.com/popular-names
Behind The Name : https://www.behindthename.com/top/ (ht u/ZinniaFoxglove)

1969 - Passport to Magonia: from Folklore to Flying Saucers

​

What does it all mean? Is it reasonable to draw a parallel between religious apparitions, the fairy-faith, the reports of dwarf-like beings with supernatural powers, the airship tales in the United States in the last century, and the present stories of UFO landings?
I would strongly argue that it is—for one simple reason: the mechanisms that have generated these various beliefs are identical. Their human context and their effect on humans are constant. And it is my conclusion that the observation of this very deep mechanism is a crucial one. It has little to do with the problem of knowing whether UFO's are physical objects or not. Attempting to understand the meaning, the purpose of the so-called flying saucers, as many people are doing today, is just as futile as was the pursuit of the fairies, if one makes the mistake of confusing appearance and reality. The phenomenon has stable, invariant features, some of which we have tried to identify and label clearly. But we have also had to note carefully the chameleon-like character of the secondary attributes of the sightings: the shapes of the objects, the appearances of their occupants, their reported statements, vary as a function of the cultural environment into which they arc projected.

​

Human actions are based on imagination, belief, and faith, not on objective observation—as military and political experts know well. Even science, which claims its methods and theories are rationally developed, is really shaped by emotion and fancy, or by fear. And to control human imagination is to shape mankind's collective destiny, provided the source of this control is not identifiable by the public. And indeed it is one of the objectives of any government's policies to prepare the public for unavoidable changes or to stimulate its activity in some desirable direction.

​

For the time being the only positive statement we can make, without fear of contradiction, is that: it is possible to make large sections of any population believe in the existence of supernatural races, in the possibility of flying machines, in the plurality of inhabited worlds, by exposing them to a few carefully engineered scenes the details of which are adapted to the culture and superstitions of a particular time and place.
Could the meetings with UFO entities be such artificial constructions? Consider their changing character. In the United States, they appear as science fiction monsters. In South America, they are sanguinary and quick to get into a fight. In France, they behave like rational, Cartesian, peace-loving tourists. The Irish Gentry, if we believe its spokesmen, was an "aristocratic race" organized somewhat like a religious-military order. The airship pilots were strongly individualistic characters with all the features of the American farmer.

​

1977 - Cosmic Trigger 1 (by Robert Anton Wilson)

​

He started to explain that, analyzing the reports chronologically, it appeared that They (whoever or whatever they are) always strive to give the impression that they are something the society they are visiting can understand. In medieval sightings, he said, they called themselves angels; in the great 1902 flap in several states, one of the craft spoke to a West Virginia farmer and said they were an airship invented and flown from Kansas; in 1940s-1950s sightings, they often said they were from Venus; since Venus has been examined and seems incapable of supporting life, they now say they are from another star-system in this galaxy.
“Where do you think they come from?” I asked.
Doctor Vallee gave the Gallic form of the classic scientific Not-Speculating-Beyond-The-Data head-shake.
“I can theorize, and theorize, endlessly,” he said, “but is it not better to just study the data more deeply and look for clues?”
“You must have some personal hunch,” I insisted.
He gave in gracefully.
“They relate to space-time in ways for which we have, at present, no concepts,” he said. “They cannot explain to us because we are not ready to understand.”

​

1979 - Messengers of Deception: UFO Contacts and Cults

​
Control-System Hypothesis

I believe there is a system around us that transcends time as it transcends space. I remain confident that human knowledge is capable of understanding this larger reality. I suspect that some humans have already understood it, and are showing their hand in several aspects of the UFO encounters.
The system I am speaking of may well be able to locate itself in outer space, as some of my readers will be quick in pointing out. Indeed it may, but its manifestations are not spacecraft in the ordinary “nuts and bolts” sense. The UFOs are physical manifestations that cannot be understood apart from their psychic and symbolic reality. What we see in effect here is not an alien invasion. It is a control system which acts on humans and uses humans. However, we still need to discover the source of this manifestation.

​

If the world around us is a world of informational events, the symbolic manifestations that surround UFO reports should be viewed as a fact of the greatest magnitude. If we consider the physical world to be an associative universe of such informational events, consciousness is no longer simply a function which is local to the human brain. Instead, consciousness should be defined as the process by which informational associations are retrieved and traversed. The illusion of time and space would be merely a side effect of consciousness as it traverses associations. In such a theory, apparently “paranormal’' phenomena like remote viewing and precognition would be expected, even common, and UFOs would lose much of their alien quality. These phenomena would be natural aspects of the reality of human consciousness, and would be subject to manipulation by the human will, both consciously and unconsciously.
In any case, these phenomena serve as a support for human ambition, a framework for human tragedy, a fabric of human dreams. We react to them in our movies, our poetry, our music, our science fiction. And they react to us. They are part of the control system for human evolution, like the nuclear process inside the Sun and the long-term changes in the Earth’s weather. But their effects, instead of being just physical, are also felt in our belief systems. They influence what we call our spiritual life. They affect our political institutions, our history, our culture.

​

If there is no time dimension as we usually assume there is, we may be traversing events by association. Modern computers retrieve information associatively. You “evoke” the desired records by using keywords, words of power: you request the intersection of “microwave” and “headache,” and you find twenty articles you never suspected existed. Perhaps I had unconsciously posted such a request on some psychic bulletin board with the keyword “Melchizedek.” If we live in the associative universe of the software scientist rather than the sequential universe of the spacetime physicist, then miracles are no longer irrational events. The philosophy we could derive would be closer to Islamic “Occasionalism” than to the Cartesian or Newtonian universe. And a new theory of information would have to be built. Such a theory might have interesting things to say about communication with the denizens of other physical realities.

​

Consider science from the outside: it is a machine for turning out knowledge. It has worked extremely well for a while. It has given us aircraft, television, and trips to the Moon. On the other hand, there are situations in which it is useless, because it assumes that the phenomena that are fed into it are natural and spontaneous. If something bigger or smarter than the ordinary human mind is around, if some clever deceivers use it to feed us phenomena that have been designed to fool us by Machiavellian spies or benevolent masters, then a “scientific” investigation will be useless. How can we find out whether or not anomalous phenomena can be dealt with in scientific terms?

​

The public has two usual positions on UFOs, either “It’s all nonsense,” or “We are visited by creatures from another planet.” Until today, the first position has been the stronger one. A majority of the public and practically every scientist has long thought that UFOs were nonsense – and that is why there are no UFO detectives. Now things are changing. So many people have seen strange phenomena that a new belief has been born. Scientific opinion cannot stop this shifting of power. Unfortunately, once disturbed from its comfortable position of rest, the public will shift to the other extreme and start believing in space visitations. This is unavoidable. It is so reassuring to have other forms of life come here! They may be horrible to behold, but at least “they” know about us, “they” care about us, and “they” have gone to the trouble of coming here to see what we look like! In the naive words of a New York Times science editor, “We are not Alone!”
There is another system. It is sending us messengers of deception. They are not necessarily coming from nearby stars. In terms of the effect on us, it doesn’t matter where they come from. I even suspect that “where” and “when” have no meaning here. How could we be alone? The black box of science has stopped ticking. People look up toward the stars in eager expectation.
Receiving a visit from outer space sounds almost as comfortable as having a God. Yet we shouldn’t rejoice too soon. Perhaps we will get the visitors we deserve.

​

1988 - Dimensions: A Casebook of Alien Contact

​

If they are not spacecraft, what else could UFOs be? What research framework can account for the physical effects, for the impact on society, for the appearance of the occupants, and for the seemingly absurd, dreamlike elements of their behavior? How can we explain that the phenomenon makes itself obvious to rural populations but avoids overt contact, choosing instead to deliver its message in bizarre abductions, in highly strange incidents? The theory that suggests itself, as we analyze and reanalyze the forces at play, goes beyond the notion that these are simply technological vehicles produced by advanced races on another planet.
Instead I believe that the UFO phenomenon represents evidence for other dimensions beyond spacetime; the UFOs may not come from ordinary space, but from a multiverse which is all around us, and of which we have stubbornly refused to consider the disturbing reality in spite of the evidence available to us for centuries. Such a theory is required in order to explain both the modern cases and the chronicles of Magonia – the abductions and the psychic component I believe there is a system around us that transcends time as it transcends space. Other researchers have reached the same conclusion. Some have come away deeply discouraged by the realization best summed up early in this century by Charles Fort, the author of The Book of the Damned: "We are property." Scholars of this phenomenon, [..] feel that we may be powerless before the complex and absurd capabilities of an alien intelligence that can masquerade as a Martian invader, as a primitive god, as the Blessed Virgin, as a fleet of airships.
The system I am speaking of, a system with mastery of space and time dimensions, may well be able to locate itself in outer space. Nonetheless, its manifestations cannot be spacecraft in the ordinary nuts-and-bolts sense. The UFOs are physical manifestations that simply cannot be understood apart from their psychic and symbolic reality. What we see here is not an alien invasion.
It is a spiritual system that acts on humans and uses humans.

​

The synchronicity and coincidences that abound in our lives suggest that the world may be organized like a randomized data base (the multiverse) rather than a sequential library (the four-dimensional universe of conventional physics).

​

Should we believe the witnesses who describe their experiences aboard UFOs? As I have pointed out throughout this book, there is no reason to doubt their personal integrity, their sincerity, and their honesty. The words of Dr. Simon about Betty and Barney Hill are still clear after twenty years: "The experience, undoubtedly, was real to them."
Does this mean we should take their recollections literally? I do not think so. These events took place in a reality we simply do not understand yet; they had an impact on a part of the human mind we have not discovered. I believe that the UFO phenomenon is one of the ways through which an alien form of intelligence of incredible complexity is communicating with us symbolically. There is no indication that it is extraterrestrial. Instead, there is mounting evidence that it has access to psychic processes we have not yet mastered or even researched. In the face of such interaction at the symbolic or mythical level, all the hypnosis sessions and the searches for implants may well be as futile as the questions of the inquisitors to the witches returning from the sabbath and the frantic search for the devil's mark on their bodies.

​

For many years, UFO phenomena have served as a support for human imagination, a framework for human tragedy, a fabric of human dreams. We react to them in our movies, our poetry, our music, our science fiction. And they react to us. They are not trying to communicate with a few individuals, with any group, with any government. Why should they? The phenomena function like an operational system of symbolic communication at a global level. There is something about the human race with which they interact, and we do not yet know what it is. They are part of the environment, part of the control system for human evolution. But their effects, instead of being just physical, are also felt in our beliefs. They influence what we call our spiritual life. They affect our politics, our history, our culture. They are a feature of our past. Undoubtedly, they are part of our future.

Hey, so I very recently bought and moved into a condo in Fairfax County, Virginia. It's been nice and serene the first couple months or so that I've lived here but the past few weeks I'd noticed police cars outside the condo building 1-2x a week at night. Was very odd considering the condo (and general area the condo is in) is in a very safe, quiet community but it didn't bother me and I didn't think too much else of it. Around this time, the HOA posted a couple of bulletin board notes on the ground floor asking residents to e-mail the condo and attend the next Board meeting if they had been hearing any screaming or loud, explicit outbursts coming from anyone's condo recently.
So I attend the next Board meeting (which took place earlier this week) and find out that the periodic police cars and bulletin board notes to e-mail the condo are related and that apparently there's been a certain individual "harrassing" his condo neighbors for the better part of a year. There was a refusal by the Board to identify this individual (e.g., refusal to identify the individual by name or even the floor he lives on) or to give specifics of the nature of the "harrassment", though it seems the harrassment apparently included periodic, very loud screaming/cursing at his condo guests, some neighbors, and also included kicking the doors of some neighbors. Apparently even one incident where he threatened someone with a baseball bat.
This was the first I'd (and several other residents attending the meeting) had heard of the incident so asked for more details, but the Board - and even some residents more knowledgeable about the situation - declined to provide detailed info (like identity of perpetrator as mentioned above), largely due to "legal" reasons and the fact that the perpetrator apparently had "rights" needing to be protected (not sure what that even means honestly).
Was told that the Board, over the past several months this has apparently been an issue, has taken the "appropriate steps" and tried "everything" to remedy the situation (though when asked what "everything" meant, they declined to provide specifics LOL). The police have apparently been called on the perpetrator several times (thus explaining the police cars I mentioned early on in my post) but they've basically been saying there's "nothing they can do about it".
Just looking for advice on getting more info on what's going on and how to handle this situation? It just seems odd that unclear information is being provided about this given the potential security risk to residents. Also not clear on the "legal rights" the perpetrator apparently has making the Board relcutant to identify him, where he lives, or even the specifics of what he's been accused of.
A lot of this actually is making me wonder if this situation is being way overblown by the condo building conisdering it's been going on for nearly a year and the police are saying they can't do anything about it when they've responded to calls made throughout that time period...

Hey, so I very recently bought and moved into a condo in Fairfax County, Virginia. It's been nice and serene the first couple months or so that I've lived here but the past few weeks I'd noticed police cars outside the condo building 1-2x a week at night. Was very odd considering the condo (and general area the condo is in) is in a very safe, quiet community but it didn't bother me and I didn't think too much else of it. Around this time, the HOA posted a couple of bulletin board notes on the ground floor asking residents to e-mail the condo and attend the next Board meeting if they had been hearing any screaming or loud, explicit outbursts coming from anyone's condo recently.
So I attend the next Board meeting (which took place earlier this week) and find out that the periodic police cars and bulletin board notes to e-mail the condo are related and that apparently there's been a certain individual "harrassing" his condo neighbors for the better part of a year. There was a refusal by the Board to identify this individual (e.g., refusal to identify the individual by name or even the floor he lives on) or to give specifics of the nature of the "harrassment", though it seems the harrassment apparently included periodic, very loud screaming/cursing at his condo guests, some neighbors, and also included kicking the doors of some neighbors. Apparently even one incident where he threatened someone with a baseball bat.
This was the first I'd (and several other residents attending the meeting) had heard of the incident so asked for more details, but the Board - and even some residents more knowledgeable about the situation - declined to provide detailed info (like identity of perpetrator as mentioned above), largely due to "legal" reasons and the fact that the perpetrator apparently had "rights" needing to be protected (not sure what that even means honestly).
Was told that the Board, over the past several months this has apparently been an issue, has taken the "appropriate steps" and tried "everything" to remedy the situation (though when asked what "everything" meant, they declined to provide specifics LOL). The police have apparently been called on the perpetrator several times (thus explaining the police cars I mentioned early on in my post) but they've basically been saying there's "nothing they can do about it".
Just looking for advice on getting more info on what's going on and how to handle this situation? It just seems odd that unclear information is being provided about this given the potential security risk to residents. Also not clear on the "legal rights" the perpetrator apparently has making the Board relcutant to identify him, where he lives, or even the specifics of what he's been accused of.
A lot of this actually is making me wonder if this situation is being way overblown by the condo building conisdering it's been going on for nearly a year and the police are saying they can't do anything about it when they've responded to calls made throughout that time period...

Hey, so I very recently bought and moved into a condo in Fairfax County, Virginia. It's been nice and serene the first couple months or so that I've lived here but the past few weeks I'd noticed police cars outside the condo building 1-2x a week at night. Was very odd considering the condo (and general area the condo is in) is in a very safe, quiet community but it didn't bother me and I didn't think too much else of it. Around this time, the HOA posted a couple of bulletin board notes on the ground floor asking residents to e-mail the condo and attend the next Board meeting if they had been hearing any screaming or loud, explicit outbursts coming from anyone's condo recently.
So I attend the next Board meeting (which took place earlier this week) and find out that the periodic police cars and bulletin board notes to e-mail the condo are related and that apparently there's been a certain individual "harrassing" his condo neighbors for the better part of a year. There was a refusal by the Board to identify this individual (e.g., refusal to identify the individual by name or even the floor he lives on) or to give specifics of the nature of the "harrassment", though it seems the harrassment apparently included periodic, very loud screaming/cursing at his condo guests, some neighbors, and also included kicking the doors of some neighbors. Apparently even one incident where he threatened someone with a baseball bat.
This was the first I'd (and several other residents attending the meeting) had heard of the incident so asked for more details, but the Board - and even some residents more knowledgeable about the situation - declined to provide detailed info (like identity of perpetrator as mentioned above), largely due to "legal" reasons and the fact that the perpetrator apparently had "rights" needing to be protected (not sure what that even means honestly).
Was told that the Board, over the past several months this has apparently been an issue, has taken the "appropriate steps" and tried "everything" to remedy the situation (though when asked what "everything" meant, they declined to provide specifics LOL). The police have apparently been called on the perpetrator several times (thus explaining the police cars I mentioned early on in my post) but they've basically been saying there's "nothing they can do about it".
Just looking for advice on getting more info on what's going on and how to handle this situation? It just seems odd that unclear information is being provided about this given the potential security risk to residents. Also not clear on the "legal rights" the perpetrator apparently has making the Board relcutant to identify him, where he lives, or even the specifics of what he's been accused of.
A lot of this actually is making me wonder if this situation is being way overblown by the condo building conisdering it's been going on for nearly a year and the police are saying they can't do anything about it when they've responded to calls made throughout that time period...