I headcanon J. S. Steinman as a Cypriot. And it works.
Aphrodite's birthplace is in Cyprus and we all know how much Steinman loves Aphrodite. You know, make him a Jewish Cypriot. His family might as well come to Cyprus during the Ottoman period (late 16th century onwards) or even the late 19th century.
It very much works. Look at him. He looks like some Nicosian you'd see in your uncle's kebab shop or something. Just some guy you'd drink zivania and KEO with.
Wanna read more? Click on.
I say he has a mixed family of Turkish Cypriots, Greek Cypriots, and of course his Jewish roots. I mean, Cypriots are kind of chill with religion; for example, the Linobambakis would have both Christian and Muslim traditions and celebrations. Nothing conflicts with anything, you just have a personal relationship with religion over there.
So, here's our favorite Jewish (and Greek and Turkish) Cypriot who worships Aphrodite.
[Using the "There's Something in the Sea" data to build a 'canon' background here.] So, he vanishes from the US around the late 1940s, right? Apparently, he had a friendship with someone for 32 years. Let's say that their friendship started around 1918. Steinman was known for his face reconstruction work at a young age, and it makes sense because it would line up with the First World War. If we say that Steinman took only a few years of education to get to that degree with extraordinary success, it would mean that he was in the US at least by 1914.
It means that, in the game (Bioshock 1 - 1960), Steinman is at least 65 years old.
And, well, building a headcanon here: Let's say that his family left Cyprus because of the British occupation getting stricter with taxes and even hinting at conscription if/when the war broke out.
Now, imagine him.
He still misses home during his studies. He complains about not being able to find zivania (Cypriot drink) to drink. His family sometimes visits Cyprus and sends him some halloumi cheese over. He even visits Cyprus at some point and brings some cattle bones from the empty fields over Nicosia, say, Kythrea. He has them in his student dorm on his shelf.
I mean, don't think of a city when I say Kythrea or something. Think of a village, a very small one. Imagine him growing up there. He steals from the melon fields of the neighbors. He knows which wild weeds to pick to eat. Hell, he even experiments with which herbs are good for healing purposes, as his grandmother is a village elder who people go to for that kind of stuff. He learns that the branch of
pharmaceutics exists just for that. Then, though, his focus shifts to medicine. Most importantly, surgeries --face reconstruction and all that. He's around 15 or something, they leave Cyprus.
Now, it's around the 1930s. Steinman is well over 30 at the time. His family had gone back to Cyprus at some point because they couldn't handle the US. His father picks the field up, and his uncle and his mother are running the barns & farm. Sometimes when Steinman visits, his uncle asks him to check the health of the cattle. "I'm not a vet!" doesn't work for Cypriots, you gotta do what you gotta do, lol. He stays there for half a year as a break and thinks about staying and working there as a vet because he really misses home... but the Second World War breaks out. The Brits are trying to draft up people for the Cyprus Regiment to fight in Europe or Northern Africa, especially those who know English being very much preferred... and Steinman has to flee once again. He tries to take his family to come with him as well, but they refuse. They cannot part from Cyprus once again.
Hell, the Brits manage to "convince" his father and uncle to join the Regiment. His mother goes to the US to stay with Steinman because it's hard being so lonely there. Steinman is making good money but you know, his father and uncle are deep in the war already and were as stubborn as mules about not coming to the US.
By the end of the war, his father gets injured, and they get a residency permit for the UK as a "gift" or something. His father decides to live there because he cannot work in the field easily anymore. His mother follows suit. Only his uncle remains in Cyprus. Steinman is alone in the US again.
He also read about Cypriot mythology, by the way. He learnt that Cyprus was Aphrodite's birthplace and now he believes that it's all fate that he is the best face reconstruction surgeon. He believes that he should work with "beauty" as well, and starts worshipping Aphrodite in the private and takes up aesthetic surgery.
He briefly visits Cyprus every once in a while. It's not horrible, but it feels lonely as hell. At least he has his uncle still running the farm, so they hang out and all that. When his uncle dies in the late 40s, though, he permanently goes back to the US.
He's now over 40. He expects to have a feeling of home, right?
The US doesn't feel right, though. There's business, yes, but he wants a home. He wants a place he can belong in. He feels like he needs to erase his name and face off the earth to ever belong somewhere, which feels impossible.
Until... Rapture happens.
Does he miss Cyprus? A bit, of course. But he knows he couldn't have lived there. It's a memory, but quite a strong one. At some point, he manages to convince Fontaine to smuggle him some zivania. For Fontaine's surgery (the Atlas thing, you know), Fontaine brings him soil from the fields, some molohiya (a cookable weed also called Jew's Mallow), and crates full of zivania and a new brand: KEO. When Steinman asks what it is, he tells him that it's the new fad around Cyprus, established in 1949. It's good beer, truly.
And, well, Fontaine had brought him so much zivania and KEO that he doesn't run out of them until his death.
14 notes
·
View notes
I was raised agnostic and tend to remain ambiguous on theological matters.
-but my house has a porch on the second story that affords me a terrific view of my neighborhood and the Colorado Front Range and I was partaking of some peace before the 4th Of July Finger-Loss Festivities begin, and I have had a
~*Spiritual Experience*~
I just watched my neighbor try to unload an actual wooden pallet that had to have been forklifted into the back of his insecurity pickup worth of fireworks.
Except that he does not have a forklift in his garage.
He does have so much sports memorabilia and cardboard boxes of unsold MLM Merchandise and patriotically themed camping gear and posters of women in bikinis and flags of suspect political organizations in his garage that there is only
BARELY
enough space for the fireworks
and certainly none for his truck.
So he had to unload the individual boxes of recreational explosives from the back of his truck and stack them in the minimal space he had cleared by hand.
This is a tedious and time-consuming process as this neighbor has purchased a wide variety of recreational and locally illegal explosives instead of many of just a few types, so the individual boxes are rather small.
He begins,
and this is crucial to what happens next,
by cutting apart the industrial-grade saran wrap his explosives dealer had so carefully wrapped his merchandise in, and discarded it
unsecured
on his lawn.
Where Outdoor Conditions sometimes happen.
His process for unloading the fireworks is to
1. Climb up through the gate into the bed of his pickup truck (a feat made unusually difficult due to the slope of his driveway, and this man's fascinating decision to wear the world's Siffest and least Flexible Denim Overalls.
2. Once in the pickup bed, he selects ONE (1) box from the pile
He is apparently from a niche religious institution that doesn't believe in stacking things.
3. Carries it awkwardly around the palette that barely fits in the truck bed
4. His wife yells "Be careful!" when he nearly falls out of the pickup.
5. He Yells "SHADDUP!" back at her.
6. The Large German Shepherd barks from inside the house.
7. He yells "SHADDUP!" back at her too.
8. He sets the (1) box down on the gate
9. Slowly and awkwardly climbs out of the pickup bed
10. picks the box back up, and carries it into the garage.
Question: Aren't you going to help this poor man?
Answer: Absolutely Not.
There's four military veterans, MANY dogs, and several people with dementia in this neighborhood, all of whom are terrified by this chicanery every year and many neighbors have repeatedly asked him to maybe do the fireworks somewhere else.
(This is the Eighth Year Running he's held a major demolition event in his driveway, and for those of you who can do math, you may be able to guess the precipitating incident to this little ritual)
Additionally, I live in Colorado, a state marginally less prone to spontaneous and catastrophic conflagrations than a rotting grain silo, but only marginally.
Our recreational explosives laws are written accordingly.
I am in fact calling the Non Emergency line to report Fireworks violations, and reading off the brand labels to someone named Dorothy, who is gleefully totaling up a SPECTACULAR fine for my oblivious neighbor.
However, while I'm on the phone with Dorothy, I notice the wind begin to pick up.
and by "Notice" I mean "The Industrial Saran Wrap he left on his Lawn earlier is suddenly swept up about 100 feet into the air by an updraft intense enough to make my ears pop"
And by "Pick Up" I mean "I look up to see the sky has turned a fun and exciting shade of glass green, and the bottoms of the clouds are bumpy and rounded, and the overall effect is not unlike looking up through the bottom of the cup at God's Matcha Boba Tea."
For those of you who do not live in places with Inclement Weather, these conditions mean "You have about 30 seconds before a Major Meteorological Event Occurs."
I move under the eaves.
"Hang on Dorothy." I say, nose filling with Petrichor. "The show is about to be cancelled."
"Oh, that doesn't matter!" Dorothy cheerfully informs me. "It's illegal for him just to possess those, no matter if he actually gets to set them off or not."
"Terrific, because he's gotten maybe five boxes out of a hundred inside."
Sometimes,
the weather gods are Merciful and give you a verbal warning, typically in the kind of thunderclap that makes your ears ring.
The Gods were not merciful today.
It's not often that I am in the time, place, correct angle or in a properly observational frame of mind to see this,
But I got to see it today.
Huh. I thought. I've never seen a cloud just DIVE for the ground before.
Oh. I realized as it got closer.
That's RAIN.
Sometimes, a thunderstorm will form in such a way that the rain that would normally be distributed over an area of say,
five to tent square miles,
is instead concentrated into an area of say,
my neighborhood exactly.
So today, I was granted the rare privilege of being able to actually see the literal wall of water descend from On High and DIRECTLY onto my porch, my street, and my neighbor's truck, and his pile of unwrapped fireworks.
The sheer impact force of the downpour immediately scatters the teetering pile of fireworks boxes in the back of the truck, like the wrath of God striking down the tower of Babel.
Boxes tumble, then are washed out of the bed of the truck by the deluge.
Smaller Boxes are carried down the road in a little line by the stream forming in the gutter, like little impotent explosive ducklings.
My neighbor was definitely yelling something, but I could not hear what over the DEAFENING noise several million gallons of water makes upon high-speed contact with the earth's surface, but there was a lot of arm-waving and faces turning red as he went looking for the saran wrap that had probably blown to Nebraska by now, while his wife started disassembling the complex three-dimensional puzzle of interlocking material goods in search of a tarp.
They do not have a tarp.
They have one of those wretched Thin Blue Line flags though, and my neighbor jogs out in a futile effort to cover what's left in the truck.
Which is when the hail begins.
"HELLO?" Yelled Dorothy.
"HI!" I shouted. "WE'RE HAVING SOME WEATHER!"
"OH GOOD!" she shouts back. "WE NEED THE MOISTURE!"
I watch for a minute longer, but the loss was immediate and catastrophic- the hail is the size of marbles and dense and cares not for your pitiful cardboard and cellophane, ripping the boxes asunder and punching holes in the few things covered in plastic.
The colors on the Thin Blue Line Flag are seeping all over the remains of that it was supposed to protect in a particularly apt visual metaphor.
Not even the few boxes that made it into the garage are spared, as the German Shepherd escapes from indoors, and in an attempt to assist her humans, jumps directly into the small stack of not-yet-ruined boxes, scattering them into the driveway and deluge. She even picks one up so her humans will chase her around the yard, before dropping it in the gutter to be swept away.
So.
I was raised Agnostic
-but even I can recognize when God slaps someone upside the head and shouts "NO!" at them.
---
(If you laughed, please consider supporting my Ko-fi or preordering my book of Strange Stories on Patreon)
42K notes
·
View notes