#it’s a je ne sais quoi but it’s there and it’s nearly tangible and. i think it’s love

[princesssarcastia]

yes, ghosts CAN time travel, actually, don’t be such a Richard, Klaus

titled “frozen time between hearses and caskets” in my fic folder, aka idea #3 from my poll two weeks ago on which Umbrella Academy Season 2 fic I should write.  vague vibes also from this poem which I adore; “I AM TIRED OF RE-WRITING TRAGEDY WITHOUT CHANGE. LET THEM LIVE. LET THEM LEARN. LET THEM LOVE.”  Because let people grow, goddammit.

this mess to follow is dedicated to @levhach, the only respondent to my poll.  I hope you enjoy!  also dedicated to Klaus’ genuine kindness and empathy for others in season 1, may it rest in peace.

                                        —————————

“Well, unfortunately, ghosts can’t time travel,” Klaus says, playing at exasperated and put-upon.

“Klaus, don’t be an asshole,” Ben intones from the corner of the room, but Klaus can hear the edge of desperation in his voice. 

It’s been years since either of them could even lay eyes on their siblings, let alone speak to them. When Allison appeared at the edge of that pool, it was like heroin; that kind of emotional high could be addictive, if he let it, and he would know.  Seeing and being seen are kind of important, apparently.

Nobody ever sees Ben but Klaus.

Except for three years ago, in Vanya’s theater.

Klaus heaves a sigh, letting his shoulders rise and fall.  “Oh, fine, you big baby.” He throws up his hands as they take on a distinctly blue hue.

And the whole room…stops.

“Ben,” someone says, or maybe they all say it, and then Diego is in front of their dead teenaged brother and clutching desperately at his stupid leather jacket, and Ben is clutching back and crying. 

He sighs again, for real this time, and lets them have this moment.  Even Five seems swept up in the emotion of it all, hovering just on the edge of the crowd with his hands stuffed in his pockets and a constipated look on his face.

“So that’s our brother?” Vanya says from right behind him, jesus christ!

“God, we should have put a bell on you,” Klaus says.  “Yeah, that’s Ben.”

“Ben,” Vanya draws out his name, like she’s trying it out, and Klaus glances back at her.  There’s a hint of some je ne sais quoi, a glimmer of confused grief, in her eyes—like she wants to cry with no idea why, or how.

Vanya, who got teary when they stepped on ants as kids, went berserk and killed the whole world…and then conveniently forgot all about it.  Hmm. Klaus has some ideas about that, personally, but he sees no need to share with the class; in his experience, people will remember terrible shit in their own time.  Trying to force it will only set her off again.

Plus, he’s not nearly drunk enough for that conversation, even after a morning of margaritas with Allison, who’s turned into a wonderful enabler.

Ben finds him briefly from the center of their little gaggle of siblings, seemingly content with more attention than he’s had in decades.

“I missed you all,” he hears Ben say, and watches their dead brother look at Vanya with grief that isn’t confused at all.

—

They stumble out of Allison’s house, away from her lovely husband—really, Klaus can’t even begin to explain how hard it is to find a partner willing to hide a body for you—and straight into the car Klaus sped over here in.  Diego, of course, insists on driving, but Allison is still upset over Raymond and Klaus can’t be bothered, so it works out.

Ben calls shotgun and Klaus automatically pulls Allison into the backseat with him.

“I just,” Allison clears her throat, “Vanya?”

“Again?  What are the odds, am I right?”  Klaus jibes, and flinches dramatically away from Allison when she elbows him.

“Last time, it was Luther and the rest of you morons that set her off.  But none of us have seen her since she left after the dinner from hell, so it couldn’t have been one of us.”

“What is she even doing in the federal building in the first place?”  Ben asks.

Klaus hums, “good point, Ben,” and relays it to the others.

He can hear the leather steering wheel creak as Diego tightens his grip.  “I don’t—I’m not sure, I was moving pretty quickly to avoid getting caught at Headquarters.”

“But?”  Allison prompts when he doesn’t continue.

“But,” Diego’s jaw tightens, “I think she got arrested.  By the FBI?”

“The FBI?” Klaus screws up his face.  “Who the hell—Allison, did you get her involved with the SJCC in the, what, ten minutes we were all together?”

“No, no I didn’t.  But…I mean, someone named Vanya with memory loss in 1963 when the president is in town…” Allison trails off, like the words she emphasized will make some sort of sense when put together.

“They think she’s a communist spy,” Diego says flatly.

“Oh!”  Klaus exclaims.  “Oh,” he repeats, when that sinks in.  “Oh, that—that won’t be good.”

“No, it won’t,” Ben agrees.

Silence fills the car like Agent Orange, and Klaus is just choking on all the implications.

—

His ears haven’t rung like this since helicopters and machine guns and Dave and medic!  I need a fucking medic!, but Klaus foists the memory back into the arms of his subconscious because now’s not the time for a panic attack, goddammit. 

Allison and Diego are saying something, but he can’t quite hear them; it’s hard to focus with wave after wave of energy flowing into him and into him, into that terrible void he doesn’t like to think about and in fact has spent his whole life drowning out. The energy Vanya is pulsating through the federal building feels like nails on the chalkboard of his soul. 

“Question, guys,” he interrupts, “Who are we trying to save Vanya from, again?”

“The FBI,” Diego, Allison, and Ben all say together, and in the same you’re-an-idiot-Klaus tone of voice, too, isn’t that adorable.

Joke’s on them, he’s about to say something relevant. “But if they’re all sucking ceiling right now, why hasn’t she stopped?”

All the bodies scattered about with their eyes burnt out of their skulls is a pretty graphic kind of horrific, even for Klaus, who’s seen pretty much every kind of dead body there is.

Actually…

Klaus waves to get Ben’s attention.  The others turn to look at him and Klaus ignores them.  “Why aren’t there any ghosts?” He shouts, hands still tight around his ears.

Not Ben, though.  He’s just standing there, arms at his sides, like Vanya’s energy isn’t on quite the same wavelength for him as it is for the rest of them.  “I don’t,” he frowns, “yeah, that is weird.  Can’t you feel that, though?”

Klaus hesitates, then nods back, refusing to explain to Allison and Diego when they make encouraging gestures.  There’s no way to articulate it to them, anyway, not in time for them to understand what it means that Vanya can affect his connection with Ben.  That Vanya can, apparently, banish the other ghosts, the ones Klaus isn’t anchoring here in the land of the living.

Pressure is building in too-tight air, like a balloon pushed to the brink of bursting.  According to Diego, Vanya will defrost the Cold War in another fifteen, maybe twenty minutes or so. 

“Can Ben go find out what’s going on with her, then?”  Diego shouts at him, and Klaus looks at Ben, who nods and strolls down the hallway more easily than they could, but it feels…weird.  Something in his chest tightens, in that same place Vanya’s reaching and Klaus doesn’t like to be aware of it the way he’s forced to be right now.

God, he wants a drink.

It takes almost five minutes for Ben to get there and back, and Klaus feels the blood drain out of his face when he gets a look at Ben’s expression.

“They hooked her up to some kind of generator.  Klaus, the readout says it’s up to a thousand volts,” Ben says quickly.  “She’s seizing pretty violently; I don’t think she even knows what she’s doing.”

Klaus lets out a blistering string of curses, the kind Sarge would be proud of—come to think of it, Klaus probably learned it from Sarge. 

“What, what is it?” Allison shouts, leaning in and trying to look where he’s looking, where Ben stands, intangible and desperate.

“They’re torturing her!” Klaus shouts back.

“So, this is some kind of defense mechanism?” Diego adds his two cents, though Klaus doesn’t think the what of this is really relevant right now.

“We have to go turn it off,” Klaus darts to look at Allison and Diego and then back at Ben.  Pressure keeps building in his ears, against his skin, in his brain, in his soul.  How the hell are we going to get back there?  He’s pretty sure they won’t even be able to stand, let alone walk a hundred and fifty feet.  They’ll pop like grapes before they reach the halfway point.

Allison and Diego are shouting something else, now, but it doesn’t matter, because Klaus is looking at Ben and Ben is looking at him and Vanya is reaching that point inside him that anchors Ben, even from all the way back here, and Vanya’s going to blow up this building with them inside it and start World War III and they can’t reach her but Ben can.

Ben can.

He shivers.

Seventeen plus years together means Klaus knows exactly what Ben is thinking, because he’s thinking it, too.

“Are you sure?” He leans into Ben’s space, and Ben crouches down so they’re eye to eye.

“I’m sure,” Ben says easily, like this is easy, god, what a prick.

Something twists in his chest, and he can’t tell if it’s Vanya or his own stupid feelings.  “No take-back-sies this time, mein bruder. If we do this—”

“We?” Ben raises his eyebrows and smirks.

“Oh, please, this is at least forty percent me and you know it,” Klaus narrows his eyes petulantly. 

His brother shifts weight he doesn’t have back onto his heels, freeing his hands to rise in front of him, palms toward Klaus.  “You remember the first time we tried this?”

“We?” Klaus mocks, but takes his own hands off his ears and presses them into Ben’s, letting that peculiar shade of blue envelop both their hands.  Not quite visible, not quite tangible, but it’s power.  Parts of Klaus flow into Ben like Vanya’s energy waves are crashing into everything around him, twining with the anchor between them until it’s a constant stream Ben can feed off of.

He sucks in a shuddery breath and blows out a shaky one.  Allison and Diego are staring at him, wide-eyed, but he keeps ignoring them in favor of Ben.

“Do you think she’ll remember me this time?” Ben asks, smiling at him in that soft way Klaus thought they’d agreed to stop doing years ago.  Rude!

Oh, what the hell. 

Klaus quirks a real smile at Ben and squeezes his hands.  “She’d better.”

—

“I remember everything.”

“Tell Klaus something for me, would you?”

—

fin.

#umbrella academy #fic #fanfic #umbrella academy fanfic #tua fanfiction #season 2 #look i believe klaus is fundamentally the most kind/empathetic of all of them #season 1 shows this well #diego is probably a close second but my main genderless babe klaus is in the lead #also klaus totally knows more about his ghostly powers in season 2 #klaus hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #guys that torture scene with vanya was messed up #between that and Klaus' LOVELY session with hazel and cha-cha #there's a nasty habit in this show of not addressing extreme physical and mental trauma #which you know #duh #but also let's explore it in fic for a while #let klaus say goodbye to ben goddamit #even if it's just #in their own snarky special way #let them have a MOMENT jesus fuck #at least a little something more than that weak-ass eye contact #grief #major character death

[bubbascyclingtours]

Brutal Climbing Tour 2017

Was this the hardest cycling tour ever?

16 ride days

1,819km

53,463m elevation gain

31 HC climbs,

Europe’s highest and Europe’s hardest sealed road climbs

5 countries

5,800km of transfers

Angliru * La Cobertoria * Tourmalet * Troumouse * Ventoux (x3) * Finestre * Mont Cenis * Iseran * Chaussy * Telegraphe * Susten * Nufenen * Grimsel * St Gottard * Mortirolo * Gavia * Stelvio * Rombo (Timmelsjoch) * Kitzbuheler Horn * Grossglockner * Grosse Oscheniksee * Giau * Zoncolan * Monte Crostis * Monte Grappa

I guess the Brutal Tour had really been about 10 years in the making and like most crazy ideas it had evolved year to year, as I travelled to Europe and climbed more and more passes. It just seemed that there were so many that felt “un-missable” and the more I read, watched on TV and tuned in to the experiences of others, the more climbs were added to the bucket list. Of course, nobody (not even me) can go to Europe and climb 200 cols on one tour, so there had to be a way to whittle down the list. But wait, rather than whittle down, why not ramp up the list? In the modern world of information sharing, blogs etc, most cyclists had heard tales of the “Uber climbs” of Europe; the Angliru in Spain, the Mortirolo and Zoncolan in Italy and Austria’s title contender, the Kitzbuheler Horn. Surely, we could make a list of Europe’s most fearsome challenges, put together a group of intrepid Aussie cyclists, fly 26 hours to the other side of the world and ride them all? Easy, right? And so, the Brutal Tour was conceived. ​ Next came the list, which climbs should we ride, which makes the cut and which does not? The “formula” included some stats, such as gradient (average and maximum), climb length, altitude at the summit etc, that part was easy. Then we added the “less tangibles” such as iconic status and “mystique”, or more accurately; “climbs that not many have heard of, are really out of the way and just bloody hard”. Once we had our list, the course (and order) needed to be plotted. It soon became obvious (not sure why it took so long) that the most distant pins on our map were as far apart as 2000km! But surely with excellent planning, a reasonably comfortable vehicle, some decent music, it would be doable? Turns out it was.

Meet The Crew

Fast forward to August 2017, the Brutal Tour became a reality. Let’s first introduce our “tourists”; Mark “I cannot believe my data has run out already” Robertson, Frank “the Stelvio is over-rated anyway” Nyhuis, Darren “I never saw any T-junction” Joy and Ramon “I was just tapping it out, I swear” Maurice. Plus; Superguide: Gordo “when are we going back to Annecy” Sutherland Our initial list of six, became just four, with two late withdrawals but what the group lacked in numbers, it certainly made for with character, determination and good old slice of “not taking yourself too seriously” (well, for the most part).

This tour was a three week epic in every sense of the word, so I will deliver the abridged version. ​ Tours like this are always about the characters, their contributions and the creation of experiences that shape each year’s tour story. As a planner and guide, it is my job to set the route, find the climbs etc, kind of build the canvas. But a tour is nothing without the riders, in this case everyday people who trained hard, then took a large leap into the unknown and emerged as giants, having achieved what very few others have. We began the tour in Spain, essentially so we could climb one of the most feared roads on the planet, the Angliru. This nasty piece of asphalt is located in the Asturias and a really really long way from anywhere else we needed to be. In all honesty, it would have been a lot easier (and saved around 800km of transfers) if we had simply left it out. But that was not what the tour was all about, we simply had to climb it, and so we did. Picture the day; misty rain, cold winds, small farm roads covered in cow shit (makes getting traction on 23% slopes quite a challenge). then factor in the "warm up", 85km, three climbs and 2000m of elevation. Safe to say, the Angliru did its job, the Brutal Tour had well and truly lived up to its name, and it was only day one! In a tour lasting three weeks, there were bound to be some tales that could (and should) not be re-told. There are also way too many climbs, points of suffering, highlights and lowlights to which I could not do justice. Here, however, here are my "brief points of note": ​ The magical "Cirque de Troumouse" (Pyrenees), climbed after a double ascent of the Tourmalet and truly one of the most magnificent "big" climbs in the world. Tough, raw, quiet with a huge dose of that "je ne sais quoi" that makes some roads special. ​A triple ascent of the mighty Mt Ventoux where one is enough for most and two is thought of as a little extreme.

The incomparable Colle Della Finestre. 18km @ 10% where the final 9km is on very rough gravel at an average of 10.4%. Unlike the Giro in 2015, nobody graded the road for us. A ride transfer day of 210km that included the highest paved pass in Europe (the Col de l'Iseran) and finished in darkness as we struggled to find our chalet, tucked away some 6km up a tiny mountain road above St Michel de Maurienne. A double ascent of the one and only Passo Dello Stelvio - enough said. The rarely accomplished (for very good reasons) 5000m day. This one was the epic Swiss loop that included the Susten, Grimsel, Nufenen & St Gottard passes. The Nufenen turned out (very unexpectedly) to be one of the toughest climbs of the entire tour and the final 6km "cobbled" section of St Gottard has to be seen (and ridden) to be believed. ​ Another transfer day, spiced up by a pre-breakfast trundle up the "Austrian Zoncolan", the Kitzbuheler Horn. This "little ripper" is 10.2km long (if you go all the way to the tower) at an ave gradient of 13.2%. Throw in the Grossglockner (in the afternoon), which is relentlessly harder than its "stats" suggest and you will appreciate how happy we were to see our lovely apartments in Flattach at the end of the day.

This brings me to what I rate as the hardest climb of the tour, the little known, Grosse Oscheniksee in the Austrian Alps. 17km from our apartments at 10.4% (including some downhill) with the final 9km @ 13.4%. Consider also that the summit of this beast is at almost 2,400m (other European behemoths such as Zoncolan, Mortirolo, the Horn and Angliru are all closer to 1800m), the road barely as wide as a cart path and a surface full of ruts, holes and loose stones. Brilliant!   Just one more. Statistically, the hardest day we had was the "double Zoncolan"., 136km / 5,200m. Any who have ridden the "monster of the Carnic Alps" will appreciate that the climb from Ovaro is considered one of the toughest in cycling. But just because we were nearly done (and needed an exclamation point for the tour), we added the little known (and quite possibly even harder) ascent back up from Priola, that is a double-Zoncolan (BAM). But we were not quite ready for dinner yet. Just up the valley from Ovaro is the HC climb of Monte Crostis (three times used in the Giro) and it is 14km long at an average of almost 10%. On it's own, it is one tough cookie but after a couple of casual "Zoncolans" it was more (as Frank so eloquently described it) like...."fu#*ing ridiculous". Again, no match for the "brutal tourists from down under". Oh how we had grown since the Asturias.

I am not sure if there is anything quite like this tour for bringing a few blokes together, I certainly do not know of anything. We arrived in Madrid as six individuals, full of nervous expectation. We left a group of mates, full of quiet pride in what we had achieved, forever more confident in our capabilities and connected by a shared experience that may never be repeated. I would like to say a sincere that you to; Gordo, Robbo, DJ, Frank and Ramon for putting your trust in Bubba's Cycling Tours. But I am mostly thankful for the incredible energy, tenacity and flexibility you brought to the group. It is a three weeks that I will never forget and find very hard to top, both professionally and personally.

Photo of the tour! Courtesy of Robbo and his HC RE camera.

from Welcome to Bubba's Cycling Tours - Travel Blog http://ift.tt/2xPsNjJ

#Welcome to Bubba's Cycling Tours - Travel Blog #Cycling Tours

[toddbirchard-architect]

Will Product go the way of Marketing? http://ift.tt/2wegI4m

I don't really like marketing people.

It's not that I dislike marketing as a concept. On the contrary, I respect the concept of subtlety manipulating the human mind. I find it frustrating that the concept of marketing moves away from calculated campaigns, and more into the realm of Mailchimp and Social Media junkies. If the ability to use Facebook tops your list of tangible skills, chances are I wouldn't trust you to define my company's voice.

I'm assuming that undergrad marketing programs consist of more than introductory Instagram classes. Where, then, are these concepts being applied? From the outside looking in, a case can be made that marketing is the discipline of deploying microsites and unapologetic sales messaging.

I can only imagine how CMOs who meticulously shaped brands feel about a workforce striving for a bare-minimum understanding of their field. Yet I can imagine, because this sounds a lot like the visible trend of Product Management.

How The Unmighty Have Risen

When I turned to product management 8 years ago, I thought I was taking on a thankless job. Lacking the skills of a true developer, it felt like a gift to be amongst the world's best talent, even at the cost of extra work. I considered product management to be a spot on the roster, with perhaps the eventual potential for impact.

While plenty of PMs actively work to define the profession, there seems to be an equal and opposite contingency of those who skipped this step in the process. As opposed to defining a growing profession, the promise of product management seems to speak to personalities seeking a mandate of power. In fact, it seems that the success of the former only spawns more of the latter. Is it destiny then, that all rising professions are to destroy themselves with the very things they promise?

What Happened to Marketing?

I remember the first time I witnessed a marketing person get fired. Truthfully, she had done the unthinkable: she did not spend the entirety of her quarterly budget.

Wait, what?

Many companies operate under a blind faith in marketing. It is routine for marketing budgets to be set upfront without setting concrete goals prior. Not goals like email open rates, but goals like resonating with human beings. That's not really as important as making sure you dump tens of thousands of dollars into Google AdWords before the end of the quarter.

The only explanation I can think of is that at some point, the concept of marketing was so lucrative that it had become obvious. Obvious enough to, say, throw money at it and look away. Besides, good marketing is intangible, right? Why else do companies spend millions of dollars on Superbowl ads? It's nearly impossible to measure the impact those have, and measuring takes work. It's best to just know you've done something significant.

Unless of course, you haven't.

Intangible Skills vs. No Skills

What makes marketing and product management similar is the notion of a high-impact role requiring entirely intangible skills.

Intangible skills are elusive. To the individual, it is comforting to know that one's value is not quantifiable, hiding behind the guise of the all powerful 'people skills.' Similarly, employers are comfortable knowing that they've locked immeasurable (thus irreplaceable?) talent with a certain je ne sais quoi. This two-way speculation creates aggressive overvaluation, exactly the same way that a financial bubble occurs.

If an organization recognizes that certain skillsets are vital yet impossible to measure, there is good chance they won't waste their time attempting to gauge said skill. The result is a perfect opportunity for those looking to bear the fruits of labor, without the labor. Who wouldn't jump at the opportunity to accept praise unchecked? Can we blame human beings for acting on their inherent needs for reassurance, while dodging risks to survival? If employers are opening these floodgates, humanity is only running its course.

Next-generation Product Management

At the risk of generalization, up-and-coming PM talent has a tendency to shy away from technical ability, data analysis, and true problem solving. The most common trait that younger PMs share is a thirst for consuming new products. While this curiosity is important, the ability to browse Product Hunt for shiny new toys is hardly a skill.

This is worrisome as the same phenomena has already occurred in nearly all other organizational departments without tangible skillsets. Marketing and PR are only a couple examples, where the entire concept of strategy is second fiddle to proficiency of tools... which is actually not a skill at all. The ability to use a medium is utterly pointless if achieves nothing.

If history is any indicator, there is good reason to be pessimistic. Adding the context of political climate, the concept of consumerism and counter-intellect entering the product scene seems to make all too much sense.

That said, the competent are not those who should worry. Despite what comes of product management as a profession or a title, individuals with the ability to contribute will always have their presence remain painfully obvious. Perhaps the only thing to subject to change is what we will someday refer to those with original ideas.

August 26, 2017 at 12:34PM