#of hygiene olympics involved.........

[ilhoonftw]

i hate videos like this bc at face value it seems like the creator has a good point but if you really listen they just repeat the same 3 things through the whole video and can't form a good argument on why whatever they claim that's bad is really that bad. like i get restocks are a trendy topic and capitalism is to be blamed but like. where's the depth. where's some sources. everyone has sooooo much to say but educated, well-structured takes? error 404. going 'omg watching restock videos made me want to buy acrylic containers :(' four times when you could instead bring up pouring BLEACH into glass vase is dangerous, the trend of opening something that comes in opaque/white bottle to block sunlight... only to pour it into clean container??? that's not only making the detergent lose strength but also those aesthetic bottles don't have extra locks to stop your kids from fucking drinking fabric softener because it's pink

also what's up with everyone acting like all trends started out on the internet. home organization accessories were a thing before first email was sent, my grandma has a whole set of mounted on the wall containers older than me. how do you know restocks are an online trend because of k🤢rdashians? sources??? that family didn't start shit they steal everything (they stole from brandy ffs allegedly)

why is consumerism bad!! explain!! but you can't....... you only can parrot what was already said 153749 times. what about reading a book. what about education and sharing knowledge so we all can become more informed!!!

#ofc one of the creators is a Black woman. yea let's nitpick someone's hygiene habits and gadgets who cares there's an extra layer #of hygiene olympics involved......... #Youtube

[beardedmrbean]

London mayor Sadiq Khan says everything is being done to ensure the bedbug infestation seen in France will not spread to the city's transport system.

In Paris, the insects have been reported in schools, trains, hospitals and cinemas.

Mr Khan acknowledged it was a "real source of concern" for people that it may spread to London.

He told PoliticsJOE Transport for London (TfL) was disinfecting seats daily.

He added he had spoken to officials in France to see if any lessons could be learnt from their experience.

Bedbug panic sweeps Paris as infestations soar

How to get rid of bedbugs and are they in the UK?

Preventative measures on Eurostar amid bedbug surge

Mr Khan said: "I know people are worried the bugs in Paris could cause a problem in London and I've been in contact with TfL last week and this weekend, making steps to ensure we don't have that problem.

"Regular cleaning of Tubes and buses, and I'm talking to the Eurostar as well, we have one of the best regimes for cleaning our assets... for a variety of reasons we don't think those issues will arise in London - but there will be no complacency from TfL," he added.

'Obnoxious pest'

Bedbugs are small insects, with adults reaching about 5mm in length (less than a grain of rice) and are oval-shaped. They have six legs and can be dark yellow, red or brown.

They feed on blood by biting people, creating wounds that can be itchy but do not usually cause other health problems.

The insects often live on furniture or bedding and can spread by being on clothes or luggage.

Cross-Channel train operator Eurostar said it had not seen an "upsurge in bedbugs" on-board its trains.

"The textile surfaces on all of our trains are cleaned thoroughly on a regular basis and this involves hot water injection and extraction cleaning, which is highly effective in eliminating bedbugs," its statement added.

"Any reports on hygiene matters are taken very seriously and our cleaning teams, in addition to the usual cleaning, will also disinfect a train on request or as soon as there is the slightest doubt."

It said it had created a "preventive detection campaign" which was being "stepped up in the coming weeks".

But in Bedfordshire, Luton Borough Council's pest control service is dealing with an "alarming number of bedbug jobs on a weekly basis".

In a statement, the council said: "Whilst the bedbug is not known to be a carrier of disease, the council does recognise the bedbug as being an obnoxious pest with which to have to share a home."

However it added it did not have "limitless resources to counter this pest".

In Paris, BBC correspondent Hugh Schofield described the infestation as being seen as a plague "provoking a wave of insectophobia and raising questions about health and safety during next year's Olympic Games".

However, he points out that bedbugs increase over the summer every year.

"There are several factors, of which globalisation - container trade, tourism and immigration - is the most important. The bedbug - cimex lectularius to give its Latin name - is a domesticated creature. It goes where humans go".

#nunyas news

[ksrbrothers]

Best Swimming Pools Installation near south delhi

KSR Brothers provides services and products to customers throughout the United States. These services are provided in accordance with international quality standards and have received widespread recognition in the industry. We work hard to meet our customers' requests for customization. Furthermore, provide the products and services at market-competitive prices. We prefer clients from Delhi, NCR, Rajasthan, Haryana, Noida, Jaipur, Dwarka, Chandigarh, Dehradun, Gurgaon, Punjab, and other states.

Our company is involved in providing Olympic Size Swimming Pools Installation Construction Services, which are quite useful for holding various competitions. These services are carried out by our experienced professionals and are built with the latest technology machines and tools on the basis of prepared blueprints. We place a premium on proper pool space utilisation, hygiene, and safety.

#musical fountains fountain water fountain

[sundaylo06-blog]

Deedee est alle dans cette ville pour trois jours

The mine has been abandoned since 1977, and since Hasard Cheratte is considered a protected heritage site, the very laws designed to keep it untouched make it ripe for hostile takeover. Any secret agents attempting to storm your fortress will have to do it in scuba gear nfl jerseys, leaving them delightfully defenseless against your platoon of sting rays armed with buzz saws. Superheroes are even less of a risk Aquaman sulks for months if anyone else sets foot in his jurisdiction, which means the only hero likely to come after you is, well, Aquaman.

Cheap Jerseys china Jimmy Buff's, 60 Washington St., West Orange; [phone]. The first name in Italian hot dogs. James Racioppi opened a hot stand in Newark in 1932. The NFL sent a powerful message. Mr. Rice was suspended for a whole two weeks. 6. July 26 28, on the campus. The camp will provide each participant with instruction in throwing, catching, kicking, blocking and non contact form tackling.  Cheap Jerseys china

cheap jerseys Wiggins is in his first major stage race since joining Team Sky.The three time Olympic champion becomes just the second Briton to lead the Giro, the first Grand Tour of the year, after Mark Cavendish won the pink jersey in 2009.Fellow Brit David Millar, Wiggins former team mate at Garmin Transitions, finished sixth https://www.cheapjerseysitems.com, six seconds behind.Wiggins' winning momentum started with an early charge from the start ramp and he maintained his blistering pace through the circuit's tight turns and long straights."I knew I had a good chance," Wiggins said. "For me it's beautiful to wear the pink jersey. It's one of the most special jerseys.  cheap jerseys

wholesale nfl jerseys from china "It is a trick of the light," said German tourist Dieter hler, 34. "This is, ah, how do you say, an impossibility." The discovery of the miracle canvas comes just weeks after the supposed discovery of a 9x12 inch piece of paper with some fruit on it in a French museum. Citizens will be stripped of all pro team merchandise, including Starter brand NFL team jackets, officially licensed replica NBA jerseys and any remaining wacky fan novelty items.  wholesale nfl jerseys from china

It one reason a pair of shin pads for bicyclists carried this warning a few years ago: pads cannot protect any part of the body they do not cover. To that fear of being sued the growing number of concussion related lawsuits against professional football leagues and equipment makers, and one can begin to understand why such a warning might exist on decals that can go on a bike helmet. Well, almost.One of the other finalists in our contest this year was found on an actual football helmet.  Cheap Jerseys from china

wholesale nfl jerseys There was a time when sports stars would just appear in TV shows or movies like Jack Dempesy in The Prizefighter and the Lady, (1933) or Joe DiMaggio in Manhattan Merry Go Round, (1937) but as sports transformed from pastime to a full on entertainment industry unto itself, the cameo roles were too small for this new bread of popular culture idols. Like all other notable portrayals of the famous and envied, the sports biography evolved over time. The first wave of sports biographies were nearly extension of folklore where athletes are these mythical figures who just happened to walk among us mere mortals.  wholesale nfl jerseys

wholesale jerseys from china J'en avais dj entendu parler sur la toile ; la ville de Bruges organise une campagne publicitaire pour faire dcouvrir la ville en hiver. Trois blogueurs ont t invits, Deedee est alle dans cette ville pour trois jours, la veinarde. Elle a fait un compte rendu bien intressant dans son blog.  wholesale jerseys from china

Cheap Jerseys china As you know, we came through with the win. And it was then, at that very moment, that I realised something profound. You need a loss to make that victory sweet. He has called for welfare recipients to be forced into work camps (housed in converted prisons), where they will be taught, among other things https://www.cheapjerseysaleusa.com, personal hygiene (so much for small government). Similarly, he wants to send children in failing schools to state boarding schools, where they would be housed with kids removed from their homes by social services. And Paladino, who fathered a daughter out of wedlock while married (but didn't tell his wife about it until years later), nevertheless made wild accusations about his opponent's marital infidelities..  Cheap Jerseys china

How To: Fix Your Fatigue And Get More EnergyColin Kaepernick had his share of criticism over his protest of the national anthem, but the San Francisco 49ers backup has also seen some extra green the quarterback jersey sales have skyrocketed to No. 1 in the NFL.Rest assured the financial windfall will go to good causes, Kaepernick told his followers Wednesday, announcing via Instagram that he will donate his personal jersey sale revenue:want to thank everyone who has shown me love and support, it truly means a lot! I wasn expecting my jersey sales to jump to number one because of this, but it shows the people belief that we can achieve justice and equality for ALL! The only way I can repay you for the support is to return the favor by donating all the proceeds I receive from my jersey sales back into the communities! I believe the people, and WE can be the change!Prior to this announcement, Kaepernick, who has has been sitting or kneeling during the national anthem before preseason games and intends to continue for the entirety of the 2016 season, said that he would donate $1 million to various causes.am planning to take it a step further, Kaepernick said wholesale jerseys from china , via The Undefeated. Currently working with organizations to be involved, and making sure I actively in these communities, as well as donating the first million dollars I make this year to different organizations to help these communities and help these people.

[thedailyscourge]

Day Seven

(of the 4th month of the year Twenty-hundred and Twenty)

An entry from the journal of a squire of Brookland:

Within an hour of starting my shift on the Tiny Human Ward, now filled with regular sized humans afflicted with the Scourge, one of our patients began dying.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

I can honestly say the degree to which this pandemic is a disaster was lost on me as it is to everyone who has not had the kind of intimate encounter with the unique forms of suffering it produces as I did today.

I was deployed to this ward in a kind of vague capacity to fill in gaps of coverage in some non-specific and sometimes very specific ways.  One thing I knew I was sent here to do was to go into room after room of patients afflicted with the Scourge and assess their health.  And, late in the morning, that is exactly what happened.  After my team had spent several hours getting to know the needs of each patient by looking at their lab results and getting reports from other professionals, and then “table rounding” or “round tabling” depending on what type of knights you picture us as, we had talked enough. It was time to confront the invisible enemy directly and at the same time witness the most tangible form it can materialize as: a fellow human being, laying in front of you, struggling to breathe.  I have seen people who were short of breath before, people with various forms of oxygen masks, intubated, on ventilators of all kinds, gasping for breath.  It’s jarring.  But to someone like me who’s seen a great deal more disease and death than most people my age, the striking thing was not the nature of any given case, it was the sheer number of them.  In nearly every single room I went into today, there was a person fighting for their life, drowning above water.  An entire ward full of them and beyond that, an intensive care unit with more.  I was prepared for and acquainted with the severity, but not the volume.

We had maybe two in their 50s, one in the 30s, and one in the 20s but, as a whole, these patients were almost exclusively in their 60s, 70s, and 80s. It was as if science, public health, and medicine advanced inch by inch to the point that we had prolonged the average life expectancy in a remarkable demonstration of our dominance over nature, only to be humbled by the tiniest microorganism arriving and taking all that life away in a matter of days.

It’s difficult to describe how even the thought of an invisible enemy this small and contagious will strain your psyche when you are literally surrounded by it. There is a psychological absurdity to the dozens of small actions and choices you must make throughout your day that is akin to a French mime whose world is not made up but rather unseen by everyone but her. The mental acrobatics you have to engage in to create any sense of control at all in this environment are olympic in their complexity and duration.  At some point, even the most intelligent professionals are so burnt out by this underlying stress that they subconsciously surrender and unwittingly allow the enemy to gain a disturbing amount of ground, transforming our very workplace into a hazard itself.

When I say the ward I walked into and worked in all day was a nightmare of infection control, I mean that at times it felt like the work of germ theorists in the 1800s was just a niche genre of academia like scarf rock or Icelandic death metal, not a foundation for one of the most respected professions on earth.  Face shields, contaminated from countless close interactions with the Scourge and never disinfected (because of a shortage of supplies to do so) were strewn about haphazardly in the cramped workroom where squires and knights spend hours formulating plans and touching surfaces that allow us to create life-saving orders.  All the while we are contaminating and cross contaminating our belongings, our armor, ourselves.  It was clear that many members of the team, who had been denied adequate equipment to protect themselves for weeks and who had struggled minute by minute to maintain a sense of hygienic integrity had resigned to this relative squalor out of sheer exhaustion.

There were many other little lapses in infection control practices I noticed throughout the day, probably because my line of work has conditioned me to be very sensitive to these kinds of details.  But in nearly all of them, just as evident was the lack of resources and enormity of stress on those involved that really was to blame.

What may have been the worst of all of it was an egregious offense to our values and what we hold as sacred. The last rights of the dying, not of religion, but of being and feeling loved by a family member or friend while you pass, are stripped from those who have succumb to the Scourge.  A wife, a cousin, a sister, all denied the tangible validity of their relationship with a dying man, a quiet, tragic opera playing out through telephone lines, in lonely hospital beds, in a room of my ward this morning and across the world again and again for months on end.  The necessary preservation of the species has cost us possibly the greatest token of our humanity.

As I shifted my responsibilities midday to take care of another elderly man in the intensive care unit, filling one of the many gaps in our staffing, I was conscripted into the cast of another tragedy of unique cruelty.  

A woman, a middle-aged nurse who had been working as recently as 2 weeks ago treating some of the sickest tiny humans there are, had been struck down by the Scourge and was now lying in the very same room as the young lives she had helped take care of and, what’s worse, her friends and former coworkers were now the ones charged with treating her disease.  And she was deteriorating. Quickly.

This woman ended up needing to be intubated, a tube placed down her throat, and connected to a ventilator.  I found out about her position as part of the team who were now taking care of her when I asked why she was being moved to another intensive care unit after the intubation.  The head of the unit told me it was for emotional reasons.  I was confused until she explained that she did not want her and her coworkers to potentially experience the trauma of doing chest compressions on their friend as she coded, veering toward death.

At the end of the day, the chaplains were called in to hold a session for us to decompress and process what had just happened.  Although it halted productivity in the midst of a crisis, evident by the way it ended with several of us peeling off to assess a patient in distress, I found the group experience profoundly important, if not for it’s actual therapeutic effect then for the statement even holding such a session made in the middle of what is, for all intents and purposes, a disaster on every level of society.

And there, as some of the staff openly broke down crying, myself sniffling through a respirator during a teary eyed prayer, and others admitted the horrifying feeling of vulnerability in the microscopic game of Russian roulette that we are all playing on the frontlines, I realized today we weren’t losing our humanity.  We were finding its depths.  

The tolls:

The City of New Pork (of which the town of Brookland belongs):

76,876 afflicted

4,009 dead

The Divided Realms of Amen!-ia:

397,391 afflicted

12,000 dead

We await the miracle prophesied by the Emperor to come in the 4th month.  

[faveficarchive]

I’ve Been to Pocatello, but I’ve Never Been to Me

Another White Trash Tale of Depravity, Soul-Searching, and Potato Chips

By Vivian Darkbloom

Pairing: Xena/Gabrielle

Rating: Mature

Synopsis: This is the fourth installment in the White Trash Series. Gabrielle learns all about Zina’s dark past when a few unwanteds wander back into her girlfriend’s life.

1. An Interlude in the Manner of Pinky and the Brain

"Gabrielle, are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"I think so, baby. I'll go get your fire helmet and the nacho cheese dip."

"No, I'm not thinking about that."

"Okay. Let me try again." A hopeful pause. A batting of fair eyelashes. A comely pout. "Your fire helmet and the vibrator?"

Zina sighed. Her fire helmet—the penultimate symbol of her profession, a badge of pride, a lifesaving device—had been reduced, by Gabrielle, to both a fetish object and a receptacle for foodstuffs. She was just grateful that Gabrielle had decided the helmet was ill-suited for use as a pitcher for margaritas (her hair had smelled like tequila for weeks). "I'm thinking…"

"Always a bad sign, baby."

"…like maybe we should go to the movies."

Gabrielle regarded her skeptically. "Really?" She loved to go to movie theaters, but since Zina found the entire experience stressful—dealing with large, inane groups of people was not the firefighter's forte—they did not go very often.

Zina cleared her throat. This "being sensitive" shit is really hard. "Listen, Gabrielle, I thought, you know, you deserve a night out, a night where we do something different…'cause, uh, I know your finals were hard."

"I agree, absolutely. So like I said, let me go get your helmet and the vibrator…"

"Now, how is that special? We've done that plenty of times."

"Well, this time I'll let you wear the helmet, stud." With a wiggle of her eyebrows, Gabrielle ran upstairs. Grinning, Zina followed. She was more than willing to do whatever it would take to make the little poet happy…especially when it involves sex, thought the firefighter, as she took the steps two at a time.

*****

Cyrene stepped out of her Volkswagen, humming the crazy violin part of "Baba O'Riley," her head bobbing up and down, and approached the front door of the farmhouse. She lingered on the porch as she peered into the daunting recesses of her macramé purse, looking for the house keys, something that was hard to do in the evening light. A full fifteen minutes passed, during which she found some Chiclets from 1977 and the results of an VD test from 1990 (Hey, I'm negative! Cool!), before she finally found the keys. Still humming, she entered the darkened home that her daughter shared with Gabrielle. She wound her way through the black hallway to the kitchen, where she snapped on the light. She clapped her hands together and rubbed them briskly. Okay, I've got a half an hour before the meeting, just enough time to make hummus…

"Ayiyyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi!" The strange cry ripped through the room and, not wasting any time, Cyrene grabbed the nearest butcher knife and, with a less exotic shriek of her own, jumped on the kitchen counter. Her daughter was crouched in the doorway, nude, ready to pounce, wielding a baseball bat…and with a fire helmet ever so slightly askance on her head.

"Jesus, Zina!" Cyrene cried, as her adrenaline rush subsided. "What the fuck was that?"

Zina grinned. "Just a little something I picked up from the Discovery Channel," she said proudly. "Didn't know you could still jump that fast, Mom." She rose to her full height and leaned the bat in a corner. "Sorry. I thought you were a burglar or somethin'."

"I didn't think you were home, honey. Gabrielle said I could use the house tonight for an LPN group meeting."

"LPN?" Zina echoed. Her mother wanted to become a nurse?

Cyrene sighed. Another disbeliever. "Legalize Pot Now."

The firefighter snorted. "Oh, for Christ's sake."

Cyrene jabbed a finger of maternal authority at Zina. "Yeah, man, scoff all you want. All I can say if it weren't for pot, you wouldn't be here right now!" Somehow a Chevy van, a bottle of Boone's Hill strawberry wine, an 8-track tape of Badfinger, and a draft dodger with a droopy mustache had appeared all the more erotic and alluring under the influence of a fat joint.

Footsteps on the stairs announced Gabrielle's arrival. The lithe poet had taken a minute to make herself presentable for dangerous felons, and had thrown on a t-shirt and shorts. But her mussed hair, reddened lips, and flushed face announced, louder than a Siegfried and Roy show at Vegas, what she and her hunky firefighter had been up to. "Cyrene? What the hell—"

"You forgot, didn't you?" Cyrene accused gently.

"Oh…shit! I did! I'm sorry." She apologized to two generations of bad-ass chicks at once. Both scowled at her. "Uh, Zina, didn't you say you wanted to go to the movies?"

2. Mrs. Peel, We're Needed

The trip to the movies also involved babysitting Purdy, who was having a fight with Lila. He had called up Gabrielle a few minutes before they were about to leave for the theater, to see if she wanted to get drunk at the Saddle. Soft-hearted little poet that she was, she invited him along. "Is that okay?" she sheepishly asked Zina after the fact.

Zina shrugged. "Sure."

"Zina, you're so nice to Purdy. It's sweet."

"I figure anyone who dumped you for your sister needs some special treatment, if you know what I mean." She waggled a finger in a circle alongside her head.

They met Purdy at the theater. He stood, sulky, in the parking lot, leaning against his Ford pickup, John Deere cap pulled low in an attempt to make his babyfat face more menacing. "Hiya, Gab, Hiya Zina," he greeted. "So, what movie are we seeing?"

Gabrielle smirked with pride. "The Avengers."

Purdy made a face. "Gab, you always pick these artsy-fartsy foreign films!"

Zina nodded in agreement. "Yeah! With these snooty British people or something," she piped up.

"Knock it off, both o' you. I'll have you know that things blow up in this movie, and that Uma Thurman chick runs around wearing leather. It can't be bad."

A skeptical grunt issued forth from the firefighter as they headed into the multiplex. After they bought tickets, Gabrielle immediately took off in the direction of the concession stand. But she didn’t get very far before Zina snagged her arm. "Don't do it," her companion purred in her ear.

Such a suggestive, seductive tone made the blonde poet want to do it even more. "I don't know what you're talking about," she protested, lying, trying to squirm out of Zina's grip.

"You know what I mean, Gabrielle. Don't do it. Don't give in."

Gabrielle stopped thrashing and met Zina's eyes. "Okay, okay. I won't. I swear."

The blue eyes held her gaze for a moment. "All right, then." The firefighter released her. "Get me a Coke, okay? See you down front." She headed for the theater.

As Gabrielle waited patiently in line, she drank in the smell of rancid popcorn and butter. Popcorn. I'll just get some popcorn. With feigned casualness she surveyed the boxes of candy in the display case; the green eyes flickered and hesitated for a nanosecond at the Raisinet boxes, but then continued their thorough scan of the candy. Okay, that was fine. I didn't feel a thing.

Nonetheless she turned away abruptly and studied the faded wallpaper. Oh my…that's a nice pattern. I never thought green and brown could work together like that...Then she turned her attention to a new movie poster: Weekend at Bernie's 3: "This Time It's Personal…Hygiene."

Then the voices began.

Gabrielle.

No! She clutched her forehead. "I'm not listening," she muttered aloud, causing a glance from the burly gentleman in front of her wearing a cowboy hat and a Charlie Daniels Band t-shirt.

Gabrielle! It's us. Please listen!!!

"Stop it!" Gabrielle growled. The large cowboy shifted away from her slightly.

You must listen. Only you can set us free. Gabrielllllllllllle…

"No!"

Look at us.

She shook her head savagely.

Come. Look. Or do you fear us?

Timidly the poet turned, slowly, and looked.

The box of Raisinets glowed with a preternatural beauty, even more striking than Zina in full firefighter regalia (or buck naked for that matter), and the voices of the Raisinets, blending together with mellow effervescence and sounding precisely like the two midget women in that little box from the Mothra movies, sang their siren song of freedom to their golden-haired liberator: Gabriellllllle…buy us, eat us!

"Ohhhhh…all right!" screamed the poet, scaring away not only the Charlie Daniels guy but also the couple in front of him, and thus effectively shortening the line.

Arms cradling the Coke, the popcorn, a bunch of candy bars, and the evil Raisinets, Gabrielle waddled down the aisle to where her companions sat. She tossed a giant Kit Kat bar at Purdy and thrust a Coke at Zina; both firefighter and mechanic noted the Raisinets lying in her lap.

"Don't say anything," Gabrielle snarled at them.

A long silence ensued. It was finally broken by Purdy's guffaw. "You'll be on the can all night long, then havin' bad dreams," he chastised her. "Man, I am so glad I don't live with you anymore!"

She gave a lunge toward him, sending popcorn flying, but was restrained by Zina's powerful arm. "Down, girl," said the firefighter.

"They…they…" stammered Gabrielle.

"Yeah, I know, honey bunny, they were talking to you…" Zina replied, as if Gabrielle were a reject from the Special Olympics.

"They were!" wailed the poet, as the previews began.

Twenty minutes later, as Zina snored through a trailer for a Brad Pitt film, Purdy, arms folded, threatened once again: "This better be good."

"It can't be bad," assured Gabrielle, whose childlike faith in Hollywood, while tremendously touching, was sorely misplaced, misguided, and plainly retarded.

*****

It was bad.

"How stupid could I be!" cried Gabrielle, as they left the theater for the lobby. "To think that anyone else could be Mrs. Peel!"

"Well, duh," Zina agreed.

"But things sure blowed up pretty good," Purdy said. Zina nodded in assent.

It was all that mattered, really.

"Hey, isn't that Callie over there?" Gabrielle asked apprehensively, grasping her beloved's arm and nodding to a small, poorly dressed group that circled the front of the multiplex and carried strange signs: "THE AVENGERS" PROMOTES UNNATURAL CLOTHES, one said. LEATHER IS FOR BOOTS ONLY, proclaimed another.

Sure enough, the crazed blonde was in the eye of the protesting storm. However, upon spotting the movie-going trio of Zina, Gabrielle, and Purdy, she bore down on them like a bulimic toward a toilet bowl.

"Well!" sniped Callie by way of greeting, "I can guess what sick film you three have been seeing."

Zina rolled her eyes. "Callie, you are pathetic. There was nothing weird in that film. Hell, it was so boring I fell asleep who knows how many times."

"Five," supplied Gabrielle, with some measure of irritation.

"It figures you wouldn't notice the fine details, Zina," Callie sneered haughtily. "The clothing was scandalous and suggestive. It was perverted." Even speaking of the dreaded film caused Callie to grip her jumbo-sized Sprite a little tighter, even though her hand could barely get around it as it was.

"So I take it you actually saw the film?" Gabrielle asked coolly.

"No, of course not! I'm not spending money to see such filth!"

"Lady, you are bonkers," Purdy mumbled.

"What?" hissed Callie.

"You heard me!" he retorted defiantly.

She threw her drink at him, drenching him with sticky carbonated coolness. "You crazy bitch! This is my best flannel shirt!" he cried as she stalked away from them.

"Yeah! You get back here, you bitch!" Gabrielle shouted. She tried to take off after Callie, but found Zina's restraining arm around her midriff.

"What the hell's gotten into you?" Zina asked, perturbed that Gabrielle would get so upset over such a matter—of course, it would have been different had Callie thrown the drink on her, then it would be acceptable for Gabrielle to flip out. But over Purdy? She makes absolutely no sense when she's PMSing, thought Zina, who nonetheless enjoyed the sensation of the wiggling Gabrielle pressed against her.

"She's pushed me too far, Zina! I can't have her throwing drinks at my ex-boyfriend! I got my pride!"

"Yeah, and it's pretty warped, I'd say."

"Lemme go!" demanded the angry poet.

"Gabrielle, don't you remember once…you told me the cycle of violence and hatred must be broken…."

Finally Gabrielle slipped out of the firefighter's loose grasp. "For Christ's sake, Zina, I had four shots of tequila when I said that! Now lemme go kick that twat's ass!" She stomped over to Callie for a Meeting of the Blondes. A brief interaction ensued: Callie, motionless, with eyebrows raised, watched Gabrielle gesticulate all over the place.

It ended with one punch.

Zina was amazed at how quickly Callie could run in heels. The minister was in her Camaro and tearing out of the parking lot before she and Purdy reached the prostrate poet.

"Gabrielle?" The firefighter gently shook the unconscious form. Her frightened blue eyes locked onto the anxious Purdy. "Quick, get some chocolate!"

*****

"Mrs. Peel?" The voice, with its clipped British accent, was vaguely familiar to Gabrielle. Nonetheless her eyelids refused to open until she felt something soft tapping her cheeks.

Willpower pried open her eyes, which could not believe what they were seeing.

It was Zina, kneeling in front of her, grinning, wearing a dark blue pinstripe suit and a bowler hat, a white carnation gracing her lapel. "Mrs. Peel, are you all right?" Zina asked again, in impeccable, more-upper-class -than-thou English tones.

Those goddamn Raisinets!!!! She tried blinking several times in hopes of dispelling the hallucination. No go. "Is it Halloween again?" she whispered timidly.

Zina frowned. "I say, my dear, you simply are not yourself. You even sound different, Mrs. Peel."

Why does she keep…Gabrielle tried to move and her body, which felt taut, tense, and immobile, made a strange, flatulent noise. She looked down the length of her form. She was clad in a tight black leather bodysuit and boots.

…calling me that? She was attired just like Mrs. Peel. "Oh, God," she moaned. She looked at Zina, who was still looking ever so concerned in a restrained, British kinda way.

"So. You must be Steed." Gabrielle ventured the guess nervously.

The tall, dark-haired woman smiled at that. "Verrrry good," she replied with imperial condescension. "Now, do you remember anything else?"

Gabrielle gritted her teeth as she attempted to sit up again, which elicited a protracted farting noise from her leather outfit. This time she was successful. "Like what?"

"Ohhh, let's see," Zina sighed in thought, "The Cybernauts? The Hellfire Club? Castle De'Ath?"

"Uh…yeah. I do." Except I wasn't Mrs. Peel, I was only sitting on the floor in the living room eating Screaming Yellow Zonkers and wishing I were her.

"Encouraging!" replied Zina/Steed.

And they were off, driving through the countryside, drinking champagne, listening to Petula Clark…. Downtown!

She held out her glass for more champagne (and how did Steed manage to pour and drive at the same time?) but when she brought it to her lips there was a telegram inside the glass. "What's this?" she asked.

"Good news, Mrs. Peel. Your husband, Purdy Peel, has been found in the Amazon…"

In an Amazon? Surely not Effie! "My husband? But I—I was never married!" wailed Gabrielle.

"So I'm afraid it's time for all our glamorous adventures to come to an end…"

"They can't!"

"But you must do your duty…"

"No!"

The Bentley entered a tunnel. All was darkness….

….and Gabrielle opened her eyes. She was back home, in the bedroom she shared with Zina, and the tall firefighter was sitting on the bed, watching her with concern. Fortunately, sans the bowler hat.

"Sugar booger!" she cried, sitting up. She flung her arms around Zina.

"Gabrielle! How are you feeling, honey?" Zina gave her girlfriend a squeeze, a kiss on the cheek, and rubbed her back.

"Better. Baby, I had this crazy dream—"

"Didn't I tell you not to eat the Raisinets?"

"I know. But this was different somehow...."

"You mean you have diarrhea this time?"

"No! Zina, listen. I was going through a tunnel, and you know that usually means—"

"Sex!" Zina's sapphire eyes lit up like a gas grill.

"Yeah, but it scared me a little. Like I feel the tunnel represents something else. 'Cause I was afraid to go through it. You know how I hate change…like I was ready to kill you when you got a different kind of toilet paper. But I think this is something serious, something I gotta think about. Like what I'm gonna do with my life. And what everything means. I feel like this dream was trying to impart some important message to me about my life, my writing…but what the bowler hat represented, I have no idea…" Gabrielle trailed off, and so had Zina's infant-like attention span—the baby blues were focused on the switchblade she pulled out of her pocket. With a flick of the wrist, Zina began to pare her nails. Gabrielle cleared her throat loudly. "Honey, do me a favor. Would you get that big book out of the bathroom for me?"

Zina nodded. Still fiddling with the switchblade, she shuffled into the bathroom. Five minutes passed. The toilet flushed. "I don't see anything!" she finally cried.

You damn—"It's under your copy of Guns and Ammo!" Gabrielle yelled.

A pause. "Oh." Zina returned, with a large hardcover tome. It was titled The Woman's Dictionary of Symbols, Signs, and Secret Meanings: Dream Interpretation for Quasi-Feminists. The book had been a Christmas gift from Cyrene. With the book splayed in her lap, Gabrielle flipped pages until she reached this entry, nestled between "Bowl of Oatmeal" and "Butane Lighters":

BOWLER HATS: Traditionally seen as a symbol of male bourgeoisie, the bowler hat takes on subversive meaning in dreams when it is worn by a woman. Its black color represents power, and the round, curvaceous shape calls to mind the feminine form. Nominally the dream figure wearing the hat is seen as powerful, a person whose acceptance of self is something that you strive for.

Gabrielle looked at her companion skeptically. Zina was flipping the switchblade in her hand, then, with a sudden growl and a cry of "Hee-yah!" flung the blade across the room until it landed, bull's eye, in a decrepit dart board. She smirked with pride.

"Zina, I'm having a spiritual crisis kinda thing going on. Least you could do is leave the switchblade alone."

The firefighter blinked and looked at her girlfriend. "Oh. Yeah, sorry, Gabrielle." Like a scolded puppy she returned to the bed.

"Maybe this is why I'm having a writer’s block, too," mused the blonde.

"Don't worry, honey, you'll get your groove back." Zina admired her neatly trimmed nails, then shot Gabrielle a sly, lusty look. "We could have sex—that usually helps you write."

"Yeah, but I usually end up writing epic poems about your thighs. Not that that isn't a worthy subject, but…no. I gotta work this out. It's like a…quest. A spiritual quest, you know?"

"No." No, of course not. For Zina, a spiritual quest would be finding the perfect hunting knife.

"Well, it is. I have to discover who I am, and what my life means, and find inner peace."

They were quiet for a long minute. "I still think sex would help," Zina finally said.

Gabrielle pondered this. "Better safe than sorry." She peeled off her shirt.

3. Anything that Moves

The following day found Gabrielle answering a fateful knock at the door.

She blinked at the tall, dark stranger on the doorstep. "I am looking for Zina." He spoke heavily accented English.

Mentally, Gabrielle pulled out the Zina Ex-Lover Checklist (Male Version):

1. Does he have overstyled facial hair? Yes! Not as weird as Artie's, though.

2. Long and/or dark hair? Uh-huh.

3. Muscular and/or dangerous looking, like he just got out of prison? Absolutely.

4. An obvious death wish? We'll soon find out.

The Male Version of the Checklist did certainly help narrow the field a bit, unlike the Female Version, which was:1. Blonde?She leaned in the doorway. "Okay, man, I got your number. Welcome to Zinaholics Anonymous. I'm Gabrielle, and I can't sponsor you, because I'm a happy addict."

The man scowled at her. "A simple 'hello' would work just as well."

"Who are you?"

This did not erase his look of displeasure. "My name is Boris. I have come to see Zina about…" He paused melodramatically. "…our puppy."

"Puppy?"

"Da. We had puppy together…many years ago."

"A puppy?" Gabrielle gasped. Talk about commitment! Zina never wants us to have a pet! Every time I bring it up…"Too much responsibility, Gabrielle." She stomped over to the foot of the stairs. "Zina!" she roared up into the air. "Get your ass down here now!"

Various curses filtered down from the second floor of the house. "All right, all right, goddammit." A clunk emanating from above indicated that a barbell was threatening to come crashing through the ceiling. Sleek, sweaty, and pumped, Zina trooped down the stairs. And stopped just before hitting the last step. "Boris," she snarled. "I thought you were dead!" Great, another ex for Gabrielle to deal with. I'll never hear the end of it.

He looked blank for a moment, then threw up his arms. "Can't you read? The telegram said Dagnine killed me in the chess tournament. Not in real life, you eeediot!" He shook his head, dismayed, then gave her a less severe scrutiny. "But…Stolichnaya!" he murmured. "You still look fabulous!"

The firefighter ignored this. "What the hell do you want?"

A hurt look crossed his face. "What a greeting! Zeeeeena, I have not seen you for…what? Ten years?"

"Seven."

"I thought that was when you met Julie Caesar," Gabrielle interjected.

"Ummm, maybe five."

"Who is Julie Caesar?" Boris said.

"Maybe it's closer to eight…" Zina mused.

"Or nine," added Gabrielle.

"Maybe I should ask Mom…"

"Zina, every other week your mother thinks it's 1972. I don't think so." Only a few days prior Cyrene had traipsed up to Gabrielle and said, "Hey, man, they're starting this cool thing called Earth Day! Wanna go?"

"Who is this Julie Caesar?" Boris demanded again.

"Look, dickhead, I'm the main squeeze here, not you, so stop acting jealous. Okay, Zina," Gabrielle pointed at Boris, "let's hear all about this one. I'm ready for another long, crude story about your past. I just bought a jumbo-sized tub of potato chips, so I'm set. Spill it."

"Gabrielle, I can't—it's just too damn ugly." There were few things Zina was truly ashamed of doing…but this part of her life, with Boris, was simply too painful and hideous to contemplate. And if she couldn't deal with it…what made Gabrielle think that she could?

"Come on, I know everything else, baby. The drug deals, the stolen cars, setting Callie's house on fire—"

"You set somebody's house on fire?" cried Boris, aghast. The Russian's eyes widened in horror.

"—the shoplifting, picking up a Girl Scout—"

"She told me she was a troop leader!" the firefighter blurted in feeble defense.

"—beating up your parole officer, all the ABBA albums you had—"

"Why won't you admit 'SOS' is a great song?"

"—so the point is, Zina, I know all the bad stuff, so…trust me. I love you. I married you. I wash your t-shirts. Tell me."

"You want the truth? You can handle the truth!" Zina roared.

A stunned silence followed.

The firefighter shrugged sheepishly. "Sorry. I always wanted to say that."

"Tell me," demanded the poet quietly, folding her arms.

The firefighter sighed in defeat, and her beautiful countenance hardened into a spiteful sneer. "You wanna hear about it? All right, Gabrielle, you asked for it…" Her jaw shifted defiantly. "Boris and I were semi-professional ice skaters. We spent years—well, I guess maybe only one—trying to make it big at the Pocatello Ice Follies."

"Pocatello…?" echoed the poet.

"Da," Boris affirmed. "It's a town in that—ahhhh, what do you Americans call your potato state?"

"Idaho," Zina supplied curtly. "Anyway, the Ice Follies….It's like a dry run for the Ice Capades."

Gabrielle backed up away from her beloved, and gripped the arm of the decrepit couch. No. Totally uncool! My big, tough macho dyke girlfriend…a figure skater?

"And we made Tonya Harding look good," Boris added glumly.

"Yeah, Boris is right. We were the worst of the worst. The lowest of the low. I wore a pink chiffon bodysuit. And Boris made Rudy Galindo look butch." The Russian scowled at this. "We performed to 'You Light Up My Life'…"

"And that cute song from Cats. What's it called, Zina?" Boris started to hum "Memory." Without thinking, Zina picked up the melody and did the same.

"STOP!" shrieked Gabrielle. Pink? Ice skating? Debby Boone? Eyes staring blankly, she sank numbly into the depths of the couch.

"Zeeeeena, I think she's in shock," Boris said, waving a hand in front of Gabrielle's glassy, fixed stare.

4. Another Obligatory Flashback

Practice ended badly; a poorly executed triple axle landed Zina on her ass and ripped her costume. Boris was supposed to catch her, but he was not on his mark, where he should have been, but was at the edge of the rink with Alti, their coach, indulging in a prolonged smoke and discussion about various brands of vodka. Furious, she stomped over to her oblivious lover, cold-cocked him (eliciting an evil cackle from Alti in the process), and stalked back to their trailer, which was parked outside the rink

She didn't hit him too hard—he was only unconscious for half an hour—and, as she anticipated, he skulked back to the trailer, apologetic, and they proceeded to make up by screwing frantically under the canopy of the fuzzy, musty panda bear blanket they had bought from Woolworth's a few months ago.

Afterwards, while she snored he threw on a pair of jeans and hunted for another bottle of vodka. Bah! She hid it again! Greedy bitch! He returned to the bedroom, determined to wake her up and find out where the vodka was. However, sitting down beside her, he was overtaken by a moment of tenderness as he watched her sleep. Softly, he called her name. "Zina."

She sputtered, drooled, and grunted. He smiled. How he loved her! Gently, he shook her naked shoulder. "Zina, my beloved. Light of my life, fire of my loins, my sin, my soul, Zeeeena—"

A bleary blue eye cracked open and glared at him. "We're outta condoms, so don't even think about it."

He laughed merrily. "My darling, your crudeness is so charming. No, I just wanted to tell you…" His dark eyes were solemn. "I think I love you."

Like a cultural Pavlov's dog, all Zina could think about was the Partridge Family. The big yellow bus! Danny Bonaduce! Susan Dey in all her bitchy glory! "I think I'm gonna puke." She rolled over.

"This was not the reaction I had hoped for."

"Too fucking bad."

"It's all this…stress, all this nonsense that's making you act like this." He disregarded the fact that she had always been like this, even when they were trying to open up the Chinese/Tex-Mex restaurant with Lao Ma. He still shuddered involuntarily at the thought of it; he loved her, without a doubt, but he was damned if she didn't have the weirdest ideas when it came to food. And why Lao Ma indulged her…Well, I know why Lao Ma indulged her, he thought darkly, reflecting upon that miserable day when he caught them together. She was just washing my hair, Zina had said, and then we both got all wet, so we took off all our clothes to dry, but there weren't any towels, so we were just rubbing our bodies together—just to get dry!

But oh, Zina, if that's true, then why were you still…so wet? He wanted to cry, the pain of the betrayal was still so fresh. But he forced back the thoughts. "Zina, please," he continued. "I mean it. We could be so happy if we only stopped doing this…crap. Let's face it, neither one of us can skate to save our own lives."

Her body rippled with a sigh.

"You know I'm right," he pushed.

"Yeah, I guess you are," she conceded. "We should talk to Alti later and tell her it's not workin' out. Right now, I wanna sleep."

Unfortunately, a banging commenced upon the semi-sturdy door of the trailer. "Go the fuck away!" Zina shouted, pulling the blanket over her head.

He sighed. Apparently the Big Love Discussion would have to wait as well. He padded over to the door and opened it. It was Alti, a Pall Mall dangling (as always) from her lips, her mascara heavy and smeared, making her look like a cross between an aging Cure fan and an insomniac raccoon. "Boris, is she all right?" She nodded toward the bedroom.

"Is she all right?" he spat, incredulous. "She's the one who hit me!" Furious, he pointed at his swollen nose.

"Whatever," Alti grunted. "Can we come in for a moment?" It was at the mention of "we" that Boris noted a lithe blonde woman, wearing a short coat and a skirt, hovering inconspicuously behind Alti.

He frowned with suspicion. "I guess." He stepped aside to let them in, and

shouted in the direction of the bedroom, "Zina! We got company! Get dressed!"

A minute passed and the sullen Zina sauntered into the main room, wearing black underwear and a tank top.

"Now that's what I call dressed," Alti rasped with approval in her Brenda Vaccaro voice.

Boris, who had pulled on a sweatshirt, folded his arms and scowled. Ignoring them all, Zina headed for the kitchen and returned with a Heineken.

"What, you don't offer our guests anything?" Boris snapped at her.

"Fuck you. What am I, a maid?"

"Why, I ought to—" he raised a hand. She hissed at him.

Alti groaned. "As fascinating as I find this, we need to talk."

"About what?" Zina asked.

"Schedule change. The first performance of the Follies this season is next week at the Shriners' Arena, so we gotta pick up our pace."

"A week?" Boris gasped. "I thought it was in three weeks."

"It was. But the Militia Job Fair is all that week, in downtown Pocatello, so they moved it up to this week."

"Bastards!" snarled Boris.

"Look, Boris, what does it matter?" Zina said impatiently. "We might as well tell her now." She turned to Alti. "We were just talking about this whole thing a few minutes ago. Alti, we're sick of the skating. We're no good at it. So we're quitting."

Rage contorted the visage of the Mascara'ed One. "What? You can't quit! We have an agreement!"

"Screw the agreement," Zina retorted. "I'm not doing it anymore. I'm sick of wearing pink chiffon and skating to Whitney Houston."

"Should I let you pick the music?" Alti growled. "If I did, you would be banging your head on the ice to AC/DC."

Zina groaned. "Look, I just want out."

Alti looked to Boris, who was quiet, his face expressionless. "What do you think, Boris?"

"She speaks for us both," the Russian proclaimed.

"I see," Alti rumbled. She turned her head slightly, catching the attention of the blonde woman, who stepped out from behind the skating coach. "Well, I guess if that's your decision, Zina, then it's done. Oh, by the way, have I introduced you to my…new assistant?"

With a sensual shrug, the Blonde's short jacket fell away, revealing creamy bare shoulders above a halter top, followed by a firm, flat tummy and a short skirt. She pursed her full lips, winked at Zina, and purred a hello.

With delight Alti noted that her star skater's blue eyes were glazed with lust and her jaw shifting with the barely suppressed urge to devour the woman on the spot. So predictable, Zina, the coach thought. She smirked and watched as Boris fumed silently, figurative steam shooting out of his ears like a busy laundromat.

Eyes not moving from the Blonde, Zina groped blindly for her wallet, which was sunk into the pocket of her Levi's, draped on the couch. "Hey, Boris baby, why don't you an' Alti go down to the tavern for a while, have a couple rounds…" Absentmindedly she pulled a twenty from the pocket and tossed it in the general direction of her Russian companion.

Alti intercepted the flying money, and gently grasped Boris's arm, relieved to see that he was not protesting as she steered him toward the door. "We'll talk later about next week. All right, Zina?"

Like a bird of prey in a cocktail lounge, Zina took a few steps toward the Blonde, who tittered. "Sure, Alti, sure."

"See you at practice tomorrow?"

"Yeah, yeah, go on." Impatiently, she waved her coach away.

With a final shove Alti scooted Boris out the door and closed it behind her. Immediately, in rapid succession, she heard a low growl, a playful shriek, a giddy giggle, and a tortuous moan.

Boris heard it too. Oh great, now I really have to cheer him up, or else he'll spend all evening talking about Dostoevsky. She threw an arm around him. "Come on, Boris. Nothing but Stoli for you," she said. If we can find some in this Godforsaken town.

"Really?" he asked with timid hopefulness and puppy dog eyes.

"Really." Ah, as long as there's no shortage of blondes and vodka….

*****

Gabrielle glanced at the empty bottle of peach schnapps on the kitchen table. After Zina had begun the sad tale of her skating days, Boris had taken over the narrative, trying to explain the hold that Alti, their evil coach, had on them. In the interim Zina had wandered into the living room to watch a football game. It had taken him two hours and the empty bottle of liquor to complete his tale…which, unfortunately, had led into further discourse on the larger theme of the evening: Zina was an Evil Bitch Who Could Not Be Trusted.

He drained his glass of schnapps and slammed it on the table. "I put up with a lot of crap from her. First she dumps me for Lao Ma, then we're back together again and I thought everything was okay, then all of a sudden she's doing this blonde bitch…" A sob escaped him, and Gabrielle, cursing her good nature, found herself patting his arm.

"There there," soothed Gabrielle. "It's all over now, baby blue." Damn Cyrene, making me listen to Dylan over and over and over….

He sniffled into his shirt sleeve. "She'll do the same to you! You're better off without her," he said sullenly.

She stood up to stretch. "Boris, trust me. Zina's not like that anymore. She's a good person now. She's changed. She really has."

"WOO-HOO!!!! BUCKEYES!!!!!" came a scream from the living room. A few seconds later Zina strutted out, cocky and proud. "Goddamn forty-five yard TD! Sonofabitch!" She playfully slapped Gabrielle on the ass, grabbed a Rolling Rock from the fridge, then ambled back to the TV.

"Changed, huh?" Boris grunted.

Gabrielle rubbed her tingly butt and smiled. She hoped the strangely named football team would win, because it would put Zina in a really good mood afterward.

*****

Indeed, the fortunes of Zina's favorite college team held, and Gabrielle awoke the next morning with a sigh that signified blissful satisfaction. She wandered downstairs to find Zina in the kitchen, making one of her "power shakes": raw eggs with Tabasco sauce and seaweed.

"No good morning kiss for you," mumbled the sleepy poet as she padded into the kitchen.

The firefighter unleashed her evil laugh. "That's what you think," she growled happily, and swung Gabrielle up onto the counter, so that she was sitting among cracked eggs and dried bits of ocean gunk. Then Zina's lips fused with her own. And that burning sensation…was that the raven-haired woman's intense passion sizzling against her with tactile abandon, or was it the Tabasco?

Several minutes passed as they engaged in swapping heated spit, but as Gabrielle opened a lazy, lustful eye, movement from the living room, quite visible from her perch on the counter, caught her attention. Intrigued, she pulled away slightly from her partner, only to have the firefighter attach her lips to Gabrielle's neck. "Zina?"

"Mmmmm?"

"Why is Boris still here?"

The dark head flew back. "What?"

Gabrielle nodded toward the living room. "He's in there…" She and Zina peered intently in that direction. "…and he's eating my Cocoa Puffs!" shouted the poet.

"And he's wearing my pajamas!" Zina added with outrage. Disengaging herself from Gabrielle, she stomped into the living room and sat down on the couch beside Boris, who was watching "Donny and Marie" on TV.

"Good morning!" he said.

Fucking bastard. Always a morning person. "Boris, what the hell are you still doing here?"

"Zina, I told you last night…I am not going anywhere until you turn over our puppy." Boris did concede to himself that he could have picked his moment better. It was right after the Buckeyes won and the postgame makeout session was in full swing. ("Yay, Butt-Thighs!" Gabrielle had cried triumphantly as she was chased up the stairs.)

"I don't have our goddamn puppy! And another thing, he's probably a dog by now!"

"He will always be a 'puppy' to me, Natasha," Boris replied, letting slip the pet name he had sometimes called Zina when they were still together. They were Boris and Natasha, out to destroy Moose and Squirrel, and take over the world…."Well," he continued, with an exasperated sigh, "where is he?"

The firefighter stared guiltily into the distance.

"I, uh, gave him to Lao Ma."

He did an abortive Danny Thomas: instead of spewing milk and cereal all over the place, it only dribbled all over his beard. "You gave OUR PUPPY to Lao Ma??? Are you mad?"

She moaned. "Look, I'm sorry. We had broken up, and you left to play chess in Geneva, so…I didn't think I was fit to take care of a dog, Boris…"

"But…Lao Ma??? She probably turned him into a lunch special with an egg roll and choice of soup!"

"Cut that out. That's just some…whaddya call it…urbane legend," she replied nervously, chewing her lower lip. At least it better be, Lao!

"How could you?"

"Believe me, I didn't want to, Boris. I feel bad that I had to."

"Ha!" he shouted. "You felt bad about something. That's only slightly more amazing than the fact that some TV executive thinks that these eeeediots"—he pointed at the mugging Osmonds—"still have careers!"

In the interim Gabrielle had entered the living room; she too was munching

on the ambrosia of the lower classes, Cocoa Puffs. "Hey, who's that dopey guy who looks like Purdy?" she asked, gesturing toward the TV with her dripping, milky spoon.

5. Enter the Dragon

"This is stupid," grumbled Gabrielle, as she followed Zina into the Green Dragon. "Why can't he track down his own damn puppy?"

"Look, it's like a debt I have to repay," Zina muttered as they were underwhelmed by the dim lighting and the Orientalia of the restaurant: blood red and gold tones saturated the murals of Chinese characters and temples, and little figures dancing with giant peaches….

"Debt my ass," retorted the poet.

Just inside they were greeted by the surly visage of Ming Tien, Lao Ma's son, who, as usual, was manning the cash register. His skinny arms were folded over his Sailor Moon t-shirt. He sneered at them, adam's apple bobbing furiously. "Ah, my mother's erstwhile seductress dares to bring shame to our dwelling once again."

Zina snatched up a pair of complimentary chopsticks from a large bowl in front of the register. "I'm telling ya, kid, one of these days…" She mimed jamming the sticks into his head.

"Like I'm sooo afraid of you!" he taunted. She lunged at him and he skittered off his chair, seeking refuge behind Gabrielle.

"Stop it, both of you," Gabrielle chastised them. "Look, Zina, let's get this over with, okay?"

"Is she in the kitchen?" Zina barked at Ming Tien.

"Yeah," he replied, sulking.

The two women walked through the nearly empty restaurant to the kitchen. They found Lao idly stirring a huge cauldron of egg drop soup, which sat next to a metal table covered with a mini-army of little wax paper bags filled with dried noodles. "Ah, Zina. I knew you would come," she murmured with serene confidence.

Lao Ma's mystical side always fascinated the ex-con. "Yeah? How'd you know this time? A vision? Reading tea leaves? A talking eggroll?"

"No. Boris called me."

"Lazy bastard," muttered Gabrielle.

"Your jealous heart reveals itself, Gabrielle. Like a dumpling hiding spinach…soon, the truth is wedged bitterly between one's teeth."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes.

"Lao, baby," Zina began, folding her arms so that her supple biceps were highlighted, then tossing her black hair and grinning seductively, "you'll remember a few years back I gave you a puppy…"

"Ah, yes. A most unexpected gesture. Touching and beautiful."

"Thanks, Lao."

"Until you demanded money for the wretched creature."

"I just thought of that as a loan. Anyway, Lao, honey..." Zina stretched to emphasize her broad shoulders and perfectly rounded breasts. Lao's stirring of the egg drop soup grew agitated. And Gabrielle's blood simmered hotter than the most potent of Tabasco sauces.

"...I need the dog back. I'll buy him from you, even."

"Yes, I know. That's what Boris was calling about. He said he was sending you over, and that you would either seduce me or kill me for the dog."

"You know Boris. Loves to exaggerate. 'Cause if I kill anyone, it would be that bratty kid of yours."

Lao Ma sighed. "Ming Tien is so misunderstood....you see, I had to get rid of the dog for him."

"Whaaaaat?" Zina asked, with a growl building in her throat.

"Ming was the allergic to the animal. And it kept attacking him. So I took it to the local animal shelter."

"Attacking?" echoed Zina. "Lao, it's a dachshund, for Christ's sake."

"They have many sharp little teeth..."

"Yeah," drawled Gabrielle facetiously, "who can resist the raging dachshund?"

Lao Ma's cool eyes flickered to the angry poet. "A sarcastic bitch is like a Barbra Streisand CD: It yields unpleasantness for all within hearing range."

"Oh, yeah? Well, a bitch who drowns in a pot of egg drop soup is like…"

Zina and Lao watched, with anticipation, as Gabrielle struggled to find a metaphor. Both women raised eyebrows.

"…like….like…a bitch who drowns in a pot of egg drop soup!" In sheer frustration, Gabrielle kicked at the stove. Poor baby, Zina thought, she really is blocked.

A flicker of alarm crossed Lao Ma's face. "Gabrielle, do not kick my stove. Unless you want to find extra MSG in your next Szechuan Chicken." She turned to Zina. "Please, remove your dangerous girlfriend from the premises."

"C'mon, baby, let's go," Zina tugged gently on her companion's arm.

"Don't you threaten me with acronyms, you!" roared Gabrielle.

With a sigh, Zina flung the poet over a broad shoulder and exited the Green Dragon.

6. Of Pussies and Puppies

When Boris was not contentedly watching Sally Jessy Raphael, he pondered his ex-lover, Zina. It amazed him to see her so utterly under the thumb of this little blonde person, Gabrielle. The dark, dangerous woman who excited him so, who defied the law and good taste, well, she was now…what do they call it? Ah…pussy-whipped!

Now she knows what it's like, he thought spitefully.

The door of the farmhouse burst open, interrupting any further Russian ruminations. Zina stomped in, with Gabrielle on her heels.

"Did you have to hit the guy at the pound?" the strawberry blonde was complaining.

"Don't you give me any lectures, missy! You were about ready to cold cock Lao Ma at the restaurant!" the firefighter retorted angrily.

"Well, the difference here is that I didn't hit anyone, Zina. Besides, Lao Ma is a bitch."

"You're jealous."

"And you're practically homicidal!"

"I know I am! I've admitted it, Gabrielle! Whaddya want me to do, tell the world I'm gay? I'M GAY! I'M GAY!" Zina shouted to the heavens.

Gabrielle rolled her eyes in defeat. It's not even worth telling her.

"And you…you're a fine one to talk about us being homo-cidal. You haven't even told your parents yet!"

The poet flushed. "They're not ready to know!"

Boris decided that the ridiculous bickering had gone far enough, and it was time for a man—a force of reason—to intervene. "Did anyone bring 7-Up?" he asked calmly. "We're all out."

The two women stared at him. "What the hell are you still doing here?" Zina snarled.

"Zina, I told you…"

"Yeah, yeah, the dog. Well, I got news for you, Boris. The dog is in the pound and they won't let me have 'em unless I pay $1000."

The Russian's dark eyes swelled with emotion. "A thousand—but, they can't do that! Why is it so much money?"

"It's some stupid county law," Gabrielle said. "Zina was registered as the dog's owner, and since she 'abandoned' him and he ended up in the pound…well, they're fining her. It's a misdemeanor."

"Miss Demeanor? I once knew a drag gentleman by that name."

"Drag queen," Gabrielle corrected.

"Da." Boris looked over at Zina, who was slumped in the recliner, looking defeated. He squirmed—instinct told him something else was wrong. "What?" he prompted.

Gabrielle bit her lip nervously. "It's also a violation of Zina's parole, and if we don't pay the fine she'll go to jail."

Zina tried to convey indifference with a shrug. "I don't have that kinda money," the firefighter muttered. Damn. And I swore I would never go back….All the money they recovered from the sales of Barbecue Salsa Mayonnaise was gone, spent on their vacation and on fixing a dent in the Impala—Gabrielle's lone attempt at driving the fabled car having gone seriously awry when she accidentally ran over Crassus, one of Julie Caesar's dogs. The contrite poet had cried a river of tears on Zina's Black Sabbath t-shirt, but had eagerly agreed to the firefighter's plan to bury the dog in Farmer Draco's backyard and not tell Julie.

"I don't either, Zina," Boris implored, "but if we don't pay the money…they kill him."

"And you'll go to jail," Gabrielle added softly.

"Maybe they should just kill me and send the dog to prison," Zina grumbled darkly.

"Can they do that here?" asked the Russian, a mite too eagerly.

7. You Don't Need Pants for the Victory Dance

Gabrielle found the prospect of connubial visits at Shark Island Correctional Facility quite unappealing, and quickly decided upon the best approach to earning quick cash to keep her beloved out of the pen: She applied for employment at the Shimmy Shack.

Sid Moskowitz, the chubby, engaging proprietor of said establishment, was quite pleased when Gabrielle called him to inquire of job opportunities. Sid had an eye for natural talent, and ever since he had spotted Gabrielle in the supermarket, wearing Daisy Dukes and bending over to pick up a rather large box of detergent, he knew her assets would do well on his stage.

Nervously, Gabrielle walked into the dark, empty club. In the light of day, such an institution is rather like a gutted animal—hollow, smelly, dark, and dead. Nonetheless, Sid's cheery disposition did its best to dispel this impression. "Hiya, sweet pea!" Sid greeted her happily. "Glad you came!"

"Hi, Sid."

"How's that old psycho girlfriend of yours, baby?"

"She's fine."

"Yeah," he sighed wistfully. "I still remember the first time I met her. She was dealing dope in my club and I had her kicked out…later that same night, when I was closing up, she beat the crap out of me." He smiled nostalgically. "The very next day, I hired her as a bouncer. She was the best ever. I've never seen anyone inflict pain and humiliation the way she did!" Tears welled up in his eyes.

"That's a beautiful story, Sid. It gets more beautiful every time you tell it."

"Yeah." He moaned. "Ach, such memories! Now, honeycakes, before we get in too deep here….Zina does know about this, doesn't she?"

The blonde twitched. "Well, not yet. But I swear, Sid, she'll be cool with it. I mean, I'm doing it for her. We need the money to pay off all these fines and stuff about the dog."

"Yeah. Poor Killer."

"Killer?"

"That's the dachshund, sweet cheeks."

Gabrielle shook her head sadly. No wonder they never call him by his name. "It figures," she muttered.

"Okay, angel muffin, shall we get on with the interview?"

"Sure." Gabrielle slipped out of the long raincoat she was wearing, revealing a body clad in a lovely two-piece bikini.

Sid sucked in as much air as he could, as several blood vessels in his head threatened to burst. Having done so, he found himself unable to exhale—he was afraid that if he did so, this woman of sheer perfection might vanish. Or simply run away at the smell of his breath.

"Well?" demanded the poet impatiently, hands on hips.

"Are you kidding, honey?" he wheezed. "Just looking at you takes five years off my life span."

8. Benefits of the Missionary Position

The ritual began.

The lights were dimmed, candles were lit, and empty cans of Rolling Rock were lined up on the floor. Mentally, Zina counted them again. Twenty-four. Yes, that should do nicely. As usual, Gabrielle had requested that Zina play the softest music she had, which, unfortunately, was a tape of Joni Mitchell's Blue that Cyrene had left behind one evening. As the guitars tinkled gently and Joni mumbled something about the wind from Africa, Gabrielle entered. She sat on the bare floor near the cans and assumed the lotus position, while Zina wished that she were watching women's volleyball on ESPN. It wasn't that she really minded helping her girlfriend, once everything got started, but getting there just took so long. The firefighter suppressed a sigh….

…But apparently not well enough. A green eye opened and peered at her in annoyance.

"Sorry," she mumbled. She stretched out along the floor, waiting.

A few minutes passed while Gabrielle continued to meditate. The firefighter was about ready to fall asleep when the poet announced quietly, "I'm ready." The blonde unfurled her body from the yoga position and laid down on her back.

Zina, on her knees, loomed over her beloved. She reached for the first beer can. "Okay." Gently, she placed the can on its side against Gabrielle's bare midriff. It sat there precipitously, its green sheen merely the reflected glory of the poet’s eyes, until the young woman's body jackknifed with amazing speed and power….Zina had seen it happen many times, but it never failed to amaze her: The can was now flatter than the topography of Kansas.

"The Amazing Abs," Zina whispered in reverence. She removed the flattened can.

Gabrielle smiled proudly. "Plus the recycling people love me!" she crowed. "Next!"

Zina placed the second can on the poet's tummy. "Can't wait to see you at the club tomorrow night."

Crunch! "I'm really nervous, baby. I'm so glad you'll be there." Another innocent Rolling Rock can was placed in the abs of death. "I still can't believe"—Crunch! —"you're cool with this. I thought you'd be all pissed and everything."

"Are you crazy? It's like the dream of every red-blooded American dyke. To have a girlfriend who is an exotic dancer! I can go up to any slob in the crowd while they watch you dance, point at you, and say, 'That's my chick, man.' Ha!" she cackled in triumph.

"You're so fucked up," concluded Gabrielle with a sigh. Crunch!

"But you love me anyway," retorted Zina smugly.

"Like the way I love pork rinds: I know they’re bad, but I just can’t resist." The poet affirmed this with another crunch.

Zina pondered this. "That’ll do," she observed, as she selected another can. 9. Thanks for the Mammaries

Sid leaned against a wall in the club. He plucked at his black polyester shirt, which shimmered in the low light, and sighed. She simply isn't getting it, he thought. Such potential—I mean, oy! That body! But…. He had spent the last half an hour watching Gabrielle dance, or do something resembling dancing, and it was about as erotic as watching a spastic have a fit. He stopped the tape deck, and ZZ Top's "Gimme All Your Lovin'" once again died in an abrupt fashion, which mirrored the disjointed style of his private dancer. As silence filled the room, the young woman stumbled in her heels and fell onto her ass. She looked up at Sid helplessly.

"Sweet cheeks," he began warily, "hasn't Zina ever asked you to shake your titties, eh?"

Gabrielle blinked. "What the hell kind of question is that?" she asked, irritated. "It's none of your damn business." Carefully she stood up, hoping that no part of her skimpy bikini was askance; I'm not showing flesh until the meter starts running, she thought.

"Honey thighs, the name of this joint is the Shimmy Shack. You don't have to be goddamn Ginger Rogers to dance here, but…you need to shimmy. You need to shake it up. C'mon, stick 'em out, and vibrate. And later….when you latch onto that pole, you gotta hump it like hell. Okay?"

She stared at the dismal aluminum pole stuck in the middle of the stage. "But…it's a pole."

Sid sighed again, in utter exasperation. "Babycakes, aren't you a writer or somethin'?"

Gabrielle nodded furiously. "Do you need me to write—"

"No, I don't need you to write anything. All I'm saying is—use your imagination. Pretend that pole is Zina's thigh. Pretend all the guys you're dancing for are, like, a big lesbian soccer team or something."

The poet frowned skeptically.

"All right, a big, smelly, drunk lesbian soccer team."

Gabrielle's frown deepened. "All right, Sid. I'll do my best."

Sid smiled; he wasn't buying it. "Shit, sweetheart, I'm sorry you're having a rough time with this. Maybe Natalie can help you."

"Who's Natalie?"

"My best dancer, baby. Look, take a load off, go back in the dressing room. She'll be here soon."

*****

So Gabrielle went back into the bowels of the club, into the tiny dressing room she was to share with about three or four other women. She pulled on her t-shirt—the chilly air had made her nipples so erect and prominent that they could hail a taxi of their own accord. She sat down in front of a mirror. Scattered on the table in front of her were various accouterments of femininity: lipstick, rouge, baby powder, eyeliner, tampons …and a book. She picked it up, curiously—it was entitled A Separate Reality: Further Conversations with Don Juan.

As she started to page through the book, someone quietly entered the room.

"It's a great book," said a woman's voice.

Surprised, Gabrielle gave a little jump, then turned around. A woman with short blonde hair stood in the doorway, wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. Red alert! Red alert! Lesbian in the vicinity! Gabrielle's gaydar screamed. Nervously, the poet placed the book back where she found it. "Was this your book?" she asked the woman. "Sorry, just curious."

"No, no, it's all right," replied the woman. "It's nice to have someone around who's interested in the same thing." She walked over to Gabrielle and offered a hand. "Hi, I'm Natalie. Sid said I'd find you back here." Natalie's grasp was warm and tingly; Gabrielle felt a thumb brush lazily over the veins in the back of her hand. She squirmed slightly, partly uncomfortable and partly…aroused. "Gabrielle, is it?"

"Yeah, that's me." Natalie wouldn't let go of her hand. With a little tug, she finally reclaimed it.

"Cool. Sid said you're a student at the community college."

"I'm majoring in English."

"Wonderful! I used to teach there, you know."

Gabrielle brightened. "Really?"

"Yeah. I taught ethics. But then they got rid of the philosophy department. Cheap bastards. So I'm reduced to doing…this." Natalie waved her hand around the dismal dressing room.

"Sorry."

Natalie unleashed a dazzling smile. "Well, it's certainly not your fault." She began to strip rapidly, tossing her clothes over a lonely chair and revealing a thin, bikini clad form. "Okay, I guess I should show you some moves, like Sid said."

"Uh, sure, that'd be great. And, um, maybe afterward you can tell me all about this book," Gabrielle replied, picking up the Carlos Castaneda tome again.

"Oh, I'd love to!" responded the blonde stripper enthusiastically. She knelt down in front of Gabrielle, between the young poet's legs, and gazed at her with shining eyes. What the hell is she on? Gabrielle wondered, all the while fighting the delicious chills that turned her thighs all goose-pimply. "It's such a wonderful book. One of my favorites. It helps you see the world in a totally different way…"

*****

The blue Volkwagen sputtered to a halt in front of the Shimmy Shack. Cyrene took the keys out of the ignition, and looked over at her daughter, whose knees were pressed uncomfortably against the dash; she had forgotten that cramming Zina in her tiny VW bug was like putting Michael Jordan on a tricycle: It was not a good fit.

"Y'know, this is the kind of place I used to picket in the 70s, Zina," Cyrene grumbled.

"Look, Mom, don't start. She's just doing it for the money." Zina's muscular forearms were folded. While the firefighter was quite happy to show off her lover's body to the world, she was rather concerned that the look, don't touch policy firmly entrenched in her mind—and echoed by Sid's frequent admonitions to the crowd—would fall apart within the reality of the Shimmy Shack. She had been a bouncer too long at the dump to think otherwise. It made her tense. And a tense Zina was a hairsbreadth away from punching out anyone who dared annoy her.

Cyrene sighed. "You owe me for this, honey."

"The White Russians are on me, Mom."

*****

"I-I think I'm getting stage fright," Gabrielle stammered.

"I think you're just nauseous from eating three Snickers bars," Sid rumbled at her.

They were standing backstage. Natalie was on, dancing to "You Spin Me Right Round (Like a Record)."

"Oh shit, Sid…what if I bomb?"

"Honey, you're not gonna bomb. Just remember, you got the bod. You're halfway there. Shimmy the T, wiggle the A, hump the pole, and you'll be fine."

Wild applause and wolf whistles followed the sweaty Natalie as she left the stage. The number of $20 bills stuffed down the enticing pouch of her g-string made her look like she was packing in an odd kind of way. "Whew!" she said to Sid and Gabrielle, pushing damp strands of her blonde hair away from her face. "Those boys are primed now. They'd go nuts even if Shelley Winters went out there and danced."

Gabrielle gave a look of despair.

"Aw, Gabrielle! I'm just kidding!" Natalie hugged her impulsively. In her nervous state, having an attractive sweaty female body rubbing up against her own was almost too much. Almost. Natalie pulled away and all parties present noticed that the poet's nipples were harder than bullets.

"Well, somebody's ready to perform," Sid noted wryly. He patted her behind—Gabrielle resisted the urge to deck him—and headed onto the stage, in order to announce her.

"Just remember your mantra, Gabrielle," Natalie reminded her.

The young blonde nodded. "Yeah…shimmy the T, wiggle the A, hump the pole…" she mumbled.

"Actually I meant the other one we came up with. You know, your personal one: 'love, pop-tarts, and peace.' "

"Oh. Right. But hey, Natalie, like, aren't you supposed to not say it out loud?"

"Aw, shit!" the former professor winced.

"Gentlemen, we have a new performer tonight…I'd like you to give a warm welcome to…GABRIELLE!"

The poet stumbled toward the stage, and hesitated; her nerves felt so exposed that she imagined them—and not her body—bathed in lurid swaths of multicolored stage lights.

"Go toward the light!" Natalie shouted.

And which fucking light was that?

*****

"Wow, man, that was awesome," Cyrene babbled as she and Zina wound their way through dark hallways to the dressing room. "I mean, I never knew that she was so—" Cyrene's hands cupped imaginary breasts.

"Mom, shut the fuck up. You are seriously freaking me out," Zina retorted, while pondering the closed door in front of her. Her blood seethed with lust…who knew Gabrielle could dance so seductively? Zina had only ever witnessed the pogo-like maneuvers of the poet as she did the "Blitzkrieg Bop" to her favorite Ramones song. But now, she wanted nothing more than do ravish her companion…after that.

She kicked open the door. Cyrene rolled her eyes. Drama queen.

Zina's baby blues were greeted by the sight of Natalie painting Gabrielle's toenails while the poet pored over the Castaneda book. She did not miss the adoring look that the strange blonde woman was giving to her scantily-clad girlfriend, even though Gabrielle was clearly clueless to the attentions of the ex-professor. Indeed, if Oblivion were a town, Gabrielle would be mayor.

Nonetheless, at the startling sound of the door bursting open, both women turned their attention to the dark-haired firefighter.

"Baby!" Gabrielle squealed. "What did ya think?" She jumped up and ran over to Zina. The furious exchange of saliva prompted Natalie to read the label on the bottle of Dangerous Pomegranate nail polish and Cyrene to examine a selection of tassels hanging from the wall.

Zina broke off the kiss. "You were fantastic, baby. The best ever."

"Thanks…hey, I made almost $25 in tips!" she pointed to the bureau, littered with crumpled currency.

"That's great!"

"Yeah, I mean, I can't believe it…couple more weeks, we should have your fine paid off."

"Er, Gabrielle, why don't you introduce me to your—partner?" Natalie piped up unctuously.

" 'Partner?' " echoed Zina. "We don't work together. We sleep together."

She glowered at Natalie.

"Oh, uh, Zina, this is Natalie…she, uh, used to teach at Olympus." Nervously, Gabrielle looked from one woman to the other. Her new "mentor" and her beloved were not getting on well at all. "Honey, Natalie taught me how to dance. Ain't it great?"

Zina arched an eyebrow. Natalie smirked. "Yeah, great," muttered the firefighter.

"Well, I'm off…" said the blonde stripper breezily. She sailed past the three women, giving Gabrielle a wink. "See you tomorrow, Gabrielle." And she was gone.

Gabrielle disentangled herself from Zina. "You coulda been nicer, you know," she chastised sullenly, as she slipped on a t-shirt.

"I never said I was a nice person," Zina shot back.

In the interim, Cyrene had noticed the book lying on the bureau. She picked it up. "Oh man!" she cackled. "I haven't seen this used as a seduction technique since 1972!"

"Whaddya mean, seduction?" snarled Zina. Her blue eyes snapped to Gabrielle. Who looked away.

"Don't be silly, Cyrene," scoffed Gabrielle. "Excuse me, I have to go see Sid about my schedule for next week." With a cultivated, haughty air borne of careful examination of Joan Collins in Dynasty, the exotic dancer left the room.

Zina half-leaned, half-sat against the makeup table, looking defeated. "Shit, Mom."

Ah, my articulate child. "Look, honey, who knows what this chick is all about. But I'm sure Gabrielle is happy with you…and doesn't want to look elsewhere."

"I'm not so sure," mumbled the firefighter. "Maybe she needs to be with someone…like that. You know, who reads and stuff. Who understands poetry."

"…And who doesn't sit in an open pot of rouge." Cyrene concluded, nodding at Zina's behind. Zina jumped up, cursing. Her mother patted her arm affectionately. "I'll wait outside, in the car." The older woman ambled out the door.

*****

After confirming her schedule with Sid for the following week, Gabrielle was about to return to her dressing room when she was intercepted at the bar.

"Sweetie!" shrieked Chad, her fellow homo student at OCCC. He hugged Gabrielle. "You were fabulous!" Gabrielle was relieved to note that Chad wore no incendiary t-shirts, like I'M NOT GAY BUT MY ACADEMIC ADVISOR IS (an advertisement actually true). Although sporting a lilac-colored Ralph Lauren Polo shirt among the Shimmy Shack crowd was asking to be noticed.

"Aw, Chad, you came! I'm really glad."

"Oh, mary…" He took her face in his hands. "You have no idea how many screwdrivers I had to get through this…"

Vodka-influenced breath wafted over her. She blanched. "Yes, Chad. Yes I do."

"But Good God, Gab. I didn't know Natalie Hood was strutting her stuff here too."

"Hey, so you know her?"

Chad's eyes widened. "Oh yeah…man, I'm so glad they fired her."

"Fired? She told me they closed the philosophy department."

"Oh. that little liar!" Chad exclaimed petulantly. "No, she was canned for sexual harassment. She would pick a student she liked, and try to seduce them. You know, say she'd give them a higher grade." His thin lips trembled. "She even tried it with me once!"

"Duh, can't she tell you're gay?"

"That's what I said!" Chad wailed.

Gabrielle frowned in thought. Maybe Zina was right not to be suspicious of her. I mean, the big dope is right about some things…I should give her more credit. "Chad, I gotta go…I have to finish dressing" –the collective eyes of the bar were devouring her bikini'ed bottom, making her nervous—"and Zina's waiting for me."

" 'Kay, sweetie…Tell Zina I said hi, and that I want a date with a firefighter real soon."

When Gabrielle returned to the dressing room, Zina was swatting her Levi-clad butt with a towel.

"Baby, what the hell are you doing?"

"I got…stuff on my ass." Upon closer examination, the poet saw that some reddish powder clung to the denim. She chuckled. Zina scowled.

"I swear, you're like a big kid sometimes…" Gabrielle took the towel from her companion's hands. She dampened a corner with some bottled water left behind by Natalie, then successfully removed the powder. "Maybe this'll teach you not to sit on things a body shouldn't be sitting on."

"Yeah, right," grumbled Zina.

They were quiet for almost a minute.

"Do you…like her?" prompted the firefighter quietly. To mask her nervousness—which only emphasized it even more—she toyed with a stray cosmetic applicator…what it was exactly, she had no frigging idea.

"Who? Natalie?"

"Well, yeah."

Gabrielle shrugged. "I guess I did at first. I thought she was kinda cool…"

"And you thought she was cute."

" Yeah, she's cute…but so what? I just saw Chad outside, and he told me she's really an asshole."

"Really?" Zina frowned. "I had a bad feeling about her."

"You were right, honey. I'm sorry." The poet wrapped her arms around Zina's waist and propped her chin on the firefighter's broad shoulder. "So, um, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you jealous or anything. I love you, you big jerk."

Zina grinned. "And I love you too, you little bitch." She exhaled with relief. "Wow…so I was right about her, huh?" Gabrielle nodded. "I'm glad I'm right about something."

"You have good instincts, Zina. Except about your own strength."

"Huh?"

Gabrielle nodded at Zina's hand. Which was covered in inky black stuff. "You just crushed my eyeliner."

*****

Three weeks passed and the appropriate funds were procured, upon which Killer was sprung from the pound. Now, Boris was sprawled happily in the backyard with his dog. "There's my boy," he cooed, as Killer charged at him, the dachshund's ears flopping merrily.

"Your move," Zina grunted. The firefighter sat at the picnic table, where a chessboard lay before her. She had spent 20 minutes pondering how to put Boris into check. Having failed this particular objective, she opted for rearranging some of his pieces.

With a sigh, Boris stood up and returned to their chess match. Tomorrow he was off to Brussels for another tournament, with Killer in tow, and had decided to get in some practice with Zina before leaving. She was a good player, he admitted to himself, but her endgame was a weakness: She would grow impatient and then, ultimately, lose.

He sat down in front of the board and frowned, glaring at her. She simpered. He restored his knight and queen to their original positions.

Meanwhile, inside the farmhouse, Gabrielle was fending off Sid's advances, such as they were: "But, honey tits, are you sure you wanna hang up your G-string? You're my most popular dancer now!" the club owner protested as he stood in the kitchen and watched the lovely blonde make chocolate chip cookies.

"It's tempting, Sid…"

"I'll say."

Gabrielle stopped mixing cookie dough. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded.

"I got a good look at that car of yours. Oy, baby. An Escort? And it's gotta be rustier than Jesse Helms's dick."

A new car would be nice…Her lips twitched, but she said nothing.

Sid stroked his beard thoughtfully. He knew she was tempted. He decided to try another offer. "Look, sweetie, you know…I make movies too." He sidled up next to her. "And the money for that is even bigger than the dancing!" he whispered gleefully.

Gabrielle dropped her wooden spoon, covered in yummy cookie dough gunk. "You want me to be in porno?" she sputtered.

"Baby lamb, just one film will net you close to ten thou. You could buy yourself a Saturn, for God's sake!"

Her expression remained doubtful.

Damn. I almost had her. "Look, Gab, it's not really porno. It's erotica. There's a difference, y'know. Smart girl like you should know that." Still, she looked less than convinced as she rinsed off the wooden spoon. "This film that I want you to be in…it's ground-breaking, sugar cake. It really is. I can honestly say that there is no other film like it in existence. It touches me on a deep, religious level—in fact, I consider it a service to my people, because it's the first of its kind." Her green eyes fluttered with intrigue. He grinned. "You wanna know what it is?" he said eagerly.

"Yeah!" she exclaimed, caught up in his enthusiasm.

"The first ever Orthodox Jewish erotic film: Rabbi or Not, Here I Come."

Gabrielle groaned. "Jesus, Sid."

"Now that's one personage who will not be in this film." She shook her head and wiped her hands on a kitchen towel. "Come on, Hasidim deserve to have lively sex lives too, you know."

Through the back door Gabrielle saw a flash of movement: It was Zina, pinning Boris to the ground and trying to jam a rook into his ear. "Poor baby, she lost again," the poet murmured.

Sid noticed this too. "Ah, good old Zina. Making the world a little more dangerous," he sighed appreciatively.

"Yep, good old Zina," Gabrielle agreed happily.

"Who's that fine-looking fellow, babycakes? I think he would make a good rabbi."

Gabrielle flung open the back door. "Zina! Boris! Both of you knock it off, or no cookies!"

"She started it!" shouted Boris.

Zina sulked from her position, sitting on Boris's chest. Angrily he slapped her muscular thigh. "Get off me, you eeediot! I want cookies!"

She raised an eyebrow in disdain, and stood up.

Sid bustled past Gabrielle. "Zina, baby, what do you think of your girlfriend starring in a porn movie of her own? Eh?"

The blue eyes froze. Sid raised his hands in hapless self-defense. "But sugar lump, I got this great idea...maybe you could play the rabbi who seduces Gabrielle..." Sid brightened at his own idea. "This is great," he murmured to himself. "It increases the kink factor!"

"Rabbi?" Both dark eyebrows lifted, and a strange expression came over Zina's lovely face. With a shock, Gabrielle realized her lover was...thinking.

"Zina!" she cried. "You can't be serious!"

"Well, why not? You were real good in that home video we made—"

From his position on the ground, Boris nodded vigorously. "I agree! It was a wonderful performance!"

The blonde poet went pale. "You showed him...the tape?" Many months ago, a rainy Sunday and a borrowed video camera had yielded a long-playing tape filled with about five hours of frenetic sex, fifteen minutes of arguing, twenty minutes of eating pizza, and twenty-five minutes of Gabrielle napping and snoring between orgasms.

"Well, when Hank and Effie saw it they both thought that you were faking it in that one scene, you know, the one with the"—the firefighter made a vague hand gesture which could have represented anything from a kumquat to a plastic water gun—"and Ed wasn't sure, so I wanted another opinion..."

"For myself, I must say I was very convinced!" Boris declared solemnly. "A scream like that, it comes from the heart. Or someplace, um, similar."

"That’s what Mom said too." Zina replied, feeling affirmed.

Sid, hands on hips, whined, "Now why haven't I seen this?"

Zina recognized the fury in her companion's green eyes and, throwing down the gauntlet of a shit-eating grin, took off running.

"Oh, you better run!" Gabrielle shouted after her. "'Cause someone's gonna be on the receiving end of the strap-on tonight, and it ain't me, missy!" Which is probably exactly what she wants anyway. As she dashed into the twilight, leaving the menfolk alone with the cookie dough, Gabrielle felt her anger dissipate as she followed the unmistakable laughter of the firefighter.

THE END 

#xena #xena warrior princess #xena/gabrielle #xena/gabrielle fanfiction #author: vivian darkbloom #mature #femslash #fanfiction

[the-institute-rpg]

➤ MEET EVELYN: 25, MISTRESS, HUMAN

Full Name: Evelyn Stratford Nickname(s): Evie Pronouns: She/Her Birthday: February 1, 1994 Age: 25 Status: Mistress Major: Architecture, minor in Sculpting Species: Human Special Powers: None Sexuality: Sexuality here I am a: Submissive I want a: Switch Turn-Ons: Romance, oral, body worship, lingerie, blindfolding, ice play Turn-Offs: Bad hygiene, violence, humiliation, blood/bathroom play, beastiality

➤ BIOGRAPHY

TW: The following bio contains reference to depression and a suicide attempt.

Some people were born to do a certain thing. They can sing as soon as they’re able to form notes, or draw from the moment a crayon is placed in their chubby fist. Evelyn Elizabeth Stratford was one of those such people. From the moment she was born, James and Veronica Stratford took one look at their newborn’s long, delicate legs, and proclaimed that they had a future ballerina on their hands. But Evie had other plans. Her talent, as it turned out, was not on polished wood. It was on ice.

The Winter Olympics of 1994 were a big deal, with the drama of Tonya Harding and Nancy Kerrigan shocking not only those who followed the sport, but the whole world. Born and bred in Greenwich, Connecticut, Veronica Stratford was part of the former. The childhood beauty queen had been fascinated with figure skating all her life and had tried her hand, or foot, at the sport. It turned out to not be her forte’, but she continued the lifelong love affair with the elegant sport. So much so, that she was positively glued to her television screen during those fateful events. Veronica would watch for hours as she rocked her newborn daughter in her perfect pink and white nursery, soon noting the infant seemed to share her interest. Evelyn’s new eyes, still trying to focus on her world, would stay on the screen whenever the sport was on. When she fussed, it seemed to soothe her. Something about the costumes, the music, the hypnotizing movements of the skaters drew the baby in. And the wheels in Veronica’s mind started to turn. Where she had failed, maybe her beloved new daughter would succeed.

Convincing James was the work of a moment, as the proud papa was determined that his daughter would have the best of everything. They began researching programs and coaches in the area before Evelyn could even roll over, and by her first birthday they had secured a spot with the top coach in not only Connecticut, but all of New England. There was a significant waiting list, but as their daughter wasn’t even crawling yet, the Stratford’s were fine with the wait. Over the next two years, they exposed Evelyn to everything ice skating: videos, a trip to Rockefeller Center, even embarrassingly cheesy things like Disney on Ice. Which, naturally, the toddler adored. The time passed quickly, and before they knew it, Evelyn’s training had begun. When she was five, their family grew with the addition of her younger sister Grayson, but that didn’t shift the family’s focus.

As the years went on, Evelyn’s talent grew. It wasn’t just physical either: the young girl ate, lived, and breathed figure skating. She wanted to be involved with every aspect, from the design of her costume to the music to many steps of the choreography. She was determined to be the very best, and with time she was, in the eyes of her and her parents. In spite of her fragile looks, Evelyn possessed an inner strength that carried her through grueling practices and the stress of competition. She soon became a favorite on that circuit. The dainty brunette with the ice blue eyes, who could skate to anything from Debussy to Dave Matthews Band. The world was at Evelyn’s feet, so it was no surprise when, even as a child, she began to set her sights on the Olympics. James and Veronica of course supported their daughter’s goals, stars clearly shining in the proud mother’s eyes as she lived her dreams though their daughter. Time flew by in the form of more training, more competitions. The family traveled the globe from one exotic locale to the other, with Evelyn soon gaining a love for travel, art, and architecture. A small seed of frustration began to grow in the girl who was blossoming into a young woman. She wanted to see the world, but the view from inside of the ice rink was limited. Although she never lost sight of her goal, Evelyn began to realize what she had lost: a normal childhood and school experience, a social life. Even little things like junk food and Netflix binges. She had never been on a date, or pigged out with girlfriends as they giggled over boys. Skating had taken over her life, but she wouldn’t stop until she had achieved her goal.

That goal was finally realized when she won the silver medal in 2018. Evelyn was elated, and her family had never been prouder. But her focus was now renewed; she wanted more: she wanted the gold. The determined young woman didn’t allow herself even the smallest break before she began training even harder before. But as the months wore on, she found that something had shifted. The drive was still there, but she found herself tiring out quickly, sometimes becoming even disinterested. Evelyn was starting to burn out. She turned to a close friend, one of the male skaters on her level named Devon. The two had known each other since childhood, having trained and competed in the same circuit. He had been feeling the same apathy, and the two decided to bring the joy back to their skating. They began to try their hands at pairs skating and ice dancing, meeting in private as their uber strict coaches would have thrown an aneurysm over anything that would derail from their teachings. Having never rebelled over a thing in her life, Evelyn was rejuvenated. It was exactly what she had needed, and she even began to see big-brotherly Devon in a new light. Things really couldn’t have been better..

But, like most of the best laid plans, everything came crashing down in the blink of an eye. She and Devon had begun to get a little too confident in their untrained skills, thinking that they could move on from simple spins and jumps to more complicated lifts. The night of the accident was like something out of a movie: two beautiful, skilled skaters with undeniable chemistry, moving through the intricate steps as sultry music pounded over the speakers. The two nodded at each other, a silent communication that this was it, they were ready. One moment Evelyn was in the air and the next..she was in a crumpled heap, as pain exploded through her body and the ice under her began to stain red from her blood.

Evelyn didn’t remember much of the accident. She woke up days later in a hospital room, with doctors, her family, and even Devon grim with the news: a broken hip, and multiple deep lacerations to her calves and thighs. Her career was over..she would never compete again. The young woman instantly sunk into a deep depression, the loss of greatest passion too much to bear. The next few months passed in a haze of operations, physical therapy, talks of what (if anything) could be done about the deep scarring that Devon’s sharp skate blades had left on her legs. Through it all Evelyn’s depression only deepened even further, until her hopelessness accumulated in her trying to take her own life one night, being found by her sister Grayson just in time.

James and Veronica knew that they needed to do something, and the answer came to them through word of mouth in their social circle. A private, exclusive college in the Caribbean. A place where the warm climate would help the aches from Evelyn’s surgeries, and the chance to explore her interests in arts and architecture in a real school experience would provide their beloved daughter with a renewed sense of purpose. It took some convincing but Evelyn finally agreed to go, knowing that she couldn’t go on in her current state. She arrives at the Institute still fragile, but with a new goal: to learn, and to finally experience real life.

➤ PERSONALITY

✚ Determined, worldly, sweet ▬ Fragile, despondent, spoiled

➤ ESTABLISHED CONNECTIONS

None.

➤ FACE CLAIM & OOC INFO

Evelyn's faceclaim is Rachel Brosnahan. // Penned by Lecia.

#bio #all taken #taken human #evelyn stratford #rachel brosnahan #lecia #taken master #taken woman

[ogygia]

What the fuck is the LBRP? appendix: FAQs

I promised in my guide to the LBRP that I’d deal with some miscellaneous points in a separate post. Because so much of it comes in the form of questions, I’ve decided to present in the form of FAQs! 

(Source)

Here goes ...

1. I read your guide and it was interesting and stuff, but isn’t the LBRP just a fancy way of banishing, casting a circle and calling the quarters? It’s not really that special.

Technically, you’re not wrong. But you’ve put the cart before the horse. The butter before the bread. The jam before the clotted cream (fellow Brits will not argue this point with me). Because the likelihood is that modern pagan notions of banishing, casting a circle and calling the quarters (in that order) probably derived from the LBRP, rather than vice versa.

Now’s a good time to remind ourselves that Gerald Gardner, the father of the modern witchcraft revival – and the person who introduced the term ‘Wicca’ into the fold – probably borrowed heavily from Freemasonry and (shock, horror) Aleister Crowley himself. There’s no real reason why modern (organised) Wicca should have a degree system, or employ specific liturgy or ceremonies: these are likely to be based on a Masonic template, with some influence from the Great Beast’s writings. One of the early manuscripts of Wiccan material contain rituals and quotations copied from Crowley and the Golden Dawn, though what this tells us about the actual nature of Crowley and Gardner’s relationship is a matter of debate. 

Either way, the whole procedure of banishing, casting a circle and calling the quarters you find in a lot of post-Wicca witchcraft may have its derivation in the LBRP itself, or at least late Victorian occultism. Remember, I’m not saying these practices themselves, on their own terms, originate from the LBRP; I know that banishing is a thing all over the world, as is circle-casting (which has a long history in the grimoire tradition), as is calling the quarters (in Taoist craft, for instance, the four directions are invoked as well). What I’m saying is that the recognised ritual procedure in modern witchcraft which involves all three steps probably has a ceremonial origin, so it would be putting the cart before the horse to dismiss the LBRP as a glorified circle-casting procedure, without recognising its role as an original model for modern Wiccan-based practice. 

I’d suggest using the right tools for the right purposes: you wouldn’t kill a fly with a shotgun (not that you can’t). If you want to banish, actually banish. If you want to cast a circle, cast a circle. If you want to call the quarters, actually call them. Familiarise yourself with various non-ceremonial methods for doing these things – Gemma Gary and Nigel Pearson are a good source of information – and experiment. It’ll probably do a lot more for you than a quaint Victorian procedure based in badly appropriated Kabbalah.

In fact, you might find out that your craft only needs one or two of these steps, or none at all. Depending on tradition and the kind of work you’re doing, you may not need to formally banish, or cast a circle, or call the quarters, as long as you’re maintaining good spiritual hygiene, and/or already have a good working relationship with the spirits. 

2. Should I use a wand to do the LBRP? Or a dagger? Or will my finger do? Is there a difference? 

The First Knowledge Lecture of the Golden Dawn instructs the student to use ‘a steel dagger in the right hand’; Crowley in Liber O says to ‘make a pentagram ... with the proper weapon (usually the Wand)’. So basically, you can use whatever the fuck you want, especially if you don’t care for either the Golden Dawn or Crowley. Or try it with different things over a period of time and see how it feels. Experiment, make notes, see what works.

Advanced-level thoughts: I suspect Crowley diverges from the Golden Dawn because of the centrality of Will to his philosophy of magick. The steel dagger in the GD version appears to be a more functional, or perhaps less fussy alternative to the Magical Sword, which according to The Golden Dawn ‘is used in all cases where great force and strength are to be used and are required, but principally for banishing and for defence against evil forces’.

For Crowley, however, ‘The Magick Wand is ... the principal weapon of the Magus; and the "name" of that wand is the Magical Oath.’ (Liber ABA, Part II, Chapter VI). I feel it entirely appropriate that the Wand is the more Thelemic approach, not just because of Crowley’s phallic obsessions but mainly because asserting one’s individuality and celebrating one’s True Will is so central to Thelema. To employ the Wand in one of ceremonial magick’s key rituals symbolically reinforces the sovereignty of the Magus and their True Will over their universe.

3. Ew, Christian stuff! Can I change the names/symbols/words because I had a bad childhood experience with Christianity/hate Christians/hate God/ love the Goddess and want to do a Goddess version/don’t want anything to do with the Judeo-Christian system/am rebellious and just want to be different?

Short answer: Did you read the fucking guide?

Long answer: Listen, you can do whatever the fuck you want. Just don’t call it the LBRP, or claim that it’s ‘the same thing’, or works the same way.

Much has already been said about this elsewhere, but your knee-jerk reaction to Judeo-Christian elements in ceremonial magick reveal a lot more about you than it does the ritual. We know the LBRP is rooted in a Kabbalistic tradition; your feelings towards it doesn’t change its effectiveness for generations of practitioners. 

You don’t need to use the LBRP if you’re not comfortable. I don’t even use it that much these days. My only advice to you is to i) not be dismissive about it, especially in the presence of newbies and inquiring beginners; ii) recognise that the LBRP is a whole ecosystem of a ritual in itself, and simply changing the names and words willy-nilly and claiming it to be a legitimate alternative is at best misguided, at worst misleading for others. 

Being an asshole: ‘Why would you want to use a ritual that calls out to an oppressive God? Here, I wrote a version where the names are all replaced by pagan deities, and calls on the Goddess. It’s the same, in fact, it’s better. Fuck Xtianity.’

Not being an asshole: ‘Hmm, I would suggest you research it carefully before deciding whether to use it or not, but if you prefer something non-Christian, as I would, why not try X method to banish, or doing Y to cast a circle, so you avoid the whole ceremonial thing altogether – if that’s what you’re looking for?’

My point being, I don’t care if you don’t like the LBRP. I care if you poison the mind of impressionable new seekers with your own knee-jerk prejudices.

That said, there are certain alternatives that in my opinion are legitimate, or close enough in effect, or possess a similar potentiality:

The Olympic Banishing Ritual of the Pentagram (notes) – I personally think this is an excellent alternative, especially for those who work within a Greco-Roman paradigm, or a Gnostic/Neoplatonic framework.

The Star Ruby – You’ll probably be aware of this one already if you know your Crowley. Frankly, this is not recommended to anyone who isn’t already working in a Thelemic context.

I can’t think of any other ones right now, but I’ll post them if I come across any.

4. Okay, in your guide I’ve noticed that you can use an Invoking pentagram. How does that work?

One thing I didn’t have space to clarify in the original guide is that the LBRP is not in fact a ritual; it is a variant of a ritual. Think of the structure of the LBRP as a basic template; you can adapt the template for different purposes by drawing the pentagrams in different ways. You can use the LRP (as the basic ritual is called) to invoke or banish any of the five elements, including Spirit; but, as explained in the guide, Earth is chosen as the basic banishing variant because it deals with influences in the mundane sphere of existence.

I didn’t go through the Golden Dawn system myself but as far as I’m aware, part of the work in the outer order involves invoking the elements separately using the LRP and recording what differences they make in your life. I imagine you can easily adapt this to raise specific elemental energies for specific purposes, but I feel like there’s a lot more power in using the planets for practical purposes anyway, rather than the elements. But that’s another discussion.

Also, if you’re wondering, there is indeed a Greater version of the ritual, and in fact there’s also a Supreme version of the ritual, but you don’t need to bother with those unless you’re a Golden-Dawn-type ceremonialist and/or want to work with Enochian energies. And there’s also a hexagram version of the ritual, but I’ll discuss that in a separate guide, perhaps ...

5. This has all been very interesting! Any resources on the ritual that you might suggest, so I can do further research?

Lists! I love lists. My thoughts on useful resources for the LBRP:

To begin with, the aforementioned First Knowledge Lecture is always worth looking through.

Crowley’s ‘Notes on the Ritual of the Pentagram’ – a surprisingly short essay for a usually verbose man, but succinctly explains some of the key mechanics of how the ritual works, and how to perform it properly. Can get a bit technical.

Thelema and Skepticism’s blog post on the LBRP – the blogger in question here has very strong views about what Thelema is or isn’t and I’ve seen him get caught up in all kinds of drama on forums, but his post on the LBRP is one of the best and most comprehensive discussions of the ritual I’ve ever seen. Read with a critical mind, of course, but this is about as orthodox an explanation of the ritual as it gets.

Mark Stavish’s Additional Notes on the LBRP – an excellent, if occasionally jargon-y, further discussion of the ritual, including thoughts on how the angels might be visualised, based on Golden Dawn colour correspondences.

Scott Michael Stenwick’s blog post on the LBRP – a miscellaneous collection of thoughts on the ritual, including some brilliant myth-busting. Stenwick is an excellent magical blogger and his work on the method of the operant field is frankly brilliant. Honestly, I just recommend his whole blog. 

Not directly relevant, and a book, but Lon Milo DuQuette’s The Chicken Qabalah of Rabbi Lamed Ben Clifford is a top-notch and very funny introduction to the Hermetic Kabbalah – i.e. the Kabbalah as it is used in the Western ceremonial tradition.

That’s it, folks. There’s more to be said, but probably as miscellaneous throwaway conversations when they arise. I emphasise my earlier point that I write this from my own understanding of and experiences with the ritual, and therefore don’t expect everyone to agree with all of my points. Feel free to send me asks or something if you have any questions or thoughts.

#occult #ceremonial magick #lbrp #lesser banishing ritual of the pentagram #guides #faqs

[beardedmrbean]

Business daily Kauppalehti (siirryt toiseen palveluun) covered how refugees and immigrants are helping to fill gaps amid Finland's labour shortage.

KL highlighted one instance where the immigrant support organisation Startup Refugees and recruitment firm JobNord Global jointly created JobHub, an outfit that hires refugees and immigrants to work in the hospitality sector.

"We have 1,200 people nationwide who are interested in the hospitality industry. We found that many of them had gaps in their employment. We were able to get them job opportunities and interviews, but a large portion of these people were not employed, despite their interest in the sector. This was the main problem. And that's where our work together began," said Elisa Vepsäläinen, CEO of Startup Refugees.

According to Vepsäläinen, before the joint initiative with JobNord, applicants from foreign backgrounds sometimes faced obstacles—chief among them a lack of language skills.

Now, with JobHub hiring employees and entrepreneurs, many of these problems are alleviated as Startup Refugees is involved in helping immigrants and refugees acclimatise to working life.

Startup Refugees said that it challenges employers to consider which jobs really require fluency in Finnish or English. Vepsäläinen told of Ukrainians employed in another sector, as car mechanics, who spoke only passable Finnish and English. However, proof of their professional skills was sufficient and they used Google Translate to get started.

Vepsäläinen noted that many new arrivals to Finland are not fully aware of the working landscape and the requirements for finding a job. In the hospitality sector, many are unaware of the Hygiene Passport (siirryt toiseen palveluun), which is required to work in food service. Through Startup Refugees, many job seekers can complete the course in their own language.

Vepsäläinen emphasised that many refugees have a huge desire to work when they come to Finland, and that it is vital for Finland to seize this opportunity.

Sports gala roundup

Iltalehti (siirryt toiseen palveluun) covered Thursday evening's Finnish Sports Gala, which showcased the past year's athletic achievements.

Cross-country skiing superstar Iivo Niskanen—who turned 31 on the day of the gala—was named Athlete of the Year. Niskanen's marquee accomplishment last year was winning the gold medal in the 15 km Classic at the 2022 Beijing Winter Olympics.

"This past season was the best of my career. I didn't lose once on that distance [15 km] during the whole World Cup season. I'm really happy about that," he said.

This marked the fourth time Niskanen was named Finland's athlete of the year.

Coming in second and third place respectively, were pole vaulter Vilma Murto and runner Topi Raitanen, who both won their events at the European Championships this year. Murto's achievement—a new national record—was voted the sports moment of the year.

In addition to the top award for athletes, Finland's men's national ice hockey team coach Jukka Jalonen was named Coach of the Year. Jalonen coached the Lions to victories at the Beijing Olympics and on home ice in Tampere at the IIHF World Championships.

Finland still has toilet paper

Ilta-Sanomat (siirryt toiseen palveluun) covered a very popular consumer product which has become the victim of inflation—toilet paper.

Sirpa Koppinen-Lindström, Head of Purchasing and Sales at retail group Kesko, said that the price of toilet paper has risen by around 30 percent compared to half a year ago.

"Both energy and pulp prices have risen," she told IS.

Prices for toilet rolls rose especially in the autumn, according to Koppinen-Lindström.

There were indications in August of coming price hikes, and even a possible shortage, of toilet paper were coming. At that time, Metsä Tissue, a major tissue paper manufacturer, announced production stoppages.

"Production prices for tissue paper have increased due to higher material and manufacturing costs," said Jani Sillanpää, Nordic Market Manager at Metsä Tissue.

However, despite the price hike, there is currently no toilet paper shortage and none is expected.

"Availability is good, and Finnish factories have been in operation all along. There is toilet paper in Finland."

#nunyas news #updates from up north

[columncloud68]

Artificial Turf Cleaning For Gyms And Sport Services

As such, sport such as Football, Handball, Netball, Basketball, Futsal, Ultimate Flying Disc, Touch Rugby, Paintball might proceed without modification so long as the group measurement limit is noticed. Contact sport that involve in depth physique contact should however be modified. Swimmers are inspired to wipe dry after swimming, and put on their apparel without accessing changing rooms. Classes are provided for parent-child, preschool, youth, household, teen and grownup. As well as there are arthritics lessons and other water therapies. Certain YMCA's additionally offer a special olympic swim class or swim team. Your business promotes the well-being of your clients, and cleanliness helps you obtain this aim. Count on Palmetto Services as your recreational facility and health club cleansing firm. Let’s develop a customized cleansing plan collectively that retains your small business in high shape. This charge also can embody the repair, upgrade and alternative of kit. Homeowners are spending more time at house and desire a break from on a daily basis cleaning. And industrial businesses need extra frequent cleansing to maintain up a safe environment for customers and workers. How companies, employers, organisations, exercise and events organisers in Wales can cut back public health risks. An EPA permitted intermediate-level disinfectant is most popular for cleaning facility surfaces and gear. Perhaps the most important word is disinfect, which describes a cleansing strategy of eliminating or lowering nearly 100 percent of dangerous germs on surfaces and equipment (Wiemken et al., 2016). Green Licensed Cleansing Some traditional carpet cleansing chemical compounds are dangerous for people with respiratory points as properly as children and pets. Green cleansing is protected, making it a fantastic possibility, particularly for enclosed areas. When it comes to getting anatural carpet cleaningthat is protected for both you and the surroundings, you’ll wish to go with Oxi Fresh. ChemSpec also provides us with another product referred to as, Microbund Green. This product options elements found only in nature to struggle off highly dirty areas in your carpets, space rugs and furnishings. It's excessive alkaline ph method break down dust and stains with out damaging the health in or out of your house. If you just take a couple of minutes to discover this web site you will discover an entire vary of green cleansing products that can change your life-style for the better. Green cleansing merchandise are dearer than chemical cleaners. Green cleaning the carpets in your house is not difficult and doesn't need to be costly. You simply must take the time and effort to verify the job is finished proper. The best thing is your house is not going to have chemical residue that might be dangerous to youngsters and pets. Janitorial Providers The nature of the job and required commonplace of efficiency could be clearly defined and specified in a contract, not like more technical or professional jobs for which such specification is harder to develop. Basic cleansing duties are standardised, with little variation among different enterprises. Locker rooms have high visitors, which makes it tough to maintain them spotless and odor-free. Our group is up to the problem of keeping your locker rooms and health club sanitized and glowing. Restrooms could be a breeding ground for bacteria and germs, and hygiene franchises specialize in the sanitation and disinfection of these areas to forestall the spread of disease. Professional cleaners, however, can work round faculty schedules. They have the option to make use of on-demand staffing to make sure services stay clear in the day whereas additionally performing extra duties at night time and on the weekends. The result's a clean space with fewer inconveniences for faculty kids, lecturers, and administrators. Whether you're on the lookout for a one-time cleaning service or a daily month-to-month clean, it is necessary to discover a business cleaner that meets your wants. Once you've your written maintenance plan, you possibly can set up who will do what and when. Summer is certainly fleeting, and and not utilizing a plan, wanted maintenance might easily get swept into the next school year when it is much less handy and would possibly interrupt or disrupt the crucial studying surroundings. Industry actions might embody contract cleansing providers for factories, shops, enterprise and authorities workplaces, buying centers and malls, colleges, daycare, and house-cleaning services. Sourcing Personal Protecting Equipment During The Covid In greater than a decade of working at the hospital, Ernesta has been employed by 4 completely different non-public firms – PSR, then Initial, then Interserve and now ISS, a Danish multinational. ISS is the most important cleansing firm on the planet, employing almost 500,000 folks globally, with a revenue, in 2019, of £9.4bn and profit of £395m. The HIPAA regulations address safety and privacy of "protected health info" . These rules put emphasis on acoustic and visual privateness, and should affect location and layout of workstations that handle medical data and other patient info, paper and electronic, as well as patient accommodations." Health techniques and well being professionals are implementing business-smart initiatives that also shield their communities from elevated illnesses and extra frequent extreme weather occasions caused by climate change. This should embody notifying the peer evaluation physique of the hospital, or the local or state medical society when the physician of concern does not have hospital privileges. Educate patients and the public about the nature of the public health risk, potential harm to others, and benefits of quarantine and isolation. In a quarantine state of affairs, every individual physician’s function is to engender cooperation by speaking clearly and by acknowledging the pure fears and feelings of powerlessness that infectious disease outbreaks create. In some circumstances, nevertheless, when persuasion fails and a affected person poses a danger to others however will not voluntarily adhere to isolation, physicians ought to assist necessary quarantine. All well being care professionals are at some threat for publicity to COVID-19, whether or not in the workplace or locally. If there are shortages of gowns, they need to be prioritized for aerosol-generating procedures, care actions the place splashes and sprays are anticipated, and high-contact affected person care actions that provide alternatives for transfer of pathogens to the arms and clothes of HCP. For the IPs in all 5,194 hospitals, the burden can be 41,552 hours (8 hours × 5,194) at an estimated value of $3,282,608 (632 × 5,194). All well being care employees have a general moral duty to protect these they encounter of their skilled capacity. Patient security is a central tenet of the moral codes and apply requirements published by well being care skilled associations, licensure and certification our bodies, and specialized industry groups. Cleansing Procedures Ecologo and Green Seal are two organizations that certify a number of the chemical "green cleansing products" discovered on the Green Cleaning Product List web page. A 2011 research found that fragranced green cleansing products contained just about the identical ranges of volatile natural compounds as traditional products. VOCs are organic chemicals which were linked to quite a lot of well being issues, from eye irritation to liver and kidney harm. All of the employees at Magnolia Cleaning are professionally educated on when and how to use the traditional cleaning products similar to bleach. There are conditions in our clients properties, especially during an preliminary cleansing, that we now have no selection but to use the normal products to have the ability to get rid of mold or hard water. Only use the permitted filter and bag for the vacuum and be certain that they are correctly put in within the tools. Carpets should be vacuumed daily to reduce back dirt, mud and residue. A common carpet vacuuming routine helps keep environmental high quality and extends the life of a carpet. It also needs to scale back using chemical and/or water-based shampoo extraction merchandise. Dilute cleaning detergents and cleansing options with chilly water whenever possible to forestall soils from spreading and cut back the need for additional rinses. So, with assist from my mother, the library, varied environmental groups and some latest, ecologically aware household-hints books, I experimented. And finally I came up with my own arsenal of formulas for modern-day green family cleaners. Though keeping your own home free of mud may help with allergies, overly aggressive cleaning—especially with the various chemicals linked to allergies and asthma—can actually make them worse. Switching to a gentle cleaning routine utilizing non-toxic merchandise out of your pantry might significantly improve allergy symptoms. One of the strongest food acids, lemon juice is effective towards most family micro organism. Unscented cleaning soap in liquid kind is biodegradable and can clean just about anything. Castile soap is one instance of an excellent, versatile cleaning ingredient. Try these safe and effective DIY recipes for general residence cleaning. How to create secure and effective home-cleaning formulas for every a half of your own home. And Dow is presently working toward making safety assessments of its products publicly available by 2015, and it has begun making some resins from ethanol instead of petroleum in Brazil, where ethanol is widely used. 5 Finest Methods To Scrub Window Blinds If you allow them to go for even a little while, it could possibly quickly transform into a much greater, extra extensive cleaning job. Keep in mind, when COIT cleans blinds, we expertly take away the blinds, take them to our plant, and clear them correctly. Brush Pets Often – Pets who're brushed frequently shed less hair, which suggests there’s less pet hair round to get kicked up into the air so it could cling to your blinds. If you're coping with damaged blinds we will repair them for you in our workplace or come to your home or office and do them there. We stock most major components in our trucks and at our workplace. Clean blinds are an necessary part of maintaining your personal home clean and allergy free. Then, partially open overlapping vinyl or aluminum slats to separate them. Wood or fake wood blinds don't overlap in order that they'll remain closed. Whichever course of you choose, make certain to scrub all areas of your workplace blinds by first closing them flat. Then you possibly can wipe down each the front and the back of the window blinds. © Copyright 2022 Meredith Corporationthis hyperlink opens in a model new tab. Reproduction in complete or partly with out permission is prohibited. Vacuum up any mud and debris with your vacuum attachment. Try considered one of these three straightforward strategies to verify your ring fits perfectly, every time. Moist Cleaning Laundry Service These insurance policies can be bought for up to 10-year phrases with the total premium paid up entrance. These policies are variations of property transfer liability insurance policies and insure the property owner against the cleanup of future releases. Policies can also include coverage of previous, undiscovered contamination. Premiums for these policies sometimes price $2,000 to $10,000 per 12 months for $1 million to $2 million of coverage, with a typical deductible of $10,000 to $50,000. For instance, some detergents comprise surfactants that help take away dirt from our clothing. Surfactants, nevertheless, are additionally highly toxic to aquatic life and break down the mucus layer that coats fish and protects them from parasites. At Laundryheap, we solely use environmentally-friendly detergents, made from natural alternatives. In addition, we use automatic dosing pumps to minimise detergent waste. “I try to put cash into what goes to give me the best ROI, in addition to the largest buyer satisfaction index,” Hinrichs explained. “The CSI represents tangible enhancements prospects can see and use. The following resources are instructional opportunities associated to environmental companies. Visit 清潔公司 & Certification web page for extra instructional opportunities. Cinet’s forecast assumes all machines convert to Type IV earlier than 31 October 2007. Compliance is now mandatory for all new drycleaning installations, working new or secondhand drycleaning machines. Every institution that uses solvents that come throughout the directive’s terms must be registered and monitored by its native authority. Scented liquid laundry detergent and dryer sheets comprise hazardous chemical substances and emit unstable organic compounds , two of which are classified as carcinogens by the Environmental Protection Agency. Commercial washing machines range broadly, using an average of 34.seventy four thousand gallons of water and up to 910 kWh of electrical energy per year. Most mainstream detergents are created from synthetic chemical compounds which have disastrous effects on the surroundings.

#清潔公司

[recentanimenews]

Super Nintendo World Osaka Now Set For March 18th Public Opening, With COVID-19 Restrictions In Place

  After first being slated for a 2020 opening to coincide with the 2020 Summer Olympics in Tokyo, then facing delay after delay owing to the worsening COVID-19 pandemic in Osaka forcing a State of Emergency declaration, Universal Studios Japan and Nintendo have announced the official public debut for the long-awaited Super Nintendo World theme park now set for March 18th, albeit with restrictions in place to minimize the spread of COVID-19.

    任天堂のキャラクターとその世界をテーマにしたユニバーサル・スタジオ・ジャパンの新エリア『スーパー・ニンテンドー・ワールド™ 』のオープンが2021年3月18日（木）に決定しました。

— 任天堂株式会社 (@Nintendo) March 8, 2021

  Super Nintendo World Osaka will offer up Super Mario Kart and Yoshi's Adventure rides, as well as interactive elements supported by magnetic Powerup Bands that each visitor receives upon entry. Along with collecting coins and keeping score, players will be able to collect stamps and complete challenges within the app to win more prizes. These include timed challenges against other people and “key challenges”.

    Nintendo previously dedicated a Direct to a guided tour of the theme park hosted by Shigeru Miyamoto in December 2020, and Universal Studios Japan has been operating the theme park in a soft launch phase while it prepared for public operation during the recent State of Emergency in the city. The park will welcome a limited number of visitors and operate with strict hygiene measures in place, including a mandatory mask and frequent hand sanitation requirement for park attendees, owing to the physical activities involved in the park, as well as the on-site cafe and gift shop. 

  SOURCES: Engadget, Universal Studios Japan (English)

  By: Humberto Saabedra

#Anime #News #Latest in Anime News by Crunchyroll!

[atlanticcanada]

N.S. hosted Women’s World Hockey Championship postponed to May

The best women’s hockey players in the world won’t be coming to Nova Scotia until May, after the IIHF Women’s World Championship announced another delay.

The International Ice Hockey Federation announced in a statement Thursday that the 2021 Ice Hockey Women’s World Championship has been postponed to May 6-16, with games scheduled to be held in Halifax and Truro.

The #WomensWorlds in Halifax & Truro will be moved to 6-16 May. All teams committed to their participation. Read more ➡️ https://t.co/4eSqdqOlxx Report du Mondial féminin à mai: https://t.co/HIRnO6z4Rd Jeff Vinnick#hockey #icehockey #hockeysurglace pic.twitter.com/zr4MNEN8Uf

— IIHF (@IIHFHockey) March 4, 2021

Halifax and Truro were originally scheduled to host the 10-country 2020 World Championship from March 31-April 10, 2020, but that was cancelled due to the COVID-19 pandemic.

The IIHF awarded Nova Scotia the tournament again, with an original date of April 7-17, but says the tournament had to be postponed again due to ‘the difficult circumstances and challenges for ice hockey and international travel posed by the COVID-19 pandemic’.

“We know how important this event is in the women’s ice hockey calendar, especially considering that we could not have a tournament last season and now with the Olympics on the horizon,” said IIHF President René Fasel. “Our Member National Associations expressed concerns over the associated costs that come with operating a tournament in the current global environment, and I am glad we were able fill the gap and ensure the Women’s World Championship can take place with all 10 teams.”

The IIHF also revealed in their statement that final approvals for Nova Scotia to host the tournament have not been received by Canadian or Nova Scotian health authorities, and no exemptions to the federal quarantine act have been granted.

“Hockey Canada knows it will have strict support from all participating Federations as it relates to adhering to the final health and safety plan that will focus on quarantining, COVID-19 testing, single room isolation, masking, proper hygiene and social distancing,” said Scott Smith, president and chief operating officer of Hockey Canada. “Hosting a successful Women’s World Championship this season means ensuring the health and safety of everyone involved, which continues to be our top priority. Hockey Canada and the Host Organizing Committee are committed to working with the appropriate health authorities and listening to the direction of medical experts to build a safe and strong hosting plan.”

The IIHF statement says they anticipate a limited number of fans may be able to attend games in Halifax and Truro, but the exact capacity will be known closer to the tournament. Fans who have already purchased tickets will have priority to attend.

The tournament schedule will see Halifax’s Scotiabank Centre host Group A, made up of teams from the United States, Canada, Finland, Russia, and Switzerland.

Group B, featuring Japan, the Czech Republic, Germany, Denmark and Hungary will play at Truro’s Rath Eastlink Community Centre. 

Canada's 35-woman training camp is currently taking place in Halifax and set in a secure, self-isolated environment that is closed to both the media and the public.

The United States has won five straight tournaments, dating back to the 2013 edition in Ottawa (the tournament is not held during Olympic years).

Canada, who has won a record 10 golds, last won the tournament in 2012 in Burlington, VT.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/3v4ZrJ8

#new brunswick #prince edward island #nova scotia #news #politics #canada #CTVAtlantic

[xhxhxhx]

I was searching for survey data on the class background of winter sports. I wasn’t able to find anything, but I did find a March 1978 address by Pierre Bourdieu, translated and reprinted as “Sport and social class,” Social Science Information 17:6 (1978), 819--840, which was better.

There is the familiar account of the practice of aristocratic and haut-bourgeois distinction, but expressed clearly and persuasively:

The constitution of a field of sports practices is linked to the development of a philosophy of sport which is necessarily a political philosophy of sport. The theory of amateurism is in fact one dimension of an aristocratic philosophy of sport as a disinterested practice, a finality without an end, analogous to artistic practice, but even more suitable than art (there is always something residually feminine about art: consider the piano and watercolours of genteel young ladies in the same period) for affirming the manly virtues of future leaders: sport is conceived as a training in courage and manliness, ’forming the character’ and inculcating the ’will to win’ which is the mark of the true leader, but a will to win within the rules. This is ’fair play’, conceived as an aristocratic disposition utterly opposed to the plebeian pursuit of victory at all costs. (And then one would have to explore the link between the sporting virtues and the military virtues: remember the glorification of the deeds of old Etonians or Oxonians on the field of battle or in aerial combat.) This aristocratic ethic, devised by aristocrats (the first Olympic committee included innumerable dukes, counts and lords, and all of ancient stock) and guaranteed by aristocrats, all those who constitute the self-perpetuating oligarchy of international and national organizations, is clearly adapted to the requirements of the times, and, as one sees in the works of Baron Pierre de Coubertin, incorporates the most essential assumptions of the bourgeois ethic of private enterprise, baptized ’self-help’ (English often serves as a euphemism).

What is at stake, it seems to me, in this debate (which goes far beyond sport), is a definition of bourgeois education which contrasts with the petty-bourgeois and academic definition: it is ’energy’, ’courage’, ’willpower’, the virtues of leaders (military or industrial), and perhaps above all personal initiative, (private) ’enterprise’, as opposed to knowledge, erudition, ’scholastic’ submissiveness, symbolized in the great lycée-barracks and its disciplines, etc. In short, it would be a mistake to forget that the modern definition of sport that is often associated with the name of Coubertin is an integral part of a ’moral ideal’, i.e. an ethos which is that of the dominant fractions of the dominant class and is brought to fruition in the major private schools intended primarily for the sons of the heads of private industry, such as the École des Roches, the paradigmatic realization of this ideal. To value education over instruction, character or willpower over intelligence, sport over culture, is to affirm, within the educational universe itself, the existence of a hierarchy irreducible to the strictly scholastic hierarchy which favours the second term in those oppositions. It means, as it were, disqualifying or discrediting the values recognized by other fractions of the dominant class or by other classes (especially the intellectual fractions of the petty-bourgeoisie and the ’sons of schoolteachers’, who are serious challengers to the sons of the bourgeoisie on the terrain of purely scholastic competence); it means putting forward other criteria of ’achievement’ and other principles for legitimating achievement as alternatives to ’academic achievement’. 

This is all familiar enough, and it’s the second part of the address, “The logic of demand: sporting practices and entertainments in the unity of life-styles,” which develops Bourdieu’s model for understanding sports-as-they-are, as a site of social difference and distinction within a field shaped by class, rather than sports-as-they were, that I found most interesting.

Bourdieu has a simple and pliable model of athletic demand as something shaped not only by economic and cultural capital, but also by an underlying system of aesthetic and ethical preferences, or “the affinity between the ethical and aesthetic dispositions characteristic of each class or class fraction and the objective potentialities of ethical or aesthetic accomplishment which are or seem to be contained in each sport.”   

It’s Bourdieu’s analysis of particular sports that I’m here for, and he doesn’t disappoint.

As regards the profits actually perceived, Jacques Defrance convincingly shows that gymnastics may be asked to produce either a strong body, bearing the outward signs of strength -- this is the working-class demand, which is satisfied by body-building -- or a healthy body -- this is the bourgeois demand, which is satisfied by a gymnastics or other sports whose function is essentially hygienic.’

It is no accident that the ’strong-man’ was for a long time one of the most typically popular entertainments - remember the famous Dédé la Boulange who performed in the Square d’Anvers, alternating feats of strength with a mountebank’s patter - or that weight-lifting, which is supposed to develop the muscles, was for many years, especially in France, the favourite working-class sport; nor is it an accident that the Olympic authorities took so long to grant official recognition to weight-lifting, which, in the eyes of the aristocratic founders of modern sport, symbolized mere strength, brutality and intellectual poverty, in short the working classes.

The most important property of the ’popular sports’ is the fact that they are tacitly associated with youth, which is spontaneously and implicitly credited with a sort of provisional licence expressed, among other ways, in the squandering of an excess of physical (and sexual) energy, and are abandoned very early (usually at the moment of entry into adult life, marked by marriage). By contrast, the ’bourgeois’ sports, mainly practised for their functions of physical maintenance and for the social profit they bring, have in common the fact that their age-limit lies far beyond youth and perhaps comes correspondingly later the more prestigious and exclusive they are (e.g. golf).

Thus, most of the team sports -- basketball, handball, rugby, football -- which are most common among office workers, technicians and shopkeepers, and also no doubt the most typically working-class individual sports, such as boxing or wrestling, combine all the reasons to repel the upper classes. These include the social composition of their public which reinforces the vulgarity implied by their popularization, the values and virtues demanded (strength, endurance, the propensity to violence, the spirit of ’sacrifice’, docility and submission to collective discipline, the absolute antithesis of the ’role distance’ implied in bourgeois roles, etc.), the exaltation of competition and the contest, etc. But in the case of a sport like pétanque [a French sport similar to bocce] it seems that only the logic of distinction can explain the class distribution. This sport, the least distinguished and least distinctive of all, since it requires practically no economic or cultural capital and demands little more than spare time, regularly culminates among the lower middle classes, especially among primary-school teachers and clerical workers in the medical services. Thereafter it declines, particularly sharply in categories where there is the strongest desire to stand apart from the vulgar, as among artists and members of the professions.

In reality, even apart from any search for distinction, it is the relation to one’s own body, a fundamental aspect of the habitus, which distinguishes the working classes from the privileged classes, just as, within the latter, it distinguishes fractions that are separated by the whole universe of a life-style. On one side, there is the instrumental relation to the body which the working classes express in all the practices centred on the body, whether in dieting or beauty care, relation to illness or medication, and which is also manifested in the choice of sports requiring a considerable investment of effort, sometimes of pain and suffering (e.g. boxing) and sometimes a gambling with the body itself (as in motor-cycling, parachute-jumping, all forms of acrobatics, and, to some extent, all sports involving fighting, among which we may include rugby). On the other side, there is the tendency of the privileged classes to treat the body as an end in itself, with variants according to whether the emphasis is placed on the intrinsic functioning of the body as an organism, which leads to the macrobiotic cult of health, or on the appearance of the body as a perceptible configuration, the ’physique’, i.e. the body-for-others. Everything seems to suggest that the concern to cultivate the body appears, in its most elementary form, i.e. as the cult of health, often implying an ascetic exaltation of sobriety and dietetic rigour, among the lower middle classes, i.e. among junior executives, clerical workers in the medical services and especially primary-school teachers, who indulge particularly intensively in gymnastics, the ascetic sport par excellence since it amounts to a sort of training (askesis) for training’s sake.

Bourdieu’s description of the class valence of middle-class sports is amusing because it is true:

Gymnastics or strictly health-oriented sports like walking or jogging, which, unlike ball games, do not offer any competitive satisfaction, are highly rational and rationalized activities. This is firstly because they presuppose a resolute faith in reason and in the deferred and often intangible benefits which reason promises (such as protection against ageing, an abstract and negative advantage which only exists by reference to a thoroughly theoretical referent); secondly, because they generally only have meaning by reference to a thoroughly theoretical, abstract knowledge of the effects of an exercise which is itself often reduced, as in gymnastics, to a series of abstract movements, decomposed and reorganized by reference to a specific and technically-defined end (e.g. ’the abdominals’) and is opposed to the total movements of everyday situations, oriented towards practical goals, just as marching, broken down into elementary movements in the sergeant-major’s handbook, is opposed to ordinary walking. Thus it is understandable that these activities can only be rooted in the ascetic dispositions of upwardly mobile individuals who are prepared to find their satisfaction in effort itself and to accept -- such is the whole meaning of their existence -- the deferred satisfactions which will reward their present sacrifice.

In sports like mountaineering (or, to a lesser extent, walking), which are most common among secondary or university teachers, the purely health-oriented function of maintaining the body is combined with all the symbolic gratifications associated with practising a highly distinctive activity. This gives to the highest degree the sense of mastery of one’s own body as well as the free and exclusive appropriation of scenery inaccessible to the vulgar.

The appeal of sport to the aristocracy and haut bourgeoisie has always seemed somewhat transparent -- it’s not like they’re hiding it -- but the implicit class distinctions of middle-class sports have always been somewhat disguised, so I appreciate the analysis.

#t #clear thinking about the middle classes is always in short supply

[jordyforte]

Sport NZ

We were lucky enough to hear professionals speak at Sport New Zealand which is the governing body of sport and recreation in New Zealand and they believe that sport is integral to the New Zealand culture and way of life. They cover sports from grassroots to elite sport. Grassroots is the most basic level of an activity. They explained how Sport New Zealand supports all forms of sports be it walking or running to competitive sport competitions. They talked about the success of New Zealand on the big world stage and how important that is to New Zealander’s and keeping sport alive and well in New Zealand. As long as New Zealand remains fairly successful during international competitions sport will be well off in the country. They talked a lot about the Olympics and how important those games are for New Zealand to get there name out there, having always felt like Australia’s little brother. In the Rio 2016 games New Zealand walked away with 18 medals which is very impressive considering the country only consists of 4 million people. They finished in 3rd for total medals per capita. I was curious about how New Zealand performed in the Winter Olympics and whether it had the same effect on people as the Summer Olympics and they basically said that they usually don’t have quite an impact as the summer olympics and believe if they won more medals during the winter olympics that then more people would become more involved in winter sports. 

The challenges that Sport New Zealand faces include growing teenage girls. There has been a growing suicide rate of this group of girls and they are trying to find a plan to tackle this issue. This made me think of the ‘Like a Girl’ Super Bowl ad I saw a couple of years ago. This commercial was for Always which is a large producer of feminine hygiene products. This ad took the saying “Like a girl” and showed how it is perceived to older kids versus young children. I feel that a campaign like this could help make even just a slight difference for the girls in New Zealand. 

Here is the inspiring video. 

#inspire #girls #sports #superbowl

[vsplusonline]

Sports in times of COVID-19: Top Indian stars foresee new normal once pandemic mayhem ends - Times of India

New Post has been published on https://apzweb.com/sports-in-times-of-covid-19-top-indian-stars-foresee-new-normal-once-pandemic-mayhem-ends-times-of-india/

Sports in times of COVID-19: Top Indian stars foresee new normal once pandemic mayhem ends - Times of India

NEW DELHI: Will the fans rush back? Will training abroad be as hassle-free as it used to be? What about contact sports where social distancing can’t really be practised?

In a nutshell, will sports and watching sports ever be the same again in a world scarred by the COVID-19 pandemic?

Seeking answers to these questions, PTI sports team reached out to some of India’s biggest sportspersons — current and former — who gazed into the crystal ball and predicted the future of sports once the action resumes.

The responses were a mix of trepidation and optimism. Here’s a peek into their thoughts:

SACHIN TENDULKAR (One of India’s greatest cricketers):

No doubt the world is going through the biggest challenge in our lifetime. I think players will be wary for some time when it comes to using saliva (to shine the ball). It will play on their minds.

High fives and hugging your teammates will be avoided for some time. This is what I would like to believe. They will be conscious to begin with and may maintain social distancing.

ABHINAV BINDRA (India’s first and only individual Olympic gold-medallist):

Sport is a tool that unites people and brings joy to thousands of participants and viewers across the world. While aspects of heightened safety protocols will be integrated for the foreseeable future, the want and attraction of sport will not diminish.

As the general populous has become more conscious of their health and their physical well-being, avenues to use sport to improve fitness will grow.

The post-COVID-19 world could be a blessing in disguise for India. There may not be so much foreign exposure and this may allow India to build proper sporting infrastructure.

BAJRANG PUNIA (World silver-medallist wrestler):

Wrestling is a contact sport. When wrestling will resume, there is no way you can avoid physical contact. But I don’t think there would be any hesitation. I don’t see any change happening.

The only thing that can happen is that the sport will become more intense. All athletes will return after a long time. They are not used to such long breaks. All of us are analysing our weaknesses and strengths, so when tournaments will resume, the competition will be intense.

MC MARY KOM (Six-time world champion and an Olympic bronze-medallist):

We are all hoping and praying desperately for things to go back to normal but can they ever? Of course not. This virus is an enemy that no one even understands completely. Sports will change. Mine is a contact sport and I am personally worried how we are going to deal with it. For the time being, I don’t see any sparring happening in training at least, I would be totally against it.

I believe training itself will become very individualistic. As for the fans, they will come back to watch, I don’t see a problem there. But yes, the standard of hygiene at tournaments will go up to another level.

I believe once a vaccine is developed, things can go back to how they were before but until then, travelling will be less frequent, training will not exactly be a team thing and tournaments, I don’t know how they will resume.

VIJENDER SINGH (India’s first and so far the only male boxer to win an Olympic medal):

I don’t think it would be all that easy to bring back the fans, it shouldn’t be because I believe people should be wary but India is an unpredictable country, kuch bhi ho sakta hai yahan (anything is possible here). People have been at home for so long, they might just head to the stadium at the first opportunity.

Logic demands that they become more cautious. Athletes will be more cautious certainly, training abroad won’t be all that easy, less tournaments will happen and whenever they happen, I am not sure what the participation would be like.

BHAICHUNG BHUTIA (Former India football captain):

In today’s age, when television and digital platforms have become so important part of our lives, I don’t think the lack of spectators in stadiums will have much of a bearing as far as business is concerned. I see the TV and digital gaining from this.

Sports events will gradually come back to what they were before. They can be held behind closed doors for now. Till the time a vaccine is out, I don’t think they can have people inside as it involves a lot of risks.

B SAI PRANEETH (First Indian male badminton player to win a world bronze medal in 36 years):

We have to travel a lot and I think everybody will be scared to travel to countries like China, Korea and even the European countries even if the international calender resumes.

The fear of contracting the virus will always be there at the back of your mind, even when you are eating in any restaurant or even playing. I don’t know how even playing would be possible considering the fact that during a match the shuttle is touched by the players and by the service judge.

Also while playing, you change your shirt which is soaked with sweat, so I believe only after we have vaccination, play can start but even then, you will see people wearing masks and trying to avoid crowded places to be safe.

MAHESH BHUPATHI (Multiple-time Grand Slam winning former tennis player):

Sport won’t change. Things will be normal once COVID-19 goes away.

JEJE LALPEKHLUA (Top Indian footballer):

It will take a bit of time to get back to normal but once things are normal, we would not be scared to take part.

While travelling and moving between flights, hotels, and cities we just need to be more careful and take care of ourselves and others.

JOSHNA CHINAPPA (Top squash player):

I think I will have to be extra careful on flights as those are the main transporters of germs around the world. There will be a new normal for sure. Passing the airports will also get much harder.

My first instinct after the game is to shake hands with the opponent but now things might change there also.

SARDAR SINGH (Former men’s hockey team captain):

From the point of view of Olympic preparations, the plus point is the team will get more time to prepare for Olympics but the negative is it will have revisit it plans.

Once sports resume, social distancing is going to be the new norm and it remains to be seen how it is implemented in contact sports like boxing, wrestling or for that matter hockey and football where close tackles and body contacts are common.

Source link

#Abhinav Bindra #Bajrang Punia #Bhaichung Bhutia #Jeje Lalpekhlua #mahesh bhupathi #Mary Kom #sachin tendulkar #Sai Praneeth #sardar singh #Vijender Singh #Sports

[vfitso-blog]

Swimming classes in Faridabad

Of all the sports that involve mental ability and physical strength, swimming is the most calming of all. Not only does it provide exercise, but it also helps in maintaining the right balance of body and mind. Swimming classes can be a powerful regime which, when followed correctly, yields some magnificent results. It distresses you in ways you could have never imagined. Swimming is a holistic activity which has a deeper impact on general wellbeing. For kids, it is a great way to increase their energy levels and enhance their coordination. All you need to know about swimming classes in Faridabad are listed here! Fetch’em all!!

Here is a list of swimming pools in Faridabad

Fitso SEALs Swimming Classes in APJ School, Sec-15

Start with how Swimming can be good for summers. We have some great news for the enthusiasts of Swimming pools in Faridabad. Now summers will not be a barrier to your water rendezvous, and you can hone your swimming skills and cool off this summer in our premium swimming classes. Fitso Seals brings to you, best swimming classes in Faridabad

Address:– Maharishi Parashar Marg, Sector 15, Faridabad, Haryana 121007

Nearby Landmarks

Haryana Sports Complex – 1.1 km

BadkalMor Metro Station – 5 km

Dimensions: 25m * 13m (Max Depth is more than 8ft)

Timing: 5-7 AM to 4-10 PM

Fitso SEALs Swimming Classes in Manav Rachna School

One of the best swimming pools near me in Faridabad. It is a half Olympic size pool which is fringed and furnished with sun loungers along with an adjoining pool especially for kids up to the age of 5 years. Located in Sector 14, Faridabad Fitso ensures total health and hygiene for its pools.

Address:– Manav Rachna International School, Sector 14, Faridabad, Haryana 121002 (Google Map)

Contact: [phone]

Nearby Landmarks

BadkalMor Metro Station – 1.6 km

Dimensions: 25m * 13m (Max Depth is more than 8ft)

Timing: 5-7 AM & 4-10 PM

Swimming Classes in MNM SPORTS ACADEMY

Established in the year 2011, MNM Sports Academy in New Industrial Township-Faridabad NIT, Delhi is one of the preferred swimming classes in Faridabad. People belonging to all age groups and different walks of life come to this training school’s indoor swimming pool to learn in swimming classes. They employ many professionally trained instructors and coaches who help learners learn the right techniques and styles in swimming classes.

MNM Sports Academy in New Industrial Township-Faridabad NIT has various courses and memberships available for citizens to choose from. Regular swimming courses, weekend swimming courses, and advanced competitive swimming sessions are available. Choose from the available slots as per your comfort and convenience.

Nearby Landmarks

City Civil Hospital – 0.8 km

Faridabad New Town Railway Station – 5 km

Timing: 05:00-16:00 – 10:00-22:00 on all days of the week.

Swimming Classes in ESCORT SWIMMING POOL

Escorts swimming pool is one of the most famous, almost one of the landmark swimming classes in Faridabad and for reasons best not known. People of all ages are welcomed here to join the swimming classes or even the people can come here for recreation as well. The charges would also apply accordingly if you are a trainee or an intermediate swimmer. Here, there are about 20 lifeguards who constant focus on the trainee and hence the trainee can go without any fear in the pool to the extreme extent to learn swimming.

Address: Sports Complex, Sector 12, Faridabad, Haryana 121004

Nearby Landmarks

Haryana Sports Complex – 0.2 km

Batachowk Metro Station – 1.2 km

Contact No:  [phone],[phone]

Days & Timings: Mon to Sat, Morning – 05:00AM to 10:00AM, Evening – 04:00PM to 10:00PM

Swimming Classes in Gymkhana Club-II

Gymkhana Club is spread across wide locations and one of the renowned swimming classes in Faridabad for kids ladies that provides swimming classes in Faridabad for the students to compete at a bigger level. This Academy is home to many Winners and Runners in various leagues and tournaments. The Batches here starts with a duration of one month and long courses of 6 months are also available. Based on the convenient timings of the students, the swimming classes are summarized.

Address: Suraj Kund Badkal Rd, Sector 21C, Faridabad, Haryana, 121001

Contact No:  0129 243 7022

Days & Timings: Monday to Sunday- 11:00AM to 11:00PM, Tuesday- Closed

Fitso SEALs Swimming Classes in Aravali International School

Swimming Classes in Aravali International School has so far been successful in maintaining good discipline, hygiene and providing best of the swimming classes in Faridabad. There are many people who just come here not only to learn or practice swimming but also to make themselves active and sportified with the high ray of activeness provided here. They also provide Certified Coaching and train people of all age groups.

Address: Sector 44, Suraj Kund Badkhal Rd, Sector 43, Faridabad, Haryana, 121003 (Find on map)

Contact No:  [phone]

Days & Timings: Tuesday To Sunday: 5-7 AM & 4-10 PM (Mondays Off)

Swimming Classes in Eicher School

Eicher Public School has a compact swimming complex which provides swimming classes in Faridabad for all age groups. Swimming is taught as a life skill to one and all.

Address: Plot No. 344, Sector 46, Faridabad, Haryana