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But How Much Does it Cost to Live in that Van? Editor's Note: This is the second of an ongoing series by anarchist and steam punk author "Magpie" / Margaret Kiljoy. They have been gracious enough to allow us to repost their Van Life series here at Quail Bell. Here is the first part of the series. In this series, I explore some of the practicalities of living in a van in the United States. For context, I am relatively privileged: white, perceived as male, raised middle class, able-bodied, in good physical shape. My advice may or may not be useful for others in my or similar situations. Spending Money Money is probably one of the first things on people’s minds when they ponder living in a vehicle. How much does it cost? Most people who move into vans are probably saving money. Me, I’m spending it, because it’s a hell of a lot more expensive than living out of a backpack. But that said, my expenses are pretty low. A good running used van likely costs in the $3-10k range. After that, it’s insurance, gas, repairs, increased cost of food, and the occasional short-term rent. Insurance: this apparently varies a lot from person to person and state to state. I hear rumors about RV insurance being a lot cheaper. I pay roughly $80 a month, with a clean driving record. Gas: My van gets about 15 mpg. My minivan got 22-23. Other people get better mileage—particularly diesel engines. Some people convert to veggie oil, but that is its own huge can of worms. I personally estimate that it costs me $15 an hour to drive anywhere. This is based on paying $4 a gallon and driving 60mph. In reality, it’s a little bit cheaper, probably $12-15 an hour, but I estimate at $15 when I decide whether I can afford a given trip. Repairs: This is the big one, and the always-unexpected one. Actually, I can reliably estimate when I will need repairs: as soon as I get a decent paycheck. As soon as I get a decent paycheck, something breaks on my van and eats all my money. DIY work helps a lot, of course, though vans are harder to work on than trucks, because the engines are more compact. Food: When I live in punk houses instead of in vans, I pay barely anything for food, because we buy in bulk, dumpster, and generally just share and eat communally. But I’m really lazy about cooking for myself, so I eat out a lot. Usually cheap food, like burritos, but not always. I pay more for food living in my van than otherwise—probably twice as much. It doesn’t have to be that way, however. I have a pretty functional kitchen, just no fridge to store vegetables or leftovers. Rent: What? Rent? This is about living in a van! I know, but if you’re parked in someone’s driveway for a month you might want to kick down for rent and utilities. And if you pay your share, you can often run an extension cord out to your van. Also, when you move to Minneapolis in December, you’re better off subletting a room for the month and parking. Making Money It’s hard to hold down a “regular” job while living in a vehicle, particularly if you’re on the move. But plenty of people do it anyway. You can get gym memberships for showers, or have your own shower in your RV-converted vehicle, or “bird bath” in public bathrooms, or take showers at friends’ houses, etc. and then just use a friend’s address for a legal address. But a lot of people, like me, live in a van because we’d rather be nomadic. Regular work is out. What’s left? Getting money can be tricky, but it’s not impossible. I’ll stick to legal methods of getting money herein: Freelancing: This is what I do, for most of my work. I’m a freelance graphic designer, photographer and editor, so most of my work can be done anywhere. Nothing beats settling down in a town’s anarchist café to get some work done. If you want to support me, you could buy some of my books. Other people freelance with skills that aren’t telecommuting, like tutoring, teaching music or language classes, dancing, modeling, or housecleaning. Seasonal work: This is really classy because it fits the 100+ year old definition of hobo. Most of the time, people work intensely for a few months and then live off the proceeds for the rest of the year. Agricultural work is common at harvest time. Other people work summers at or near national parks, or work in fisheries in Alaska. Apparently a lot of people with RVs do something called workamping (or workcamping…they are two different things I guess?), where they work part- or full-time as campground hosts in exchange for a place to park and maybe some money. Odd jobs: Odd jobs are your friend. Get paid for the day to plant strawberries or tear down a house. Housesit, petsit, or babysit. Paint some walls. Whatever. I mostly get my odd jobs by letting my friends in town know I’m broke, and they usually let me know if they hear about something. Medical studies: Some people sell their bodies to medical science. There’s good money in it, sometimes, but it’s not always easy and it’s not always safe. Crafts: Make things and sell them. I make jewelry and buttons and sell them on Etsy or while I’m tabling. #Traveller #Steampunk #Anarchist #RV #VanLife #Nomad
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Get Yer Words Ready! Hand-to-Hand Haiku Battling might not be a concept you are familiar with. And that is okay. Raven Doctorlounge Mack is here in Virginia to guide you through the process he created. In 2013 I was lucky enough to attend and fight in two different haiku battles put on by the (in)famous poet, storyteller and time-traveling Raven Mack. I really had no idea what to expect, but Raven is an excellent host who entertains the audience with his rich storytelling while facilitating the battles themselves. 5-7-5 is the main thing to know. Those are the syllables for each of the 3 lines that make a haiku. These haiku battles are not confined by subject matter or propriety. If you are coming out to an event, Raven suggests you either bring 20-25 prewritten haiku to battle with, or a large dose of lounge to chill with. Both times I competed, I wrote most of my haiku on the fly at the event, and that type of sweat ain't pretty. Definitely try to write yourself a bunch of haiku ahead of time. Coming out to the event, competing, and reading Raven Mack's work is some of the best inspiration for writing my own haiku and poetry I've had in years. If you are in need of a good time or the motivation to put pen to paper, you will find it here. Raven Mack hosts these events in a way that empowers everyone to write and hopefully participate. The battles are akin to a poetry slam, but limited to the one form of poetry. The content created by Raven Mack is uniquely Southern and working class. I love reading his haiku; they are relevant to my life which I appreciate to no end. Never before have I heard of poetry about construction work or redneck life, but reading Raven Mack's book is like a rural Southern revalation. From his book Beerbox Haiku: #164 Cheap truck with toolbox and ladder racks makes me feel like poor man's Mad Max #444 Old man struggles with a nicked-up chopsaw; it's blade squeals like a baby I might try to say more about Raven Mack, but it wouldn't do him justice. The man is a powerhouse, a family man, a poet, a skilled worker, a comic, and an author of multiple 'zines and books. His creativity is a gift he shares with anyone who comes out to a Haiku tournament. Luckily he is hosting them regularly in both Richmond and Charlottesville this year. It sounds like the Haiku battle season will build up to a championship battle in November. The battle itself is a single elimination tournament, where judges in the audience decide who will proceed to future rounds. The more competitors the more fun. This year, Raven is also offering the option of a death match competition where he and the willing participant go head to head with 25 haiku. Prizes for winners have in the past included copies of Beerbox Haiku and railroad ties with haiku etched into them by Raven Mack himself. Mine reads: Identifying birds by yelling "What the fuck is you?" doesn't work So come out to a Rojonekku Hand to Hand Haiku Battle in Virginia this year! They will be on the third Thursday of every month in Charlottesville at BON, on the 4th Wednesday of each month (March through May for now) in Richmond at Balliceaux, and some assorted shows scheduled for Farmville and perhaps Blacksburg. More details on Rojonekku are available on Raven Mack's website, along with links to his various written works. #RVA #Rojonekku #Haiku #PoetrySlam #Redneck #Countrry #Southern
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Becoming Part of PortlandBy Fay Funk QuailBellMagazine.com I knew I was a Portlander again about two months ago when I felt a deep sense of panic upon hearing the weather forecast. It might snow. I tried to figure out how I was going to get to work. My panic deepened. When the temperature dropped below freezing and frost appeared on the ground I drove like an old lady to work and arrived half an hour late, along with everyone else in my office. All this for a little frost that was gone before noon. Starting on Thursday this past week it actually did snow in Portland and the city really did shut down. We got about ten inches of snow over three days, and then a few inches of ice on Sunday. I wore every sweater I owned to go outside. It was unclear if even Safeway could remain open under these conditions. The snowstorm that hit Portland was nothing in comparison to the one that hit the East Coast and Midwest a few months ago. The temperature never dropped into the negative numbers and the snow accumulation was under a foot. It was a minor storm by most standards, but in Portland any snow is an emergency situation. Here I was, panicking with everyone else. I got used to snow in New York City. Every year snow fell over New York, and every year things continued as normal, except for one year. That was the Snowpocalypse. School did not get canceled. The subways kept running and the cars kept driving. Within hours, the snow on the sidewalks and roads would be cleared away by the city. The snow formed into twelve-foot tall walls. It was dirty snow that never fully melted until April. The snow was not a thing of beauty or a cause for panic. It was simply another uncomfortable part of living in the city. #Snow #Weather #Home #Climate #Winter #Home The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
No Love for AcquaintancesCall me a Grinch, but I bristle at the liberal use of the word “friend.” A friend is someone I love. Sure, I wish I could love everyone, yet that would devalue the meaning of love. No heart is big enough to contain equal concern for all of the human population. Not even Mother Teresa's. We've got to prioritize. I prioritize my friends, my real friends—not friends of friends of friends of friends. Everyone else has to settle for my run of the mill respect and compassion. Chances are I won't be picking up the phone if non-friends call me at 3 a.m. on a weekday, though. So are Shakira and Rihanna true friends? Would Shakira pick up the phone if Rihanna needed to talk to her about Chris Brown or Drake? Who knows, though their reps hope we think they are tighter than two suburban tweens who share Twizzlers and listen to Justin Beiber after soccer practice every Saturday. Of course, celebrity friendships are just as manufactured as celebrity marriages. So what does friendship mean for those of us outside of show biz? This question might especially resonate for those who find themselves without a date for Valentine's Day this Friday. Who will be there to dance the night away with you and trash-talk exes before you sober up? In her book, Friendship: A History, editor Barbara Caine writes the following of platonic friendship: “The meaning and importance of friendship have become questions of increasing interest in recent years, as declining rates of marriage and parenthood have made the family less central and friends more so in the lives of many people, particularly in the western world. Yet the history of friendship, and the ways in which it has changed its form and its meaning over time has only just begun to be discussed.” In the District of Columbia, women's median age for their first marriage is the highest out of any U.S. state or territory: 29.7 years old. 70 percent of D.C. adults are unmarried. According to the blog Lovely, D.C. renters can save up to 61 percent by living with roommates—so plenty of people, who in other cities might live with a spouse, live with roommates instead The stereotype (and perhaps the truth) is that Washingtonians put their career first and romantic goals later. Thus, this isn't exactly the city for popping out babies or even simply having a boyfriend or girlfriend. That puts a lot more importance and pressure on friendship. And probably something greater than the Beyoncé-Lady Gaga kind. But what does that mean exactly? What do you value in your friendships, fledglings? #Friendship #Friends #ValentinesDay #Valentine #BeMine #Love
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Nom de PlumeBy Belle Byrd QuailBellMagazine.com Recently one of my male friends and I were discussing the decline of feminist websites XOJane and Jezebel. Previously huge fans of both sites, we agreed that their editors have started posting more and more vapid content.We were getting tired of the self-indulgent, one-dimensional personal essays and musings on celebrity gossip. Of course writers, especially those belonging to groups whose voice has traditionally been stifled, should be allowed to write about their own experiences. Of course writers are allowed to write about celebrities. But why aren't more of these XOJane and Jezebel pieces attempting to start a meaningful conversation? Do I really care to read another piece entitled, “Just Because I Own 22 Bottles of Conditioner Doesn't Mean I have a Problem”? My friend—described as a kind, honest man by everyone I know who's ever spoken about him—said that he wanted to write a critique of the sites, but was afraid to try. He's a talented and avid writer, so I was a little surprised that he hadn't already picked up a pen. I asked him what was stopping him. “Because anyone reading my essay would discount what I have to say since I'm a guy.” He was at least mostly right. Perhaps not everyone would discount his ideas in this context, but definitely the majority would. They would accuse of him not understanding the sites and trying to silence women. Feminism seems to be one of the few fields where men are expected to pipe down so women should speak up. The reasoning goes, men are heard everywhere else. Can't woman have at least one sphere where society allows them to dominate? Yes, please, of course. But does that mean men can't have a voice, even a tiny, squeaky mouse one? I suggested that my friend try writing under a pseudonym. George Elliot took a man's name because she knew critics would not take her work seriously as a female author. He could take a woman's name to be taken seriously as a feminist. Though my friend was not seeking literary approval, he wanted his argument to at least be entertained. This was less about him, his vanity, and his reputation than it was the chance to perhaps make fans of these websites reconsider what they were reading. He wanted to begin the dialogue he saw happening on these sites less and less frequently. Would adopting a woman's name for the sake of one essay be a dirty move? Would his masculinity and male privilege show through in his words, anyway? Would the farce fail? My friend answered yes to all of these questions, but I challenged him to prove himself wrong. It has been two days since that talk and I am eager to read his essay (if he indeed took me up on it.) Yet I am also curious to read how he would tackle the essay as a male author, full disclosure. He identifies as a feminist and seems to possess the sensitivity to critique XOJane and Jezebel without sounding like a caveman. But does he have to be a woman to succeed in this endeavor? Your thoughts, fledglings? #Feminism #Literature #Gender #Sexuality #Dialogue #Pens The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Eggheads as HeroesBy Kay Feathers QuailBellMagazine.com Whether you studied international affairs at Georgetown, illustration at MICA, or nursing at UVA, chances are that if you went to college in DMV, you got a rocking education. Many, if not most, universities in the area—from Goucher to Mary Washington to VT—lay claim to at least one or two nationally ranked programs. And if you picked a college for a top program as a starry-eyed high school senior, you likely studied with professors who were not just respected regionally but nationally. Whether you studied international affairs at Georgetown, illustration at MICA, or nursing at UVA, chances are that if you went to college in DMV, you got a rocking education. Many, if not most, universities in the area—from Goucher to Mary Washington to VT—lay claim to at least one or two nationally ranked programs. And if you picked a college for a top program as a starry-eyed high school senior, you likely studied with professors who were not just respected regionally but nationally. As May approaches, all you ambitious seniors might be wondering how the hell you'll ever become the next Susann Cokal, the VCU Creative Writing professor whose YA novel, The Kingdom of Little Wounds, sold out on Amazon and has been positively reviewed by The New York Times and Publisher's Weekly. Or the GMU Public Policy professors, like Dr. Posner, Dr. Conlan, ad Dr. Dueck, who regularly contribute to foreign affairs publications read across the nation. How will you ever become like the UMD Classic professors who just won a $500,000 grant from the National Italian American Foundation to study the Roman impact on American identity? With so many of your friends who graduated a year or two before you still flipping burgers, how will you ever become an expert in your field? How will you ever achieve the likes of what your professors have achieved? End the panic attack now. You're what—21? 22? 23? Maybe you tacked on a Master's right after undergrad and are 24 or 25. Young yet. You not only have two or three solid months left of school to go, you hopefully have a long life ahead of you, too. Keep applying to those jobs and internships and fellowships and grad programs. But also take some time to actually focus on your studies. Read that novel with more than a superficial understanding of it. Paint that painting with attention to detail. Actually reflect upon your lab report before typing it up. You should aim to do better than simply pass your classes. Someone has paid thousands upon thousands of dollars for you to grow your mind. Maybe interviews and acceptance letters will come. There is also a chance that they won't. If you find yourself experiencing rejection, you should be able to say you have a damn good consolation prize: The ability to think more critically and compassionately than you did in high school. Your professors may have grown up during a more stable U.S. economy. That does not mean, however, that they did not face their own set of personal struggles. They've accomplished what they have due to time, effort, and, yes, maybe an ounce of luck. To survive the rest of this semester, though, focus on your professors' perspiration. Because you'll have to perspire to get where they did—and sweat not only stings. It stinks. Get a whiff of it and work hard. This is the home stretch, fledglings. Stop worshipping the eggheads and realize that they, like you, are mere mortals. #College #Graduation #Jobs #Economy #Fear
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Overshare much?Facebook—the website that allows you to stalk people you don't like, people you used to date, and people you could've dated. The website that allows you to relive high school, whether you miss those days or are a masochist who forces a peek at embarrassing photos of your 17-year-old self every once in a while. This is the ultimate online experience in voyeurism, even more so than Chatroulette. At least on Chatroulette, people in theory control what you and cannot see. Yet even the most carefully groomed Facebook profile will fail its owner from time to time. Why on earth did your friends tag you in that party pic? Did you set those comments to private so your co-worker can't read them? Wow, nice. Your co-worker definitely read those comments because he just added to the thread. And now Facebook, the place that has probably contributed more to your social happiness and misery than you care to admit, is ten years old. As the ol' saying goes, if you want a friend in Washington, get a dog. Maybe the saying should change to, if you want a friend in Washington, get a Facebook profile. The Facebook city page for “Washington, District of Columbia,”for instance, has 396,750 likes at the time of this posting. If you like the page, you can see everyone else who has liked the page, too. You can search for fans of this page by gender, relationship status, employer, current city, hometown, school, and other variables. Are you single? Are you trying to uncover the personalities at your potential workplace? See what your future boss might be like? Reconnect with alumni from the same alma mater? Facebook will recommend just the folks if you ask the right questions. No matter where you live in D.C., Maryland, Virginia (or the world), you can learn a lot about your current or past social circles on Facebook. Should you wish to infiltrate a social circle, Facebook can help you find the inside knowledge you need to try and do that. These are definitely duh statements. But how often do you think about your unborn grandchildren checking you out on Facebook? These days, what you learn about Grandma and Grandpa and their youth comes from yearbooks, photo albums, letters, diaries, newspaper clippings, and word of mouth. But perhaps one day, your grandkids will simply log onto Facebook to find out what you were really doing in Frederick, Maryland on February 7, 2014. Forget about keeping Facebook safe from Mom. Keep it safe from your spawn. Chances are Facebook's going to last another 10 years and perhaps even longer than that. #Facebook #SocialMedia #DMV #TrendPiece #Technology
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Goochland's Bluegrass Hidey-holeBy Starling Root QuailBellMagazine.com Halfway between Charlottesville and Richmond lies a quiet shopping center in Goochland County. Across the road from Hardee's and flanked by businesses with names like Rocco's Pizza and China King stands the White Hawk Music Café, a place whose tagline is “Where the coffee is always fresh and the music remains true to your heart.” This is a cozy spot to, above all, listen to old-time rustic tunes. A friend and I met at White Hawk because, with her in Charlottesville and me in Richmond, we needed a midpoint for our get-togethers. (I don't know about you, but sometimes an hour-long drive seems quite long.) Our first idea was to pick a McDonald's off of 95. After all, there had to be a McD's somewhere about 30 minutes from both of us. We found what we later discovered to be the address for a McD's that had closed. I arrived at the Hardee's a little bit before her and sat in my car until she pulled up. I jumped out of my car and ran toward her with my arms flung wide open. After we hugged, we took one look at the Hardee's and then one look across the street where everything appeared to be family-owned. About a month earlier, we had read about White Hawk, but never made it out there because of what seemed to be short hours. That's what had appealed to us about McD's—Ronald's doors are always open. Pleased to see that White Hawk was lit up and bustling, we crossed the street. A group of men, mostly middle-age and elderly, sat toward the back of the restaurant. They were going at it on stringed instruments while their families and friends listened. Since Bluegrass trumps the hottest hits any day, we made our way to the wooden counter and placed our orders. I had the Turkey Presto, described on the menu as “oven roasted turkey with Swiss cheese, lettuce, Pesto sauce, served on Italian bread.” I had a choice of sides and went with a bowl of macaroni and cheese. My friend ordered the chicken caesar wrap with chips. Both of us were happy to have warm, inexpensive food, live music and a casual atmosphere. Plus, it's not everyday that you get to read The Goochland Gazette when you live and work near Downtown Richmond. From the moment we stepped through the door, people smiled at us because, well, we're two young women. But, even still, we weren't expecting people to be quite so friendly as to share cake with us. One of the fiddlers—an older man with overalls and teddy bear glasses—was celebrating his birthday. His daughter went around serving up slices to everyone in the room after a rousing chorus of “Happy Birthday” was sung. My friend and I ended our evening at White Hawk with laughs and blue tongues. #Goochland #WhiteHawkMusicCafe #Bluegrass #Local
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The Wardrobe MonsterBy The Fashion Fairy QuailBellMagazine.com Surplus clothing is a modern Western phenomenon. Prior to the Industrial Revolution, clothes were so expensive and time-consuming to make that it was not unusual for the average person to own just one or two outfits. As factories popped up and textiles became easier to produce, the relative price of clothing decreased. Yet even our grandmothers owned far fewer articles of clothing than the Quail Bell(e)s of today. If you ever wondered why the closets in historic houses are so small (or even non-existent), there's your answer. To generalize, our generation's chockablock with clothing hoarders. When I was growing up, I knew one boy who owned exactly seven T-shirts—one for each day of the week—and he was teased just as much as the fat kids, the stuttering kids, the gay kids, and all the other social outcasts. It was a sign of an increasingly materialistic culture. The expression “Buy experiences, not stuff” is often used as an argument for how money can buy happiness. Travel agencies and travel gurus seem especially fond of the saying. It has now become my mantra and a reminder of why I should be downsizing. A new pair of designer jeans could buy me a weekend out of town. Even a generic brand sweatshirt could buy me a meal at an inexpensive restaurant I'd never tried before. Since I already have enough clothes to have something clean and weather-appropriate when I need it, I should use my disposable income on “making memories.” Chances are I won't buy an article of clothing and really relish the memory of spending an hour in the department store looking for it. But I will gladly remember the time spent camping at a national park, for instance. Same price point, too. This afternoon, I went to a local charity shop to donate a few bags of clothing. I wasn't getting rid of ratty, embarrassing clothes; I was giving away clothes that were in good condition and would hopefully be useful to someone else. It happened to be the last day of the charity shop's $1 sale. Everywhere I looked, I was surrounded by $1 clothing. Some of it was nice, too. I could see myself wearing that cashmere sweater or that cocktail dress. Maybe that blazer would come in handy for an interview. I quickly snapped out of my fantasy. I didn't have a strong desire for any of it. I had on decent, warm clothes. Earlier this morning, I had just laid out my outfits for the week and been astounded by how many ways I could wear what was hanging in my closet. Even if that LBD was adorable, how many did I really need? That being said, I still love clothes, so I pawed through a few racks. I dedicated a solid fifteen minutes to the endeavor, trying to get into the act of shopping. But I just didn't care. I had somehow achieved wardrobe nirvana. I had everything I needed for every occasion. No sales call—even the lure of $1 clothing—could sway me into growing my collection. I walked out of the store empty-handed, feeling vindicated. Perhaps that point will come for you, too, fellow clothing-lover, if it has not already. Even in the presence of spectacular, beautifully crafted, perfect clothing, you will know that an article of clothing is but an object. It has no soul. #Fashion #Clothing #Materialism #MaterialCulture #Shopping #Whatever
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This is Not an Urban LegendBy Brainy Bird QuailBellMagazine.com One of the cinematic scenes I feared most as a child happens in The NeverEnding Story. Despite his master Atreyu's efforts, Artax, the noble steed, dies in the Swamp of Sadness. No matter how many times I saw that horse die, I cheered on Atreyu with every viewing of the film. C'mon, Atreyu! You can save him! Of course, he failed every time. Predictably, I cried every time, too. As I grew older, the weeping turned to watery eyes, but the feelings remained. When Copenhagen Zoo recently announced that it would be killing its 'surplus' giraffe, Marius, thousands of people signed an online petition to save the animal's life. They were like tiny me pumping my fist, hoping and praying that Atreyu would succeed. But, unlike Atreyu, the zoo didn't even try to save the giraffe's life. Instead, zoo management acted more like the Swamp of Sadness. Copenhagen Zoo claimed that it had to kill Marius to prevent in-breeding. So they killed Marius with a bolt gun and then skinned him, chopped him up and fed him to the lions. This wasn't a private event, either. It was a very public occurrence broadcast live on the Internet. Visitors, even children, witnessed the whole murder. This whole nasty affair took place despite several zoos, including Yorkshire Wildlife Park in the United Kingdom, offering to take in Marius. Every now and then I'll spot a bumper sticker that says, “Hey you! Get out of the gene pool!” Even though the bumper sticker is meant to be funny, it never makes me laugh. I am not a humorless person, either. I just don't like anyone touting genetic superiority. Why? Well, there's another bumper sticker I see every now and then, one I do like. It says, “Mean people suck.” Maybe Copenhagen Zoo hasn't seen it. #Giraffe #CopenhaganZoo #AnimalCruelty The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
¡Hola, Maya y Miguel! You don't dress up as a mascot for the money; you do it for the stories—even though the pay probably tops what you make actually using your liberal arts degree. Mascots induce smiles, but they also induce fear. For every child that wants to hug you, there is one who bawls at the sight of you. And you'll soon discover that you don't only freak out select toddlers; you creep out some high school kids and even the occasional full-grown adult. Watch them step back to gawk at you or eye you suspiciously. No, they don't want you to throw their arms around them, thank you very much. You are, after all, a cartoon character brought to life and one whose facial expression never changes. You are also mute and guilty of an awkward gait. Your huge head teeters to and fro, the front of it locked in a grin, as you shuffle across the convention center floor or tower over fans on the playing field. Your kind is rare in this world. Last weekend, I spent ten hours playing Miguel from the PBS children's show, Maya & Miguel. Even though I am a woman, I had to play Miguel because I was too tall for Maya's costume. Besides, nobody would be able to tell, right? Well, that would've been the case had my costume included the built-in body armor typical of mascot suits. Yet, perhaps because my character was not a chubby, furry animals, my costume lacked said body armor. Other than my awkward head and plush shoes, you never would have guessed my costume was meant for a mascot. Instead, it looked like an outfit from The Fresh Prince of Bel-Air: bright, baggy T-shirt and denim carpenter pants. I had flesh-colored opera gloves for hands. Certainly, a skinny 25-year-old man was meant to wear this costume. I have a woman's figure. Oversized clothes do not hide this fact. I still look like a female human being. But I put on the costume, anyway, and asked my fellow mascots if I could pass as Miguel. They laughed. “I hate to say this about the girl last weekend,” one man chuckled, “But she could do it.” I tried really hard not to punch him. Somehow I succeeded. Perhaps because he was dressed as Puff the Magic Dragon. “It's just going to look like Miguel was questioning his gender identity today,” said a woman. In case you ever wondered, these are the kinds of conversations that go on behind the scenes in the mascot changing tent at trade shows and expos. Given the combination of body shapes and sizes in our talent pool and the costumes available that morning, my casting agency had no choice: I would play Miguel. As you may expect, mascots costumes heat up quickly. That is why many companies do not allow a person to wear a mascot costume for more than 20 or 30 minutes at a time. Any longer than that and Chuck E. Cheese might just topple over from exhaustion. The visibility isn't great, either. Imagine the most dangerous Halloween mask you wore as a kid and cut that mask's visibility in half. Some mascot heads allow for better sight than others, but even in the best cases, an escort is a must. More often than not, the escort is a sweet college student or a semi-retired grandma hoping. Mine was a jaded thirty-something who couldn't wait to pack up, go home and wait for her check to come in the mail. In direct contrast to all of the mascots, she never smiled, no matter how cute the four-year-old in front of her was. This includes the ones in snowsuits and bunny rabbit hats. Dizzy and nearly blind, even in my costume I could tell that parents were giggling as they elbowed each other and pointed at me. My escort ignored them and corralled the children for photo ops. Yes, you are so clever because you noticed that Miguel has breasts and hips, I wanted to say to the adults. Maybe Miguel is, anatomically speaking, a woman. What would you say to that? Would you prohibit your kids from watching the damn cartoon? But I was there to make little kids happy, not lecture adults about gender and sexuality. Interestingly enough, most of the children could not tell that Miguel was played by a woman. And if they could, they didn't say a thing about it. Most of them were thrilled to see one of their favorite PBS characters. Sure, some kids cried, but they would've cried even if I were playing Big Bird or Mickey Mouse. Some of the older kids gave me strange looks and refused to pose with me, but I suspect that had more to do with them wanting to seem “cool” than them being afraid of my mixed-up gender identity. Unsurprisingly, a couple of creepy dudes—ones walking by themselves, no children in tow—took my picture and winked at me. Seriously? At the beginning of the day, I had tried to squelch my feminine shape by slouching. Unfortunately, you must maintain good posture in order for a mascot head to sit correctly on your own. When I began to realize that the kids didn't care that Miguel had a woman's body, I became a lot less self-conscious. I thought to Mulan and Shakespeare in Love. This wasn't exactly a unique situation in history. At the end of the day, I had been responsible for dozens of children's excitement and just as many family photos. In a decade, some of those children might see those family photos differently. #Mascots #Gender #Sexuality #Maya&Miguel #PBS The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
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Woody Allen Shows Life is a Little Unsatisfying“Nostalgia is denial—denial of the painful present...the name for this denial is golden age thinking—the erroneous notion that a different time period is better than the one one's living in—it's a flaw in the romantic imagination of those people who find it difficult to cope with the present.”
This quote appears early on in Woody Allen's 2011 Academy Award winning film Midnight in Paris. In the film, screenwriter Gil Pender (Owen Wilson) is having trouble working on his first novel while vacationing in Paris with his fiancé (Rachel McAdams) and her parents. His novel, about a man who works in a nostalgia shop, is met with criticism by those Gil meets in 2010. However, when Gil finds himself pulled into a car and sent back to the 1920s, he gets a heavy dose of nostalgia when he meets famous artists and writers such as Ernest Hemingway (Corey Stoll), Gertrude Stein (Kathy Bates), and F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tom Hiddleston). The film comes across as both an indulgent fantasy and a moral tale for the viewer. To some, the magical realist adventure Gil finds himself in is an incredible opportunity. He gets to meet famous members of The Lost Generation and they get to look over his work. On the other hand, he begins to become more detached from his present. His relationship with his fiancé begins to crumble at a much more rapid pace, and the only people he shows any real connection to in 2010 are a museum guide (former First Lady of France Carla Bruni) and an antique shop girl (Léa Seydoux), two people who can speak about nostalgia and understand the appeal Gil sees in past eras. Allen's film does present the problems with nostalgia and dreaming for a previous era. Gil hears the above quote early on in the film but ignores it because the speaker is a pedantic pseudo-intellectual. Gil has to discover and realize the truth in the statement on his own. It's great that Gertrude Stein can review his novel, but he has to return to 2010 eventually. This is why Adriana (Marion Cotillard) proves to be an important part of the film. Adriana is an artist's girlfriend, continually dating artists and being their muses, but never really finding her own place in this world. Gil and Adriana grow close because she longs for a different era too, the Belle Époque in this case. Even when they get the chance to visit the Moulin Rouge and meet Henri de Toulousse-Lautrec, this is where they find a divide. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Beta Bets Winter Will Last Foreeeeeeeeever! Think he's restless and dreaming of spring in DMV? #Fish #Pets #Winter #Video The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Stretch Your Mind and Body
#Advertising #WritingRetreat #YogaRetreat #France
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Anachronism and Collage in Magical Tales Micah Dean Hicks is like a Southern oracle, spouting true and fantastic magic, with the spirit of the place rumbling through his voice. Electricity and Other Dreams, his debut book of short stories, has been lauded by Publisher’s Weekly and fellow authors Elizabeth Stuckey-French, Benjamin Percy, Bob Shacohis, and others. He’s been called magical realist and Southern Gothic, and in truth, I don’t know what to call him, but I know that in his stories the magic is real but it will not save you. It wouldn’t insult you like that. Magic is not an escape from life and it’s not confined by such reductive confines as ‘good’ or ‘evil.’ It’s not a trick to make you look away; instead, it forces you to look deeper at things you thought you understood until now. His stories read like fairy tales with bodies—the writing is exquisite and vernacular, sophisticated and clear as water, the characters are utterly complex people, whether or not they are human. And unlike classic fairy tales, the “ever afters” leave you wondering if you ever knew the world you live in, or the difference between the real and the unreal, and yet, you feel you’ve learned something about the human condition. You want to live with your eyes wide open, for hope or fear, or both. This wild dream that the author built for you from electricity and oil cans has gotten into your blood stream. You just accept that those chickens you bought will live their own lives, they will get tattoos, and they will use the knives on their feet for what they see fit because they were born that way and God just isn’t paying attention. Sometimes you sacrifice everything for the chickens you love. Perhaps the thing that I appreciate most about this gorgeously crafted book is that I’m reminded of the dualistic nature of the universe. Down here, Terrible and Wonderful are conjoined twins and I’m meeting them for dinner tonight at 7, BYOB. Recently, Hicks read from Electricity and Other Dreams, as well as a new story called “Crow Boys,” at the Florida State University Warehouse Reading Series in Tallahassee alongside fellow FSU writer Geoff Bouvier. Keep an eye on WarehouseReadingSeries.Tumblr.com/ for a recording. And if after reading the interview below you still can’t get enough of Hicks, you can purchase his book from wherever books are sold and visit his website at MicahDeanHicks.com. What inspired your collection of short stories Electricity & Other Dreams? It grew out of my love for fantasy, fairy tales, and Latin American magical realism. I had just finished writing a short collection of Southern Gothic stories for my undergrad senior project, but I've always been a fantasy writer at heart. So I knew when I started my master's in fiction, I wanted to do something more magical. I really love how García Márquez takes rural people and places and saturates them with magic, and I wanted to do a similar sort of thing with the South. Before my first day in the master's program, I knew I wanted to have a book like this when I came out on the other side. So I worked for two years on these kinds of stories. You weave magical realism, fantasy, and science fiction into your own unique blend of fiction. What is it that attracts you to these genres? Do you distinguish them in your own work? I'm attracted to a sense of wonder, when a story makes me feel that the ordinary world is vast and amazing and more beautiful than I had realized before reading it. Everything yawns open and feels new. Not necessarily happy, because most of my stories aren't, but unfathomable and large. Fantasy, SciFi, and Magical Realism do that for me, and that's what I want to do in my work. I don't distinguish them too much. I like mixing and blending, anachronism and collage. Give me a samurai with a cellphone, a lion selling encyclopedias door-to-door, a bartender trapped by a witch in the top floor of a hotel. Something that unsettles categories and boundaries. I rarely try to write hard SciFi, because I'm just not good at it. My science always ends up feeling like magic. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Before I Knew the Word "Feminism"By Kristen Rebelo QuailBellMagazine.com The writer, age 3 In fifth grade, I approached my mother in the study room of our house and asked her, furious, where in the United States Constitution it said that boys had more rights than girls. I was incensed by a recent confrontation between the separate tables in the elementary school cafeteria. I cannot remember the content of the argument now, but I clearly recall it ending with, “Well, you can't do that because you're girls." This occurred after my third grade phase of wearing wind pants and T-shirts as an effort to prove I could be just as good at soccer as the boys (I wasn't, I was terrible). And after a note about me being passed among the boys in second grade that I wanted to have S-E-X—yes, spelled out—with the boy I had a crush on. I don't think I really understood what S-E-X was at the time, but I spent all of recess trying to decipher the handwriting to figure out which of the boys was teasing me. So when I approached my mother that day in fifth grade, I was angry without really knowing why. I had not yet been introduced to the word “feminism," and I would not use that word proudly for another ten years. My mother's confused response to my query was something along the lines of “There are no laws saying that boys have more rights than girls." She meant to say that everyone was equal and should be treated that way. But she wasn't exactly correct, as there are many laws, historical documents, and political actions supporting the idea that yes, boys have more rights than girls, and that there is a very complex history of gender relations. But as a fifth grader taught in public schools sticking to non-progressive agendas, how was I supposed to know better? I searched in our household dictionary and atlas for answers, but of course found nothing. So I took to the Internet. I had exactly one hour of internet usage a day, as allotted by the parental control settings on my AOL account—either HamsterGirl365 or Retrogal09. (I forget exactly in which grade I decided that retro was in and hamsters were out.) So while IMing with my friend Rachel, who was just as angry about the confrontation as I was, I used my limited knowledge of Ask Jeeves (in a pre-Google era) to search terms such as “girls rule, boys drool," “are boys better than girls?”, and probably the most significant question upon reflection, “why do boys think they are better than girls?" I did not know yet to look up the word that would have given me all the answers I was looking for: feminism. In my sad attempts at research, I did stumble across Susan B. Anthony's role in the movement for women's suffrage. So it was decided that Rachel and I would give a report on Susan B. Anthony to our fifth grade class. For about a week, we used our allotted Internet time to do research, giggled with excitement during school hours, and called each other any time we saw an example of girls being just as good as boys. I specifically remember my excitement over an episode of Sister, Sister, where the twins wanted to play hockey with the boys but were not permitted to try out for the team. Before this, I had seemed to think that no one else noticed sexism (another term I was not yet familiar with). When our report was finished, carefully penciled in my Lisa Frank notebook, we began to get nervous about how it might be received. Would the classroom boys just mock us even more? The idea for our report was presented to our teacher, who I vaguely remember claiming support but saying we did not have time that day. I was discouraged, and grew even more nervous looking around the classroom at the boys who had teased us in the first place. In the end, the report was never given and my Lisa Frank notebook was stuffed under my mattress. Quail Bell art director Kristen Rebelo does not consider herself a writer but enjoys reminiscing about her early attempts at subverting the patriarchy. Just like in fifth grade, she is nervous about speaking up but is trying to get over it. #Feminism #SusanBAnthony #Reflection #EarlyFeminism #Childhood #LookingBack #LisaFrank
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Courage in High HeelsBy Raquel Lynne QuailBellMagazine.com I’d sit on her bed every morning as a child watching her carefully apply her makeup. She’d line her eyes meticulously and her brows were always of the perfect arch. One by one, she’d remove her pin curls that she created the night before. Each one fell beautifully, brushing her high cheek bones and long neck. Perfectly lined lips and red lipstick adorned her flawlessly shaped lips. I’d sit with wide eyes, excitedly watching her, and silently praying to God that I would grow to look like her. She’d kiss me and my dad goodbye, grab her purse and hurry out the door to work. She always wore stilettos, her legs perfect, and her body shaped like a pageant queen's. I’d hear her pull out of the driveway, and then to her vanity I would run. I’d apply everything to my face just like she did: eyes lined, brows perfected, lips shaped nicely. I’d wander around her dressing room looking for the highest shoes to put on. I’d stumble, almost fall, but my determination kept me steady. Back to the vanity to fix my hair, put on her pearls and diamonds. I’d smile big at how amazing I thought I looked, for I knew I looked like my mom, a lady of sophistication. I didn’t exactly grow up to look like my mom, but my makeup application is exactly like hers. My craving for pearls borderlines on addiction. My vanity is arranged exactly like hers. It’s funny, but true, how much of what we see our parents do we mimic and carry into our adulthood. For those of us raising children, we must always be mindful of their curious eyes constantly upon us—watching our responses to situations, and how we communicate and treat others. Trust me, I know it’s not always easy; I’m guilty of dropping the f-bomb to drivers who cut me off at intersections. However, when I regain composure, I am quick to apologize and explain what happened. Growing up my mom would always tell me, “Walk with your head held high, chin up, and back straight. Show the world how beautiful you are inside and out. Step out and be courageous." She’d continue, “Oh, and Raquel keep practicing how to walk in stilettos. It’ll make your legs look perfect." I swear that in my mid-40’s I am still working on the latter, which my mom finds that amusing, but I remain determined. #Motherhood #Daughter #Family #Relationships #FirstPerson
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Words as WeaponsBy Gillan Ludlow QuailBellMagazine.com We hear them every day in our music. We hear them in our television shows and movies. We read them in magazines and books. But worst of all, we hear them roll off the tongues of neighbors and friends. They're so common that we tend to “not hear” them or we turn a blind eye. What is it 1914 and not 2014? Rumpelstiltskin fell backwards. Racial slurs—considered offensive and even oppressive—are still used in the most casual way in today’s society. It doesn’t matter who says them. Regardless of race, age or ethnicity, it’s just wrong. You could be walking down the street when you witness the most peculiar scene. A group of teens are laughing and smiling when all of a sudden you hear, “Shut the f* up n**ga.” Let’s hit pause for a moment while we think this over. The “N-word” dates back pretty far. The English word originates from the Spanish/Portuguese version, negro, descending from the Latin adjective, niger, which means the color black. Most people associate today the “N-word” with 19th century slavery and oppression.Why use the word as a term of endearment when historically it was used to demean? On a similar note, did you know that there are more than 100 slurs for Middle Easterners? And more than 50 slurs for Jewish people or people of Jewish descent? I have lost count of how many different slurs I have heard for Hispanics and Latin Americans. According to an article published by The Seattle Times in 1993, linguistic experts agreed that the usage of racial slurs had decreased at one point in the '90s. But racial slurs resurfaced in public vernacular with a vengeance in the 2000s. Fueled by hatred, ignorance or lack of compassion for others, these hurtful terms compartmentalize individuals. Why? The answer is simple; we can’t be bothered to look past their skin tone, ethnicity or religion. It should be obvious to most that slurs are a sign of disrespect. We can’t build relationships with other people if we display signs of disrespect, even if we DO actually respect the individual. The use of racial slurs can convey distrust and instill hostility or fear. It is naive of me to hope that we could all just stop using racial slurs for the sake of our children and future generations. But the first step society has to take is to understand. We need to understand the full impact that racial slurs have on an individual and the community as a whole. #RacialSlurs #SocialJustice #Humanity #Community #Kindness #Intelligence #Everyday The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
The Brunchiest of BrunchesA Saturday night pub crawl in the Fan followed by a dance adventure in Shockoe Bottom—for precious example—is likely to yield more than a minor headache the next morning. And so the sun shall shine extra bright through the blinds and the Ibuprofen shall be administered extra leniently when the cock crows. Even if Saturday's to-do reads more hermit than party girl with a TV or book binge, the prospect of rising at the crack of dawn on Sunday holds little appeal. After all, Virginia still honors several blue laws and we all need a break after a week's worth of the ol' daily grind. Perhaps even the James River slows its flow to a lackadaisical rhythm come the Day of Rest. Give yourself a break. http://weezieskitchen.comLuckily, plenty of fine Richmond restaurants do not skid to a halt on dies solis. Why? Because in the modern South, brunch is definitely a “do.” In Richmond, it is a tradition, a rite of passage, and, well, a lot of fun, too. With restaurants like The Tobacco Company, Pearl, Comfort, Weezie's Kitchen, Strawberry Street Cafe and The Black Sheep—among many other jewels—in town, call brunch (and champagne in the morning) common sense.
For those who believe something is not real unless it is online, just look at the Yelp.com thread “Sunday Brunch Richmond, VA.” It is a thing indeed. At the time of writing this piece, there are 12 pages' worth of Yelp comments and ratings on the very topic of brunch in Richmond. Forget day-old chicken and soggy waffles. Think upscale. The Washington Post recognized Richmond's culinary bravado in an August 2013 article entitled, “Richmond dining is surprising, seasonal, sophisticated.” Google away. Then book your reservation. Sunday's fare famous for heaping portions, languid conversation and the stylishly relaxed atmosphere has been a ritual since at least Victorian England. Foodie lore has it that the word “brunch” first appeared in the Aug. 1, 1896 issue of Punch, a British magazine. Here is an excerpt from that very article, Guy Beringer's “Brunch: A Plea”: “Instead of England's early Sunday dinner [lunch], a post-church ordeal of heavy meats and savory pies, why not a new meal, served around noon, that starts with tea or coffee...By eliminating the need to get up early on Sunday, brunch would make life brighter for Saturday night carousers.” Brunch at the renowned Jefferson Hotel on West Franklin is the epitome of the Richmond brunch. To experience brunch at the Jefferson Hotel is to taste Virginiana. Hyperbole, you scoff? I know it to be true because I have been. Call me the prophet of Jefferson's Signature Spoon Bread, but I know the promo to be accurate: “Sunday Champagne Brunch at The Jefferson is a culinary dream, reminiscent of a bygone era of grand buffets and lavish feasts.” Yep and yep. My friend and I parked with ease and no complication in front of the Downtown YMCA. Because it was Sunday, no parking restrictions applied and we did not have to feed the meter. We only had to worry about feeding ourselves. And after rising early out of giddiness and anticipation, we were famished. Our heels hit the pavement as we relished an unusually warm winter day. We already had visions of Three Cheese Grits, Chocolate Truffle Torte and glazed ham dancing like sugarplum fairies in our minds. We had earned this treat, we reasoned. The Breadcrumbs widget will appear here on the published site.
Buy an eBook, change a life.The Children of Jackson Ward—a socially-inspired poetry and photography eBook by Christine Stoddard and Kristen Rebelo. Purchase your copy today to benefit the Quail Bell Scholarship for Creative Promise, an academic prize to be awarded to one high school senior in the City of Richmond. As seen on The Poet Time. #JWard #RVA #SocialJustice #Poetry #Photography #Peace #Change #BlackWhite #Scholarship #AmeriCorps
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The Twists and Turns of Life in a Van Editor's Note: This is the first of an ongoing series by anarchist and steam punk author Magpie / Margaret Kiljoy. They have been gracious enough to allow us to repost their Van Life series here at Quail Bell. Check back for more! In this series, I explore some of the practicalities of living in a van in the United States. For context, I am relatively privileged: white, perceived as male, raised middle class, able-bodied, in good physical shape. My advice may or may not be useful for others in my or similar situations. So… I live in my van. I have for 3-4 years now. Here’s where you say “Oh! Is it…. ‘down by the river!’” Which is really a very clever reference to Saturday Night Live and definitely something I’ve never heard before. You’re very original. Congratulations. Yes, I live in a way that is both unconventional and somewhat cliche. I’m comfortable with this. Why Live In A Van For me, van life is actually a step up in terms of stability and longterm access to resources. I’ve spent at least five or six years living out of one backpack or another. I’ve been nomadic more or less my entire adult life. So when I think about the advantages of living in a van, I’m likely thinking about it from the opposite point of view as others do.
What’s Crappy About It
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Hey Obama, We Don't Want Your Climate Drama Around 25 people showed up to a vigil in Richmond against the Keystone XL pipeline on Monday, Feb. 3. The Vigil was part of a larger national call out by many environmental organizations like the Sierra Club, CREDO, and Rainforest Action Network to urge President Obama to stop the Keystone XL Pipeline. The recent release by the State Department of an environmental impact study on the issue, shows that the pipeline does not meet Obama's climate test. The Richmond protest was organized by Martha Ellen Wingfield, a Hanover native who now lives in Richmond. Martha Ellen is not associated with any organization, and this was the first protest she has ever organized, but hopefully not the last. She was inspired by a call out for vigils by the Action Network. The Sierra Club joined in to sponsor the event as well. According to Martha Ellen, the "Keystone XL is a tar sands pipeline that would transport some of the dirtiest crude oil on the planet from Alberta Canada, and across American soil for export. The vigil in Richmond is part of a campaign to try and stop the pipeline from ruining the climate and endangering communities along the proposed pipeline route." The vigil took place at 400 North 8th Street in front of the Federal Court Building. The temperatures were in the high 30s and dropping, with a bitter wind which made the sign holding difficult and candle lighting impossible. The folks in attendance were in good cheer, and took part in multiple anti-Keystone XL and anti-Tar Sands chants. Several got up to speak on the aspects of the issue which are most important to them. Sheets of chants were distributed, including "What do we say to the president? No pipelines for the 1%" and the uplifting "Tar sands kill! Pipelines Spill!" Some attendees had been to Keystone XL protests in DC. Many were members of various environmental organizations. Virginia is not directly affected by the Keystone XL pipeline, which is why many in the area are unfamiliar with the issue. However, for folks who are concerned, carbon emissions, climate change, violations of indigenous sovereignty, and oil spills are all important points of objection. The crowd at the vigil was significantly older than is normally seen in local area demonstrations. This seems to reflect who is on email lists for various non-profit environmental organizations, and received notification of the last minute event. Many of the attendees will not live long enough to suffer the long term consequences of environmental travesties today. However, they recognize that their children and grandchildren will be the ones to inherit these problems. There are not currently any more Keystone XL related events scheduled in the Richmond area. #Keystonexl #Environment #SierraClub #Obama #ClimateChange #OilSpills #Tarsands #Solidarity
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Pyramid/Mastaba in AlgeriaAn ancient Numidian tomb in Algeria, the Medrasen is a funeral monument similar to the Kubr-er-Rumia, but older. It was built about 150 BCE as the burial-place of the Numidian kings, and is situated about 50 km southwest of Constantine. The form is that of a truncated cone, placed on a cylindrical base, 65 meters in diameter. It is 20 meters high. The columns encircling the cylindrical portion are stunted and much broader at the base than the top; the capitals are Doric. Many of the columns, 60 in number, have been severely damaged. When the sepulchral chamber was opened in 1873 by Bauchetet, a French engineer officer, clear evidence was found that at some remote period the tomb had been rifled and an attempt made to destroy it by fire. Text and original submission by AlexHunger. #Medrasen #Algeria
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The Euromaidan ProtestsBy Fay Funk Buried amidst stories about Justin Bieber and the Grammys this week, in small print off to the side of every news website I read was a major story. There are massive protests happening in Ukraine. I was unaware of them until earlier this week, and I’m almost certainly not the only person. So here it is: the Ukraine is on the brink of a revolution. The protests and demonstrations in the Ukraine right now are being called Euromaidan. The civil unrest began in late November of 2013 when Ukrainian president Viktor Yanukovych suspended the signing of a free trade agreement with the European Union. The agreement would have allowed for the integration of the Ukraine into the economic powerhouse that is the European Union, a move that would have been highly beneficial to the teetering financial stability of the Ukraine. The suspension of the agreement was likely due to intense pressure from Russia, though both President Yanukovych and Vladimir Putin both deny the allegations. Russia has it’s own proto-EU trade alliance with Belarus and Kazakhstan known as the Customs Union and it hopes to strengthen ties with the Ukraine by integrating them into the Customs Union as well. On December 17 Russia purchased 15 billion euros of of government bonds from the Ukraine, and offered a deal that significantly reduced the price of gas in the Ukraine, from $400 per 1000 cubic meters to $268.50 per 1000 cubic meters. This happened amidst the protests regarding the about-face on the EU agreement, and is part of a long history of Russian pressure and rewards to the Ukraine. In light of recent protests however, the deal is on hold. The sudden change in position on the EU agreement resulted in mass demonstrations and political unrest in the Ukraine. Government buildings and Independence Square in Kiev were occupied by protesters as numbers swelled to 700,000 in late November. Numerous clashes with police resulted in many injuries to protesters and at least 5 deaths. On January 16, the government enacted anti-protest laws that included large fines and jail time for anyone participating in Euromaidan protests. Opposition leaders in the Ukraine have been calling for the resignation of President Yanukovych. Vitali Klitschko, a former heavyweight boxing champioin and leader of the Ukrainian Democratic Alliance for Reform in the Ukraine, is demanding early presidential elections and will likely run for president himself. He was offered the position of Deputy Prime Minister by Yanukovych but turned it down, choosing to lead protests against the current government. Yulia Tymoshenko, former president of the Ukraine, has gone on hunger strike in support of the protests. Tymoshenko is under house arrest after facing criminal charges during her presidency, a move that was likely politically motivated. Part of the EU agreement called for her release for medical care in Germany. Oleh Tyahnybok, leader of the far-right party Svoboda and Areniy Yatsenyuk, leader of the Parliament of Fatherhood, have also come out in opposition to the Yanukovych government. On Jan. 28 Prime Minister Mykola Azarov resigned to avoid a no-confidence vote from the Ukrainian Parliament. It was an attempt to diffuse the tension surrounding the current state of the Yanukovych administration. Ukraine’s Parliament also voted to repeal the anti-protest laws put in place earlier in January. The protests have continued however, with the opposition leaders still calling for the resignation of President Yanukovych. It is unclear if the events of Euromaidan are a protest or a revolution. I would call it a revolution, as the opposition leaders do. The conflict runs deep. Ukraine, a former Communist-bloc country, is attempting to integrate with the European Union, a pillar of western democracy and capitalism. The EU agreement represents more than just a trade alliance. It represents a massive economic and cultural shift. Young people in Ukraine are much more pro-EU than older generations, who prefer the Customs Union with Russia, Belarus, and Kazakhstan. Ukraine is a wealthy and important country inspite of its recent financial hardships. It is not surprising to me that Russia has been putting pressure on the Ukraine to join the Customs Union instead of the European Union. Having the Ukraine as a member of the Customs Union would be a big boost to Russia’s economic and political influence. Whether protest or revolution, what’s happening Ukraine are the most important events in the world right now. They are not being reported on nearly as heavily as they should be. What should be front page news is instead a second or third-level story, if it’s reported on at all. It is not an easy story to understand. There is a great deal of history, numerous players and complicated political maneuvering all happening at the same time. Nothing involving the European Union is ever simple. But the complications should not preclude Euromaidan from being the most important and interesting story today. We in the United States should be expected to pay attention. We choose not to. It’s not the first time either. We choose to ignore important world events all the time. And until Justin Bieber decides to buy a penthouse in Kiev, we will probably continue to ignore Ukraine. #Ukraine #EU #EuropeanUnion |
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