text:
Despite the often-quoted statistic that women in the U.S. make 80 cents for every dollar earned by men, the actual figure varies depending on a woman’s race, geographic location and industry. Women of color, for example, have an even larger pay gap than white women. And women in certain fields, such as financial services, are further from pay parity than their peers in other professions.

Medicine has traditionally been one of those imbalanced fields — and the latest physician compensation report from Medscape, a medical news site for healthcare professionals, finds that the situation is getting worse for many doctors.

According to Medscape’s 2019 report, which polled about 20,000 U.S. doctors in 30 specialties, pay for physicians has risen by about 20% for both primary care physicians and specialists since 2015. But increases have not been equal for male and female doctors.

In 2018, male primary care physicians earned about 18% more than their female colleagues, according to the report. By 2019, that gulf had widened to 25% — meaning the average male doctor made $258,000 per year, while the average female physician earned $207,000. The pay gap among specialists was larger to begin with, but it narrowed slightly, from 36% in 2018 to 33% in 2019. The average male specialist’s salary is now $372,000, compared to $280,000 for female specialists.

A racial pay gap also persists in medicine, the report finds. Average income for a white doctor is $319,000, compared to $303,000 for Hispanic and Latino doctors, $300,000 for Asian doctors and $281,000 for black doctors.

In total, male doctors spend about 9% more time with patients each week than female doctors, according to the report, while women spend a bit more time on paperwork and administrative tasks. (That’s important, since a physician’s salary often depends at least partly on how many patients they see.) Women also tend to go into primary care or lower-paying specialties, while men often gravitate toward high-paying areas such as orthopedics, plastic surgery and cardiology.

Those disparities explain some of the pay gap, the researchers write, but other factors are likely at play.

Dr. Maryam Asgari, an associate professor of dermatology at Harvard Medical School, co-wrote a recent viewpoint article in _JAMA_ about how to close the physician pay gap. (She was not involved with the Medscape report.)

“It’s not just about, are you given the same contract? It’s about, are you given the same support?” says Asgari, who says that she has faced situations where male colleagues were given better operating schedules that allowed them to see more patients, and therefore generate more revenue and income. “The problem is much more pervasive than people really understand. There’s a lot of implicit bias that’s at play. Sometimes implicit bias and male versus female styles can influence perception of productivity.”

To make significant progress, institutions will have to be transparent not only about pay, but also about how they’re assessing and working toward salary equity, Asgari says. “Figuring out how different institutions are gaining some transparency around the process, and figuring out what best practices are, will get us a long way toward rolling out more salary equity,” she says.

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question: Summarize the social context of this article.

answer: This article delves into the kinds of pay disparity between men and woman not only in general, but also in terms of demographics and responsibility allocation in different fields. While women are paid less than men for the same jobs, it's woman of color in particular who suffer the injustices of pay inequality in the United States. In terms of medical doctors, findings show that male doctors spend a bit more time with patients but female doctors are tasked with more administrative tasks-which matters, as a physician's income is based on the amount of patients they see, and paperwork obviously limits this.

question: Describe a few items that researchers also want to see examined in further studies about these pay disparities.

answer: Some doctors such as Dr Maryam Asgari, an associate professor of dermatology at Harvard Medical School, have discussed better conditions that make it easier for female doctors to prosper as readily as their male colleagues. For example, Dr Asgari some male doctors are routinely given better operating schedules so they might have room to accommodate more patients. Dr Asgari asserts that there is implicit bias, and that there is not sufficient support for women in the field who want to talk about important factors beyond pay.

question: Summarize why this Medscape report was researched and compiled in the first place.

question: Summarize what this article has to say about solutions for gendered pay inequality.

answer: Mostly, this article submits that the problem is more nuanced and complex than just numbers-of course the paycheck is of utmost importance, but people also choose careers for different reasons and they need to feel heard and comfortable in their jobs. If women are still undervalued as people and as professionals, slapping a higher pay on the problem will not fix the underlying reasons that cause people to leave careers, or to have to suffer within jobs they cannot afford to lose. An honest and comprehensive assessment of factors that limit women in myriad ways in their careers needs to be carried out in order to best proceed-there is not a simple, one-size-fits-all answer.


split: train

text:
[Database architecture illustration]

Building for the long-term: How we future-proofed our database architecture

When Intercom reached a certain size, it became clear that we needed to address database scaling issues. This is how we navigated the complex process of migrating to sharded databases.

[]
Engineering 9 min read

Better engineering through management – the surprising benefits of becoming a manager

For many engineers, making a move into people management can feel like a fork in the road – but at Intercom, it isn’t an irreversible choice in your career path. Here’s why we think management can actually make you a stronger engineer.

[Engaged engineering teams]
Engineering 7 min read

Four steps to building engaged engineering teams

Engaged teams are the backbone of a healthy organization. Here are four lessons I’ve learned the hard way on about how to build engaged teams (as well as how not to build them!).

Industry insights you won’t delete. Delivered to your inbox weekly.

[Updating racist terminology in our codebase]
Engineering 9 min read

Words matter: Removing exclusionary terminology from our codebase

We found that the terminology in our codebase reinforced the biases and systemic racism we set out to take a stand against. So we found a way forward to eliminate their use at Intercom in hopes to create an inclusive environment for all.

Ben Lo

Product Engineer, Intercom

[Ben Lo]

[]
Engineering 7 min read

Building Intercom from home: Software delivery in challenging times

How do you ensure reliable software delivery right now, when your teams are suddenly distributed and your customers are facing new issues? The answer, we found, was by relying on our principles and processes rather than trying to reinvent the wheel.

[Intercom Careers]

[]
Engineering 27 min watch

The evolution of Ember at Intercom

The success and growth of companies can be deeply intertwined with the technology they use in their stack. We reveal how our use of Ember has evolved to fuel Intercom’s rapid growth.

question: Why is it important to have an engaged team?

answer: They are the backbone of a healthy organisation

question: What is the purpose of this article?

answer: To summarize the various articles you can read on the subject of data handling and infrastructure.

question: Do any of the articles appear to be unrelated to the main topic of the list?

answer: The content regarding exclusionary terminology does not seem to match the rest of the content regarding engineering and software.

question: What is Ember?

answer: It is a key component in the evolution of Intercom's rapid growth.


text:
The crackle of the Geiger counter was the only thing stimulating the senses. There was nothing to feel through the body suit, nothing to smell or taste but the thick material it was made out of. The visor gave everything a hazy yellow tinge, not that there was much to see here anyway. Miles upon miles of wasteland with the occasional hill or tree in the distance, a sentinel watching over what's left of the land.

The earth squelched with each step, as if it were autumn and the leaves had piled up half a foot tall, that was when you were lucky, Occasionally you would step on something hard and not know what it was or worse, had it snap then you knew exactly what it was. A gunshot rang out, there was no way to tell where it came from or how far away, sound seemed to travel forever across the barren wastes. "No threat." The voice was startling, as it always was, and was the only real thing that snapped you back to reality. How much longer was it now?

           *           *           *

Moths seemed more abundant than ever. Maybe I'm a fucking moth. He looked up, their mission had led them on a path that seemed to follow the moon, looking around he could see his fellow soldiers all moving stiffly in their suits, holding back a chuckle he realised he had started talking to himself a lot recently. "Radio is for emergencies only, you don't know how much power you'll need." So there the group of moths followed the moonlight in silence.

The increasing number of gunshots should have been alarming, but no one seemed to take heed of them. Too engrossed in their monotonous march to even notice or if they did were keeping an unnerving composure about it. A mixture of "No threat." "Threat Down." "Threat Escaped." was all that seemed to break the silence up until the sound of rapid gunfire followed a buzz alarm. The sound provided stereo feedback, all turned and aimed their weapons at the sound. No one saw anything. "No threat?" The tone was different, it was questioning, uncertain. No response.

The group stopped and held their weapons as a single man approached the location of the sound. "Leakage, his suit let the air in..." No one seemed to speak up, it was the same voice that came over the radio. "...he's dead from inhaling too much, let's move on."

Why would he suddenly fire so many rounds if he was just breathing too much of the air? No one else was questioning it, so why should he? They resumed their march, though the moon was long gone now it left an eerie glow over the horizon. There was a sound. The sound of metal or chain ringing followed by the group lifting their weapons, a shot went off incredibly close, as if just over his shoulder. "M-miss-fire." He was so irritable he was about to say something over the radio before realising what had caused the sound in the first place. It was a barely standing wire fence. The barbed wire on top had pieces of fabric blowing, it looked like a babies blanket now that they were next to it. "East side fence located. Proceeding in the morning."

Finally having a chance to sleep would have been a relief had it not been stuck in the same suit for the last week. He ran things through in his head, wondering how he ended up in this shit hole. The memories were like a streaming newscast in his brain. "North Korea have tested a new kind of nuclear warhead, it's elements are unknown and no nation admits to supplying nuclear material......North Korea present to the world a new radioactive element, more destructive and can be used as a bio-weapon due to it's slow acting exposure......Missile tests prompt the US, South Korea and Japan in the area to issue warnings, the UN unanimously condemns Pyongyang and even China imposes severe sanctions....All ambassadors and envoys are called to leave North Korea, tourists are no longer allowed to visit as the information black hole of North Korea grows....Two months from the initial missile test there has still been no response from the North Korean government. No new tests have been detected or announced as the world considers lifting the severe sanctions....Guards disappear from the DMZ and Chinese Border, DPRK troops are questioned at Vladivostok before promptly leaving."

How the fuck didn't we know? Eventually he could feel his eyes growing heavier and eventually sleep would come, though it just continued where his thoughts had left off.

"Satellite imagery shows less activity on roads and streets than usual....Rolling power cuts grow more frequent and in many areas power isn't returning....Silence from DPRK prompts the UN to encourage Chinese investigation. China and Russia veto.....Leaked documents of US Trained South Korean special agents lose contact with the west....Fierce debate goes on between those who want to investigate and those who see it as an ambush..... Conspiracy theorists claim its proof of North Korea using their vast underground cities. There's no way millions of people can disappear like that otherwise."

When he woke it was hard to tell if it was actually daylight. The clouds hung heavy and dark in the sky. Even better.

title: [MS][SF] First ever short story, tips and suggestions welcome!

question: Summarize the setting described in the story.

answer: The way the setting is described in the story really helps the reader set the scene in their mind. The story describes the earth squelching with each step, as if it were autumn. There was miles upon miles of wasteland with an occasional hill or tree. Gunshots rang about and travelling the barren wastes seemed like doom.

question: What would be the main character's next steps after he woke?


text:
I wake up in the morning. I get up, get ready for work. Boots, pants, belt, shirt, mask. I step outside. Immediately, I can’t breathe. I adjust my mask. I can breathe now.
       The bus ride always seems longer than it is. I always get stares. Not hidden stares like most other people get. Bold, challenging stares. The people don’t know who I am. They have never met me. But they hate me, somehow. I ignore them and try to relax.
       I step off the bus, walk quickly to my building. I can’t wait to start. Working always calms me, in a strange way. As I walk through the crowds, I again attract the gaze of several people. I’m thankful of my mask. They can’t see my eyes. They will never know how much I hate them back.
       Finally, I’m here. There’s no offices, no cubicles, no desks, not even other people. Just a cavernous room, entirely white. When I step in, I am alone. Breathe in, breathe out. And repeat. Left foot, right foot. And repeat. I must concentrate. I can’t work if I don’t recognize patterns. My heart beats 173 times in one minute. I blink 17 times. I feel an itch behind my left eye. White becomes black. My heart stops beating. My eyes a permanently open. I no longer need to breathe. Time to start.

       I love my job. I was born to do it. Literally bred through many generations, to create the perfect worker. I was isolated from birth to my 18th birthday, when I started working. I was trained by automated systems for eighteen years, just to make me as perfect as possible. Just to make me detached as possible. Just to make me ready. I think I have lived up to expectations. Probably exceeded them. I
love my job. And I am amazing at it.
       First assignment. It’s nearby. A simple one, stationary and weak. I get there somehow. Not physically, my body remains in a white chamber.
I don’t know what I am right now. I just can’t be seen, except by my clients. I arrive. She sees me. She screams. She gets up, runs. It’s not much of a chase. I immediately catch her. She is still screaming. My mask dissolves. She can’t scream anymore. I am done here.

       It is an easy work day. Mostly old, sickly, or newborn. I love my job, but it’s more fun when they can fight. When they can run. When I can play with them. I like a challenge. Though it rarely is challenging.
       I return home. Bathe. Eat. Read. Sleep. The next day will be more of the same, I think. I want the same. I live off of patterns.

       Wake up. Boots, pants, belt, shirt, mask, bus, white, black. First assignment. Second. Third. All within seconds of each other. I must
work fast to finish all my duties. Noon. Night. Home, bathe, eat, read, sleep. And repeat.

       I have been working for years. I have stopped aging. I don’t know how old I am. I remain in perfect condition for years, until I need to be
Replaced. I await that day. I love my job. But I long freedom.

       Today, I feel… odd. I take the usual steps to work. It’s my fortieth client for today. I am distracted. She is a fighter. Young. Almost as perfect as me. She distracts me. She does not run, as most do. She stands her ground. Looks me in the eyes. Or where my eyes would be, if she could see them. She speaks to me. She speaks words I have heard of, but I do not understand her. I am filled with my usual rage, but something else is creeping in to me. She continues talking. Two words. She starts to repeat two words. “Thank you.” I do not understand. I have been cursed at, told to die, pleaded with, even. Never thanked. I hesitate. That small feeling grows. No. I must complete this task. She grabs my hand. Wraps herself around me. “Thank you.” I can’t. I hate my job.

       I forget all my other assignments. She must be mine. No. I must behers. No. We must be. Yes. We must be.

       I lift her. She starts crying. I feel tears against my chest. I lift her, hold her close. I am back in the white. She is with me. We must be. We must escape. They will be after me. I don’t care about me. She must be safe. I know where to hide.
       Finally, we are here. We are safe. For now. She has stopped crying. I set her down. She is tired. She lays down, closes her eyes. Smiles, and falls asleep. I look around. I have not been here since I started working. My childhood home. My development center. My training grounds. It is the perfect hiding place. Undetectable, and impenetrable by those I do not want in. They won’t be able to get in. I hope.
       Two days have passed. I have not slept. She has done nothing but. I spend my time staring at her. Exploring her past. She has had a hard life. She is my opposite. She knows of nothing but life. I continue to stare.
       She awakes. Immediately, she leaps up and clutches me tightly. That growing feeling has almost overwhelmed me. I feel she is hungry. I am lucky. All the machinery still works. A meal is made. Another for me. I don’t know where it comes from. I now it is an infinite supply. We will survive.
       Weeks have passed. We are still alive. I still fear our capture. I still wear my mask. I cannot take it off. We do not talk. We do not have to. That feeling has grown to take over everything else. I feel different. I love her.
       I awake. It is dark. She is asleep. I sense something. No. We have been found. No. Not by them. They have sent someone. I have been stupid. I forgot he could get in the same way we did. My Replacement is here. I will miss her.
       I get up. Walk to another room. This one is a mirror of my workspace. White and huge. I lock the door. I sit in the center. I take off my mask. I wait. I will miss her.
       Hours pass. Or minutes. Or years. I cannot tell. I sense him drawing nearer. He is cautious. He thinks I will fight. I will not. I will miss her.
       Finally, he is here. I open my eyes. I see me. No. I see someone who looks like me. I stare at the figure, clothed in all black, with his mask still on. I nod. He nods back. I will miss her.
       He steps up. Puts a hand on my shoulder. His mask dissolves.
       Freedom.
       I will miss her.

title: I Love My Job (1st, open to criticism)

question: Who is the narrator?

answer: The narrator is a trained automated system.

question: How long does training the narrator last?

answer: 18 years. Since birth until 18th birthday.

question: What was the narrator born to do?

answer: Created to be a perfect worker.

question: What does the narrator long for?

answer: Longs for freedom once it is replaced by another worker.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The narrator is trained by automated systems from birth until their 18th birthday to be a perfect worker. The narrator has the same pattern of tasks and routine every day. It is not a normal human but it loves its job and sticks to completing its tasks perfectly and repeatedly.


text:
It used to be that a man ranting and raving in the street would be deemed insane.

It used to be that murder and sin would be scarce, and that we could all sleep safe in our beds.

I long for the days that used to be.

Times were that we could live solely for ourselves, develop hobbies, and survive. Now, it's a do or die enviroment, where theres just two choice: Co-operate, or kill.
Should it be that we choose kill, we become no better than those who hound us, seek our scent and divulge into the most barbaric of natures. However, co-operation carries it's own risks.

Emotional attachment is always far too common, and not a day goes by where we don't lament upon the fate of others, or envy the fortune of the rest. It appears that the seven deadly sins strike into each corner of the globe, taking victims as they deem fit.

Sloth strikes upon most, the creatures of the wastes striking as they simply just lay there, incapable of movement. Their cries are heard throughout the encampments, and no one man is safe, regardless of weaponry or strength.

Lust fuels the savage, whether it be for money, power, or more... carnal desires. These men show no mercy, and create in-fighting, deterring our attention from the true enemy.

Gluttony leads to a drain on resources, and as famine and starvation plague our "society", we are left far too weak to retaliate, and so some are left to die, their frail bodies posing no threat to those outside.

Greed appears to fuel all these sins, sowing the seeds of treason, trickery, manipulation and violence. This avarice simply descends into anarchy, devolving a once civilized location to simply survival of the fittest, or the most under-hand, as it would seem, with raiders occupying many old-world establishments.

Envy and Pride are rarely seen seperate, as many men are born and slain by their own hubris. We all long for a greater life, and so we channel this through personal possessions. When bartering cannot offer you that which you seek, some would descend into such primitive nature, as, to quote an ancient bard, civil blood makes civil hands unclean.

And so we all invoke Wrath.
We all are led to the same fate.
And we all, inevitably, decay.

title: Seven (First time writing in roughly a year)

question: What sort of emotional attachment is the narrator referring to?

answer: The narrator is talking about being emotionally attached to the people around us. Being empathetic towards them.

question: What is the do-or-die environment?

answer: The do-or-die environment is that you either co-operate with the people around you or you kill for your safety or good.

question: What retaliation is the narrator referring to?

answer: It may be assumed that the narrator is referring to retaliation for our living or basic rights of food and shelter.

question: How is everyone led to the same fate?

answer: It may be assumed that the narrator is trying to point out that everybody ultimately dies and hence all of our fate is the same.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer:
The narrator talks about how society now lives in a do-or-die state. It is now filled with greed. Everybody wants good for themselves while nobody thinks about the others. People confuse envy and pride.

In the end, we all die, no matter how we have lived.


text:
REMO STARS FOOTBALL CLUB is a Nigerian football club based in Sagamu, Nigeria. They currently play in the second division in Nigerian football, the Nigeria National League.[1]

History

The initiative of having a grassroot football club, mainly as a platform for recreational activity for the youth of Ketu Area of Lagos State Nigeria in 2004 occurred to Mr Kunle Soname.

He started out the club as FC DENDER of Lagos. In 2010, continual hard work of the club saw them graduate into the second tier of Nigerian Football, the Nigeria National League (NNL). Further development saw the club's management re-brand its organization. The rebranding included a change of name when FC DENDER relocated to its current base of REMOLAND and its name changed to “REMO STARS FOOTBALL CLUB”.[2] They played in the top division in Nigerian football, the Nigerian Premier League after promotion in 2016.

In 2018, Remo Stars was relegated from the Nigerian Professional Football League (NPFL) to Nigeria National League.[3]

Color

Remo Stars were also known as _Sky Blue Stars._ The primary color for Remo Stars is Sky Blue.

Stadium

Remo Stars plays their Nigeria professional football league home matches at Gateway International Stadium, Sagamu.

Current squad

As of 30 March, 2019

Former notable players

-   []]

[1]

[2]

[3]  Goal.com|url=https://www.goal.com/en-ng/news/remo-stars-relegated-from-nigeria-professional-football/2fepux6w9hqn1opw8xitx8te9#:~:text=Remo%20Stars%20relegated%20from%20Nigeria%20Professional%20Football%20League,-Femi%20Badmus&text=Remo%20Stars%20became%20the%20first,at%20home%20to%20Rivers%20United.|access-date=2020-06-17|website=www.goal.com}}

title: Remo Stars F.C.

question: Summarize all the information relating to the founding of Remo Stars football club.

answer: Mr. Kunle Soname came up with the initiative of a grassroots football club as a platform for recreational activity for the youth of Ketu. He started the club as FC Dender in 2004. After 6 years, the team started playing in the second tier of Nigerian football. The club was rebranded and reloacted to its current base in Remoland. Its name changed to Remo Stars football club.

question: What other names are Remo Stars known by?

answer: They are also known as Sky Blue Stars.

question: How many years did Remo Stars play in the top division of Nigerian football?

answer: They were promoted to the top division in 2016 and relegated in 2018. Possibly only one season.

question: What is the NNL?

answer: It is Nigeria's second division, Nigeria National League.

question: Has the club produced any notable players?

answer: This information is not given in the article.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: The Remo Stars football club is a second division team in Sagamu, Nigeria.


text:
US President Donald Trumpwrongly tweeted, once again, that Obamacare has been repealed.

Though the recently-passed tax reform bill does include a provision to repeal the individual mandate - the requirement that every American have health insurance or pay a tax penalty - that does not repeal the entire Affordable Care Act.

It is a claim the President has made repeatedly throughout his first year in office and a “replace and repeal” of the healthcare plan was a major campaign promise made by many Republicans.

The repeal of one key aspect of Obamacare will take place “over time”; the tax penalty Americans face for not enrolling in an insurance programme will still be in place for another tax year.

The Medicaid expansion, the subsidised health assistance programme for those living under the poverty line, all remain in place - as do the state-based marketplaces.

The White House attempted to stymie outreach and promotion efforts and cut the 2018 open enrollment period for Obamacare in half - 1 November to 15 December.

Despite that, more than 200,000 Americans signed up on 1 November - double the number of people that enrolled the same day in 2016.

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Visitors to Healthcare.gov also reached a record one million visitors that day.

The reality of drafting a bill that would receive a good “score” from the nonpartisan Congressional Budget Office that rates how many people would lose insurance as a result and the overall impact on the federal budget proved to be problematic for Congressional Republicans.

Between party dissidents first in the House’s Freedom Caucus, then objections from Senators John McCain, Lisa Murkowski, and Susan Collins, and leaks of reported tension between House Speaker Paul Ryan, Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell, and Mr Trump - the effort to repeal and replace has hit a roadblock after roadblock.

There may be an effort in 2018 to revive the repeal and replacement of Obamacare in light of the administration’s victory with the passage of the tax bill.

However, with midterm elections coming up in November and Senate Majority Leader Mitch McConnell’s comment to NPR that the Senate will likely “move on to other issues."

question: How does the document define Obamacare?

answer: The document describes Obamacare as a healthcare plan.

question: What is the one key aspect of Obamacare that will be repealed "over time"?

answer: The tax penalty Americans face for not enrolling in an insurance program.

question: What is a claim the President has made repeatedly throughout his first year of office?

answer: Trump claimed that Obamacare had been repealed.

question: What politicians are mentioned?

answer: Donald Trump, John McCain, Lisa Murkowski, Susan Collins, Mitch McConnell, and Paul Ryan

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: The document discusses when Donald Trump tweeted that Obamacare had been repealed. At the time of the document, Trump's claim wasn't true, and only one key aspect of Obamacare was being repealed.


text:
I just stumbled upon this subreddit and I'm sure this story has been told in some shape or form, but here's my version of it.

My junior year at university, I took a pizza delivery job in a small town in central New Jersey. The owner, my boss, was straight off the plane from Italy; he had become a fixture in the neighborhood as the standard by which everyone judged their Italian food, supplementing the palate-appealing pizzas and appetizers with a little home grown Sicilian charm. He was only a businessman to the extent he was a pizzaman, with his passion for casually conversing with customers as he cooked calzones and pizzas propped up only by his need to make a living. For years he ran that restaurant, coming to know everyone in the town - from the cops who wanted a slice between cutting tickets, to the regulars who just didn't feel like cooking after a hard days work, to the creeps and villains alike.

So it's Thursday, one of the busier nights, and the phone rings. I answer it and begin to take the order. I had only been working at the restaurant for about two weeks, and was unfamiliar with the area but finally catching on to how it worked.

"[Our Restaurant], this is [me], how may I help you."

"Hi, yes." Says a scratchy voice on the other side of the phone. "I'd like to order one large plain pizza." A cough rang out of the end of the sentence. It was a woman. Old, more than likely, probably trying to squeeze in a slice or two before her last episode of Murder She Wrote before bed.

"Great." I said, as I followed the textbook script informing her it would cost $18.12 and would be ready in 30 minutes, mindlessly jotting down her address and phone number.

"Excellent I'm looking forward to it... when are you getting here sir, are you the one who's going to make the delivery?" An odd inquiry I thought, but perhaps just a polite gesture of concern and amicability that still exists among older generations.

"Yes, ma'am, shouldn't be too long."

"Great, see you soon sweetheart."

*click*

I collected the ticket and walked it over behind the black and white tile counter, submitting the order to the already backed up docket of orders. My boss hadn't paid any particular attention to me as I slipped it in the order-rail pursuant to practice - Thursdays were always this busy, and he didn't want to lose concentration between kneading the dough and covering it with sauce and cheese. He looked up at the ticket as he always did to see what, if anything, special he had to prepare for a potentially different order, this time staring for a few seconds longer than he usually did. He glanced back down at the dough, a with a smirk forming on his face.

"This is a good one." he said, peering at me over his glasses with dough being pressed roughly between his knuckles and the cold tile counter.

I paid no mind to it and went about my business, serving the customers in the restaurant and taking more orders.

Thirty minutes passed, and he handed me the single box of pizza with the heater bag.

I drove to the address. It was part of an apartment complex with the doors to the apartments on the outside, duplexes with a main door opening up to a staircase that led to the second floor apartment and the first floor apartment door immediately to the left. I rang the doorbell and waited outside the main door, examining the various contents and decor of the house - a green wreath, withered from the cold, stared me back in the face.

That's when it hit me. My ruminations were interrupted by the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke, filling my nostrils and my lungs like an unrelenting wave. Before I could register the overpowering scent, the door opened, and a figure stood leaning against the door frame. She was short, maybe 5'4", and I couldn't make out anything about her face because it was dark out and the light behind her was temporarily blinding me. She dragged her cigarette without breaking posture, leaning on the frame with one elbow tucked under the other in front of her waist.

"Well hello." I recognized the scratchy voice I heard on the phone, but face-to-face, it was different - it was sultry, or at least the best attempt at sultriness that an older woman's voice box would allow. Smoke exited her mouth as she tilted her head, beckoning for me to come inside.

As my eyes adjusted to the indoor lights, I could make out that she was wearing a robe. Blue. Sapphire Blue. With pink clouds sewn on the cotton, peppering the garment in a random pattern.

"Just put the pizza on that table over there." I did as instructed. "I'm going to the kitchen to get your money baby."

For a second I thought about what she had just said - did I hear that correctly? The self-questioning I put myself through was abruptly halted as she emerged from the kitchen, with the living room light finally illuminating her front enough for me to make our her features. 75, minimum, with great posture for such age. Her face was straddled with wrinkles and her walk was of casual demeanor, staring me down with two eyes that matched her gown. She got close to me, grabbed my palm and softly plopped a $20 bill and closed my hand, not letting go. What I thought was happening was actually happening.

She pushed me backwards, her fragile, pruny hands pressing against my sternum in the direction of the door. I turned around with the pizza heater sleeve and hurried out the front, failing to give the usual gesture that implied a $1.88 tip is bullshit, caught between a mix of feeling petrified and how fucking hilarious this story is going to be to tell my roommates when I get back home. I nearly ran outside down the two stairs that led to the sidewalk, noticing that a silhoutte was stalking me, cast taller than I against the sidewalk in front of me.

I turned around.

"Next time," she said, leaning in a similar manner against the frame she was when she answered the door, smoke billowing out of her nostrils as she stared at me like prey, "I'll have to order the sausage pizza." She winked, and slammed the door shut.

They say that when you're in shock you cannot really register anything. I drove back to the restaurant, unable to even engage in my favorite activity of flipping through the radio stations and expressing discontent at awful cocktail of commercials and shitty music DJs try to peddle to listeners; I ran the line through my head over and over. "Sausage Pizza."
I walked through the door and my boss started laughing hysterically as if he had a sense of clairvoyance that allowed him to witness the situation that happened only a few miles away.

"Have fun?" My boss continued to laugh, adjusting his glasses. "Did she ask for the extra sausage?"

I had repressed that memory until coming across this subreddit, and I'm sure it's happened to one of you guys before. But I hope you enjoyed hearing it as much as I did telling it.

title: Special Delivery [x-post from TalesfromthePizzaGuy]

question: Summarize the plot of the story.

answer: The narrator is working at a pizzeria, and takes an unusual phone order. While making it, their boss says that "this is a good one," with a smirk. The narrator then goes to deliver the pizza. The customer is an old woman, and is acting sultry and says "Next time, I'll have to order the sausage pizza." The narrator hurries away and drives back to the restaurant.

question: Summarize the narrator's relationship with their boss.

answer: The narrator's boss was the owner of a small town pizza place. He became a fixture in the neighborhood and knew everyone in the neighborhood. The narrator and their boss seems to have a good relationship despite the narrator only working there a few weeks. The boss teases the narrator after they return from their delivery.

question: Summarize the narrator's job in the pizzeria.

answer: At the time of this story, the narrator had been working at the pizza place for two weeks. They already remembered the script for phone orders, and were catching on to how things worked. The narrator seemed to be responsible for taking phone orders, deliveries, submitting orders, and serving customers in the restaurant.

question: Summarize the narrator's encounter with the old woman.

answer: The old woman calls to order a pizza and the narrator answers. She sounds scratchy on the phone, and calls the narrator "sweetheart." When the narrator gets there, she was trying to be sultry with the narrator. She invited him in and used any excuse for physical contact. The narrator is disturbed and quickly leaves. As the narrator leaves, the old woman says that next time she'll "have to order the sausage pizza."


text:
[Self-portrait (1910)] [The Ortspitze in Passau] PAULA DEPPE (12 October 1886, Rokycany - 4 October 1922, Passau) was a Bohemian-German painter, engraver and illustrator; known for landscapes, portraits and still-lifes.

Biography

Her father was the manager of a leather factory. She began her artistic education at the Akademischer Malerschule in Pilsen, an art school exclusively for women, under the direction of the Czech painter, .

In 1907, she transferred to the “Ladies' Academy” of the (A women's art association), although the classes were actually held at the Academy of Fine Arts. There, she studied with Heinrich Knirr and Ferdinand Götz (1874–1941). She also supplemented her formal lessons with classes at a private academy operated by Julius Seyler.

Her major showings include one in 1914, at the “International Exhibition of Book and Graphic Arts” (BUGRA) in Leipzig, and exhibitions of the Münchener Neue Secession in 1919 (at the Glaspalast) and 1921. The latter came about after her intimate friend, the landscape painter , introduced her to Maria Caspar-Filser and her husband, Karl Caspar, two of the Secession's founders.

For most of her life, she lived with her parents or siblings. After World War I, when her father's leather factory was given to the new government of Czechoslovakia, the family moved to Seestetten, near Passau, where he opened a sawmill. Shortly after, Paula moved into a house with her sister Frieda in nearby Laufenbach.

She died of blood poisoning at a clinic in Passau, following an operation to treat abdominal tuberculosis.

title: Paula Deppe

question: Who is Paula Deppe?

answer: She was a Bohemian-German painter, engraver, and illustrator; known for landscapes, portraits, and still-lifes.

question: What schools did Paula attend?

answer: She began her artistic education at the Akademischer Malerschule in Pilsen. In 1907, she transferred to the “Ladies' Academy” held at the Academy of Fine Arts. She also supplemented her formal lessons with classes at a private academy operated by Julius Seyler.

question: Name Paula's major showings.

answer:
The International Exhibition of Book and Graphic Arts (BUGRA) in Leipzig, 1914.
The Münchener Neue Secession at the Glaspalast, 1919 and 1921.

question: What killed Paula Deppe?

answer: She died of blood poisoning following an operation to treat abdominal tuberculosis.

question: Write a ~6 sentence summary.

answer: Paula Deppe was a Bohemian-German painter, engraver, and illustrator. She was known for landscapes, portraits, and still-lifes. Paula began her artistic education at the Akademischer Malerschule and transferred to the "Ladies Academy" in 1907. She also got formal private lessons from Julius Seyler. Paula's major shows include the International Exhibition of Book and Graphic Arts in Leipzig, 1914, and the Münchener Neue Secession at the Glaspalast in 1919 and 1921. Paula died at an early age due to blood poisoning after an operation to treat abdominal tuberculosis.


text:
Whistling at the dark

He stood in the blackness, his lips pursed together in a defiant sneer against the night. A soft sound escaped his lips, a pliant, fleeting tone that slipped through the night like the soft cries of a cornered prey. But it was with that sole musicless tone that he fought the night. It was like a dirge to him, a requim to be repeated over and over lest a chaotic fate take his life, some form of protection. The night carried dangers, of course. The night always carried danger, slow predators, fast prey, the ever present spiral of life and death. The forest in the distance was a trap. A slow death for those found within, pressed by others who would take their life for sustenance, and by the slow grind of the human machine which presses in on the trees like a vice, both metaphorical and not. The roads nearby hummed with motorcycle engines and the low drum of tractor trailers. The night was barely audible. The trees' rustle was sorrowful, as though they were aware of the sparse environment in which they grew. Perhaps they knew that their seeds, their children, would find pavement and poison. Perhaps plants were aware of the damage we did them. Perhaps not.

These were not the questions that He pondered as his tones and scales passed into the night. The question he pondered was a simple one. Does the night threaten, or protect? If a man finds his way into the forest at night, can he use the night as another tool, like a hammer to be weilded against the nails of the world? Humans were so good with tools. They used their world and changed their world and were positively okay with changing with their own alterations. Each new hell we press upon the world is one  which we will pay for. We are punished by our sins, not for them.

The tone changed. The man's face twitched, like he had caught the odor of something wistfully foul in the enveloping black. The whistling was a bit faster now, more of a plaintive groan than a playful twist of wind.  The man had made a realization. His mind had pierced the slow gloam of humanity to find a small point of universality. 'We are all trees' he breathed softly through his pursed lips. Then the meteor struck. The large rock flying through the universe had picked his small backwater planet and found his small backwater field where he stood whistling in the night. It was so massive, he had no chance of escape. By the time the news had reported the scientist's findings, the blast radius covered his entire nation. No vehicle could bear him from the damage now. He and his family would be lost, his home burned beyond even molecular recognition, with a force like an atomic bomb striking so close. He would be lost. But life would not be. The meteor was a predator, a cosmic wolf with gnashing teeth and cracked claws. But prey could be clever. Humans were so good with tools.

Inside a small black box buried feet under the ground lay a seed. A small seed, a tiny oak rock filled with all of the DNA and potential and history of life on Earth. The box was cracked, and water from the new storm clouds forming over the planet found its way to the cushioning around the seed. It took time. The little life had to crack its way out of its own shell; then the shell of the man, the little black box designed to handle even the force of an atomic bomb. It found its way out. Through the ashey dirt it fled, past the atoms of He and his family and their home and the ashphalt and chaos of humanity. Past humanity it fled, reaching towards light, unsure if the earth above it would bury it. But humans were so good with tools. A sharp metal stab rang out near the plants' new growth. It could feel the earth above it rended, torn from its roots and sent flying into the air. But its roots were strong, buried in humanity. The rending stopped. Above the plant, a small something opened up. It could not tell what it was; had never seen sunlight before. But there was a mass there, a white shining mass of hydrocarbons and polycarbonates. It was a human, come to sample the soil from the strike. 'Hello' said the plant in its own indiscernible language. 'and thank you.'

Later, a mighty oak grew in that spot. The small metal box rose to the surface over the years, and was discovered years after the tree was fully grown. On it, it said; “Humanity does not refer to human beings' selfish nature for self preservation. It refers to the quality within us which protects all life, both ours and others.”

title: Please judge this rough draft I would like to know if I have "writer chops." Thanks

question: Explain what was happening that gave the man no chance of escape.

answer: A massive meteor struck and it had picked his small backwater planet where he was standing.

question: What was the force of the meteor?

answer: The force was like an atomic bomb.

question: Explain how not all life would be lost from the massive meteor strike.

answer: There is a small box buried underground with a small seed and rock filled with all of the DNA of life on Earth.

question: What happened after the box was cracked and water from new storm clouds found its way to the seed?

answer: A mighty oak grew in that spot.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: A massive meteor strikes the planet with a force of an atomic bomb but not all life would be lost. A small box buried underground contains a seed and oak rock filled with all the DNA of life on Earth. A human later comes to inspect the soil around the plant that later grows to be a mighty Oak.


text:
 By Aug 8, 2018, 8:08am EDT

Photography by James Bareham | Video by Tom Connors & Becca Farsace

When you write about augmented reality headsets, you’re supposed to start by describing something impossible — like a pastel dinosaur stomping its feet in a quiet office space in Florida. This dinosaur is made of fist-sized blocks that look like candy, and the office belongs to Magic Leap, a mysterious startup that’s been working in near-total secrecy for seven years. I should clarify that the dinosaur also isn’t real. It exists only in the lenses of the Magic Leap One, a pair of goggles that Magic Leap hopes will replace phones, computers, and every other high-tech screen in our lives.

The whimsical anecdote setup is supposed to emphasize how well the Magic Leap One tricked my mind into believing this impossible thing existed, which is what I’d hoped would happen last month when Magic Leap invited me to its headquarters. But it just didn’t happen.

In reality, the dinosaur I see through the Magic Leap One looks genuinely three-dimensional, but pieces start getting cut off when I approach it. When a man walks behind it, I can see him slightly. My headset doesn’t account for relative distance, so it’s impossible for someone to walk in front of the dinosaur, no matter how close they are. It’s still a fascinating, wonderful illusion — maybe the best I’ve seen in one of these headsets, and far cooler than watching an AR model through an iPhone screen. But it’s not the kind of revolutionary (or downright magical) advance that Magic Leap has teased for years. It’s a better version of a thing I’ve tried before, and that thing is still very much a work in progress.

Based on an afternoon with Magic Leap, the Magic Leap One Creator Edition — which ships in the US today for $2,295 — is a functional, thoughtfully designed headset with some very real advantages over competitors like the Microsoft HoloLens. But it doesn’t seem like a satisfying computing device or a radical step forward for mixed reality. Magic Leap’s vision is a compelling alternative to that of Silicon Valley’s tech giants. But there’s a baffling disconnect between its vast resources and parts of its actual product. I genuinely believe Magic Leap has given me a glimpse of the future of computing, but it might take a long time to reach that future, and I’m not sure Magic Leap will be the company that gets there first.

Magic Leap calls itself a “spatial computing” company, but it produces what most people call augmented or mixed reality experiences: hologram-like objects projected into three-dimensional space. Modern smartphones offer a primitive version of mixed reality, and headsets like Microsoft HoloLens offer a more advanced version for industrial and professional use. Magic Leap has a more ambitious goal: it’s building futuristic mixed reality glasses for everyday computing, hoping to beat bigger companies like Apple or Facebook to market. So far, it’s raised over $2.3 billion to realize its vision, with major investors that range from Google to JPMorgan.

The company isn’t just promoting a headset. Since its founding in 2011, Magic Leap has cultivated an enigmatic image that CEO Rony Abovitz compares to the black monolith from _2001: A Space Odyssey_ — “where it’s anything you want it to be,” he says. Abovitz has claimed that Magic Leap’s hardware will “transcend what can be contained in a physical product.” He announced the company with a 2012 TedX talk in which he donned a full space suit and spoke for 30 seconds. Today, he won’t even confirm it was him in the suit.

The Magic Leap One Creator Edition is aimed at artists and developers, but Abovitz stresses that it’s a “full-blown, working consumer-grade product,” not a prototype. AT&T will even offer demos to customers in some of its stores later this year. “We think it’s at the border of being practical for everybody,” says Abovitz. “Our whole thing with Magic Leap One is, we want people to realize _this_ is what computing should look like — not [laptops], not TVs, not phones.”

The Magic Leap One is a three-piece system that includes a headset called Lightwear, a small wearable computer called the Lightpack, and a handheld controller. The headset is studded with tracking cameras for mapping your environment, as well as inward-facing eye-tracking cameras. The darkened lenses are inset with small glass waveguides, which Magic Leap calls “photonics chips.” These chips are manufactured at Magic Leap headquarters, a former Motorola factory. Abovitz says Magic Leap can comfortably produce tens of millions of chips on-site, while the rest of the headset is manufactured by a third party whose name and location he resolutely refuses to discuss.

Lightwear eschews the visor-like style of most mixed reality headsets, favoring a cyberpunk-y design with big round lenses, which lead designer Gary Natsume says are supposed to evoke the “universal sign” of glasses. “If you can start drawing two circles, and everyone says ‘Oh, that’s Magic Leap,’ that’s our goal,” he says. The system has a headphone jack, but by default, it pipes audio through small built-in speakers near your ears.

The headset looks far from utilitarian — it’s like something a hacker would wear in a _Shadowrun_ larp. But against all odds, it’s surprisingly comfortable. You put it on by stretching an expandable back, then settling it lightly over your head. Buyers can pick from two sizes, which offer the same eyepieces with different head strap sizes and interpupillary distances. Swappable nose and forehead rests make smaller adjustments possible. You can’t wear normal glasses with the Magic Leap One, but you can order prescription lenses that clip magnetically into the headset.

Part of the comfort factor is the Magic Leap One’s relative lightness, since the bulkiest electronics are offloaded into the Lightpack. The little puck computer is permanently wired to the headset, and it includes an Nvidia Tegra X2 chipset, 8GB of memory, 128GB of storage, and a battery with up to three hours of use time. The battery is partly detached to create a slot in the center of the device, so you can clip it onto your pocket; if you don’t have pockets, you can also snap it into a thin shoulder strap and wear it that way.

Otherwise, the Lightpack is a smooth gray disk with a USB-C charging port and buttons for power and volume, as well as a universal pause button cleverly labeled “Reality.” Natsume says the Lightpack is specifically slightly smaller than a CD-ROM, so people won’t mistake it for a CD player. Given the Magic Leap One’s mildly ‘90s-retro look, that seems like a legitimate concern.

The Magic Leap One is designed for an eclectic range of inputs. It supports some third-party controllers, and the Lightwear cameras track limited hand motion, although I only tried this feature briefly. Abovitz even says Magic Leap will release a “biomarker toolkit,” which will let apps extrapolate breathing patterns, tone of voice, pupil changes, and pulse rate from microphone and eye-tracking camera data.

But the default interface is a single remote-style controller informally called the “totem,” which includes a front trigger, a bumper button above the trigger, a round trackpad on the top, and a tiny home button behind the trackpad. It looks a lot like the controller of the Oculus Go or Samsung Gear VR, except that it’s fully tracked by the headset cameras, so it offers a full range of motion. It’s not quite like having a virtual hand, but it’s a versatile system nonetheless.

Like every mixed reality company, Magic Leap eventually wants to make a normal-looking pair of glasses that can be worn everywhere. For now, the headset is only guaranteed to work indoors, and it includes Bluetooth and Wi-Fi antennas, but no mobile data options. AT&T has already committed to selling a future version with wireless data plans, though, and Abovitz says you can use the current version “at your own risk” outside. “We wanted to teach people how to begin to live a life like this. You don’t suddenly want people running across the street,” he says.

I didn’t take the Magic Leap One outside, and I’m not sure how well it would function under bright sunlight or near dark. I tried it in a series of spacious, well-lit rooms filled with furniture that provided clear hard edges for tracking. I played demos built by Magic Leap’s huge team of developers to show off the headset’s full range of capabilities, with an employee on hand to answer my questions and guide me through the experiences. I saw the Magic Leap One at what any reasonable person might assume was its absolute peak performance. And in light of all that, I still left worried.

Magic Leap is best known for its hardware, but the roughly 1,500-person company has a large software team as well, and the Magic Leap One has a functional operating system and starting app suite. Its Linux-based Lumen OS appears as a series of balls floating in mid-air, and the headset ships with a web browser called Helio; a “social suite” with a holographic chat system; an app store called Magic Leap World; an image gallery; a system for pinning and watching virtual screens; and a demo of _Dr. Grordbort’s Invaders_, a steampunk shooter from New Zealand special effects studio Weta Workshop.

Magic Leap World offers a few more experiences, including an NBA mixed reality app preview; an art app called Create; and an interactive musical experience called _Tonandi_, made in partnership with the band Sigur Rós. These apps cover some of mixed reality’s clearest use cases, but they’re compromised by the headset’s basic technical limitations.

The Magic Leap One’s field of view is constantly distracting. Field of view is a huge problem for mixed reality headsets, which can generally just project images into a moderately sized rectangle in front of you, leaving the rest of the world bare. Magic Leap has improved on Microsoft’s HoloLens in this respect — it’s got a 50-degree diagonal field of view, which works out to a rectangle that’s around 45 percent bigger. But it’s not nearly enough to look around the world normally. Moderately sized objects were cut off if I got too close, and full-room scenes appeared only in patches.

The overall image quality, meanwhile, felt similar to HoloLens. Objects looked three-dimensional, but ethereal. Edges glowed slightly, text was a little fuzzy, and some objects appeared slightly transparent. Tracking was generally good, but objects occasionally shifted or jittered. A few times, animated objects seized up altogether, which might have been an issue with tracking, Lightpack performance, or something else. Magic Leap theoretically features multiple focal planes that let your eyes focus more normally than with other mixed reality headsets. But the images weren’t realistic enough for me to judge how well that was working.

All of this, to be clear, is still very, very impressive __ compared to most mixed reality headsets. Combined with the comfort factor, it makes Magic Leap one of the best (if not _the_ best) pieces of mixed reality hardware I’ve seen. But after all of Magic Leap’s descriptions of its unique hyper-advanced light field technology, it didn’t feel categorically different from something like HoloLens — which was released two years ago, and has a second generation on the horizon. I’m not convinced Magic Leap’s photonics chip is practically that different from other mixed reality waveguides, or that Magic Leap is doing something other companies couldn’t replicate.

I’m also not sure how much the Lightpack’s performance will limit experience size, complexity, and spatial responsiveness. The Magic Leap One is supposed to have fairly sophisticated tracking options. I could put my palm out to block projectiles in _Dr. Grordbort’s Invaders_, and I could walk around a room to create a rough mesh of my surroundings, then do things like bounce a virtual ball against a couch. But for now, the headset seemingly ignores all non-static objects besides hands. I was told that it could potentially track people moving around the dinosaur I mentioned earlier, but that doing so would require too much power — so the option won’t be available in the first release.

_Some of Magic Leaps first wearable prototypes_

Revolutionary computing devices don’t have to be perfect, as long as they do something even a little exciting — and Magic Leap is _more_ than a little exciting. Abovitz compares the Magic Leap One to the first Macintosh computer. “It didn’t have full color, it didn’t have all the _stuff_. But the whole world just opened up for me,” he says. “It’s got all these infinite possibilities.”

But instead of showcasing the strength of its possibilities, my Magic Leap One app demos kept highlighting the weaknesses of its technology. I could imagine replacing my television with a virtual screen, but not one that clips in half when I’m not staring straight at it. I kept forgetting where I’d placed small virtual objects in a room. Full-room experiences, like the beautiful underwater seascape of _Tonandi_, always felt clearly artificial. The issue wasn’t just technical limits, it was apps that didn’t seem designed to work well within those limits.

The apps also generally just weren’t very novel or interesting. Most were modest riffs on existing HoloLens or phone-based mixed reality experiences, like a generic toybox of 3D props or a Wayfair webapp for visualizing furniture in a room. I didn’t see the ambitious-sounding projects that _Rolling Stone_ described in a glowing profile last year — like a full-fledged narrative sci-fi scene, a virtual comic book, a theme park experience, and a hyper-realistic virtual woman.

My marquee experience was _Dr. Grordbort’s Invaders_, which _Rolling Stone_ says has been in development for five years and has a 55-person team. (For context, that’s triple or quadruple the size of many prominent indie game studios.) But it was still an abbreviated shooting gallery with simpler gameplay than Magic Leap’s original concept demo or Microsoft’s _Project X-Ray_ HoloLens demo, both of which appeared over three years ago.

If anybody is in a position to make groundbreaking, intuitive, and entertaining mixed reality experiences, it should be Magic Leap. Abovitz and his co-founder Sam Miller originally built their hardware to support an expansive sci-fi project called _Hour Blue_ — Abovitz compares their path to a movie studio making an X-wing fighter prop for a Star Wars movie, then going into aerospace because the thing can actually fly.

_Hour Blue_ is his personal side project now, but Magic Leap still has a powerhouse creative team, including _Snow Crash_ author Neal Stephenson, _The 7th Guest_ creator Graeme Devin, and “bullet time” co-inventor John Gaeta. It’s also got partnerships with several artists and development studios, including a deal with Disney’s Lucasfilm.

So unless Magic Leap is deliberately holding any big projects for a consumer release, I’m not sure what its internal studios and partners have been doing with several years and virtually unlimited funding, and why it wouldn’t showcase more of their work during the Magic Leap One’s big debut. Magic Leap doesn’t seem insulated from competition by sheer technological superiority. Its best bet might be convincing people that it’s offering the most interesting vision for our mixed reality future. I wish I’d seen more signs of that future in my demos — because based on Abovitz’s descriptions, it’s pretty distinctive.

The simple fact that Magic Leap is building a mixed reality headset doesn’t seem as singular now as it did in 2014, when Google led the company’s first big funding round. Companies like Microsoft, Meta, and Avegant are making similar devices, and Apple, Google, and Facebook are heavily promoting phone-based mixed reality, with not-so-veiled plans to release glasses in the future.

And although none of these companies have tried to make mixed reality glasses mainstream, Magic Leap isn’t trying to do that right away, either. “We can push a little bit, but at some point you want to move with society, listen to people, I’m not ‘go fast and break things,’” he says, referencing Facebook’s infamous early slogan.

The mostly failed Google Glass headset from 2013 showed how badly people can react to augmented reality headsets — it came off as creepy, invasive, and elitist, the province of a few oblivious nerds who can unilaterally record or remake their environment. Magic Leap plans to use its funding to stay afloat while it waits for social norms to evolve. That strategy seems risky, since unlike a larger company, Magic Leap doesn’t have another product to fall back on. But during a period of backlash against Facebook and other large companies, it might give Magic Leap an advantage.

“Our whole thing is, we want to be hyper-protective of the user,” Abovitz says. He wants to package all the data users generate into a user-owned repository called a “lifestream,” which people can keep private or explicitly license to companies. He says Magic Leap users can do whatever they want in private spaces, but that the company will take a conservative approach to apps and publicly distributed art, which should be “G to PG-13” with no porn or ultraviolence.

It’s a hands-on approach to platform-building with an explicitly prosocial bent — Abovitz imagines releasing a “young person’s primer to being a good Magic Leaper” to engrain mixed reality etiquette in kids.

Magic Leap’s biggest plans would change our entire relationship with computers in some very weird ways. It’s apparently working on dual AI assistants: a simple robotic creature for performing low-level tasks, and a separate human-like entity that you’d treat as an equal, to the point that it will leave the room if you’re rude. “If you break terms and conditions, and you’re really rude to an AI, our general thought process is you might lose access and you might have to regain access,” he speculates. “Almost like if you’re bad in a chat room or bad in Wikipedia. We want people to operate in a certain decent cultural way within our overall ecology.”

But it’s easy to make big promises when you have no users. Everyone I met at Magic Leap emphasized that the AI, the “biomarkers,” the lifestream, and other experimental ideas were long-term projects. As it stands, Magic Leap seems extremely vulnerable to being upstaged by a bigger company — Apple’s increasing investment in AR isn’t particularly secret, after all — and that’s if the world turns out to be ready for mixed reality at all.

Magic Leap has set impossible standards for itself over the past seven years, and as the Magic Leap One ships, Abovitz wants to reset some of the hype. “It’s all extremes, and I just feel like, ‘Hey, let’s all come back to the center, let’s take a breath,” he says. “But it’s probably a lot cooler than most people think.”

Whether or not it’s cooler than most people think, the Magic Leap One is cooler than the vast majority of mixed reality in 2018. But it still seems a long way from realizing the promise of the medium — and it hasn’t shown that it can bridge that gap.

[]

question: What is the Magic Leap One?

answer: An augmented reality headset.

question: How much does it cost?

answer: $2,295

question: When was Magic Leap founded?

answer: 2011

question: How much money have they raised with investors?

answer: $2.3 billion

question: Write a ~8 sentence summary.

answer: The Magic Leap One Creator Edition is an augmented reality headset aimed at creatives and developers. It consists of three pieces: a headset called Lightwear, a small wearable computer called the Lightpack, and a handheld controller. It has a cyberpunk design with big round lenses that mimic glasses more than a square-shaped traditional vr headset. It's ornate, and you can even order prescription lenses to clip into the device. It has a USB charging port and a little puck computer permanently wired into the headset, with an Nvidia Tegra X2 chipset, 8GB of memory, 128GB of storage, and a battery. The range of inputs it can handle include third party controllers and cameras to track limited hand motion. There's a single remote called a totem that isn't exactly like a virtual hand but has a versatile range of motion. The creators of Magic Leap describe the next several years of development as ambitious and are optimistic about the range of technology in augmented reality systems and devices.


text: The truth is, I don’t care, I do not give a flying fuck….about anything. I pretend to care, then it grows into an emotion. I have to teach myself how to feel a new emotion. For most of my childhood, puberty, I’ll spare you the details, about the puberty that is. I feel I was raised right, respectful, had a good grasp on right and wrong, did my chores, made my bed, combed my hair, and enough with this run on sentence. I knew what laughing was, I understood what was funny, what was offensive, or what was flat out terrifying. But I never felt them for more than an instant. Not a whole lost phased me, I took everything as it came. I never thought of myself to have many pet peeves. Oh, except don’t cut me off while im talking. DO NOT FUCKING EVER CUT ME OFF WHILE I AM TALKING!!! Whoo, I apologize, I do at times for unknown reasons get really, really angry. Which, back to the topic is how I had to teach myself emotions, anger is a big one, but that will come later. First topic of interest, what makes you sad? Dying puppies, loved ones passing into whatever doesn’t offend my readers heaven or hell or black abyss, whatever you get the point. Sadness isn’t something I felt full throttle until much too late in the game. Like if we were at war with another universe, and I was the only person that could keep them from making us prisoners of war and slaves for the rest of our lives. And all I had to do was be sad and cry a little bit, we’d be prisoners, then I would get sad, that’s what I mean by late in the game. Growing up, I lived day by day based on principal, and ritual. Same thing, every morning, day, evening, weekend, it was all the fucking same. Seeing as this is technically a work of fiction cause no one knows who and what im talking about. I could be pulling all this shit right out the back of my brain and implicating myself and sarcastic ways into yours, be careful, read wisely. Anyhow, back to the same shit different day, that’s when I learned that getting angry wasn’t just a 3 second feeling anymore. I was getting angry, staying angry, and making sure everybody and their mothers knew it. I didn’t throw tantrums, I didn’t scream or yell, or break things. I just have a look, a blank look that Death himself couldn’t see an emotion in. I could be getting yelled at, asked questions, being complimented, and just a look, staring at you. I may not say much, but I listen, pay attention to the things around me. To this day I still do the stare and still not sure why. I am a very quiet angry person, the longer it lasted, the more I could channel it into quiet anger. An anger that I can pass from the depths within me through my veins and forced out of my fingertips onto this dust covered keyboard, because I smoke too much. So I never elaborate on the whole “I don’t care about anything” thing. I say I pretend to care, but I guess in retrospect, I don’t pretend, I did learn how to use my emotions, I think from pretending, it actually taught me how to do the real thing. Well, anyhow, if you guys even read these things I write I don’t always get personal, just times like these. But if there are any readers out there, like it, share it, give me feed back. I will be writing about many things in the future, so let me know people still like to read. Im just the guy for over-description, excessive adjectives, sarcasm and swear words.

title: If anyone cares to read the pointless banter.and dry humor.

question: Summarize the emotion the narrator feels the most in the text.

answer: The narrator states how they do not care about anything. They are quite numb to almost everything and even sadness does not phase them. The narrator stated that they grew up on principle and ritual, doing the same thing every day and night. The narrator spent a large time just being angry, not the kind of angry which makes you scream and shout, but the one where you just have a blank look.

question: How does writing their feelings out help the narrator?


text:
[Choreophobia: Solo Improvised Dance in the Iranian World]

Title

Choreophobia: Solo Improvised Dance in the Iranian World

Description

Choreophobia is the term coined by Dr. Shay, in this first full-length study of Iranian dance, to characterize the widespread ambiguous and negative reactions to solo improvised dance, the most popular dance form in the Iranian world. This dance form appears to constitute an ambiguous, powerful, and highly negative symbol in Iranian society. The central project of this study, designed for both scholars and general readers, is to identify and analyze what factors currently contribute and have historically contributed to the ambiguous position solo improvised dance occupies in an Iranian context. This is reflected both currently and historically in attempts to ban its public performances. In spite of the negative reactions solo improvised dance can evoke, nonetheless it is also loved and performed throughout the Iranian world, emphasizing the ambiguity that accompanies its performances in various social contexts. The author draws a portrait of solo improvised dance by detailing its movement practices and describing and analyzing the aesthetic and creative impulses utilized by performers of the genre. By showing the ways in which solo improvised dance shares important formal aesthetic and creative elements with other Iranian expressive forms such as calligraphy, music, and traditional theatre through the use of geometry and improvisation, the author demonstrates how dance is firmly linked with other Iranian art forms. Shay addresses the topic of historical evidence for this dance genre concentrating on how dance appears in visual art forms such as the Persian miniature and the limitations of the visual arts as a source for historical reconstruction. He describes the Iranian world providing the historical, cultural and social contexts for the study. Several authors have posited Islamic attitudes as the single reason for negative reactions toward dance, an assumption that Shay questions. Using several dance events as examples, the author proposes a model for describing and analyzing the elements that constitute choreophobia, arguing that such a model may have wider implications in the study of dance.

Publisher

Mazda Publishers

Keywords

Iran, dance, culture

Disciplines

Dance | History | Performance Studies

Recommended Citation

Shay, Anthony. Choreophobia: Solo Improvised Dance in the Iranian World. Costa Mesa, CA: Mazda Publishers, 1999.

question: What is Choreophobia?

answer: The term coined by Dr. Shay in his first full-length study of Iranian dance to characterize the widespread negative reactions to solo improvised dance, the most popular dance form in the Iranian world.

question: What is the goal of Dr. Shay's study?

answer: To identify and analyze what factors currently contribute and have historically contributed to the ambiguous position solo improvised dance occupies in an Iranian context.

question: How does Dr. Shay demonstrate how dance is linked with other Iranian art forms?

answer: By showing the ways in which solo improvised dance shares important formal aesthetic and creative elements with other Iranian expressive forms such as calligraphy, music, and traditional theatre through the use of geometry and improvisation.

question: According to several authors, what is the single reason for negative reactions toward dance?

answer: Islamic attitudes.

question: Write a ~2 sentence summary.

answer: Dr. Shay authors a study called Choreophobia, where he studies solo improvised dance in the Iranian world and why it receives such widespread negative reactions. He aims to prove that dance shares important aesthetic and creative elements with other forms of Iranian art.


text:
The growth of Iran's navy, especially its plans to build a naval port in Syria, concerns Israel.

Thousands mark Al-Quds Day march in Iran (credit: REUTERS)

As Iran continues to fight to become a global superpower, the Islamic Republic’s flag may soon be flying halfway across the globe on warships sent to the Gulf of Mexico, Iran’s new Navy commander has announced.

“Our fleet of warships will be sent to the Atlantic Ocean in the near future and will visit one of the friendly states in South America and the Gulf of Mexico,” Iranian Navy Commander Rear Admiral Hossein Khanzadi was quoted by Iran’s semi-official Tasnim News Agency as saying.

Iran will likely use the warships’ visit to Latin America to advance its relationship with its ally Venezuela, a US adversary. And while Iran’s navy poses no real threat when up against the American navy, Khanzadi added that new vessels and submarines will be introduced next year to bolster the country’s fleet.

At a press conference in early November, outgoing Naval commander Rear Admiral Habibollah Sayyari said that "sailing in open waters between Europe and the Americas should be the navy’s goal, which will be realized in the near future."

Iran has increased its presence in international waters in recent years. According to Sayyari, Iran has sent 47 flotillas of warships into international waters including last November when an Iranian naval flotilla entered the Atlantic Ocean after sailing around Africa.

“No foreign military official could even imagine that the Iranian naval forces might reach the Atlantic Ocean,” Sayyari stated during a ceremony in August, adding that “no one saw it likely that Iranian forces could sail around Africa or go to the Suez Canal, but they proved to be capable of doing it.”

In 2014 Iran said it would send warships into the Gulf of Mexico to protest the US Navy presence in the Persian Gulf. The US Navy’s 5th fleet, based in Bahrain across the Persian Gulf, and Iranian vessels have clashed in recent years in the Persian Gulf.

But the ships never made it, and according to Meir Javedanfar, Iran lecturer Interdisciplinary Center (IDC) in Herzliya and researcher at Meir Ezri Center for Iran & Persian Gulf Studies at Haifa University, “It’s not clear if Iran is actually going to do it,” this time either.

“Making an announcement is very different than actually being able to carry out such a big and sophisticated task of sending Iranian ships all the way to the Gulf of Mexico,” Javedanfar told _The Jerusalem Post_. “And even if Iran succeeds I think it’s going to be mostly for show for domestic purposes. The Iranians have said that the Americans have no business being in the Persian Gulf and therefore maybe by doing this they are trying to reciprocate by saying that ‘just as you come to our backyard we can come to your backyard.'”

While Iran has repeatedly warned that any act of transgression into the country's territorial waters would be met with an immediate and befitting response, according to Javedanfar, “The US Navy in the Persian Gulf has got far more sophisticated anti-aircraft weaponry systems, aviation systems and marines than the Iranians ships, so the two can’t be compared.”

The Iranian navy is also currently taking part in the Indian Ocean Naval Symposium Multilateral Maritime Search and Rescue Exercise-2017 (IMMSAREX-17) which began Monday, along with the navies of 32 other countries. According to Tasnim, Iran’s naval military presence in international waters is “aimed at demonstrating their naval power and extending a message of peace and friendship.”

The growth of Iran’s navy is concerning to Israel, especially after Iran’s chief of staff Major General Mohammad Hossein Bagheri said that setting up naval bases in Yemen and Syria was “ten times more important” than nuclear technology.

According to Javedafar, Iran wants to portray the role of a superpower by deploying its revolutionary guard in countries such as Syria, Iraq and Yemen. Tehran, he said, wants to do the same with its naval forces, but due to the age of its fleet, it is more about appearance and does not pose any real threat to either Israel or the United States.

“Iran’s missiles are the biggest threat to us right now. Israel’s navy is far stronger, more modern and much better trained than the Iranian navy,” he said. “But if Iranian ships do make it to the Gulf of Mexico, the fact that it might rile some Americans will of course count in Israel’s favor.”

question: What is the main topic of the article?

answer: The article covers Israel's concern over the growth of Iran's navy, specifically the proposed building of a naval port in Syria.

question: When was this article written?

answer: Some time after 2014.

question: Why is Israel fearful?

answer: Iran is continuing its fight to become a global superpower.  Most concerning is their plan to set up naval bases in Yemen and Syria, claiming those bases are more important than nuclear technology.

question: Does Israel have support?

answer: It plans on sending warships to the Gulf of Mexico with hopes of advancing its relations with US adversary, Venezuela. This would in turn bolster support from America.

question: Write a ~5 sentence summary.

answer: The article covers Israel's concern over the growth of Iran's navy, specifically the proposed building of a naval port in Syria. Iran is continuing its fight to become a global superpower.  Most concerning is their plan to set up naval bases in Yemen and Syria, claiming those bases are more important than nuclear technology. It plans on sending warships to the Gulf of Mexico with hopes of advancing its relations with US adversary, Venezuela. This would in turn bolster support from America.


text: I awoke to a slight peculiarity; a bluebird rat tap tapping on my window. My eyes graced the light and I found myself in a haze as I stared at the creature and greeted it with my yawn. “Hello bluebird.” The bed was warm and I was comforted by a recurrent dream before waking. Every night I would see the blue streams behind my childhood home grace the red Georgia banks and meander into the orange sunlight. I would follow the current for as long as it would take me. It’s a funny thing, dreams. They give you no collateral and yet you feel your world surely busting at its seams; life, in its most primitive light. I would run and get winded and the foliage would blow with the cardinal winds and I was happy. And then, like today, I awaken to find myself alone. My legs sent dust roaring into the air as they swung into the side of the bed. I was up and it was a new day.  I walked downstairs to see my caretaker, Susanne, making me coffee and grits. I was hungry. So hungry. My house is far too big and I am beginning to regret accepting this large inheritance. It has been five years since she’s been gone; it has been five long years and I still haven’t collected myself. I remember watching the sun go down with her in my arms; we would sit in my grandmother’s rickety swinging bench in the back woods. The sun would set and we would swing the chair with gentle nudges. Crick. Crick. Crick. The small pond would illuminate and we were happy. Her father was a bloodhound from the locomotive business; although, she had detached herself completely from her family. They were old money and she somehow squeezed enough money out of that old prick to last us a lifetime. At the wedding he walked up to me and said, “Don’t fuck this up.” His smile was gleaming as he turned around and reassured everybody that he was a good and noble man. The entire family blamed me when she died. “Darin, Darin!” Susanne had to yell because I had no hearing out of my right ear. I had seen the bluebird again; it had brought a plump worm to feed its children outside the window sill. “Eat your grits hon, Dr. Chung will be here soon.” I slurped up the grits and walked into the living room and lied down. My head fucking killed. I left my fifth upstairs. I have become accustomed with leaving a bottle close to my bed in case my past meets me in my nightmares.

title: Critique the beginning of my story? (short)

question: What is the relationship between Suzanne and Darin?

answer: She is his caretaker.

question: What can be said about Darin's relationship with his late wife's father?

answer: It seems they didn't like each other.

question: What was the cause of his wife's death?

answer: It is not stated.

question: Is Darin an alcoholic?

answer: It can be implied that Darin drinks heavily because he makes the habit of leaving a bottle by his bed.

question: Write a ~4 sentence summary.

answer: Darin lives in the mansion he inherited from his family. His wife passed away five years prior, and he is still not over her death. It appears his late wife's family didn't like him very much because they blamed him for her death. He has a drinking problem and makes a habit of keeping a bottle by his bed due to regular nightmares.


text:
Before I share this story I must let you know I am in a dark place in my life. My fiancee broke off the engagement New Years Day. I am working on things day by day and I am getting the treatment to help me with it. So do not be worried for the most part.

I never really wrote growing up but I feel like this is going to be good for me till I get better.

Thank you for reading, and this is a **ROUGH DRAFT** and written on Notepad because that's all I have right now.

"My Day called Regrets"

The year is 2013, and I have made bad deciesions in my past and it is time to get everything straightened out.

It is a cold winters day, and I fight to open my eyes to the sunlight because it is another day of feeling the way I always do. The windows do not hold the cold out and it blows in under my blanket and lets me know I feel still. I let out a Sigh... and I wish things were different... but they aren't. I hurt people and destroyed futures. These things go through my mind every other thought durning my time of being awake. When I fall to sleep I am awoken by a racing heart beat and fear of not knowing how to fix things I thought I could.

As I wonder why I still get up, I make my way to the hoodie laying next to me. It is thick and is the only thing showing warmth to me in this time of cold. My day is filled with pain and trying to not tear up at every though of my past. I get ready for work like everyone else. I am listening to music where the screaming is ecspressing my inner voice and hurt from ex-girlfriends and past lovers who are now a distant memory of the singers past life. I feel his pain and wish everything was better.

I gather my things and head off to my third shift factory job and get ready for another slow night of work knowing the only things my mind will be thinking of are the things I wish it didn't. I put on a show for my co-workers, smiling... laughing... but the few people who know my pain know I am crying inside. I turn away more often then normal to wipe away the few forceful tears that leave my eyes. With everything going on I pretend to chuckle at the poorly told joke told to mee to try and cheer me up. It does not work and I just look away and get back to my work. Trying to focus on the job at hand and keeping as busy as I can to repress the ideas and memories. The night rolls on and everything at work is moving at a slugish pace and I have done all I can to keep busy, so I stand. I stand and just look out into nothingness, thinking, feeling pain I wish I have never felt.

The time is 5am and it is almost time to get done with work. The thought of sleep seems so good, but the dreams to come will keep me up. I shuffle to my locker looking at only where I need to walk not paying attention to the things around me, people, and machines. I kick off my boots knowing that the day is done and I can try and relax. Relaxation is just a distant memory I have not felt in a long time. It hurts. Everytihng hurts. I hate my job and the place I live. But I can not just leave and walk away. My gloves and heavy jacket help me get past the cold winter morning as I walk to my car.

The worst part of going home is knowing the heat from my ex lover is no longer there, and it is filled with the cold and emptieness of my bed. I try to keep warm by holding a pillow as close as possible. It does not help and only makes me feel worse. I hate this. But I need to work on myself before I can even think about looking for someone to try and feel happy with. It will contiune to be cold. I lay cold and alone waiting for my eyes to get heavy. The sand man must be stuck in traffic because my eyes will not get tierd and my pain will not subside. The tears help pull me towards sleep and I know it is another day that I will try to forget. This is just my day called regrets, and I am gone to wake again and repeat it.

title: "My day called Regrets" Rough Draft

question: Describe the narrator's routine

answer: The narrator wakes up while it is still daylight, gets dressed and ready for this night-shift at a factory. He attends his job as socialises as best he can with his co-workers, finishing his shift at 5am when he kicks off his boots and heads home.

question: What indicates the narrator is depressed?

answer: His lack of positivity, he wakes up worried about things he cannot control and pretends to be happy to those around him. He gets no joy out of anything he does and feels as though he is simply going through the motions. He feels like nothing can possibly change the way he feels even though that's all he wants.

question: Write a ~3 sentence summary.

answer: The story of a man who is going through the throes of depression. He has broken up with his girlfriend, works nights in a factory and is hurting. The man appears to accept that it is his fat to simply repeat the cycle.


text:
It was the type of sniffles where my nose was so plugged up a blast of compressed air wouldn’t even get through ; the type of sniffles where I could be sure that if I did not wipe, or sniffle every few seconds, there would be a little drop of snot resting the tip of my nose. All day, every few seconds I wipe my nose with a tissue just to keep from getting a puddle on my special ergonomic keyboard, and then I feel it; the tickly feeling at the tip of my penis, after hours of drinking water to stay hydrated, my bladder is stretched, like a little pink balloon, stuck on the helium tank.

I walk down the aisle of gray cubicles, sunlight pouring through the frosted glass offices. The offices get smaller as I get closer to the restroom, but the cubicles remain the same size. I hit the handicap button for the bathroom door, not because I’m handicapped, but because I don’t trust my coworkers and their germ encrusted fingers. With a mechanical whir, the door opens, I enter the bathroom and my heart sinks. In the second stall, under the half-assed doors that stop a full foot from the floor, I can see a pair of scrunched-up polyester dress pants on top of a pair of scuffed black dress shoes, the ones with the square toes, Eccos or something. Even with my stuffed nose, I can discern a certain olfactory character to the air.

I sidle up to the urinal, two steps followed by that funny shuffle as I square myself and and unzip my pants. As I relax, I felt the slight delight as the balloon starts to deflate. Suddenly there is another tickle, this time up, between my eyes and slightly down. I feel the slight tickle of snot as it trickles down my nasal passage.
For ten years now I have been an adult now and unlike elementary school, the tell-tale whitish streak up my sleeve is no longer acceptable, so in general I tend to avoid the sleeve wipe technique. Regardless, I was peeing, so while the sleeve wipe technique may have worked, the sudden lateral movement could not only cause the “white streak on sleeve”, but also the embarrassing “splash mark on pants.” So I do the next best thing, instinctively, I sniffle; an instinctive explosive inhalation of air, through the nose and the roof of mouth into my lungs, to avoid expelling nasal mucus. Following that sudden inhalation is the realization that I just inhaled the aroma my Ecco-shorn, polyester-clad, stalled neighbor expelled. I feel as the sudden inrush of air passes over the back of my tongue, down my throat, pairing the greenish mucus with the odor, plastering it to my air passage. Each successive breath will expel it out, like wind through an alpine valley, past each of my thousands of taste buds, through my teeth and past my chapped lips.

The balloon is only half empty, and slowly I realize that at the rate I am urinating, there will be at least one more sniffle. I shift my weight from foot to foot, settle into my stance, and cry a little inside.

title: Sniffles a bathroom

question: What is this story about?

answer: Peeing.

question: What is the theme of this story?

answer: Being a social outcast.

question: What does the main character do in the bathroom?

answer: Cries.

question: What is an attribute of this main character?

answer: One is that they are disabled.

question: Write a ~1 sentence summary.

answer: This story is about a person who cries and urinates in a bathroom.


text:
There was a glitter in her eyes.  Whether it was the tumult of emotions and attraction in those emerald oceans or the calculated, callous expression of a mercenary succubus, it made no difference to Mark.  This is because Mark was smitten.  It had been weeks—enough weeks to start counting them as months—since he had kissed a girl.  Longer, still, if he went as far back as to think of his last bedroom encounter.

Encounter, however, is the apt word as his last time was with a prostitute.  Consumed by the specific loneliness of lying on a never-christened mattress while watching glowing snowflakes through a frosted window, Mark willed his pencil legs out of bed and into a pair of discarded jeans and went off to the west side of town.  It wasn’t long before he found a girl on the street, fumbled through the approach, and brought her back.  She laughed all the way.  A few times in that fake way, calling him “baby” and “Daddy”, but then a few honest laughs at the meekness of this customer who knew only how to be kind and not how to be attractive.  She didn’t even charge him, feeling that she had done a public service for a good but unlucky man.  Then she went back out to the curb to dip her head under a half-dozen dashboards before dawn and Mark showered for three hours.

But, tonight, at this bar, the green eyes of one Telulah Lawson glittered in front of Mark.  Despite Telulah’s name, she was as white as paste.  The awkward combination of this girl plus this name is as awkward as the giver of the name plus why it was given. “Telulah” was a premonition that wormed its way into the acid-washed ex-hippie brain of her now-institutionalized mother, given to her “as a sign” (her mother’s words) as Telulah crowned.  Her mother, unashamedly, had both an extraordinary orgasm and a resurgent acid peak at that expulsive moment, diving back into her memory of her daughter’s conception nine months earlier: the Grateful Dead had given their fans the best show ever, even better than the last, and surely to only be the best until the next hit of acid at the next mossy field where the rock and roll gypsies and their coven bumbled to.  Telulah’s mother had found her star mate in a man whose name he didn’t even know—he changed it every few months to reflect his new zodiac that he should have been born under—and it wasn’t long before Telulah Rainchild Persephone Lawson screamed her way into her tripping mother’s arms.

Fast forward a few decades, give or take some years in change, and she sat at a bar in front of Mark Reeter, an account manager at a local credit union whose job was handled so adeptly by a computer that he was an avid poster on a paper airplane forum for under-worked office professionals.  His skill at folding just the right glider to hit anywhere in his office was unparalleled in three states, not that anyone would dispute it.

Earlier that night, he found himself lying again on that pristine mattress, again looking out that frosted window, and again recollecting his pity prostitute.  So, he again willed his pencil legs into a pair of discarded jeans, but this time, those jeans marched to a local bar to prove to himself he could do better than to go driving around looking for her again.  Not that he’d thought about it, nope, especially not while trying to make a plane that did two flips before wedging itself between the file cabinet and the wall.  And, upon going to this bar and downing three of those juniper truth sauces, it was then that he was not served a fourth gin, but a vodka and club soda.

The bartender shrugged at the wrong order, quipping that “someone ordered it”, and Mark found it his off-balance mission to get this unknown drink-less soul their libation.  Luckily, it was a pasty-white girl with an odd name sitting equally alone at the same bar.

Her reasons for sitting there that night, however, dip more into the excess of human contact than Mark’s lack.  She had recently found herself unknowingly in a love triangle with a pair of twins.  She knew that they were twins, as it always was a point of conversation on their date nights.  They double dated frequently and the other twin brought in a rotating cast of women, ranging from exotics to necrotics.  Telulah’s chosen twin, Samuel, often made it known to his foil, Sander, that he needed to find a good girl like Telulah, at which point a good laugh was always shared.

One of these double dates began right after Samuel and Telulah had ended another one of their shower romps.  The combination of steam, the smells of fragrant shampoos, and watching the water run down Samuel’s body always tended to lead to these events, but this particular time ended not with their usual sighs and tight grips as her body tingled and the sound of the water filled Telulah’s mind, but as Samuel bled.  She had grabbed onto the shower curtain while Samuel was behind her and the rod came out of the wall with a tremendous splatter of plaster and ripped down Samuel’s cheek.  He was quick to shrug it off and wear it bravely, but she had lost her nerve of things, so they got out and prepared for yet another one of Sander’s double dates.

That night’s guest star was barely above the drinking age, which made things very quickly become fun—with increasingly oddly named shots being delivered—and then very quickly become ugly, as the girl exploded into theatrics on the street corner, punched Sander with a roll of quarters from her purse, and stormed off.  The ensuing emergency room visit made two things clear: Samuel's nose was broken.

While both men followed her out—one pleading with a scabbed cheek and the other an owl set of black eyes, both professing love to her —it became necessary for her to have another drink.

And upon Mark’s moment of charity and honesty, Telulah’s eyes sparkled.  And, eventually, Mark christened that mattress.  Lying in bed after, with the sounds of Jerry Garcia filling Mark’s room and their nude limbs betwixt, Telulah made a perfect paper airplane out of their bar tab receipt and got it—hole in one—between Mark’s wall and shelf.  So he kissed her again.

title: An Orphan Drink [1065]

question: What made the prostitute sleep with Mark without charging him any fees?

answer: Mark is quite lonely. He stares out of his windows on most days, watching snowflakes fall through frosted windows. He hasn't kissed a girl for a while and no sex for far longer. Mark finally finds a prostitute and the girl, sensing his meekness, decides not to charge him, feeling she is doing him a favor.