Call me Ri! (she/her) | ao3: imagination_junkyard | This is @loz-chainofcorruption's side account to dump other stuff in (a lot of Les Mis and other musicals right now)
reading a historical romance novel and reflecting on the way these stories often present woke nobility for the contemporary reader. a big thing is servants. you can’t not have servants in those times but many modern readers think “but I would never have servants. it would be so weird to have servants” and in order to make the protagonists of the story more relatable they are actually friends with the servants. but flip your perspective and think of it from the side of the servants. wouldn’t it be so awful if your boss was always trying to be friends with you. a really common thing you’ll see is the woke baronet having tea in the kitchen with the servants bc he’s not like other baronets. but what if your boss wanted to hang out and talk during your lunch break every day. not so charming when you think about it that way
#okay but now what is the optimal way to be a good boss in this situation i genuinely wanna know#its easy to guess what makes a bad boss or a mid boss. but what is a good boss#specifically in such a highly structured hierarchal situation (via @rainbowroach)
HELLO you are asking questions that literature and poetry THROUGHOUT the middle ages has asked, and it is from this questioning that we derive things like the Codes of Chivalry (which is not "how to treat a noble lady really nice" but is actually "how to be an ethical person when you're rich and you own a horse" and includes such things as "don't run people over with your horse")
In fact I daresay you already know instinctively just from cultural osmosis what a good boss -- a good liege lord -- is and does based on the tropes that have survived to the current day and the kinds of things that get Hugely Praised in things like legends of King Arthur.
A good boss (liege lord) is:
Merciful. He is not having his peasants killed for things like poaching rabbits during a famine. In fact, he is working to mitigate famine. During times of individual hardship, he might negotiate with a peasant for a payment plan on their annual rent.
Patient. He is not impulsive, he does not lose his temper.
Prudent. He makes choices that are thoughtful, considered, conservative (in the sense of not needlessly risky--he's not investing his entire fortune in having everyone plant an unproven crop). He is making sure local infrastructure like roads and public buildings are maintained and kept in good nick.
Gentle. He doesn't haul off and slap a servant or a tenant for breaking a dish or making a mistake. He doesn't abuse animals, his wife or children, or his employees. He doesn't rape the servants.
Generous (both in money and in spirit). He is not extorting the peasants for an amount of rent that is beyond their means, he is not raising taxes every year to cover his own lavish lifestyle. He is paying his servants a living wage (or, if wages are low, he's giving them room/board/clothing to make up the difference). If someone in a tenant's family dies, the lord is sending a gift of condolence, or helping to pay for the funeral, or possibly even ATTENDING the funeral and speaking a few kind words about the deceased, ESPECIALLY if they were a really upstanding and important member of the community. If one of his tenants is gravely sick, the lord is sending a basket of food or paying for a doctor. He is giving charitably (generally this will be, like, a bequest to the church so that they can run a hospital or an orphanage or a school for the local village children).
Pious. This classically means "goes to church, submits with humility to God" but to me this quality is subtextually standing in for "maintaining an ongoing sense of Perspective that HE'S not god, that there are higher powers he is Accountable to, that he too can be Judged, etc, so that he doesn't end up going on a weird fucked up power trip"
Humble. One of the most admiring things you hear about a lord doing in literature and epic poetry is, "He ate off of wooden plates while his followers ate off of gold and silver." Humility isn't about being meek, it's just about not thinking so much of yourself that you turn your nose up and sneer at what "lesser" people do. In other words: Don't be a fucking diva. If your carriage gets stuck in the mud, climb out and help everybody else push, you're not gonna die from getting mud on your shoes.
Condescending. This word has changed wildly in meaning/tone over the last couple centuries -- it's now a rude thing to do (because we've done away with legal social hierarchies, so someone acting like they're lowering themselves to your level IS insulting), but in older times, a high-ranking person "condescending" to a servant was worthy of praise and admiration: it means they were setting aside rank and privilege to speak to them with the easygoing, friendly respect and compassion they'd give a peer. This is things like... Treats those beneath him with courtesy and respect (ie: listens soberly and attentively when one of his servants or tenants comes to complain about a problem). Having a sense of humor and kindness about it when the lord and a servant both come around a corner at the same time and run into each other and the servant gets knocked to the ground and starts babbling apologies--the condescending (positive) lord helps them to their feet with his own hands and cracks a joke to show them that it's ok (as opposed to just walking off without a word or insulting/scolding them). This is also things like trusting a farmer, woodcutter, or artisan to speak with expertise about their own livelihood and taking their advice into consideration if they tell the lord that one of his ideas won't work.
Good boundaries. The ethical liege lord knows that it's normal for the staff to probably be softly bitching about him in private (even with a really good boss, we all grumble from time to time). He's not eavesdropping on them, he's not going into the staff areas where they should reasonably expect to have a degree of privacy, etc.
Righteous and protective of "the weak". The "weak" here doesn't necessarily mean physically weak, this is often used in the sense of someone politically or socially weak, aka The Marginalized -- the poor, the disabled, women, children, the elderly, etc. If a lord sees someone like this being mistreated or abused, he's supposed to step in and put a stop to that.
Committed to reciprocity. In a highly hierarchical system like feudalism, every person (from the lowest peasant all the way up to the crown prince) legally OWES their liege lord certain things (taxes, labor, service, loyalty, etc). A good liege remembers and takes very seriously the idea that this should be a balanced and reciprocal relationship -- in other words, he owes something BACK. Feudalism is modeled very strongly on the family system: If children owe their parents obedience and service, then parents owe their children care and protection. This still applies when the "child" is a farmer and the "parent" is a local baron. Or when the "child" is a duke and the "parent" is the king.
Basically, we get so caught up in the aesthetics of nobility that we forget that it literally is a managerial position that comes with responsibilities that were... very similar back in the day to the same ones we have now. Humans have not changed all that much. At the end of the day, a really good boss in the 1400s versus in one from the 2020s displays most of the same qualities of personality, even if the details of execution are different.
The next question is, of course, "well, but this theoretical liege lord is HIGHLY idealized -- how often did that actually HAPPEN? Wasn't it more likely that everyone was exploited all the time?" and to that I say: Well, maybe. But again, I don't think humans have changed all that much. Just like the bosses of today, there's a SPECTRUM: A really really good boss is rare and precious and one that you tell stories about for years after you've left that job, but a truly, genuinely, homicidally nightmarish boss is also pretty rare. Most bosses are sort of meh -- they have their good moments, they have their shitty moments, but they're tolerable and you can get along with them well enough to do your job, and then you roll your eyes at them behind their back. Generally, humans don't take outright exploitation lying down. Being a bad boss in the historical period is how you get peasant uprisings and revolts, and you know that to be true because your parents raised you with that knowledge, so unless you are very stupid or inbred or an egomaniac, there is literal personal incentive to at minimum be a Tolerable liege lord. And that means hitting at least SOME of the above bullet points.
TL;DR: In the words of Honore de Balzac, "Everything I have just told you can be summarized by an old word: noblesse oblige!"
(for more discussions of the ethics of fealty and what it means to be a good boss when you are an exquisitely beautiful twink of a prince with a hot beefy bodyguard.... [fingerguns] read A Taste of Gold and Iron)
Going on Vibes™, @a-dime-a-day and I picked out an age for Prouvaire a good while back when I was newer to the fandom. And then, while working on a timeline spreadsheet, I picked a month for his birth and mathed out what year that would make his birth year according to everything else we'd decided on.
I've come across other headcanons of his age since then, and, curious if perhaps it partially came from the real life guy he was inspired by, I went to go see how old Gérard de Nerval was - maybe he was an older guy!
I see his birth year. 1808. That sounds... Awfully familiar.
I check my spreadsheet.
!!!! Hey! That's the same year I calculated out for Prouvaire! That's crazy! So then I think, hey, maybe if Nerval's birth month is close enough to what I already picked - which was May, because it felt right somehow - I could move it to that as a nod to The Guy.
I go back to my browser to check.
May.
Gérard de Nerval was born in May of 1808, which happens to be the exact date I chose for Prouvaire's birthday.
I'm???????? HOW????????????????
I can't believe it how the heck did I literally give give him the exact same birthday as the guy he was based on????? I'm reeling
An Invitation That Was Once Regarded With Regret May Soon Be Recalled With Joy
Feuilly lingered by the door as they moved further into the room, doing his best to blend in with the painted walls behind him and wishing he was anywhere else. He had just started to edge closer to the hall when his wandering gaze landed on a book that had been left on the table nearby and he picked it up, examining the cover curiously.
All at once he realized that someone was standing next to him. He startled again, but to his relief he saw it was only Enjolras. He wasn’t looking at Feuilly, though; his gaze was fixed on the conversation across the room.
“He’s quite good at that,” the other boy murmured, almost to himself.
“What?”
Feuilly didn’t know why he had accepted Combeferre's invitation. He’d meant to say no, that he was busy, anything, but Combeferre had looked so hopeful, and… he hadn’t had the heart to disappoint him. And so he found himself at the front door of Combeferre’s family home along with Courfeyrac and Enjolras, feeling terribly, horribly out of place.
'Maybe this was a mistake….'
An older man answered the door just as he was contemplating finding an excuse to leave and he sighed, resigned to his fate, following as the porter led them inside to… more outside?
Courfeyrac, noticing his bewildered expression, leaned over to whisper, “The courtyard.”
“Oh,” he said in reply, not understanding at all.
They passed through another door and into the house proper. Feuilly glanced about as they walked, more than a little intimidated at how expensive everything looked; the walls trimmed with gold and with landscapes painted directly onto them, the floor under his feet covered with carpet, a glittering chandelier hanging from the ceiling that almost felt redundant with all the natural light that flooded in from the many windows.
People lived in a building like this?
There were dozens of chairs, but only a handful were being used—or had been, as the occupants all rose as they entered the room. Combeferre quickly crossed over to greet them, a smile on his face. “My friends, thank you for coming.”
“The pleasure is ours.” Courfeyrac clasped his hand with a bright smile of his own. “It has been far, far too long!”
He turned to address the others then with a warm sort of familiarity and Feuilly realized all at once just how much of a stranger here he truly was. Of course the others not only knew places and people such as these, they knew this place and these people, too. What had he been thinking? Just because Combeferre had invited him didn't mean he belonged here; no, far from it. Surely, he had only invited Feuilly in an effort to be polite, and they both would have been better off if he'd simply declined the offer as soon as it'd been voiced.
“You’re Feuille?”
He startled and looked down to find a little girl staring at him. “Uh… it’s Feuilly.”
“Feuilly,” she repeated slowly, her face scrunching up in concentration. Then she gave him an excited smile. “My brother’s told me all about you. He says you paint fans! Did you bring one? I want to see!”
“Well— no, I’m sorry.”
“That’s okay! You can bring one the next time you visit!”
She took his hand and he stumbled forwards in surprise as she began to tug him into the room, but before he could do much more than glance helplessly back at the others Courfeyrac was sweeping forwards and scooping the child up into his arms. “My, could this be little Rosalie? Look how you’ve grown!”
“You were here a few weeks ago, silly!”
“And you’ve grown at least a third of a meter since then!” he insisted, and he booped her nose, making her giggle in delight.
Feuilly lingered by the door as they moved further into the room, doing his best to blend in with the painted walls behind him and wishing he was anywhere else. He had just started to edge closer to the hall when his wandering gaze landed on a book that had been left on the table nearby and he picked it up, examining the cover curiously.
All at once he realized that someone was standing next to him. He startled again, but to his relief he saw it was only Enjolras. He wasn’t looking at Feuilly, though; his gaze was fixed on the conversation across the room.
“He’s quite good at that,” the other boy murmured, almost to himself.
“What?”
He glanced over at Feuilly then, something indescribably fond in his expression. “Being the center of attention.”
Feuilly looked back over to the other side of the room. Combeferre and his family had loosely gathered around Courfeyrac, listening as he regaled them all with some story or another. None of them had seemed to notice that neither Enjolras nor Feuilly had yet to join them.
He breathed a little sigh of relief at the thought.
“What do you have there?”
His attention snapped back to Enjolras, who had moved closer, then to the book still in his hands, and he hurriedly moved to put it back on the table. “I was just looking, I swear! I—”
Enjolras settled a hand on his arm, making Feuilly’s voice die in his throat. “It’s alright, I was merely curious.”
Feuilly released a breath again and looked back down at the book. “De Materia Medica. It looked interesting, so I thought I’d ask Combeferre if he might be willing to let me borrow it.”
“I’m sure he would.”
Enjolras sounded certain, but Feuilly wasn’t so sure. “I hope so. But, it looks rather… expensive, doesn’t it?”
“It looks worn out,” Enjolras replied bluntly. He pointed at one of the pages, which was coming loose. “It must be well loved, if he still keeps it around.”
“Then he probably wouldn’t want us to be touching it.”
“I truly don’t believe he would mind; Combeferre loves nothing more than sharing knowledge, and we’ve borrowed books from each other before. But if you’d rather ask him first….”
They both looked over at the conversation across the room again and faltered, neither one wishing to intrude, nor to do anything at all that would draw attention their way.
“I don’t like these sorts of gatherings, so I am grateful for the way Courfeyrac draws others to him. It frees me from being compelled to join in their idle chatter," Enjolras finally said. Then, more quietly, he confessed, "Sometimes I can even leave, or sneak into another room for a while, with no one the wiser.”
“Sneak into another room?” Feuilly echoed. “Is that allowed?”
“Technically, no. But I’ve yet to be caught.” He quirked a brow as Feuilly, not entirely sure if he was being serious or not, searched his expression. Then he inclined his head towards the door, a small smile on his face. “Perhaps we could do so now.”
It was admittedly an extremely tempting offer, and Feuilly had barely even begun to consider it when he found himself nodding. “And the book?”
“I don't see why we couldn't bring it with us. It's not as if we'll be leaving the premises."
Feuilly nodded again, a thrill of excitement filling him at the prospect of sneaking around with a friend as they quietly slipped out of the room and into the next. He took one of the armchairs by the window, expecting Enjolras to take the other; instead the other boy sat on its arm, leaning in close as Feuilly carefully opened the book so he could see the pages as well.
Feuilly glanced up, more than a little surprised at the close proximity. Enjolras stared back at him, and after a moment he tilted his head, his brow furrowing. “Is this okay?”
“Oh, yes! Yes, it’s fine,” Feuilly quickly reassured him. “I don’t mind at all.”
Enjolras nodded and turned his attention back to the book. Feuilly followed suit, only to realize with dismay that none of the words were decipherable to him.
“This… isn’t French, is it?”
“No, it’s Latin.” Enjolras paused. “Are you familiar with it?”
He sounded earnest enough, but Feuilly still felt his face burn at the question. “Uh. No….”
“I can read it, then.” He held his hands out for the book, and Feuilly hesitated for only a moment before handing it over, scrambling to catch a page that came loose as Enjolras flipped through it in interest. “There are illustrations.”
“Yes, but what does it say?”
Enjolras went quiet at that, thoughtfully studying the page he’d ended up on. Then, haltingly, he began to read, “When digging, stand and beg Apollo and Aesculapius to observe the flying eagle, as they say for a fact she does not fly without danger. A bird causes death if seen digging hellebore.”
“The eagle causes death?” Feuilly said in surprise. Then, unable to help himself, he muttered, “Reminds one of what’s happened to Poland, doesn’t it?”
Enjolras blinked at him. “What happened to Poland?”
“The three black eagles, of course! Austria, Prussia, Russia— they tore apart the nation’s sovereignty piece by piece until nothing was left, and no one did a thing to stop them!”
“Oh yes,” Enjolras mused. “I remember you mentioned that before.”
“It bears repeating! Can you imagine if something like that happened to France?”
“That could never happen to France!”
“It could! Despotism respects no borders, not even France’s, and the moment people care only about what affects them personally we let down our guard to the same danger!”
“There is danger, yes, but we would be remiss not to focus on the despotism that comes from within before contending with the one without.”
“You cannot prioritize one over the other— not when injustice anywhere is injustice everywhere!"
"We live in France, our priority should be France. We cannot risk becoming distracted with the business of other countries when our own is so in need of aid!"
"Distracted!" Feuilly exclaimed, aghast. "In need of aid! When there are people out there with no motherland, who are forced to leave their homes— who are desperate for bread just the same as here! The danger is in that way of thinking. We have a moral obligation to act, to help those who need it, and we are complicit in these atrocities if we do nothing!”
All at once he realized that Enjolras was regarding him with that same fond look and he flushed.
“Enjolras?”
“You are right,” Enjolras said, inclining his head. “We cannot do nothing.”
“Yes,” Feuilly said slowly.
He wasn't quite sure how to react to that look, but before he had a chance to figure it out a soft knock sounded and they both jumped, looking over to see Combeferre standing in the doorway.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but the head cook has just announced that dinner is ready.”
Feuilly stood up, hurriedly taking the book back from Enjolras and crossing the room in order to hold it out to Combeferre. “This is yours.”
Combeferre’s smile softened as he accepted the book back. “Yes, I know, but you’re welcome to borrow it longer if you wish. I can’t imagine you got terribly far in the last fifteen minutes or so.”
“No,” Feuilly admitted. He glanced at Enjolras as the other boy joined his side, and awkwardly cleared his throat. “But I can’t read Latin.”
“Ah, I see.” Combeferre glanced at Enjolras as well and smirked. “And Enjolras translated for you, I assume? Yes, in that case, I am not surprised you did not get very far at all.”
Enjolras raised a brow at that and said nothing.
“We read about how the eagle causes death,” Feuilly told him.
“Ah, yes, what an interesting superstition. I wonder what inspired it.”
“Perhaps it had something to do with Poland,” Enjolras said, his lips twitching as he fought a smile, and Feuilly couldn't help but laugh at Combeferre’s confused expression.
“Perhaps,” Combeferre said after a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. “A discussion for another time, I'd say. As for now, the others will be waiting on us.”
More than a little reluctantly, they followed him back down the hallway and to the drawing room. As they walked Enjolras stepped closer, his elbow brushing against Feuilly's, and quietly said, “I would like to continue our conversation later.”
Feuilly felt that same thrill of excitement from earlier at his friend's words. “I'd like that, too.”
Something like this would be so colossally helpful. I'm sick and tired of trying to research specific clothing from any given culture and being met with either racist stereotypical costumes worn by yt people or ai generated garbage nonsense, and trying to be hyper specific with searches yields fuck all. Like I generally just cannot trust the legitimacy of most search results at this point. It's extremely frustrating. If there are good resources for this then they're buried deep under all the other bullshit, and idk where to start looking.
another addition as far as physical media goes there is the encyclopedia of national dress (that i still need to buy myself bc this kind of thing is super important to my sort of fantasy designing) but yes i do agree i wish there was EVEN MORE documentation on this
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/?
Fandom: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Enjolras & Jean Prouvaire, Courfeyrac & Jean Prouvaire, Combeferre & Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly & Jean Prouvaire, Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras & Feuilly & Jean Prouvaire, Combeferre & Courfeyrac & Enjolras & Jean Prouvaire
Characters: Jean "Jehan" Prouvaire, Jean Prouvaire's Parents, Enjolras (Les Misérables), Courfeyrac (Les Misérables), Combeferre (Les Misérables), Feuilly (Les Misérables)
Additional Tags: Child Abuse, First Meetings, Jean "Jehan" Prouvaire-centric, POV Jean Prouvaire
Series: Part 6 of A Group of Friends that Nearly Became a Family, Part 5 of One by One They Orbit the Sun
Summary:
The Republic?
This was a dangerous topic, one he did not want the residents inside to know he had heard, but the woman behind him said, "Monsieur? Is the door stuck?" and he found himself unable to do anything but reluctantly open it and step inside. The woman followed him in, closing the door behind them and disappearing through another door on the right side of the room, which fell silent as those inside turned and caught sight of him.
There, around a table, sat three people Prouvaire wished were total strangers; that would have been preferred—and likely safer—than stumbling into the den of young men who, at least one of whom, knew exactly who he was and where he lived.
Fascinated by everyone's but especially American's desire to give medieval keeps, especially in colder regions, central heating (and I think Winterfell is to blame for this trope, where, to it's defence, the hot springs were not a matter of comfort but survival wrt the deadly fantasy Winter that's not real irl), because I'm always like. okay I know they told you in middle grade that castles were all cold and drafty but like ... no also what
There's generally going to be rooms dedicated to and build for warmth, the living quarters, both for nobles and their servants. This will be the central living tower, or parts of it called a Kemenate (literally 'room with a stove'), the great hall and work spaces around the kitchen. You can put the Kemenate on top of the hall to catch the big fires' and daily living's heat through the wooden floor, but you often can't put wooden stuff on top of the kitchens (that's a fire risk). If you have the money and space, you build a whole separate comfy place for living because you don't have to stay in the most defensible part of the castle all the time. These separate living buildings are also called Kemenate and are often build from wood, cob, brick etc.
People used to wear much more clothes indoors, including while sleeping, and those clothes were much thicker and sturdier than what we largely wear today. Every time you think of how cold those stone walls are, think about everyone wearing a linen shift + two-ish layers of wool on all body parts except hands and head + stockings and shoes + some kind of head-covering. In Ye Old Middle Ages, women are probably wearing a wimple, which is kind of like a modern Hijab in terms of coverage. People wear shifts, socks, and a head-covering to bed.
I think people used to radiators also really underestimate how much a large open fire/tiled stove heats up a room. Also, middle and northern Europe (as well as parts of Northern China) had and to this day have beds and benches build into tiled and cob stoves. Those fuck.
Beds are enclosed so you stay warm in them, either by curtains, in wall niches or with wood. There's also a type of bed that's inside a chest (like a coffin) so you can stuff your stuff inside during the day and put down the lid to use it as a bench. That's also another reason for people to always sleep in groups. Depending on the era, one of the jobs of a lady's maid or a retainer might literally be warming their master's bed. In early times and among servants, people also sleep in large groups in rooms together in general even outside a farming context, often with animals like pet dogs, too, which further warms everything up.
Walls are not bare, cold stone, but covered with a layer of plaster or cob, tiles or wooden panels, sometimes layered, and believe me, this makes such a difference. Source: I lived in a Ye Olde German Farmhouse with 70 cm thick stone walls and flag stone floor and all that converted to modern flats for a while.
On top of that you hang tapestries on the wall, which are not like modern printed cloth but basically wall rugs, sometimes several inches thick, and rugs or rushes (like a light cover of hay) on the floor on top of stone, tile, wooden panelling or a cob floor cover that goes over the heave flag stone. Pillows and blankets on all sitting surfaces, often on top of panelling (in the case of benches build into the stone). The roof of a room is also tiled, panelled or plastered. Upper stories will generally have wooden floors. Stories in a tower heat each other upwards, so the nicer rooms are further up.
The inner stone walls of a castle, even if stone and very thick, will heat up a few degrees in comparison to the outside walls if the castle is continually heated/lived in, and also trap heat inside, and this will make a difference. Inner walls might also be thinner and made of wood, cob or brick. You're defending against the outside, after all.
You put stuff in the windows. Holy shit. Screens of wood, horn, cloth or leather/hide, often treated for extra insulation. Why are these fantasy castles all so drafty.
Like, idk, I know Americans especially can't pop down to their nearby castle museum to have a look around, but even with people who can and do: The castles you'll see, even the ones who aren't 'ruined' are ruins. They're stripped down. I remember touring Norman towers in England, and those places do look dire and are cold because even if they're still standing, they're ruins. It makes such a difference to get to look at a castle that is still lived in, has been inhabited until recently, or has been historically restored where these amenities are preserved. The exact amenities will depend on the era, of course, but they'll be there. The publicly accessible parts of Burg Eltz are a great example to google, especially since I promise you, you have seen this specific castle before. They have pictures on their English language website here, and the German National Geographic has a few further inside pictures here. Seeing a place like that that isn't a ruin with bare, stripped walls, nothing in the windows, no decorations and furniture etc. makes you realise that yeah actually. My characters are probably just gonna go grab a pillow if their ass is cold on the window's stone bench. Blankets are a pretty old technology, humans (elves, dwarves, whatever) can figure that one out.
Remember the painting of Ivan the Terrible cradling his dying son?
Yes, yes, unequalled representation of unspeakable grief and guilt and horror, that's not important right now. Look at how heavily carpeted everything is -- multiple layers of carpets! -- and how heavily dressed they are.
Also in that painting, the object in the background looks like a ceramic/tile stove or heater. They were found all over Europe and are still used in some places (having experienced one in Hungary in -16c weather, they are amazing). They're like a descendant of hypocausts, where hot air was directed to warm specific areas of building.
The fuel was burned slowly and brick and tile structure acted like a giant radiator, staying warm for extended periods.
tangentwithtanner
prguitarman
