I spent a lot of today thinking about the personifications of cities. Back in the day, I conceived of the the anthropomorphic personification of the USA as a very ordinary woman, who just happened to be nearby when the Declaration was signed. (She vaguely resembled the Continental Congress’ idea of the sort of girl who should wear Grecian drape; no one ever asked her if she wanted the be the immortal personification of a nation.)
However, I actually think that personifications of American cities is much more interesting, especially if you combine it with some of the other ideas I've had where founding a town requires a blood-soaked pact with forces beyond your ken. I love the idea that Chicago might have existed, but wasn't a city until 1893 when they finally forced found a woman willing to wear a burning crown. Or that in 1846, Solomon Juneau carefully negotiated the sacrifice of the Juneautown, Kilbourntown, and Walker's Point goddesses, and by spilling their blood on the Milwaukee bridge he created a Milwaukee goddess---though she woke up the next morning and went to work at a bottling plant, same as always. New York already had its Knickerbocker (not Herman Knickerbocker, but one of his sons) and Pennsylvania had William Penn (not related to Penn at all, just a member of the congregation who looked right) but after a few decades of not aging, not growing, the personifications might tentatively reach out to one another, ask, are you a thing like me? Did you know? Have you guessed?
In this sideways world, there are plenty of towns that have never contemplated sacrifice, and would never. I mean, sure, Cincinnati has had a goddess for a couple hundred years (she worked in a pork processing plant, now she's a VP for Procter & Gamble) but it's a waste of resources to sacrifice someone for Kenton County, Kentucky. How far does your ritual sacrifice extend? If you slaughter someone in Minneapolis, can you grandfather in St. Paul? And how do you replace him or her, when your city has moved beyond that---Birmingham, Alabama, has moved beyond steel, such that their Vulcan should be wearing a suit; even Chicago is a little bit embarrassed by the stocky HR manager who represents us; other Midwestern cities have fumed since the start, etc.
The idea that the United States is just a patchwork of communities with weird hyperlocal religious practices is more accurate and correct than the alternative.
i’ve warmed up significantly towards the concept of small talk ever since i learned that its sole purpose is to make friendly noises.
as long as you smile and nod, people are satisfied. it’s just to show that you are nice and there with good intentions. we’re small in a big world and have to rely on other people to be decent to us. so we do our little human dance to each other to say, “i’m not here to hurt you. here’s something we have in common, like the weather or sports or itchy sweaters, so we both know we’re on the same team. we both agree on a basic fact, like that it is rainy or that being itchy is uncomfortable, and this proves we can get along. i’m being light-hearted and non-threatening right now.”
small talk isn’t to get to know a person. it’s just a greeting to affirm you’re buddies in the universe.
i am motivated by wanting the other person to know i am friendly, so i have gotten pretty decent at small talk when i used to hate it.
Years ago back when I worked in cubicle land, we were hiring junior software developers. They didn’t have to have a ton of experience, just a willingness to learn, and some demonstration of their software skills. Like: show me a program you wrote (any language) or a web site you designed. Anything.
And there was this one guy I talked with who seemed super sharp, but had virtually zero experience writing software. When it came time to do the show-n-tell part of the interview he whips out his laptop, brings up a website, and spins it around to show me what he made.
A website of tiny ceramic frogs.
Not for sale. Just… all these ceramic frogs, organized into categories. Frogs on bicycles, frogs with hats, frogs sitting on lily pads. It was a virtual museum of ceramic frogs in web form.
I scrolled through his online collection of frogs, slightly baffled.
“This is your website?” I asked finally.
“Yep!”
“You coded this yourself?” I popped into view-source mode and poked around some incredibly well-formatted, well-commented html. I nodded slowly. This guy was meticulous.
“Yep!”
“So… where’d all the frogs come from?”
“I made those too,” he says, beaming.
And while I’m processing this he rummages in his bag and pulls out a little ceramic frog working at a computer terminal. He places it on the table before us, next to the laptop.
“And THIS one,” he says, “I made for you! As a thank you for the interview.”
It was adorable. I hired him on the spot. I mean, why not? Worst case he’d wash out in 90 days and we’d hire somebody else. He turned out to be one of the best developers on our team.
And yes, his cubicle was loaded with ceramic frogs.
I travel to France quite often, but I have a special love for the south and its lavender fields. Whenever I think of France, those endless purple landscapes are the first thing that comes to mind. I’m sure there are lavender fields in other regions too, but it’s the ones in the south that have stayed with me the most.Three years ago, I traveled through southern France, visiting Montpellier and several beautiful towns along the coast. I also visited a monastery, wandered through the lavender fields, and came home with hundreds of photographs that I later shared on my social media.Some time later, those memories inspired this painting. Of course, I didn’t paint the scene exactly as I saw it. I made the colors richer, the sunset brighter, and the atmosphere more expressive. That’s what I love about Impressionism—it isn’t about copying reality perfectly, but about capturing an emotion. Perhaps this wasn’t the exact feeling I had at that moment, but it’s the emotion that remained with me as a beautiful memory of that journey.
A dystopia that actually has COLOR? And characters that look like they’ll have actual bonds with each other, giving you something to root for? Sign me the fuck up.
Okay, but this totally undersells it. It’s goofy as hell, absolutely fun, and will explode your heart with Found Family Feels.
Key highlights not mentioned above:
The “adorable robot?” She’s trans, and saving up for modifications. (Warning for casual misgendering a few times, but when they focus on it it’s so sweet and validating omg?)
SO GODDAMN MUCH FOUND FAMILY
A little girl who will melt your heart and then reconstruct it because she wants you to be safe.
You will want Captain Jang to step on you at precisely 1:06:11 (-1:10:56).
The villain is an Elon Musk type who is so unhesitatingly evil that it gives him monstrous special effects.
Peeling off the broken breastplate of a stoic knight who only fights and never speaks, just to realize there’s nothing in there. Not metaphorically—the armor is literally empty. It doesn’t appear to affect him. If the armor stays mostly in the shape of a knight, he just gets back up to keep fighting. But with the chest plate off he just sits there, equally impervious to curiosity as I reach up into the cavity where his body might’ve gone. Stubbornly, no answers are found anywhere in there.
So I forge him a new breastplate and on the inside, because I know he has plenty of room, I put a little pocket. Not big enough to hold anything functional of course. Just a little extra piece to see what he’ll do with it.
He comes back next time with some grievous injury to his nothing, presumably from the massive shredded gash across his thigh plates. He sits and waits. I fix it for him. He is still nothing in there. I decide to add a drawing on the inside, of the type of beast I imagine could rend metal into scraps with a single blow. He puts it back on. He no longer moves as if he is injured.
Over time the interior of the knight becomes decorated with whatever odds and ends I could think to attach to the inside of a guy who’s got room to carry it. What really gets me is that he never removes any of it. Never requests a change. Not even when I installed a curtain rod for a small tapestry, or a bud vase to carry roses for his beloved, or an accordion folder for letters. He didn’t say a word for any of the many, many drawings of mythical beasts that now fight forever inside of his shell.
There are plenty of other forges. I’m not entirely sure why he keeps coming back here anyway. We’re pretty popular, but he could get his armor fixed a lot quicker (and with fewer ridiculous modifications) literally anywhere else. I asked him if I could get a look at his nothing again. He flipped up his visor and nodded his head so I could take a look. It was the same as it had been, filled with drawings and trinkets and weird little fixtures I’d put in there. I asked if he was annoyed by it, or liked it, or felt anything at all, but he literally only ever says nothing, so I’m not sure why I asked.
There’s not much room left in his nothing now. When he comes back for repairs I’ve had to fix my own foolish additions. Some of these pieces are intricate and irritating to repair, but I fix them anyway. It feels wrong to take any of it away from him now, even though I’ve been rudely encroaching on his nothingness to the point where it’s barely even there. How he squeezes his nothing back into a body so full, I’ll never understand. But it’s a game to me now, finding a spot not yet filled and putting something there. A dark part of me wonders if he ever gets filled up completely, if whatever sorcery holds the nothing-knight together may break, and it will all clatter unceremoniously to the floor.
When he hands me his breastplate yet again, it is so shockingly disfigured that I wonder if being made of nothing has somehow kept him alive. No ordinary knight could sustain such injuries. So I fix it. And he waits, unmoving, in a quiet corner of the forge. It’s like he’s watching, even though I know the reading glasses I put inside his helmet were just for fun. I’m careful to put it all back exactly the way it was when he last left. There’s no room to add more this time.
He examines the breastplate, and pauses before putting it back on, like he’s looking for something. Is he worried about the fit? But it suits him just as it always did. He calmly points to a little space, about an inch, between a miniature shelf and one of many pockets. There’s nothing there. I ask him what’s wrong, and again he points. It’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from him, and it’s barely anything at all. I take it to mean he wants something there.
I spend some time engraving a little snail in the gap. He watches, as much as nothing can watch. When I’m finished he holds the breastplate, but he doesn’t put it on right away. I ask him if something’s still wrong. He says nothing, and puts it on. I tell him I can’t add anything else. Even if he could ask, there’s no room left.
Next time he comes back, there’s nothing wrong with his armor—he lets me check to make sure. I ask him what he’s doing here. Out from one of many pockets, he retrieves a tiny rusted knife. It’s in miserable condition, barely worth saving. I tell him I could make him a nice new one, but I’ll fix it if he likes. He puts it away and reaches around to find something else, a needle and thread. Better condition, but I’m not a sewist and I tell him as much. He puts them away. He then retrieves a little twisted piece of wax paper. I open it. It’s candy. I ask if I can eat it. He says nothing. I eat it. It’s flavored with cinnamon. I’m surprised he let me take it.
He keeps bringing me candy now. His armor is the most laborious to repair out of every client my forge serves, but it’s my own fault so I can’t complain. Sometimes he keeps me company while I work. I wonder if he is trying to tell me something when he hands me mints. I wonder again at the lemon lozenges. He stares at me when I eat, as much as nothing can stare.
One day he brings me a little jar of honey. I thank him, I tell him I’ll save it for dinner. He watches me work, he puts his repaired armor back on, and he stays. My shift passes slowly, and when I finally pack up to leave it’s dark outside. He follows me out of the forge. I ask him where he’s going. He points to the jar in my hand. I ask him if he wants to watch me eat it. He says nothing, but the nothing-knight clearly wants something, so I open the lid and dunk my finger in the honey. I try not to get any on my chin. He stands there, inches away, watching me try to consume this jar of honey without a utensil. It tastes like clovers. About half the jar is left when I’ve finally had enough of pretending to be a bear, but he doesn’t move to leave.
I ask if he’s going to follow me home. He says nothing. I tell him he can if he wants to. Again, nothing. I start walking, and he follows at my side. I know he’s not going to say anything ever, so I fill the silence. I tell him I’m grateful for the sweets, I tell him about how his various components are made, I tell him I’ve never met anyone made of nothing before. I tell him it’s a rare opportunity for a smith to work so much on the inside of something. He says nothing. I tell him again how much I like the candy.
It occurs to me that maybe filling me with sugar is as close as he can get to filling someone else’s empty armor with trinkets. I’m not sure if that’s really why he does it. I tell him I don’t have room to be filled with anything on the inside, not like him. I’m not a container for much besides food. He offers me another piece of candy. Maybe he likes containing something, the way I like to feel full. Maybe it’s nothing at all.
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I didn’t edit this even a little bit. Thanks for reading!
