Thanks Erin. I got a similar answer from someone else, and I'm thinking that is the reality of it.... | Read More
Holy moly, I don't remember the technicalities but I think the police officer gets to sit there b/c... | Read More
Hi Lance! Good to hear from you. Hope you're more mobile these days. Oddly enough, mobility is... | Read More
Why still using a desktop? Why not switch to a laptop?... | Read More
Yeah, you'd like that wouldn't you? The opiate-addled ramblings of a quasi-conspiracy theorist. I... | Read More
Forgive the cheeze of the title, I couldn’t resist. It appears Mike has figured out the basics for gyros that are as close to the Chicago-Greek we know as authentic.
The gyros involved a two-day process. The first day we seasoned and ground the lamb and beef (they were already ground, but we ground further). We then formed it into a tube shape and vacuum sealed it. Day two, we sous-vide the loaf in our crockpot for about 4 hours. After a rest, Mike cut it into thin slices and broiled a bit. Toppings were standard, including homemade tzatziki sauce, diced tomatoes and onions. We even wrapped them in wax paper and aluminum foil and let them rest while we made the onion rings. It was The. Best. Gyro. I’ve had in Savannah. I am thrilled that we get leftovers tonight.
Other miscellany for this first day of DST -
*I’ve been contributing some time to Zooniverse lately; specifically, Operation War Diary. Operation War Diary provides British WWI diary pages to the public to tag/index the information contained in them. I’ve done a number of pages for the 57 Field Company Royal Engineers (fanboy love for engineers!). Yesterday, I was humbled as I tagged an account of their involvement in the First Battle of the Marne in September 1914. It told of their blowing up bridges on their way to the trenches. It also mentioned 500 prisoners and 6 guns were taken. While I generally don’t like military history, I like this aspect of it. It humanizes the otherwise dull discipline of memorizing dates, troop movements, and leaders.
*As if Henrik Lundqvist couldn’t be hotter, I now learn this.
*I finished my first audio book recently – The Hunger Games, Suzanne Collins. What a fantastic book it was. The audio aspect of it took a little getting used to. It was odd having someone read to me. I haven’t had anyone do that for me for a very long time. I am on my second audio book now, and the readers are no where near as good as the the lady who read The Hunger Games. I am starting to realize that makes a difference on whether or not I like the story, which sort of sucks. I feel like I’m missing some of the nuance with poor narrators.
—–*I also recently read the third book in Douglas Adams’ Hitchhiker series, Life, the Universe and Everything. If it wasn’t Adams and if it wasn’t part of the series I would not have finished it. It was tedious, giving definition to the word slog. Ugh. I now question whether I will read the fourth book.
*In mid February, we noticed some garlic we had in the kitchen had sprouted. We dug up a small patch in the yard, fertilized it a bit with manure, and planted the wee sprouts – about 12 bulbs in all. Today, the stalks of the bulbs stand 4-6 inches high, and are thick and healthy. We’ve never grown garlic before so I’m looking forward to see if this works out. If it does, we’ll be in luck as they are bulbs and should return every year.
Ok, enough for now. I am going to go find a way to further appreciate the rest of this gorgeous day and late daylight hours.
In preparing to share the following story, I searched The Gull Reef Club to determine if I had ever shared my previous, one and only, ghost-in-my-old-house story, and apparently I have not. So I owe you that one. I’ve already committed to the title of this post, therefore, you get the second ghost story first.
While I’ve not been convinced ghosts are real, I like the creative, sci-fi speculation ghost stories provide. Now, for your own edification and speculation: A few nights ago, Mike and I were in the kitchen preparing dinner. I went to the cabinet where we keep croutons to get them for our salads. I open the cabinet and a single item falls out, nearly on my head – the croutons. I joked that it was the ghost of the former lady of the kitchen who must have also been short of height and felt sorry for me. I then said out loud to the kitchen generally, “Thank you, Esther Neidlinger!” (Mrs. Neidlinger was one of the many former residents of my home, approximately from the late 40s/early 50s through late 60s).
As soon as I did that, the salad dressing sitting on the prep cart falls to the ground. I remarked to Mike, “Less skeptical people would have been sure we were visited by the ghost of Esther Neidlinger just now.” Of course he piles on, “Or maybe you named the wrong ghost and now he or she is mad at you.” Uh-oh! Or maybe we just had a strong surge of gravitational pull localized solely to our kitchen.
I really don’t know what happened there. Probably just a series of nicely timed coincidences. I promise to post my other ghost-in-my-old-house story and then you can decide if we are haunted.
I had, and sort of still have, every intention on posting my notes from my time at jury duty on Wednesday. In the event I flake out/get lazy and don’t post my notes, I still wanted to share an event that stood out.
The case that needed a jury was for a criminal trial, felony assault. We went through the usual voir dire, and were all asked questions by both the District Attorney and the two Defense Counsel. Throughout the entire time, there was a lady sitting with the DA at the DA’s table, wearing a suit like all the other attorneys. She was listening to the voir dire proceedings, and it appeared she was consulting with the DA on jury selection (lots of leaned-in whispering to each other throughout). It not made clear to us who she was at first. I, and I assume most in there, thought she was another DA.
Toward the end of voir dire, it was mentioned in a very off-hand way (and I can’t even remember who said it now – it was that nonchalant), that the mystery lady at the DA’s table was, in fact, the arresting officer of the Defendant. I don’t know if I was the only one in the room who was confused and a bit surprised by this, but I was certainly the only one to ask for clarification about it. Yeah me. I just love to draw attention to myself, but I couldn’t let it go without knowing for sure.
As soon as I heard her title, I raised my hand and asked Defense Counsel #1*, “I’m sorry, I’m not sure if I heard that right. Did someone up there (in front of the bar) say that lady sitting at the DA’s table is the arresting officer?” DC#1 confirms, “Yes. She is the Arresting Officer.” I then sort of blurt out, “And she is allowed to sit through all this…and the trial?” With that, DC#1 turns to face me full on (meaning her back was completely to the Judge, the DA, and Arresting Officer) makes a face at me that I took as grateful, says very curtly, “Yes. That is how the Court has ruled.” I thanked her and sat down. I know I heard a few gasps and hmms in the room.
So I didn’t get picked for the jury. I don’t know if it is because of my question or not. There are certainly other criteria that may have gotten me kicked.
I’m really hung up on this, though. My gut tells me that it is improper for the arresting officer to be at the DA’s table, especially during jury selection. It affords her the opportunity to shape her testimony to what she thinks the jury wants to hear. I’m not saying this officer would do this purposefully, but it may be the sort of thing that happens subliminally and she wouldn’t even know she was doing it. It could damage the fairness of the Defendant’s trial.
I asked a few attorneys I know/work with, but since we are all immersed in the civil side of the law, no one really had a solid answer for me. I’m curious about the legality of having an arresting officer sit in on jury selection and an entire trial. I have a very high opinion of the Judge overseeing the case and would like to think he did nothing improper. The issue may lie with Georgia law itself, which again, I’m obviously not sure about. Thoughts?
*I didn’t intentionally mean to ask DC#1. I would have asked anyone who would have answered me. It just happened she was the one who responded first when I raised my hand.
This post is specifically dedicated to my beloved, baby brother and all his fellow northerners who are beyond sick of winter.
One of the few ways we humans make ourselves feel better about our respective conditions is to ponder the misery of someone worse off and then remark, “well, at least my life isn’t that hard”. So here is your comparison for the day; I hope it makes you feel a little better:
Bad-ass, hyperborean, 3rd great-grandpa Abell primarily resided, for a good portion of his life, at Lower Fort Garry, in the southern region of Manitoba. On one occasion, duty required him to travel to Fort Chipewyan in the far northern parts of Alberta. Because he was assisting in getting the first steamboat to sail on Lake Athabasca, he had to travel in winter (which is boat building season, when the lakes/rivers are frozen). This all went down Winter 1882/1883. At one point, he wrote about what he had to wear as he traveled (by dogsled):
It might interest you to know that the garments necessary for winter travel were as follows: Heavy flannel underwear, flannel shirt with collars, a heavy tweed suit, and over the coat a jersey. In addition, one had to have a “top-coat” -as it was called- of buffalo robe, lined with rat skin, and with an otter collar; a cap with an otter band and a seal crown, and ear flaps which could be pulled down; a knitted muffler to wrap around the neck and head; and for the feet, high silk socks, and over them duffel socks, made of heavy wool in something resembling the texture of a blanket. These last were made expressly for wear on long journeys in extreme winter weather. One also wore moccasins of smoked moose skin, in place of boots, and buffalo leggins, which partly covered the moccasins and extended up over the knees. A pair of fur gauntlets drawn on over woolen gloves constituted the finishing touch in this outfit.
So my cold northern-dwelling friends and family, when you dress for work next, keep this in mind and think, well, at least my life isn’t that hard.
The Machine has pulled my number. For the second time in the nearly thirteen years I’ve lived here, I have been called to the join the Justice Squadron at the Municipal Fortress of Vengeance. I was delighted to find I had kept notes of my last term of public service, and now, intend to do so again. More tomorrow.
The parts arrived and Mike has assembled my screaming new computer. It’s late so I don’t have much time now, but I’m curious – can one be in love with a machine? I’m smitten.
My computer,which actually was Mike’s old computer, is dead. It was a good long run, and Mike has a kick ass backup and NAS system set up so I have few concerns about lost data. Phew! Thanks, Mike!
Mike has researched and purchased me the parts to make a stellar new computer. They should arrive by Wednesday or Thursday. In the meantime, I’m stuck using my tablet. I’m old school and don’t know if I will ever get used to not using a keyboard (mostly because I refuse to make the effort). I very much dislike this touch type/autocorrect bs. I feel out of control. If I’m slow to respond this week, please be patient. I’ll be back when I have real typing ability again.
As I return to normalcy after the surgery, I find I am pleasantly overwhelmed with possibilities to occupy my attention. Front and center being the Sochi Winter Olympics. Of course and especially hockey, including the ladies. Those girls kick ass and were fun to watch. I won’t ruin anything for you, I promise. I hate that. This Olympics is seriously testing our tv watching/recording stamina. It’s all sports all the time, except when I’m completely avoiding current events because I don’t want the results spoiled. We’re currently watching a replay of the Canada v Norway mens hockey game. Don’t ruin it for me.
In addition to all the strenuous tv viewing, I’ve made a few genealogy advancements. My interlibrary loan came in. It’s a biography written about that bad ass 3rd great grandfather I’ve previously mentioned, written by his daughter (my gg aunt) who was pretty bad ass herself. On top of that, one of Mike’s cousins got in touch with me and it appears I may be making some advancements on his tree soon as well. (Mike’s that is, not his cousin’s. Although I suppose the help would work both ways…/tangent end.)
Somehow I am also managing to squeeze in listening to my first audio book. (Yes, I really love my library.) Unfortunately, my commute is too short to listen on the ride to work – not to mention the fact that there is little possibility of getting Mike to want to listen as well (one car house, he drives me, in the event this statement was confusing to you). It’s a good thing I shower everyday. I just hope I can get it finished before it expires. Review later.
The making of my new pick guard is imminent.
Pushing the limits of awesomeness, I have had chocolate cake almost everyday this week, and on Tuesday twice.
Fortunately, the weather has been a cold bucket of suck and I can’t go outside or I’d have even more to do. Ok, back to one of my many other distractions…I think I’ll start with chocolate cake.
As we all draw closer to our respective Super Bowl parties, please consider this: WHY Joe Buck Sucks, and why people hate Joe Buck
Helpful hint: if you have a surround system, many will allow you to mute/silence your center channel (where the voices come out). Simply silence your center and you will no longer be subject to the boring ramblings of Buck & Aikman, and will feel like you’re in the middle of the stadium (just warmer and with slightly more personal freedom).
Today I had my first ‘snow day’ in at least a decade. Of course, it didn’t snow. It sleeted ever so slightly, and there’s a bit of ice hanging on the trees and power lines. It couldn’t have come at a more perfect time, however. It added an extra day to my recovery period.
Overall, I’m doing pretty well. The cast/covering has completely come off, relieving pressure and no longer leaving me gagging. I’m done with the ultra-evil anti-biotics, which may be the worst part of all of this. I despise taking anti-biotics. They make me absolutely ill. The pain is still quite prevalent, but I’m managing it, and it certainly is getting better daily.
Before I go (and try to make it through at least the first period of tonight’s Blackhawks-Canucks game), I have to share a coincidence that happened this evening. Note, I’ve not adjective-ized it as ‘odd’ or ‘unique’ because I don’t really know if it is. You decide. While showering, I put on some old time radio. I tuned into one of the stations I regularly listen to, to see what they had to offer. It was an X Minus One, running the story, The Coffin Cure. It was about 10 minutes in already, but it was enough for me to remember that I had read this very story nearly one year ago – while I was recovering from my last jaw surgery. Wha? What do you call that? FWIW, the radio version was probably better than the written version, if only because it took up less of my time and I dig the 50′s sound effects.
Title homage: It’s Ice.
Slightly less than one year ago, I was recovering from osseous gum surgery #1. Today, I begin recovering from #2. So far the preparations we took are paying off. The pain is slightly less than last time, or at minimum, the headaches are less severe.
Like last time, Mike has been a superstar. Much thanks to him. Repeats of my thank yous from last time around to all of you who have checked in on me this time. That sentence structure sucked. It appears the painkillers are doing their job. That is probably a sign to stop writing now. Thanks again for all of your well wishes.
T minus Thrity-Seven hours…
I apologize to all of you, especially those of you who deal with me on a regular basis. I really mean it. I realize I’ve been a complete bitch for the last week or so. I’m a day and a half away from jaw surgery #2. That fact is making me miserable, and I haven’t enough self-control to suppress it. At any given moment, I feel like I want to destroy something.
Poor Mike. I wouldn’t want to be him right now. Of course, I really don’t want to be me right now either. He is a saint for putting up with me. Further, for making every crunchy and spicy food I wanted this weekend to sate me before I can’t eat normally for a month. Thanks, Mike.
Ok, moms of more than one kid, level with me. How in the world did you intentionally chose to place yourself in the worst pain you’ve ever been in in your life more than once? I don’t get it now, but maybe I will when I’m old and still have my own teeth. For now, again, I apologize. I’ve been a carton of hate. I’m looking forward to late February and beyond. Like maybe St. Patrick’s Day. Yeah, I’m looking forward to then. See you at the parade.
The Blackhawks have not yet played in San Jose this season, but there’s this:
Mystery Deepens About Identity of San Jose Arsonist, San Jose Mercury News
Caption the Captain! Mine: And I thought Sharpie was on fire.
Hyperborean. I have latched onto that word today. I first came across it in the article I posted last February about my 3rd great grandfather. Because of the record cold weather across Canada and the US right now, I went back and re-read it. 3rd great Grandpa was a badass. I suspect he’d laugh at everyone cowering in their houses afraid of a little nature right now. At least I hope so.
I feel obliged to mention Christmas and New Year, but frankly, the topics bore me. This whole holiday season was just like that. Uneventful, and now, thankfully, over. I don’t mean to diminish the time I got to spend with friends, family, and at home; it’s just that this year seemed rather contrived, and that it took an effort on everyone’s part to even give the appearance of giving half a crap. No one really seemed interested in having a Christmas or New Year, but because the calendar said it was, we did, and that was that. That last sentence read like Forest Gump wrote it. I’m done with this topic.
I managed to sneak in some pleasure reading over the weekend. Our very incredible Live Oak Library offered me yet another quality recommendation in Ursula Poznanski’s Erebos. This was a little bit Ready Player One and a little bit Person of Interest. It sated my geek-needs. I am hoping my first inter-library loan comes through soon. Ideally, that will be the next book I read, but I suspect it will arrive on the 23rd (my next surgery date – boo!).
This entire post, much like Christmas, feels forced. I’m out. Happy 2014.
With the passing of Joan Fontaine this weekend, yours truly now has a better batting average than the best hitter on the 2013 Chicago White Sox. Ok, that’s probably a pretty low bar to overcome. It appears that if you make it to my list – get your paperwork in order, the end is nigh!
TL; DR: I’m pretty good at this.
In the coming week or so, I’ll prepare the post for the 2014 Death Pool, same rules will probably apply. I’m open to suggestions for improvements, too. Start thinking about your picks now, and, of course, practice your evil laugh. Mwahaha!
Where we stand currently:
Zsa Zsa Gabor
Zsa Zsa Gabor
Sir David Attenborough
Lord Richard Attenborough
The Duke of Edinburgh
It’s probably not a surprise to anyone to hear of the actual passing of Nelson Mandela. I say actual, because he, like Fidel Castro, was reported to have passed a number of times. Looks like this time it’s real.
The Mandelas, both Nelson and Winnie, make up a bit of whatever it is that is woven into my brain. From my perspective (via my generation) they were one of the first international power couples that I noticed – because their struggle made it to TV. The US was enamored with them. As school children, we were taught that they were the kind of people who did what was right, because they did. When they were divorced, it stunned me, but helped me gain a perspective about adulthood and divorce that I desperately needed as my parents had ended their 23 year marriage shortly before the Mandelas.
Each small candle.
I can only be reflective and maudlin for so long before I revert to my usual self and let the horns and tail back out. With the passing of Nelson Mandela, yours truly, for yet another year, leads the Death Pool. Here are the current standings:
Zsa Zsa Gabor
Zsa Zsa Gabor
Sir David Attenborough
Lord Richard Attenborough
The Duke of Edinburgh
The Christmas tree is already up and decorated. The lights are strung outside, and tourist season in Christmas Village is nearly underway. So, before I get too engrossed in Christmas enchantments, I want to revisit Thanksgiving and share the run-down of yet another wonderful meal.
Mike, as usual, went above and beyond what normal humans should be capable of doing and created some amazing dishes. If I can ever figure out how he can go three days on a total of about 5 hours sleep, I’ll let you know.
Of course, we had the traditional dishes:
Turkey – We had two this year again. Despite this fact, we only really had one day of leftovers. Big thanks to my sister and brother-in-law for use of Kitchen North. For those of you who don’t know, they live only about 800 feet to the north of our house. They also happen to have an oven that is only a month or so old. That’s where we cooked the turkeys, freeing up our kitchen, aka Kitchen South, for everything else. It was a fabulous arrangement, but I think we may need to get a wagon for next year.
Gravy – This is a major production, and truly the most important part of the meal. Family fights have been known to break out when there is no or not enough gravy (See: the Pork Loin incident, circa 1999, and the Counter Gravy incident, circa 2005). Mike started the stock for the gravy (and stuffing) on the Saturday before Thanksgiving and let it go for over 48 hours. It was as dark as beef gravy and so delicious, I could have eaten it as soup. We still have a little left if anyone needs some killer, concentrated stock.
Ancillaries – Stuffing, Mashed potatoes (I overcooked them, and they were rather dry, sorry everyone), two dishes of Sweet potatoes, one with pecans, one with nutstitute (for the nut-allergic), Green Bean Casserole, Rolls, Collard Greens, Cranberry sauce (homemade of course!), and hot, mulled apple cider. The static dessert courses of homemade vanilla ice cream, pumpkin pie, and pecan pie (complete with homemade crusts) were on the table as well. I feel like I’m forgetting something…
Every year, we have also have rotating courses (meaning they are different every year, not spinning on your plate). This year, like most others, the rotators were the soup and dessert courses. For the soups, Mike did a hot and cold. The hot soup was a corn gumbo, complete with a nearly-brick roux. This was supplemented with a little white rice, green pepper and habanero purees (separate purees, they were not combo’d), bacon bits, and parmesan twills. The cold soup was similar to one we did a few years ago in that it was served parfait style. There were alternating layers of maple syrup/acorn squash and of apple/lime purees, each layer being separated by a quasi-crème fraiche. Quasi because it would not set right and we had to cheat and add a dollop of sour cream to get it rolling. They both turned out quite well. I particularly loved the apple-lime puree and could have eaten it like it was apple(lime) sauce. Tangy!
The other rotating course was dessert. If I could give awards for brainstorm of the year, Mike gets it. He opted to go with a ‘Cranberries Three Ways’ theme. Way One was that he used some of the ice cream and made mini (shot glass size) cranberry shakes. Way Two was that he raised dough and made sugar-rolled donuts filled with cranberry jelly (yes, he made the jelly too). They turned out a bit like Chinese donuts but soooo much better. Way Three was probably my favorite, and it seemed to be the favorite of most of our guests. For Way Three, he made traditional Southern-style banana pudding, but (wait for it….) he replaced the bananas with cranberries. Oh yeah! The tartness of the cranberries perfectly off-set the hyper-sweetness of the pudding (yes, again, homemade) and Nilla Wafers (store bought). Oh! Almost forgot the meringue. There was that on the pudding, too. I absolutely will be demanding he make the cranberry pudding again, but probably without the meringue, which is a little too sweet for my tastes. I really want some right now, in fact. Miiiiiike!
Before I wrap up, I do have one complaint. Well maybe not a full-on complaint, but more of a minor mystery combined with slight annoyance. We have a new(ish) refrigerator. We got it this spring. During the holiday, it started flashing the six-month reminder light that we needed to change the filters in it (there are three). One of our dinner guests reset the light and it is no longer flashing to remind us that we need to change the filters. So anyone want to fess up? Are you the one who is so anal, so pedantic, that you simply had to push buttons that were not yours? I’m mostly just curious – you will not be uninvited next year if you do confess.
It was a great Thanksgiving, with great company. Despite all the work and lack of sleep, I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Gobble, gobble, beachcombers!
Before I get wrapped up in the holidays, and the year fully slips away from me, I wanted to mention a few books I’ve read and other free-time status updates.
I followed up Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy in logical fashion and read The Restaurant at the End of the Universe. Unlike Guide, this was my first time through. It was as I expected – meh. Sequels rarely are better than the first. However, that won’t prevent me from checking out Life, The Universe and Everything at some point soon. I’m just in no hurry.
The other book I’ve recently read (circa Halloween) was Seth Grahame-Smith’s Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter. I wanted to hate this book merely for the title. Four simple words, yet representing just about everything I hate about modern fiction. Kudos to Grahame-Smith for winning me over with a mix of good story telling and reasonable historical accuracy. The ‘photos’ were a nice touch.
I probably won’t be reading many novels between now and the end of the year. I won’t have enough time. I have drifted back toward researching my Great-Great Aunt Annie, but have only been pecking around, nothing serious. I’ve spent a lot more time with a new project that is history-related, but not genealogy (well not mine anyway). As it turns out, Savannah has a history of non-violent civil disobedience when it comes to enforcement of certain laws. I plan on exploring this more in the little bit of downtime I find between now and the end of the year.
And before I go – can you believe they’re playing Christmas music already…in my living room?! Oh wait, that was Mike and me, and it was awesome.
May all of you have a bountiful Thanksgiving.
Weeks one and two of year 37 have been a whirlwind. First, my sincerest THANK YOU!!!!! to all of you kind of enough to remember me on my birthday. I am always humbled when so many turn out to wish me well.
I couldn’t bother myself with trying to make this year’s birthday into something special. My bigger concern was for Mike and the serious dental surgery he underwent last week. As is often the case, the worry was for naught. Mike is recovering incredibly well. In fact, he’s recovering far, far faster than I did earlier this year with my periodontal surgery. (Now, if our bank account could recovery as quickly, I’ll be overjoyed.) All the best to you, Mike!
For my birthday dinner, I scored a double. On my actual birthday, I had just started a 10-day regimen of heavy-duty antibiotics (related to those periodontal issues) and wasn’t feeling so great. Mike prepared me a delicious, fresh grouper filet with Mediterranean style flavorings. The sides were fresh asparagus and white rice, all with similar flavors to the grouper. It was fantastic.
The following Sunday we celebrated again with a true Chicago style pizza. I can’t recall if I’ve mentioned the differences in ‘Chicago Style Pizza’. If so, my apologies for being redundant. If not, enjoy your lesson: Deep dish pizza is shit. It is for idiot tourists who don’t know any better. TRUE ‘Chicago Style Pizza’ has a very thin crust, almost cracker thin and nearly as crispy. The toppings should be mozzarella cheese, Italian sausage, green pepper, and onion (mushrooms optional). The pieces must be cut in small squares. NEVER triangles. Pizza should never, ever be soggy or folded. Mike found a pretty good go-by for Aurelio’s Pizza and was able to reproduce a pretty, damned close one. Thank you Mike! Pizza in Savannah sucks and this was a perfect way to enjoy my birthday.
Thanks again to everyone who thought of me on my day.
I have spent numerous hours rebuilding my very own Springfield via The Simpsons Tapped Out. It is a fabulous game, and I am particularly enjoying all the Treehouse of Horror Fun. Unfortunately for me, however, some of the fun of this game relies on the players being social. Always a problem for this intentional introvert.
I also have a hang up preventing me from friend whoring. Instead, I’ll appeal to you, my readers and virtual friends. (I can see a clear and distinct line between friend whoring and what I’m doing here, can’t you?). If you’re playing TSTO, please for the love of Kodos, add me – Caralibra. Keep in mind, it will be really helpful to get a heads up first if you intend on doing so, since I will get all weirded out by complete strangers attempting to add me. Even the remotest level of contact makes you less of a creeper.