I have visited Tabby’s Café every morning for the last fifty years; I met my wife there. She worked as a barista, and I would order coffee from her every day until I mustered up the nerve to ask her out. After a decade, we were married, and she quit her job to become a music teacher; throughout her career, we returned to Tabby’s and ordered our regular pre-work breakfast. A black coffee each, with a slice of chocolate cake, divvied up between us. As soon as it hit 8.15am, she would dash a kiss across my cheek and run to school.
The Trial by Cake
I’ve only gone and done it again. It seems that no matter what I do, I can’t seem to keep my hands clean and, despite my best attempts, end up right back where I started – face to face with the jury, awaiting the ‘Corsned.’
It had become a habit to wander around the abandoned districts of my hometown anytime my mind began to race with intrusive thoughts. This place was slowly becoming a shell of what it used to be. It was like exploring a ghost town; it gave me this feeling of adventure masked as a sense of purpose. There were no footsteps to follow, no prying eyes watching my every move. When I walked through these broken streets, I felt calm. Perhaps I was romanticising the idea of being the only person left on Earth by walking through the abandoned streets, like being alone was the only solution to my problems. I wanted to escape; I just did not know where to.
The Mistress and Her Seamstress
Life in 1930s America is hard; living in 1930s America as a gay woman is virtually impossible. Stranded in the heart of the middle of nowhere – bullseye in Logan County, Arkansas, on a small ranch near Blue Mountain Lake, roughly half a day's ride on horseback northwest of Little Rock. I'm the handed down daughter to the owner of the ranch and the forced wife of the future mayor of Little Rock – my husband. My husband is many things, but a caring man, he is not. He's a brute, a cheat, a rowdy rooster with a thorn for a penis. I live in a constant nightmare, but my mother raised a hard chick. There is a reason for my strength. The sole reason why I didn't drown myself in the lake all these years ago, the stir in my stomach that gets me up every morning and leads me outside to the barn far out in the cornfields. The grandest stage for my most loving spectator – Leyla, our on-site seamstress.
Like a Headless Chicken
Mike, the Headless Chicken, was a Wyandotte chicken that was beheaded in April 1945 to make a chicken supper for a Fruita CO farmer's mother-in-law. Lloyd Olsen's axe narrowly missed the jugular vein, leaving an ear and the bulk of the bird's brain stem intact, which was lucky for Mike (or terrible depending on how you look at it).
Who was Alan Turing?
Alan Turing has only recently come to the surface of the mainstream; part due to The Imitation Game, a fantastic film on the topic of Bletchley Park and its success of breaking the German Enigma Machine, and partly due to the British government releasing horrific facts on how Turing was treated post-war as he was a gay man living in a homophobic society. As some of you may not have heard of the brilliance of Turing, first, I recommend watching The Imitation Game – it's brilliant. While you get your friend to find the movie online, here is an account of his brilliant work and some extra information that the film misses.
The History of Ramen
Ramen is so much more than just a week's worth of sustenance. Wheat noodles, broth, an infinitely variable flavour base called tare, and optional toppings make up the traditional Japanese cuisine. There's essentially no limit to the types of ramen and ingredients used to make it. It is something I love dearly and have made my way through the wide variety of ramen in London. A couple of days ago, I underwent my first attempt at making my ramen from scratch, and to have the freedom to make it however I wanted was a fantastic feeling. So, to celebrate this amazing dish, let's go through the history of ramen.
What is Slang?
Language is an amazing part of our reality. We as a species have mastered the art of communication so much that we begin to blend words to create new ones with entirely new meanings. This is due to our ability to learn extremely quickly, and with the help of the internet, these new terms spread across the world like wildfire. Slang is a fantastic thing that gets a mixed reaction depending on who you talk to. But where did it all begin, and why do we create slang?