The Appalachian Mountains, Atlas Mountains, Scottish Highlands And Scandinavian Mountains Were All Once

I finished my Rome book and have now begun one about Pompeii. I’m 65 pages in and I already love it: yes, it covers the volcano, but most of the book is about “this is what the town and daily life of it would have been like, actually.” Fascinating stuff. Things I’ve learned so far:

- The streets in Pompeii have sidewalks sometimes a meter higher than the road, with stepping stones to hop across as “crosswalks.” I’d seen some photos before. The book points out that, duh, Pompeii had no underground drainage, was built on a fairly steep incline, and the roads were more or less drainage systems and water channels in the rain.

- Unlike today, where “dining out” is expensive and considered wasteful on a budget, most people in Pompeii straight up didn’t have kitchens. You had to eat out if you were poor; only the wealthy could afford to eat at home.

- Most importantly, and I can’t believe in all the pop culture of Pompeii this had never clicked for me: Pompeii had a population between 6-35,000 people. Perhaps 2,000 died in the volcano. Contemporary sources talk about the bay being full of fleeing ships. Most people got the hell out when the eruption started. The number who died are still a lot, and it’s still gruesome and morbid, but it’s not “an entire town and everyone in it.” This also makes it difficult for archeologists, apparently (and logically): those who remained weren’t acting “normally,” they were sheltering or fleeing a volcano. One famous example is a wealthy woman covered in jewelry found in the bedroom in the glaridator barracks. Scandal! She must have been having an affair and had it immortalized in ash! The book points out that 17 other people and several dogs were also crowded in that one small room: far more likely, they were all trying to shelter together. Another example: Houses are weirdly devoid of furniture, and archeologists find objects in odd places. (Gardening supplies in a formal dining room, for example.) But then you remember that there were several hours of people evacuating, packing their belongings, loading up carts and getting out… maybe the gardening supplies were brought to the dining room to be packed and abandoned, instead of some deeper esoteric meaning. The book argues that this all makes it much harder to get an accurate read on normal life in a Roman town, because while Pompeii is a brilliant snapshot, it’s actually a snapshot of a town undergoing major evacuation and disaster, not an average day.

- Oh, another great one. Outside of a random laundry place in Pompeii, someone painted a mural with two scenes. One of them referenced Virgil’s Aeneid. Underneath that scene, someone graffiti’d a reference to a famous line from that play, except tweaked it to be about laundry. This is really cool, the book points out, because it implies that a) literacy and education was high enough that one could paint a reference and have it recognized, and b) that someone else could recognize it and make a dumb play on words about it and c) the whole thing, again, means that there’s a certain amount of literacy and familiarity with “Roman pop culture” even among fairly normal people at the time.

When I was in second grade I was targeted by my teacher for isolation and harassment. If you got a ticket for misbehavior you didn't get to sit and watch a movie and eat candy with the rest of the kids on Friday, and every single week without fail I was sitting to the side alone. Half way through the year she switched it so tickets were for good behavior and you got to see the movie and eat candy and if you didn't get one, you had to sit alone. She scared me so badly that my already existing reading issues got worse and I just could not read or learn to read. She was young too, basically a new teacher, totally taking out her frustrations on kids and targeting me for her basically abuse. The administration was actually listening though, and was going to investigate her about getting her license revoked. Still, you shouldn't get a license in the first place if you're like this.

Something needs to be done about teachers who hate kids tbh

I’ve been really into Welcome to Night Vale lately and this is a product of that. Not my best, but I was trying a new style out.

Lakota elders helped a white man preserve their language. Then he tried to sell it back to them.

“No matter how it was collected, where it was collected, when it was collected, our language belongs to us," said Ray Taken Alive, a Lakota teacher.

@mrchicsaraleo @britomartis @el-shab-hussein @paintedwiththecolorsofthewind @stephanemiroux

this is vile

STANDING ROCK INDIAN RESERVATION, S.D. — Ray Taken Alive had been fighting for this moment for two years: At his urging, the Standing Rock Sioux Tribal Council was about to take the rare and severe step of banishing a nonprofit organization from the tribe’s land.

The Lakota Language Consortium had promised to preserve the tribe’s native language and had spent years gathering recordings of elders, including Taken Alive’s grandmother, to create a new, standardized Lakota dictionary and textbooks.

But when Taken Alive, 35, asked for copies, he was shocked to learn that the consortium, run by a white man, had copyrighted the language materials, which were based on generations of Lakota tradition. The traditional knowledge gathered from the tribe was now being sold back to it in the form of textbooks. 

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Trigger Warning, Suicide

This is the day my friend committed suicide three years ago. We were freshmen back. I had moved to a different state and we hadn’t had contact in months. When I left, he refused to accept that we would never see each other, isn’t that ironic? My friend John Chris. The guy who would stand there talking to me for ten minutes about his turtles, about his job at the pond in town. The guy I tried stop people from bullying. He committed suicide December 16th because he was being bullied. Don’t stand to the side, guys. If you’re being bullied, get help. If you see it, get help. Don’t let more innocents like John Chris feel like their only choice is for release is suicide. Please.

Testing out makeup stuff for my next event! What do you guys think? Am I snek enough?

Dog, 1915, Sweden.

I was working on a history paper today and found a book from 1826 that seemed promising (though dull) for my topic, on an English Catholic family’s experience moving to France.

And it ended up not really being suitable for my purposes, as it goes. But part of the book is actually devoted to Kenelm, the author’s oldest son…and man, his dad loved him.

Kenelm seems to have had a fairly typical upbringing for a young English gentleman, although he is a bit slow to read. At twelve he’s sent to board at Stoneyhurst College—often the big step towards independence in a boy’s life, as he’ll most likely only see his parents sporadically from now on, and then leave for university.

When he’s sixteen, however, his father moves the whole family to France, so Kenelm gets pulled out of school to be with them again. Shortly after the move, his dad notices that he seems depressed. Kenelm confides in him that he’s been suffering from “scruples” for the last eighteen months—most likely what we’d now call an anxiety disorder.

And his dad is pissed—at the school, because apparently Kenelm had been seeking help there and received none, despite obviously struggling with mental health issues. So his dad takes it seriously. He sets him up to be counseled by a priest—there were no therapists back then—and doesn’t send him away to be boarded again, instead teaching him at home himself.

And his mental health does improve. His dad describes him as well-liked, gentle, pious, kind and eager to please others; at twenty he’s thinking about a career in diplomacy or going into the military—which his dad thinks he is not particularly suited for, considering his favorite pastimes are drawing and reading. He’s excited about his family’s upcoming move to Italy, and he’s been busy learning Italian and teaching it to his siblings.

Henry Kenelm Beste dies of typhus at twenty years, four months, and twenty-five days. That’s how his dad records it. That’s why his dad is telling this story. It’s not an extraordinary story—Kenelm’s story struck me because he sounds so…ordinary, like so many kids today. And he was so, so loved. His dad tried hard to help him compassionately with his mental health at a time where our current knowledge and support systems didn’t exist. You can feel how badly he wanted his son to be remembered and loved, to impress how dearly beloved he was to the people who knew him in life.

I hope he’d be glad to know someone is still thinking of Kenelm over 200 years later.

Anyway, that’s why I’m crying today.

((Messing around as England = punk England.))

This is controversial I know, but as someone who loves learning new things and hates feeling stupid, I always err on the side of simple when I’m teaching people about history, particularly when I’m working with niche equipment or antiquated terms.

When you’re so enmeshed in a subject, it can be all too easy to forget that your knowledge and vocabulary is now different from everyone else’s. I go to a lot of reenactments where the people there are passionate about history, but don’t know how to teach it, or deal with museums where the curator rather than the educational staff writes labels. Far too often I’ve had to step in and explain a concept or word because someone else thought it was obvious so it wasn’t.

Just in the 18th century alone I’ve had explain when people were confused by someone using period appropriate, but confusing words such as:

“Stays” rather than corset

“Chocolate” rather than “hot chocolate”

“Petticoat” rather than “skirt”

“Shrewsbury cake” rather than “cookie”

“But Beggars!” you say, “it’s wrong to use modern terms for things when we know what they were actually called! They’re not the same!” Not if you explain yourself. You and I both know that stays and corsets are differently shaped, but to 99% of the population, it’s a support garment, and that’s what they need to know. I will generally use the appropriate term and then explain using more colloquial language. “I’m wearing stays - what we would today call a corset, although they’re differently shaped.” Making the person guess what you’re talking about is putting more mental strain on them and causing them to lose track of the discussion.

As a professional who still looks like a child, I know how awkward it can be when someone assumes that you have a negative level of knowledge, but I am always going to err on that side and then beef up my interpretation later, rather than starting at a master’s degree level, making someone feel stupid, and then having to backtrack. A good interpreter will be able to glean someone’s general level of knowledge very quickly.