heard a buzzing noise next to you and you groaned, not wanting to wake up just yet. The noise was being persistent so you rolled over, blindly moving your arm around to get your phone. You peeked your eyes open and saw that it was Kim calling
you, not your alarm that you originally thought was waking you up.
You grumbled out once you accepted the call. You moved to lay on your back,
closing your eyes again.
good morning to you too.” Kim responded sarcastically. “We’re headed to your
“Thank you, but I’m not looking to you for defense of my actions. In fact, I feel that M and M has become a forum to place blame, cover up mistakes, or be grateful that there’s not a lawsuit. I would argue that, actually, we should embrace our mistakes and learn from them to improve the system. I erred not because I was untrained or incompetent but because I was exhausted, having been up for 36 hours. If we really want to cut down on our errors why don’t we, for example, allow on-call house officers to leave by 12 noon on the post-call day? Why don’t we establish a night float system? Air traffic controllers work with airplanes four to six hours a day no more than two hours without a break. Now, why? Because human life is at stake. Yet we allow surgical interns to work 36 hours without sleep. Why? Because we’ve all had to do it? Because the surgeons before us have had to do it? Tradition may be wonderfully nostalgic but it is clearly not in the best interests of our patients. If you disagree with me, why don’t you ask yourself next time you fly: Do you really want that man in the control room to be on his 36th hour?” -- Elizabeth Corday
I’m a big fan of Preacher. Been there, read the book, bought and lost several ‘Fuck Communism’ lighters.
I was lukewarm on the earliest AMC Preacher trailer, but everything I’ve seen since has gotten me more and more interested in it.
I like most of the casting, the make-up and the costumes just fine. Any changes I’ve noticed have made sense or just not bothered me. Over all, I’m actually *gasp* enthusiastic. But then, time and time again, I make the mistake of reading the comments on any picture of Ruth Negga, the mixed race actress cast in the role of Tulip (a white character in the book) and my misanthropy tank gets a free refill.
Tulip’s race is not remotely important to her character. Besides that, Ruth Negga is a fine actress (yes, I have seen her in things before, she was in the same British show as the guy who plays Cassidy) and guys, she looks great in the role.
The above photo shows her striking a pose with the kind of self-assured attitude the character exhibited in the series.
How do people have a problem with the tiniest amount of colour in one otherwise white-as-fuck TV show? It’s fucking 2016, how are we living this far into the future and still having this god damn conversation?
Santana yawns across the table, and your aunt checks the clock noticing the time. “Oh dear, I didn’t realize it was so late… Where are y’all staying?”
You blush deep, knowing your aunt will know that you didn’t fully plan your day, “Erm… We’re not too far away.”
“Brittany Susan!” She gets up from the table, “Come on, Santana, let me show you the guest room.”
“No, really, Aunt Ruth it’s fine! The drive isn’t bad and the sky out here is awesome at night.”
“I won’t hear it. You can leave in the morning.” She shakes her head and ushers Santana out of the kitchen, “I swear that girl and her timing.”
You feel something sink down in your belly, you didn’t mean to stay so late. You didn’t mean to make Santana stay here, in this home. You clear the table and load the dishwasher with the remaining dishes before opening the door to the back and walking out into the wide yard.
Tucker hears the door and zooms out to greet you, clipping along at your heels and nudging his head up for scratches beside you. You walk around to the back of the barn and plop yourself on the hay bales back there, looking up at the clear night sky.
But even that doesn’t help.
It just makes you wish you weren’t out here alone.
That someone was here next to you, leaning against you and asking you questions about your life here. About you.
It starts to get chilly and you pull an old blanket out of the tack room to wrap around yourself. When you come back out of the barn you see her.
She’s there petting Tucker’s belly, wearing an old jacket of yours from the closet.
And it hits you in the chest.
How she looks out here.
How she looks in your jacket.
When she looks up and smiles at you, small and genuine, you stop breathing.
“Your aunt thought you might be out here… and here you are.”