Notes from SunnyJay

Ok, for the past few months, I’ve wanted to introduce you, my dear readers, with the people that I consider my friends down at AU!

This is Sarah -

 We’ve been called an old married couple because of the way we finish each other’s sentences.

Being perhaps my best friend on the floor, she consistently makes me laugh in this strange high-pitched way that has only come out since arriving at college.

IT was her that I went to see the show Into the Woods with.

As well as being told that we ”have an act” because of our talent for building on each other’s jokes, just as David and I do, we’ve also been called an old married couple.  (I already mentioned this didn’t I?  I really am an old man!)  We’ve taken the names “George and Mertle” when we play around with the “old married couple” idea.  We have a great time!

No, she doesn’t normally go around in a fireman’s suit, but I’ll explain that later.

This is Ryan -

He is the Tae Qwon Do expert on the floor – he is a bit of a health nut and pursues physical development vigorously.  He does enjoy kicking open doors, however the character “Bryan” as nothing to do with him – nothing at all!

I was recently impressed by Ryan’s humility in his desire to involve other people in his life, and have enjoyed getting to know him better in recent weeks.

The floor joke is that he’s planning on taking over the world, and being supreme dictator of everything.  This is derived from his unique views on international relations.  This author can only hope that this doesn’t come true – no matter what the benefits may be – because of his vow to throw Sarah and I in an African salt mine. ::shivers::

He does however have one major short-coming.  The guy has no sense of humor.  He may have muscles, but lacks the intellect to craft a clever joke.  Right now his main “attack” on me is by teasing the fact that I was home schooled and raised in a “bubble”.  HAH!  Can you imagine?  Sadly, I think his initial jovial attack broke my “comeback back”.  I haven’t been able to think up and good comeback since that first day.  Though I do enjoy watching his weak attempts.

(he’s actually quite good, but claiming he’s not is part of my weak defenses – help me I’ve lost it!)

This is Jessie-

What to say about Jessie?  She’s delightful… um… she’s the Queen of the World (and if not that than she’s a Princess).

She has a slight problem of sticking things in her ears, but we’re working on that.  The enjoys coloring, playing with Play dough, and also psychology.  She does have a slight problem with the play dough though.  Last time she got it in her hair, mouth, nose and almost her ears, but someone stopped her.

She used to be a Catholic, but her family had to leave the church because she kept running up and bothering the teacher.  I’m not sure she has moved on much further than that.

She was one of the people who came to visit us with Sarah for dinner the other week.  We had a wonderful time enjoying her company!

This is Mike -

He’s a Music Theater Major and played Cinderella’s father in Into the Woods.

He’s Ryan’s roommate and a jovial guy who loudly proclaims his music-theater-majordom.  Some of his famous attributes are his love for video games (mario kart, and James Bond 007 Golden Eye… whatever) Also his intelligent understand of proper communications.

He does tend to to be a very dramatic character, however this is to be expected from a theater major.

I find it rather funny that he is paired with Ryan, who lacks facial expression.  As far as I’m aware, Ryan as three looks- normal, angry, and surprised/happy (they’re close to being the same.)  Mike on the other hand actively displays a multitude of expressions that convey even the slightest and most subtle emotions.  (he doesn’t always use this effectively because he ends up telling you most of what would be said via the face.)

Well, that’s enough for this edition of Get to know my friends at AU join us again next time for more exciting names and faces of the celebrities of tomorrow!

Jason quote of the week: “Tage, don’t fraternize with the help.”

As of today I’ve been a xanga for 404 days!  Yahoo!  Very exciting, eh what?

It was a cold and blustery day.  The fridged wind rushed through James’ hair, making him wish he had worn a hat.  He was returning from math class which had gone about as well as could be expected.  Math wasn’t “his subject”.

But now class was over, and deep in his heart he was trying to forget what he a just learned.  As he stomped up the stairs, he could feel is fatigue catching up with him.  The day had been a long one, his back-pack dragged on his shoulders, and tried to pull him back down the stairs.  However, the struggled on, and marched with determination through the heavy wooden door.

He was immediatly greeted by those fabulous friend in the T, so cheerfully, it seemed to pick him up and lift him across the hall.   The stress of class was no longer heavy, and he floated over to the couch with joy!

However, trouble lurked behind every corner, and from around this one walked Bryan.  He had just returned from Tae Qwon Do class, and still wore the remenants of the sport’s costume.

Having never been a huge fan of James’, Bryan, who is walking up behind James as I write, decided to jump him and practice what he had learned from his “Grand Master”.

However James had precluded this, and had been prepairing for such an attack since he had arrived on campus.  He was now in a meditational state of “chee”, and heard Bryan’s soft steps creaping up behind him.  He waited until he could see the whites of his socks (so to speak) and was about to spin around and deliver his patented “Kung-ja-tou” move on the unsuspecting maurader, when he suddenly relized that it didn’t exsist, and that he had no idea what he was doing.

But by then it was too late.  His fate was sealed.  He felt the back of his neck twinge in anticipation of whatever blow he was about to recieve – but then he thought, in what was perhaps, a perfect example of his stupidity, “Tae Qwon do isn’t so hard, I can just make it up as I go along!”

So he spun around, jabbed up his fists, and began chopping at Bryan’s smurking face.  Each impressive blow was blocked by Bryan’s vastly superior experience, however one thing Bryan had not planned on was the way James adjusted for his lack of experience through his ferocity – the chops became quicker, and the kicks higher, the verbal jousting more articulate!  Bryan found himself unable to combat “fatty fighter” as James concentrated his efforts on Bryan’s feet, he quickly fell to the ground, and was eventually laying facedown on the floor with James standing on top of him desperately trying to catch his breath.

The crowd rose to their feet with cheers and shouts of joy, James tumbled down into the soft cushion of the couch sipped a glass of apple cider, content to be sitting once again.

A quick note regarding this episode:  It’s absolutely true!  Ain’t that right Bryan?

Caution: 1,573 words!  eek!

It is a generally known fact that cheese causes bad dreams; and as James reflected on his day before drifting off to sleep he suddenly realized that his day had been filled with the creamy substance.  Breakfast, lunch, and dinner had all involved a large quantity of cheese.  The very fact that he had requested a cheese-burger at dinner now seemed to haunt his fallen facial expression.

As he slipped tranquilly off to sleep he forced himself to forget his stupidity.  However like an exotic Indian curse, the dreams flooded his brain.

::harponious dream music::

In his dream it was Sunday morning, and James was planning on attending Mass with his roommate Daniel Tagelson, who was awake and just about ready to leave.  James, on the other hand had overslept and was now scrambling to catch up.  He rushed through a shower, clothes selection, and grabbed a notebook and rushed out the door to catch up with Daniel.

Once they arrived at the cathedral James was overwhelmed with the grandeur of the moment.  The massive organ, whose pipes roared with the majesty of the Lord, ancient hymns written by the great fathers of the church were belted out by the congregation, most of whom were dressed in pink.  Then came the sermon.

Father Patrick McGurney, a wrinkled, grey-haired, old man who resembled as basset hound got up and explained in a monotone voice, that he would not be giving the sermon today, but that we would be having a guest speaker.  To Everyone’s shock, Sister Jessie Destephano, dressed entirely in electric pink ministerial robes walked up to the pulpit and knocked Father Patrick McGurney off the stage, purely on accident.  Thankfully this was accepted by the crowd as soon as it was explained that she was the guest speaker.

Meanwhile back in the dorm, there was a deepening political problem.  The current ruler Viceroy Sir Markus McKenzie’s regime was infamous for it’s corruption, and hypocrisy.  His lavish parties, and ridiculous use of floor funds, sparked outrage among the floors impoverished population.

A terrorist group known as The Newtonian League (Named after it’s founder) was on a campaign to rid the floor of Viceroy Sir Markus McKenzie.  The Newtonian League’s followers were mostly the social outcasts of the floor, those that felt they had been disenfranchised by the “Mighty Many-membered more moral majority”. (They were accused of being Maniacal, but the extra “M” never caught on)  The Newtonian League’s leader, Charles Jeffrey York was a vicious debater whose words were often sharper than knives.  He had a small, but potent following which was generally feared by civilians for their random terrorist ambushes.

Meanwhile at church, Jessie was pounding her fist and stomping her feel driving home her point.  The massive stone cathedral seems to shake and shudder at the piercing sound of her voice.  James sat there glued to his seat, afraid to do anything that would attract her attention.  Jessie began “now we all know God must punish those he doesn’t like, those who disobey his word.  ‘love thy neighbor as yourself’, she quoted, “and what does a loving neighbor do?  They visit people at the desk!”  She pounded the pulpit a few more times for emphasis – the tremors rattled the bells in the church across the street.

While Viceroy Sir Markus McKenzie was busy battling The Newtonian League, another more powerful force was building – growing – becoming more powerful by the day.  The People’s Federalistic Democratic Liberitanian Republican Party, whose members were known as The Colen, for their staunch support of their founder, and leader, Joseph S. Cole.  His brutal attacks on the snobby aristocracy made him a hero in the eyes of the people.  He was famous for being calm and soft-spoken, yet firm.  There are untold numbers of people who died at his merciless hands.

It was that very Sunday morning, while James was at church that The Newtonian League launched the attack on Viceroy Sir Markus McKenzie that plunged the whole floor into war.

As James walked back from church he was completely unaware of the troubles back home.  The journey back from the church would take several minutes; these minutes would be the agonizing birth pains of a new floor order.

After The Newtonian League’s attack on important governmental institutions, and the Viceroy’s integrity, the Imperial government collapsed.  The Imperial Residence’s majestic woodwork was smashed and tattered, the bulletin boards, once the pride of the Viceroy, were stripped bare, and trash filled the halls.  Viceroy Sir Markus McKenzie fled into the countryside hidden in a trashcan, to live in exile until he could reorganize and launch an assault on The Newtonian League.

When James finally arrived back on the floor, he could hardly recognize his old stomping grounds; so much of what once was, had been destroyed by the fighting.

However the reign of The Newtonian League was short lived.  Nearly as soon as the Viceroy fled, The Colens launched what Joseph S. Cole termed “a fight of liberation against terrorism”.  War was once more upon the floor, however the vastly inferior forces of The Newtonian League were soon overwhelmed by the gruff Germanic professionalism of the Colen forces.  James watched from his room overlooking the T, once the intellectual center of a close-knit community, now the site where the two forces collided in heated battle.  However, it was only a matter of hours before Charles Jeffrey York, leader of The Newtonian League, was finally captured by Joseph Cole, who immediately stole his wallet.  And so it was decreed that a bottle of Bacardi 151 be poured down his throat for his transgression, and afterwards he was put under room arrest, and was only rarely seen by the public.

James had been following the events on the floor with great interest and was hither-to unaffected by the horrific events he had witnessed outside in the T.  James was also the editor and chief of a small publication which was generally respected for it’s light-hearted integrity.  However during such a time of upheaval, James felt strongly that he should be doing more to help his floor return to the old days and started publishing articles looking into some of the horrible rumors that were plaguing The People’s Federalistic Democratic Liberitanian Republican Party (PFDLRP // n. pa-fid-lurp).  Rumors of world domination and aggressive military actions were usually top of the list.

However, the most pressing question was when a new more Democratic government was going to be founded by the leader of The PFDLRP (Pronounced: Pa-fid-lurp) Joseph S. Cole.  Since The Newtonian League’s downfall Joseph S. Cole had lorded his absolute power over the floor and taken the opportunity to have his political opponents removed and consolidating power in his hands.  He even forced the President of the college out of office via a series of connections and threats aimed at the Board of directors.  One person who was increasingly getting on his nerves was James.  His frequent reports of Cole’s cruelty towards minorities and former supporters of The Newtonian League, were increasingly irksome.  It wasn’t until James published a story about a young girl being sent to a salt mine to the music of Hells Bells that Cole’s government started a massive crackdown on the media.

James was just finishing the early edition of his publication, and was just heading to print when the door flung open and grabbed him before he could hit “send” and fireman carried him out of the room.  He was thrown in cramped jail cell with a young activist by the name G-minor.  That was her code name, she did share her real name with James, however we can’t share it here because of the danger that still surrounds the issue.

G-minor was a stocky, passionate girl whose joy for life and bright smile filled the jail cell with a light that might have been confused with the light emanating from the bare florescent bulbs that hung over head.  She spoke with a quick informative tone that exuded great intelligence. (wink, wink).  As she leaned over to speak with James the faint smell of a Spaghetti-O’s floated across the cell.  She explained that she was the leader of The Hughes Liberation Army, an underground organization that was committed to overthrowing Joseph S. Cole and all those who shared his ideology.

It was during her last attempt at Joseph S. Cole, her 43^rd attempt, that she was finally caught and brought here to this jail cell.  She recounted the how he had been walking down the hall, and she had made the split second decision to lung for his feet.  It was impulsive, immediate, habitual – years of training and practice poured into that one fateful moment.  She grabbed his foot, lifted it above her head in a vane attempt to overthrow the leader!  But to no avail.  Cole had used his Kaji-taj-wanjikiti-jaji move and succeeded in dissuading further attacks.

She looked James up and down. He was just what she needed to escape from her cell. At 5’2, G-minor was a 5 feet shorter than the pipe attached to the ceiling.  James was 5’10   She would stand on his shoulders and grab the pipe, and slowly crawl here way over the jail bars, jump down, grab the keys from the wall, let James out, and they would be off. 

And it worked.

Join us next week when we continue with the legend of The Deuce…

Special Thanks to Sarah Gmeiner and Ryan Cole for their help and inspiration for this story.

Now before you go think that I only learn bad words from my friend Sarah here at AU, you should know that she can be credited with teaching me “muse”  as in, are you my muse?

I didn’t know what this was refering to before, I had heard of many popular variations on this fabulous word: Fuse, use, cruise, peruse, chose, diffuse, confuse, abuse, lose, snooze, booze, and rouse but never muse.

A Muse is a source of inspiration, a person or thing that inspires one to bigger and better things.  (there are other meanings but this is the one that I’m talking about)

I’ve got several muses.  Most of them are friends, evidently, Sarah is a muse.

Just FYI!

Please note: What’s written in this series, namely the emotional statements of it’s characters do not accurately represent the motives and feelings of the author, or anyone involved.  There is an large element of fiction involved in any story in this series.

Editor’s note: It should be noted that several of the people around whom our characters are based have requested that their real names be used in our stories.  The obvious reason for this is because of the overwhelmingly positive image that has been created for them via our coverage.  However, the names will stay the same with the exception of a few: Haras, who is not foreign, will now be Sarah, and Mckenzie will become Mark.  Bryan will remain Bryan in spite of the risk of severe physical harm to this author.  But let it be known: The pen is always more powerful than the Tae Kwon Do move!

We now return to “The Fat Boy Who Couldn’t” for the exciting conclusion of the previous part of our series…

As Bryan had finished his ball throwing rampage, and James had readjusted his bulk into a more comfortable position, the question of what to do with the ball, the starter of so much trouble and chaos, was broached.

Should Bryan keep the ball?  No.  Should he give it back?  Yes!  To whom should he return the ball?  This was the question that quickly spelled the doom of poor James, and would deliver to him the embarrassment and humiliation that he had escaped during the rampage.

Bryan quickly threw the ball at James – he failed to catch it - he picked it up and threw again – James failed again.  What Bryan had failed to understand was that James’ only experience with baseball was a week long summer camp about 10 years earlier.  As a result of this, James’ hand-eye coordination was poor.  James had never enjoyed sports, stemming back mainly to a Basket ball summer camp he had done when he was 8 where he was required to be on the “skin’s” team.  This was not enjoyed.

As it happened, the floor had been going through a period of unrest, or increased physical activity.  This had been causing James a great deal of trouble as he attempted to steer activities away from the physically difficult.  This quickly became impossible.

Bryan who was the primary instigator of the athletic problems James was having.  He was an aspiring EMT (or a “heavy Rescuer” which was James’ favorite for the personal connections he had with the title.)  As a future EMT he felt that it was his responsibility to practice what was called a ”Fireman’s Carry” just in case he should be called upon to remove a civilian from a burning building.  Below is a graphic illustration of a fireman’s Carry:

Above: Ryan C. demonstrates the fireman’s carry, the carrying method used by Bryan in our story.  On his back is Chris B. representing the general position of Bryan’s victims.

After practicing a few times with people of various weights he decided, being the muscular person he was, to try and challenge himself by hoisting the fatty bulk of James onto his shoulders and carrying him somewhere.

James who was feeling he could use a public relations boost after the rubber ball incident earlier in the evening.  However something inside him(probably his kidneys) refused to let him volunteer for the job, until he was sternly called upon by Bryan to stand up and be lifted.  James did not put up much of a fight.

Within the span of a few seconds he was off his feet and on Bryan’s shoulders – this was in some strange way embarrassing at the time.  It was then announced that he would be dumped in the ladies restroom.  This suddenly brought a new terror to James’ mind. While being carried around like a sack of radishes in the general direction of the ladies room to be dropped and left to be found by some unsuspecting girl, was not something he was completely familiar with.  He suddenly felt the need to defend whatever manhood he had left, and get loose of the grip of Bryan, who was by now careening towards the bathroom door at an alarming pace.

James thought for a moment what his options were, then realized he only had one, the very one that had hurt him so many times before – his weight.  If he could readjust his weight in such a way as to knock Bryan off balance, he thought he might stand a chance of breaking free.

So he did.  He jolted himself backwards his weight doing most of the work.  Bryan was clearly not prepared for such a move, and while his grasp slipped only slightly, the forces of gravity were working against him.

While Bryan was extraordinarily strong, he is not especially tall.  James used this to his advantage.  He calculated that due to his height (or lack there of) his torso would be proportional smaller, thus providing less room to comfortably curl forwards to counter the increased weight in the back.  This proved true, and no sooner had James changed positions, then Bryan staggered to a stop and James fell from his shoulders. 

While James’ decent wasn’t especially graceful, it did the trick.  Bryan was “defeated”, James was free, and shoulder-radish-bag-carrying industry lost a mascot.  The world was back to normal, and James went and sat down with heavy breathing being the only sign of anything ever having been amiss.

Tonight’s broadcast is dedicated to Ryan, a humble, and gracious friend who puts up with many of this author’s eccentricities, even when bordering on insults.  This has been another episode of “The Fat Boy Who Couldn’t”  Thanks for reading.

A quick note for those of you who joined the Fans of Silver Dome Productions blog ring (and were then kicked out this morning – which is all of you)  We’re not quite ready to unveil such technological advances quite yet.  It’ll be officially launched a little later on. 

Thanks for your patience and continued support.

           -SDP Administration

Last week on “The Fat Boy who couldn’t” we left James sitting out of breath, alone and dejected…

As James jauntily sat with his friends in the hall enjoying a perfectly pleasant evening, with a light book on this lap, and a light-lighter in his hand, he thought how perfect the moment was.  He was surrounded by good friends, good books, and was extremely comfortable in his natural position, sitting on a couch.

As he sat there staring off into space, thinking how blissfully college was going  he suddenly felt the stinging pain of a rubber ball colliding with the side of his head.  He flung his hand up, with great effort, in a vane attempt to catch the small yellow object that had so rudely awakened his moment of meditation.

The turned and saw Lizzy and Haras sheepishly giggling in the corner.  Lizzy was the athletic captain of the softball team, and Haras was a short, free-spirited girl, who was generally well liked by the residents, and regarded as the real RA of the floor for her superb grasp of the rules.

As James caught his breath, he turned to Lizzy and Haras and soon discovered that during his mental absence they had been playing catch with the ball and tossing it around in circles around him.  He hadn’t noticed.  They then invited James to join in the game, and to his surprise, he agreed!

This was a great lapse in judgement.  Not only were his movements slow and lethargic, but his hand-eye coordination left something to be desired.  In essence his assumed basic athletic prowis was about to be shattered (what remained of it that is.)

As the ball was tossed around the group, Lizzy’s hand gracefully tossing the ball precisely into the hand of Haras.  She then elegantly tossed the ball in the direction of James.  He noticed the ball leaving her hand and panicked.  His frantic gestures to catch the impossibly small object ended with it bouncing off his fingers (which was as close as he ever got to actually touching the ball.)

As if it weren’t bad enough to be humiliated in such mild way, the worst was yet to come.

It was at that low point in the public relations perspective that James noticed his old buddy Bryan walking down the hall.  He suddenly had an idea!  The revenge which he had longed for, and now looked like he would get, teased him with this convenient allure.

He decided to have Bryan hit in the back of the head with the very ball which had so often smacked him.  (The quote “Common sense is not as common as you think” did flash through his head, but he dismissed it as irrelevant)  Knowing he himself had no chance at hitting the increasingly distant figure, he signaled to to Charcoali (another girl on the floor) to give the ball to Mckenzie. (the best shot in the group)  However this soon caused trouble.

As Mckenzie struggled to grab the ball, Charcoali threw the ball straight down the hall towards Bryan.  Sadly, it missed, and bounced around the walls off the elevator doors, and slowly rolled past Bryan’s feet.  This would have been fine, if he hadn’t noticed, but he did.  The turned slowly to see Charcoali with a mixed look of terror, surprise, and laughter.

He picked up the ball.  Then walked with a horrific determination toward the poor girl, who fled down the hall.

James felt the immediate need jump up and be chivalrous, but it suddenly occurred to him the danger he would be putting himself in if he did anything but sit here.  Besides he noted, with AU being 65% girls, chivalry could easily kill a guy!

Needless to say that while Bryan chased the girl around the floor with the ball, James stayed nestled in his chair, in a guilty safety that haunted him.  The cowardice of this action would come back to haunt him later on, but for now… he tried to hide behind the arm of the chair, content, guilty, and safe.

This concludes part 1 of 2 in today’s broadcast, join us next time for our story’s exciting conclusion…

A quick note about the “The Fat boy who Couldn’t” series.  These are mostly fictional stories closely based on actual events as seen through the eyes of an excessively creative person.  The main reason for writing them them so to help build humility, as well as document some of the more humorous events that happen on the floor. (not to mention tease certain people about certain traits they have.)

It should be known that most of the more subtle elements are embellished a little.  That is to say that I do put my special spin on those events, and give them my own unique style.

Enjoy!

We now return to our featured presentation, “The Fat Boy who couldn’t”…We left James laying face-down in the hallway after having tried to kick open a door.  AND failed.We find him coming back from lunch with his friends Bryan and Sigmund.It is important to remember that both these two were athletic. (a common theme among the adventures of The Fat Boy who Couldn’t)As they approached the elevators a Man, who lived on our floor stepped onto an elevator.  Being the athletic type, Bryan and Sigmund instantly refused his kind offer to join in on the elevator, in favor of using the stairs up the ONE flight.As soon as the elevator doors slid closed with a gentle clunk, it was decided to prove once and for all that it was faster (and generally healthier) to take the stairs.  As they raced up the stairs, James sadly decided to join them in the face.They sprinted up the steps, each landing flying by as if it were a cow in a pasture being passed by a speeding train.  The train was of course was James, whose massive bulk was ill-at-ease in the close quarters of the stair-well.  As the stormed on up and out he felt as though he were flying more quickly than he had ever flown before.  All the while the soft murmur of the rising elevator pounded in their heaving heads.

As the burst onto the floor, they were relieved that the elevator doors were yet to open.  They ran over to the couches in the hall, and sat down in poses of absolute relaxation, as though they had been there for a while.

Then, the bell of the arriving elevator, the rattle of the pulleys coming to a stand-still.  Then the door opened.  The Joke was set.  The trap would soon be sprung, the victim would soon be caught in the net.

However, James had not done so well, on the whole breathing thing, and even now, his lungs were desperately struggling to recover from the sudden, and unexpected explosion of energy.  He tried to be cool, and hampered his heavy breathing to keep the secret.  But it was too late.

The Doors opened, and Man walked out, the first words out of his lips were: “You guys ran up here didn’t you?  I can hear the heavy breathing even from all the way over here!” (he was pretty far away.)

Bryan and Sigmund turned and looked at James with the condemning eyes he had known during his days in the Junior Camper’s soccer league, when the other boys (and later girls) harshly critiqued his ability to follow the ball around.

With one harsh comment, and the mild note of condemnation, Bryan said “man, you need to exercise!”

This permanently ended James’ hopes for being mistaken for an athlete!

Join us next time for “The Fat Boy Who Couldn’t”

This is a poem by Jessie Destefano, she is the beautiful RA from the floor above us.  She wanted to be in my xanga, and I said that if she had a poem that I could post I would put her in, and here she is!  YAY!

A Girl named Jessie

By Jessie

There once was a girl named JessieWho Mark thought was very messyHe was wrong because he is stupidAnd stupid doesn’t rhyme with much other then Cupid

And Southeast is abbreviated SE

I’m sorry to say I’ve fallen in love!!   Sorry, not with a girl, with a car.  THIS car:

While on the outside it looks just like any Rolls Royce from the 1920’s the INSIDE is what I love!

Why don’t people today do this with their cars?  We certainly have the money as a society.  I LOVE IT!

Here is one from the 1930’s