Podcasts about cyrillic

This is the story of a small  Carpatho-Rusyn woman, who became know as Andy Warhol's mother. Ulia Zavacka ( pronounced Zavatski), was one of a very large farming family whose homeland today is in the North Eastern Slovakia. Today the general Rusyn population stretches across what is five European countries, including Ukraine, Slovakia, Romania, Hungary and Poland. Officials say that at the turn of the 20th century, approximately 250,000 Ruthenians, as they were known to US Immigration officials, emigrated to America where they worked in coal mines and steel mills of the northeast. Many settled in the Pittsburg. PA area. Rusyns spoke east slavic dialects that used the Cyrillic alphabet. Elaine and I spoke a lot about the similarities of both women. Julia followed her husband to America eventually having three sons and not speaking much English.  Nancy, Elaine's mother, had a huge advantage and was born in the United States and spoke two languages at a young age. Both women had Carpatho-Rusyn backgrounds. It was a tough time to raise a family especially in the Pittsburgh area yet Andy's father was a good business man and was able to put some money away for Andy  to go to college. Elaine shares stories of her mother moving to New York City at age of thirteen in order to help her family financially as a housekeeper/nanny/servant, as you'll hear Elaine tell the story. By moving to NYC, Nancy met her future husband who has a similar background as she. Keep in mind, that making money to help the family put food on the table was way more important than any kind of education.  Nancy eventually married a coal miner from Pennsylvania and fellow Rusyn which was comforting to her. Both of these families had lingering effects of being immigrants and children of immigrants. Of parents parenting similarly as to how they had been parented.  They had a lot to overcome and it can take decades if not generations to assimilate.Elaine's academic studies where shocking to her parents. They couldn't really understand why she continued with higher education because that was very foreign to both of them.And course, Andy went to what's now known as Carnegie Mellon University in Pittsburgh and completed a Bachelor of Fine Art Degree in 1949.Julia was an artist of her own right. She was very creative especially when she was younger and in her home country. So much of her artistic talent influenced Andy and they worked closely together on projects for many years as she lived in Manhattan with Andy for almost twenty years. Julia was featured in his artistic projects with his coworkers on a regular basis.https://www.warhol.org/andy-warhols-life/ SHLTMM YOUTUBE CHANNEL LINK:https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F_BmWJpLNvAElaine Rusinko INSTAGRAM: rusinko17 Other Carpatho-Rusyn Related Social Media: FB: Carpatho-Rusyns Everywhere, The Lost Warhols by Karen Bystedt, Carpatho-Rusyn Society, Carpatho-Rusyn Society's Heritage Radio Program, Carpatho-Rusyn Research Center, The Andy Warhol Museum, rusyn.sk/Rusini Slovenska IG: rusinko17, warholfoundation, carpathorusynsociety_, rusynart, carpatho_rusyns_of_pa, thewarholmuseum For more information about Elaine Rusinko and her Book "Andy Warhol's Mother, The Woman Behind the Artist, contact Lesley Rains at "The Pittsburgh University Press Email: LRAINS@upress.pitt.edu  "Should Have Listened To My Mother" is an ongoing conversation about mothers/female role models and the roles they play in our lives. Jackie's guests are open and honest and answer the question, are you who you are today because of, or in spite of, your mother and so much more. You'll be amazed at what the responses are.Gina Kunadian wrote this 5 Star review on Apple Podcast:SHLTMM TESTIMONIAL GINA KUNADIAN JUNE 18, 2024“A Heartfelt and Insightful Exploration of Maternal Love”Jackie Tantillo's “Should Have Listened To My Mother” Podcast is a treasure and it's clear why it's a 2023 People's Choice Podcast Award Nominee. This show delves into the profound impact mother and maternal role models have on our lives through personal stories and reflections.Each episode offers a chance to learn how different individuals have been shaped by their mothers' actions and words. Jackie skillfully guides these conversations, revealing why guests with similar backgrounds have forged different paths.This podcast is a collection of timeless stories that highlight the powerful role of maternal figures in our society. Whether your mother influenced you positively or you thrived despite challenges, this show resonates deeply.I highly recommend “Should Have Listened To My Mother” Podcast for its insightful, heartfelt and enriching content.Gina Kunadian"Should Have Listened To My Mother" would not be possible without the generosity, sincerity and insight from my guests. In 2018/2019, in getting ready to launch my podcast, so many were willing to give their time and share their personal stories of their relationship with their mother, for better or worse and what they learned from that maternal relationship. Some of my guests include Nationally and Internationally recognized authors, Journalists, Columbia University Professors, Health Practitioners, Scientists, Artists, Attorneys, Baritone Singer, Pulitzer Prize Winning Journalist, Activists, Freighter Sea Captain, Film Production Manager, Professor of Writing Montclair State University, Attorney and family advocate @CUNY Law; NYC First Responder/NYC Firefighter, Child and Adult Special Needs Activist, Property Manager, Chefs, Self Help Advocates, therapists and so many more talented and insightful women and men.Jackie has worked in the broadcasting industry for over four decades. She has interviewed many fascinating people including musicians, celebrities, authors, activists, entrepreneurs, politicians and more.A big thank you goes to Ricky Soto, NYC based Graphic Designer, who created the logo for "Should Have Listened To My Mother".Check out our website for more background information: https://www.jackietantillo.com/Or more demos of what's to come at https://soundcloud.com/jackie-tantilloLink to website and show notes: https://shltmm.simplecast.com/Or Find SHLTMM Website here: https://shltmm.simplecast.com/Listen wherever you find podcasts: https://www.facebook.com/ShouldHaveListenedToMyMotherhttps://www.facebook.com/jackietantilloInstagram:https://www.instagram.com/shouldhavelistenedtomymother/https://www.instagram.com/jackietantillo7/LinkedIn:https://www.linkedin.com/in/jackie-tantillo/YOUTUBE: https://www.youtube.com/@ShouldHaveListenedToMyMother

With her bewitching and beautiful novel NEVERMORE (Seagull Books, translated from French by Tess Lewis, who joins our conversation), Cécile Wajsbrot takes us on a tour of Chenobyl's Forbidden Zone, the High Line in NYC, Dresden, Paris, under the shadow of the Time Passes section of Virginia Woolf's To The Lighthouse. We talk about the challenges of writing a first-person novel about translation, the strange ways Woolf has followed Cecile throughout her careers as author & translator, and how it felt to see her novel about translating Virginia Woolf into French get translated into English. We get into her literary career, how Time Passes became a stand-in for her fascination with destruction, why she's translated Woolf's The Waves three times over thirty years (and whether the first one got her into the bad graces of the editor of Le Monde de Livres), what it was like to subvert the translator's typical role of invisibility with this novel, and the language she wishes she had. We also discuss mourning and the ways we try to keep conversation alive with those we've lost, the time I impressed the Princess of Yugoslavia by transliterating the Cyrillic on her family's jewels, and more. More info at our site • Support The Virtual Memories Show via Stripe, Patreon, or Paypal, and subscribe to our e-newsletter

The end of the cruel Peace & the start of the desperate War.Based on ‘One In Ten' by FinalStand, adapted into 17 parts. Listen to the ► Podcast at Explicit Novels.A frightened Mother Mouse will devour her young; similarly, a frightened culture will devour its future.Roni was still working away while the rest of us were in the man-cave once more. Flame seemed happy taking long pulls on the Wild Cherry and smacking her lips. I wasn't surprised she wasn't worrying about Silent. Her wounded comrade was a reliable pair of guns guarding her back and nothing more. Emotional bonds were contrary to her psychopathic nature.Jethro had been sitting on his 'throne' for fifteen minutes, deep in thought."I guess it is about time we got those guns," he announced as he stood up. His words captured everyone's attention yet he didn't appear to care. He started walking from the room and the rest of us followed along. The need for guns had brought us here in the first place.His path led us into his walk-in pantry. One wall of shelves rolled out and to the sides on seamless wheels. Beneath that spot was a steel door, a tad over one meter wide and three meters long. It must have been spring-loaded because once Jethro yanked on the hole that only one finger could fit into, the portal swung open and back.Stairs led down into darkness. Jethro turned around and followed them out of sight for several seconds. Then a light came on. The drop looked to be around four meters. Angel went next. A strange level of respect allowed me to go third. Flame was at my back then Kuiko, Venus and Lavender.The floor was grey-painted concrete. The room stretched out five meters in each direction. 80% of the room was covered with stacked crates with a variety of markings on them, a few even in English. Angel was incredibly tense. I didn't know why, but I had a feel for her moods. The other 20% of the room was an immaculate workbench.Considering Jethro's aversion to cleanliness, this was definitely something noteworthy."What is all this stuff?" Venus asked."Weapons," Angel preempted the old guy."This is an awful lot of weapons," Lavender muttered. No one wanted to say it, so I did."Jethro, you were in the MRA, weren't you?" I tossed out there. I'd told the nation that the MRA was dead and here I was looking at a small armory of illegal weaponry. Jethro had been walking over to the work area. He turned and looked us over."I'm going to do something I don't normally do," Jethro met each of our gazes."I'm going to explain myself. Let's pull some assault rifles out of those crates, make sure they in top shape then go upstairs 'cause I am only going to do this once," he stated."These people don't know how to use firearms," Angel cautioned angrily."They'll never learn if they don't have one and we are approaching the point where we'll need everyone to be a shooter," he countered. "Let's get to it."And that's what we did. These weapons had been top rate stuff at the start of the 21st century. Now, they weren't quite antiques, only old. The basics of using some sort of explosive substance to propel an object at your target remained the same. In the case of firearms, it was remarkably the same, or so Angel said.Kuiko went straight for the Russian-made Surface-to-Air missile, because she thought that the Cyrillic writing looked pretty. It was one of the few exotic devices. Most were clearly Federation military, or Police issue, undoubtedly stolen from some armory at some point early in Jethro's terrorist career.I was irate that Kuiko looked so cute with a bandolier of ammo packs and an automatic shotgun. Angel insisted that only she and Jethro took loaded firearms upstairs. We could carry the gun and the ammo as long as the ammo wasn't in the gun. Venus argued that this defeated the purpose of having the weapon.Angel countered that if she couldn't load it quickly, she probably shouldn't have it in the first place. I caught Flame bagging up a few boxes of ammunition, but Jethro didn't seem to care so I let it slide. It fell to Flame and me to lug extra rifles and cartridge belts up to the rest of the group, being the strongest, Angel was keeping an eye on Jethro and he was keeping an eye on her.Fifteen minutes later, we had gathered back in the spacious dwelling space of our host. Jethro, on his throne, finished off a glass of Wild Cherry and began his tale:"I was seventeen and in high school when the Gender Plague first broke out. I was quarantined for a month before the Supreme Court decided it was illegal and set us men free.I took the opportunity to enlist in the Navy, the U S Navy, because of the man shortage when I was released. Went through Basic, the Specialist School, I was a Damage Control Technician which meant I was a fireman, then a second outbreak happened. I was quarantined for three months this time.I got out and was assigned to the destroyer Michael A. Mansoor. During the Relief of Athens, we all damn near died. Of the eighteen men and women in Damage Control, only me and one other rating enlistee survived. My officer, an ensign, stayed behind to make sure the forward ammunition storage was secure. Our Chief Petty Officer had us seal the ensign in. We saved the ship long enough for the crew to be pulled off.The Mansoor exploded. We were never able to locate her body. She was some R O T C kid who was only with us four months. I never knew her first name until the ceremony after it was all over. She may have been the bravest human being I've ever known. After that, I served aboard the Little Rock working anti-piracy in the Philippines and Indonesia.Since I took part in some land action during that tour, the Navy, I hate using the term Federation, reassigned me to Shore Patrol duty. I took police training and everything. I did another tour aboard the Little Rock the following year then they dragged me off when Congress decided that men couldn't be given combat assignments.Seven months later, they discharged me and thousands of other men as part of a down-sizing program. Unfortunately, the same act of Congress that exited me from the Navy also forbid me joining the fire, or police departments. A buddy of mine was able to find me work in a machine shop where I learned the craft of welding.After that, I was a good boy. I dated, joined a motorcycle club and built up a nice life. When the Gender Inequality Act was passed I was more annoyed than angry. All that changed when I was twenty-nine. See, I had some male friends who joined up with a group called Male Awakening. They were a group devoted to the repeal of the G I A through political means.Things including publically supporting male-friendly candidates and working against G I A-supporters through boycotts and the like. I was rolled up in an FBI sting and those ladies informed me that they'd make those charges go away if I agreed to go inside and spy on Male Awakening. They knew I was friends with those guys. I told them to fuck off, fought the charges and beat their trumped up bullshit.By the time I cleared up my legal troubles, they took the M A down anyway. It seems their Treasurer took off with their funds after leaving some financial irregularities. That was a total load of crap because they never caught that guy, but they did manage to put away most of the group's leadership.A few months later, I ran across one of my buddies who had asked me to join Male Awakening. He'd heard about my troubles and over a few beers, he hinted that the fight wasn't over. This time I bought in. This incarnation didn't have a name. We weren't public. We dug up dirt on corrupt female officials by any means necessary.We destroyed the careers of the worst oppressors of men. Violence wasn't our aim yet we armed ourselves for what we knew would be a harsh crackdown. We operated in small cells, but I knew we had lawyers, judges and even a few Congresswomen on our side. Since we had bracelets by that time, we used women to communicate between cells.Our cell received word of the major Federation sweep, a day before it happened. We were able to move most of our material stashes to new locations before they fell on us. The Writs of Exclusion were abominations. No one ratted me out. For weeks I sweated bullets every time I saw a cop car, a mysterious unmarked car, or heard a siren.After a few months, I began searching for other survivors. We came together in secrecy, united in our fury. The Federation had broken every law and covenant so we agreed that waging a guerilla war was our only option. A week later I bagged my first cop. Put a bullet under her left eye at 80 meters. She was dead before she hit the ground and it felt good.They, the Federation, had murdered my country and now they were paying. Three days later, I waited for a Federation agent to walk out on her porch to see her little girl off to school. I walked up, told the little girl her mother was a whore and put nine slugs into that whore's body and I felt just fine about that too.""No," squeaked Kuiko."That is the way it was," Jethro gave Kuiko a paternal look. "Those women came at me with every dirty trick they could come up with to take away my freedom and I put them in the grave for it.""You murdered people," Angel growled."Fuck you, Cop. The Gender Inequality Act was passed by women to enslave men. No man ever voted on it," Jethro snarled. "Men tried to use the system so you cheated. Boohoo that your bosses didn't figure out our only option left was violent resistance.""I killed seventeen government officials and my only regret is I didn't kill more. Not one was a fair fight. Kuiko, I killed that bitch in front of her daughter because I wanted her buddies to come around and see the anguish on that little girl's face. I wanted them to worry about their own daughters. I wanted them to know they were at war.""You are a murdering scumbag," Roni snapped."I disagree," Flame shook her head. "You are morons if you think he should have called out every freaking target and said 'hey, I know you have all the back-up in the world and I'm alone so I'm giving you ample warning that I'm going to try and kill you.'""You are a psycho," Aniqua pointed out. "It figures you would agree with him.""He didn't have a choice," Samantha intervened. Her speaking so decisively was almost as stunning as her words themselves. "Having a gun might not have saved Israel against the Aurora Slasher, but it might have discouraged those sorority students.""The politics of payback," Flame laughed. "Jethro might sound like some sadistic bastard to the rest of you; not to me. His tactics are sound and they work. Kill enough cops and women stop joining the force. The authorities either crack down harder, bringing more over to your cause, or they concede to some of your demands.""It is how a very small force fights a much larger adversary," Flame concluded."That's still cold blooded murder," Angel reiterated. I didn't know what to think. Jethro butchered defenseless women. The President doomed millions. I admired what Zara did except it was some of the same things that Jethro did, yet she was a soldier and he was a terrorist."There is no resolution to this argument," I spoke clearly and loud. "Short of violence to silence the opposition, there is nothing we can do to rectify the past now. Jethro, why did you stop being a member of the MRA?""Spokane," Jethro answered. "I had no problem with killing cops and Feds, and intimidating their families. They were part of the problem.""Those high school girls though, that made no sense to me. We weren't at war with the female gender; we were at war with the government and their policy of enslavement. Killing random kids was wrong and I wouldn't be associated with it. I talked this over with my cell, they disagreed and I told them that if I saw any of them again, I'd kill them," Jethro clarified."I had several caches only I knew about. I waited a few months then moved up to the city, slowly bringing everything up here as I had the time. A year and a half later, my old buddy was caught up in a traffic stop, shot it out with the cops and was killed. From stuff they found on his body, he rolled up the rest of the gang, but the other members didn't know my real name.""The G E D came out and talked with me. They kept an eye on me for a few years. I behaved and grew old so they eventually went sniffing elsewhere. We wouldn't be here now if I hadn't gone drinking with Kuiko and let slip about my gun stash," Jethro smiled at my little friend. "I knew she'd never betray me, and she hasn't.""Now I've got a front row seat to the End of the World so I get one last chance to make a difference," he said. Yeah, this old guy wanted to go down in a hail of gunfire, no doubt about it."Good for you, you butcher," Roni glared. "I won't do this.""I signed on to make a difference," she continued, "not to hang out with cold-blooded killers. I'm out of here. Is anyone with me?" Aniqua stood up. Venus seriously hesitated before joining them. Venus was looking right at me. Angel's eyes were boring holes into me as well."Israel?" Angel inquired.I could go with them. I could stay. I could beg them to stay. I could stay silent and let events drag me along. My mind was playing Jinga with the vortex of intellectual input and buzz saw emotions that were boiling forth."Angel, Roni, Venus and Aniqua sit back down," I stood and stated. It took them a varying number of seconds to realize I was Not pleading."Israel, you don't get to decide that for us," Roni replied evenly. "We let you go to the Arena last night. This time, we get to choose and we are leaving. If you are the man I hope you are, you will come with us.""At the same time you're pressuring me to give more to the group despite my misgivings, Roni, you are giving less?" I countered. She started to protest. I raised my hand for a reprieve."Hear me out," I continued. "It isn't that simple. I am not questioning your moral quandary about working with people too comfortable with taking human life. It is very real and I feel it. The difference is that you would rather be right and dead than alive at any cost. You've never had to make that call before, but I have and I'm alive to tell you that you are wrong, Roni.""You are dead wrong because dead does nothing. The living can always come back and make something better. Hell, that's what my life has been about the past week and a half. The rest of you are neophytes going into this. I'm not. I know exactly what it takes morally to survive. Don't make me follow any of you out that door. I love each and every one of you.""I do love you, but am I obligated to jump off a cliff for you? I respect your choice to choose suicide. It would be wrong of me to rob you of that freedom. Please don't try to make this about affection, compassion, or loyalty though. It is a matter of life and death. Roni, you are trying to kill me, which I'm okay with. I resent you killing Angel, Aniqua and Venus," I stressed."That's fucked up reasoning," Roni fought back. "Those two get off on killing other people. They enjoy it. Why can't you see that they are just as likely to get you killed as keep you alive?""I will agree with you that Flame gets off on watching people suffer and die," I nodded. "It is the way she is. I don't know Jethro so I'm not ready to make a judgment call on him.""I do know that both of them have exquisite weapon skills and I'm pretty sure we are going to need them before we are truly free," I explained. "I would prefer an all-male super commando squad who had passed every psychological test ever made. That doesn't appear to be on the menu, so I'm willing to hold on to whatever resources are available.""So you are willing to risk all our lives for the sake of expediency," Angel glared."Absolutely," I shot right back. "In case no one is paying attention, I am not in some government facility helping working on some kind of serum to fight the new plague. In case you missed it, everyone here agreed with my decision to flee instead.""Roni, Angel, you do realize that young lady who saved me this morning is going to die, right? I could have insisted she come with us. I could have given her the cure. I didn't. None of you asked me to even after I told the whole globe of an unstoppable wave of death coming for everyone. I'm not asking you to take responsibility for my decision because it was mine.""I'm begging you; understand that it isn't the end of morality to stay. When the madness ends, you need to decide if we will still be worthy of continuing on. You'll no longer be part of that equation if you go now," I declared."Are we supposed to ignore that he was a terrorist and she is a homicidal maniac?" Aniqua said."I'm not homicidal," Flame grinned. "I'm a psychotic sociopath. I don't randomly kill people. I do it with malice of forethought." Jethro didn't show a desire to defend himself."Israel, Flame almost killed you last night," Venus pointed out. "Why would you stick around?"Why was I sticking around?"Israel, don't do this," Angel said. "You promised me you would stop running into danger.""Angel, why do you have to be right and I have to be wrong?" I sighed."Because those two are dangerous criminals," Roni answered. Didn't Roni understand that I was a far more callous killer than either of those 'criminals' and I didn't have to lift a finger, or look at a single grave?(Before the Curtain Call)Shortly after nine-thirty that night, the awaited and feared seismic event happened in China. A few minutes past sunrise over Hong Kong the rains broke and a fleet of helicopters and V T O Ls (Vertical Take-Off and Landing) were heard over the city. Helicopters were not unknown in this center of wealth and commerce. Well over a hundred all coming in at once was noteworthy.For many of the citizens of the city, it had been a restless night. After midnight, police sirens had been wailing all over the city. Some even heard gunfire. What they didn't know was that for the past four hours, private security forces working for the most prominent communities and some special police units had raided the middle class communities of the city and stolen their men.They forced the men into protective suits and hustled them back to the high-rises that sheltered the most 'important' people. This was an outrage that they could not get away with, had China still functioned normally. A new order based on brutal social cannibalism was taking place. The rich were taking their vassals and their new 'acquisitions' to their estates far from the population centers.This was supposed to be a gradual process except late yesterday afternoon the other Great Families learned that one of their own had their first reported case of this new 'flu.' They could wait no longer. They would have preferred to flee under the cover of darkness, but rain and the danger of so many helicopters and V T O Ls moving around forced them to postpone until first light.You didn't have to be a connoisseur of conspiracy theories to figure out what was going on. Men had been stolen and now the rich were bugging out of town in one big hurry. Late Friday, the 'flu' began to appear in the population in a big way. The workers in the hospital were afraid, not fearful, afraid.

The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk.   Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners.   When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time.   After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.

Purple Pants Podcast | Bulgaria's Clue Chaos & Cipher Struggles Your Purple Pants Podcast Pitstop duo, @BriceIzyah and @TheRealBCamhi, are back with a breakdown of The Amazing Race 37, Episode 8! The Race continues through Bulgaria as teams take on a new set of challenges that test memory, rhythm, and teamwork. From learning a traditional folk dance to solving a tricky Cyrillic-coded puzzle, the detours and roadblocks keep the racers on their toes. With tight competition and tensions rising, one team's journey comes to a dramatic end. You can also watch along on Brice Izyah's YouTube channel to watch us break it all down https://youtube.com/channel/UCFlglGPPamVHaNAb0tL_s7g   LISTEN: Subscribe to the Purple Pants podcast feed  WATCH: Watch and subscribe to the podcast on YouTube SUPPORT: Become a RHAP Patron for bonus content, access to Facebook and Discord groups plus more great perks! Previously on the Purple Pants Podcast Feed: Purple Pants Podcast Archives Learn more about your ad choices. Visit megaphone.fm/adchoices

dary! And welcome to Episode 99 of The Last Standee Podcast! In this episode, stars align and omens appear as we are about to kiss goodbye to two digits for good! The episode begins as usual, with a Standee Catchup with Fen and Cara, of dogs and humankind so to say. Then we begin with Freedom Five, a Defenders of the Realm game from Greater than Games: Fen does the honors here; fun fact: the game has four expansions and a promo which appear to be engulfed in a time paradox (see BGG stats!). The three of us then continue with two games from Cara's fortnightly game night - Big Shot and Qwirkle - great additions to any collection, if a little aged. To finish up, Alessio talks a bit about Odin (the Norse deity, not the number one in languages with Cyrillic alphabet), the proud winner of As D'Or 2025. And that's about it! See you next episode!

Video - https://youtu.be/rEuowmFitpkThink You Can Spot a Fake Website? Think Again.What if I told you that apple.com might not actually be Apple's website? Cybercriminals have found a way to create perfectly disguised fake domains that look identical to real ones—down to the last letter. But there's a hidden trick in play, one that even tech-savvy users can fall for. This little-known cyberattack is fooling people every day, stealing passwords, financial details, and personal data without them ever realizing it. Are you sure you'd notice the difference? Read on to find out.I used ChatGPT-4o, VLC, ZOOM's Clips, ScreenPal, and Pictory.ai to put this information together.If you're interested in trying Pictory.ai please use the following link. https://pictory.ai?ref=t015oHere are some examples of Cyrillic characters that look almost identical to Latin letters but are actually different: https://i.imgur.com/UeL8Nt7.png

Full Text of ReadingsMemorial of Saints Cyril, Monk, and Methodius, Bishop Lectionary: 333The Saint of the day is Saints Cyril and MethodiusSaints Cyril and Methodius' Stories Because their father was an officer in a part of Greece inhabited by many Slavs, these two Greek brothers ultimately became missionaries, teachers, and patrons of the Slavic peoples. After a brilliant course of studies, Cyril (called Constantine until he became a monk shortly before his death) refused the governorship of a district such as his brother had accepted among the Slavic-speaking population. Cyril withdrew to a monastery where his brother Methodius had become a monk after some years in a governmental post. A decisive change in their lives occurred when the Duke of Moravia asked the Eastern Emperor Michael for political independence from German rule and ecclesiastical autonomy (having their own clergy and liturgy). Cyril and Methodius undertook the missionary task. Cyril's first work was to invent an alphabet, still used in some Eastern liturgies. His followers probably formed the Cyrillic alphabet. Together they translated the Gospels, the psalter, Paul's letters and the liturgical books into Slavonic, and composed a Slavonic liturgy, highly irregular then. That and their free use of the vernacular in preaching led to opposition from the German clergy. The bishop refused to consecrate Slavic bishops and priests, and Cyril was forced to appeal to Rome. On the visit to Rome, he and Methodius had the joy of seeing their new liturgy approved by Pope Adrian II. Cyril, long an invalid, died in Rome 50 days after taking the monastic habit. Methodius continued mission work for 16 more years. He was papal legate for all the Slavic peoples, consecrated a bishop and then given an ancient see (now in the Czech Republic). When much of their former territory was removed from their jurisdiction, the Bavarian bishops retaliated with a violent storm of accusation against Methodius. As a result, Emperor Louis the German exiled Methodius for three years. Pope John VIII secured his release. Because the Frankish clergy, still smarting, continued their accusations, Methodius had to go to Rome to defend himself against charges of heresy and uphold his use of the Slavonic liturgy. He was again vindicated. Legend has it that in a feverish period of activity, Methodius translated the whole Bible into Slavonic in eight months. He died on Tuesday of Holy Week, surrounded by his disciples, in his cathedral church. Opposition continued after his death, and the work of the brothers in Moravia was brought to an end and their disciples scattered. But the expulsions had the beneficial effect of spreading the spiritual, liturgical, and cultural work of the brothers to Bulgaria, Bohemia and southern Poland. Patrons of Moravia, and specially venerated by Catholic Czechs, Slovaks, Croatians, Orthodox Serbians and Bulgarians, Cyril and Methodius are eminently fitted to guard the long-desired unity of East and West. In 1980, Pope John Paul II named them additional co-patrons of Europe. Reflection Holiness means reacting to human life with God's love: human life as it is, crisscrossed with the political and the cultural, the beautiful and the ugly, the selfish and the saintly. For Cyril and Methodius much of their daily cross had to do with the language of the liturgy. They are not saints because they got the liturgy into Slavonic, but because they did so with the courage and humility of Christ. Saints Cyril and Methodius are the Patron Saints of: Slavic PeoplesEcumenism Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media

Happy Valentine's Day! On today's show, Matt Swaim and Anna Mitchell separate a bit of the history from the legend, and also celebrate the feast of Sts. Cyril and Methodius, apostles to the Slavic peoples and developers of the Cyrillic alphabet. They also look ahead to the Mass readings for Septuagesima Sunday with Fr. Hezekias Carnazzo and Fr. Jonathan Duncan, plus news, weather, sports and more...

Happy Valentine’s Day! On today’s show, Matt Swaim and Anna Mitchell separate a bit of the history from the legend, and also celebrate the feast of Sts. Cyril and Methodius, apostles to the Slavic peoples and developers of the Cyrillic alphabet. They also look ahead to the Mass readings for Septuagesima Sunday with Fr. Hezekias Carnazzo and Fr. Jonathan Duncan, plus news, weather, sports and more… ***** Collect for Sts. Cyril and Methodius O God, who enlightened the Slavic peoples through the brothers Saints Cyril and Methodius, grant that our hearts may grasp the words of your teaching, and perfect us as a people of one accord in true faith and right confession. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, God, for ever and ever. ***** Full list of guestsSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

【欢迎订阅】每天早上5:30，准时更新。【阅读原文】标题:Is a glut of phoney Russian goods too much for China's consumers to bear?正文：As if they were copied and pasted, Russian goods markets have sprang up in cities across China in the past few months. They come with all the signature elements: Cyrillic script on blue signage, matryoshka dolls, traditional songs like “Kalinka” and “Katyusha” played on a loop. Riding a wave of popularity brought on by stronger bilateral trade links and strained relations with the West, these shops sell sausage, chocolates and even durian confectionery while claiming most of their goods are imported from Russia.知识点：paste v. /peɪst/to stick sth to sth else using glue or paste粘贴；粘合• He pasted the pictures into his scrapbook.他把画⽚贴到他的剪贴本⾥。• Paste the two pieces together.把这两⽚粘在⼀起。获取外刊的完整原文以及精讲笔记，请关注微信公众号「早安英文」，回复“外刊”即可。更多有意思的英语干货等着你！【节目介绍】《早安英文-每日外刊精读》，带你精读最新外刊，了解国际最热事件：分析语法结构，拆解长难句，最接地气的翻译，还有重点词汇讲解。所有选题均来自于《经济学人》《纽约时报》《华尔街日报》《华盛顿邮报》《大西洋月刊》《科学杂志》《国家地理》等国际一线外刊。【适合谁听】1、关注时事热点新闻，想要学习最新最潮流英文表达的英文学习者2、任何想通过地道英文提高听、说、读、写能力的英文学习者3、想快速掌握表达，有出国学习和旅游计划的英语爱好者4、参加各类英语考试的应试者（如大学英语四六级、托福雅思、考研等）【你将获得】1、超过1000篇外刊精读课程，拓展丰富语言表达和文化背景2、逐词、逐句精确讲解，系统掌握英语词汇、听力、阅读和语法3、每期内附学习笔记，包含全文注释、长难句解析、疑难语法点等，帮助扫除阅读障碍。

Santa & His Team Makes Up For A North Pole Screw-Up. By Demi Urging. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. It's the wee hours of December 26th. Rick is finally shoving the last of his teetering friends through their front door, He volunteered to be designated driver again, for about half a dozen friends & co-workers. Another Christmas gathering passed as the clock ticked into the next day and it seemed he'd be single again into the new year. He thought he would have gotten over it by age thirty.He did have a pity date from last year  for New Year's Eve. It hadn't been a nice date, either; she stayed for a single kiss at midnight and left without another word. The same woman has a boyfriend this year, so Rick couldn't ask again even if his pride would allow it. Now he'll get plenty of sleep. The only sign of the holidays in his life was the box of fudge sitting on his counter, Which his elderly neighbor gave him the night before Christmas. He wouldn't even eat it tonight. Sleep had to come first, then he had a week off, since the boss knew most of the team would be useless if he had them come in that week. Climbing the stairs, he smelled something delectable, coming out of the 4th floor stairwell. He thought one of his neighbors must have made actual food instead of subsisting on beer and crackers like his friends had. Maybe he would eat some of that fudge after all, since a glass of water and a handful of crackers in the face of a home-cooked meal seemed inadequate. It had to be Miss Thompson. Rick thought that the old gal had gone off to the country for the day to visit with her kids, but the smell of his mom's ham with orange & clove seasoning didn't lie, and it was absolutely coming from somewhere on this floor, getting stronger as he approached his own apartment. Taking a final pleasant sniff before entering his lonely apartment, Rick turned, halfway opened his front door, and was smacked in the face with a bouquet of aromas that sent his mind back to Christmas dinner with mom and dad. Rick stepped back. Wrong apartment, he thought. But when he checked the address, expecting to be on the wrong floor somehow, he was met with the very same number he saw every day. He considered calling the cops, but wanted to know the actual situation before making that decision. So, flicked-open pocket knife in hand, he very slowly pushed the door open again. “Aren't you coming in?” A slender, bright-eyed young woman in an apron and a horribly ugly holiday sweater three sizes too large, only bare leg showing underneath its hem, was standing in the entryway. She giggled, fluffy blonde locks bouncing around peaked ears, and took Rick by the hand, gently tugging him inside. “Come on, silly, it's nice and warm. I have a fire going that's the perfect size for snuggling and supper just came out of the oven.” Ah, so a crazy person broke in. At least they… “A Fire!?” Rick asked as he pulled himself out of her grasp and ran further inside, desperately trying to remember where he kept the extinguisher. But he stopped when he saw what she really meant: his television was showing a video of a fireplace and putting out the smooth jazz version of Christmas favorites, & also a heater stationed below it provided heat along with what looked like a genuine polar bear skin rug. Jittering followed as the girl joined him. “I am sorry I couldn't have a real one tonight, but there was no fireplace so this is the best I could do. Now, let's get you fed while it's nice and piping hot, and then we can open presents.” A glance around the room revealed a small pine tree, dazzling with ornaments and laden with expertly-wrapped boxes underneath. Rick's dining room table held more food than it ever had before and glimmered with candlelight that danced gleefully as the girl dimmed the lights and retrieved the last item from the oven, coming around with a ceramic dish of bubbling, hot food to finish off the spread. She pulled a chair out for him to sit, pouting when he declined her service. “What is this and who are you?” Rick discreetly tucked his knife away. “This is Christmas dinner for my sweetie, of course. It'll start getting cold soon, so why don't I make you a plate? While she scooped Rick's plate with food, He considered his plan of action. The way she bounced to a beat, humming along with the television, the points of her ears were over-worldly? Rick reached out and tugged on one of the girl's ears. She yelped, tightening up so as not to drop the plate, and begged him with a tremble in her voice, "Sweetie, please don't.” When he released her, she set his place at the table and did the same for herself. He took his seat. “Merry Christmas, my sweet one. While you were away, Santa came along and dropped off a bunch of presents for you. I thought you would like the surprise and we could eat first before talking, but I guess I crossed a line, haven't I?” Rick put a bite of ham in his mouth, the girl brightening up as he started to eat. It had to be one of the most delicious things he'd had the pleasure to shove in his face. Mom's cooking, with its nostalgic advantage was still blown out of the water, and Rick felt sorry that he would never get to taste this for the first time again. Too soon it was all gone and the girl was carrying out a plate of apple and chocolate pie with ice cream on the side. This too didn't last and something about her constant giggling warmed him inside in a way he couldn't very well describe. As he finished the last bite of chocolate pie, she came over to his chair & wrapped herself around his neck from behind, softness and warmth pressing into his back and fluffy, blonde hair tickling his cheek. “Oh, Messy boy” she said, and leaned forward to smooch a crumb off his cheek. Before Rick could object, as little as he was inclined to, she had already slipped away to put dishes in the sink and his back felt uncomfortably cold with her absence. “That was pretty good; amazing actually.” Rick said, “But seriously, who are you? Did one of my friends hire you or something?” He dismissed the idea. “No, my mother? She's one of the only people with a key to my place. Unless; it was the landlady?” The girl stretched in the warm air with a luxurious moan escaping peachy lips, the neck of her XXL sweater spilling over a shoulder, exposing so much skin underneath that it was impossible for her to be wearing anything underneath. “I'm an elf!” she proclaimed. She curtsied, at least there were denim cutoff shorts underneath the sweater.  Rick just stared. “Didn't you hear me? Santa came by, because you were such a good boy, and we set all this up for you. Well, not to toot my own horn, but I did all the cooking and decorating, Santa brought presents. Oh, and I'm Sugarbell. I'm here to make your Christmas wish come true!” She'd taken a pose as if she was popping out of a giant layer cake; like there should be celebratory confetti shooting out. But she just stood there in awkward silence. Rick sighed, so she was a crazy chick after all. “Okay, miss elf, why don't you get out of here before I have to call the police. And how did you get in here anyway?” “Magic,” Sugarbell said, looking crestfallen, her ears drooping. “You're not giving me a good argument not to call the police. Can you at least take off the fake ears so we can really talk about this?” “Fake? Sweetie? She skipped over to a green sack by the door and plucked out a wrinkled, yellowed piece of paper. "Ahem, ‘Dear Santa, I've been a good boy all year if you don't count that stuff that my sister says and all I really want is a girlfriend.' and then there's a colored pencil drawing of a girl with black pigtails who I think is your crush. 'It's okay if I don't get one, I know that's asking for a lot, but it doesn't look like mom and Dave are going to be able to give out lots of toys this year, so don't worry about it if you can't. Merry Christmas. BTW I'm making snickerdoodles this year, so make sure you grab your share before Dave can steal them all again.' and there's your signature.” She handed the letter over for inspection. It was definitely his handwriting, his drawing skills from almost two decades ago… “So you were sent by my mother. You could have just said that and we'd have been fine. I'm sorry, she's pushy but I know she means well… should have told me I'd have company and I would have skipped that party. Anyway, what's your actual name?” “I'm Sugarbell. And I wasn't sent by her, Santa brought me. Here, look.” She tugged on her ear, leaning up so Rick could look closely. It was either real or the seam of the rubber was so well hidden that it might as well be. “I suppose this would be a little hard to believe for an adult. Sorry, I haven't actually spoken with a human for a few years.” Rick shook his head. “Your makeup's good, I'll give you that.” Rick angled his hips so the elf wouldn't notice a certain reflex to her melding to his shape. She was incredibly soft in his arms, just short of purring, the smell of peppermint coming off as she rubbed against him. Sugarbell stared up at him, her wide, green eyes shining with reflected candlelight. “But I'm not a crazy. I…” She went to the polar bearskin rug in front of the television, so big for the room that it bunched up against the walls in that corner, took a seat and patted the place beside her for him to take. Rick was not so troubled as he was amused, so he sat next to her on the rug in front of the sofa, facing the fake fire. She rested her head against his shoulder and twined her fingers in his with no resistance. “Um…” he said, “You got me, I guess, but what is all this?” “It's a little embarrassing for all of us who screwed up,” she said, “You see, back when we got that letter, we were using a new kind of mail bag and, as we would soon find out, letters would sometimes get caught in the seams. And the elf in charge of distributing letters wasn't especially conscientious. Rather than going through the trouble of digging out the trapped ones as he knew there would be, they instead ended up stuck inside, in a pile in the corner of the sorting room. It wouldn't have been that much of a problem, aside from that one elf's termination we would have just sorted through when we found the pile and spread out what good will we could. But then we arrived at your letter.” “I mean, I was a dumb 10 year old kid. It's not something I would ask for these days.” Sugarbell airily giggled, her cheek burned against his arm. “Sweetie, that wasn't the problem. We get so many requests for things like that; puppies, little brothers or sisters, a bunch-a edgy. Usually, we'd plan on whatever we could. Are the parents getting a pet? Is someone pregnant or likely to be? If not, a stuffed animal or baby doll would do the trick, and plastic weapons are wholesome enough as it is. The trouble came in an unfortunate fact: you were in the top hundred of the nice list that year.” “First of all, I don't believe you, but why would it be an issue?” “Top hundred and a random assortment on top of that get their wish, period. According to our records, you didn't submit one… had we known what you wanted, we couldn't very well kidnap someone and brainwash them, but we absolutely could have an elf facilitate a meeting, and stick around to help out a burgeoning romance. Of course, we didn't find your letter in the pile until this year. It wouldn't do for us to get off with as light as a card and a toy anymore, so here I am.” Sugarbell hugged his arm tightly to her chest and kissed his cheek. “I'm your present this year. Sorry it took so long for your wish to come true.” It doesn't make up for the twenty years you've lost, but We can only fix today. Rick reeled from the stream of revelations, not the least of which being that Santa was a real guy. And here was an eager, adorable, blonde lovely thing clinging to him, unwittingly giving him quite the show as her sweater's wide neck dipped down with her promised land hiding behind a tantalizing, flickering shadow. He averted his eyes, hoping she couldn't feel his heart going crazy through his palm, but her puckish smile said that she knew very well the effect her supple, inviting cuddliness was having. He paused. “So Santa just gave me one of his elves? What, did you draw the short stick?” “We're not slaves, you know. It's a career.” As he leaned back, supported by the sofa seat; Sugarbell straddled into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. There was no way she couldn't feel the ‘wooden soldier' poking her thighs from below. “Upon discovery of your letter, several of us thought that we could still make your wish come true, so Santa put out a call for volunteers. I won.” Before he could respond, she leaned into him, rocking him onto his back while she straddled; her warm, green eyes glittering in the false firelight on the tv as she came in for a transient peck on the lips. Then she teased him by hopping up and padding over to the kitchen. From where he lay, Rick watched her pull a tray from the oven and came back to the fire to kneel beside him. He asked, “People volunteered to be with me?” It was hard to imagine even two women fighting over him. Sugarbell frowned like she knew this conversation was going to happen sooner or later and could no longer be postponed. “Fifty of us young lady elves entered the pool. We played rock paper scissors for the position, and I won the tournament. Of course; if you don't want me, I'm sure we can drop someone else off for you. Any one of them would love to take my place.” “I just can't believe it.” Rick sat up and drew her into his arms, sitting her on one leg so the soldier couldn't get in the way. It seemed that she prepared to be rejected at this point, and he'd said so much to make her think he would, threatened to have her removed by the authorities after all. “It's a lot to take in, you know? How the heck was I in the top hundred? I don't remember doing anything especially great. Why not give my place to one of those prodigies out saving the rainforest or whatever?” She'd relaxed in his arms, nestled into the crook of his shoulder and curled in her slender legs. “We take lots of factors into consideration. The kindest people don't pay attention to how kind they are. They just do the right thing. "And I thought you were a home invader.” “Nuh-uh.” She wiggled herself up until her lips touched his earlobe and whispered, “It's only home invasion when the owner doesn't want you there. Tell me who laid out milk and cookies all those years? Wasn't that you?” Her nuzzling and shimmying had tugged the overlarge neck of her sweater so far down across one shoulder that she was in danger of revealing herself from just the swell of her curvaceous breast with every breath, not that it seemed she would mind. Sugarbell wagged her pert butt in his lap, her fingers wandered underneath his sweatshirt and sweetly tugged at the t-shirt underneath when she found it was tucked in. The same breath which raised her chest came to him as a cool breeze on his neck. She said, “Tell me, what's the one thing you've always wanted to do, that you couldn't without a girlfriend?” One corner of his undershirt came free from his jeans. It was too fast, Rick hugged her tighter, trapping her hands to squirm uselessly against his belly. He grabbed her sweater and pulled the neck back off her shoulder, saving her from the risk of exposure. Giggling wildly, she plunged her hands under his plain gray sweatshirt and tickled his armpits without mercy until it was just too much to bear and Rick fell sideways, holding in suppressed laughter, landing onto his back. But it didn't end, Sugarbell seized the moment of his weakness and took hold of the sweatshirt's hem, pulling the whole thing up above his head in a smooth motion and trapping his arms in a cottony prison. She laid herself over his chest and at last succeeded in untucking his shirt. Meanwhile his bulge rested between the two cheeks of her very toned ass, and she rubbed against it with her subtle motions. Eagerness burned in her rosy cheeks. Her downy, golden hair fell around their faces, dividing them from the world, but a few deep breaths later, her giggling petered out and she rolled off, spending the last of her laughter beside him on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, we haven't even eaten dessert yet.” she said breathlessly, jumping up and scurrying back to the kitchen. Rick discarded his sweatshirt; it was already getting too warm for him. Watching on as Sugarbell's perky rear bounced away did nothing for dissipating his erection, begging him as it was, to just get on with it already. It didn't have long to calm down before she returned with a plate of tiny, pink cookies. “No, don't get up,” she said as she set the plate down on the rug, “Go ahead and try one, I'll pick a present for both of us, from the North Pole team.” The first bite of the little cookie exploded with crispy flakiness and a sophisticated undertone of strawberry. Rick snuck a second cookie before Sugarbell had time to return from the tree, with a couple gifts. “These are incredible!” he blurted through a cheekful of crumbs. She took one for herself and examined it between pinched fingers. “I wish I had more time to make them. It's the little touches that make the difference, but I wasn't able to let the egg whites get to room temperature before I beat them. And I know they say you can use a hand mixer to get the same results, but I think merenge needs the personal touch of a handheld whisk, even if it takes longer.” “What are you talking about? They're delicious.” Sugarbell sat next to him, leaning against the sofa, and kissed his cheek. Then sliding a present into his lap to open. “They're called sugarbells. My mom's version is so much better than mine.” Rick looked at the gift tag, but the sender's name was in Cyrillic so it was hopeless to try reading it. “Where did all these come from anyway?” “Let's see… that one's from the workshop, most of them are. The sender is an elf named Tart. Technically it's actually Tort, but that's what he prefers.” Rather than carefully preserve the beauty of the wrapping on her gift, Sugarbell plunged her fingertip under a flap and ripped the paper off in a single ragged chunk. She tipped the lid up to see inside, yelped, and put the package out of reach. “What was it?” Rick asked. The box was on her other side and she leaned in the way of his arm when he started reaching around to get at it. “Well, it was, uh,” she stammered, eyes darting back and forth until she realized there wasn't a way out of telling him the truth. “It's something of a gift to both of us, from the workshop's confectioner.” She waved him close and whispered with a warm breath against his ear, “Edible underwear.” Before he could respond with his own bewilderment, Sugarbell crawled away to fetch another pair of presents from the pile. She wouldn't look him in the eye when she thrust the next one into his hands. Did she think she hadn't already crossed the line from adorable into suggestive, or was it just too much to be hit smack in the face with the implications? This self-conscious side of her was adorable in its own way too. He decided to prod her. “Alright,” he said, “New rule: no hiding anything, and presents have to be tried out right away. Okay?” Sugarbell nodded solemnly and began drawing the hem of her sweater up, laying bare her tight, smooth belly, and was saved at the last moment when it crested her ribs and Rick caught her wrist. His bluff overwhelmingly called, Rick let her off easy and kissed her forehead. “Sorry, I just meant we should show off what we got. No need to strip right here and now.” “So,” Rick said, uneasy in his seat, “Are there going to be any of these that aren't… romantic?” At least Sugarbell looked ruffled too, swaying on her knees after pulling out another couple gifts. “Most of these are from elves who really wanted to be with you tonight instead of me.” She stuffed a cookie in her face rather than continue explaining. They opened the next wave of gifts in one fell swoop of torn paper and ribbon to avoid any unnecessary embarrassment. Out came a matching set of horrendously ugly sweaters in their respective sizes and a book titled 'guide to faeries' which Sugarbell suspiciously slid underneath the pile without mentioning in any way. Rick said, “Well, at least we haven't found any dildos…” There was a pregnant pause as Sugarbell's eyes flicked toward a long, slim present leaned up against the wall. Sugarbell reverently set each box before them and for the first time went to the trouble of finding an edge to peel back instead of ripping the thing to shreds in a festive feeding frenzy. “These two,” she said, “Are from Santa himself.” In the first box, addressed to Rick, there was a wooden doll in the shape of a tiny, flaxen-haired elf complete with a red dress and curly-toed shoes festooned with actual, minuscule bells. The other package, Sugarbell's, opened to reveal a group photo with dozens of short people trying to get their heads in frame all at once, almost crowding out the wizened man in the center. She held it close to her chest for a long moment and set it aside. “Good thing that's the last of them, garbage bag is near to bursting.” Rick said. “That wasn't the last one.” She tugged on his shirt to keep him in place before he could retreat to take out the trash. “What do you mean, did I miss one under the tree?” Sugarbell crawled behind him and when he tried to look, she gently turned his face away. Moments later, the muffled sound of wool dropping on the carpet came amid the soft jazz Christmas carols and the crackle of fire. Pale arms enveloped his neck and naked softness pressed against his nape. “You still have one more present to unwrap.” she whispered. He took her hands in his and pushed down his feelings; this was too good to be true. “It's okay, I understand everything now. I had a lot of fun tonight and I appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to go that far for someone like me.” She slid down his back like dripping cream and he felt her lips lay a line of pecks up from his neck to his ear. She whispered; “There's such a thing as being too nice, you know. A girl might get her feelings hurt like that.” Her tongue ran the length of his earlobe and she nibbled at it as a penalty. Her voice was sultry and inviting; “I'm not wearing a bra, can't you feel that?” She rubbed herself against him to ensure he would feel her firm nipples tickling across his back. “Does it feel like I'm coerced? Or do I seem like the kind of girl who would act this way for just anyone? We found that letter six months ago… I've been watching you, falling in love with you, for so long.” Each passing day my desire for you has grown. “There's no way…” “No way someone like me could fall for someone like you?” Sugarbell bit his neck. If only the really big things counted toward being good, there would be so few good people, wouldn't there?“ "I mean, as long as you're okay with it.” There was some rustling behind his back as Sugarbell wriggled and reached back, producing her little, denim shorts so he could see and dropping them in his lap. The girl hugging herself so tightly to his back was wearing nothing but panties and moaned into his ear, “Carry me to the bed, please?” Libido won out; Rick turned and scooped her up to a giddy squeal, as her legs locked around his waist, Rick was blessed with handfuls of bouncy ass and hurriedly carried her to the his room to set her down in bed. She'd done her magic in there as well, ceiling hung with red and gold garlands, mistletoe above each doorway. The bedspread was made with a quilted comforter patterned with reindeer frolicking across the tundra. It was obvious that she wanted to end up in there from the start. Sugarbell pulled his head down for a kiss, prodding between his lips with the tip of her tongue, eagerly melding herself to his body, mingling her tongue with his. They came apart with a heavy breath, forgetting how long they had been under. She covertly undid the buckle of his belt and tugged his pants down into a heap at his feet, then delved underneath his t-shirt again, spread her delicate fingers across his chest, and pressed herself into him as he drew it over his head. Abruptly, she tweaked his nipples and retreated before he could retaliate, plopping herself on his bedspread and, calming herself a pinch, spread her knees apart. The one article of clothing between them was a pair of red, lacy panties with a cotton sprig of mistletoe hung by a little bow. As Rick gawked at the dainty outline. The panties were tied at both hips, with stretch lace straps. Sugarbell squirmed, her own gaze flitting to and from his growing erection, but she kept her legs open. “It's mistletoe…” she said quietly. “Um, yeah.” “You know what that means, don't you?” In answer, Rick crawled down and kissed her thigh. Her fingers twined in his hair and an unrestricted murmur of pleasure came from above, encouraging him to advance toward her heat, laying kisses all the way up her creamy thigh until he was inches away from her warm aroma. The fabric was in the way, but he could feel her silkiness on his lips, against his tongue. Her fingers left their comfortable place in his hair to pull on the knots at her hips, let her panties fall away and revealed bare, pink skin. Rick wasted no time, pushed forward to kiss her again, running his tongue along her lips, pausing to pin in his mind the spots where she moaned or her leg twitched against his head. Already he could feel wetness on his tongue, heat spreading throughout her body. A chorus of gasps and moans fell from above and quick peeks down below showed that Sugarbell's toes were curling. Pride swelled in his chest as he smooched and licked her most sensitive spots. “Okay, stop,” Sugarbell pushed his head away and sighed, falling back for a second before rolling backwards onto her knees on the bed. “Come here,” she said, patting the space beside her, “Lie down right here, on you back.” He obeyed and had a shock. He would have said something, but a lingering lick up his shaft to the tip stole his words with a moan. Delicate fingers wrapped around it and gently stroked as she nestled against his thigh and lapped at his balls, merrily humming as she took pleasure in the situation. Popping a testicle in her mouth and swirling it around with her tongue, Sugarbell's pert ass swayed in the air, her other hand wandering up her leg so she could rub herself against her palm. Rick could only reach down to pet her head as she suckled. Sugarbell slowly ran her tongue around the rim of his glans, so sensitive that Rick almost lost himself in the pleasure, but he relished every moment of those bright, green eyes bobbing down on him. She took him deeper into her mouth, rubbing the tip of his cock against the inside, bulging her rosy cheek like a chipmunk. Her hips bucked against her hand and mewls of pleasure escaped from her glistening lips, bringing Rick to the just before the point of no return where his whole body clenched to keep the amazing feeling from ending. And she flopped limp between his legs, tenderly lapping at his balls as his cock twitched for release in her hand. "Come on, sweetie pie,” she said, “Isn't there somewhere else you'd like to do that?” Rick sat up and pulled her into his lap facing him; where her soft slit straddled his throbbing erection. “Do you have any protection?” he asked. Sugarbell bent her head into his chest and sputtered laughter. “Like I said, there's such a thing as being too nice.” She guided the tip of his cock to her entrance and started putting weight on it, softly grunting with the effort of fitting him inside, squealed when it pushed in the first inch. “Does it hurt?” “Shut up.” she moaned, hugging herself close so he couldn't see the pain in her eyes and insist they stop. “I j-just need to get used to it, okay?” Over the next minute her warm tightness enveloped his cock inch by inch until Sugarbell's butt rested comfortably in his lap and she breathed a sigh of relief. Rick turned up her chin for a kiss, hoping their intertwined tongues would distract from the pain, stroking her creamy, pale skin with special attention paid to her ticklish spots, taking a breast in hand and fiddling with a nipple like a hard pebble. Her sighs of pleasure washed against his chest and she closed her eyes to enjoy each touch to its fullest, savoring the feeling of fullness in her loins. She snaked her arms around him, linking her fingers behind his back, and began swirling her hips, gently moving his cock inside her, sliding her bouncy ass across his thighs. He felt like he could burst at any minute, couldn't resist taking a handful of ass, causing a refreshing whimper against his chest as he squeezed. Rick buried his face in her fluffy, golden hair to keep his senses, taking in the invigorating scent of peppermint and sweat. Little tickles made moaned giggles fall on his ears and Sugarbell slowly became more comfortable with his size, increasing her motion's intensity until she was almost thrusting against his last inch. Her bright, green eyes appeared again as Rick surprised Sugarbell by slowly flipping her down onto her back. He kept the last pace she was comfortable with, guided by her tiny, urging moans to start going faster and deeper. She splayed her arms above her head and gripped the pillow she found there, handing over control to him with her legs wrapped around his waist. Free to go wild, Rick slowly pulled out and pushed himself back in to the hilt, leering at the way Sugarbell squirmed underneath, her breast rippling with sharp breaths. Then again, a bit faster, and again until he was properly thrusting, and he joined the chorus of moans. Sugarbell pulled his head down into a kiss and shakily whispered, “Harder~” He grabbed her waist, ramming himself inside her pussy as she wriggled in ecstasy, bright eyes rolled back and she bit his shoulder in anticipation of the finale. It came on like a wave, forcing him as deep as he could go, balls slapping against wet ass cheeks as he flooded her tight pussy and she tightened in gratification, overwhelmed by sensation as Rick pounded inside her. When the moment of passion had passed, Rick laid at her side as she relaxed into quiet contentment. But it didn't last long before she crawled atop him, laying her head on his chest humming a festive tune. “That was amazing.” he said, absentmindedly stroking her hair. Sugarbell kissed his chest. “Lots better than your hand, isn't it? Heh, you're pretty big. Human girls don't know what they're missing out on.” Her fingertips traced the way down between his legs, wrapped around his shrinking dick and said, “Good job, mister, wanna take me for another spin?” Rick laughed and she rubbed herself against his chest as she joined in, bright eyes merrily twinkling. “Can't fault a girl for trying, can you? It is two in the morning I suppose. Christmas night's almost over and done.” She tugged up the blanket they'd displaced and snuggled herself against him, pointy ear tickling his neck, and hummed a lullaby as the day's exhaustion made sleep less and less voluntary. The morning sun muddled through snow-filled clouds to gently wake Rick. He'd slept clean through the usual time, had a transient shock before remembering the office would be closed for the week. And he was alone. Last night had to have happened. Peppermint lingered in the air and a hickey stung on his neck, but she wasn't there. Of course, he thought, it was a monkey's paw. She'd said she was a Christmas present, and the day had passed… He forced himself out of bed and dressed, then headed for the kitchen. Where a woman in a red turtleneck and costume antlers was using the stove. “Morning, sleepy-head~” Sugarbell cooed, “I'm almost done with brunch so go ahead and take a seat.” “You're still here.” “Of course I am, why? Oh, there's nowhere I need to be.” “I thought I was only going to get the one night.” Sugarbell turned off the stove and set the table with leftover ham omelets and freshly-baked cinnamon rolls. “That's not a girlfriend, that's a one-night stand.” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, “And we still have to continue where we left off after all.” By Demi urging for Literotica

Santa & His Team Makes Up For A North Pole Screw-Up. By Demi Urging. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories. It's the wee hours of December 26th. Rick is finally shoving the last of his teetering friends through their front door, He volunteered to be designated driver again, for about half a dozen friends & co-workers. Another Christmas gathering passed as the clock ticked into the next day and it seemed he'd be single again into the new year. He thought he would have gotten over it by age thirty.He did have a pity date from last year  for New Year's Eve. It hadn't been a nice date, either; she stayed for a single kiss at midnight and left without another word. The same woman has a boyfriend this year, so Rick couldn't ask again even if his pride would allow it. Now he'll get plenty of sleep. The only sign of the holidays in his life was the box of fudge sitting on his counter, Which his elderly neighbor gave him the night before Christmas. He wouldn't even eat it tonight. Sleep had to come first, then he had a week off, since the boss knew most of the team would be useless if he had them come in that week. Climbing the stairs, he smelled something delectable, coming out of the 4th floor stairwell. He thought one of his neighbors must have made actual food instead of subsisting on beer and crackers like his friends had. Maybe he would eat some of that fudge after all, since a glass of water and a handful of crackers in the face of a home-cooked meal seemed inadequate. It had to be Miss Thompson. Rick thought that the old gal had gone off to the country for the day to visit with her kids, but the smell of his mom's ham with orange & clove seasoning didn't lie, and it was absolutely coming from somewhere on this floor, getting stronger as he approached his own apartment. Taking a final pleasant sniff before entering his lonely apartment, Rick turned, halfway opened his front door, and was smacked in the face with a bouquet of aromas that sent his mind back to Christmas dinner with mom and dad. Rick stepped back. Wrong apartment, he thought. But when he checked the address, expecting to be on the wrong floor somehow, he was met with the very same number he saw every day. He considered calling the cops, but wanted to know the actual situation before making that decision. So, flicked-open pocket knife in hand, he very slowly pushed the door open again. “Aren't you coming in?” A slender, bright-eyed young woman in an apron and a horribly ugly holiday sweater three sizes too large, only bare leg showing underneath its hem, was standing in the entryway. She giggled, fluffy blonde locks bouncing around peaked ears, and took Rick by the hand, gently tugging him inside. “Come on, silly, it's nice and warm. I have a fire going that's the perfect size for snuggling and supper just came out of the oven.” Ah, so a crazy person broke in. At least they… “A Fire!?” Rick asked as he pulled himself out of her grasp and ran further inside, desperately trying to remember where he kept the extinguisher. But he stopped when he saw what she really meant: his television was showing a video of a fireplace and putting out the smooth jazz version of Christmas favorites, & also a heater stationed below it provided heat along with what looked like a genuine polar bear skin rug. Jittering followed as the girl joined him. “I am sorry I couldn't have a real one tonight, but there was no fireplace so this is the best I could do. Now, let's get you fed while it's nice and piping hot, and then we can open presents.” A glance around the room revealed a small pine tree, dazzling with ornaments and laden with expertly-wrapped boxes underneath. Rick's dining room table held more food than it ever had before and glimmered with candlelight that danced gleefully as the girl dimmed the lights and retrieved the last item from the oven, coming around with a ceramic dish of bubbling, hot food to finish off the spread. She pulled a chair out for him to sit, pouting when he declined her service. “What is this and who are you?” Rick discreetly tucked his knife away. “This is Christmas dinner for my sweetie, of course. It'll start getting cold soon, so why don't I make you a plate? While she scooped Rick's plate with food, He considered his plan of action. The way she bounced to a beat, humming along with the television, the points of her ears were over-worldly? Rick reached out and tugged on one of the girl's ears. She yelped, tightening up so as not to drop the plate, and begged him with a tremble in her voice, "Sweetie, please don't.” When he released her, she set his place at the table and did the same for herself. He took his seat. “Merry Christmas, my sweet one. While you were away, Santa came along and dropped off a bunch of presents for you. I thought you would like the surprise and we could eat first before talking, but I guess I crossed a line, haven't I?” Rick put a bite of ham in his mouth, the girl brightening up as he started to eat. It had to be one of the most delicious things he'd had the pleasure to shove in his face. Mom's cooking, with its nostalgic advantage was still blown out of the water, and Rick felt sorry that he would never get to taste this for the first time again. Too soon it was all gone and the girl was carrying out a plate of apple and chocolate pie with ice cream on the side. This too didn't last and something about her constant giggling warmed him inside in a way he couldn't very well describe. As he finished the last bite of chocolate pie, she came over to his chair & wrapped herself around his neck from behind, softness and warmth pressing into his back and fluffy, blonde hair tickling his cheek. “Oh, Messy boy” she said, and leaned forward to smooch a crumb off his cheek. Before Rick could object, as little as he was inclined to, she had already slipped away to put dishes in the sink and his back felt uncomfortably cold with her absence. “That was pretty good; amazing actually.” Rick said, “But seriously, who are you? Did one of my friends hire you or something?” He dismissed the idea. “No, my mother? She's one of the only people with a key to my place. Unless; it was the landlady?” The girl stretched in the warm air with a luxurious moan escaping peachy lips, the neck of her XXL sweater spilling over a shoulder, exposing so much skin underneath that it was impossible for her to be wearing anything underneath. “I'm an elf!” she proclaimed. She curtsied, at least there were denim cutoff shorts underneath the sweater.  Rick just stared. “Didn't you hear me? Santa came by, because you were such a good boy, and we set all this up for you. Well, not to toot my own horn, but I did all the cooking and decorating, Santa brought presents. Oh, and I'm Sugarbell. I'm here to make your Christmas wish come true!” She'd taken a pose as if she was popping out of a giant layer cake; like there should be celebratory confetti shooting out. But she just stood there in awkward silence. Rick sighed, so she was a crazy chick after all. “Okay, miss elf, why don't you get out of here before I have to call the police. And how did you get in here anyway?” “Magic,” Sugarbell said, looking crestfallen, her ears drooping. “You're not giving me a good argument not to call the police. Can you at least take off the fake ears so we can really talk about this?” “Fake? Sweetie? She skipped over to a green sack by the door and plucked out a wrinkled, yellowed piece of paper. "Ahem, ‘Dear Santa, I've been a good boy all year if you don't count that stuff that my sister says and all I really want is a girlfriend.' and then there's a colored pencil drawing of a girl with black pigtails who I think is your crush. 'It's okay if I don't get one, I know that's asking for a lot, but it doesn't look like mom and Dave are going to be able to give out lots of toys this year, so don't worry about it if you can't. Merry Christmas. BTW I'm making snickerdoodles this year, so make sure you grab your share before Dave can steal them all again.' and there's your signature.” She handed the letter over for inspection. It was definitely his handwriting, his drawing skills from almost two decades ago… “So you were sent by my mother. You could have just said that and we'd have been fine. I'm sorry, she's pushy but I know she means well… should have told me I'd have company and I would have skipped that party. Anyway, what's your actual name?” “I'm Sugarbell. And I wasn't sent by her, Santa brought me. Here, look.” She tugged on her ear, leaning up so Rick could look closely. It was either real or the seam of the rubber was so well hidden that it might as well be. “I suppose this would be a little hard to believe for an adult. Sorry, I haven't actually spoken with a human for a few years.” Rick shook his head. “Your makeup's good, I'll give you that.” Rick angled his hips so the elf wouldn't notice a certain reflex to her melding to his shape. She was incredibly soft in his arms, just short of purring, the smell of peppermint coming off as she rubbed against him. Sugarbell stared up at him, her wide, green eyes shining with reflected candlelight. “But I'm not a crazy. I…” She went to the polar bearskin rug in front of the television, so big for the room that it bunched up against the walls in that corner, took a seat and patted the place beside her for him to take. Rick was not so troubled as he was amused, so he sat next to her on the rug in front of the sofa, facing the fake fire. She rested her head against his shoulder and twined her fingers in his with no resistance. “Um…” he said, “You got me, I guess, but what is all this?” “It's a little embarrassing for all of us who screwed up,” she said, “You see, back when we got that letter, we were using a new kind of mail bag and, as we would soon find out, letters would sometimes get caught in the seams. And the elf in charge of distributing letters wasn't especially conscientious. Rather than going through the trouble of digging out the trapped ones as he knew there would be, they instead ended up stuck inside, in a pile in the corner of the sorting room. It wouldn't have been that much of a problem, aside from that one elf's termination we would have just sorted through when we found the pile and spread out what good will we could. But then we arrived at your letter.” “I mean, I was a dumb 10 year old kid. It's not something I would ask for these days.” Sugarbell airily giggled, her cheek burned against his arm. “Sweetie, that wasn't the problem. We get so many requests for things like that; puppies, little brothers or sisters, a bunch-a edgy. Usually, we'd plan on whatever we could. Are the parents getting a pet? Is someone pregnant or likely to be? If not, a stuffed animal or baby doll would do the trick, and plastic weapons are wholesome enough as it is. The trouble came in an unfortunate fact: you were in the top hundred of the nice list that year.” “First of all, I don't believe you, but why would it be an issue?” “Top hundred and a random assortment on top of that get their wish, period. According to our records, you didn't submit one… had we known what you wanted, we couldn't very well kidnap someone and brainwash them, but we absolutely could have an elf facilitate a meeting, and stick around to help out a burgeoning romance. Of course, we didn't find your letter in the pile until this year. It wouldn't do for us to get off with as light as a card and a toy anymore, so here I am.” Sugarbell hugged his arm tightly to her chest and kissed his cheek. “I'm your present this year. Sorry it took so long for your wish to come true.” It doesn't make up for the twenty years you've lost, but We can only fix today. Rick reeled from the stream of revelations, not the least of which being that Santa was a real guy. And here was an eager, adorable, blonde lovely thing clinging to him, unwittingly giving him quite the show as her sweater's wide neck dipped down with her promised land hiding behind a tantalizing, flickering shadow. He averted his eyes, hoping she couldn't feel his heart going crazy through his palm, but her puckish smile said that she knew very well the effect her supple, inviting cuddliness was having. He paused. “So Santa just gave me one of his elves? What, did you draw the short stick?” “We're not slaves, you know. It's a career.” As he leaned back, supported by the sofa seat; Sugarbell straddled into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. There was no way she couldn't feel the ‘wooden soldier' poking her thighs from below. “Upon discovery of your letter, several of us thought that we could still make your wish come true, so Santa put out a call for volunteers. I won.” Before he could respond, she leaned into him, rocking him onto his back while she straddled; her warm, green eyes glittering in the false firelight on the tv as she came in for a transient peck on the lips. Then she teased him by hopping up and padding over to the kitchen. From where he lay, Rick watched her pull a tray from the oven and came back to the fire to kneel beside him. He asked, “People volunteered to be with me?” It was hard to imagine even two women fighting over him. Sugarbell frowned like she knew this conversation was going to happen sooner or later and could no longer be postponed. “Fifty of us young lady elves entered the pool. We played rock paper scissors for the position, and I won the tournament. Of course; if you don't want me, I'm sure we can drop someone else off for you. Any one of them would love to take my place.” “I just can't believe it.” Rick sat up and drew her into his arms, sitting her on one leg so the soldier couldn't get in the way. It seemed that she prepared to be rejected at this point, and he'd said so much to make her think he would, threatened to have her removed by the authorities after all. “It's a lot to take in, you know? How the heck was I in the top hundred? I don't remember doing anything especially great. Why not give my place to one of those prodigies out saving the rainforest or whatever?” She'd relaxed in his arms, nestled into the crook of his shoulder and curled in her slender legs. “We take lots of factors into consideration. The kindest people don't pay attention to how kind they are. They just do the right thing. "And I thought you were a home invader.” “Nuh-uh.” She wiggled herself up until her lips touched his earlobe and whispered, “It's only home invasion when the owner doesn't want you there. Tell me who laid out milk and cookies all those years? Wasn't that you?” Her nuzzling and shimmying had tugged the overlarge neck of her sweater so far down across one shoulder that she was in danger of revealing herself from just the swell of her curvaceous breast with every breath, not that it seemed she would mind. Sugarbell wagged her pert butt in his lap, her fingers wandered underneath his sweatshirt and sweetly tugged at the t-shirt underneath when she found it was tucked in. The same breath which raised her chest came to him as a cool breeze on his neck. She said, “Tell me, what's the one thing you've always wanted to do, that you couldn't without a girlfriend?” One corner of his undershirt came free from his jeans. It was too fast, Rick hugged her tighter, trapping her hands to squirm uselessly against his belly. He grabbed her sweater and pulled the neck back off her shoulder, saving her from the risk of exposure. Giggling wildly, she plunged her hands under his plain gray sweatshirt and tickled his armpits without mercy until it was just too much to bear and Rick fell sideways, holding in suppressed laughter, landing onto his back. But it didn't end, Sugarbell seized the moment of his weakness and took hold of the sweatshirt's hem, pulling the whole thing up above his head in a smooth motion and trapping his arms in a cottony prison. She laid herself over his chest and at last succeeded in untucking his shirt. Meanwhile his bulge rested between the two cheeks of her very toned ass, and she rubbed against it with her subtle motions. Eagerness burned in her rosy cheeks. Her downy, golden hair fell around their faces, dividing them from the world, but a few deep breaths later, her giggling petered out and she rolled off, spending the last of her laughter beside him on the floor. “Sorry, sorry, we haven't even eaten dessert yet.” she said breathlessly, jumping up and scurrying back to the kitchen. Rick discarded his sweatshirt; it was already getting too warm for him. Watching on as Sugarbell's perky rear bounced away did nothing for dissipating his erection, begging him as it was, to just get on with it already. It didn't have long to calm down before she returned with a plate of tiny, pink cookies. “No, don't get up,” she said as she set the plate down on the rug, “Go ahead and try one, I'll pick a present for both of us, from the North Pole team.” The first bite of the little cookie exploded with crispy flakiness and a sophisticated undertone of strawberry. Rick snuck a second cookie before Sugarbell had time to return from the tree, with a couple gifts. “These are incredible!” he blurted through a cheekful of crumbs. She took one for herself and examined it between pinched fingers. “I wish I had more time to make them. It's the little touches that make the difference, but I wasn't able to let the egg whites get to room temperature before I beat them. And I know they say you can use a hand mixer to get the same results, but I think merenge needs the personal touch of a handheld whisk, even if it takes longer.” “What are you talking about? They're delicious.” Sugarbell sat next to him, leaning against the sofa, and kissed his cheek. Then sliding a present into his lap to open. “They're called sugarbells. My mom's version is so much better than mine.” Rick looked at the gift tag, but the sender's name was in Cyrillic so it was hopeless to try reading it. “Where did all these come from anyway?” “Let's see… that one's from the workshop, most of them are. The sender is an elf named Tart. Technically it's actually Tort, but that's what he prefers.” Rather than carefully preserve the beauty of the wrapping on her gift, Sugarbell plunged her fingertip under a flap and ripped the paper off in a single ragged chunk. She tipped the lid up to see inside, yelped, and put the package out of reach. “What was it?” Rick asked. The box was on her other side and she leaned in the way of his arm when he started reaching around to get at it. “Well, it was, uh,” she stammered, eyes darting back and forth until she realized there wasn't a way out of telling him the truth. “It's something of a gift to both of us, from the workshop's confectioner.” She waved him close and whispered with a warm breath against his ear, “Edible underwear.” Before he could respond with his own bewilderment, Sugarbell crawled away to fetch another pair of presents from the pile. She wouldn't look him in the eye when she thrust the next one into his hands. Did she think she hadn't already crossed the line from adorable into suggestive, or was it just too much to be hit smack in the face with the implications? This self-conscious side of her was adorable in its own way too. He decided to prod her. “Alright,” he said, “New rule: no hiding anything, and presents have to be tried out right away. Okay?” Sugarbell nodded solemnly and began drawing the hem of her sweater up, laying bare her tight, smooth belly, and was saved at the last moment when it crested her ribs and Rick caught her wrist. His bluff overwhelmingly called, Rick let her off easy and kissed her forehead. “Sorry, I just meant we should show off what we got. No need to strip right here and now.” “So,” Rick said, uneasy in his seat, “Are there going to be any of these that aren't… romantic?” At least Sugarbell looked ruffled too, swaying on her knees after pulling out another couple gifts. “Most of these are from elves who really wanted to be with you tonight instead of me.” She stuffed a cookie in her face rather than continue explaining. They opened the next wave of gifts in one fell swoop of torn paper and ribbon to avoid any unnecessary embarrassment. Out came a matching set of horrendously ugly sweaters in their respective sizes and a book titled 'guide to faeries' which Sugarbell suspiciously slid underneath the pile without mentioning in any way. Rick said, “Well, at least we haven't found any dildos…” There was a pregnant pause as Sugarbell's eyes flicked toward a long, slim present leaned up against the wall. Sugarbell reverently set each box before them and for the first time went to the trouble of finding an edge to peel back instead of ripping the thing to shreds in a festive feeding frenzy. “These two,” she said, “Are from Santa himself.” In the first box, addressed to Rick, there was a wooden doll in the shape of a tiny, flaxen-haired elf complete with a red dress and curly-toed shoes festooned with actual, minuscule bells. The other package, Sugarbell's, opened to reveal a group photo with dozens of short people trying to get their heads in frame all at once, almost crowding out the wizened man in the center. She held it close to her chest for a long moment and set it aside. “Good thing that's the last of them, garbage bag is near to bursting.” Rick said. “That wasn't the last one.” She tugged on his shirt to keep him in place before he could retreat to take out the trash. “What do you mean, did I miss one under the tree?” Sugarbell crawled behind him and when he tried to look, she gently turned his face away. Moments later, the muffled sound of wool dropping on the carpet came amid the soft jazz Christmas carols and the crackle of fire. Pale arms enveloped his neck and naked softness pressed against his nape. “You still have one more present to unwrap.” she whispered. He took her hands in his and pushed down his feelings; this was too good to be true. “It's okay, I understand everything now. I had a lot of fun tonight and I appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to go that far for someone like me.” She slid down his back like dripping cream and he felt her lips lay a line of pecks up from his neck to his ear. She whispered; “There's such a thing as being too nice, you know. A girl might get her feelings hurt like that.” Her tongue ran the length of his earlobe and she nibbled at it as a penalty. Her voice was sultry and inviting; “I'm not wearing a bra, can't you feel that?” She rubbed herself against him to ensure he would feel her firm nipples tickling across his back. “Does it feel like I'm coerced? Or do I seem like the kind of girl who would act this way for just anyone? We found that letter six months ago… I've been watching you, falling in love with you, for so long.” Each passing day my desire for you has grown. “There's no way…” “No way someone like me could fall for someone like you?” Sugarbell bit his neck. If only the really big things counted toward being good, there would be so few good people, wouldn't there?“ "I mean, as long as you're okay with it.” There was some rustling behind his back as Sugarbell wriggled and reached back, producing her little, denim shorts so he could see and dropping them in his lap. The girl hugging herself so tightly to his back was wearing nothing but panties and moaned into his ear, “Carry me to the bed, please?” Libido won out; Rick turned and scooped her up to a giddy squeal, as her legs locked around his waist, Rick was blessed with handfuls of bouncy ass and hurriedly carried her to the his room to set her down in bed. She'd done her magic in there as well, ceiling hung with red and gold garlands, mistletoe above each doorway. The bedspread was made with a quilted comforter patterned with reindeer frolicking across the tundra. It was obvious that she wanted to end up in there from the start. Sugarbell pulled his head down for a kiss, prodding between his lips with the tip of her tongue, eagerly melding herself to his body, mingling her tongue with his. They came apart with a heavy breath, forgetting how long they had been under. She covertly undid the buckle of his belt and tugged his pants down into a heap at his feet, then delved underneath his t-shirt again, spread her delicate fingers across his chest, and pressed herself into him as he drew it over his head. Abruptly, she tweaked his nipples and retreated before he could retaliate, plopping herself on his bedspread and, calming herself a pinch, spread her knees apart. The one article of clothing between them was a pair of red, lacy panties with a cotton sprig of mistletoe hung by a little bow. As Rick gawked at the dainty outline. The panties were tied at both hips, with stretch lace straps. Sugarbell squirmed, her own gaze flitting to and from his growing erection, but she kept her legs open. “It's mistletoe…” she said quietly. “Um, yeah.” “You know what that means, don't you?” In answer, Rick crawled down and kissed her thigh. Her fingers twined in his hair and an unrestricted murmur of pleasure came from above, encouraging him to advance toward her heat, laying kisses all the way up her creamy thigh until he was inches away from her warm aroma. The fabric was in the way, but he could feel her silkiness on his lips, against his tongue. Her fingers left their comfortable place in his hair to pull on the knots at her hips, let her panties fall away and revealed bare, pink skin. Rick wasted no time, pushed forward to kiss her again, running his tongue along her lips, pausing to pin in his mind the spots where she moaned or her leg twitched against his head. Already he could feel wetness on his tongue, heat spreading throughout her body. A chorus of gasps and moans fell from above and quick peeks down below showed that Sugarbell's toes were curling. Pride swelled in his chest as he smooched and licked her most sensitive spots. “Okay, stop,” Sugarbell pushed his head away and sighed, falling back for a second before rolling backwards onto her knees on the bed. “Come here,” she said, patting the space beside her, “Lie down right here, on you back.” He obeyed and had a shock. He would have said something, but a lingering lick up his shaft to the tip stole his words with a moan. Delicate fingers wrapped around it and gently stroked as she nestled against his thigh and lapped at his balls, merrily humming as she took pleasure in the situation. Popping a testicle in her mouth and swirling it around with her tongue, Sugarbell's pert ass swayed in the air, her other hand wandering up her leg so she could rub herself against her palm. Rick could only reach down to pet her head as she suckled. Sugarbell slowly ran her tongue around the rim of his glans, so sensitive that Rick almost lost himself in the pleasure, but he relished every moment of those bright, green eyes bobbing down on him. She took him deeper into her mouth, rubbing the tip of his cock against the inside, bulging her rosy cheek like a chipmunk. Her hips bucked against her hand and mewls of pleasure escaped from her glistening lips, bringing Rick to the just before the point of no return where his whole body clenched to keep the amazing feeling from ending. And she flopped limp between his legs, tenderly lapping at his balls as his cock twitched for release in her hand. "Come on, sweetie pie,” she said, “Isn't there somewhere else you'd like to do that?” Rick sat up and pulled her into his lap facing him; where her soft slit straddled his throbbing erection. “Do you have any protection?” he asked. Sugarbell bent her head into his chest and sputtered laughter. “Like I said, there's such a thing as being too nice.” She guided the tip of his cock to her entrance and started putting weight on it, softly grunting with the effort of fitting him inside, squealed when it pushed in the first inch. “Does it hurt?” “Shut up.” she moaned, hugging herself close so he couldn't see the pain in her eyes and insist they stop. “I j-just need to get used to it, okay?” Over the next minute her warm tightness enveloped his cock inch by inch until Sugarbell's butt rested comfortably in his lap and she breathed a sigh of relief. Rick turned up her chin for a kiss, hoping their intertwined tongues would distract from the pain, stroking her creamy, pale skin with special attention paid to her ticklish spots, taking a breast in hand and fiddling with a nipple like a hard pebble. Her sighs of pleasure washed against his chest and she closed her eyes to enjoy each touch to its fullest, savoring the feeling of fullness in her loins. She snaked her arms around him, linking her fingers behind his back, and began swirling her hips, gently moving his cock inside her, sliding her bouncy ass across his thighs. He felt like he could burst at any minute, couldn't resist taking a handful of ass, causing a refreshing whimper against his chest as he squeezed. Rick buried his face in her fluffy, golden hair to keep his senses, taking in the invigorating scent of peppermint and sweat. Little tickles made moaned giggles fall on his ears and Sugarbell slowly became more comfortable with his size, increasing her motion's intensity until she was almost thrusting against his last inch. Her bright, green eyes appeared again as Rick surprised Sugarbell by slowly flipping her down onto her back. He kept the last pace she was comfortable with, guided by her tiny, urging moans to start going faster and deeper. She splayed her arms above her head and gripped the pillow she found there, handing over control to him with her legs wrapped around his waist. Free to go wild, Rick slowly pulled out and pushed himself back in to the hilt, leering at the way Sugarbell squirmed underneath, her breast rippling with sharp breaths. Then again, a bit faster, and again until he was properly thrusting, and he joined the chorus of moans. Sugarbell pulled his head down into a kiss and shakily whispered, “Harder~” He grabbed her waist, ramming himself inside her pussy as she wriggled in ecstasy, bright eyes rolled back and she bit his shoulder in anticipation of the finale. It came on like a wave, forcing him as deep as he could go, balls slapping against wet ass cheeks as he flooded her tight pussy and she tightened in gratification, overwhelmed by sensation as Rick pounded inside her. When the moment of passion had passed, Rick laid at her side as she relaxed into quiet contentment. But it didn't last long before she crawled atop him, laying her head on his chest humming a festive tune. “That was amazing.” he said, absentmindedly stroking her hair. Sugarbell kissed his chest. “Lots better than your hand, isn't it? Heh, you're pretty big. Human girls don't know what they're missing out on.” Her fingertips traced the way down between his legs, wrapped around his shrinking dick and said, “Good job, mister, wanna take me for another spin?” Rick laughed and she rubbed herself against his chest as she joined in, bright eyes merrily twinkling. “Can't fault a girl for trying, can you? It is two in the morning I suppose. Christmas night's almost over and done.” She tugged up the blanket they'd displaced and snuggled herself against him, pointy ear tickling his neck, and hummed a lullaby as the day's exhaustion made sleep less and less voluntary. The morning sun muddled through snow-filled clouds to gently wake Rick. He'd slept clean through the usual time, had a transient shock before remembering the office would be closed for the week. And he was alone. Last night had to have happened. Peppermint lingered in the air and a hickey stung on his neck, but she wasn't there. Of course, he thought, it was a monkey's paw. She'd said she was a Christmas present, and the day had passed… He forced himself out of bed and dressed, then headed for the kitchen. Where a woman in a red turtleneck and costume antlers was using the stove. “Morning, sleepy-head~” Sugarbell cooed, “I'm almost done with brunch so go ahead and take a seat.” “You're still here.” “Of course I am, why? Oh, there's nowhere I need to be.” “I thought I was only going to get the one night.” Sugarbell turned off the stove and set the table with leftover ham omelets and freshly-baked cinnamon rolls. “That's not a girlfriend, that's a one-night stand.” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, “And we still have to continue where we left off after all.” By Demi urging for Literotica

fWotD Episode 2742: Yugoslav destroyer Ljubljana Welcome to Featured Wiki of the Day, your daily dose of knowledge from Wikipedia’s finest articles.The featured article for Wednesday, 6 November 2024 is Yugoslav destroyer Ljubljana.Ljubljana (Serbo-Croatian pronunciation: [ʎubˈʎana]; Cyrillic: Љубљана) was the third and last Beograd-class destroyer built for the Royal Yugoslav Navy (Serbo-Croatian: Kraljevska mornarica, Краљевска морнарица; КМ) in the late 1930s, and designed to operate as part of a division led by the flotilla leader Dubrovnik. She entered KM service in November 1939, was armed with a main battery of four Škoda 120 mm (4.7 in) guns in superfiring single mounts – two forward and two aft of the superstructure – and she had a practical top speed of 35 knots (65 km/h; 40 mph).In 1940, Ljubljana ran aground on a reef off the Yugoslav port of Šibenik and sank due to the serious damage caused to her hull. After considerable effort she was refloated and then towed to the naval arsenal at Tivat in the Bay of Kotor for repairs. This incident resulted in her gaining a reputation as an "unlucky ship" with Yugoslav sailors. Yugoslavia entered World War II when the German-led Axis powers invaded in April 1941, and Ljubljana – still under repair – was captured by the Italians. After repairs and refitting, including replacement of her anti-aircraft armament, she saw service from November 1942 with the Royal Italian Navy under the name Lubiana, mainly as a convoy escort on routes between Italy and Greece and Italy and Tunisia. She was lost on 1 April 1943, when a navigational error was made in poor visibility off the Tunisian coast. She ran aground and was stranded and then abandoned due to heavy seas, and was declared a total loss.This recording reflects the Wikipedia text as of 14:13 UTC on Friday, 8 November 2024.For the full current version of the article, see Yugoslav destroyer Ljubljana on Wikipedia.This podcast uses content from Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.Visit our archives at wikioftheday.com and subscribe to stay updated on new episodes.Follow us on Mastodon at @wikioftheday@masto.ai.Also check out Curmudgeon's Corner, a current events podcast.Until next time, I'm generative Olivia.

pWotD Episode 2713: Greek alphabet Welcome to Popular Wiki of the Day, spotlighting Wikipedia's most visited pages, giving you a peek into what the world is curious about today.With 1,559,477 views on Saturday, 5 October 2024 our article of the day is Greek alphabet.The Greek alphabet has been used to write the Greek language since the late 9th or early 8th century BC. It is derived from the earlier Phoenician alphabet, and was the earliest known alphabetic script to have distinct letters for vowels as well as consonants. In Archaic and early Classical times, the Greek alphabet existed in many local variants, but, by the end of the 4th century BC, the Euclidean alphabet, with 24 letters, ordered from alpha to omega, had become standard and it is this version that is still used for Greek writing today.The uppercase and lowercase forms of the 24 letters are: Α α, Β β, Γ γ, Δ δ, Ε ε, Ζ ζ, Η η, Θ θ, Ι ι, Κ κ, Λ λ, Μ μ, Ν ν, Ξ ξ, Ο ο, Π π, Ρ ρ, Σ σ/ς, Τ τ, Υ υ, Φ φ, Χ χ, Ψ ψ, Ω ω.The Greek alphabet is the ancestor of the Latin and Cyrillic scripts. Like Latin and Cyrillic, Greek originally had only a single form of each letter; it developed the letter case distinction between uppercase and lowercase in parallel with Latin during the modern era. Sound values and conventional transcriptions for some of the letters differ between Ancient and Modern Greek usage because the pronunciation of Greek has changed significantly between the 5th century BC and today. Modern and Ancient Greek also use different diacritics, with modern Greek keeping only the stress accent (acute) and the diaeresis.Apart from its use in writing the Greek language, in both its ancient and its modern forms, the Greek alphabet today also serves as a source of international technical symbols and labels in many domains of mathematics, science, and other fields.This recording reflects the Wikipedia text as of 01:52 UTC on Sunday, 6 October 2024.For the full current version of the article, see Greek alphabet on Wikipedia.This podcast uses content from Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.Visit our archives at wikioftheday.com and subscribe to stay updated on new episodes.Follow us on Mastodon at @wikioftheday@masto.ai.Also check out Curmudgeon's Corner, a current events podcast.Until next time, I'm long-form Danielle.

Zdravo svima, Join us on a journey to learn the Serbian language and culture. Whether you're just starting to learn Serbian or you're looking to deepen your understanding, our collaborative podcast offers valuable lessons, cultural insights, and practical tips to enhance your learning experience. Each episode breaks down complex grammar, pronunciation, and vocabulary while exploring traditions, customs, and the vibrant history that shapes modern Serbia. Whether you're learning for travel, study, or personal growth, this podcast is your go-to resource. In this episode, Nikola and Maki share their self-introduction in Serbian in 3 levels. You may follow the subtitles to see the Cyrillic version of the text. We hope you find it useful. We would like to see your self-introductions in the comments below. Together, we'll make learning Serbian engaging, fun, and meaningful! Maki & Nikola Može Kafa Podcast & Learn Serbian Podcast You can find all our links here and support us :) Follow us: instagram.com/mozekafapodcast https://open.spotify.com/show/0WK2TyS924fA2PDnugfGCu https://podcasters.spotify.com/pod/show/mozekafapodcast https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/moze-kafa-podcast/id1543738751 Nikola's Page Learn Serbian: Youtube: www.youtube.com/@SLNetwork01 Instagram: instagram.com/learn__serbian Spotify: https://open.spotify.com/show/4ghpdjpodIGNhEmKy2Dc7Z?si=173f8520d0ed4478 Support us: https://buymeacoffee.com/mozekafapodcast

"I have come as a light into the world, that whoever believes in Me should not abide in darkness." Jn 12:46 NKJVJohn Ortberg writes: "In 1780 a Jesus-follower in Great Britain named Robert Raikes could not stand the cycle of poverty and ignorance that was destroying little children, a whole generation. He said, 'The world marches forward on the feet of little children.So he took children who had to work six days a week in squalor. Sunday was their free day.He said, 'I'm going to start a school for free to teach them to read and write and learn about God! He did, and he called it Sunday school.Within fifty years, there were 1.5 million children being taught by 160,000 volunteer teachers who had a vision for the education of a generation. Sunday school was not a privatized, optional program for church kids.It was one of the great educational volunteer triumphs of the world. The alphabet of the Slavic peoples is called Cyrillic. It was named for Saint Cyril, who was a missionary to the Slavs and discovered they had no written alphabet. Thus he created one for them so they would be able to read about Jesus in their own language...A Methodist missionary,Frank Laubach, cited an extraordinary encounter with God about a century ago that put him on a mission to lift the world out of ignorance. He began a worldwide literacy movement. The phrase 'Each one teach one' flows out of the extraordinary life of this man.He travelled to more than a hundred countries and led to the development of primers in 313 languages. He became known as 'the apostle to the illiterates.'"Support the showChanging Lives | Building Strong Family | Impacting Our Community For Jesus Christ!

Welcome to the Instant Trivia podcast episode 1255, where we ask the best trivia on the Internet. Round 1. Category: Oh Ph. With Ph in quotes 1: For the record, Thomas Edison invented the first practical one of these in 1877. the phonograph. 2: The mortar and pestle is a symbol of this profession. a pharmacist. 3: In days gone by this game bird was popularly served "under glass". a pheasant. 4: A finger bone, or a group of heavily armed infantry with overlapping weapons. a phalanx. 5: In mythology, after Hippolytus rejects her, this wife of Theseus hangs herself. Phaedra. Round 2. Category: Wallaces 1: Lurleen Burns married this man when she was 16 and later succeeded him as governor of Alabama. George Wallace. 2: Before "Braveheart" his story was told in the 15th century by Henry the Minstrel. William Wallace. 3: (Hi, I'm Wallace Langham) Mike's son, this broadcaster became NBC News White House Correspondent in 1982. Chris Wallace. 4: He and his wife Lila launched Reader's Digest in 1922 with a press run of 5,000. DeWitt Wallace. 5: "The Emperor of Ice-Cream" is a famous work by this poet whose day job was VP of an insurance company. Wallace Stevens. Round 3. Category: Chicago 1: Remove 1 letter from the name of a plaza in Dallas and you get this plaza in Chicago's Loop. Daley Plaza. 2: Nearly 250,000 gathered to see Obama's 2008 victory speech in Chicago's front yard, this park named for another president. Grant Park. 3: Scandalous highlight of the 1893 Columbian Exposition and title of the following:"She had a ruby on her tummy and / A diamond big as Texas on her toe, whoa whoa / She let her hair down and / She did the hoochie coochie real slow, whoa whoa". "Little Egypt". 4: Untouchable Tours visits such sanguineous spots as the site of this February 1929 event. the Valentine's Day Massacre. 5: Some attribute this nickname of the city to its proud, boasting citizens, not its breeziness. "The Windy City". Round 4. Category: 20Th Century Thinkers 1: Called the Russian Revolution's most brilliant thinker, he lost a power struggle with Stalin and was killed in Mexico. Trotsky. 2: This New Yorker wondered, "Can we actually 'know' the universe?... It's hard enough finding your way around Chinatown". Woody Allen. 3: The works of this woman on the left include 1965's "Normality and Pathology in Childhood". Anna Freud. 4: This 3-named economist was an architect of the International Monetary Fund and part of the Bloomsbury Group. Keynes. 5: This "in the machine" was Gilbert Ryle's term for the idea that the mind is apart from the body yet controls it. ghost in the machine. Round 5. Category: Written In Cyrillic 1: Some Tajik speakers call their language Zaboni Forsi, meaning this national tongue. Persian. 2: This carnivore associated with Russia is medved in Russian. a bear. 3: One way to say hello in Serbian is this, borrowed from Italian. ciao. 4: In Ukrainian, this winter month when Russia invaded in 2022 is Lyutyy, "cruel". February. 5: Belarussian took words like "pan", meaning "sir" or "mister" from this language spoken due west of Belarus. Polish. Thanks for listening! Come back tomorrow for more exciting trivia!Special thanks to https://blog.feedspot.com/trivia_podcasts/ AI Voices used

rWotD Episode 2614: Flag of the Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic Welcome to Random Wiki of the Day, your journey through Wikipedia’s vast and varied content, one random article at a time.The random article for Sunday, 30 June 2024 is Flag of the Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic.The Flag of the Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic was adopted on 25 December 1951. Prior to this, the flag was red with the Cyrillic characters БССР (BSSR) in gold in the top-left corner, surrounded by a gold border. Between 1937 and the adoption of the above flag in the 1940s, the flag was the same, but with a gold hammer and sickle above the Cyrillic characters and no border. Between 1919 and 1937, the flag was red, with the Cyrillic characters ССРБ (SSRB) in the top left-hand corner. In early 1919, a plain red flag was used. The final BSSR flag was used until the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. A flag based on this Soviet design is used as the national flag of Belarus.This recording reflects the Wikipedia text as of 00:53 UTC on Sunday, 30 June 2024.For the full current version of the article, see Flag of the Byelorussian Soviet Socialist Republic on Wikipedia.This podcast uses content from Wikipedia under the Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike License.Visit our archives at wikioftheday.com and subscribe to stay updated on new episodes.Follow us on Mastodon at @wikioftheday@masto.ai.Also check out Curmudgeon's Corner, a current events podcast.Until next time, I'm standard Raveena.

ASMR Teaching You Russian Alphabet (Cyrillic) ~ Soft SpokenAdvertising Inquiries: https://redcircle.com/brandsPrivacy & Opt-Out: https://redcircle.com/privacy

The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk.   Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners.   When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time.   After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.

The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk.   Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners.   When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time.   After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.

Saturday, 30 March 2024   “And when we all had fallen to the ground, I heard a voice speaking to me and saying in the Hebrew language, ‘Saul, Saul, why are you persecuting Me? It is hard for you to kick against the goads.' Acts 26:14   In the previous verse, Paul told the king about the light from heaven, brighter than the sun, that was shining around him and those with him. He continues next with, “And when we all had fallen to the ground.”   Again, Paul gives a bit more detail than in the past. He says that not only he fell to the ground, but those with him did as well. This was not stated by Luke in Acts 9, and Paul left it out of his words to those of Israel gathered before him in Acts 22.   Apparently, the light was so overwhelming that they were simply stunned by it to the point of bringing them to the ground. From there, he next says, “I heard a voice speaking to me and saying in the Hebrew language.”   Paul specifically identifies the voice as being in Hebrew. This was unnecessary in Acts 9 and Acts 22. However, Paul is addressing a room filled with various people, all of whom would have spoken Greek, along with any other language they knew. Therefore, Paul continues with the words spoken to him, saying, “‘Saul, Saul.”   The spelling of the name of Saul in both Acts 9 and Acts 22 indicated a Hebrew, not a Greek, address. The Hebrew is SAOUL, the Greek is SAULOS. There was no need for him to tell the audience this in Acts 22 as they were Jews who listened to the account.   However, it may be that he specifically addresses the council with the words “in the Hebrew language” to let the non-Hebrews know that it was the Jewish Lord who spoke to him, thus definitively identifying to them that the Messiah is, in fact, Jewish.   Further, this is one of the many proofs that the NT was written not in Aramaic or Hebrew, but in Greek. If not, then this, and each other such instance, is a non-scriptural addition. In this case, it is the spelling of the name that indicates this to us. Of the words spoken by the voice to him, he next says, “why are you persecuting Me?”   Again, as in the past, the voice asks, “Why are you persecuting Me?” In fact, Paul had persecuted Christians. Therefore, an attack against the body is an attack against the head. Paul's efforts were only hurting himself as the voice then tells him with the words, “It is hard for you to kick against the goads.”   Rather, the Greek is less specific, saying, “Hard for you to kick against goads.” It is an exact repeat of Acts 9:5, and it is how a Hebrew would speak, normally using less definitive wording than a Greek to express the same thought. Of kicking against the goads, the scholars at Cambridge describe that action –    “The figure is from an ox, being driven on in his work. When restive or lazy, the driver pricks him, and in ignorance of the consequences, he kicks back, and so gets another wound. The words would imply that God had been guiding Saul towards the true light for some time before, and that this zeal for persecution was a resistance of the divine urging. It is not unusual for men who are moved to break away from old traditions at such times, by outward acts, to manifest even more zeal than before for their old opinions, as if in fear lest they should be thought to be falling away. This may have been Saul's case, his kicking against the goads.”   According to Vincent's Word Studies, this metaphor concerning the goads is not found in Hebrew writing, but it was common among Greek and Roman writings.   Life application: As noted above, the words of Paul in this verse, as recorded by Luke, clearly indicate that the New Testament was first penned in Greek. Paul conveyed his name in Hebrew in the past, but he does so in Greek now for the benefit of the hearer. From there Luke clearly expresses the Greek form, something unnecessary in the previous accounts of this event.   Instances like this are found throughout the New Testament as well –   “‘Behold, the virgin shall be with child, and bear a Son, and they shall call His name Immanuel,' which is translated, ‘God with us.'” Matthew 1:23   “Then He took the child by the hand, and said to her, ‘Talitha, cumi,' which is translated, ‘Little girl, I say to you, arise.'” Mark 5:41   Now there is in Jerusalem by the Sheep Gate a pool, which is called in Hebrew, Bethesda, having five porches. John 5:2   And they gathered them together to the place called in Hebrew, Armageddon. Revelation 16:16   These are just a few examples. If the words were not originally penned in Greek, but rather in Hebrew (or Aramaic), such explanations would not be necessary. And more, their inclusion now would mean that the words are not inspired.   This is important because we can see the transfer of the redemptive message away from only Israel to the entire world. But this was initiated long before the writing of the gospels when the Greek translation of the Old Testament was made. That is what is most commonly cited in the New Testament.   God was preparing the world for the message of the Messiah to go out in the most common language of the day, Greek. From there, it would then be translated into other languages. Some alphabets, such as the Cyrillic, were actually developed for the purpose of bringing Scripture to the people of the world.   Because of the work of Christian ministries, the Cyrillic alphabet is now used from Mongolia and Russia even to Ukraine and Serbia, along with many other nations. To this day, new written alphabets are being developed by people groups that do not have a written alphabet. This is being done to share the good news about Jesus.   From the Hebrew and Aramaic of the Old Testament to the Greek of the New, the whole world is being given this wonderful treasure we call the Holy Bible in their own languages. Thanks be to God for those who are going forth to make this possible!   Lord God Almighty, we lift up the missionaries who are sharing the good news of Jesus around the world. Give them wisdom and fortitude to continue on. May Your hand guide them and bless them each step of the way. To Your glory, we pray. Amen.

Руслан Магомедов - ODINTRI - художник каллиграф специализирующийся на работе с каллиграфией, применяя технику письма в своих проектах от холстов, предметов интерьера, одежды и машин до Муралов высокоэтажных домов. Автор сочетает в своих работах кириллический и арабский стиль письма. Часто это тексты из мифологии различных культур, цитаты из священных писаний и великих деятелей. ODINTRI создает произведения искусства, которые восхищают зрителей по всему миру. Его работы были представлены в Третьяковской галерее и в музее The Copelouzos Family Art Museum в Афинах. А так находятся в частных коллекциях в России, Испании, Арабских Эмиратах, Турции, Индонезии и США. Ruslan Magomedov - ODINTRI - is a calligraphic artist specializing in working with calligraphy, using the writing technique in his projects from canvases, interior items, clothing and cars to Murals of high-rise buildings. The author combines Cyrillic and Arabic writing styles in his works. Often these are texts from the mythology of various cultures, quotes from scriptures and great figures. ODINTRI creates works of art that delight audiences around the world. His works have been exhibited at the Tretyakov Gallery and The Copelouzos Family Art Museum in Athens. And they are in private collections in Russia, Spain, the United Arab Emirates, Turkey, Indonesia and the USA. FIND RUSLAN ON SOCIAL MEDIA Instagram ================================SUPPORT & CONNECT:Support on Patreon: ⁠https://www.patreon.com/denofrich⁠Twitter: ⁠https://twitter.com/denofrich⁠Facebook: ⁠https://www.facebook.com/mark.develman/⁠YouTube: ⁠https://www.youtube.com/denofrich⁠Instagram: ⁠https://www.instagram.com/den_of_rich/⁠Hashtag: #denofrich© Copyright 2023 Den of Rich. All rights reserved.

Full Text of ReadingsAsh Wednesday Lectionary: 219The Saint of the day is Saints Cyril and MethodiusSaints Cyril and Methodius' Stories Because their father was an officer in a part of Greece inhabited by many Slavs, these two Greek brothers ultimately became missionaries, teachers, and patrons of the Slavic peoples. After a brilliant course of studies, Cyril (called Constantine until he became a monk shortly before his death) refused the governorship of a district such as his brother had accepted among the Slavic-speaking population. Cyril withdrew to a monastery where his brother Methodius had become a monk after some years in a governmental post. A decisive change in their lives occurred when the Duke of Moravia asked the Eastern Emperor Michael for political independence from German rule and ecclesiastical autonomy (having their own clergy and liturgy). Cyril and Methodius undertook the missionary task. Cyril's first work was to invent an alphabet, still used in some Eastern liturgies. His followers probably formed the Cyrillic alphabet. Together they translated the Gospels, the psalter, Paul's letters and the liturgical books into Slavonic, and composed a Slavonic liturgy, highly irregular then. That and their free use of the vernacular in preaching led to opposition from the German clergy. The bishop refused to consecrate Slavic bishops and priests, and Cyril was forced to appeal to Rome. On the visit to Rome, he and Methodius had the joy of seeing their new liturgy approved by Pope Adrian II. Cyril, long an invalid, died in Rome 50 days after taking the monastic habit. Methodius continued mission work for 16 more years. He was papal legate for all the Slavic peoples, consecrated a bishop and then given an ancient see (now in the Czech Republic). When much of their former territory was removed from their jurisdiction, the Bavarian bishops retaliated with a violent storm of accusation against Methodius. As a result, Emperor Louis the German exiled Methodius for three years. Pope John VIII secured his release. Because the Frankish clergy, still smarting, continued their accusations, Methodius had to go to Rome to defend himself against charges of heresy and uphold his use of the Slavonic liturgy. He was again vindicated. Legend has it that in a feverish period of activity, Methodius translated the whole Bible into Slavonic in eight months. He died on Tuesday of Holy Week, surrounded by his disciples, in his cathedral church. Opposition continued after his death, and the work of the brothers in Moravia was brought to an end and their disciples scattered. But the expulsions had the beneficial effect of spreading the spiritual, liturgical, and cultural work of the brothers to Bulgaria, Bohemia and southern Poland. Patrons of Moravia, and specially venerated by Catholic Czechs, Slovaks, Croatians, Orthodox Serbians and Bulgarians, Cyril and Methodius are eminently fitted to guard the long-desired unity of East and West. In 1980, Pope John Paul II named them additional co-patrons of Europe. Reflection Holiness means reacting to human life with God's love: human life as it is, crisscrossed with the political and the cultural, the beautiful and the ugly, the selfish and the saintly. For Cyril and Methodius much of their daily cross had to do with the language of the liturgy. They are not saints because they got the liturgy into Slavonic, but because they did so with the courage and humility of Christ. Saints Cyril and Methodius are the Patron Saints of: Slavic PeoplesEcumenism Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media

M, the Head of the British Secret Service, assigns James Bond, 007, to play against and bankrupt Le Chiffre, the paymaster for a SMERSH-controlled trade union, in a high-stakes baccarat game at the Royale-les-Eaux casino in northern France. As part of Bond's cover as a rich Jamaican playboy, M also assigns as his companion Vesper Lynd, personal assistant to the Head of Section S (Soviet Union). The CIA and the French Deuxième Bureau also send agents as observers. The game soon turns into an intense confrontation between Le Chiffre and Bond; Le Chiffre wins the first round, cleaning Bond out of his funds. As Bond contemplates the prospect of reporting his failure to M, the CIA agent, Felix Leiter, gives him an envelope of money and a note: "Marshall Aid. Thirty-two million francs. With the compliments of the USA." The game continues, despite the attempts of one of Le Chiffre's minders to kill Bond. Bond eventually wins, taking from Le Chiffre eighty million francs belonging to SMERSH. Desperate to recover the money, Le Chiffre kidnaps Lynd and tortures Bond, threatening to kill them both if he does not get the money back. During the torture, a SMERSH assassin enters and kills Le Chiffre as punishment for losing the money. The agent does not kill Bond, saying that he has no orders to do so, but cuts a Cyrillic 'Ш' for шпион (shpión, Russian for spy) into Bond's hand so that future SMERSH agents will be able to identify him as such. Lynd visits Bond every day as he recuperates in hospital, and he gradually realises that he loves her; he even contemplates leaving the Secret Service to settle down with her. When he is released from hospital they spend time together at a quiet guest house and eventually become lovers. One day they see a mysterious man named Gettler tracking their movements, which greatly distresses Lynd. The following morning, Bond finds that she has committed suicide. She leaves behind a note explaining that she had been working as an unwilling double agent for the Soviet Ministry of Internal Affairs. SMERSH had kidnapped her lover, a Polish Royal Air Force pilot, who had revealed information about her under torture; SMERSH then used that information to blackmail her into helping them undermine Bond's mission, including her own faked kidnapping. She had tried to start a new life with Bond, but upon seeing Gettler—a SMERSH agent—she realised that she would never be free of her tormentors, and that staying with Bond would only put him in danger. Bond informs his service of Lynd's duplicity, coldly telling his contact, "The bitch is dead now.

Santa & His Team Makes Up For A North Pole Screw-Up.By Demi Urging. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.It's the wee hours of December 26th. Rick is finally shoving the last of his teetering friends through their front door, He volunteered to be designated driver again, for about half a dozen friends & co-workers.Another Christmas gathering passed as the clock ticked into the next day and it seemed he'd be single again into the new year. He thought he would have gotten over it by age thirty.He did have a pity date from last year  for New Year's Eve. It hadn't been a nice date, either; she stayed for a single kiss at midnight and left without another word. The same woman has a boyfriend this year, so Rick couldn't ask again even if his pride would allow it. Now he'll get plenty of sleep.The only sign of the holidays in his life was the box of fudge sitting on his counter, Which his elderly neighbor gave him the night before Christmas.He wouldn't even eat it tonight. Sleep had to come first, then he had a week off, since the boss knew most of the team would be useless if he had them come in that week.Climbing the stairs, he smelled something delectable, coming out of the 4th floor stairwell. He thought one of his neighbors must have made actual food instead of subsisting on beer and crackers like his friends had. Maybe he would eat some of that fudge after all, since a glass of water and a handful of crackers in the face of a home-cooked meal seemed inadequate.It had to be Miss Thompson. Rick thought that the old gal had gone off to the country for the day to visit with her kids, but the smell of his mom's ham with orange & clove seasoning didn't lie, and it was absolutely coming from somewhere on this floor, getting stronger as he approached his own apartment.Taking a final pleasant sniff before entering his lonely apartment, Rick turned, halfway opened his front door, and was smacked in the face with a bouquet of aromas that sent his mind back to Christmas dinner with mom and dad.Rick stepped back. Wrong apartment, he thought. But when he checked the address, expecting to be on the wrong floor somehow, he was met with the very same number he saw every day. He considered calling the cops, but wanted to know the actual situation before making that decision. So, flicked-open pocket knife in hand, he very slowly pushed the door open again.“Aren't you coming in?” A slender, bright-eyed young woman in an apron and a horribly ugly holiday sweater three sizes too large, only bare leg showing underneath its hem, was standing in the entryway.She giggled, fluffy blonde locks bouncing around peaked ears, and took Rick by the hand, gently tugging him inside. “Come on, silly, it's nice and warm. I have a fire going that's the perfect size for snuggling and supper just came out of the oven.”Ah, so a crazy person broke in. At least they…“A Fire!?” Rick asked as he pulled himself out of her grasp and ran further inside, desperately trying to remember where he kept the extinguisher. But he stopped when he saw what she really meant: his television was showing a video of a fireplace and putting out the smooth jazz version of Christmas favorites, & also a heater stationed below it provided heat along with what looked like a genuine polar bear skin rug.Jittering followed as the girl joined him. “I am sorry I couldn't have a real one tonight, but there was no fireplace so this is the best I could do. Now, let's get you fed while it's nice and piping hot, and then we can open presents.”A glance around the room revealed a small pine tree, dazzling with ornaments and laden with expertly-wrapped boxes underneath. Rick's dining room table held more food than it ever had before and glimmered with candlelight that danced gleefully as the girl dimmed the lights and retrieved the last item from the oven, coming around with a ceramic dish of bubbling, hot food to finish off the spread. She pulled a chair out for him to sit, pouting when he declined her service.“What is this and who are you?” Rick discreetly tucked his knife away.“This is Christmas dinner for my sweetie, of course. It'll start getting cold soon, so why don't I make you a plate?While she scooped Rick's plate with food, He considered his plan of action. The way she bounced to a beat, humming along with the television, the points of her ears were over-worldly?Rick reached out and tugged on one of the girl's ears. She yelped, tightening up so as not to drop the plate, and begged him with a tremble in her voice, “Sweetie, please don't.”When he released her, she set his place at the table and did the same for herself. He took his seat.“Merry Christmas, my sweet one. While you were away, Santa came along and dropped off a bunch of presents for you. I thought you would like the surprise and we could eat first before talking, but I guess I crossed a line, haven't I?”Rick put a bite of ham in his mouth, the girl brightening up as he started to eat.It had to be one of the most delicious things he'd had the pleasure to shove in his face. Mom's cooking, with its nostalgic advantage was still blown out of the water, and Rick felt sorry that he would never get to taste this for the first time again. Too soon it was all gone and the girl was carrying out a plate of apple and chocolate pie with ice cream on the side. This too didn't last and something about her constant giggling warmed him inside in a way he couldn't very well describe.As he finished the last bite of chocolate pie, she came over to his chair & wrapped herself around his neck from behind, softness and warmth pressing into his back and fluffy, blonde hair tickling his cheek. “Oh, Messy boy” she said, and leaned forward to smooch a crumb off his cheek.Before Rick could object, as little as he was inclined to, she had already slipped away to put dishes in the sink and his back felt uncomfortably cold with her absence.“That was pretty good; amazing actually.” Rick said, “But seriously, who are you? Did one of my friends hire you or something?” He dismissed the idea.“No, my mother? She's one of the only people with a key to my place.Unless; it was the landlady?”The girl stretched in the warm air with a luxurious moan escaping peachy lips, the neck of her XXL sweater spilling over a shoulder, exposing so much skin underneath that it was impossible for her to be wearing anything underneath. “I'm an elf!” she proclaimed. She curtsied, at least there were denim cutoff shorts underneath the sweater.  Rick just stared.“Didn't you hear me? Santa came by, because you were such a good boy, and we set all this up for you. Well, not to toot my own horn, but I did all the cooking and decorating, Santa brought presents. Oh, and I'm Sugarbell. I'm here to make your Christmas wish come true!”She'd taken a pose as if she was popping out of a giant layer cake; like there should be celebratory confetti shooting out. But she just stood there in awkward silence.Rick sighed, so she was a crazy chick after all. “Okay, miss elf, why don't you get out of here before I have to call the police. And how did you get in here anyway?”“Magic,” Sugarbell said, looking crestfallen, her ears drooping.“You're not giving me a good argument not to call the police. Can you at least take off the fake ears so we can really talk about this?”“Fake? Sweetie? She skipped over to a green sack by the door and plucked out a wrinkled, yellowed piece of paper. "Ahem,‘Dear Santa, I've been a good boy all year if you don't count that stuff that my sister says and all I really want is a girlfriend.' and then there's a colored pencil drawing of a girl with black pigtails who I think is your crush. ‘It's okay if I don't get one, I know that's asking for a lot, but it doesn't look like mom and Dave are going to be able to give out lots of toys this year, so don't worry about it if you can't. Merry Christmas. BTW I'm making snickerdoodles this year, so make sure you grab your share before Dave can steal them all again.'and there's your signature.”She handed the letter over for inspection. It was definitely his handwriting, his drawing skills from almost two decades ago…“So you were sent by my mother. You could have just said that and we'd have been fine. I'm sorry, she's pushy but I know she means well… should have told me I'd have company and I would have skipped that party. Anyway, what's your actual name?”“I'm Sugarbell. And I wasn't sent by her, Santa brought me. Here, look.” She tugged on her ear, leaning up so Rick could look closely. It was either real or the seam of the rubber was so well hidden that it might as well be. “I suppose this would be a little hard to believe for an adult. Sorry, I haven't actually spoken with a human for a few years.”Rick shook his head. “Your makeup's good, I'll give you that.”Rick angled his hips so the elf wouldn't notice a certain reflex to her melding to his shape. She was incredibly soft in his arms, just short of purring, the smell of peppermint coming off as she rubbed against him.Sugarbell stared up at him, her wide, green eyes shining with reflected candlelight. “But I'm not a crazy. I…” She went to the polar bearskin rug in front of the television, so big for the room that it bunched up against the walls in that corner, took a seat and patted the place beside her for him to take. Rick was not so troubled as he was amused, so he sat next to her on the rug in front of the sofa, facing the fake fire. She rested her head against his shoulder and twined her fingers in his with no resistance.“Um…” he said, “You got me, I guess, but what is all this?”“It's a little embarrassing for all of us who screwed up,” she said, “You see, back when we got that letter, we were using a new kind of mail bag and, as we would soon find out, letters would sometimes get caught in the seams. And the elf in charge of distributing letters wasn't especially conscientious. Rather than going through the trouble of digging out the trapped ones as he knew there would be, they instead ended up stuck inside, in a pile in the corner of the sorting room. It wouldn't have been that much of a problem, aside from that one elf's termination we would have just sorted through when we found the pile and spread out what good will we could. But then we arrived at your letter.”“I mean, I was a dumb 10 year old kid. It's not something I would ask for these days.”Sugarbell airily giggled, her cheek burned against his arm. “Sweetie, that wasn't the problem. We get so many requests for things like that; puppies, little brothers or sisters, a bunch-a edgy. Usually, we'd plan on whatever we could. Are the parents getting a pet? Is someone pregnant or likely to be? If not, a stuffed animal or baby doll would do the trick, and plastic weapons are wholesome enough as it is. The trouble came in an unfortunate fact: you were in the top hundred of the nice list that year.”“First of all, I don't believe you, but why would it be an issue?”“Top hundred and a random assortment on top of that get their wish, period. According to our records, you didn't submit one… had we known what you wanted, we couldn't very well kidnap someone and brainwash them, but we absolutely could have an elf facilitate a meeting, and stick around to help out a burgeoning romance. Of course, we didn't find your letter in the pile until this year. It wouldn't do for us to get off with as light as a card and a toy anymore, so here I am.” Sugarbell hugged his arm tightly to her chest and kissed his cheek. “I'm your present this year. Sorry it took so long for your wish to come true.” It doesn't make up for the twenty years you've lost, but We can only fix today.Rick reeled from the stream of revelations, not the least of which being that Santa was a real guy. And here was an eager, adorable, blonde lovely thing clinging to him, unwittingly giving him quite the show as her sweater's wide neck dipped down with her promised land hiding behind a tantalizing, flickering shadow. He averted his eyes, hoping she couldn't feel his heart going crazy through his palm, but her puckish smile said that she knew very well the effect her supple, inviting cuddliness was having.He paused. “So Santa just gave me one of his elves? What, did you draw the short stick?”“We're not slaves, you know. It's a career.”As he leaned back, supported by the sofa seat; Sugarbell straddled into his lap, wrapping her legs around his waist. There was no way she couldn't feel the ‘wooden soldier' poking her thighs from below.“Upon discovery of your letter, several of us thought that we could still make your wish come true, so Santa put out a call for volunteers. I won.” Before he could respond, she leaned into him, rocking him onto his back while she straddled; her warm, green eyes glittering in the false firelight on the tv as she came in for a transient peck on the lips. Then she teased him by hopping up and padding over to the kitchen.From where he lay, Rick watched her pull a tray from the oven and came back to the fire to kneel beside him.He asked, “People volunteered to be with me?” It was hard to imagine even two women fighting over him.Sugarbell frowned like she knew this conversation was going to happen sooner or later and could no longer be postponed. “Fifty of us young lady elves entered the pool. We played rock paper scissors for the position, and I won the tournament.Of course; if you don't want me, I'm sure we can drop someone else off for you. Any one of them would love to take my place.”“I just can't believe it.” Rick sat up and drew her into his arms, sitting her on one leg so the soldier couldn't get in the way. It seemed that she prepared to be rejected at this point, and he'd said so much to make her think he would, threatened to have her removed by the authorities after all.“It's a lot to take in, you know? How the heck was I in the top hundred? I don't remember doing anything especially great. Why not give my place to one of those prodigies out saving the rainforest or whatever?”She'd relaxed in his arms, nestled into the crook of his shoulder and curled in her slender legs. “We take lots of factors into consideration. The kindest people don't pay attention to how kind they are. They just do the right thing."And I thought you were a home invader.”“Nuh-uh.” She wiggled herself up until her lips touched his earlobe and whispered, “It's only home invasion when the owner doesn't want you there. Tell me who laid out milk and cookies all those years? Wasn't that you?”Her nuzzling and shimmying had tugged the overlarge neck of her sweater so far down across one shoulder that she was in danger of revealing herself from just the swell of her curvaceous breast with every breath, not that it seemed she would mind. Sugarbell wagged her pert butt in his lap, her fingers wandered underneath his sweatshirt and sweetly tugged at the t-shirt underneath when she found it was tucked in. The same breath which raised her chest came to him as a cool breeze on his neck.She said, “Tell me, what's the one thing you've always wanted to do, that you couldn't without a girlfriend?” One corner of his undershirt came free from his jeans.It was too fast, Rick hugged her tighter, trapping her hands to squirm uselessly against his belly. He grabbed her sweater and pulled the neck back off her shoulder, saving her from the risk of exposure. Giggling wildly, she plunged her hands under his plain gray sweatshirt and tickled his armpits without mercy until it was just too much to bear and Rick fell sideways, holding in suppressed laughter, landing onto his back.But it didn't end, Sugarbell seized the moment of his weakness and took hold of the sweatshirt's hem, pulling the whole thing up above his head in a smooth motion and trapping his arms in a cottony prison. She laid herself over his chest and at last succeeded in untucking his shirt. Meanwhile his bulge rested between the two cheeks of her very toned ass, and she rubbed against it with her subtle motions.Eagerness burned in her rosy cheeks. Her downy, golden hair fell around their faces, dividing them from the world, but a few deep breaths later, her giggling petered out and she rolled off, spending the last of her laughter beside him on the floor.“Sorry, sorry, we haven't even eaten dessert yet.” she said breathlessly, jumping up and scurrying back to the kitchen.Rick discarded his sweatshirt; it was already getting too warm for him. Watching on as Sugarbell's perky rear bounced away did nothing for dissipating his erection, begging him as it was, to just get on with it already. It didn't have long to calm down before she returned with a plate of tiny, pink cookies.“No, don't get up,” she said as she set the plate down on the rug, “Go ahead and try one, I'll pick a present for both of us, from the North Pole team.”The first bite of the little cookie exploded with crispy flakiness and a sophisticated undertone of strawberry. Rick snuck a second cookie before Sugarbell had time to return from the tree, with a couple gifts.“These are incredible!” he blurted through a cheekful of crumbs.She took one for herself and examined it between pinched fingers. “I wish I had more time to make them. It's the little touches that make the difference, but I wasn't able to let the egg whites get to room temperature before I beat them. And I know they say you can use a hand mixer to get the same results, but I think merenge needs the personal touch of a handheld whisk, even if it takes longer.”“What are you talking about? They're delicious.”Sugarbell sat next to him, leaning against the sofa, and kissed his cheek. Then sliding a present into his lap to open. “They're called sugarbells. My mom's version is so much better than mine.”Rick looked at the gift tag, but the sender's name was in Cyrillic so it was hopeless to try reading it. “Where did all these come from anyway?”“Let's see… that one's from the workshop, most of them are. The sender is an elf named Tart. Technically it's actually Tort, but that's what he prefers.”Rather than carefully preserve the beauty of the wrapping on her gift, Sugarbell plunged her fingertip under a flap and ripped the paper off in a single ragged chunk. She tipped the lid up to see inside, yelped, and put the package out of reach.“What was it?” Rick asked. The box was on her other side and she leaned in the way of his arm when he started reaching around to get at it.“Well, it was, uh,” she stammered, eyes darting back and forth until she realized there wasn't a way out of telling him the truth. “It's something of a gift to both of us, from the workshop's confectioner.” She waved him close and whispered with a warm breath against his ear, “Edible underwear.”Before he could respond with his own bewilderment, Sugarbell crawled away to fetch another pair of presents from the pile. She wouldn't look him in the eye when she thrust the next one into his hands. Did she think she hadn't already crossed the line from adorable into suggestive, or was it just too much to be hit smack in the face with the implications? This self-conscious side of her was adorable in its own way too.He decided to prod her. “Alright,” he said, “New rule: no hiding anything, and presents have to be tried out right away. Okay?”Sugarbell nodded solemnly and began drawing the hem of her sweater up, laying bare her tight, smooth belly, and was saved at the last moment when it crested her ribs and Rick caught her wrist.His bluff overwhelmingly called, Rick let her off easy and kissed her forehead. “Sorry, I just meant we should show off what we got. No need to strip right here and now.”“So,” Rick said, uneasy in his seat, “Are there going to be any of these that aren't… romantic?”At least Sugarbell looked ruffled too, swaying on her knees after pulling out another couple gifts. “Most of these are from elves who really wanted to be with you tonight instead of me.” She stuffed a cookie in her face rather than continue explaining.They opened the next wave of gifts in one fell swoop of torn paper and ribbon to avoid any unnecessary embarrassment. Out came a matching set of horrendously ugly sweaters in their respective sizes and a book titled 'guide to faeries' which Sugarbell suspiciously slid underneath the pile without mentioning in any way.Rick said, “Well, at least we haven't found any dildos…” There was a pregnant pause as Sugarbell's eyes flicked toward a long, slim present leaned up against the wall.Sugarbell reverently set each box before them and for the first time went to the trouble of finding an edge to peel back instead of ripping the thing to shreds in a festive feeding frenzy. “These two,” she said, “Are from Santa himself.”In the first box, addressed to Rick, there was a wooden doll in the shape of a tiny, flaxen-haired elf complete with a red dress and curly-toed shoes festooned with actual, minuscule bells.The other package, Sugarbell's, opened to reveal a group photo with dozens of short people trying to get their heads in frame all at once, almost crowding out the wizened man in the center. She held it close to her chest for a long moment and set it aside.“Good thing that's the last of them, garbage bag is near to bursting.” Rick said.“That wasn't the last one.” She tugged on his shirt to keep him in place before he could retreat to take out the trash.“What do you mean, did I miss one under the tree?”Sugarbell crawled behind him and when he tried to look, she gently turned his face away. Moments later, the muffled sound of wool dropping on the carpet came amid the soft jazz Christmas carols and the crackle of fire. Pale arms enveloped his neck and naked softness pressed against his nape. “You still have one more present to unwrap.” she whispered.He took her hands in his and pushed down his feelings; this was too good to be true. “It's okay, I understand everything now. I had a lot of fun tonight and I appreciate the gesture, but you don't have to go that far for someone like me.”She slid down his back like dripping cream and he felt her lips lay a line of pecks up from his neck to his ear. She whispered; “There's such a thing as being too nice, you know. A girl might get her feelings hurt like that.”Her tongue ran the length of his earlobe and she nibbled at it as a penalty. Her voice was sultry and inviting; “I'm not wearing a bra, can't you feel that?” She rubbed herself against him to ensure he would feel her firm nipples tickling across his back. “Does it feel like I'm coerced? Or do I seem like the kind of girl who would act this way for just anyone? We found that letter six months ago… I've been watching you, falling in love with you, for so long.” Each passing day my desire for you has grown.“There's no way…”“No way someone like me could fall for someone like you?” Sugarbell bit his neck. If only the really big things counted toward being good, there would be so few good people, wouldn't there?“"I mean, as long as you're okay with it.”There was some rustling behind his back as Sugarbell wriggled and reached back, producing her little, denim shorts so he could see and dropping them in his lap. The girl hugging herself so tightly to his back was wearing nothing but panties and moaned into his ear, “Carry me to the bed, please?”Libido won out; Rick turned and scooped her up to a giddy squeal, as her legs locked around his waist, Rick was blessed with handfuls of bouncy ass and hurriedly carried her to the his room to set her down in bed.She'd done her magic in there as well, ceiling hung with red and gold garlands, mistletoe above each doorway. The bedspread was made with a quilted comforter patterned with reindeer frolicking across the tundra. It was obvious that she wanted to end up in there from the start.Sugarbell pulled his head down for a kiss, prodding between his lips with the tip of her tongue, eagerly melding herself to his body, mingling her tongue with his. They came apart with a heavy breath, forgetting how long they had been under. She covertly undid the buckle of his belt and tugged his pants down into a heap at his feet, then delved underneath his t-shirt again, spread her delicate fingers across his chest, and pressed herself into him as he drew it over his head.Abruptly, she tweaked his nipples and retreated before he could retaliate, plopping herself on his bedspread and, calming herself a pinch, spread her knees apart. The one article of clothing between them was a pair of red, lacy panties with a cotton sprig of mistletoe hung by a little bow. As Rick gawked at the dainty outline. The panties were tied at both hips, with stretch lace straps. Sugarbell squirmed, her own gaze flitting to and from his growing erection, but she kept her legs open.“It's mistletoe…” she said quietly.“Um, yeah.”“You know what that means, don't you?”In answer, Rick crawled down and kissed her thigh. Her fingers twined in his hair and an unrestricted murmur of pleasure came from above, encouraging him to advance toward her heat, laying kisses all the way up her creamy thigh until he was inches away from her warm aroma. The fabric was in the way, but he could feel her silkiness on his lips, against his tongue.Her fingers left their comfortable place in his hair to pull on the knots at her hips, let her panties fall away and revealed bare, pink skin.Rick wasted no time, pushed forward to kiss her again, running his tongue along her lips, pausing to pin in his mind the spots where she moaned or her leg twitched against his head. Already he could feel wetness on his tongue, heat spreading throughout her body. A chorus of gasps and moans fell from above and quick peeks down below showed that Sugarbell's toes were curling. Pride swelled in his chest as he smooched and licked her most sensitive spots.“Okay, stop,” Sugarbell pushed his head away and sighed, falling back for a second before rolling backwards onto her knees on the bed. “Come here,” she said, patting the space beside her, “Lie down right here, on you back.”He obeyed and had a shock. He would have said something, but a lingering lick up his shaft to the tip stole his words with a moan. Delicate fingers wrapped around it and gently stroked as she nestled against his thigh and lapped at his balls, merrily humming as she took pleasure in the situation.Popping a testicle in her mouth and swirling it around with her tongue, Sugarbell's pert ass swayed in the air, her other hand wandering up her leg so she could rub herself against her palm. Rick could only reach down to pet her head as she suckled.Sugarbell slowly ran her tongue around the rim of his glans, so sensitive that Rick almost lost himself in the pleasure, but he relished every moment of those bright, green eyes bobbing down on him.She took him deeper into her mouth, rubbing the tip of his cock against the inside, bulging her rosy cheek like a chipmunk. Her hips bucked against her hand and mewls of pleasure escaped from her glistening lips, bringing Rick to the just before the point of no return where his whole body clenched to keep the amazing feeling from ending.And she flopped limp between his legs, tenderly lapping at his balls as his cock twitched for release in her hand. "Come on, sweetie pie,” she said, “Isn't there somewhere else you'd like to do that?”Rick sat up and pulled her into his lap facing him; where her soft slit straddled his throbbing erection. “Do you have any protection?” he asked.Sugarbell bent her head into his chest and sputtered laughter. “Like I said, there's such a thing as being too nice.” She guided the tip of his cock to her entrance and started putting weight on it, softly grunting with the effort of fitting him inside, squealed when it pushed in the first inch.“Does it hurt?”“Shut up.” she moaned, hugging herself close so he couldn't see the pain in her eyes and insist they stop. “I j-just need to get used to it, okay?”Over the next minute her warm tightness enveloped his cock inch by inch until Sugarbell's butt rested comfortably in his lap and she breathed a sigh of relief. Rick turned up her chin for a kiss, hoping their intertwined tongues would distract from the pain, stroking her creamy, pale skin with special attention paid to her ticklish spots, taking a breast in hand and fiddling with a nipple like a hard pebble. Her sighs of pleasure washed against his chest and she closed her eyes to enjoy each touch to its fullest, savoring the feeling of fullness in her loins.She snaked her arms around him, linking her fingers behind his back, and began swirling her hips, gently moving his cock inside her, sliding her bouncy ass across his thighs. He felt like he could burst at any minute, couldn't resist taking a handful of ass, causing a refreshing whimper against his chest as he squeezed.Rick buried his face in her fluffy, golden hair to keep his senses, taking in the invigorating scent of peppermint and sweat. Little tickles made moaned giggles fall on his ears and Sugarbell slowly became more comfortable with his size, increasing her motion's intensity until she was almost thrusting against his last inch.Her bright, green eyes appeared again as Rick surprised Sugarbell by slowly flipping her down onto her back. He kept the last pace she was comfortable with, guided by her tiny, urging moans to start going faster and deeper. She splayed her arms above her head and gripped the pillow she found there, handing over control to him with her legs wrapped around his waist.Free to go wild, Rick slowly pulled out and pushed himself back in to the hilt, leering at the way Sugarbell squirmed underneath, her breast rippling with sharp breaths. Then again, a bit faster, and again until he was properly thrusting, and he joined the chorus of moans.Sugarbell pulled his head down into a kiss and shakily whispered, “Harder~”He grabbed her waist, ramming himself inside her pussy as she wriggled in ecstasy, bright eyes rolled back and she bit his shoulder in anticipation of the finale. It came on like a wave, forcing him as deep as he could go, balls slapping against wet ass cheeks as he flooded her tight pussy and she tightened in gratification, overwhelmed by sensation as Rick pounded inside her.When the moment of passion had passed, Rick laid at her side as she relaxed into quiet contentment. But it didn't last long before she crawled atop him, laying her head on his chest humming a festive tune.“That was amazing.” he said, absentmindedly stroking her hair.Sugarbell kissed his chest. “Lots better than your hand, isn't it? Heh, you're pretty big. Human girls don't know what they're missing out on.” Her fingertips traced the way down between his legs, wrapped around his shrinking dick and said, “Good job, mister, wanna take me for another spin?”Rick laughed and she rubbed herself against his chest as she joined in, bright eyes merrily twinkling.“Can't fault a girl for trying, can you? It is two in the morning I suppose. Christmas night's almost over and done.” She tugged up the blanket they'd displaced and snuggled herself against him, pointy ear tickling his neck, and hummed a lullaby as the day's exhaustion made sleep less and less voluntary.The morning sun muddled through snow-filled clouds to gently wake Rick. He'd slept clean through the usual time, had a transient shock before remembering the office would be closed for the week.And he was alone.Last night had to have happened. Peppermint lingered in the air and a hickey stung on his neck, but she wasn't there. Of course, he thought, it was a monkey's paw. She'd said she was a Christmas present, and the day had passed…He forced himself out of bed and dressed, then headed for the kitchen.Where a woman in a red turtleneck and costume antlers was using the stove.“Morning, sleepy-head~” Sugarbell cooed, “I'm almost done with brunch so go ahead and take a seat.”“You're still here.”“Of course I am, why? Oh, there's nowhere I need to be.”“I thought I was only going to get the one night.”Sugarbell turned off the stove and set the table with leftover ham omelets and freshly-baked cinnamon rolls. “That's not a girlfriend, that's a one-night stand.” she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, “And we still have to continue where we left off after all.”By Demi urging for Literotica

We've got a deep dive into the wild story of the world's creepiest military recruiter, his memoir detailing his own crimes, and the family who got left hanging by NCIS & his unit. Plus super quick news roundup from explosions to a badass sniper making history. HOUSE IN ARLINGTON VA EXPLODING Yesterday afternoon Arlington County Police Department went to a call for possible gunshots where it turned out the fella in the home had discharged a flare gun 30 to 40 times… The suspect then barricaded themselves inside and around 8:30pm when police tried to issue a search warrant he exploded the whole damn house. Huge fireball, was felt all over DC. Three officers reported minor injuries and there were no transports to the hospital related to this incident. The investigation is ongoing. Not clear if the guy survived. MARINE PLEADS GUILTY TO FIREBOMBING PP WHILE ON ACTIVE DUTY A former Marine pleaded guilty to a 2022 firebombing attack on a Planned Parenthood clinic in California. Chance Brannon, 24, is one of three men charged in the Molotov cocktail attack which occurred while Brannon was an active-duty Marine stationed at Camp Pendleton. No one was hurt in the incident but the front entrance had some burn damage, and the clinic had to reschedule about 30 appointments. He had also discussed other attacks along with starting a race war, plus a rifle with a Cyrillic message referring to death and a racial slur, as well as a thumb drive with a recording of the Christchurch, New Zealand, white supremacist mass shooting. Boyyyyyy I bet the folks in his unit could share some stories about him. FIRST ACTIVE DUTY WOMAN TO BECOME AN ARMY SNIPERYou can find every episode of this show on Apple Podcasts, Spotify or YouTube. Prime Members can listen ad-free on Amazon Music. For more, visit barstool.link/ZeroBlog30

This week's EYE ON NPI surpasses all labels, it's the Brady M210 portable hand labeller - a perfect addition to any electrician, engineer, scientist, or maker who wants to keep things organized! When we first looked at this labeller we were wondering what makes the Brady device better than the Brother brand labeller we bought a few years ago - but after using it for only a few minutes we were blown away by all the excellent features that come built in. We really recommend you check out the User Manual because there's a lot of capabilities that we did not realize were included in the firmware. (https://support.bradyid.com/s/article/M210-User-Manual-and-Quick-Start-Guide) Here's a run down of some of the things it can do that you will not get with other labellers. Internationalization: Support for multiple languages with fonts and accents to match, for this labeller, the languages are all 'Romantic' and of course many Greek symbols are included. There is a separate Russian product if you need Cyrillic. Symbols: Our home labeller has cute symbols like crafting symbols and clouds - this labeller goes straight for safety symbols such as "you will be electrocuted" or "this is poisonous" or "do not look at with remaining eye" (https://observatory.db.erau.edu/generators/signs/) But also electrical symbols, telecom and home electric. Barcodes and 2D Encodings: Barcodes in CODE39 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Code_39) and CODE128 (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Code_128) format as well as 2D encodings such as Datamatrix or QR code (https://www.gs1.org/standards/barcodes/2d). Perfect for when you want to include a URL or serial number that is longer than the print label allows. Serialization: printing multiple labels with a start and end value, and custom incrementation, it can even handle alphanumeric serials! Date Stamping / Coding: by setting the date and time on-device, you can insert timestamps based on when it prints. You can format the time and date for 12H/24H, with or without seconds, and different MMDDYY ordering. (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Date_format_by_country) Panel and Terminal Blocks: particularly nice for electricians, you can print out labels that are perfectly spaced for breaker panels, or terminal blocks. In general we noticed that this labeller has a strong sense of spacing so that you can have multiple words or numbers and there's likely a mode that will make them center-equidistant...something that is really annoying to try to do with an everyday labeller. Wire Marking: This one is going to be one of our top uses! For complex wire harnesses, being able to label the wires so it isn't just color you're using to identify functions is amazing. There's a few ways to mark wires (https://www.bradyid.com/resources/guides/how-to-select-a-wire-marker). The easiest is Flag mode, where it will print the text twice with a gap in the middle so you can make a little flag that wraps around the wire. You can use any label size or color to make flags. For less intrusive labelling, you wrap the label around the wire. And coolest by far is the 'PermaSleeve' (https://www.digikey.com/en/products/detail/brady-corporation/M21-125-C-342/11585771) where you can print directly onto heatshrink tubing! Once you have a Brady M210 Label printer (https://www.digikey.com/short/mj7t5fwp) or printer kit (https://www.digikey.com/short/tzjqtm9r) you will use it every day to track and manage your tools and inventory. It's way better than sharpie marker'ing, or sticky notes, with a massive range of different label styles, sizes and colors (https://www.digikey.com/short/77qcpzc5) - all in stock right now for immediate shipment from DigiKey! Pick up an assortment to keep in your lab -- and of course first step is to label the labeller itself so nobody tries sneaking off with it -- when you order today it will ship immediately so you can start labelling everything by tomorrow afternoon.

Tales of adventure and magic connect the Slavic lands: East Slavs (Russia, Ukraine, Belarus), West Slavs (Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland) and South Slavs (the countries of former Yugoslavia plus Bulgaria). Matthew Sweet has been reading a new collection of Slavic myths. The authors Noah Charney and Svetlana Slapšak join academic Mirela Ivanova to talk about the way Slavic tales connect with stories from Greece, Rome, Egypt and Scandinavia and how they were used to bolster power in new Slavic nations. Producer: Torquil MacLeod The Slavic Myths by Noah Charney and Svetlana Slapšak and illustrated by Joe McLaren is out now. You might also be interested in a Free Thinking discussion of Albanian culture and history, and in a Radio 3 New Generation Thinker Essay from Mirela Ivanova called Contesting an Alphabet about the competing claims over the invention of Cyrillic.

Today's West Coast Cookbook & Speakeasy Podcast for our especially special Daily Special, Tarrytown Chowder Tuesdays is now available on the Spreaker Player!Starting off in the Bistro Cafe, three military service secretaries urged Tuberville to stop blocking senior officer confirmations, but he only takes his orders in Cyrillic.Then, on the rest of the menu, the US government is eager to restore its powers to keep dangerous chemicals out of extremists' hands after Rand Paul objected to renewing the bill authorizing it; after nearly 30 years, Pennsylvania will end state funding for anti-abortion counseling centers; and, a Georgia trial arguing that redistricting harmed Black voters, could decide control of a US House seat.After the break, we move to the Chef's Table where Northern Ireland's top police officer resigned following a series of controversies, including an “industrial scale” data breach; and, Russian authorities arrested a mathematician on terrorism charges, minutes after his release from four years in detention on a hooliganism conviction.All that and more, on West Coast Cookbook & Speakeasy with Chef de Cuisine Justice Putnam.Bon Appétit!The Netroots Radio Live Player​Keep Your Resistance Radio Beaming 24/7/365!“As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.”-- Ernest Hemingway "A Moveable Feast"

Today's West Coast Cookbook & Speakeasy Podcast for our especially special Daily Special, Tarrytown Chowder Tuesdays is now available on the Spreaker Player!Starting off in the Bistro Cafe, three military service secretaries urged Tuberville to stop blocking senior officer confirmations, but he only takes his orders in Cyrillic.Then, on the rest of the menu, the US government is eager to restore its powers to keep dangerous chemicals out of extremists' hands after Rand Paul objected to renewing the bill authorizing it; after nearly 30 years, Pennsylvania will end state funding for anti-abortion counseling centers; and, a Georgia trial arguing that redistricting harmed Black voters, could decide control of a US House seat.After the break, we move to the Chef's Table where Northern Ireland's top police officer resigned following a series of controversies, including an “industrial scale” data breach; and, Russian authorities arrested a mathematician on terrorism charges, minutes after his release from four years in detention on a hooliganism conviction.All that and more, on West Coast Cookbook & Speakeasy with Chef de Cuisine Justice Putnam.Bon Appétit!The Netroots Radio Live Player​Keep Your Resistance Radio Beaming 24/7/365!“As I ate the oysters with their strong taste of the sea and their faint metallic taste that the cold white wine washed away, leaving only the sea taste and the succulent texture, and as I drank their cold liquid from each shell and washed it down with the crisp taste of the wine, I lost the empty feeling and began to be happy and to make plans.”-- Ernest Hemingway"A Moveable Feast"

Follow us here: Spotify: https://spoti.fi/2cAY638 homepage: http://www.cosmic-gate.de Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/cosmicgate/ Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/realcosmicgate/ =============================== EPISODE 486: 01. Trilucid - Calling (Extended Mix) [FSOE UV] 02. ChangedFaces x Harry Diamond feat. Émilie Rachel - Home (Original Mix) [Armada] 03. Sundrej Zohar - Per Lunam (Santiago Luna Remix) [deep dip ] 04. Cyrillic & InvictoZ - My Mind (Extended Mix) [Sky Eye Music] 05. ANASTASiiA - Majestic Renaissance (Extended Mix) [OHM Music] 06. Duke Dumont, Nathan Nicholson - Losing Control (Extended Mix) [Universal] 07. Armin van Buuren feat. Sharon Den Adel - In And Out Of Love (Innellea Remix) [Armind] 08. Volaris - Don't You Know (Extended Mix) [mau5trap] 09. Crowd+Ctrl - Zuma (Extended Mix) [Armada] 10. Cosmic Gate - Mirador (Album Mix) [Wake Your Mind] 11. Dan Stone - Placebo (Rodrigo Deem Remix) [FSOE Argento] 12. Röyksopp - Like An Old Dog (Enrico Sangiuliano Remix) [DOG TRIUMPH PROFOUND MYSTERIES] 13. Van Bellen - Let Me Take You (On A Journey) (Extended Mix) [Systematic]

In the southern part of the Balkans, lies a storied nation that has influenced the world around it since its origin. This nation birthed the Cyrillic language which is one of the major language families of today. Never has this nation had its flag captured in battle. This fact and many other historical moments explain why this nation is filled with resilient and hard working people. This is one of my new favorites, this is Bulgaria. 

The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk.   Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners.   When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time.   After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.

The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk.   Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners.   When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time.   After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.

I recently interviewed the Biblical Hebrew and Latin instructor at my business, the Calgary Language Nerds. In today's podcast, I interviewed another CLN instructor. Catherine is a polyglot who speaks English, Spanish, Russian, and Galician. She is also learning French. Catherine has a Masters degree in teaching foreign languages and has taught at the CLN for about 3 years. Catherine will be teaching a few group classes in May of this year on Russian cursive and the Cyrillic alphabet. She will also be doing a class on por/para in Spanish. Fill out this Google Form if you'd like more information: https://forms.gle/gqaojXVWQGh8mHkX7 If you'd like to take private/semi-private lessons with Catherine, visit my website: https://azrenthelanguagenerd.com Enjoy the episode!

Full Text of ReadingsMemorial of Saints Cyril, Monk, and Methodius, Bishop Lectionary: 336The Saint of the day is Saints Cyril and MethodiusSaints Cyril and Methodius' Stories Because their father was an officer in a part of Greece inhabited by many Slavs, these two Greek brothers ultimately became missionaries, teachers, and patrons of the Slavic peoples. After a brilliant course of studies, Cyril (called Constantine until he became a monk shortly before his death) refused the governorship of a district such as his brother had accepted among the Slavic-speaking population. Cyril withdrew to a monastery where his brother Methodius had become a monk after some years in a governmental post. A decisive change in their lives occurred when the Duke of Moravia asked the Eastern Emperor Michael for political independence from German rule and ecclesiastical autonomy (having their own clergy and liturgy). Cyril and Methodius undertook the missionary task. Cyril's first work was to invent an alphabet, still used in some Eastern liturgies. His followers probably formed the Cyrillic alphabet. Together they translated the Gospels, the psalter, Paul's letters and the liturgical books into Slavonic, and composed a Slavonic liturgy, highly irregular then. That and their free use of the vernacular in preaching led to opposition from the German clergy. The bishop refused to consecrate Slavic bishops and priests, and Cyril was forced to appeal to Rome. On the visit to Rome, he and Methodius had the joy of seeing their new liturgy approved by Pope Adrian II. Cyril, long an invalid, died in Rome 50 days after taking the monastic habit. Methodius continued mission work for 16 more years. He was papal legate for all the Slavic peoples, consecrated a bishop and then given an ancient see (now in the Czech Republic). When much of their former territory was removed from their jurisdiction, the Bavarian bishops retaliated with a violent storm of accusation against Methodius. As a result, Emperor Louis the German exiled Methodius for three years. Pope John VIII secured his release. Because the Frankish clergy, still smarting, continued their accusations, Methodius had to go to Rome to defend himself against charges of heresy and uphold his use of the Slavonic liturgy. He was again vindicated. Legend has it that in a feverish period of activity, Methodius translated the whole Bible into Slavonic in eight months. He died on Tuesday of Holy Week, surrounded by his disciples, in his cathedral church. Opposition continued after his death, and the work of the brothers in Moravia was brought to an end and their disciples scattered. But the expulsions had the beneficial effect of spreading the spiritual, liturgical, and cultural work of the brothers to Bulgaria, Bohemia and southern Poland. Patrons of Moravia, and specially venerated by Catholic Czechs, Slovaks, Croatians, Orthodox Serbians and Bulgarians, Cyril and Methodius are eminently fitted to guard the long-desired unity of East and West. In 1980, Pope John Paul II named them additional co-patrons of Europe. Reflection Holiness means reacting to human life with God's love: human life as it is, crisscrossed with the political and the cultural, the beautiful and the ugly, the selfish and the saintly. For Cyril and Methodius much of their daily cross had to do with the language of the liturgy. They are not saints because they got the liturgy into Slavonic, but because they did so with the courage and humility of Christ. Saints Cyril and Methodius are the Patron Saints of: Slavic PeoplesEcumenism Saint of the Day, Copyright Franciscan Media

February 14: Saints Cyril, Monk, and Methodius, Bishop St. Cyril: 827–869; St. Methodius: 815–884 Memorial; Liturgical Color: White (When Lenten Weekday, Optional Memorial; Violet) Co-Patrons of Europe and Apostles to the Slavs Two makers of Europe light the flame of Eastern Christianity The Cyrillic alphabet, used by hundreds of millions of people in Eastern Europe, the Balkans, and Russia, is named after today's Cyril. Numerous proofs could be advanced for why a certain person is historically significant. Few proofs, however, can eclipse an alphabet being named after you. The evangelical labors of Cyril and Methodius were so path breaking, long lasting, and culture forming that these brothers stand in the very first rank of the Church's greatest missionaries. Shoulder to shoulder with brave men such as Patrick, Augustine of Canterbury, Boniface, Ansgar, and others, they baptized nations, mustered clans from the forests, codified laws, transcribed alphabets, and transformed the crude pagan gropings for the divine into the transcendent worship of the one true God at Mass. Saints Cyril and Methodius helped form the religiously undivided reality of Christendom long before it was ever called Europe. Cyril was baptized as Constantine and was known by that name until late in his life. He and Methodius were from Thessalonica, in Northern Greece, where they spoke not only Greek but also Slavonic, a critical linguistic advantage for their later missionary adventures. Cyril and Methodius received excellent educations in their youth and, as they matured, were given important educational, religious, and political appointments in an age when those disciplines were braided into one sturdy cord. The people, the state, and the Church were an undivided whole. Cyril and Methodius served the imperial court, the one true Church, and their native land as professors, governors, abbots, deacons, priests, and bishops. Sometime after 860, the brothers were commissioned by the Emperor in Constantinople to lead a missionary crew heading into Moravia, in today's Czech Republic. They walked straight into a tangled web of political, religious, linguistic, and liturgical controversies which have vexed Eastern and Central Europe until today. The Church of Rome allowed only three languages to be used in its liturgical and scriptural texts—Hebrew, Greek, and Latin—the three languages inscribed above Christ's head on the cross. The Church in the East, juridically under Rome but culturally spinning off into its own orbit over the centuries, was a patchwork of peoples where local vernaculars were used in the liturgy. Languages are always spoken long before they are written, and the spoken Slavonic of Moravia had unique sounds demanding new letters populating a new alphabet. Cyril created that new alphabet, and then he and Methodius translated Scripture, various liturgical books, and the Mass into written Slavonic. This led to some serious tensions. The newly Christianized German bishops were suspicious of missionaries in their own neighborhood who came from Greece, spoke Slavonic, and who celebrated the sacred mysteries in a quasi-Byzantine style. Moravia and the greater Slavic homeland were under German ecclesiastical jurisdiction, not Greek. How could the Mass be said in Slavonic, or the Gospels translated into that new language? How could a Byzantine liturgy co-exist with the Latin rite? Cyril and Methodius went to Rome to resolve these various issues with the Pope and his advisers. The brothers were treated respectfully in Rome as well-educated and heroic missionaries. Cyril died and was buried in the Eternal City. Methodius returned to the land of the Slavs and to ongoing tensions with German ecclesiastics and princes. He translated virtually the entire Bible into Slavonic, assembled a code of Byzantine church and civil law, and firmly established, with the Pope's permission, the use of Slavonic in the liturgy. After Methodius' death, however, German and Latin Rite influences prevailed. The Byzantine Rite, the use of Slavonic in the liturgy, and the Cyrillic alphabet were all forced from Central to Eastern Europe, particularly into Bulgaria, shortly after Methodius died. While they were always honored in the East, the Feast of SS. Cyril and Methodius was extended to the entire Catholic Church only in 1880. Pope Saint John Paul II named Saints Cyril and Methodius Co-Patrons of Europe. Their massive legacy inspires the two lungs of the Church, both East and West, to breathe more deeply the enriched oxygen of the entire Christian tradition. Saints Cyril and Methodius, you prepared yourselves for brave and generous service to Christ and His Church through long years of preparation and, when the time came, you served heroically. May we so prepare, and so serve, until we can serve no more.

Hello everyone and welcome back. In this episode, we are here with Roger Grimes, Data-Driven Defense Evangelist at KnowBe4, cybersecurity architect, and Author.   Roger first made his debut on the podcast in 2020, when he unlocked the truth and disproved assumptions about multifactor authentication. We are excited to welcome Roger back to discuss his new book, "Ransomware Protection Playbook," in which he outlines a practical roadmap to protect your networks against one of the most insidious and damaging cyber threats, ransomware!  In today's episode, learn why the Zero Trust method is the future of computer security and how ransomware attacks better equip companies for future attacks. Be a part of our discussion as we uncover the secrets behind cryptocurrencies, Web 3.0, NFTs, cybercriminal safe havens, dynamic DNS services, network access brokers, and AI bots.  Are you ready to explore the uncharted territories of the dark web? We sure are. Listen in today.   As a CIO and Business IT Leader here are some wins you will get by listening: Roger (6:11): Technological advancements exist that make the internet more secure. Why do people need to agree to and utilize them to prevent cyber-attacks we should've seen coming?  Roger (8:03): Who is Kevin Mitnick and why is he the most infamous hacker of our time?  Roger (11:07): The benefit of offensive penetration and how this provides better advice to keep cyber-attacks away.  Roger (13:10): The truth about cryptocurrencies, Web 3.0, and NFTs.  Roger (14:00): Secrets behind cryptocurrency transactions and money laundering.  Roger (18:00): Cybercriminal safe havens do exist! What measures can users take to protect themselves against cybercrime?  Roger (21:30): How nuclear programs are funded with stolen ransomware and cryptocurrency.  Roger (22:00): Ransomware on Windows machines checks for coded languages in Russian, Cyrillic, Ukrainian, and other deviations. Learn why setting as a second language on your Windows machines can protect against ransomware.  Roger (24:00): The ransomware industry is considered the malware industry. Ransomware is a subclass of malware.   Roger (26:00): The dangers that network access brokers create through secret deals that are happening behind the scenes.  Roger (33:00): What is dynamic DNS services and why is it a solution for fixing the internet's malicious attacks?  Roger (35:00): What is Zero Trust and is this method the future of computer security?  Roger (35:30): "Zero Trust" is a mentality that says we are not going to trust you simply because you authenticated correctly.  Roger (38:30): Cyber threats are increasing due to the automation of artificial intelligence bots.  Roger (51:00): The majority of attacks are client-side attacks that get past the firewall, past the antivirus, and past the VPN. Zero Trust says you don't trust anybody, even those claiming to be Zero Trust.  Roger (52:00): Zero trust is about evaluating a user's behavior and other characteristics. From those behaviors, a rating takes place. If the rating is above the risk threshold, the system aims to block you or will ask for additional information.  Roger (56:30): How ransomware forced companies to be better by revealing to organizations what they needed to be protected from or by showing the great secure backups they had in place.    Resources  Ransomware Protection (Book)  Kevin Mitnick  Hacking Multifactor Authentication  Whitepapers called Fix the Internet. To receive and read email: rogerg@knowbe4.com   

John Gallagher discusses the latest research on the languages of the ancient world that weren't Latin and Greek. We associate places like Italy and Cyprus with those two best known ancient languages. But both were linguistically diverse. What informed people's choice of language in these places? How were alphabets developed and used? Plus, an exhibition at the British Museum explores the world opened up when Egyptian hieroglyphics were deciphered 200 years ago, and how the invention of the Cyrillic alphabet, developed in the Balkans over 1,000 years ago, still has political repercussions today. With Dr Katherine McDonald, Assistant Professor in the Department of Classics and Ancient History at the University of Durham, Dr Mirela Ivanova, Lecturer in Medieval History at the University of Sheffield, and a BBC/AHRC New Generation Thinker, Dr Philippa Steele is Senior Research Associate in the Faculty of Classics at the University of Cambridge, and Dr Ilona Regulski, an Egyptologist based at the British Museum. The British Museum exhibition Hieroglyphs: Unlocking Ancient Egypt runs until Feb 189th 2023. This New Thinking episode of the Arts and Ideas podcast was made in partnership with the Arts and Humanities Research Council, part of UKRI. Producer: Luke Mulhall You can find other episodes exploring language in the New Research playlist on the Free Thinking programme website

Today in the studio we have a diary that was kept by a teenage girl during her family's emigration odyssey from Russia to the United States. They left Moscow in 1917, embarking on a year-long journey that took them across the continent on the Trans-Siberian Railroad, then through Vladivostok, Yokohama, Hawaii, and San Francisco. Mostly written in Cyrillic, the diary contains photos, little English-language jokes, and references to Jascha Heifetz, a family friend—and violin prodigy—whose family took a parallel trip when they left Russia. Learn about what makes a diary interesting, our translation processes, and the importance of treating these historical documents with respect on this meandering episode of the #brattlecast.

I read from cypress vine to cysteamine.     Haven't you wanted to learn the Cyrillic alphabet? https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyrillic_script     The word of the episode is "cyrenaic". https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cyrenaics     Theme music from Tom Maslowski https://zestysol.com/     Merchandising! https://www.teepublic.com/user/spejampar     "The Dictionary - Letter A" on YouTube   "The Dictionary - Letter B" on YouTube   "The Dictionary - Letter C" on YouTube     Featured in a Top 10 Dictionary Podcasts list! https://blog.feedspot.com/dictionary_podcasts/     Backwards Talking on YouTube: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLmIujMwEDbgZUexyR90jaTEEVmAYcCzuq     dictionarypod@gmail.com https://www.facebook.com/thedictionarypod/ https://twitter.com/dictionarypod https://www.instagram.com/dictionarypod/ https://www.patreon.com/spejampar https://www.tiktok.com/@spejampar 917-727-5757

Images of Cyril and Methodios adorn libraries, universities, cathedrals and passport pages in Slavonic speaking countries from Bulgaria to Russia, North Macedonia to Ukraine. But the journeys undertaken as religious envoys by these inventors of the Cyrillic alphabet have led to competing claims and political disagreements. Mirela Ivanova's essay considers the complications of basing ideas about nationhood upon medieval history. Mirela Ivanova teaches at the University of Sheffield and was selected as a New Generation Thinker in 2021 on the scheme run by BBC Radio 3 and the Arts and Humanities Research Council, which turns research into radio. You can hear her discussing Sofia's main museum in this episode of Free Thinking https://www.bbc.co.uk/programmes/m000wc3p Producer: Luke Mulhall

The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk.   Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners.   When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time.   After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.

The two saints were brothers, born in Thessalonica. St Methodius, the elder brother, served as a soldier for ten years before becoming a monk. Cyril was librarian at the Hagia Sophia in Constantinople; then he too became a monk.   Their first missionary work was not among the Slavs: When the king of the Khazars (a Mongol people who then inhabited much of what is now Russia) petitioned the Emperor Michael to sent teachers to instruct his people, the Emperor chose Cyril and Methodius as his emissaries. They converted the Khazar king to the Christian faith, along with many of his nobles and commoners.   When King Rostislav of Moravia likewise sought teachers of the Christian faith, Cyril and Methodius were again sent forth. This time they devised an alphabet for the Slavic language and used it to translate many of the Greek service books into the language of the people. (In theory, the Orthodox people have always been privileged to hear the Church's services in their own tongue, though often attachment to dead languages has prevented this ideal from becoming reality.) Both brothers were repeatedly attacked by Germanic priests of the region, who opposed the use of the common tongue in the liturgy. At different times, both brothers were forced to appeal for exoneration and protection to the Pope of Rome, who supported them warmly each time.   After the two Saints reposed, attacks on their work continued, and their disciples were eventually driven from Moravia. The disciples, fleeing southward, found a warmer welcome among the southern Slavic peoples, and their work bore much fruit in Bulgaria (including modern-day Serbia) and other countries. And, of course, the alphabet that they devised, called Cyrillic after St Cyril, remains the standard alphabet of both the Slavonic service books of the Church and the Slavic languages of today.

When people think of rebellion, they often think of guerilla warfare, rousing speeches and protests. But what about books? When the Russian Empire sought to "Russify" much of what is now Lithuania, the Tsar's forces waged a war against culture, forcing children to learn a Cyrillic alphabet -- and even banning the pre-existing Lithuanian alphabet from printing presses. Native Lithuanians from all walks of life responded by becoming knygnešiaĩ, or book carriers. Tune in to learn how this vast smuggling ring preserved the Lithuanian alphabet, and eventually won the war for a country's hearts and minds. See omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

In this episode, we look at the origins of the Bulgars, claimed as ancestors by several peoples of the Russian Empire from the Volga Bulgars to the Gagauz in modern day Moldova, and also, through Bulgaria, the source of the Cyrillic alphabet. Read the episode blog post at: https://therussianempirehistorypodcast.com/blog/episode-114-bulgars-of-the-western-steppe

Episode one hundred and forty-six of A History of Rock Music in Five Hundred Songs looks at “Good Vibrations” by the Beach Boys, and the history of the theremin. Click the full post to read liner notes, links to more information, and a transcript of the episode. Patreon backers also have a ten-minute bonus episode available, on "You're Gonna Miss Me" by the Thirteenth Floor Elevators. Tilt Araiza has assisted invaluably by doing a first-pass edit, and will hopefully be doing so from now on. Check out Tilt's irregular podcasts at http://www.podnose.com/jaffa-cakes-for-proust and http://sitcomclub.com/ Resources There is no Mixcloud this week, because there were too many Beach Boys songs in the episode. I used many resources for this episode, most of which will be used in future Beach Boys episodes too. It's difficult to enumerate everything here, because I have been an active member of the Beach Boys fan community for twenty-four years, and have at times just used my accumulated knowledge for this. But the resources I list here are ones I've checked for specific things. Stephen McParland has published many, many books on the California surf and hot-rod music scenes, including several on both the Beach Boys and Gary Usher.  His books can be found at https://payhip.com/CMusicBooks Andrew Doe's Bellagio 10452 site is an invaluable resource. Jon Stebbins' The Beach Boys FAQ is a good balance between accuracy and readability. And Philip Lambert's Inside the Music of Brian Wilson is an excellent, though sadly out of print, musicological analysis of Wilson's music from 1962 through 67. I have also referred to Brian Wilson's autobiography, I Am Brian Wilson, and to Mike Love's, Good Vibrations: My Life as a Beach Boy. As a good starting point for the Beach Boys' music in general, I would recommend this budget-priced three-CD set, which has a surprisingly good selection of their material on it, including the single version of "Good Vibrations". Oddly, the single version of "Good Vibrations" is not on the The Smile Sessions box set. But an entire CD of outtakes of the track is, and that was the source for the session excerpts here. Information on Lev Termen comes from Theremin: Ether Music and Espionage by Albert Glinsky Transcript In ancient Greece, the god Hermes was a god of many things, as all the Greek gods were. Among those things, he was the god of diplomacy, he was a trickster god, a god of thieves, and he was a messenger god, who conveyed messages between realms. He was also a god of secret knowledge. In short, he was the kind of god who would have made a perfect spy. But he was also an inventor. In particular he was credited in Greek myth as having invented the lyre, an instrument somewhat similar to a guitar, harp, or zither, and as having used it to create beautiful sounds. But while Hermes the trickster god invented the lyre, in Greek myth it was a mortal man, Orpheus, who raised the instrument to perfection. Orpheus was a legendary figure, the greatest poet and musician of pre-Homeric Greece, and all sorts of things were attributed to him, some of which might even have been things that a real man of that name once did. He is credited with the "Orphic tripod" -- the classification of the elements into earth, water, and fire -- and with a collection of poems called the Rhapsodiae. The word Rhapsodiae comes from the Greek words rhaptein, meaning to stitch or sew, and ōidē, meaning song -- the word from which we get our word "ode", and  originally a rhapsōdos was someone who "stitched songs together" -- a reciter of long epic poems composed of several shorter pieces that the rhapsōdos would weave into one continuous piece. It's from that that we get the English word "rhapsody", which in the sixteenth century, when it was introduced into the language, meant a literary work that was a disjointed collection of patchwork bits, stitched together without much thought as to structure, but which now means a piece of music in one movement, but which has several distinct sections. Those sections may seem unrelated, and the piece may have an improvisatory feel, but a closer look will usually reveal relationships between the sections, and the piece as a whole will have a sense of unity. When Orpheus' love, Eurydice, died, he went down into Hades, the underworld where the souls of the dead lived, and played music so beautiful, so profound and moving, that the gods agreed that Orpheus could bring the soul of his love back to the land of the living. But there was one condition -- all he had to do was keep looking forward until they were both back on Earth. If he turned around before both of them were back in the mortal realm, she would disappear forever, never to be recovered. But of course, as you all surely know, and would almost certainly have guessed even if you didn't know because you know how stories work, once Orpheus made it back to our world he turned around and looked, because he lost his nerve and didn't believe he had really achieved his goal. And Eurydice, just a few steps away from her freedom, vanished back into the underworld, this time forever. [Excerpt: Blake Jones and the Trike Shop: "Mr. Theremin's Miserlou"] Lev Sergeyevich Termen was born in St. Petersburg, in what was then the Russian Empire, on the fifteenth of August 1896, by the calendar in use in Russia at that time -- the Russian Empire was still using the Julian calendar, rather than the Gregorian calendar used in most of the rest of the world, and in the Western world the same day was the twenty-seventh of August. Young Lev was fascinated both by science and the arts. He was trained as a cellist from an early age, but while he loved music, he found the process of playing the music cumbersome -- or so he would say later. He was always irritated by the fact that the instrument is a barrier between the idea in the musician's head and the sound -- that it requires training to play. As he would say later "I realised there was a gap between music itself and its mechanical production, and I wanted to unite both of them." Music was one of his big loves, but he was also very interested in physics, and was inspired by a lecture he saw from the physicist Abram Ioffe, who for the first time showed him that physics was about real, practical, things, about the movements of atoms and fields that really existed, not just about abstractions and ideals. When Termen went to university, he studied physics -- but he specifically wanted to be an experimental physicist, not a theoretician. He wanted to do stuff involving the real world. Of course, as someone who had the misfortune to be born in the late 1890s, Termen was the right age to be drafted when World War I started, but luckily for him the Russian Army desperately needed people with experience in the new invention that was radio, which was vital for wartime communications, and he spent the war in the Army radio engineering department, erecting radio transmitters and teaching other people how to erect them, rather than on the front lines, and he managed not only to get his degree in physics but also a diploma in music. But he was also becoming more and more of a Marxist sympathiser, even though he came from a relatively affluent background, and after the Russian Revolution he stayed in what was now the Red Army, at least for a time. Once Termen's Army service was over, he started working under Ioffe, working with him on practical applications of the audion, the first amplifying vacuum tube. The first one he found was that the natural capacitance of a human body when standing near a circuit can change the capacity of the circuit. He used that to create an invisible burglar alarm -- there was an antenna sending out radio waves, and if someone came within the transmitting field of the antenna, that would cause a switch to flip and a noise to be sounded. He was then asked to create a device for measuring the density of gases, outputting a different frequency for different densities. Because gas density can have lots of minor fluctuations because of air currents and so forth, he built a circuit that would cut out all the many harmonics from the audions he was using and give just the main frequency as a single pure tone, which he could listen to with headphones. That way,  slight changes in density would show up as a slight change in the tone he heard. But he noticed that again when he moved near the circuit, that changed the capacitance of the circuit and changed the tone he was hearing. He started moving his hand around near the circuit and getting different tones. The closer his hand got to the capacitor, the higher the note sounded. And if he shook his hand a little, he could get a vibrato, just like when he shook his hand while playing the cello. He got Ioffe to come and listen to him, and Ioffe said "That's an electronic Orpheus' lament!" [Excerpt: Blake Jones and the Trike Shop, "Mr. Theremin's Miserlou"] Termen figured out how to play Massenet's "Elegy" and Saint-Saens' "The Swan" using this system. Soon the students were all fascinated, telling each other "Termen plays Gluck on a voltmeter!" He soon figured out various refinements -- by combining two circuits, using the heterodyne principle, he could allow for far finer control. He added a second antenna, for volume control, to be used by the left hand -- the right hand would choose the notes, while the left hand would change the volume, meaning the instrument could be played without touching it at all. He called the instrument the "etherphone",  but other people started calling it the termenvox -- "Termen's voice". Termen's instrument was an immediate sensation, as was his automatic burglar alarm, and he was invited to demonstrate both of them to Lenin. Lenin was very impressed by Termen -- he wrote to Trotsky later talking about Termen's inventions, and how the automatic burglar alarm might reduce the number of guards needed to guard a perimeter. But he was also impressed by Termen's musical invention. Termen held his hands to play through the first half of a melody, before leaving the Russian leader to play the second half by himself -- apparently he made quite a good job of it. Because of Lenin's advocacy for his work, Termen was sent around the Soviet Union on a propaganda tour -- what was known as an "agitprop tour", in the familiar Soviet way of creating portmanteau words. In 1923 the first piece of music written specially for the instrument was performed by Termen himself with the Leningrad Philharmonic, Andrey Paschenko's Symphonic Mystery for Termenvox and Orchestra. The score for that was later lost, but has been reconstructed, and the piece was given a "second premiere" in 2020 [Excerpt: Andrey Paschenko, "Symphonic Mystery for Termenvox and Orchestra" ] But the musical instrument wasn't the only scientific innovation that Termen was working on. He thought he could reverse death itself, and bring the dead back to life.  He was inspired in this by the way that dead organisms could be perfectly preserved in the Siberian permafrost. He thought that if he could only freeze a dead person in the permafrost, he could then revive them later -- basically the same idea as the later idea of cryogenics, although Termen seems to have thought from the accounts I've read that all it would take would be to freeze and then thaw them, and not to have considered the other things that would be necessary to bring them back to life. Termen made two attempts to actually do this, or at least made preliminary moves in that direction. The first came when his assistant, a twenty-year-old woman, died of pneumonia. Termen was heartbroken at the death of someone so young, who he'd liked a great deal, and was convinced that if he could just freeze her body for a while he could soon revive her. He talked with Ioffe about this -- Ioffe was friends with the girl's family -- and Ioffe told him that he thought that he was probably right and probably could revive her. But he also thought that it would be cruel to distress the girl's parents further by discussing it with them, and so Termen didn't get his chance to experiment. He was even keener on trying his technique shortly afterwards, when Lenin died. Termen was a fervent supporter of the Revolution, and thought Lenin was a great man whose leadership was still needed -- and he had contacts within the top echelons of the Kremlin. He got in touch with them as soon as he heard of Lenin's death, in an attempt to get the opportunity to cryopreserve his corpse and revive him. Sadly, by this time it was too late. Lenin's brain had been pickled, and so the opportunity to resurrect him as a zombie Lenin was denied forever. Termen was desperately interested in the idea of bringing people back from the dead, and he wanted to pursue it further with his lab, but he was also being pushed to give demonstrations of his music, as well as doing security work -- Ioffe, it turned out, was also working as a secret agent, making various research trips to Germany that were also intended to foment Communist revolution. For now, Termen was doing more normal security work -- his burglar alarms were being used to guard bank vaults and the like, but this was at the order of the security state. But while Termen was working on his burglar alarms and musical instruments and attempts to revive dead dictators, his main project was his doctoral work, which was on the TV. We've said before in this podcast that there's no first anything, and that goes just as much for inventions as it does for music. Most inventions build on work done by others, which builds on work done by others, and so there were a lot of people building prototype TVs at this point. In Britain we tend to say "the inventor of the TV" was John Logie Baird, but Baird was working at the same time as people like the American Charles Francis Jenkins and the Japanese inventor Kenjiro Takayanagi, all of them building on earlier work by people like Archibald Low. Termen's prototype TV, the first one in Russia, came slightly later than any of those people, but was created more or less independently, and was more advanced in several ways, with a bigger screen and better resolution. Shortly after Lenin's death, Termen was invited to demonstrate his invention to Stalin, who professed himself amazed at the "magic mirror". [Excerpt: Blake Jones and the Trike Shop, "Astronauts in Trouble"] Termen was sent off to tour Europe giving demonstrations of his inventions, particularly his musical instrument. It was on this trip that he started using the Romanisation "Leon Theremin", and this is how Western media invariably referred to him. Rather than transliterate the Cyrillic spelling of his birth name, he used the French spelling his Huguenot ancestors had used before they emigrated to Russia, and called himself Leo or Leon rather than Lev. He was known throughout his life by both names, but said to a journalist in 1928 "First of all, I am not Tair-uh-MEEN. I wrote my name with French letters for French pronunciation. I am Lev Sergeyevich Tair-MEN.". We will continue to call him Termen, partly because he expressed that mild preference (though again, he definitely went by both names through choice) but also to distinguish him from the instrument, because while his invention remained known in Russia as the termenvox, in the rest of the world it became known as the theremin. He performed at the Paris Opera, and the New York Times printed a review saying "Some musicians were extremely pessimistic about the possibilities of the device, because at times M. Theremin played lamentably out of tune. But the finest Stradivarius, in the hands of a tyro, can give forth frightful sounds. The fact that the inventor was able to perform certain pieces with absolute precision proves that there remains to be solved only questions of practice and technique." Termen also came to the UK, where he performed in front of an audience including George Bernard Shaw, Arnold Bennett, Henry Wood and others. Arnold Bennett was astonished, but Bernard Shaw, who had very strong opinions about music, as anyone who has read his criticism will be aware, compared the sound unfavourably to that of a comb and paper. After performing in Europe, Termen made his way to the US, to continue his work of performance, propagandising for the Soviet Revolution, and trying to license the patents for his inventions, to bring money both to him and to the Soviet state. He entered the US on a six-month visitor's visa, but stayed there for eleven years, renewing the visa every six months. His initial tour was a success, though at least one open-air concert had to be cancelled because, as the Communist newspaper the Daily Worker put it, "the weather on Saturday took such a counter-revolutionary turn". Nicolas Slonimsky, the musicologist we've encountered several times before, and who would become part of Termen's circle in the US, reviewed one of the performances, and described the peculiar audiences that Termen was getting -- "a considerable crop of ladies and gentlemen engaged in earnest exploration of the Great Beyond...the mental processes peculiar to believers in cosmic vibrations imparted a beatific look to some of the listeners. Boston is a seat of scientific religion; before he knows it Professor Theremin may be proclaimed Krishnamurti and sanctified as a new deity". Termen licensed his patents on the invention to RCA, who in 1929 started mass-producing the first ever theremins for general use. Termen also started working with the conductor Leopold Stokowski, including developing a new kind of theremin for Stokowski's orchestra to use, one with a fingerboard played like a cello. Stokowski said "I believe we shall have orchestras of these electric instruments. Thus will begin a new era in music history, just as modern materials and methods of construction have produced a new era of architecture." Possibly of more interest to the wider public, Lennington Sherwell, the son of an RCA salesman, took up the theremin professionally, and joined the band of Rudy Vallee, one of the most popular singers of the period. Vallee was someone who constantly experimented with new sounds, and has for example been named as the first band leader to use an electric banjo, and Vallee liked the sound of the theremin so much he ordered a custom-built left-handed one for himself. Sherwell stayed in Vallee's band for quite a while, and performed with him on the radio and in recording sessions, but it's very difficult to hear him in any of the recordings -- the recording equipment in use in 1930 was very primitive, and Vallee had a very big band with a lot of string and horn players, and his arrangements tended to have lots of instruments playing in unison rather than playing individual lines that are easy to differentiate. On top of that, the fashion at the time when playing the instrument was to try and have it sound as much like other instruments as possible -- to duplicate the sound of a cello or violin or clarinet, rather than to lean in to the instrument's own idiosyncracies. I *think* though that I can hear Sherwell's playing in the instrumental break of Vallee's big hit "You're Driving Me Crazy" -- certainly it was recorded at the time that Sherwell was in the band, and there's an instrument in there with a very pure tone, but quite a lot of vibrato, in the mid range, that seems only to be playing in the break and not the rest of the song. I'm not saying this is *definitely* a theremin solo on one of the biggest hits of 1930, but I'm not saying it's not, either: [Excerpt: Rudy Vallee, "You're Driving Me Crazy" ] Termen also invented a light show to go along with his instrument -- the illumovox, which had a light shining through a strip of gelatin of different colours, which would be rotated depending on the pitch of the theremin, so that lower notes would cause the light to shine a deep red, while the highest notes would make it shine a light blue, with different shades in between. By 1930, though, Termen's fortunes had started to turn slightly. Stokowski kept using theremins in the orchestra for a while, especially the fingerboard models to reinforce the bass, but they caused problems. As Slonimsky said "The infrasonic vibrations were so powerful...that they hit the stomach physically, causing near-nausea in the double-bass section of the orchestra". Fairly soon, the Theremin was overtaken by other instruments, like the ondes martenot, an instrument very similar to the theremin but with more precise control, and with a wider range of available timbres. And in 1931, RCA was sued by another company for patent infringement with regard to the Theremin -- the De Forest Radio Company had patents around the use of vacuum tubes in music, and they claimed damages of six thousand dollars, plus RCA had to stop making theremins. Since at the time, RCA had only made an initial batch of five hundred instruments total, and had sold 485 of them, many of them as promotional loss-leaders for future batches, they had actually made a loss of three hundred dollars even before the six thousand dollar damages, and decided not to renew their option on Termen's patents. But Termen was still working on his musical ideas. Slonimsky also introduced Termen to the avant-garde composer and theosophist Henry Cowell, who was interested in experimental sounds, and used to do things like play the strings inside the piano to get a different tone: [Excerpt: Henry Cowell, "Aeolian Harp and Sinister Resonance"] Cowell was part of a circle of composers and musicologists that included Edgard Varese, Charles Ives, and Charles Seeger and Ruth Crawford, who Cowell would introduce to each other. Crawford would later marry Seeger, and they would have several children together, including the folk singer Peggy Seeger, and Crawford would also adopt Seeger's son Pete. Cowell and Termen would together invent the rhythmicon, the first ever drum machine, though the rhythmicon could play notes as well as rhythms. Only two rhythmicons were made while Termen was in the US. The first was owned by Cowell. The second, improved, model was bought by Charles Ives, but bought as a gift for Cowell and Slonimsky to use in their compositions. Sadly, both rhythmicons eventually broke down, and no recording of either is known to exist. Termen started to get further and further into debt, especially as the Great Depression started to hit, and he also had a personal loss -- he'd been training a student and had fallen in love with her, although he was married. But when she married herself, he cut off all ties with her, though Clara Rockmore would become one of the few people to use the instrument seriously and become a real virtuoso on it. He moved into other fields, all loosely based around the same basic ideas of detecting someone's distance from an object. He built electronic gun detectors for Alcatraz and Sing-Sing prisons, and he came up with an altimeter for aeroplanes. There was also a "magic mirror" -- glass that appeared like a mirror until it was backlit, at which point it became transparent. This was put into shop windows along with a proximity detector -- every time someone stepped close to look at their reflection, the reflection would disappear and be replaced with the objects behind the mirror. He was also by this point having to spy for the USSR on a more regular basis. Every week he would meet up in a cafe with two diplomats from the Russian embassy, who would order him to drink several shots of vodka -- the idea was that they would loosen his inhibitions enough that he would not be able to hide things from them -- before he related various bits of industrial espionage he'd done for them. Having inventions of his own meant he was able to talk with engineers in the aerospace industry and get all sorts of bits of information that would otherwise not have been available, and he fed this back to Moscow. He eventually divorced his first wife, and remarried -- a Black American dancer many years his junior named Lavinia Williams, who would be the great love of his life. This caused some scandal in his social circle, more because of her race than the age gap. But by 1938 he had to leave the US. He'd been there on a six-month visa, which had been renewed every six months for more than a decade, and he'd also not been paying income tax and was massively in debt. He smuggled himself back to the USSR, but his wife was, at the last minute, not allowed on to the ship with him. He'd had to make the arrangements in secret, and hadn't even told her of the plans, so the first she knew was when he disappeared. He would later claim that the Soviets had told him she would be sent for two weeks later, but she had no knowledge of any of this. For decades, Lavinia would not even know if her husband was dead or alive. [Excerpt: Blake Jones and the Trike Shop, "Astronauts in Trouble"] When Termen got back to the USSR, he found it had changed beyond recognition. Stalin's reign of terror was now well underway, and not only could he not find a job, most of the people who he'd been in contact with at the top of the Kremlin had been purged. Termen was himself arrested and tortured into signing a false confession to counter-revolutionary activities and membership of fascist organisations. He was sentenced to eight years in a forced labour camp, which in reality was a death sentence -- it was expected that workers there would work themselves to death on starvation rations long before their sentences were up -- but relatively quickly he was transferred to a special prison where people with experience of aeronautical design were working. He was still a prisoner, but in conditions not too far removed from normal civilian life, and allowed to do scientific and technical work with some of the greatest experts in the field -- almost all of whom had also been arrested in one purge or another. One of the pieces of work Termen did was at the direct order of Laventy Beria, Stalin's right-hand man and the architect of most of the terrors of the Stalinist regime. In Spring 1945, while the USA and USSR were still supposed to be allies in World War II, Beria wanted to bug the residence of the US ambassador, and got Termen to design a bug that would get past all the normal screenings. The bug that Termen designed was entirely passive and unpowered -- it did nothing unless a microwave beam of a precise frequency was beamed at it, and only then did it start transmitting. It was placed in a wooden replica of the Great Seal of the United States, presented to the ambassador by a troupe of scouts as a gesture of friendship between the two countries. The wood in the eagle's beak was thin enough to let the sound through. It remained there for seven years, through the tenures of four ambassadors, only being unmasked when a British radio operator accidentally tuned to the frequency it was transmitting on and was horrified to hear secret diplomatic conversations. Upon its discovery, the US couldn't figure out how it worked, and eventually shared the information with MI5, who took eighteen months to reverse-engineer Termen's bug and come up with their own, which remained the standard bug in use for about a decade. The CIA's own attempts to reverse-engineer it failed altogether. It was also Termen who came up with that well-known bit of spycraft -- focussing an infra-red beam on a window pane, to use it to pick up the sound of conversations happening in the room behind it. Beria was so pleased with Termen's inventions that he got Termen to start bugging Stalin himself, so Beria would be able to keep track of Stalin's whims. Termen performed such great services for Beria that Beria actually allowed him to go free not long after his sentence was served. Not only that, but Beria nominated Termen for the Stalin Award, Class II, for his espionage work -- and Stalin, not realising that Termen had been bugging *him* as well as foreign powers, actually upgraded that to a Class I, the highest honour the Soviet state gave. While Termen was free, he found himself at a loose end, and ended up volunteering to work for the organisation he had been working for -- which went by many names but became known as the KGB from the 1950s onwards. He tried to persuade the government to let Lavinia, who he hadn't seen in eight years, come over and join him, but they wouldn't even allow him to contact her, and he eventually remarried. Meanwhile, after Stalin's death, Beria was arrested for his crimes, and charged under the same law that he had had Termen convicted under. Beria wasn't as lucky as Termen, though, and was executed. By 1964, Termen had had enough of the KGB, because they wanted him to investigate obvious pseudoscience -- they wanted him to look into aliens, UFOs, ESP... and telepathy. [Excerpt, The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations (early version)" "She's already working on my brain"] He quit and went back to civilian life.  He started working in the acoustics lab in Moscow Conservatory, although he had to start at the bottom because everything he'd been doing for more than a quarter of a century was classified. He also wrote a short book on electronic music. In the late sixties an article on him was published in the US -- the first sign any of his old friends had that he'd not  died nearly thirty years earlier. They started corresponding with him, and he became a minor celebrity again, but this was disapproved of by the Soviet government -- electronic music was still considered bourgeois decadence and not suitable for the Soviet Union, and all his instruments were smashed and he was sacked from the conservatory. He continued working in various technical jobs until the 1980s, and still continued inventing refinements of the theremin, although he never had any official support for his work. In the eighties, a writer tried to get him some sort of official recognition -- the Stalin Prize was secret -- and the university at which he was working sent a reply saying, in part, "L.S. Termen took part in research conducted by the department as an ordinary worker and he did not show enough creative activity, nor does he have any achievements on the basis of which he could be recommended for a Government decoration." By this time he was living in shared accommodation with a bunch of other people, one room to himself and using a shared bathroom, kitchen, and so on. After Glasnost he did some interviews and was asked about this, and said "I never wanted to make demands and don't want to now. I phoned the housing department about three months ago and inquired about my turn to have a new flat. The woman told me that my turn would come in five or six years. Not a very reassuring answer if one is ninety-two years old." In 1989 he was finally allowed out of the USSR again, for the first time in fifty-one years, to attend a UNESCO sponsored symposium on electronic music. Among other things, he was given, forty-eight years late, a letter that his old colleague Edgard Varese had sent about his composition Ecuatorial, which had originally been written for theremin. Varese had wanted to revise the work, and had wanted to get modified theremins that could do what he wanted, and had asked the inventor for help, but the letter had been suppressed by the Soviet government. When he got no reply, Varese had switched to using ondes martenot instead. [Excerpt: Edgard Varese, "Ecuatorial"] In the 1970s, after the death of his third wife, Termen had started an occasional correspondence with his second wife, Lavinia, the one who had not been able to come with him to the USSR and hadn't known if he was alive for so many decades. She was now a prominent activist in Haiti, having established dance schools in many Caribbean countries, and Termen still held out hope that they could be reunited, even writing her a letter in 1988 proposing remarriage. But sadly, less than a month after Termen's first trip outside the USSR, she died -- officially of a heart attack or food poisoning, but there's a strong suspicion that she was murdered by the military dictatorship for her closeness to Jean-Bertrand Aristide, the pro-democracy activist who later became President of Haiti. Termen was finally allowed to join the Communist Party in the spring of 1991, just before the USSR finally dissolved -- he'd been forbidden up to that point because of his conviction for counter-revolutionary crimes. He was asked by a Western friend why he'd done that when everyone else was trying to *leave* the Communist Party, and he explained that he'd made a promise to Lenin. In his final years he was researching immortality, going back to the work he had done in his youth, working with biologists, trying to find a way to restore elderly bodies to youthful vigour. But sadly he died in 1993, aged ninety-seven, before he achieved his goal. On one of his last trips outside the USSR, in 1991, he visited the US, and in California he finally got to hear the song that most people associate with his invention, even though it didn't actually feature a theremin: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations"] Back in the 1930s, when he was working with Slonimsky and Varese and Ives and the rest, Termen had set up the Theremin Studio, a sort of experimental arts lab, and in 1931 he had invited the musicologist, composer, and theoretician Joseph Schillinger to become a lecturer there. Schillinger had been one of the first composers to be really interested in the theremin, and had composed a very early piece written specifically for the instrument, the First Airphonic Suite: [Excerpt: Joseph Schillinger, "First Airphonic Suite"] But he was most influential as a theoretician. Schillinger believed that all of the arts were susceptible to rigorous mathematical analysis, and that you could use that analysis to generate new art according to mathematical principles, art that would be perfect. Schillinger planned to work with Termen to try to invent a machine that could compose, perform, and transmit music. The idea was that someone would be able to tune in a radio and listen to a piece of music in real time as it was being algorithmically composed and transmitted. The two men never achieved this, but Schillinger became very, very, respected as someone with a rigorous theory of musical structure -- though reading his magnum opus, the Schillinger System of Musical Composition, is frankly like wading through treacle. I'll read a short excerpt just to give an idea of his thinking: "On the receiving end, phasic stimuli produced by instruments encounter a metamorphic auditory integrator. This integrator represents the auditory apparatus as a whole and is a complex interdependent system. It consists of two receivers (ears), transmitters, auditory nerves, and a transformer, the auditory braincenter.  The response to a stimulus is integrated both quantitatively and selectively. The neuronic energy of response becomes the psychonic energy of auditory image. The response to stimuli and the process of integration are functional operations and, as such, can be described in mathematical terms , i.e., as  synchronization, addition, subtraction, multiplication, etc. But these integrative processes alone do not constitute the material of orchestration either.  The auditory image, whether resulting from phasic stimuli of an excitor or from selfstimulation of the auditory brain-center, can be described only in Psychological terms, of loudness, pitch, quality, etc. This leads us to the conclusion that the material of orchestration can be defined only as a group of conditions under which an integrated image results from a sonic stimulus subjected to an auditory response.  This constitutes an interdependent tripartite system, in which the existence of one component necessitates the existence of two others. The composer can imagine an integrated sonic form, yet he cannot transmit it to the auditor (unless telepathicaliy) without sonic stimulus and hearing apparatus." That's Schillinger's way of saying that if a composer wants someone to hear the music they've written, the composer needs a musical instrument and the listener needs ears and a brain. This kind of revolutionary insight made Schillinger immensely sought after in the early 1930s, and among his pupils were the swing bandleaders Benny Goodman and Tommy Dorsey, and the songwriter George Gershwin, who turned to Schillinger for advice when he was writing his opera Porgy and Bess: [Excerpt: Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong, "Here Come De Honey Man"] Another of his pupils was the trombonist and arranger Glenn Miller, who at that time was a session player working in pickup studio bands for people like Red Nichols. Miller spent some time studying with him in the early thirties, and applied those lessons when given the job of putting together arrangements for Ray Noble, his first prominent job. In 1938 Glenn Miller walked into a strip joint to see a nineteen-year-old he'd been told to take a look at. This was another trombonist, Paul Tanner, who was at the time working as a backing musician for the strippers. Miller had recently broken up his first big band, after a complete lack of success, and was looking to put together a new big band, to play arrangements in the style he had worked out while working for Noble. As Tanner later put it "he said, `Well, how soon can you come with me?' I said, `I can come right now.' I told him I was all packed, I had my toothbrush in my pocket and everything. And so I went with him that night, and I stayed with him until he broke the band up in September 1942." The new band spent a few months playing the kind of gigs that an unknown band can get, but they soon had a massive success with a song Miller had originally written as an arranging exercise set for him by Schillinger, a song that started out under the title "Miller's Tune", but soon became known worldwide as "Moonlight Serenade": [Excerpt: Glenn Miller, "Moonlight Serenade"] The Miller band had a lot of lineup changes in the four and a bit years it was together, but other than Miller himself there were only four members who were with that group throughout its career, from the early dates opening for  Freddie Fisher and His Schnickelfritzers right through to its end as the most popular band in America. They were piano player Chummy MacGregor, clarinet player Wilbur Schwartz, tenor sax player Tex Beneke, and Tanner. They played on all of Miller's big hits, like "In the Mood" and "Chattanooga Choo-Choo": [Excerpt: Glenn Miller, "Chattanooga Choo-Choo"] But in September 1942, the band broke up as the members entered the armed forces, and Tanner found himself in the Army while Miller was in the Air Force, so while both played in military bands, they weren't playing together, and Miller disappeared over the Channel, presumed dead, in 1944. Tanner became a session trombonist, based in LA, and in 1958 he found himself on a session for a film soundtrack with Dr. Samuel Hoffman. I haven't been able to discover for sure which film this was for, but the only film on which Hoffman has an IMDB credit for that year is that American International Pictures classic, Earth Vs The Spider: [Excerpt: Earth Vs The Spider trailer] Hoffman was a chiropodist, and that was how he made most of his living, but as a teenager in the 1930s he had been a professional violin player under the name Hal Hope. One of the bands he played in was led by a man named Jolly Coburn, who had seen Rudy Vallee's band with their theremin and decided to take it up himself. Hoffman had then also got a theremin, and started his own all-electronic trio, with a Hammond organ player, and with a cello-style fingerboard theremin played by William Schuman, the future Pulitzer Prize winning composer. By the 1940s, Hoffman was a full-time doctor, but he'd retained his Musicians' Union card just in case the odd gig came along, and then in 1945 he received a call from Miklos Rozsa, who was working on the soundtrack for Alfred Hitchcock's new film, Spellbound. Rozsa had tried to get Clara Rockmore, the one true virtuoso on the theremin playing at the time, to play on the soundtrack, but she'd refused -- she didn't do film soundtrack work, because in her experience they only wanted her to play on films about ghosts or aliens, and she thought it damaged the dignity of the instrument. Rozsa turned to the American Federation of Musicians, who as it turned out had precisely one theremin player who could read music and wasn't called Clara Rockmore on their books. So Dr. Samuel Hoffman, chiropodist, suddenly found himself playing on one of the most highly regarded soundtracks of one of the most successful films of the forties: [Excerpt: Miklos Rozsa, "Spellbound"] Rozsa soon asked Hoffman to play on another soundtrack, for the Billy Wilder film The Lost Weekend, another of the great classics of late forties cinema. Both films' soundtracks were nominated for the Oscar, and Spellbound's won, and Hoffman soon found himself in demand as a session player. Hoffman didn't have any of Rockmore's qualms about playing on science fiction and horror films, and anyone with any love of the genre will have heard his playing on genre classics like The Five Thousand Fingers of Dr T, The Thing From Another World, It Came From Outer Space, and of course Bernard Hermann's score for The Day The Earth Stood Still: [Excerpt: The Day The Earth Stood Still score] As well as on such less-than-classics as The Devil's Weed, Voodoo Island, The Mad Magician, and of course Billy The Kid Vs Dracula. Hoffman became something of a celebrity, and also recorded several albums of lounge music with a band led by Les Baxter, like the massive hit Music Out Of The Moon, featuring tracks like “Lunar Rhapsody”: [Excerpt: Samuel Hoffman, "Lunar Rhapsody”] [Excerpt: Neil Armstrong] That voice you heard there was Neil Armstrong, on Apollo 11 on its way back from the moon. He took a tape of Hoffman's album with him. But while Hoffman was something of a celebrity in the fifties, the work dried up almost overnight in 1958 when he worked at that session with Paul Tanner. The theremin is a very difficult instrument to play, and while Hoffman was a good player, he wasn't a great one -- he was getting the work because he was the best in a very small pool of players, not because he was objectively the best there could be. Tanner noticed that Hoffman was having quite some difficulty getting the pitching right in the session, and realised that the theremin must be a very difficult instrument to play because it had no markings at all. So he decided to build an instrument that had the same sound, but that was more sensibly controlled than just waving your hands near it. He built his own invention, the electrotheremin, in less than a week, despite never before having had any experience in electrical engineering. He built it using an oscillator, a length of piano wire and a contact switch that could be slid up and down the wire, changing the pitch. Two days after he finished building it, he was in the studio, cutting his own equivalent of Hoffman's forties albums, Music For Heavenly Bodies, including a new exotica version of "Moonlight Serenade", the song that Glenn Miller had written decades earlier as an exercise for Schillinger: [Excerpt: Paul Tanner, "Moonlight Serenade"] Not only could the electrotheremin let the player control the pitch more accurately, but it could also do staccato notes easily -- something that's almost impossible with an actual theremin. And, on top of that, Tanner was cheaper than Hoffman. An instrumentalist hired to play two instruments is paid extra, but not as much extra as paying for another musician to come to the session, and since Tanner was a first-call trombone player who was likely to be at the session *anyway*, you might as well hire him if you want a theremin sound, rather than paying for Hoffman. Tanner was an excellent musician -- he was a professor of music at UCLA as well as being a session player, and he authored one of the standard textbooks on jazz -- and soon he had cornered the market, leaving Hoffman with only the occasional gig. We will actually be seeing Hoffman again, playing on a session for an artist we're going to look at in a couple of months, but in LA in the early sixties, if you wanted a theremin sound, you didn't hire a theremin player, you hired Paul Tanner to play his electrotheremin -- though the instrument was so obscure that many people didn't realise he wasn't actually playing a theremin. Certainly Brian Wilson seems to have thought he was when he hired him for "I Just Wasn't Made For These Times": [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "I Just Wasn't Made For These Times"] We talked briefly about that track back in the episode on "God Only Knows",   but three days after recording that, Tanner was called back into the studio for another session on which Brian Wilson wanted a theremin sound. This was a song titled "Good, Good, Good Vibrations", and it was inspired by a conversation he'd had with his mother as a child. He'd asked her why dogs bark at some people and not at others, and she'd said that dogs could sense vibrations that people sent out, and some people had bad vibrations and some had good ones. It's possible that this came back to mind as he was planning the Pet Sounds album, which of course ends with the sound of his own dogs barking. It's also possible that he was thinking more generally about ideas like telepathy -- he had been starting to experiment with acid by this point, and was hanging around with a crowd of people who were proto-hippies, and reading up on a lot of the mystical ideas that were shared by those people. As we saw in the last episode, there was a huge crossover between people who were being influenced by drugs, people who were interested in Eastern religion, and people who were interested in what we now might think of as pseudo-science but at the time seemed to have a reasonable amount of validity, things like telepathy and remote viewing. Wilson had also had exposure from an early age to people claiming psychic powers. Jo Ann Marks, the Wilson family's neighbour and the mother of former Beach Boy David Marks, later had something of a minor career as a psychic to the stars (at least according to obituaries posted by her son) and she would often talk about being able to sense "vibrations". The record Wilson started out making in February 1966 with the Wrecking Crew was intended as an R&B single, and was also intended to sound *strange*: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations: Gold Star 1966-02-18"] At this stage, the song he was working on was a very straightforward verse-chorus structure, and it was going to be an altogether conventional pop song. The verses -- which actually ended up used in the final single, are dominated by organ and Ray Pohlman's bass: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations: Gold Star 1966-02-18"] These bear a strong resemblance to the verses of "Here Today", on the Pet Sounds album which the Beach Boys were still in the middle of making: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Here Today (instrumental)"] But the chorus had far more of an R&B feel than anything the Beach Boys had done before: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations: Gold Star 1966-02-18"] It did, though, have precedent. The origins of the chorus feel come from "Can I Get a Witness?", a Holland-Dozier-Holland song that had been a hit for Marvin Gaye in 1963: [Excerpt: Marvin Gaye, "Can I Get a Witness?"] The Beach Boys had picked up on that, and also on its similarity to the feel of Lonnie Mack's instrumental cover version of Chuck Berry's "Memphis, Tennessee", which, retitled "Memphis", had also been a hit in 1963, and in 1964 they recorded an instrumental which they called "Memphis Beach" while they were recording it but later retitled "Carl's Big Chance", which was credited to Brian and Carl Wilson, but was basically just playing the "Can I Get a Witness" riff over twelve-bar blues changes, with Carl doing some surf guitar over the top: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Carl's Big Chance"] The "Can I Get a Witness" feel had quickly become a standard piece of the musical toolkit – you might notice the resemblance between that riff and the “talking 'bout my generation” backing vocals on “My Generation” by the Who, for example. It was also used on "The Boy From New York City", a hit on Red Bird Records by the Ad-Libs: [Excerpt: The Ad-Libs, "The Boy From New York City"] The Beach Boys had definitely been aware of that record -- on their 1965 album Summer Days... And Summer Nights! they recorded an answer song to it, "The Girl From New York City": [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "The Girl From New York City"] And you can see how influenced Brian was by the Ad-Libs record by laying the early instrumental takes of the "Good Vibrations" chorus from this February session under the vocal intro of "The Boy From New York City". It's not a perfect match, but you can definitely hear that there's an influence there: [Excerpt: "The Boy From New York City"/"Good Vibrations"] A few days later, Brian had Carl Wilson overdub some extra bass, got a musician in to do a jaw harp overdub, and they also did a guide vocal, which I've sometimes seen credited to Brian and sometimes Carl, and can hear as both of them depending on what I'm listening for. This guide vocal used a set of placeholder lyrics written by Brian's collaborator Tony Asher, which weren't intended to be a final lyric: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations (first version)"] Brian then put the track away for a month, while he continued work on the Pet Sounds album. At this point, as best we can gather, he was thinking of it as something of a failed experiment. In the first of the two autobiographies credited to Brian (one whose authenticity is dubious, as it was largely put together by a ghostwriter and Brian later said he'd never even read it) he talks about how he was actually planning to give the song to Wilson Pickett rather than keep it for the Beach Boys, and one can definitely imagine a Wilson Pickett version of the song as it was at this point. But Brian's friend Danny Hutton, at that time still a minor session singer who had not yet gone on to form the group that would become Three Dog Night, asked Brian if *he* could have the song if Brian wasn't going to use it. And this seems to have spurred Brian into rethinking the whole song. And in doing so he was inspired by his very first ever musical memory. Brian has talked a lot about how the first record he remembers hearing was when he was two years old, at his maternal grandmother's house, where he heard the Glenn Miller version of "Rhapsody in Blue", a three-minute cut-down version of Gershwin's masterpiece, on which Paul Tanner had of course coincidentally played: [Excerpt: The Glenn Miller Orchestra, "Rhapsody in Blue"] Hearing that music, which Brian's mother also played for him a lot as a child, was one of the most profoundly moving experiences of Brian's young life, and "Rhapsody in Blue" has become one of those touchstone pieces that he returns to again and again. He has recorded studio versions of it twice, in the mid-nineties with Van Dyke Parks: [Excerpt: Brian Wilson and Van Dyke Parks, "Rhapsody in Blue"] and in 2010 with his solo band, as the intro and outro of an album of Gershwin covers: [Excerpt: Brian Wilson, "Rhapsody in Blue"] You'll also often see clips of him playing "Rhapsody in Blue" when sat at the piano -- it's one of his go-to songs. So he decided he was going to come up with a song that was structured like "Rhapsody in Blue" -- what publicist Derek Taylor would later describe as a "pocket symphony", but "pocket rhapsody" would possibly be a better term for it. It was going to be one continuous song, but in different sections that would have different instrumentation and different feelings to them -- he'd even record them in different studios to get different sounds for them, though he would still often have the musicians run through the whole song in each studio. He would mix and match the sections in the edit. His second attempt to record the whole track, at the start of April, gave a sign of what he was attempting, though he would not end up using any of the material from this session: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations: Gold Star 1966-04-09" around 02:34] Nearly a month later, on the fourth of May, he was back in the studio -- this time in Western Studios rather than Gold Star where the previous sessions had been held, with yet another selection of musicians from the Wrecking Crew, plus Tanner, to record another version. This time, part of the session was used for the bridge for the eventual single: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys: "Good Vibrations: Western 1966-05-04 Second Chorus and Fade"] On the twenty-fourth of May the Wrecking Crew, with Carl Wilson on Fender bass (while Lyle Ritz continued to play string bass, and Carol Kaye, who didn't end up on the finished record at all, but who was on many of the unused sessions, played Danelectro), had another attempt at the track, this time in Sunset Studios: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys: "Good Vibrations: Sunset Sound 1966-05-24 (Parts 2&3)"] Three days later, another group of musicians, with Carl now switched to rhythm guitar, were back in Western Studios recording this: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys: "Good Vibrations: Western 1966-05-27 Part C" from 2:52] The fade from that session was used in the final track. A few days later they were in the studio again, a smaller group of people with Carl on guitar and Brian on piano, along with Don Randi on electric harpsichord, Bill Pitman on electric bass, Lyle Ritz on string bass and Hal Blaine on drums. This time there seems to have been another inspiration, though I've never heard it mentioned as an influence. In March, a band called The Association, who were friends with the Beach Boys, had released their single "Along Comes Mary", and by June it had become a big hit: [Excerpt: The Association, "Along Comes Mary"] Now the fuzz bass part they were using on the session on the second of June sounds to my ears very, very, like that intro: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations (Inspiration) Western 1966-06-02" from 01:47] That session produced the basic track that was used for the choruses on the final single, onto which the electrotheremin was later overdubbed as Tanner wasn't at that session. Some time around this point, someone suggested to Brian that they should use a cello along with the electrotheremin in the choruses, playing triplets on the low notes. Brian has usually said that this was Carl's idea, while Brian's friend Van Dyke Parks has always said that he gave Brian the idea. Both seem quite certain of this, and neither has any reason to lie, so I suspect what might have happened is that Parks gave Brian the initial idea to have a cello on the track, while Carl in the studio suggested having it specifically play triplets. Either way, a cello part by Jesse Erlich was added to those choruses. There were more sessions in June, but everything from those sessions was scrapped. At some point around this time, Mike Love came up with a bass vocal lyric, which he sang along with the bass in the choruses in a group vocal session. On August the twenty-fourth, two months after what one would think at this point was the final instrumental session, a rough edit of the track was pulled together. By this point the chorus had altered quite a bit. It had originally just been eight bars of G-flat, four bars of B-flat, then four more bars of G-flat. But now Brian had decided to rework an idea he had used in "California Girls". In that song, each repetition of the line "I wish they all could be California" starts a tone lower than the one before. Here, after the bass hook line is repeated, everything moves up a step, repeats the line, and then moves up another step: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations: [Alternate Edit] 1966-08-24"] But Brian was dissatisfied with this version of the track. The lyrics obviously still needed rewriting, but more than that, there was a section he thought needed totally rerecording -- this bit: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations: [Alternate Edit] 1966-08-24"] So on the first of September, six and a half months after the first instrumental session for the song, the final one took place. This had Dennis Wilson on organ, Tommy Morgan on harmonicas, Lyle Ritz on string bass, and Hal Blaine and Carl Wilson on percussion, and replaced that with a new, gentler, version: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys: "Good Vibrations (Western 1966-09-01) [New Bridge]"] Well, that was almost the final instrumental session -- they called Paul Tanner in to a vocal overdub session to redo some of the electrotheremin parts, but that was basically it. Now all they had to do was do the final vocals. Oh, and they needed some proper lyrics. By this point Brian was no longer working with Tony Asher. He'd started working with Van Dyke Parks on some songs, but Parks wasn't interested in stepping into a track that had already been worked on so long, so Brian eventually turned to Mike Love, who'd already come up with the bass vocal hook, to write the lyrics. Love wrote them in the car, on the way to the studio, dictating them to his wife as he drove, and they're actually some of his best work. The first verse grounds everything in the sensory, in the earthy. He makes a song originally about *extra* -sensory perception into one about sensory perception -- the first verse covers sight, sound, and smell: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations"] Carl Wilson was chosen to sing the lead vocal, but you'll notice a slight change in timbre on the line "I hear the sound of a" -- that's Brian stepping into double him on the high notes. Listen again: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations"] For the second verse, Love's lyric moves from the sensory grounding of the first verse to the extrasensory perception that the song has always been about, with the protagonist knowing things about the woman who's the object of the song without directly perceiving them. The record is one of those where I wish I was able to play the whole thing for you, because it's a masterpiece of structure, and of editing, and of dynamics. It's also a record that even now is impossible to replicate properly on stage, though both its writers in their live performances come very close. But while someone in the audience for either the current touring Beach Boys led by Mike Love or for Brian Wilson's solo shows might come away thinking "that sounded just like the record", both have radically different interpretations of it even while sticking close to the original arrangement. The touring Beach Boys' version is all throbbing strangeness, almost garage-rock, emphasising the psychedelia of the track: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations (live 2014)"] While Brian Wilson's live version is more meditative, emphasising the gentle aspects: [Excerpt Brian Wilson, "Good Vibrations (live at the Roxy)"] But back in 1966, there was definitely no way to reproduce it live with a five-person band. According to Tanner, they actually asked him if he would tour with them, but he refused -- his touring days were over, and also he felt he would look ridiculous, a middle-aged man on stage with a bunch of young rock and roll stars, though apparently they offered to buy him a wig so he wouldn't look so out of place. When he wouldn't tour with them, they asked him where they could get a theremin, and he pointed them in the direction of Robert Moog. Moog -- whose name is spelled M-o-o-g and often mispronounced "moog", had been a teenager in 1949, when he'd seen a schematic for a theremin in an electronic hobbyist magazine, after Samuel Hoffman had brought the instrument back into the limelight. He'd built his own, and started building others to sell to other hobbyists, and had also started branching out into other electronic instruments by the mid-sixties. His small company was the only one still manufacturing actual theremins, but when the Beach Boys came to him and asked him for one, they found it very difficult to control, and asked him if he could do anything simpler. He came up with a ribbon-controlled oscillator, on the same principle as Tanner's electro-theremin, but even simpler to operate, and the Beach Boys bought it and gave it to Mike Love to play on stage. All he had to do was run his finger up and down a metallic ribbon, with the positions of the notes marked on it, and it would come up with a good approximation of the electro-theremin sound. Love played this "woo-woo machine" as he referred to it, on stage for several years: [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Good Vibrations (live in Hawaii 8/26/67)"] Moog was at the time starting to build his first synthesisers, and having developed that ribbon-control mechanism he decided to include it in the early models as one of several different methods of controlling the Moog synthesiser, the instrument that became synonymous with the synthesiser in the late sixties and early seventies: [Excerpt: Gershon Kingsley and Leonid Hambro, "Rhapsody in Blue" from Switched-On Gershwin] "Good Vibrations" became the Beach Boys' biggest ever hit -- their third US number one, and their first to make number one in the UK. Brian Wilson had managed, with the help of his collaborators, to make something that combined avant-garde psychedelic music and catchy pop hooks, a truly experimental record that was also a genuine pop classic. To this day, it's often cited as the greatest single of all time. But Brian knew he could do better. He could be even more progressive. He could make an entire album using the same techniques as "Good Vibrations", one where themes could recur, where sections could be edited together and songs could be constructed in the edit. Instead of a pocket symphony, he could make a full-blown teenage symphony to God. All he had to do was to keep looking forward, believe he could achieve his goal, and whatever happened, not lose his nerve and turn back. [Excerpt: The Beach Boys, "Smile Promo" ]