There are two Mangas that I've been having a hard time remembering what their titles are, I remember loving them or having interest in them but would love if anyone happens to know any of them or can lead me closer!
1) It was a romance featured manga where photography was one of the main connections. One of the main male characters had a brother that I believe used to do dives and photography until one day he passed away because of some dicing accident. The brother kept the photos that were from his collections but stayed away from this beautiful beach like place where he remembered his brother most. The sister in law/girlfriend kept an eye on the guy and tried to help him through it all. He meets a girl and she helps him through it, I remember they get married in the end too but mostly remember like bioluminescent jellyfish and photography in the manga.
2) The cover had a sad girl on it with a blue background and white, I believe she had short hair and the title had something to do with like blue or b l o o d. I remember I started it briefly but never got to continue. She was like being bullied and some tough guy ends up helping her or something to the effect but I remember seeing like a fur collar outfit. It's the cover that stood out to me since I can't remember the manga too well

“We’re a meat family,” my dad would proudly tell strangers. He’d wait for the quizzical look, then launch into detail, starting with how many freezers we had, how long we could sustain ourselves on the contents. It was just his way of starting a conversation, which made sense when you considered that raising and home-killing animals for food was, for want of a better term, his life-long hobby. His prize possession was one of those industrial-sized vacuum sealers: you could put half a pig inside and wrap it in plastic so tightly that every wrinkle and skin fold waxed unreal with shiny detail.
If we hadn’t lived in a rural area, albeit semi-urbanised, I guess it would have been pretty weird. But the mostly farming-stock locals only found his extra enthusiasm a little bit odd.
When he wasn’t being a bit embarrassing talking about it, I never really paid much heed to his hobby. I had a child’s vaguely grateful awareness that though our family went through some lean financial times, our stomachs never suffered like some of the families around us. All the beef, pork, ham and bacon in those big old chest freezers passed down from his dad really could have fed us for years.
I should preface all this by saying that I wasn’t a particularly bright kid, though neither was I dumb. I didn’t fail badly at anything in school, I just never achieved beyond a pass. I didn’t know it yet back then, still quietly dreaming about being a ballet star or a dressage champion, but mediocrity was my destiny. And I think that’s why I got on so well with my Aunt Liz.
Liz was my dad’s live-in youngest sister. She was one of those women who get described as ‘bubbly’ — not really pretty, not really smart, not a lot going on besides just being… well, all Liz. But she was salt of the earth; kind, caring, and great with kids. She was the only person who would willingly mind my two older brothers, who fought like hellcats and caused more trouble than the whole last generation of my family combined. People would privately lament to my parents that it was a shame Liz didn’t have kids of her own, but dad would just shake his head and say Liz liked it that way – that all the fun of looking after kids is being able to give them back to their parents.
I guess she was like me; nice, but mediocre. Lovely, but somehow forgettable when she wasn’t doing something for you.
But when Liz left us, I couldn’t forget her.
In hindsight, it was pretty weird timing that we had a big fortieth birthday party for Liz right before she disappeared. She was radiant that night; she’d hired a local girl to do her hair and makeup, and it was honestly the first time I’d ever seen her look pretty. She’d even worn a push-up bra under a tight red dress, which flattered her very plump curves well enough that the neighbour’s farmhand was spotted disappearing into the woolshed with her for a snog. In my dawning awareness, that gave a plain girl hope: if Aunty Liz could get a guy at forty, maybe things would turn out okay for me.
Anyway, I couldn’t forget how her pink cheeks, her eyes, her whole self, glowed that night before Liz went to bed. She said it was the best birthday ever, and that she was very much looking forward to the next stage of her life.
Would I have done anything different, if I had known? If I had realised what, exactly, that next stage was?
The week after the party, Aunt Liz said she was going on a little holiday up north, to visit some old school friends. She packed her things – she didn’t honestly have that many – and drove her little orange mini out onto the main road. And with a wave of one fleshy hand, she was gone. Nobody really thought much of it when she didn’t call, because nobody rural had cellphones back then. And Liz was, as I said, somehow kinda forgettable when she wasn’t right in front of you.
When we hadn’t had contact for six weeks, Dad tracked down the land line numbers for their old school buddies. They were surprised to hear from him — Liz had never arrived, so they had just assumed she’d cancelled her visit. No-one had thought to check. I eavesdropped on the conversation, and it sounded for all the world like *they* had forgotten about Aunt Liz, too.
From there it became a missing person case. The local cops came and talked to all of us; the farmhand who’d been seen snogging her was briefly detained, then let go, dad got grilled at length, even my hellion brothers were questioned thoroughly to see if this was one of their wild and dangerous pranks gone wrong.
But everything was a dead end. Nobody knew where Liz was, or what had happened to her.
The remains of her old mini were found halfway across the country, burned out on a beach, on a derelict stretch of ragged, rocky coastline. The police assumed murder and combed the area for remains. But even the most expert divers couldn’t conquer the incredible undertow and fast-shifting seabed of that coastline to look for evidence, so none was forthcoming.
Eventually the cops collectively shrugged and said that there was really nothing more they could do unless more information suddenly came to light. The locals knew nothing, no witnesses had come forward, and the trail was cold. As far as anyone knew, poor aunt Liz had been murdered on some desolate beach, far away from her home.
It didn’t feel fair to me. She’d once mentioned wanting her remains buried on our farm, in the graveyard plot beside grandma and grandad.
So, in my grief, I went into her room to look for something of hers to bury beside them.
Like I said, Liz didn’t have many things. Her room was pretty spartan, and her wardrobe was mostly sensible farm stuff. There was one exception: she, like me, did like to read, and she had a pretty good collection of well-thumbed books. I think it’s the escapism – even the most mediocre girl can lose herself in the plot of some trashy romance novel, imagine there’s still hope of being swept off her feet by that handsome stableboy, his inexplicable yearning for chubby plain girls.
So I set myself the task of going through the books, to find the right one to bury in the graveyard plot.
Most of them were exactly what you’d expect, but some of them were racier than I was used to. I felt various parts of my body flushing and tingling, as I read breathless prose about calloused hands touching the softest flesh of the protagonist. Okay, if I’m honest with myself, I might have got a little *too* invested in my project at that point. But that was also why I persisted going through her entire collection, until I found the ragged paperback from 1970, entitled Tawny Sands. And inside that trashy cardboard romance cover, I discovered not the tale of Tawny Sands, but some carefully hand-cut, stitched-in pages. A handwritten story in my Aunt’s rounded penmanship: Memoirs of a Long Pig.
I read her story twice in a row, utterly gripped.
Aunt Liz was no Stephen King – heck, she wasn’t even the Goosebumps guy – but her story was gripping and compelling, and I couldn’t put it down. Even if I hadn’t known her, I think that would have been true.
The gist of it was that Liz, when she was sixteen, had discovered that our family had a very long history of eating what she described as ‘Long Pork’. It’s an antipodean term, anglicised from the Pacific Islands: human meat.
Like me, young Liz still had some hopes and dreams. In one of her many failed attempts to find a special talent, she’d taken up cooking as a hobby. Naturally, with our family’s overabundance of meat, she’d scoured the freezers in the shed for ingredients: the racks of ribs and stacks of pork chops, butcher-paper wrappings all neatly labelled with the first letter of the name of the animal they came from.
She found familiar meat from Rodney, one of the pigs that had been recently slaughtered, emblazoned with an ‘R’ in her father’s strong, blocky lettering. There were cutlets labelled ‘M’ for Mary, from one of the lambs she’d hand-reared, and ‘F’ for Ferdinand, the steer they’d killed the month before. But she couldn’t explain the many, many curious parcels of meat on one side of the huge freezer, all labelled ‘J’ – at least, not until she took it all out and assembled it as well as she could on the scoured concrete floor of the killing shed. A big, frozen jigsaw puzzle without the box, her best attempt to discover what kind of beast the pieces had come from.
The animal, she quickly realised, was a Long Pig. Her own Aunt Jenny, who had died the month before – just after her fortieth birthday.
Fortunately, or perhaps not, for Liz, her father entered the shed right at that moment and realised his daughter had discovered the family secret. He sat down calmly on the lid of the freezer, and explained to her that this was a long-running family tradition, dating back to at least before his grandfather had been born.
“There are always people in life, Liz,” he’d said, “who won’t really amount to much. They want to be useful, want to be more. They strive and they strive, trying job after job, hobby after hobby, trying to hit on something they’re really good at. Something that makes them special. Those people can waste their whole lives, chasing dreams that never come true. Eventually they die unfulfilled, knowing that all their time has been wasted. That what they leave behind will fade quickly.”
His voice was oddly gentle as he leaned down and patted one of the neatly wrapped cuts of Aunt Jenny, still sitting frozen on the shed floor.
“Your Aunt Jenny was one of those people. So was my Aunt Irene.” He paused to gaze at his daughter, his next words peppered with emphasis. “But you see, my sweet Liz, they did find a purpose in life. They did find a way to be special, and they left this world utterly certain of their gift.” He stood up, stretched his back. “Let me show you.”
Liz waited while my grandad meticulously stacked the meat back into the freezer, all but one J-marked parcel that looked for all the world like a thick venison steak. He took her back to the farmhouse, and reverently unwrapped the deep red, heavily marbled meat to let it thaw. Then he laid it in the family’s ancient, cast-iron pan, basting it with butter and rosemary until a heavenly scent filled the kitchen, and Aunt Liz couldn’t stop her mouth from watering.
“Just try it. Let her show you. You’ll see exactly what I’m talking about.”
Even though she knew it was her aunt, Liz couldn’t stop herself from taking that first bite. There was something transcendent about the smell, overriding her natural revulsion that this was human meat, not one of their farm animals. For the first time, she truly realised it: we’re just another kind of animal. And weren’t her memories of Mary the lamb almost as fond as her memories of Aunt Jenny?
Liz explained then, in her curly handwriting, the explosion of taste that had assaulted her when she tried the steak. It was tender, it was succulent, it was rich beyond imagining. The fats melted on her tongue, lingering somewhere between pork and beef, but oddly neither. The flavour of the meat defied identification; something familiar, yet not.
But one thing she couldn’t deny; it was the most delicious thing she had ever eaten. Tears dripped onto her plate, mingled with the juice, the grease — not grief, but a pure, real, giddy delight.
“You’re tasting your aunt’s love for this family,” my grandad explained. “Her entire life was carefully curated, to eventually make unforgettable moments for us, just like this. This was her way of being special. This was the greatest gift she could possibly bring to our world – and because she realised that, she died with not a single regret. She knew her life had purpose. She was perfectly, completely fulfilled.”
I felt those words. I felt them lodge in my own belly, settling uncomfortably deep. I knew Aunt Liz, probably better than anyone else in the family. I’d seen how fucking happy she’d been on her fortieth, how goddamn fulfilled she was, despite apparently being a *nobody* and achieving *nothing*. Somehow, in the space of a single day, she had gone from being a forgettable background character to becoming the *main character*, immortalising herself in our family’s history with her sacrifice. Quite literally becoming part of all of us, forever.
I went to the killing shed after I finished with the book. I looked inside the freezers.
But there were no vacuum-sealed packages labelled ‘L’, no matter how deep I dug into the frozen stacks of plastic-wrapped flesh. Panicked now, not sure if I wanted to connect all the dots or unconnect them, I tried to think back over the last few months, recall any meals that had been unusually good. A few Sundays ago, we’d had a stew that really hit the spot and left me craving more. And I realised that the family had a really good night that night; my brothers behaved themselves, my parents didn’t fight, and grandma and grandad had been there. Hadn’t they looked far more… expectant than they should have?
I strained my brain, trying to recall if I’d seen the homekill bag on the kitchen bench – if I’d registered what letter it was. I knew it wasn’t an L. I would have remembered if it was an L.
And then it hit me, the memory, the connection, sizzling as if branded with a hot iron.
It had been an ‘E’.
E for Elizabeth. Not for Edward the pig.
I snorted at my own stupidity – of *course* Liz was short for Elizabeth – and as I comprehended my lack of smarts, I felt something give inside me.
I wasn’t clever, and nothing, nothing would ever make me smart. I had no big talents. I wasn’t beautiful, or even cute – and even if I had a million plastic surgeries, it still wouldn’t fulfill me. It wouldn’t be real.
I was a Liz.
I was a Jenny.
I was whoever the first aunt had been, the aunt who had dedicated her life to making her flesh as delicious as possible, who had worked every damn minute to be the best Long Pig she could ever be.
I wondered how many magical family evenings had been spent eating Aunt Jenny. How many glorious, satisfying, memorable dishes had been made out of her.
And… I wanted that. I wanted to finally know I had a *purpose* in life. One so simple, and so easy to achieve.
I wanted what Aunt Liz had.
***
It's my fortieth birthday today and I’m so fucking excited. For the last twenty-four years, I’ve dedicated myself to this moment; I’ve eaten exactly what I needed to, I’ve exercised just enough, but not too much, to maintain that perfect balance of marbling vs tenderness. I’ve relaxed and meditated to keep all those amazing flavours inside of me. I’ve researched all the greatest meats in the world, from prime Angus beef to A5 Wagyu. I really think I may have outdone myself.
I’m having my hair and makeup done at the local salon this afternoon, and I’m going to look so pretty; all prize piggy on show at the fair. I’m even going to have a big red ribbon in my hair, in memory of Aunt Liz.
Maybe there’ll be a cute boy I can snog in the wool shed, maybe there won’t – I don’t really care; because the most important, most certain thing is that I’m going to be the most delicious Long Pig in the history of our entire family.
I’m going to make everyone so damn happy, and I’m just so glad I can share my story with you all, instead of hiding it in a grubby book like poor Aunt Liz.
My only real disappointment? That you won’t get to taste me.
Reader, I have loved, loved my life. My Long Pork will be out of this world: once tasted, never, ever forgotten.

Hello. I was eagerly awaiting my yearly review as I’ve been taking on a lot of tasks at my job as an LVN. Specifically stuff that other staff highly don’t like doing (Stats, % rate calling patients for reminders) just to name a few. Anyways. I work in recovery with two sometimes one nurse. Depending on the day. Well when I came to my boss the end of the day she informed me that Nurse A gave me a really shitty review saying I do the “bare minimum” and is “ constantly sitting” ( currently pregnant, don’t get breaks only lunch mind you this is 10hr shifts). And anon Nurse B ( I know who it highly is, doesn’t like me doesn’t even work with me in recovery) also gave me a shitty review. And because of this my boss said I don’t qualify for a raise. Which honestly pissed me off since what they said I personally don’t agree with. The only way I can think of proving I actually DO work (sometimes more than the other nurses on the floor) is collecting proof by gathering data % of all my paperwork in total for the day in comparison to other recovery nurses over the course of a month. Numbers can’t lie.
Any tips or anything else that I can do to prove my case?

Okay, here we go. Big rant incoming. This post is going to be extremely long and a bit whiny, but I would only write something like this because I really do love this game, and I am passionate about the decisions that go into game design & player experience. Feel free to skip to the TLDR. Obviously: SPOILERS
I'll start this off by saying that I have like 1000 hours in Valheim and I absolutely love the core aspects of the game. I also like to think of myself as a pretty skilled player compared to the average/target audience. I've done many Valheim playthroughs over the past few years, including a hardcore playthrough through Yagluth with no deaths, and a no-map/compass only playthrough. Even so, while the Ashlands as a biome felt "off" from even before the release, I generally blamed this on "skill issue", and figured progression would ameliorate some of the issues. After doing basically everything there is to do in the biome, I've come to the conclusion that it does not get better: the Ashlands gameplay loop is fundamentally anti-player experience. Here' why:
Mob density and lava is anti-exploration: Valheim, at its core, is an adventure & exploration game. If you take out the exploration, you're left with a resource collection simulator with awkward movement and basic combat. Like the Mistlands before it, the Ashlands presents immediate barriers to exploration. To even set foot into the biome you need top tier gear from the previous biome and an industrial grade multi-biome farm producing all of the best foods and meads.
However, while the Mistlands progression allows you to eventually overcome its barriers to exploration with the introduction of magic and new mechanical items (like the feather cape), the Ashlands never gets any less hostile. There are no lava-immunity boots, no anti-spawning beacons, no nothing. You just get a pretty okay gear upgrade, and a big fuck you. In fact, because of the unrelenting charred hordes, Valkyries, and marathon-running Asksvins, you're actually punished for exploring too far from your steadfast.
The only reasonable way to map the biome is by sprinting in Fenris armor with an Asksvin cape and Moder, which fundamentally destroys the immersion of the exploration anyways. After all this time in the biome, I've explored less than a half of a single of the Ashlands continents in my world. And why should I? What do I even gain from it? This leads me into my next big problem:
The Ashlands is unrewarding: To invest such tremendous effort into a biome there needs to be an equally tremendous reward. Spoiler: there isn't! You can expect to die a LOT in the biome, meaning your hard-earned skills are going to wither away, making you substantially weaker overall. What are you offered in return for this? Not much! The new heavy armor is the standard upgrade, extremely expensive, and generally slow. The Asksvin hide and magic armor sets are definitely not worse than the previous armor sets, but they don't really feel that much better. A couple of the weapons were interesting... but again, not enough to offset the pain.
The Ashlands really doesn't reward players for dealing with all of its bullshit. It's totally isolated, not very visually appealing, hostile from start to finish, and doesn't really introduce or accelerate any of the out-of-biome mechanics like previous biomes do (farming, sailing, new cooking stations, new crafting stations, fall damage negation, etc). By far the most interesting thing you acquire in the Ashlands is a staff that sacrifices half your health to spawn a charred troll, and they aren't even allowed to be on your team!!!
The whole war-zone aesthetic would be tolerable if the biome just didn't take so damn long to finish. Like seriously, because all of the limited visibility and constant mob clearing it's extremely slow to even locate the things you need to do, never-the-less even do them! At this point, I kind of think of the Ashlands as a chore you must complete to progress beyond it. That is fundamentally not a fun thing to do, and I believe the vast majority of players will not make it to the deep north for this exact reason. Which brings me to the biggest problem.
The Ashlands does not understand what makes difficulty fun: According to the devs, the biome is hard. Really hard, actually. They seemed extremely proud of making a biome that would really give the players a true run for their money! Naturally, I was extremely excited! Unfortunately, the Ashlands is not hard because of new strategic or mechanical learning curves, it is hard because it is clumsy.
Flametal mining is contrived and hostile. The pillars are a pain to climb with the game's terrible collision. Have you ever been crushed between the underside of a sinking flametal vein and your basalt bomb platform? 'Cus I have! Even worse, every time I actually whack a Flametal pillar (which by the way, wants to kill me even more than the monsters do) I'm personally inviting every entity in a 10 mile radius to form a mosh pit right below me.
Grapevine harvesting and planting is too slow. They take forever to find, even longer to grow, and cant even be planted in their natural biome without a shield generator? (What's up with that by the way?) I will admit that I love the way they look and depending on where you land you might get lucky and find them early, in which case this point is pretty moot. In my case, I had fully upgraded gear and had already cleared a fortress before I even found my first Vineberry.
Fortress "sieging", as the devs would like to call it, is kind of... useless? The siege weapons are clumsy and ineffective, and are immediately secondary to the brute force method of building a wooden staircase and bombarding the inside with fireballs until everything in it is dead. By the time you even reach a fortress, the relentless mob clearing just to get there has sucked all the fun out of the would-be battle anyway. (By the way, who though that it would be a good idea to make the only unique fortress mob a necromancer that summons even more of the most annoying mob in the entire biome?? Hurray, yet another swarm of reskinned, stat-boosted greydwarves!)
Honestly, I wouldn't even call the biome "hard". I would just call it painful. Things that are hard are generally things you can get better at. I don't think it particularly fits this category.
Lingering questions: While there are many things I like about the biome as a concept, I don't know if there is a single mechanic in the Ashlands that I actually think is well-designed. Now that I'm basically done with the biome, I look back and ask myself a number of questions about things I encountered. Were these really fun? or were they just tedious. I'll let you decide:

• Why is the only ship you can take through the spires so difficult to steer? If you want it to feel large and heavy, that's fine... but then why do spires spawn so densely that it constantly gets beached?
• Why do basalt bomb platforms only last for like 30 seconds? If you want them to not permanently mark the landscape, why not make them last at least long enough for players to reuse them for approaching and escaping from the pillars? Why make the player interact with the admittedly funky aiming mechanics to throw more platforms as the pillar is sinking?
• Why can the charred and Asksvins go in the lava if you can't? They're not immune to fire damage from a staff, but they can wade through lava? Wouldn't it make more sense to encourage players to use the lava as a risky resting place? Something like, "go out into the lava with basalt bombs to escape the horde briefly, but make sure you don't slip!"? Maybe then, once the player has cleared a fortress and acquired their first set of lava-immunity potions (or boots or whatever), they will have an advantage over the horde in terms of mobility. You know, like in every single other biome?
• Why are there no lava-walking boots?
• Why do tamed Asksvins animals not have a "passive mode", or a "follow" command like wolves, or at least some kind of hitching post? If the idea of asksvins is to be able to ride over lava to pillars, why make them run away from the pillars and to their death the instant the player gets off of them?
• Why are there no lava-walking boots........?
• Why make the step heights on flametal ore pillars only convenient/resonable to climb when wearing the feather cape that is extremely weak to fire? Isn't the idea of the fire weakness to discourage its use in the Ashlands? If you know your movement & collision mechanics feel clunky, why design the pillars in such a way that scaling them is necessary to escape certain death?
• Boots in lava no walking on it why tho........?
• Why make the spawnrate for monsters so uniformly high? The combat is extremely simple, and these monsters do pretty substantial damage in melee. This leads to a boring and frustrating "swarming" experience, where players have to run from monsters, inevitably picking up more monsters on the way. Couldn't you fix this by just have areas of extreme monster density like in every other biome which can be "cleared". Doesn't this work better with the power-up based combat your entire system is based off of? Doesn't this also double as another reason to actually explore in the Ashlands, as when players clear one area, they need to continue on to the next?
• If you want a new paradigm where defeating the horde isn't enough to "clear" an area, wouldn't you at least want to counteract this with some new mechanic that spawn-proofs/suppresses large areas? Or maybe a set of armor that reduces player-made sounds? Why doesn't that exist?
• Why not reward the player with outside-the-biome progression? Why not use this as the reason to go to the Ashlands in the first place? Teleporting metals is an obvious great example, but it feels like it was an afterthought made late in development so that the Ashlands would be even remotely tolerable, given that it's a nightmare to sail to. With an entire community full of dedicated players who love the game proposing extremely popular changes all the time... why not use some of those? (shield generators could also repair builds! Redbeard Dvegrs could offer unique item trading! New cores & metal could somehow accelerate or automate farming! Any of the above...)

TLDR: After finishing the Ashlands I struggle to see why so many design decisions were made that make the biome so relentless, tedious, and anti-exploration. It's like they took all of the experiences and mechanics that people love about the game and replaced them with all of the ones people find painful and annoying. It is extremely disappointing, and will prevent most players from finishing the game, or even the biome itself.

It’s crazy what people in church leadership can get away with. Long mission story incoming…
I had just made it to my mission field in south america post-mtc and was of course still naive and learning the language. One thing I did pick up on was that when meeting the bishop of this area something felt off. Couldn’t quite put my finger on it, and didn’t really understand a lot of what was going on until after I’d left the area.
My follow up trainer and I remained close and emailed about the area after I’d left (since he’d stayed behind). Turns out, the ward clerk came across documents for use of ward budget funds for several youth activities. The problem was that these activities never happened. This started a series of investigations led by this ward clerk that proved that the bishop was using ward funds for himself and at least one of his counselors. And this wasn’t a recent problem. Apparently this had been going on the entire time the bishop had been ‘in office’ (which was about 2ish years at the time, with this being his second time serving as the bishop of the ward).
In order to keep this under wraps, the bishop stationed a ward member as a sort of ‘guard dog’.
So back to the ‘present’. Bishop realizes through this ‘watchdog’ member that the clerk is investigating. He takes the clerks keys, Ward clerk contacts my follow up trainer (who he’d been keeping up to date on the investigation), and uses the missionaries keys to continue getting into the church building.
Climax of this whole ordeal is when the bishop feels cornered. He starts getting real sour with the missionaries. My follow up trainer said that their relationship with a lot of the ward members was poisoned by the bishop. And finally, in an effort to ‘remove the evidence’, we theorize that the bishop ordered his watchdog to set fire to the church building…
Ward clerk went snooping again and found the church empty. Watchdog dude is missing… weird. Normally a window or several would be opened but this particular time it was all closed up. Smelled like propane. He heads in and finds all of the burners on the stove have their gas running while not a single burner is lit. They’d obviously been going for some time since the propane was noticeable from the entrance. Just then, the ward clerk hears shuffling and turns to see the watchdog member come in through the entrance holding something he couldn’t make out. (Follow up trainer says they bet it was some kind of way to light the gas filled building from a safe distance). Soon as watchdog sees clerk he turns right around and books it. (Now of course there could be some sort of explanation, this is all speculation. But based on the building layout they believe some sort of foul play was intended. The clerk/bishop offices were separated from the stove by just a 3-4 foot wide hallway
After all this the clerk brings his concerns up to the stake president and presents the evidence he’s collected. A disciplinary council is called with all of the stake leaders and high councilors. Not for the bishop, but for the ward clerk, who’s reprimanded for going against ward leadership. My follow up trainer reached out to the mission president. I’m not 100% sure of the reasoning, apparently the mission president was pretty vague. But from what I was told, the mission president wasn’t supposed to intervene and was supposed to uphold whatever the local leadership (i.e. the stake president) decided.
Following the whole ordeal the ward clerk and many strong members stopped going to church. The bishop was released and put on the high council, then assigned to a ward far from home where there’d be no drama. My follow up trainer and his companion were both transferred out of the area and a new elder was sent in to train and white out the area.
From what I was able to piece together, ward morale and attendance took a massive hit. The new bishop, (who was a real nice guy), unfortunately had a whole mess to deal with.
Haven’t kept much contact with the ward (mission ended 4 years ago and i’m coming up on 1.5 years exmo). In that ward during my time there were 3-4 families of recent converts that carried the ward and especially our missionary efforts on their backs. 2 Of those 3-4 families were preparing to enter the temple for the first time and get sealed. All of those 3-4 families stopped attending after the bishop situation and to my knowledge haven’t gone back since.
[TLDR: Ward bishop stole tithing money, Ward clerk investigates, Bishop attempts to set fire to church building, Stake president holds disciplinary council against the ward clerk, Bishop promoted to high council]

Feeling demoralized for struggling with culture fit interviews. Have 9 years of experience.
I really like the company (a successful fintech company) - I have passed technical rounds last year except the final leadership interview.
Now they have tech screening (cultural fit).
ex:- feedback from a screening interview with tech lead.
Thank you for giving us the opportunity to consider your application to the Software Engineer - Data role. Your interest in the position means a lot to us. We’ve reviewed your application and, unfortunately, it’s not a match for what we’re specifically searching for in this role.
Here is some feedback which might help you for your next endeavors:
**Pros:**

• You seem to have a good understanding of technology and the end-to-end cycle of software development from a technical point of view. For example, you shared that you worked on a project from scratch - understood requirements, did capacity planning, applied it on load balancers and also mentioned the monitoring aspect of the project.
  
• You have worked closely with the product manager (in the context of the above project) and knew the business impact they were measuring.
  
• You have experience working with data scientists - in the same project.
  
• You didn't mind working from the office. We pressed on the office first and the 3-day policy. You were comfortable with that - seemed neither excited nor against.
  

**Concerns:**

• **Concerns on Explainability:** You went into a lot of unnecessary details while explaining the project as an example. I would expect someone with your experience to read the room and give the details required for the key points of discussion.
  
• **Concerns on Cross Team/Cross Function projects:** We asked about the challenging parts of owning the end-to-end project - in light of the project example you had given. You mentioned the technical part of caching and the application crashing due to garbage collection. We pressed a bit on the non-technical challenges. You said one of the teams did not want to support their use case so you built it on your own. We pressed a bit more on any challenging experience you have had in your career and how you resolved it or learnt from it. You told a story of the two engineers in your team having an argument over a design, where you implemented two solutions and then the EM in the end resolved it. My feedback on this is that you don't have the experience on the "end-to-end" ownership apart from technical design, especially in cross-teams projects.
  
• **Concerns on Experience:** For all the questions we asked, you gave answers in the context of just one project i.e., the system that you worked on previously. We also asked about your experience in your recent companies but no projects came up in the discussion - only that you don't like the way of working in your current company.
  

Finally: Should I fabricate stories from recent years where I don't have examples in reality. I have decent stories from 5 years back which are not too strong sometimes.
Honestly I am not a confrontational person.
What the fuck should I do? even sometimes I am not getting opportunity to shine in technical interviews.

Im an absolute fruit fiend, specifically tropical fruit. I wish we had access to more.
Anyway, the new fad is plants. Everyone loves collecting plants, more commonly Monsteras. I know they thrive better in warmer weathers but they can also live in pots.
A couple of questions: - Is NZ a climate that can grow Monstera Deliciosa fruit? - If so, how can one obtain some to Auckland?

(Sips tea, a complete satire) Getting famous in Nigeria is really not easy! 60% of people in Nigeria are multi-talented, the other 40% are super rich and do not even need fame. The entertainment industry is getting oversaturated. The sky isn't big enough anymore 😂
Gone are the days were fame was given to those that geniuly deserve it. These days, there are patterns and cheat codes to fame as an entertainer. Funny enough you don't not need money at all to be famous 🎯

1. Fake your death: There is a 70% change you will become famous when you act like you have died. People get to love you some more, spread your news around and inform the rest of the world the amazing things they did for you while you were alife.
   
2. Go to Jail: Nigerians will hate you until you enter jail, that it when the love will come. We begin to love the criminal and blame the government for the terrible system. You hear things like, “yes he stole but do you know how much politicians steal everyday”. The moment you're out, you become a national hero and a motivation to many.
   
3. Leak your sex tape: This one would shoot you straight to the top. The more skin you show, the crazier it gets. Nigerians love to talk. Just show them your body and you will become famous. They will hate you for a week or two but after that you become an influencer and a favorite of many.
   

Please if you know other ways, kindly drop them in the comments, lets laugh at the beautiful country together. (Proudly Nigerian by the way, say nonsense and you go collect woto-woto 😂😂).

I know there are a lot of issues with the cooking game, but I'm trying to understand how to possibly read the clues? Even when Im explicitly told what the judges favourite food is, they often still hate it.
For example, Yusuke has a line that he like steak. I serve him a steak and he rates it a 2.
Mellore likes sweet candy thats colourful or something, so I serve her a lollipop and she hated it.
Wasn't this apparently fixed? I read recently there were some patches to address the cooking, but it doesnt appear to have worked? I am playing on Switch and I have checked to make sure I'm playing the most recent version.
I mean I can keep serving Omelette and Vegetable Juice in the meantime but what's the point in collecting recipes? Even if you happen to figure out what recipe someone loves, chances are the other 3 judges will hate it in most cases.
There are some foods that I've served to probably a dozen differenr judges or more that no one seems to like. Suikoden didn't have nearly the same amount of this, I found it was much easier to find recipes everyone kind of likes even a little.

I'm soon moving to Sweden from the US and I have a collection of swords that I wish to bring with me. I have already checked the laws and everything and I know it is perfectly legal for me to bring these swords. But I want to make absolutely sure that I know what to do at the airport to declare them and not freak people out. Also on what I should be prepared to do. Will I need to go into a separate room and have all of them inspected? Only one is an actual real sword with an edge and it it very dull. I also hapen to be bringing a halberg head that I custom water jet cut but that shouldn't be a problem.
Thanks, ahead of time.

i downloaded sims 2 super collection from app store and started strangetown. no one has hobby enthusiasm tab :( is there any mods which can add mechanics of oth?

I'd like to preface this by saying: I don't know if this is the right sub for this...
I finally got around to watching Initial D and am on season 4, episode 12. I've been listening to the collective soundtrack while at work, and one of the songs (No Control - Manuel) had a sub chord being played that reminded me of a song from the earlier seasons that hasn't been played again for sometime. I don't know the name of it, but I'd like to know the name of it so I can play it whenever I want.
I know it's a fairly popular meme song, and no, it's not Deja Vu. It's a goofy, fast beat but goes hard with drifting in the show for some reason. Kinda makes me think of a circus too, if that helps? I dunno, but any help would be greatly appreciated.