I… genuinely don’t know what to say, other than I’m mortified to only learn about this nearly a week later. Admittedly, I’ve been less active on the SOG as my mental health has spiral downwards these past several weeks, and I’ve only just found relatively stable footing this weekend, but it still feels so sudden. I never met him in person, nor was I able to attend one of the weekly calls to speak with him. As such, I almost feel like I shouldn’t be as impacted as I am by the news. Don’t get me wrong—any death is tragic and worthy of grieving, irrespective of context or relation. But I feel like I just lost a friend. I think it comes down to two things: energy and legacy. Though I never so much as heard his voice, Scott’s presence in the Society was attentive, warm, and reliable. He truly was a one-of-a-kind community backbone that not held it together, but encouraged everyone else to continue strengthening its web of connections. It’s one thing to be active—and Scott was *very* active—but it’s a whole nother thing to do so while still making sure every comment counts, every post, precise. His energy was second-to-none. No, it IS second-to-none. After all, energy can be neither created nor destroyed. Scott’s infectious energy lives on in those it reached. But energy isn’t all he has pased on to us. “Legacy” is an infamously difficult concept to define, but even without a precise definition, we all know what it is—what it feels like. It’s creating a community of like-minded outsiders, unincumbered by distance and unrestrained by politics. It’s taking the time to foster bonds within that community, to be the one to make sure everybody feels welcome. It’s seeing a world different from your ideal, then taking the steps to close that insurmountable gap, not because you think you can reach it, but because you know that every step closer is its own victory, that every step closer makes the effort worth it. I didn’t know Scott Thornton that well, especially compared to many of the other gents here. But I saw his vision, his passion, and his care. Even if the Society were to disappear tomorrow, the seeds he sewed and cultivated would continue to thrive. As a historian and storyteller, “legacy” is a particularly sensitive subject to me. Perhaps that is why Scott’s passing has left me feeling so shaken.

As inspired by @Adrian Ramsey 's recent post (back in the GentZ Lobby) about the disappointing "messages" we find in public restroom stalls, it reminded me of a similar topic that's been a pet-peeve of mine in general. Aside from graffiti, over the years I've noticed several "issues" in men's restrooms. Especially as someone who, from 15-25, held various jobs which required at least occasional tasks with cleaning them: - Peeing on the seat - Not putting the seat back down - Peeing on the floor - Leaving toilet paper everywhere - Not throwing "hygiene items" away (in the garbage) - Not washing hands - Not flushing - "Artistry" in several disgusting forms - Grunting and other noises - "Musicians" - Using your phone (calls, YouTube, music, etc. - as inspired by @Roger Rheault 's comment) I mean, are we men, or savages, here? It's been at least a few thousand years since we left cave and hut dwellings, and at least 100-200 years of access to plumbing in some form for both waste and washing. Why is it so hard for some men to clean up after themselves, have better aim, and refrain from "artistic expression" in any form? Sure, I know there are exceptions - some people are disabled, and young men/boys use the restroom... in which latter case, shouldn't we be teaching our children better habits? Just because it's someone's "job" to clean it, doesn't mean you have to make it harder or like some "superiority dominance" territory-marking perceived status statement. We're homosapiens, not canines. Also, the men who make noises, talk to themselves, or even sing in a public restroom... why? Just, why? I mean, I suppose I can understand when you need to let certain noises like sighs of relief out, but we don't need an opera to follow it. It's quite enough hearing the occasional "cookie dough squeezed out of the plastic package with air pockets" solo or quartet, let alone the occasional "battle-shits" when stuck between two stalls.