What Dere Are You

The origins of science fiction are surprisingly ancient, way before most people realize. If we're talking about the first book that truly fits the genre, I'd argue it's 'Somnium' by Johannes Kepler, written way back in 1608. This isn't some dry scientific essay—it's a wild ride about a demon-assisted journey to the Moon, complete with lunar civilizations and celestial mechanics. Kepler wrote it as both a thought experiment and a covert defense of Copernican astronomy, wrapped in a fantastical narrative. The way he blends actual science with imaginative storytelling is mind-blowing for the 17th century. Some scholars point to Lucian of Samosata's 'A True Story' from the 2nd century AD as an earlier contender. That one has space travel, alien wars, and even interplanetary colonization, but it's more of a satirical parody than genuine sci-fi. The key difference is intent—Kepler was seriously exploring scientific possibilities through fiction, while Lucian was mocking travelogues. Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' often gets credit as the first, but that 1818 masterpiece was actually building on centuries of proto-sci-fi. The genre didn't just appear—it evolved from these early experiments that dared to mix science with speculation.

As someone who practically lives at Thompson Library, I can tell you it’s a treasure trove for free novels. The first place I always check is the general fiction section on the third floor—it’s packed with classics like 'Pride and Prejudice' and modern bestsellers. If you’re into digital reads, their online catalog hooks you up with OverDrive and Project Gutenberg. Just log in with your OSU credentials, and boom, thousands of free e-books. Don’t overlook the interlibrary loan system either. If Thompson doesn’t have a title, they can borrow it from another library for you. I’ve snagged rare finds like 'The Shadow of the Wind' this way. Their staff are super helpful if you get stuck—just ask at the front desk or hit up the chat service on their website. Pro tip: follow their social media for updates on free book swaps and author events.

I've dug into this off-and-on, and here's what I found after following the chatter and the news cycles. There've been rumors over the years about private photos of Sarah Silverman circulating online, but nothing that rose to the level of clear, independently verified publication by major reputable outlets. In cases like this, three things tend to matter: the original source of the leak, confirmation from an official representative or the person involved, and verification by trusted media that checks metadata and provenance. For Sarah Silverman, I haven't seen that trifecta come together publicly in a way journalists accepted as authenticated. The internet loves a scandal, and the 2010s taught us that hacked images, doctored photos, and deepfakes can spread quickly. Even when a photo appears convincing, misattribution is common — sometimes images are stolen from other accounts, sometimes they're older photographs taken with permission, and sometimes they're fabricated. Because of that, responsible outlets usually avoid printing graphic allegations unless they can corroborate the source and legal context. For celebrities who do face privacy violations, the pattern is often similar: their teams respond, there may be takedown requests or legal action, and major outlets report on those developments. I didn't find a widely reported, court-verified confirmation that private photos of Sarah Silverman were authenticated. What matters to me personally is the harm these leaks cause, whether verified or not. I'm careful not to click, share, or perpetuate rumors, and I encourage others to treat such stories with skepticism and compassion. If you care about privacy and consent, the safest move is to step away from anything that capitalizes on a person's intimate life without clear, verified context — that's been my takeaway from following similar stories over the years.

When I picture President Snow, I see a ruler who operates less like a roaring conqueror and more like a surgeon — precise, quietly cruel, and obsessed with appearances. In 'The Hunger Games' he rules through ritualized spectacle: the Games themselves are a slow, institutionalized terror that both punishes and entertains. That’s a different flavor from dictators who ruled primarily by mass ideology or outright military conquest. Snow’s power rests on staging (the Capitol’s pageantry), co-opting elites, and keeping the districts fragmented and dependent. Compared to figures like Hitler or Stalin, Snow isn’t selling a sweeping ideological revolution; he’s conserving a social order. His propaganda is artisanal — carefully crafted images, food supply manipulation, and public executions disguised as necessary law. That’s more like classical emperors who used pageants and bread-and-circuses, or modern regimes that combine surveillance with spectacle. He shares traits with real-world authoritarian leaders who rely on personality cults and media control, but he’s more surgical: poisoning opponents, leveraging blackmail, and playing virtuous while doing monstrous things. What fascinates me is how fragile that control feels. Snow’s cruelty is strategic, and that makes him more dangerous emotionally — he can charm and then quietly erase you. In stories and history, the most scary leaders are often those who can smile at you while plotting your ruin, and Snow embodies that. It’s why his downfall feels almost inevitable: the very theatricality that upholds him also creates martyrs and symbols that can be turned against him.

I picked up 'Principles of Logo Design' on a whim during a bookstore crawl, and honestly, it’s one of those rare design books that doesn’t drown you in jargon. The way it breaks down foundational concepts—like balance, simplicity, and memorability—makes it feel like a friendly mentor guiding you through the process. I especially loved the case studies of iconic logos; seeing how Apple’s bite or Nike’s swoosh evolved from rough sketches to global symbols was downright inspiring. That said, if you’re brand-new to design, some sections might feel a bit technical. But the author’s habit of circling back to real-world examples keeps things grounded. Pair this with YouTube tutorials for hands-on practice, and you’ve got a solid starter kit. Now I doodle logo ideas on napkins like some kind of caffeine-fueled Paul Rand!

As someone who's deeply immersed in contemporary poetry, I find Neil Hilborn's work incredibly raw and emotionally charged, which might resonate with young adults but also requires careful consideration. His most famous collection, 'Our Numbered Days,' tackles heavy themes like mental illness, heartbreak, and self-destructive tendencies with unfiltered honesty. While his writing is accessible and gripping, the intensity could be overwhelming for some younger readers. That said, Hilborn's work has a unique way of making dark topics feel relatable through his rhythmic, almost musical style. Pieces like 'OCD' and 'Joey' have gone viral for a reason—they capture the chaotic beauty of human emotion. For mature teens who enjoy slam poetry or are drawn to confessional writing like Sylvia Plath's, his books could be profoundly impactful. I'd recommend previewing his content or reading it alongside a trusted adult to navigate the heavier moments.

Hunting down an original paperback of 'Outlander' feels a bit like joining Claire and Jamie on an adventure — I get a grin just thinking about it. If you want a brand-new trade paperback or a modern reprint, the simplest places to start are big retailers: Amazon and Barnes & Noble usually have multiple editions (new and used). Bookshop.org is great if you want to support independent bookstores — they list stock from indie shops and sometimes can order specific editions for you. Powell's and Books-A-Million are other solid options that often list condition details for used copies. If you're aiming for the actual original paperback printing (a collectible), you should shift toward specialist markets: AbeBooks, Alibris, eBay, and dedicated antiquarian sellers. Those platforms let you filter by edition notes and seller descriptions like "first paperback" or "first U.S. paperback printing." Always check photos closely, ask the seller about the number line, and verify dust jacket or cover condition if it matters to you. Librarian sales, local used bookstores, and college town shops have surprised me more than once — you can score original run paperbacks for a bargain if you keep an eye out. Shipping and authenticity matter: compare seller ratings, return policies, and shipping costs (international shipping can inflate the price). If you're after a true collectible, make sure the listing mentions printing history or shows the publisher imprint that matches first paperback runs. Personally, I love the smell and slightly-softened corners of an older paperback — it feels like holding a piece of reading history, and that small thrill never gets old.

I get the sense that Brianna’s decision to marry Roger in 'Outlander' was a tangle of heart and reason rather than a single dramatic spark. She’s stubborn, fiercely independent, and shaped by two very unconventional parents, so choosing a partner wasn’t simply about romance. For me the biggest thread is stability: Brianna had lived with secrets, danger, and the knowledge of time travel. Roger offered a steadiness and an intellectual companionship that matched her curiosity. He wasn’t flashy, but he showed up, listened, and mirrored values she respected — honesty, patience, and a love of history that made their conversations feel safe and alive. Another layer is gratitude and growth. Brianna’s life was interrupted in so many ways; she needed someone who could navigate complexities without erasing her agency. Roger’s willingness to learn and forgive, to accept the parts of her life he couldn’t control, mattered. There’s also the pull of family — wanting a future for her child, a sense of home that felt attainable. In short, she married Roger because he made a plausible, loving future feel possible, and that comfort was huge for someone who’d already been through so much. I find that really convincing and quietly moving.