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theliberaltony · 4 years

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via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

I’ve spent a couple of days in New Hampshire this past week and keep on realizing I’ve already been places. I pulled into a brewery at the end of a dark, windy road (is everything out of a Robert Frost poem up here?) and recognized the refurbished barn from another candidate’s tour of the place. I drove up to my hotel and remembered that I’d eaten in its restaurant four years ago. The snow is the same as in 2016, too; big flakes that catch in your eye and make you wish you’d thought to bring waterproof mascara.

A lot of the voter talk is the same as four years ago, too. Namely all the cynicism and worry — What’s the matter with America? and What’s the matter with the media? kind of stuff. The only thing that’s different this year is that it’s coming from Democrats.

When you see candidates campaigning or voters listening to a stump speech, you don’t see a lot of unbridled merriment or excitement. Instead it’s a business-like frenzy to, as Democrats see it, pull the country back from the brink.

“It’s horrible to say but there’s more dumb people than I realized, or gullible people that don’t listen,” Catherine Michel, 69, told me. We were standing flush to a wall in a VFW hall in Somersworth, watching a Joe Biden event break up. The former vice president had arrived in the gray morning light in his aviator sunglasses, lenses that have been glued to Biden’s face quite a bit these days as he looks to project the cool that seems to be rapidly leaving him with every passing poll.

Michel was there with her husband, David, and they were anxious to see Biden before they made their choice. They couldn’t bear to see President Donald Trump on TV anymore. “He reminds me of Mussolini giving a speech, how he juts his jaw out and cocks his face,” David said. The Michels wanted to know what candidate could puncture that air of abrasive confidence in the president. “Trump is that dishonest bully and dishonest bullies often win,” Catherine said. “It’s really scary. So while I might support Bernie Sanders as the guy to stand up against a bully with lots of energy and just die punching him, is that the way to go? Or pick someone in the middle?”

Jim and Mary from Dover, 78 and 74, stood outside waiting to see Biden board his bus. Both said they would vote for the former vice president, but they’d entertained other options — Mary had been impressed with Amy Klobuchar’s performance during the Brett Kavanaugh Supreme Court nomination hearings. But Jim, a former registered Republican, said the senator from Minnesota didn’t stand a chance in the 2020 fray. “In normal times, she might have a chance, right? But this is a war. This is not a nice political process. This is a war and the poor Democrats think they’re going to have a political process and a campaign, and Trump is just gonna fight dirtier than anybody can fight,” he said. He brought up a friend who likes Rush Limbaugh — Jim is not a fan — and I asked if he thought the country’s political climate was in part the fault of the media. “No, it’s a citizen problem,” he said. “If you watch a cable program with these terrible slams, then you have to make a point of watching the other slams. Then you blend the two and hopefully you read a newspaper somewhere.”

Mary considered his point. “So what you’re saying is people should work harder at making their decisions rather than depending on the media to spoon feed it to them?”

A few hours later, voters in North Hampton nursed beers as they waited for actress Ashley Judd, an Elizabeth Warren surrogate, to arrive. But those at one table I approached hadn’t realized they’d walked into a political event. John and Deanna of Hollis, 67 and 58, were friendly, but John told me he’d given me a fake last name — media distrust is a constant theme on the trail. Far from seeking out the political, the couple told me their Republican friends don’t even know they’re Democrats. They only talk politics to each other these days, so as not to rock the boat. “All it would take was one conversation to blow that all up,” John said. He said it’s uncomfortable for them because their friends “talk like everyone feels the same way” about Trump and politics. Lately, John has found that people make assumptions about what you’re OK with. He’d been on a work trip in Texas and, “I sat in a car with a group of people that were customers and I heard them make racial comments and a few years back they wouldn’t have.”

When Judd got up to speak, it was a brief approximation of a politician’s speech — she talked about her humble roots and her connection to Warren and called Trump’s State of the Union “a moral injury.” You get used to hearing anyone with a microphone at events like these say the same sorts of things. But then Judd said something else.

“Earlier today we had a very extraordinarily moving panel with the incredible people in New Hampshire who work at stopping intimate partner violence and stalking,” she said. “It’s a sad thing to say but American men kill American women at a rate of three to four a day and that event was open to the press and none of the media chose to come.”

I’d seen the email for the event. I think I thought the drive was too far, simple as that. If I’m really being honest, I didn’t think about it all that much. Probably because American men do kill American women so often and probably because men have been killing the women they know and love since the dawn of time. Sad, but wholly typical. But it was lacerating to hear the statistic in that cozy New Hampshire bar; you are alive and they are not.

What’s so often lost in the primary rush — the horserace ups and downs — is the primary reason for government: a need to regulate ourselves, to instill order and some semblance of justice in society. But justice is often as wide as the chancellor’s foot — which is to say, wholly unjust. Still, the sense that society has to wrangle some order is agreed upon. What elections are about is what sort of order to instill — economic, diplomatic, militaristic.

Sometimes the little things like keeping people alive gets lost in the shuffle. So too do our individual sensibilities — everything becomes so zoomed out that you can only see a mass of people moving one way or the other, not the component parts. It’s easier to tell that story on television or in 1,200 words.

Catherine Michel’s father was a Trump supporter. He passed away, but when she spoke about him, it was in the present tense, since parents are always on your shoulder, wherever you are. She was explaining to me, I think, that he wasn’t defined by the last presidential candidate he supported. “He raised five girls and a boy. He’s very democratic and loving and liberal and education for the minorities and charity and global warming, of course,” she said. “But then when he listens — the media. …” She sort of paused, looking for the words. “The media has to be really careful.”

#IFTTT #Politics – FiveThirtyEight #politics #538 #Clare Malone

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stupidsexyseguin · 7 years

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Since you wanted more fic prompts what about Tyler and Jamie's wedding?

I guess this is filling two prompts in one?

THERE ARE SO MANY WAYS THIS COULD GO. but here’s the story of Tyler and Jamie’s wedding, an event in three parts?

1. Vegas, December 2019

The Golden Knights had put up a fight, but in the end Dallas was the better more established team, with a decent chance at the cup. Third period had ended 4-2 in the Stars favour, and Jamie and Tyler had taken 2 points a piece. It was honestly a fucking fantastic way to start their (brief) Christmas break.

Considering they only had a couple of days before their next home game in Dallas, most of the guys without family in Texas had decided to stay in Vegas for the three day holiday- booking out one of the suites at the Bellagio Towers between them and planning to spend three full days living like the millionaires they all actually were.

The younger guys were planning on heading to one of the clubs in the hotel, maybe hooking up if they could, but Jamie and Tyler had already vetoed that option- Jamie was too awkward for clubs, and if Tyler was involved they’d probably get in trouble from one of their team mates for dry humping against a wall.

Tyler was determined to play at least some sort of card game- he claimed his luck from the VGK game was going to continue out on the casino floor, and that he needed to put his ‘skills’ to the test. Jamie just shook his head and followed along- as long as there was something for him to drink, he was happy to supervise for a couple of hours.

as long as they could see a magic show tomorrow. Jamie loves Vegas magic shows.

He has no idea how it happens, but two hours in, he ends up sitting perched on Tyler’s knee, fruity cocktail in hand, and a wandering hand high up on his thigh for ‘support’. They’re at one of the Casino’s many poker tables and Tyler’s doing surprisingly well for someone who has a terrible poker face. He keeps insisting Jamie kiss his cards for luck and, well, the strategy seems to be working so far?

He kisses Tyler’s current hand, and leans back against him as he bets and bluffs against the other players, casually throwing around poker chips worth literal thousands. Jamie sips at his drink, Tyler lays down his hand, and- rakes in another cool ten grand.

“Jesus, Chubbs, you’re my fucking lucky charm tonight.” He smacks a wet kiss to Jamie’s cheek, the hand on his leg sliding to rest between the meat of Jamie’s thighs, teasing at the crotch of his slacks. .

He rolls his eyes at Tyler and gestures at one of the waiters for another drink. Two can play at this game.

“I’m your lucky charm always, asshole. Don’t forget it.”

“Yeah, you fucking are babe. should lock you down. put a ring on it.” Tyler nips at his nape, breath hot against the sensitive skin.

“I’ll believe it the day I see it.”

“Please tell me we didn’t get cliche Vegas married” Tyler’s voice is muffled where he’s half buried into his pillow. Jamie, mashed into his side, lifts his hand to look at the cheap gold ring on his finger.

“We got cliche Vegas married.”

“Fuuuuck. My mom’s gonna kill us.”

“Forget your mom, Jordie’s never going to let it go.”

“Oh shit. Can we just not tell them?”

“Agreed. we’ll just… pretend this didn’t happen.”

“Next time we get married, as far as they know, it’s our first wedding.”

“Deal.”

2. Dallas, June 2020

The final horn sounds and Tyler just collapses to his knees on the ice. It- this was so fucking different to the last time he was here. Last time, it’d been a fucking rush- he was nineteen, on an original six team, in his rookie year and already a cup winner. It was-

easy.

It wasn’t handed to him, sure, but it was easy.

He knows now what winning a cup means.

it means hard fucking work.

it means years and years of disappointment.

of being just not good enough.

of failing again and again and again and- just getting back up. starting again. brushing off the bad days and pushing forward. losing good friends and gaining new ones to the vicious cycle of trades and injury and retirement.

If his cup with Boston was a rush, winning this cup, with Dallas- with his family- feels like a weight lifted from his shoulders and a warmth in his heart.

There are skates in front of him, and he isn’t surprised to see Jamie, right there, smiling down at him. He looks fucking radiant soaked in sweat and red from exertion and Tyler has never seen a better sight in his life.

He’s pulled to his feet, stick clattering from his limp grip, and Jamie is right fucking there. Cradling his head in his big, strong hands. Kissing him hard on centre ice.

Tyler can’t stop the giggles that slip out, pulling Jamie closer, ignoring the fact that the entire hockey viewing public of northern america was probably watching them make out right now.

Who cared? He’d won the cup. His husband at his side. What did he care what anyone else had to say about it?

“We did it. We did it Seggy.” Jamie’s pressing frantic kisses all across his playoff beard and Tyler just lets him. This is- it’s everything he’s ever wanted.

“Yeah, babe. we did it.” He can hear the crowd in the arena around them cheering, can hear his teammates celebrating. from the corner of his eye, he can see them all around the two of them, exchanging excited hugs and screams of various renditions of ‘holy crap!’ and ‘can you believe it?’. it’s fucking perfect.

“Showed them.” Jamie echoes their conversation from that first year, back when he was traded- when people had said Tyler was nothing but a liability party boy and the Dallas Stars were a team going nowhere fast.

“Hey, hey Jamie?” and- he had no idea if this was the worst timing ever or the best, but he needed to say it.

“Yeah?” Jamie had that stupid dumb fucking look on his face- the one where he looked at Tyler as if he was the entire fucking world- and Tyler realised that, yes, it was exactly the right fucking time.

“Marry me again?” because- why not? why. the fuck. not. there was absolutely nothing stopping Tyler and Jamie from having exactly what they wanted.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Tyler has never been more sure of anything in his life.

3. Victoria, September 2020

It’s nothing like either of their moms wanted.

Summer is burning it’s last bright rays and they’re surrounded by all of their asshole friends and families in Jamie’s Canadian backyard.

The dogs are flopped at their feet, looking nowhere near as dignified as groomsmen should be, and Jordie and Brownie, the actual best men, are sniffing suspiciously to the side of the alter.

Everything is Victory Green and Silver and the mother fucking Stanley Cup is presiding over the ceremony like a blessing from the hockey gods on their union.

Jamie’s neck is sunburnt and Tyler can’t stop grinning.

Their dads are going to argue over the grill later, Tyler’s sisters will flirt with all their hockey friends, and at least one of the guys will probably end up trying to skinny dip in the lake. Everyone’s drinking shitty beer, listening to the cheesiest love songs Tyler could find, and the cutlery is plastic.

It’s nothing like either of their mom’s wanted, and it’s perfect.

#ask #hockey rpf #bennguin #segs #chubbs #wedding #vegas #stanley cup

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