#and his version of the stranger danger talk included a section on how to be said danger

[aledethanlast]

For the last time Neil is not oblivious he's just so busy playing 5d chess with everyone he meets that the concept of regular chess baffles and bores him. Matt what do you mean I should hook up with a cheerleader can't you see I'm busy waging psychological warfare on a Frenchman.

#aftg #tfc #now in his defense #Neil grew up in a household where the default dynamic between all parties was 'barely restrained loathing' #and his version of the stranger danger talk included a section on how to be said danger #so for him this is like. the correct amount of effort you're supposed to put into your relationships #that said #post series i think Wymack starts getting a lot of REALLY weird complaints on his desk

[the-rad1o-demon]

@neil-gaiman, @transformativeworks, @vancityreynolds :

I am asking you to reblog this to spread the word, to make sure people see all of this. You don't have to if you don't want to, but it would be extremely appreciated it you did! 💛

It's important that we stop these bills and keep Project 2025 from ever winning. I do not want to live in a world where the Internet is censored by LGBTQ+phobic and racist politicians. I do not want to live in a country where Donald Trump is literally the dictator. I do not want to live in a country where people such as myself are oppressed and forced into hiding/out of the country because of extremists like the ones behind KOSA, behind all these other really bad Internet bills, and behind Project 2025.

I am asking you to reblog/share this post, and I am asking you also that if you're able to take action against these bills. And definitely try to make people more aware of Project 2025 especially, because it will seriously fuck things up for nearly everyone in the United States (except for the ones running that show, obviously).

To help stop KOSA in particular, I'm copying and pasting from a document I wrote for the folks on my campus:

[BEGIN COPY-PASTED SECTION]

WAYS YOU CAN HELP STOP KOSA

Email to your friends, family, classmates, professors, etc.

Stage protests (and stay safe if doing so!)

Create and print out posters you can put up in areas people will see (if it's allowed there)! Doesn’t need to be fancy, it can be something like this in terms of text content:

STOP KOSA 2023

This bill threatens to censor many marginalized communities and topics on the Internet, including but not limited to:

The LGBTQ+ community

The discussion of race

Mental health issues

And many more!

It also will take away even more of both children’s and adults’ privacy on the Internet!

Call your state’s senators to tell them not to sign. Slightly edited scripts you can use are copied and pasted below, the Google doc from whence they came is below:

………………

DEMOCRATIC VERSION Hi, I am urging you to VOTE NO on KOSA, s.1409. Almost 100 human rights and LGBT organizations came out in an open letter opposing it in 2022 and 2023 because of how dangerous it is. The new language does NOT meet any concerns brought up, in fact many organizations were ignored. Major news have reported that this bill actively harms kids. When you look online through social media, you will find hundreds of posts by Gen Z who are opposed to this bill. We do not want this. This bill would allow any state attorney general to sue any website for “harmful” content. When you have Republicans calling anything LGBT “sexual exploitation” or anything about race “CRT” to successfully ban books and teachers, then they will use any justification to censor the internet. The Missouri attorney general used “mental health” successfully to ban gender-affirming care with backed up research. Suicide rates will skyrocket for marginalized youth with this bill restricting content. Multiple experts agree this bill pushes age verification, even with the new language. KOSA hands more private data of children to third party companies. Furthermore, updated language threatens encryption the same way the Earn It Act does. How is this protecting children’s privacy? KOSA actively harms kids by taking away educational resources they need right now. Do NOT support this bill. Thank you.

REPUBLICAN VERSION I am urging you to VOTE NO on KOSA, s.1409. This is a dangerous bill that will harm children. Many news organizations have reported that this bill actively harms kids by exposing their private data to strangers under the guise of protecting them. We need to hold Big Tech accountable, but KOSA is not the solution. This bill would allow any state attorney general to sue any website for “harmful” content. Do we really want blue state lawyers deciding what can and can’t be allowed online and continue to censor people? This is massive government overreach. We need a bill that actually protects people by creating better security measures instead of bringing about more censorship. Multiple experts agree this bill pushes age verification, even with the new language. KOSA hands more private data of children to third party companies, which would put them in further danger. How is this protecting children’s privacy? What parent would want their child’s private data in the hands of strangers like this? KOSA is actively putting kids in danger. Do NOT support this bill. Thank you. ……………… This version comes from this Google doc, which has additional learning resources! (It also has additional resources for fighting the KOSA bill, but some of it is outdated due to Congress having already done their thing):

Note that there is a separate script for Senate Majority Leader Chuck Schumer, use THIS ONE for him:

If you know anyone in Massachusetts specifically, tell them to call Senator Warren in order to ask her to rescind her support of KOSA. Script you can use written below (this one I wrote myself):

……………… Hello, Senator Warren. I am calling you today to ask that you rescind your support of the KOSA bill. It does not protect children. If anything, it will actively them by cutting them off from important discussions about the LGBTQ+ community, discussions about race, and mental health issues. There are even children in abusive situations who might not even know they’re being abused, and by censoring the Internet like this, or blocking children out of certain discussions, they may not find out until they’re adults. Senator Blackburn has made it perfectly clear that this bill aims to “protect” children from the trans community. Civil lawmakers, civil rights organizations, and many others have been saying over and over that this bill could be used to censor other marginalized groups as well. Please don’t support this bill. Thank you for your time and your consideration. ………………

Another important and final thing to do is to stay informed. Keep an eye on the news and on what’s happening with the KOSA bill.

That’s all I have for you!

[END COPY-PASTED SECTION]

Also!! Petition you can sign!

Thank you so much for your time, and please do whatever you can to help stop this train wreck.

EDIT - UPDATE:

Please look at the following post!

#lgbtq #lgbtq+ #lgbtqia #lgbtq community #lgbt #black lives matter #ex jw #ex mormon #ex catholic #ex christian #ex cult #stop kosa #kosa bill #kids online safety act #bad internet bills #project 2025 #internet censorship #us politics #politics #Youtube

[hurgablurg]

spoilers for deltatraveler section 2

Despite the fangame’s overall excellent quality, high effort and orchestrated emotional hits, Iiiii have some issues with the way the game handled it’s Earthbound content.

First off chronologically, is triggering Obliteration by killing the various robots in the valley, even using the no music spookiness of other evil routes. Those robots are Giygas’s minions, and in Earthbound, you do kill them. The Cute Lil’ UFO is described as being “destroyed” when defeated, along with the other robots. The aliens are “defeated”, but in story moments where they get to talk after being beaten, they quite clearly die just after from their wounds. Just about the only enemies that aren’t killed by the Heroes are humans and Earth animals because, fun fact, Earthbound is about a war, an alien invasion. It’s not a very fast-paced or desperate one, but every danger in the game, from the crazed animals to the zombies to the Mani Mani statue is caused by Giygas’ assault on Earth. The various enemies will literally beat the children into ghosts if they have the chance. Earthbound is no stranger to death, and never has a chance to examine how it all affects the heroes (beyond homesickness and melancholy (something the third game fixes)), and it’s weird that this game treats Earthbound with UTDR’s sensibilities about death and killing in defence.

The concession I’ll make is that it at least fits with the Deltarune characters, and the first meaningful kill of the snake is perfect because like, that’s just an animal, driven mad or not. They didn’t need to stomp it, the only purpose of that is to confirm cruelty, and in doing so it properly introduces the Obliteration route.

But the next part with the cultists - while I agree whole-heartedly that killing people would be traumatizing for the teens, and I understand that Genocide routes alway like to empty the map and induce a feeling of loneliness, but the Happy-Happyists wouldn’t retreat en masse after someone dies. The cult is controlled by the Mani Mani statue. They are lost in the illusory delusions provided by a psychic evil that is literally stronger than any one person’s influence, including the player’s. Happy Happy Village should’ve been a blood bath as the cultists refuse to let pass or give ground, driving the three into anguish as the Soul pushes them onwards.

And like, how are the devs going to handle this line of thinking with A Link to the Past? It’s not like Link befriends his enemies when he hits them with the sharp end of his sword. You can’t exactly start a Genocide route there and make it a dark, weird, or traumatic thing to be killing dead-eyed guards, jabbering, spike-adorned marauders, undead corpses, and unholy monsters. It’d just be a fantasy isekai played steel-straight.

Also, Toontown? Hm?? Death literally does not exist except for Cogs, and even that is debatable. It’s fucking Toontown. The Town of Toons. Inspired by the setting in Who Framed Roger Rabbit where the only way for a cartoon to die is to be dipped in paint thinner, sorry, “Dip”. A cartoon gets hit with an anvil dropped from 50 feet and they just walk around silly for a few seconds. They get shot with an actual gun and a ghostly version of them wearing a robe, a halo and a harp floats up to heaven for a few seconds before getting shoved back into their body. Donald has been sailing his dumb little boat for 20 years now, no food or water or rest, and only stopped because the private servers had to take him out for copyright reasons. They’d have to try EXTREMELY HARD to make Toontown evil and corrupted, or to even cause one casualty.

Lastly, but BY FAR MOST IMPORTANTLY FOR ME is the Obliteration boss fight against Ness and Paula. Is it almost perfect? Yes. Paula’s rage is fantastic, as is basically making her the ‘main character’ (though I kinda wish she would have used Prayer once or twice), as is accurately having Ness be the healer keeping everyone but himself alive. But one big sticking point is Ness’s final words: “Finish the fight... for me...” Like he’s flying to Earth on the Forerunner Dreadnaught to stop Truth from getting to the Ark and firing the Rings. That’s not Ness’s character. And it’s especially not what he’d say if he were about to die.

Ness’s character is driven largely by his pluck, his friends, and his family most of all. All of his Sanctuary memories are of home. If he were about do die, he wouldn't ask that “the mission would be complete” or whatever.

He’s a child.

He’s scared half the time, but puts on a brave face and raises the V for photos.

He only set out on his journey to protect his family.

Him getting homesick and needing to call or visit home is an actual gameplay mechanic.

The franchise is fucking called “Mother” and love is a reoccurring and powerful force throughout the trilogy. It is what saves lives, redeems others, and literally saves the world in it’s last minutes. Every. Single. Time.

What should the dying boy’s last words be? What should his last thoughts be of as he realizes he’s failed to save his world, his friends, his family?

“Mom... Dad... Tracy... Paula, please.. L-look after them...”

And that. That, would inspire Paula’s rage, desperation, and determination to stop us, more than anything else. She loves her family too, and now she needs to protect them from us.

And if the game really wanted to hurt the players, they’d make some contrast or comparison between LV and love.

The fangame obviously has a LOT of effort put into it, and it is very good and nothing is ever perfect, but it just feels like the devs only played Earthbound to get the gist of it, or to “see Toby’s inspiration”, y’know?

#deltatraveler #deltatraveler spoilers #deltarune fangame #earthbound fangame

[stevebillyrecs]

Not-So-Fluffy Holiday Season Recs

Ho-ho-ho, it’s that time of the year again! Where we all drown in thoughtful gifts, family bonding, and mistletoe kisses! If you’re looking for something other than just pure fluff (like me) but still want to get your holiday season fix, this is the rec list for you. That’s not to say that there won’t be any fluff, just that it’s not the sole focus of the story!

Included: Christmas, Thanksgiving, and New Year’s Eve fics containing family drama, smut, heavy plot, or just some good ol’ angsty pining. Also, still a whole lot of fluff in between the non-fluff. Not included: Fics about any other, especially non-Christian holidays… because I couldn’t find a single one. Sad!

24 fics under the cut!

mistletoe and other holiday propaganda by brawlite / @brawlite & ToAStranger / @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (54k, E)

Everybody wants something for Christmas. It just so happens that the only way for everyone to get what they want is for Billy and Steve to pretend to be dating over Christmas break. It’s really the only option.

Yule Shoot Your Eye Out by eternalgoldfish / @eternalgoldfish (3k, T)

Steve moves to Indianapolis to avoid Hawkins, but Billy doesn’t get the memo. Now it’s Christmas, they’re snowed in at work, and Steve is giving up on holidays. Merry Christmas, I could care less.

been crawling series by kate_button / @un-buttoned (8k, E)

The crop top was right there on the main aisle in the women’s section. Steve’s not entirely sure, like, why it exists, but he’s not disappointed about it. The rest of it came together pretty quickly (and cheaply) after that. So anyway, that’s how he finds himself drinking jungle juice out of a red solo cup looking like the twenty-two-year-old-man version of Karen Smith, animal ears and too much skin, bada boom, costume. I’m a dog. Duh.

You Get the Mistletoe and I’ll Be Your Santa, Baby by LazyBaker / @granpappy-winchester (2k, G)

Steve’s looking at him and Billy’s wearing Steve’s itchy and warm handmade I love you sweater, looking right back. They’re sharing a blanket.

nothing is finite (in the evening light) by Philosoferre / @babyhargrove (22k, T)

“It’d be convenient,” Billy adds. He’s looking at Steve expectantly, but he’s still a little guarded. “And, uh. Road trips, you know. They’re supposed to be fun and shit. Don’t make this a bigger deal than it is, Harrington.” Steve finds himself smiling; he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. Billy narrows his eyes curiously. "Sure,” Steve says. Or, Steve and Billy go on a road trip to Hawkins for Christmas break. Both of them might be very much in love.

If You Kissed Me Now by socknonny / @socknonny (1k, T)

When Steve kisses Jonathan under the mistletoe at the Byers’ Christmas party, it’s only for a joke. But for some reason, it sets Billy off, and Steve won’t leave him alone until he understands why.

Christmas in the Benz by flippyspoon / @flippyspoon (6k, E)

Steve escapes a crappy Harrington Christmas only to find another crappy Christmas refugee.

Under the Moon by ImNeitherNor / @imneithernor (3k, T)

“Hargrove?” The voice yanks Billy back into the present and he stands up fast enough to make himself dizzy. He blinks twice, shifts his boots in the snow, and looks over to where the voice had floated from. Standing in his Members Only jacket with that fucking bat over his shoulder, Steve looks at him like he’s seen a ghost. Billy clenches his fists and notices how Steve’s eyes trail to the blood on his mouth, the blossoming color on his cheek. “You’re bleeding,” Steve points out, like Billy doesn’t know that. “Really fucking observant, Harrington,” Billy curls his lip up and flicks his tongue out, over the split, and Steve’s eyes follow it like they always do. It’s a visceral thrill up his spine but anger eats it up. Steve is off limits and, as much as Billy wants to lick into his mouth and feel those lean muscles against his own, he isn’t stupid.

I don’t want a lot for Christmas by r0nj4 / @a-station-on-your-way (1k, M)

Steve buys a Christmas present and has mixed feelings about it.

well damn, billy, i can't control the weather by obsceme / @hartigays (7k, T)

narrator: and there was only one bed all of us, collectively: (gasps) and there was only one bed

Last Christmas by shocked_into_shame / @bornwithoutsin (2k, E)

It’s Billy and Steve’s first Christmas together, and Steve will not stop singing that fucking Wham song. Billy doesn’t mind, though, because Steve agrees to make it up to him.

Thankful For by ChrisLeon / @vgorodye (8k, NR)

The ad read: ‘No one to bring home for the holidays? Looking to piss off your parents? I’m your guy. 22 y.o. ex-con, never graduated high school, proud owner of a Camaro one year younger than I am. I can play anywhere from 18 to 29 depending on if I shave or not. Currently working as a line cook and late nights at a bar. If you’d like to have me as your strictly platonic date for Thanksgiving, but have me pretend to be in a serious relationship with you to torment your family, I’m down.’ Steve knew it was bad idea. He clicked on it anyway.

Five Days (To Midnight) by Blink_Blue / @winters-blue-children (7k, E)

It's been months since Steve left Hawkins and walked out of Billy's life. He's back for the holidays and Billy gets one last chance to make things right. They have five days together. Five days left of the year. Five days to cherish.

Time after Time by lemonlovely / @lemonlovely (10k, E)

“Really, Harrington. Stop avoiding the question. Tell me.” Those blue eyes flashed like an animal's in the dark depths of the Camaro. He repeated himself, enunciating like Steve was particularly slow. “Why. Would I have seen. Your wallet?” Steve glared down at Billy, feeling like they were caught in some kind of a staring contest that he hadn’t actually initiated, but also didn’t particularly want to lose either. Which seemed to happen a lot when he was around Billy – and that hadn’t been a lot for a few months. He’d been avoided like the plague, or maybe it was the other way around. Jesus Christ, apparently Billy was really gonna make him say it, as much as Steve didn't want to. He grit his teeth together. “Because.” Steve said. “I think I might have left it in…the backseat of your car. You know. That night. And I need it back.”

Deck the Fucking Halls by XxmerthurcatxX / @callmelilyshameless (700, T)

Billy hates Christmas but he loves Steve.

Mountain of Dreams by socknonny / @socknonny (1k, E)

Steve's drunk, and someone is singing.

Rivers 'Til I Reach You by tracy7307 / @tracy7307 (10k, E)

“I know lifting's a bad idea but I’m feeling.” Shame twisted up in Billy’s gut, and he toyed at his lasagna with his fork. “I don’t feel as. I don’t know. Confident.” His muscle mass was not as bulky as it used to be -- his abs and biceps just a shadow of what they once were. He had a soft little belly now. And then there were the scars. Dark pink floral patterns of scars all wound over his back, sides, and abdomen. Suddenly the thought of shirtless summer weather struck dread in his heart. For now, long-sleeved henleys and sweatshirts provided the perfect way for him to hide. It was literally the only time he’d been thankful for winter. “Hey,” Harrington said from across the table. He paused until Billy looked up to his eyes. His tone grew delicate and serious. “I’m not fucking around, okay? You. Look. Good.” And the way that Harrington looked at him -- brown eyes soft, his gaze lingering on Billy’s face. On his eyes. Well, maybe he meant it. “Yeah?” Billy asked. He felt his face heating. “You think so?” Harrington took the last bite of his lasagna. “Definitely.”

I Play Along with the Charade by moonflowers / @eatingmoonflowers (7k, T)

Billy'd been keeping an even closer eye on Harrington after that night at the Byers' - only natural, right? Thing is, watching and wondering never was enough for Billy.

in the wilderness life becomes by lymricks / @lymricks (3k, T)

Back in Hawkins for a winter break, Steve and Billy remember what it was like and learn about what it could be. Or, three old memories of Hawkins and one new one.

Bah Humbug, Billy Hargrove by LaVeraceVia / @laveracevia (14k, E)

“It’s okay, Billy. You’re not in any danger. No one can hear us,” Harrington says, and something about his tone—it’s not right. It’s too calm. Too…what? Certain. It’s too certain. Steve Harrington doesn’t talk like that. He means to say are you fucking high?, but what comes out instead is, “Who are you?” “Would you believe me if I said I was your guardian angel?”

merry christmas (i don’t want to fight tonight) by gothyringwald / @gothyringwald (1k, T)

Billy stands alone by the wall, beer in hand, a string of lights twinkling cheerfully above his head. Across the room Stacy Brent corners Steve under the mistletoe, pointing at it with one artfully manicured nail and smiling suggestively. His stomach turns and his blood heats. He chugs his beer, wipes his hand over the back of his mouth, jaw clenching as Stacy leans in.

Tell me, baby by socknonny / @socknonny (2k, M)

Steve finds Billy chopping down the worst tree in the entire Christmas Tree Farm.

A Love Thing by tracy7307 / @tracy7307 (2k, E)

Even five months after recovering from his injuries, Billy still has residual effects from the mindflayer. It's Christmas. Steve wants to help.

Happy Holidays From Your Least Favourite Homosexuals by bry0psida / @bry0psidawrites (1k, T)

Steve's family haven't had any contact with him since he came out as bi. He gets wind from Robin that he's being excluded from the family Christmas Card. Billy has the solution.

#harringrove #harringrove fics #harringrove fic recs #stranger things #reclist #trope:christmas #trope:thanksgiving #trope:newyears

[rulesofroleplay]

things to include in rp blogs’ rules!

note: these are not all necessary, but commonly found/are things that potential partners may look for before following!

content warnings:

are you okay with writing nsfw/do you plan to?

do you/how do you tag your triggers? so people can block them.

do you plan to post a lot of ooc? if so, is there a certain tag you will use that partners can filter?

are you okay with writing toxic relationships/r*pe and other triggers?

does your muse’s backstory contain triggers that may be mentioned a lot?

will you be posting discourse? how will you tag it?

will you reblog callouts? if so, will you tag them?

will you post vagues or other drama? how will you tag them?

any common triggers that your blog will likely contain?

etiquette:

can personals follow you? if they can, can they reblog/like threads? will you block them on sight? what if they’re your friends? if their rp blog is a sideblog of their personal, should they message you first to let you know, or assume that you will check it out/message them?

do you practice inbox karma? (people should only reblog the rp meme from you if they’ve sent the prompt to you, first)

are you bothered by people posting a lot of ooc? is it okay as long as they tag it (so you can filter it?)

do you send in passwords to show you’ve read rules? does your rules page have a password?

do you like to be reminded to respond to a thread? if so, how should they? (PM, inbox, discord, etc.)

do you expect to be notified if a thread is dropped? do you drop threads? how long will it take for you to drop a thread or ship for inactivity?

do you tend to use the block button liberally? what are some reasons for you blocking?

about interacting/rping with you:

are you a multimuse or singlemuse?

are you mutuals only?

will you roleplay crossovers, or only in-fandom?

will you write with duplicates? will you follow duplicates? or will you block on sight, or merely not interact? if someone ships with you, do you expect that they not ship with a duplicate? (ship exclusives)

will you write with multimuses? with personals?

are there types of ships (or if you writing a canon muse, specific ships) you won’t write? such as large age gaps (recommend putting a number), etc.

will you be doing mains/exclusives?

do you expect fast/slow replies?

should they match your length?

do you prefer long/short replies?

do you care if your partner has fancy graphics/themes?

do you expect your partner to use icons?

should your partner use formatting? (especially if you have eyesight problems; many people are willing to accommodate and not use formatting for threads they have with you)

how active are you?

how long will it take for you to unfollow someone for inactivity? does this change if they have a hiatus notice?

are you open to shipping?

if you’re writing a canon muse: are you selective with ocs? will you write with ocs that are related to a canon character/your muse? is your muse canon divergent in important ways? if your muse is canonly in a relationship with someone, is it okay for a person with your muse’s canon partner to assume a ship with you?

are you singleship or multiship? or one ship per verse? do you only ship with one version of a character? are you looking for romantic ships/have any in mind that you’re hopeful about writing?

do you like plotting? if so, should they have an idea for a plot before they message you?

how busy are you with out-of-rp life?

a link to a credits page, if applicable.

a link to your psa tag.

a link to your wishlist/desired plots tag.

a link to your muses’ relationship page, if applicable.

a link to your verses page.

a link to your mains / exclusives page, if applicable.

more non-mun related:

a link to your rpthreadtracker if you have one

will you follow genderbends? (here are some links on why people don’t like them, though be aware that not all trans people agree whether they’re bad or not, and, especially you’re cis, you should educate yourself first before making a personal opinion)

are there certain fandoms you won’t interact with? for example, if they squick/trigger you, if you don’t like the fandom, or if the content itself is harmful to you.

are there certain ages of muns / characters you won’t interact with?

& other things you do or do not take into account when following?

any disclaimers about your muse? (ex: if you write saitama from one punch man, his character is based on the fact that he can beat anybody, so while it may seem like godmodding if he wins any fight to someone who doesn’t know the series, if you add that in your rules that it’s to be expected, people will be aware when they follow you)

a link to your tag navigation page.

a mun section/about you:

how old you are. some people only like following people in their age range, or refuse to follow minors, or refuse to follow adults, simply because it makes them uncomfortable. this also goes by trust, but it is important to include if you want to write smut; if you’re under 18, this is illegal. if you don’t want to say a specific age, an age range (ex: 14-16, 21+, 18+, etc. is fine)

a name you go by. this can be an alias, whatever, since a lot of people aren’t out to their family online, or generally don’t want their life here to be connected to irl stuff/keeping it separate. most people use nicknames here, and it’s expected. don’t suggest adding your (real) last name, but that’s up to you. this is mostly for stranger danger purposes

what languages do you speak? and which are you willing to rp in? is english your first language? do you want to be corrected if you make grammatical/spelling errors, or not worry about it?

any triggers/disorders you have! optional, of course, but for example i have adhd, and if people are aware of that, they can be accommodating and more patient with replies, since adhd makes it hard to focus. triggers or squicks, i.e. things that make you uncomfortable/that you would rather not see, can also be tagged for you!

pronouns you use!! people might want to talk about you/to you and want to make sure that they don’t misgender you.

race/ethnicity/gender/orientation. again, optional, but if you intend to talk a lot about discourse, or write a muse of color/lgbt muse, it can be important. such as, if you are a white person that writes a muse of color, this is kinda a preface to be like ‘disclaimer: i don’t know what it’s like to be a person of color, and if i get anything wrong, please let me know!!’ or, similarly, as an example, if you talk in discourse about whether or not non-lesbians should be able to say d*ke (a slur used against lesbians), and you’re not a lesbian, saying that you aren’t is important for readers’ perspective. because, while allies can definitely be heard, it’s important that members of whatever minority have more weight based on their experience as a marginalized person.

any interests you have! people often like getting to know you, and it helps to make friends of rp partners! so if you are interested in similar things, this might be a way for them to start a conversation

do you do commissions? for art/themes, etc. if so, how would one approach you?

links to other social media or other blogs on tumblr! optional ofc, but pretty common, especially adding discord tags, because tumblr IMs is not always the best place to talk.

#rph #roleplay help #mod c

[the-desolated-quill]

At Midnight, All The Agents... - Watchmen blog

(SPOILER WARNING: The following is an in-depth critical analysis. if you haven’t read this comic yet, you may want to before reading this review)

I’ve been looking for an excuse to talk about Watchmen on this blog for years and now my moment has finally come :D

At Midnight, All The Agents is the first issue of Watchmen and right from the off you know that this is going to be something unique. Most superhero stories tend to begin with a crime being committed or perhaps even a big splash page featuring the hero standing all… well… heroic. Watchmen however starts very differently. We’re not thrust straight into the action. In fact the action has already happened. We’re witnessing the aftermath of the crime. Much more sombre and slower paced than any mainstream comic would be. In fact the opening of Watchmen is so good, it’s worth analysing the panels in detail.

We begin with the famous image of the blood stained smiley face. We travel slowly upward, revealing the smiley face to be in a puddle of blood. A man walks through the puddle carrying a ‘The End Is Nigh’ sign. As we continue moving upwards away from the puddle, we get excerpts from Rorschach’s journal. Superheroes spouting pretentious, bombastic monologues tend to be par for the course, but this is different. Rorschach speaks of how horrible New York has become, blaming ‘liberals, intellectuals and smooth talkers’ for allowing the city to decay. He speaks of how the city is afraid of him and that when the ‘whores and politicians’ beg for help, he’ll whisper back ‘No.’ If you didn’t know this was a superhero comic, you’d think this was a villain speaking. There’s no sense of justice or duty in Rorschach’s words. Only bitterness. It’s very disconcerting, as writer Alan Moore expertly draws the reader’s interest.

We reach the top of the building and we see a detective looking down from a broken window. We find out that they’re investigating the murder of Edward Blake, who was thrown out of his apartment window during a violent altercation. It appears to be a garden variety burglary gone wrong, but the detectives note that the viciousness of the attack suggests he may have been the intended target. This is further supported when they discover a photo of Eddie shaking hands with the Vice President, but then they convince themselves to drop the matter because they don’t want to draw the attention of ‘masked avengers.’ They leave the apartment and begin to discuss superheroes and vigilantes in negative terms. They mention something called the Keene Act and that superheroes have been outlawed, though Rorschach is still active despite that. As they walk and talk, we begin to notice things about the street around them. It looks like New York, but it’s not a version of New York we’re familiar with. There’s electric cars on the road and they mention Vice President Ford. Except… Gerald Ford wasn’t the Vice President in 1985. Ford became the thirty eighth President after Richard Nixon resigned and left office. He was succeeded by Jimmy Carter in 1977. If Ford is still Vice President in 1985, does that mean Nixon is still in power? How is that possible?

The first few panels of Watchmen is a true masterclass in how to open a graphic novel. Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons do a brilliant job establishing the world and setting up the story and themes without having to bog the narrative down with needless exposition. Everything we need to know is revealed to us subtly and organically through the dialogue and the visuals.

Oh and just in case I don’t get a chance to later on, let me just say that Gibbons’ artwork is phenomenal. His attention to detail when it comes to the worldbuilding is impeccable. A lot of credit must also go to colourist John Higgins, who chose to move away from the primary colours used by other superhero comics and chose instead to use the secondary colour palette. The use of purples, oranges and greens not only helps set Watchmen apart from other comics, it also helps to reinforce the subtle differences between this world and ours, as well as helping to establish tone, creating a moody and grim atmosphere.

At Midnight, All The Agents mainly follows the character of Rorschach as he investigates the murder of Edward Blake, who is revealed to be a superhero known as the Comedian, and warns other supers about the possibility of a ‘mask killer.’ As we see Rorschach journey from place to place, we notice how all of the ex superheroes he meets are neither super nor even very heroic. First there’s Dan Dreiberg, aka Nite Owl, who’s introduced to us reminiscing with Hollis Mason about ‘the old days’ over a drink. He’s slightly overweight, weak and some might say pathetic. Rorschach clearly resents Dan for quitting and we see Dan’s guilt and regret over this. We then meet billionaire Adrian Veidt, whom Rorschach accuses of selling out and cashing in on his superhero identity as Ozymandias. Next there’s Doctor Manhattan, the only superhero with superpowers, and Laurie Juspeczyk, who previously fought crime as the Silk Spectre. Manhattan doesn’t seem to care either way, remarking on how the dead and the living have the same number of atoms and seeing no difference between the two. Laurie, however, is glad Edward is dead because he apparently tried to rape her mother years ago, to which Rorschach dismisses as ‘a moral lapse.’

This sets the tone for the other issues to follow. Watchmen has a very cold and cynical view of superheroes. The ones we see are presented as being pathetic failures, uncaring and indifferent to the world around them, or just downright psychotic. We even get mentions of other superheroes, such as Mothman, who was apparently sectioned, and the first Silk Spectre Sally Jupiter, who Rorschach describes as a ‘bloated, ageing whore dying in a Californian rest resort.’

But the most revealing and damning of all is Rorschach himself. The only active superhero. God help us all.

Rorschach is many people’s favourite character (myself included), but let it be clear, Rorschach is NOT a hero. He’s brutally violent, ultra right wing, bigoted, misogynistic, homophobic and deeply disturbed to the point of being delusional and paranoid. It’s worth noting that the Watchmen are based on characters DC obtained from Charlton Comics, and that Rorschach was based on the Question. A vigilante/detective who reflected creator Steve Ditko’s objectivist philosophy. Rorschach takes these libertarian, conservative beliefs to their literal extreme, presented as being deranged and dangerous. At one point we see him walk into a bar and start breaking a man’s fingers in the hopes that one of the patrons will crack and give information about Edward’s murder, but of course, it doesn’t work, and why should it? You see this trope in a lot of cop and detective shows and it never made sense. Why would random strangers in a bar know everything that’s happening in the criminal underworld? So not only is this a darkly comedic riff on the cliche, it also tells us everything we need to know about Rorschach.

One question I found myself asking is why does Rorschach care about the murder of the Comedian when no one else clearly does. Towards the end of the issue we get his whole spiel about how there’s good and evil and evil must be finished. The typical black and white mentality of a right wing nutter. It also reminds me slightly of the Marvel Comics character Moon Knight, in that he’s motivated not by justice, but by vengeance. And not like Batman or the Punisher where they feel vengeful on behalf of another person, but rather vengeance as a concept. Rorschach is less a superhero and more an avatar of vengeance. He’s not about saving the world because, to him, the world is beyond saving. He’s just there to punish those responsible. But it’s not just Rorschach’s moral absolutism that drives him to investigate the murder. It’s also the fact that the Comedian was part of an exclusive club. Rorschach’s club. The superhero club. This is what’s behind Rorschach dismissing Laurie’s accusations of Eddie raping her mother as being merely ‘a moral lapse.’ From his perspective, any wrongdoings committed by them are either justified or excused because they’re superheroes. They’re above the law. Which begs the question, who gives them the right to decide what is and isn’t morally acceptable?

It’s this arrogance and abuse of power we see crop up again and again throughout Watchmen. The issue ends with Dan and Laurie having dinner together and talking about an incident involving ‘Captain Carnage.’ A guy who pretended to be a supervillain in the hopes that a costumed vigilante like Nite Owl or Silk Spectre would beat him up. Apparently he tried it on Rorschach once and he got dropped down an elevator shaft for his trouble, to which Dan and Laurie laugh. Admittedly this is another good example of dark humour that Moore executes really well, but it’s also shocking to see two (ex) superheroes laughing about it. Dan and Laurie aren’t bad people. They’re certainly not as unhinged as Rorschach. But the fact that their first instinct is to laugh is rather telling about how they see themselves as superheroes. Consciously or not, they see themselves as being above everyone else.

This is further reinforced by the extra material given at the end of the issue. Instead of the letters pages you would find in other comic books, Watchmen contains additional material that expand on the lore. They’re not essential to the story. You can easily skip over them, but it’s worth reading them because they do offer further insights into the characters and this world. At Midnight, All Agents features an excerpt from Under The Hood, an autobiography written by Hollis Mason, the first Nite Owl, in which he says something very revealing. Initially he was a cop, but he enjoyed reading comics and adventure yarns as a kid, and is reintroduced to them when he asks a kid on his beat if he could borrow their Superman comic. This apparently re-awoke dreams he had as a kid where he would rescue the prettiest girl at school from bullies or save his maths teacher from gangsters and have her falling in love with him, which inspires him to become Nite Owl. In other words, he became a superhero not to save people or do good, but so he could live out his childhood fantasies.

So what is a superhero? A guy in a costume fighting crime, righting wrongs and saving people? Or a delusional and often violent thug indulging in an egotistical power fantasy over the people around them? This is why everything about Watchmen is best represented in its opening image of the blood stained smiley face. A symbol of innocence and purity tainted by violence.

#at midnight all the agents #watchmen #alan moore #dave gibbons #dc comics #review #spoilers

[phoenixyfriend]

First & POV *U* Have a nice day *v*/

no excuses writing meme, askbox version

FIRST — the first two sentences of my current projectI’m including more than the first two lines for this one, because it’s the beginning of Chapter 4 forWhen Aliens Sing For You, which means the dialogue in this section, specifically, is just… lyrics from Hamilton.

“How does the bastard, orphan, son of a whore, go on and on,grow into more of a phenomenon?” Shiro asked the audience as he sat at thetable, facing out and knowing that Lance was coming up behind him. “Watch thisobnoxious, arrogant, loud-mouthed bother—”

Wow, that would have been a little accurate if not for how over-the-topand downright mean it was. Shirohoped this wasn’t one of those weird times where Lance was internalizingsomething that didn’t really have anything to do with him.

POV — something that’s already happened, retold from another character’s perspectiveI’m going to use It Takes a (Secretly Superpowered) Village for this one.

Lance Álvarez considered himself a reasonable human being. He snuck out of the barracks sometimes, usually convincing Hunk to come along with him, but he usually tried to do the right thing, at the right time, with a minimum of danger for himself and the people around him. Lance was the kind of person who made plans, like memorizing guard schedules, scoping out hiding places, and taking a teacher’s comments to heart enough to put those plans to use to bond with a teammate. Sure, he’d been a little… overeager to jump into the mess when he realized Shiro was in the tent and Keith was involved, but Lance could at least recognize the issues there. Lance was good at recognizing his own issues, like how he was easily the most replaceable member of his team (Hunk was a genius, and Pidge clearly was too, while Lance had barely made it into fighter class, and even that was only because Keith dropped out), how he tended to hyperfocus at the worst times, and how he tended to do some kinda stupid things to prove his own worth… like rushing down to break Shiro out of containment without a plan when he saw that Keith was involved.

Ultimately, though, Lance was a reasonable person. He weighed his pros and cons, tried to plan accordingly, and admitted when he was being irrational for some reason.

Lance felt that it was entirely reasonable to freak out at Keith for driving them off a goddamn cliff.

Yes, they’d survived, but there had been every chance that they wouldn’t.

“Where the crap did you learn to fly like that?” Lance demanded, when they got to Keith’s shady desert shack. 

“Jealous?” Keith asked, like the fucking asshole he clearly was.

“Does the word ‘reckless’ exist in your vocabulary?” Lance demanded. “I’m serious, does it? Because if not, then you should know that that cliff dive was the textbook definition of it.”

“We survived,” Keith dismissed, apparently not realizing what the issues was.

“Barely,” Lance protested. “Shiro was being held up by Pidge, who’s barely five feet tall and doesn’t exactly have a lot of muscle. If Pidge lost his grip on the way down, do you really think an unconscious guy like Shiro would have made that fall? Keep in mind that of the five of us, you were the only person with something solid to hold onto. The rest of us were clinging by the tips of our fingers.” He got into Keith’s face as he talked, and reached out to poke him in the chest. Going by the look on Keith’s face, the message had actually sunk in, thank god.

“…my foster mom,” Keith finally said. “She learned stunt driving at some point, and taught me while I was living with her.”

Which, okay, that answered Lance’s question, but didn’t address the issue. He waved an arm back in the direction of the Garrison. “And you knowing how to stunt drive somehow means that it wasn’t ridiculously dangerous to go off a cliff while the vehicle was overloaded, had no seat belts, didn’t ha—”

“I get it!” Keith snapped. “I messed up, okay, fine. We’re all okay, I’ll try to…”

He trailed off.

“Think before you leap?” Lance suggested. “Not engage in reckless endangerment?”

“…how do you even know that term?” Keith asked, like… like he expected Lance to be as dumb as his test scores sometimes suggested.

(Lance didn’t do well at tests, or quizzes. Granted, he didn’t do well in the simulator either, but there were reasons for all of that. His papers, where he got hours and hours to stick together research and go through things with a fine-toothed comb and MS Word’s spellcheck program? Those were what pulled him back up to be at the top of cargo class and good enough to be the first choice when Keith dropped out.)

“Hey, I may not score as high on paper tests as Hunk and Pidge, but I’m not dumb,” Lance said, trying not to think about how Keith had insulted him; the mullet probably hadn’t meant it that way, right? He tried to distract himself by talking about the whole mess with Mari and Caio. “Plus, one of my sister’s… friends? Sure, friends. One of her friends is a lawyer and he talks about his weirder cases at the house sometimes.”

“You’re not sure if they’re friends?” Keith asked, looking confused.

“They aren’t sure if they’re friends,” Lance muttered. “They met in college by getting in a drunk fistfight over World of Warcraft.”

Keith stared for a moment before answering. “I don’t really know how anyone in my family met.”

“Nobody?”  Lance asked.

Keith frowned for a long moment, and then finally offered, “I think my foster mom met some of her friends when the church caught fire during her sister’s wedding?” 

Lance stared at him, then closed his eyes and shook his head. That wasn’t much weirder than some of Marisol’s stranger stories. “Right. Whatever. Let’s go see if Shiro’s going to wake up soon, I guess.”

As Lance would later find out, Keith was chock-full of strange stories from his time at that house, and those stories would follow them to space… in more ways than one.

#Phoenix Answers Memes #Voltron #Hamilton #Takashi Shirogane #Keith (Voltron) #Lance (Voltron) #and though you can't tell from that snippet: #Young Avengers #Kate is the foster mom #holebias #when aliens sing for you #ITaSSV #Hi yeah I'm reusing OCs #Caio is a non-vamp version of Gaius

[thorntonkrell-blog-blog]

OH SHIT PART TWO

TERRI AND BILL AND KEN

My wife was telling me about the intoxicating smell that came from the packaging of Barbie dolls and Barbie accessories back in the day. I related that smell to the smell of a pack of baseball cards back in my day.

My father was a smoke eater. Neither the Barbie smell nor the card smell opened his olfactory doors to any extent.

He knew as much about dolls and cards as we knew about hooks and ladders.

Fifty years ago, I was losing the urge for cards. My sister, however, was in the ‘She Loves You’ stage of her Barbie mania.

She wanted/needed a companion for her Barbie. She needed a Ken and Christmas was approaching.

My father was all over it.

Pretty sure he told my Mom “I got this”.

Christmas arrived.

The gifts were under the tree.

One of the packages was a man wrapped rectangle.

Everybody knew what that rectangle contained under the ribbons and bows.

My parents distributed the gifts. Sweaters and shirts and socks came first while anticipation for the ‘good stuff’ built to a crescendo as the packages dwindled.

The good stuff was always at the end and the best thing was the last thing.

Finally, the only package left was the rectangle.

My sister was getting warmed up for that fake cry of surprise that we gave when we got what we wanted although we knew that it was coming.

My Dad, full of confidence and good cheer handed her the rectangle.

Terri opened the package slowly, savoring the moment. All eyes were upon her.

“ oh my God…thank you Sooo much…it’s a …..”

She hesitated to make sure…..the plastic didn’t smell right.

“ a Bill!?”

“You got her a Bill, Vinnie” asked my mother in subdued shock.

“yeah”, answered my Dad. The guy at the store told me Bill was better than Ken”.

He knew he was in hot water. Even though he was used to heat, This heat grew to stifling in a matter of seconds. There were no hoses available.

My sister, to her credit, refrained from dousing the fire with tears.

I’ll never forget the way she said “it’s a Bill.”

The celebration continued although smoke was filling the room.

As I recall the moment today, I can imagine what was going through my father’s mind when he bought the Bill.

To him, a doll was a doll and the fact that one doll looked exactly like the other doll and yet cost half as much made the Bill a much better doll than the Ken.

Hands down.

No doubt.

My sister guessed the inevitable solution so she wisely underplayed her reaction.

She took the Bill upstairs to meet Barbie.

The meeting was awkward, I found out later.

Neither Bill nor Barbie knew quite what to say.

Of course, my mother knew what to do.

The next day, Bill disappeared and Ken had a great first date with Barbie.

Everybody was happy. Including my Dad.

Over the next year. he would ask Terri about Bill.

One day, he walked into her room to watch his beautiful daughter play with her Barbie and her Bill.

My father looking at Ken and mistaking him for Bill said “Bill and Barbie look happy.”

My sister agreed.

So did Ken and Barbie.

FICTION IS THE NEW TRUTH

I'm pretending to be a writer. I'm also pretending to be the narrator in an ongoing story in which I am pretending to be one of the main characters created by the writer that I am pretending to be.

And most of it is true except, of course, for the lies which I tell to the characters that I pretend to create as a fictional writer and whom I pretend are my confidantes.

In return, I realize that the characters that pretend to confide in the character that I pretend to be are also telling the truth most of the time except when they lie to me which sort of defeats the purpose of them pretending to confide in me which is quite an amusing technique for the writer who is pretending to be me and as such is pretending to write about pretending to be amused by a technique that reeks of despair and mistrust.

It all goes back a few years ago to that moment when Jeff Bridges came to town and I pretended to be sitting next to a character who was pretending to be Stingray. Stingray was pretending to agonize over the integrity of taking a picture of Jeff Bridges after he had learned from a character pretending to be a blue haired old bitch that photography of any kind was prohibited.

Very near to that moment, Stingray realized that he was in fact The Dude that Bridges had tried to portray in The Big Lebowski and therefore he was a fictional character looking at the actor who had pretended to play him.

Of course, even that fictional character was me pretending to be him.

When it all became too much for Stingray, he spotted me pretending to be Thornton Krell sitting next to him. I pretended that Sting was perceptive enough to realize that the guy who was pretending to sit next to him was also the guy who was pretending to be the writer that had got Sting into this situation in the first place and who therefore probably knew how to get him the hell out of there.

And that's where fiction started to become the new truth. Remember?

It's all there in black and white if you go back to the beginning.

Or even better

Pretend to go back to the beginning and I'll pretend to believe your lies. I'll believe you understand the back story to all of this illusionary pretension and we'll start all over again.

And that's the truth

CALL ME STINGRAY

Clearly, I’m not as stupid as I appear to be or pretend to be, that wouldn’t be possible although it might be preferable to the marginal state of bliss that I occupy now as I try life with double elephant ears for pockets,while I wander from the concrete concession stand that I call home.

No, I’m not stupid. Ya see it’s a combination of the oversight committees of my internal legislation combined with poor intelligence gathering that is responsible for the current comedy of errors that I laughingly call my so called existence. It’s not Trump’s fault nor Pelosi’s fault that keeps me from dreaming the American dream.

I'm all about the Dream.

Dude is the American dream for me.

Dude is Jeff Bridges.

Big Lebowski.

Dude is my idol.

I love the Dude, man. When I found out the Dude was coming to town, I rubbed a couple of nickels together and headed to the Dryden Theater at the George Eastman house where Mr. Kodak himself screened movies for his guests until he decided that his work was done and he shot himself in the heart at this very house. Somehow, I had another double sawbuck so I took the tour of the house, checked out the elephant head in the lobby overlooking a giant organ and an array of flowers and gingerbread houses. I strolled into the exhibition hall and looked at the photos on display taken by Jeff Bridges.  Next, I bought my ticket for the flick that Dude was going to introduce in the theater.

I’m an hour early. I walk down to the front. Figure for the money I’m paying, I might as well get as much indoor times as I can. Rochester is one cold, dark, dangerous town. So, there I am sitting safely, minding my own business when out of nowhere, a gray hair walks up to me and spying my unhidden camera says in a real snotty voice..“You can’t take pictures in here.”

Wait a minute, I think to myself. I’m in the home of the guy who popularized photograpy, the guy who made the art available to the masses as well as the messes and here’s some drainer telling me I can’t take pictures even though I’m using a Kodak camera loaded with Kodak film and I’m wanting to take a picture of a guy because HIS photographs are on display in the exhibition section of the museum. In other words, I’m a photographer in the birthplace of photography trying to take a picture of a photographer and somebody tells me “no”.

I should be more specific about the drainer. She looked a lot like Barbara Bush in Bar Bar’s days as first lady with the shocking white hair. The imitation was breathtaking. Part of the breathtaking aspect was the “perfume” she was wearing. Imagine the smell of lilacs inside a trash bin, well that was the stench that was taking my breath away. I whiffed her before I saw her and by the time I saw her, she was in my face telling me what not to do.

God I hate that.

I had paid six bucks to get in and six bucks is a whole different ballgame to me than it is to the fake Barbara Bush. Six bucks has bought me four days and four nights of winter warmth at Movies10 which costs a buck to get into the show and once you’re in, if you play your cards right, you can hide out for twelve hours. Six bucks is what I paid to get a picture of Jeff Bridges. Six bucks should entitle me to that.

BarBar stalked away leaving a trail of fetid flower stank residue. The guy sitting next to me, another  early arrival, looked astonished or alarmed or whatever you call an expression that is a combination of thunderstuck bemusement and outrage. I'm no stranger to that expression.  I get and give that kinda look quite often

I had been talking to this guy a few minutes earlier and I can tell you what kind of guy he was. He was the kind of fiftyish guy who looks like he's pretending to be someone else and the person he's pretending to be is a shorter version of a fake Donald Sutherland.

He told me his name was Ice.

I don't need notes to remember stuff like this so I never take 'em.

I would hesitate to call Ice a dude although he was too old to be a nerd, to tall to be a dweeb, too small to be a doofus, too friendly to be a dork and too well informed to be a nimrod. I guess he was just a normal guy . Still, even he didn’t know what to make of the fake BarBar.

I said to Ice, “There ain’t no signs around here that say you can’t take a picture.”

Ice reached into his pocket and pulled out one of those fancy phones.

“I didn’t see any signs either,”  he said with a ‘we’re all in this together but you’re the one who got busted by a fake Barbara Bush as if you were Al Franken on a plane’ kind of wink.

I wondered if the photographic prohibition was posted on my ticket. I looked at the ticket which didn’t look much like a ticket,just a crumpled piece of  green paper featuring a large ADMIT ONE.

Nowhere on this ticket did I see anything about not taking pictures.

I showed Ice my ticket and he pulled out HIS ticket and goes right to the fine print.His ticket cost thirty five bucks and since we were sitting right next to one another the main thing his fancy ass ticket bought him was more writing because his ticket said that photography was prohibited at the request of the artist.

Let’s see…no prohibition on my later cheaper ticket …clear prohibition on Ice’s reserved more expensive ticket.  This pretty much sums up my life. Forget about being reserved. Show up early and the cheaper you live, the more freedom you have.

So me and Ice sat there like twin particles ready to collide at the edge of a black hole. Something was about about to happen but nobody knew exactly what. I wondered if perhaps Ice's last name was Jones.

We both got out our cameras and our contradictory tickets. I’m trying to feature the Dude prohibiting photos in a situation like this and I can’t see it.

One thing we know about the Dude…he abides.

I’m tawkin’ bout the Dude who always adhered to a pretty strict drug regimen to keep his mind, ya know, limber. What kind of limberminded photographer like Jeff Bridges would bar other photographers from taking pictures of El Duderino himself.

Also, I hoped to ask Jeff a few questions. Did he do his own bowling scenes and because of the whole brevity thing did the Dude prefer being called El Duderino, Duder, His Dudeness or simply the Dude or Dude?

Decisions were soon to be made.

Making decisions without accurate intelligence is like applying mathematical theories to non-mathematical facts. It’s like grabbing a pool rack and putting the rack into sink full of swamp water in the hopes of creating a liquid triangle or a fertle delta. It don’t work. I’ve tried versions of that experiment many times if not most of my life.

And once again, at the Dryden, I found myself trying to rack up innocent water although this time I was closer to Ice than to actual water. I’ve also learned that when you subtract mathematical theory from contradiction, you eventually wind up with paradox. Ice, although heavier than water floats upon it. Paradox means you face a crossroads of two clear ,equally balanced, oppositional ideas options that are uncompromisingly win/win or lose/lose in their execution.

Sink or swim

Contradiction also abides

Then, the curtain rustled and out comes the Dude himself in the person of Jeff Bridges. Dude looks exactly like he does on screen except a whole helluvalot smaller. As I decided whether or not to take his picure, at least ten guys ran down the aisle like stealth bombers in hoodies and beards, snapped off several rounds of flashes and then ran back down the aisle, out the door, into the parking lot, into their POS cars and down East Avenue towards Wegman’s before BarBar could even get her panty hose unwadded.

Dude didn’t look like he minded the snapping. I suppose it helped that the stealth crew snapped him before he even had a chance to give two shits.

Dude, as Jeff ,started to speak about how misunderstood his father Lloyd’s career had been as Sea Hunt became a mixed blessing for the Bridges family. The money was the good part. The bad part was that the viewing audience thought that Dude Dad Lloyd actually was a skin diver, actually was Mike Nelson the role his Dad had played on the teevee show. Dude said most of his life somebody has been coming up to him all teary eyed and saying “Thanks to your father, Mike Nelson, I’ve become a skin diver and all my children want to become marine bilogists or harbor masters.”

Imagine, confusing an actor with a role that he played

One of my childhood friends had the same confusion, sort of. I guess that’s why he started calling himself “Mike” and strapping a waste basket on his back, sticking a garden hose in his mouth, putting a pair of underpants over his face and a huge pair of rubber galoshes on his feet, he would “skin dive” by crawling around on his belly in his backyard in the rain until he reached the end of his hose and crawled back before his air ran out remembering all the while to keep the crawl slow as to avoid the bends.

Good thing my friend didn’t see High Noon when he was a kid, otherwise he might have grown up either a craven coward or a “boy not a man” as Katy Jurado had called Dude’s Dad when Dude Dad bailed out upon the return of Frank Miller as the clock ticked real time towards noon.

In real time at the Dryden, Dude was five feet away and looking straight at me, I was coming to a conclusion of my own. It was the flash in his face not the photo itself that the Dude objected to and wanted to minimize with the small print on the fancy ticket. Since my disposable didn’t have a flash, all I had to do was wait until Dude looked away for a second and I could snap his picture as I felt that I had the right to do. In all likelihood, the flashless picture wouldn’t come out anyway. Dude wouldn’t know that I had taken a picture that didn’t come out and everybody would have a win. Paradox confronted and overcome. Slick as snot on a doorknob.

While I waited Dude kept rappin’ and looking right at me while he spoke.

The way he was looking at me, reminded me of the phenomena of paired neurons. You see, when we watch somebody do something that we’ve done, paired neurons fire off in our brain similar to the neurons firing off in the brain of the person who is doing something that we’ve already done. If you play the guitar and then go and watch somebody else play the guitar, you are having a whole different neurological experience than a person who doesn’t play the guitar. And the guy playing the guitar can usually recognize you in the audience because he can feel your neurons firing in synch with his which makes him play the guitar better which makes you get more into his performance and fire more neurons which makes his guitar play even better and refire etc ad infinitum.

Anyways, this is the way that Dude was looking at me.

Certainly, I was firing ‘you are the Dude" neuronic vibes to the Dude but to my amazement he was firing back 'no YOU are the Dude’ neuros back at me.

I wondered if anybody else noticed.

I took a quick look over at Ice who was trying to pair up with the vibe and cop off it but he was unable to but he was taking notes, just as I suspected.

I turned my attention from Ice back to the Dude who took my glance at Ice as a vibe breaker rather than an icebreaker. Dude looked away.

My opportunity arrived.

I snapped my camera.

The camera didn’t flash.

Dude never noticed.

The whole transaction didn’t count.

Like an at bat that takes six pitches; two fouls and four balls.

And just like that, except for reflection and analysis minus thought and regret, it was pretty much over. Dude never looked back. He finished his spiel and took a seat in the middle of the theatre to watch the screening of his Dad's old flick. He didn't take any questions from the audience. Pretty sure he snuck out early.

My job was done as well. I didn't sere any sense in keeping my seat way over to the right of the screen in front of the vacated rostrum.

I went up to the balcony and found some degree of calm along with an opportunity to reflect using my feelings rather than my thoughts to process what my intuition had gathered.

Certainly, paired neurons were firing between the Dude and me. What was he doing that I do? What was he doing that I was going to do in the future? What had I done that he had done? What did he know that  I knew that only we two knew? What did I know that he NEEDED to know and was surprised to find out that I knew it and knew that he knew that he needed to know.

Or vice versa.

First, I  felt that it was the Big Lebowski film that had brought us together but my intuition told me that the neuron firing was too intense for that shallow of a conclusion. There is a big difference between a guy in a movie and a guy who's a fan of that movie, not that Jeff wasn't a fan of the Dude. Even I know that. I recognize the difference between illusion and delusion. Movies themselves are an illusion created by light and dark. Believing that movies are real and not reel is a delusion.

Dude had been in movies, I considered my whole life to be a movie or if not a movie, at least a book and if not a book at least a story and if not my WHOLE life than at least the last three hours of it or maybe my short term life was three hours within which a story could be noted, imagined, located, decided and written by somebody else and that was the purpose of my life and after that I would disappear and exist only in words that stay or in the memories of everyone who read those words.

If this was true, then I was a fictional character.

Now, one thing a movie star knows a lot about is fictional characterization. Stars earn their money playing them. When Jeff looked at me, his realization neurons fired off this message. "the guy in front of me with the crappy camera is LIVING what I do for a living. He's a fictional character in a story and he doesn't understand that a) he's fictional b) he's in a story c) as a fictional character he's got a lot more in common with the Dude than I do and d) this whole realization/connection/ neuron firing thing (myself included) is part of the story that this guy is the only fictional character within but also the unreliable narrator of.

That's exactly the moment that Jeff ricocheted my "you are the Dude" vibes to him with an even more powerful "no dude, you Are the Dude, dude vibe back at me just before I turned away and looked at Ice and snapped my flashless photo.

With that, I realized the truth of my situation. I was fthe fictional part of a factual story.

I was part of a faction.

I was and am a factoid like Thornton Krell.

That's my story folks although I didn't write it.

Ice Rivers wrote it.

He gets the credit or the blame.

GOLF

Golf took a gigantic leap forward with the invention of the hole.

Up to that point, golf was simply a lot of people with sticks and balls walking around some very lovely terrain doing all sorts of things with their sticks and balls.

Most of the people with balls were men who were trying to get the hell outta the house because the "woman's driving me bonkers etc." I'm sure it was all very spontaneous, creative, individualistic, time consuming, non-judgemental; usually comic in its pointlessness but occasionally tragic in its masculine temperamentalism.

Then somebody dug a hole in the middle of the environmental splendor. The idea was to try and use a stick to put the ball into the hole. Since putting the ball in the hole was the final act of each hole, the stick used to put the ball in the hole came to be known as the putter which originally rhymed with footer because sometimes a golfer in frustration would just kick the ball into the hole. Eventually the stick for putting the ball in the hole took on a new rhyme. Putter began to rhyme wiith both nutter and mutter. A lot of nutters muttered about their putters until they just kicked the ball in with the foot which was counted as a put not a putt.

In another example of the beauty and simplicity of our language amidst the wonder of rhyme, the word hole rhymes with the word goal. At first there was only one hole in the whole three mile walk and players counted the number of swings it took to finally put the ball into the hole. Putting was not as essential a skill ren as it is now.

The goal of the hole, although it increased judgmentalism and decreased individuality, proved to be a such a great idea that another goal was eventually dug into the ground and then another and another and another until somebody said "Damn, how many holes we need for this game?"

With our human tendency toward excess, 175 holes were dug before the guy who was digging the holes realized that he had enough of this and decided he would just as soon go home and listen to the troubles of the wife than dig any more of these goddamned holes which were a lot bigger than the  tidy holes that we have today.

The first holes were big enough to bury an eagle in case one of them got killed during the invasion of their air space by the men with sticks. It became a short-lived superfluous tradition because no one ever killed an eagle although many smaller birds were dispatched. Dispatching a small bird was considered a good thing and came to be known as a birdie.

 Eventually the size of the hole was reduced to the height and width of three golf balls which because they were made of wood and were almost impossible to hit into the air was a lot bigger than the golf balls of today.

After playing a couple rounds of 175 hole golf, it was determined that too many goals produced a "game" strikingly similar to no goals at all because everybody quit at different time and in various degrees of rage having long lost the number of swings needewd to reach the breaking point.

It was at this juncture that Lord Ferguson Calloway, came up with his revolutionary idea. " A half dozen isn't enough," thought the good Lord "and neither is a dozen. I got it. Of course, a dozen and a half is ideal."

And thus we arrived at the first course of eighteen holes.

Par is the standard for each hole.

Par is an exemplar representing skillfull reaction to the specific problems presented by each well defined goal/hole.

As each hole developed a standard level of difficulty measured by the number of swings required to put the ball into the hole, someone else came up with the idea of adding all the standards together and coming up with a standard for the entire course.

Shortly after coming up with the standards for each hole and then the entire course, some other wizard...perhaps Lord Bellamy Foxtrot decided to record all of those standards so that each golfer at the beginning of his walk had a clear idea not only of the goals of the "game" but also of the standards of each individual goal and each individual course. Individual holes from different courses could be compared as well as courses themselves.

The longest most difficult holes required five swings of the stick to put the ball into the hole.

Shorter holes required four swings.

The shortest holes required three swings.

Since most courses contain four holes that allow five swings to meet the standard, four holes that allow three swings to meet the standard and 10 holes that require a standard number of swings to be four. Add that all up and most courses have a par of 72 swings to put the ball into eighteen holes.

A score of less than 72 on most courses is considered under par.

Under par is good because it means it took less swings to complete the course than the standard requires.

A score of 72 means, a round of golf played exactly to the standards of the course.

A score of 73 or above means over par which indicates a playing of the eighteen holes with a number of swings more than needed by better players to complete the course.

Each hole is its own measure of standards.

If the goal is achieved on each hole by taking one less swing than the standard, that effort is called a "birdie".

If it takes 4 swing to put the ball into the hole of goal that has been established as needing 4 swings to complete. that effort is known as a "par".

If it takes a swing more than the standard for putting the ball into an individual hole, that effort is known as a "bogey".

Two strokes over is a "double bogey"

Three strokes over is a "triple bogey"

Four strokes over par on a par four is known as a "snowman"

Five strokes above par has no general name but there is a name for anyone who regularly needs more than five extra shots  and there is a term. That name is "duffer" and that term is “pick up the goddamned ball and either get off the course or go on to the next hole.”

Most of us are duffers in this world.

It takes us a lot more time to finish a task than it takes other folks to finish that same task.

We keep reinventing the square wheel.

Not only does it take us more time but the task we completed is a shittier version of the task completed by people who possess what I have come to know as "talent".

This lack of talent however usually doesn't stop us from trying to achieve the impossible while ignoring the possible.

Not too long after the invention of "the hole", another great moment in golf arrived; the invention of the green. The green is the closely mowed area immediately surrounding the hole. If the hole stands for the essential goal then the green stands for the important goal, a more general place to aim. To reach the green predicts looming realization of essential pursuit.

A century or two after the invention of the green, another great moment occurred; the invention of miniature golf. Let's skip the whole driving and fairway thing. We're not as interested in the journey as we are in the destination. We read the last chapter of a mystery novel first so we know who did it all along and who cares about anything else?

Miniature golf is a concentration of essential goal with a diminishing interest in  important goals. As it turned out, many people became activated by the single minded pursuit of the essential and thus the world dicovered a new use for  miniature windmills, aquarioums filled with enamel fish and plaster dinosaurs holding fake candy canes.

Shotrly after the concept of truncated activation peaked with miniature golf, some true star invented yet another form of abbreviation namely the "driving range". This one deals with the other end of the spectrum and once again gets rid of the "hole" as history once again rhymes with itself in a colossal retreat. Here the golfer can exercise a specific strategy, while sacrificing other important activities including the essential goal.

Both of those innovations diminished the concept of "walking" which at one time (before the invention of the hole) was in fact the primary goal of the game. Unless you count the husband's goal of getting the hell out of the house and the wife's goal of getting him the hell out of the house yet keeping him away from the harlots. Everybody used to win.

Miniature golf requires some walking while the driving range requires only getting out of the car and waking to the tee, usually grabbing a beer on the way. This means that the guy gets home before either he or his wife wanted him too or he stretches it out by stopping off somewhere and sometimes with a "golf instructor"

Shortly after the appearance of driving ranges and miniature golf courses, another synthesis reared its head. This manifestation included some walking, some iron driving, an important goal  (The green) and an essential goal (the hole). This innovation became known as par three golf as the fairways were shorter and narrower and the expectation is to be able to reach the essential goal with two swings and a putt..

Even with this myriad of manifestations, golf has remained a non-essential activity. Therefore, people discover or ignore the game based on their own interest and time table. Some folks activate through miniature golf. Others activate through the driving range. Still others activate because of the par threes. It's imposible to choose betweeen the game of golf and these three activators other than for purely personal reasons including the need to go "shopping" by the wife and the need to get the hell out of here by the husband who fully realizes how much his wife cherishes her private time.

I'm going to step away from the history of golf, like a pro who hears a fart in the gallery.

I'll tell you about MY game. Since it's my game, it's my rules. This is why I prefer to play alone.

When I do play with someone else, the game is best ball. My partner and I are playing against the course by co-operating with one another.

Here's how it goes; my partner drives.

His drive is straight and true and right down the middle.

I hit my drive straight into the woods.

Together we go look for my ball.

We find it and we head to HIS ball, the Best ball...hence the name of the game.

We take our second shots.

His shot lands in the trap.

My shot lands on the green.

We retrieve his ball from the sand.

We putt from my ball on the green.

My approach putt is short. He knocks his putt in.

We have a birdie...The hole was a par four and we took three strokes to get it in.

We're pulling for each other on every shot.

Best ball.

When I play alone, I start out with a mulligan.

That means sometime during the round, I won't count a shot that I hit. That non-shot is called a mulligan.

I only allow two putts of the first green.

I'm not warmed up yet so...two's the limit.

When I hit the ball into a trap, I just pick the ball up and underhand it out of the trap.

If I hit the ball into the water, I go to the place where my ball hit BEFORE it went into the water and I hit it from there.

Every horrible shot I hit, I find solace in the reality that no matter how bizarre the shot...I've definitely hit worse.

If  the ball gets lost in the woods, I play as if it went into the water.

I never forget that I'm here to relax and now here to recover.

I usually have my camera with me and I take pictures.

I keep score in my head. If I score five on each hole that's 45 as I only play nine holes at a time.

45 is pretty good.

That night as I go to sleep, I replay all of the forty five shots in my head which usually puts me to sleep.

Sometimes, I'm out on the course all by myself with no one else in sight.

At those moments, baby I'm a rich man.

Today, I'm a richer man. I won't be alone. I'm playing a best ball threesome. Because we have three guys hitting every shot, we'll have a lower score than any of us would have had if we had played alone.

My partners are Deke and Crown.

Deke, Crown and I have done a lot together.

We did the great American road trip in my truck from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We camped out almost every night under the stars down by the river.

We visited the Ponderosa Ranch in Nevada and got drunk in  the saloon where the Cartwrights drank.

We played blackjack every day and learned to count cards only to lose everything one endless night in Lake Tahoe.

We got kicked out of Candlestick Park.

We've been to the Kentucky Derby, the Preakness and the Belmont.

We've chilled with Muhammad Ali.

We've been through births, deaths, wedding, divorces, sickness, health and every stop in between.

We've climbed mountains and worked on Horse farms.

When Crown was an MP, he arrested Jane Fonda.

Deke got married at Graceland

Deke and Crown were there the night that Pete Rose broke the record for all time hits.

Crown and I saw Secretariat win at Belmont.

Deke helped my dying father into the ambulance in which he died.

Crown had a heart attack at the Kentucky Derby and since then has had colon cancer and open heart surgery.

Nobody can plank like Deke.

One thing we had never done before is play golf.

Two years ago, it looked like Crown wasn't going to survive his illnesses.

Last year, I had my moments of doubt.

Deke is the youngest of us and still is in great shape.

He doesn't owe anybody anything. Everything is paid up. His house. His car. His college loans. His credit cards. Everything.

So we've lived this great life together but until yesterday we had never played golf together.

Deke hadn't lifted a club in 10 years.

Crown, like me, played only 27 holes last year.

I can't lift the ball out of the hole anymore which explains why I NEVER miss a five foot putt.

Crown can't get the ball out of the  hole either. At least he thought he couldn't. Yesterday on the third hole, he reached down and plucked it out.

Way to go, Johnny

Now, because Deke is still flexible enough to pick the ball up out of the hole, we had no excuse to take gimmes on any putt. That killed us as we missed one five footer after another over and over and over and over ad museum.

We played amazingly from tee to green and from a distance might have passed as younger men but when we got on the green......fuggedaboudid.

Of course we used carts as this is the reason that God invented them.

And brothers

And friends

The sky was blue, the clouds beautiful. We talked about life. We laughed. We rejoiced. We remembered. We were present with our eyes on the ball.

It was worth the wait.

Golf they say is a sample of sorrow

A walk in the park scarred by frustration

Then we hit THAT shot...come back tomorrow

For more sorrow amidst celebration.

We retain our most ironclad of grips

We visualize keeping elbow tight

We take dead aim and we let er' rip

When we lift our eyes we see ball in flight.

When we lift our head a little too soon

Too anxious to see the ball in the air,

We won't see the sky, the sun or the moon

We'll see our ball on the tee sitting there.

We promise to always keep our head low

Then we strike a beauty and on we go.

SALAMANCA FUNDAMENTALS

My former brother-in-law Tim and I were great friends before both our marriages crashed. Tim was a lumberjack, a master with ax and chain saw.

One afternoon, Tim and I were working on a case behind the cabin that he had literally carved out of the forest for himself and my first wife's sister deep in the hills of Salamanca. Somehow or other after about ten beers apiece, the subject stumbled towards golf, specifically the origin of the game, more specifically the origin of golf clubs and finally the origin of the clubs called woods/ woods called clubs.

I speculated that in its most primitive incarnation, cavemen just used the all purpose clubs they had for survival, courtship and domestic tranquility. These clubs were made of wood.

Tim liked that idea. Next thing I knew Tim had his chain saw fired up and was cutting into a log. Wood chips flew everywhere as  Tim transformed the log into an L shaped object, handed it to me and said "here's a wood."

I held the club in my hand. The "wood" weighed about seven pounds. I told Tim the club was a little too heavy. Tim fired up the chainsaw again and trimmed about two pounds off the club while shaping a bit of a handle on top and leaving most of the weight on the bottom.

He handed me the reshafted club and I took a few swings beteeen a few swigs. The club felt great but what I wondered  was what did the first golfers hit with the first club. As we worked a little deeper into the case, we began to speculate on that problem.

Once again, Tim fired up his chain saw this time transforming another piece of wood into a solid kinda round object about tthe size of a baseball. Tim handed me the object and said "here's your ball."

As I looked at the "ball" I was amazed to observe that an object with so many flat sides could resembles something round. The invention of the ball caused more casework and label laughter.

Here's where I made my only contribution. I went over to the nearby woodpile, found a sturdy splinter, handed it to Tim and said "here's our tee". Tim took out his jack knife and whittled a roundish, flattish hollow at the top of the splinter. We put the "ball" on the 'tee" and returned to the case.

At this point our wives, annoyed by prolonged absence from the cabin , burst upon the scene and were immediately aggravated by what they saw. In the midst of her rage, Tim's wife grabbed the "club" that was leaning against a tree, walked over to the "teed" up "ball" and furiously and unknowingly hit the greatest golf shot I had ever seen with the first and only swing of her life. "The "ball" flew twenty yards, bounced off a couple of rocks, rolled a few feet and disappeared from sight.

Fueled by the combination of apology, concern and amusementthat most men use to confront aggravated spouses, Tim and I went to look for the "ball" as the sisters stormed back into the cabin muttering something about "five more minuted" and "wastes of time".

The ball had somehow found its way into a “hole” dug at some time long ago by some person or something. The "hole" was almost the exact size of the "ball". Up till that point, this was the first hole in one that I had ever seen.

FACTION IS THE NEW FICTION

As our president demonstrates each and every day, alternate truths are just a click away. Trump has already presented more than a thousand versions of the truth and since our country is based and was founded on the concept of a fantasy land, we get to choose how many of these alternatives we will swallow to determine whether or not we are red or blue with white still being a wild card.

Currently, we are trying to interpret the alternate truths that have led to the "invasion" of immigrants. Red is more convinced of invasion than blue. Red folks are even more convinced of invasion by whites and they have the history to prove it which everybody kinda ignores and for which ignorance many a casino has been built and many tobacco products sold.

We don't really know who shot either Kennedy. Even Helter Skelter begins to wobble as yet another alternate reality by Vincent Bugliosi to avert attention from Hollywood. Oh and OJ was not guilty until he was.

As usual, Tarantino got ahead of the game with his altered visions of the past including the death of Hitler (Inglorious Basterds) and the once upon a time cancellation of Helter Skelter by Leo and Brad.

All of this alteration of history can be summed up in the word "faction", Faction is both more and less than fiction and non-fiction. Faction is the intentional fictionalization of non-fiction in order to tell a better story. One of the ways to achieve faction is to have the story itself written by a fictional character If the author isn't real neither is the story no matter how closely it sticks to the facts. If the author is "real" person, she/he can grab the faction mantle by the utilization of an unreliable narrator.

Holden Caulfield admits to being a liar, right off the bat.

The Girl On The Train was drunk.

So faction is reality filled with interesting, conspiratorial lies.

Faction is the new fiction as well as the new non-fiction.

All it takes is a fraction of fiction to turn non-fiction into faction

And a fraction of non-fiction to turn fiction into faction.

Then all you need is some characters and action

And ya know what else helps a lot

Some rudimentary semblance of plot.

And for a dash of innovation

Add some internal motivation.

Who cares about "truth". Truth is 'soo' two years ago and it was shakey  then.

We don't need it.

Fuggedaboudid. We got faction and I know you love it so I'm gonna give you some more.

Because I'm neither real nor reliable although, unfortunately, I'm sober.

MAGIC POISON

Meanwhile, I've been poisoning a patch of innocent pea pods just to see what would happen to the peas.

Other pods, I've left alone just to give those routine peas a chance.

Naturally I've been raising almost as many caterpillars as I've been poisoning pods.

Just to see what might happen to the moths.

Most of the caterpillars that I've raised are immune to the poison that I've been putting in the pods.

They can eat all the poison they want and live to eat more on another day.

God knows that there's enough poison to go around.

The main reason I've been poisoning the pods, besides seeing what might happen to the peas, is to see what might happen to the spiders.

Ya see eventually the caterpillars that eat the poison peas will turn into moths.

These moths will look exactly like the moths that emerge from the caterpillars who ate the unpoisoned peas.

They will look the same and maybe even taste the same but the immune caterpillars who ate the poison peas will have a different truth when they become moths then will the other batch of moths whose pea digestion was restricted to the non-poisonous peas back in their respective caterpillar days.

"Different truth, different consequence" as Aristotle might have whispered to Krell if they had ever met. Of course, the likelihood of fictional meeting non-fictional is always very poor no matter what happens to the spiders, if ya smell what I'm cooking.

And there's a lot cooking in California.

Too bad we couldn't have doused the fires of California with the floods of Katrina and called the whole thing a wash.  

But so much for wishful thinking, even thought it is my favorite defense mechanism ( especially when the perceived threat is emotional rather than physical)

Let's return to the practical and the poisoning of peas.

What will happen to the spider?

Since all the caterpillars looked exactly alike whether or not they had eaten the peas from the poisoned pods, they would eventually grow into identical moths that I could throw into spider webs just to see what the spiders would do.

Moths fly into spider webs all of the time whereas the odds of a caterpillar showing up in a spider web are roughly those of a turtle sitting on a fence post.

I had to make sure that the caterpillars weren’t gonna turn into butterflies. Butterflies are too strong for most webs. I made sure to use the fuzziest of caterpillars. Fuzzy happens to be my nickname because my last name is Fuzzier

Both the turtle and the caterpillar would need help to get to the top of the fencepost or the silk of the web and spiders are a lot smarter than fenceposts.

A fencepost ain't gonna worry about how a turtle got upon it wheras a spider might have some concern about how a caterpillar got into the web. The spider might be a little suspicious.

Since spiders are smarter than fenceposts, suspicion is a form of intelligence.

Nothing breeds suspicion like jealousy.

Nothing breeds jealousy like love.

Love always begins with attraction.

Attraction begins with notice.

On their way to delectable mothhood, two fuzzy little caterpillars noticed one another. The male caterpillar was named Yar. The female was named Asil.

Asil was the more mature of the two which meant she thought more about reproduction than did Yar who was concentrating on chewing and crawling.

How much did Asil think of reproduction?

Let's put it this way, she was jealous of fireflies.

Asil had no idea that the peas she was eating were from the poison pod patch, unlike the peas that Yar was digesting.

Yar's peas came from a totally different patch.

I know this for a fact because I'm the guy who personally poisoned the pods and I'm the guy who determined which caterpillars got the poison peas and which ones didn't.

And I kept em separated.

I'm also the guy who fed the caterpillars.

I'm the guy who bred the caterpillars.

Like most breeders, I'm a feeder.

I knew lots of things that the caterpillars didn't know.

I'm a man for God sake. Let's hope I got more brains than a caterpillar.

Here's what I knew that the caterpillars didn't know.

I knew that they were immune to the poison peas that they didn't know they were eating.

I also knew the purpose of their lives and why they were bred and fed in the first place.......

Just to see what would happen to the spider.

Although Asil was jealous of fireflies, she didn't love fire flies.

A caterpillar loving a firefly would be sick.

Asil wasn't jealous of fireflies because they could fly.  Asil knew that someday, somehow she too would be able to fly.

Asil wasn't jealous of fireflies because of their fire because Asil sensed something that almost everybody senses unless they're sitting around a campfire.

The sparks coming from a campfire are very different than the fireflies flying near the campfire.

What appears to be fire in fireflies is really a mixture of luciferin and luciferase.

The resulting mixture is not a fire.

Fires, like truth, emanate light and heat.

Firefly fire contains no heat, only light.

Sort of like compassion.

Asil wasn't interested in truth or compassion.

Asil was interested in breeding and feeding.

Asil was more developed than Yar who was interested only in feeding.

No, Asil wasn't jealous because she loved fireflies.

Asil was jealous of the way that fireflies loved fireflies.

Fireflies flash when they're hungry or when they want sex. Every flash is a semaphor of desire either to feed or breed.

In this scenario, the female waits in the weeds untl she is luciferinated for a half second by the flash of the male flying above her.

Asil had seen this seductive behavior frequently from fireflies.

She thought it was cool.

Cool as a fire without heat yet hot as a fire without light.

FUZZY’S BLUES

I've watched the caterpillars grow into moths. I've picked out the two moths that look the best. I'm gonna throw them one at a time into a spider web that I've found. In the meantime, I want to sing you folks some blues before we all find out what the spider's gonna do. Maybe I don’t have the voice or the strum of Genesee Johnny but here we go.....

Well, it looks like it's come down to the final two

Yes, it looks like it's come down to the final two

One looks at the other and says "up to me and you".

I don't know if caterpillars have names.

I don't know if caterpillars have names.

If they don't they oughta cause they both look just the same.

I've chosen the spider, I've approved her spinning.

I've chosen that spider, I'm down with her spinning

The game is sudden death, I can't see two moths winning.

Both of the pillars have grown up to be moths.

Both caterpillars have grown up to be moths.

They're gonna get all caught up in a game of webtoss.

The lady caterpillar's chock full of poison peas.

Yeah, the female pillar all fulla poisoned peas

Yet the moth she became ain't suffereing no disease.

The male caterpillar of poison peas is free

The caterpillar man of poison peas is free.

There's a load of silk underneath the apple tree.

I'll conclude my experiment when I'm done with strummin.

I'll end my experiment when I finish this strummin'

Spin on Mona, Your poison trick or treats a comin'.

I'm gonna have some rum and apple cider too

Gonna drink some rum and suck some cider too

Then we'll find out what the spider's gonna do.

EVENTUALLY

Of course, the caterpillars eventually became moths. When they took wing, Asil became Lisa and Yar became Ray.

By the time they became reacquainted, Ray's scent brushes were loaded with alkaloid. Lisa could smell that from ten feet away. Lisa was sitting on a wire perch chemically treated with poison peas. The chemical treatment lured Lisa to the wire and Lisa lured Ray.

Lisa had already lured a dozen others to her in her four days of fertility but there was something about Ray that suggested that his alkaloid package would be the package selected for warrior offspring.

Maybe it was his size. The bigger the moth, the more the alkaloid. The more the alkaloid, the more the male moth advertises his reproductive eligibility.

This is the message Ray was sending to Lisa. 'Look at all the alkaloid I'm carrying. I get this from the flowers. If you want your kids to be able to gather a lot of alkaloid from the flowers make sure that their old man brings a load of alkaloid to the bargain'.

Ray looked big and he smelled big.

Ray was a regular Mothra.

Ray hovered over the wire.

Lisa called to Ray.

Lisa called with her scent.

Although Ray was not a butterfly, he did know how to flutter by. He did just that.

His scent brushes came out when he got in range.

Once, twice, thrice, in less than a second.

Lisa was impressed.

She accepted Ray.

The rest is moth love, too private and exquisite to describe.

Even on a weekend when practically no one is looking.

Except just a few who wonder what the spider's gonna do.

Mona the spider is fastidious. She knows how to use her silk. Her silk will be far less useful if it becomes cluttered so Mona spends most of her visible time cleaning the debris from her web.

The more debris in the web, the less clear the signal becomes when something of value is caught up in the silk.

Mona can not see all of her web so she waits between spinnings and cleanings. She stays out of sight and waits for a signal.

Her web is filled with silk spun of different levels of water content. The more water in the silk, the more elastic. The most elastic silk is in the middle of her web. These are the waterworks. When prey falls into the web, they are confronted with mysterious elasticity far beyond rubber.

Caught in the center of the silk, the prey in its struggles puts very little tension on the web. Every attempt at escape only results in tighter wrapping.

Mona reads the level of tension. She has her escape routes well designed when the tension gets too high. Mona only feeds upon appropriate tension.

All the prey can do is pray.

Mona isn't looking for a fight.

Mona is looking for food.

Even on weekends, when things are so quiet elsewhere.

I know all about Mona but not yet enough.

I'm gonna use Lisa and Ray to find out what the spider is gonna do.

And Lisa will be a momma soon, if she survives the tension.

Moth tossing is a skill. I've had a lot of practice. I'm a professional. I wouldn't try this at home if I were you.

I kept the two moths that I had raised from caterpiilars and poisoned or not poisoned in two separate vials. I took the bigger of the two out first. I knew he was the male. I figured that with his strength, I would have to get him closer to the center of the web. I grabbed him by his wings and tossed him.

My hours of practice paid off. He landed right smack dab in the middle of the web.

I opened the second vial and removed the female. I wanted to get her off to the side of the web, closer to the spider. I grabbed her wings and tossed.

Perfecto.

The female landed off to the right, very close to where I knew the spider was hiding. The male flailed more then the female but the elasticity at the center was greater. He got all wrapped up in the web. His strength and struggle didn't cause much tension on the web. The elastic web was more water than fire.

The female landed on a portion of the web that was more adhesive than elastic. She would have generated more tension on the web if she weren't so tightly stuck to her spot.

I couldn't help but notice that they seemed to glance at one another intermittently as they tried to escape. Each of them had a clear look at the fate of the other. I wondered if they wondered what the spider was going to do.

I wondered if they even knew that spiders existed. I wondered if they were afraid. I wondered if they were sympathetic towards each other.The male got even more wrapped up when he realized the female was in a predicament. Was he trying to rescue her?

Of course the possibility existed that they thought this was play, perhaps even foreplay.

I know I wasn't playing.

I know there is such a thing as spiders.

I wondered what this spider was going to do.

Mona was middle aged.

She was six months old.

Every spider month is equivalent to seven years of human life. In human terms Mona was forty two. The last of her spiderlings had balooned away. Her mate died right after mating with Mona. Such is nature.

If you've seen Spiderman, you know what balooning is. The spiderling projects a single thread of silk which sticks to a nearby object. The spider then swings to that object and baloons again. Depending on how far they want to get away from their mother, the spiderling continues to baloon and baloon.

As a mother, Mona paid attention to the spider parental creed. Make sure the spiderlings get webs and wings. This creed meant that it was important for each spiderling to feel a sense of security so that they would be willing to leave the web and establish a home of their own. The stronger the sense of web the stronger the sense of wing. The more that a spiderling loved his mother's web, the further he would distance himself from it when he finally balooned. The further away he got, the less competition his web would be for the web of his momma.

Mona's spiderlings were far, far away. They had been well raised and they loved their mother.

Mona was an empty webber.

She was acutely aware of the double disturbance in her web as she sat in her den. Her experience had taught her that it was very unlikely for two disturbances to occurr so simultaneously. She figured the commotion could be traced back to one of two possibilities. The disturbances, soon to become prey, then to become liquid then to become food, must have been romantically involved. That's why they were fluttering so near to one another.

And flying blind.

Or else the Giant had delivered them.

The Giant had been feeding Mona since she was a girl, before the mating and the spiderlings and all that jazz. She had grown to trust the Giant.

Most urgent, however, was the hunger.

I should be more specific.

Mona wouldn't take a nibble. Mona would take a suck.

Before sucking, Mona would inject either Ray or Lisa or both with venom that would turn their insides into liquid.

She would go back to her den and wait for the innards of her prey to liquify. Then she would begin to suck. Sometimes, the sucking took place right out in the open. Other times, Mona would take her silk wrapped supper into her den where she could suck in private.

I've tried to imagine what it must be like to feel my insides turning into liquid. I had food poisoning once and that did some serious liquefying.

Maximum diarrhea mixed with technicolor yawning.

I have experienced emotional liquification more frequently than physical liquification over the course of my life. When I am injected with the contempt of another person, my convictions tend to liquify. Contempt is a powerful venom. For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction. Resentment is the natural reaction to contempt.Here's the equation to avoid.

You have contempt for me, I have resentment for you. Or vice versa.

If turning someones insides into liquid can be viewed as a physical manifestation of contempt, then I suppose the prey being liquified must be pretty resentful.

Resentment resembles jealousy and jealousy is the green eyed monster that mocks the meat it feeds upon.

Contempt is an eight eyed, eight legged empty webbed widow who injects whatever she has trapped with a poison that turns their convictions into liquid so she can suck them dry and ignore their resentment.

Does contempt poison itself when it inadvertently sucks up poisoned convictions concealed within resentment?

I wondered if I would be able to pick up on any of these emotions or answer any essntial questions as I patiently sat and watched and wondered what the spider might do.

PALP FRICTION

I play the guitar a little bit.

I drink a little bit.

Sometimes I drink a little bit before I play the guitar.

Sometimes people tell me I sound better on the guitar after I've drank a little bit.

I'm pretty sure I don't sound any better but somehow when I play, I make the people who listening to me want to drink.

The more I play, the more they drink.

The more they drink, the better I sound.

So I drink even more so I can sound even better so they can drink more because I sound better which makes me want to drink more so I can sound better which will make them drink more which will make me drink more so that.......

Ya know, the usual.

I've often wished that I could drink while I was playing the guitar not just before or after. I've wondered if that would actually make my guitar playing sound even better to the folks who were listening because unlike me when I play, they are actually drinking whlle they are listening whereas I am playing under the disadvantage of not  drinking at the same instant that I am playing which puts me a little out of synch with the drunks who are listening.

I wish I had a couple of extra hands coming out of my mouth.

If I did, I could pour the beer down my throat while at the same time playing the guitar with my other two hands.

Spiders have two little hands coming out of their mouths.

Those two little hands are called palps. Spiders use those pulps to hold on to whatever they are going to sink their fangs into. Sometimes they use the palps to make changes in the thread of their webs. They grasp the thread with their palps and amend the web with thier mouths.

Spiders don't play the guitar unless of course, they happen to be Spiders from Mars.

The moths are in the web.

I've got a cold beer in my hands.

I'm sipping the beer and wondering what the spider's gonna do.

Let's remember, the moth nearest the spider was the moth who ate the poisoned peas.

I figured that the spider would go to the nearest meal. The spider would nibble on the pregnant moth with the poisoned peas. The spider would realize that something was wrong. The spider would choose one of her escape routes. She would return to her corner.

She would feel weak. She would ascertain from the vibes coming through the silk that the meal furthest away was too strong for her to overwhelm. She would wait until her queasiness subsided. Then she would return to the near meal and nibble a little bit more.

I knew something that she couldn't possibly know. The meal she was nibbling on was poisonous. Every nibble would make her weaker.

I didn't know who would die first, the poisoned spider or the moths struggling in the web.I wondered if it was the silk that killed the moth or was it the spider. If the spider died first, I would free the moths from the web.

I figured the whole deal might take a day after the first taste. This is what I thought the spider might do.

I waited to find out what the spider would actually do.

SIX YEAR DAY

Every day in the life of a moth is like six years in the life of a human.

Lisa was six days old in real time which means thirty six years old in human time.

Lisa had spent the first twenty four years of her life in heat. During those years she had rubbed plenty of abdomens while being embraced by many a clasper.

Twice she had felt threatened during a momentary mating session. Moths are pollinators not fighters. When the choice comes to fight or flight, the moth will choose flight. Lisa and her lover took off as one, the claspers coming off his abdomen holding her close even as they fluttered away, conjoined amorously, from the perceived danger.

Lisa remembered both of those occasions. They were thrilling and embarrasing at the same time. Even though they were memorable, the couplings were meaningless. Lisa and her mate were both distracted while flying away from danger and although they completed their intercourse, lack of purposeful, reproductive concentration assured that neither coupling would be fertile.

In human life, this is known as a flying fuck. Of course humans can not fly and will very often choose fight over flight when threatened. The human term "flying fuckk" refers to not paying proper attention to an endeavor due to a lack of committment in that project.

When Lisa finally met Ray, they both had a chance to concentrate. Ray was a big moth to begin with but he transferred ten percent of his body mass, in the form of spermatazoa, into Lisa.

This transfer proved to be fertile.

Lisa, in the web, was very pregnant.

And loaded with nutrients.

And poison.

Ray had struggled with liquidity and silk before. He didn't think it was such a bad thing. Ray held no resentment for that struggle. As a matter of fact, he saw his situation as another shot at renewal.

Remember, Ray had ben Yar.

Dejavu all over again.

When Yar, the poison free caterpillar, had reached his full size, he had already prepared to complete metamorphosis, the radical change in body form that turns a caterpillar into a moth.  Yar had pupated  himself to a twig.  To anchor himself to his twig, Yar had spun a button of silk from his mouthparts, then grasped the silk button with his cremaster, a clawlike structure at the end of the abdomen. Hanging from the twig, Yar had shed his skin to reveal the pupa underneath. Before becoming a pupa, Yar had spun a cocoon of silk around his body.  The silk of the past had protected Yar from predators and from drying out.

Silk was neither an enemy nor a stranger.

Within the pupa, Yar's tissues and organs had broken  down into a soupy liquid, and then reassembled into the tissues and organs of Ray. Groups of cells known as the imaginal discs remained complete, and Ray's mighty structure took shape as directed by these cells.

When Ray's development was complete, he had split the pupal shell and crawled out. Then he had unfolded his wings which pumped blood into his veins. Ray remembered spreading his wings until they dried and hardened. Ray flew away and eventually mated with Lisa.

And now he found himself in silk once again.

Ray was confident this was just another stage of maturity.

He would emerge from this silk and fly away again.

Ray thought he was turning into a bird.

He looked forward to spreading new wings.

Ray had no idea that spiders even existed so he didn't wonder at all what Mona would do.

Ray had changed a lot since the days of Yar.

Ya might say he matured. He was no longer thinking primarily about crawling and feeding, he was thinking now about flying and breeding. He suspected the web was another form of cocoon which meant it was another stage in development.

Another passage.

Another promotion.

Ray was happy that Lisa was involved in the same passage, the same struggle, the same silk at the same time in the same place.

Ray began to understand love.

He and Lisa would become birds together. They would build a nest on some distant chapparal and have babies. He would become Ayr. Lisa wpould become Sail. Together they would sail through the air until they found the acre or two of brushy teritory which would be their secret homeland.

They would be secure.

They would be mates for life. They would never wander from their nest. Their nest would be a compact cup of grass, fibers and bark bound with silk.

Each day, they would make the rounds of their territory, right up to the river. They would feed, bathe, take care of their young and fend off interlopers. Sail would be Ayr's constant companion. They would take delight in bouts of mutual preening as they took care to inspect and arrange each other's plumage. By night, they'd huddle together against the chill. They'd face in the same direction so near together that they would appear as a single ball of feathers from which tails, wings and feet protruded.

They would always be together.

They would stay out of sight.

They would be heard more than they would be seen but they wouldn't be heard very often.

They'd live in a tree fifteen feet off the ground when they weren't sailing through the air.

Ray was thinking about Ayr and Sail when Mona sank her fang into him.

Love hurts.

After the puncture, while his insides were turning to liquid and just before his final breath Ray, still expecting to become a bird, thought his final thought. This is what he thought:

It could have been worse.

Lisa, on the other hand, continued to be more mature than Ray. Lisa had moved beyond contemplations of breeding and feeding and had moved towards contemplations of death and deliverance but not in that order.

Lisa observed the death of Ray. She felt no sadness.Ray had done his job. She still needed to do hers. She needed to deliver the eggs that she and Ray had created.

She knew she was going to die.

Ray, in his immmaturity, had considered himself immortal with death merely another stage of metamorphasis.

Ray's immaturity prevented him from the fear of death.

Lisa was afraid to die.

Lisa knew that her life was incomplete.

Lisa had learned what a spider is and the part a spider can play in deathmaking.

Lisa knew she was next.

Her eggs would die with her.

It couldn't get any worse.

The spider returned and rappeled down the silk towards the moth that I had raised on poisoned peas.

Poison's a funny thing. Poison consists of chemicals. After we ingest poison, our liver uses enzymes to convert those chemicals into poisons. If we don't have the enzymes that convert the chemicals into poisons than the chemicals within the poison are of no threat to us.

The moth was missing the enzymes that would turn the chemicals from the peas into poison but the spider possessed those enzymes in spades.

If the spider ate the moth whose innards she had already liquified, there would be no problem.

If the spider ate he second moth, there would be a big problem.

Death by poison for Mona

Death by liquidity for Lisa.

Choices, decisions, consequences.

The spider was all fangs and palps.

The moth was all vulnerability except for the wild card of hidden toxicity.

The spider decided that she didn't want the moth. She backed off. She began cutting. She took the thread with her palps and put it in her mouth. She cut a perfect window in the web with her sharp fangs.

The moth fell free from the web.

The moth took flight.

The spider returned to her watch.

I found out what the spider would do.

Lisa delivered.

Spiders will do what Mona did.

They recognize poison when they sense it and hungry is better than dead, especially with delicious Ray a goner in the silk.

After the puncture, while his insides were turning to liquid and just before his final breath Ray, still expecting to become a bird, thought his final thought. This is what he thought:

It could have been worse.

Lisa, on the other hand, continued to be more mature than Ray. Lisa had moved beyond contemplations of breeding and feeding and had moved towards contemplations of death and deliverance but not in that order.

Lisa observed the death of Ray. She felt no sadness.Ray had done his job. She still needed to do hers. She needed to deliver the eggs that she and Ray had created.

She knew she was going to die.

Ray, in his immmaturity, had considered himself immortal with death merely another stage of metamorphasis.

Ray's immaturity prevented him from the fear of death.

Lisa was afraid to die.

Lisa knew that her life was incomplete.

Lisa had learned what a spider is and the part a spider can play in deathmaking.

Lisa knew she was next.

Her eggs would die with her.

It couldn't get any worse.

The spider returned and rappeled down the silk towards the moth that I had raised on poisoned peas.

Poison's a funny thing. Poison consists of chemicals. After we ingest poison, our liver uses enzymes to convert those chemicals into poisons. If we don't have the enzymes that convert the chemicals into poisons than the chemicals within the poison are of no threat to us.

The moth was missing the enzymes that would turn the chemicals from the peas into poison but the spider possessed those enzymes in spades.

If the spider ate the moth whose innards she had already liquified, there would be no problem.

If the spider ate he second moth, there would be a big problem.

Death by poison for Mona

Death by liquidity for Lisa.

Choices, decisions, consequences.

The spider was all fangs and palps.

The moth was all vulnerability except for the wild card of hidden toxicity.

The spider decided that she didn't want the moth. She backed off. She began cutting. She took the thread with her palps and put it in her mouth. She cut a perfect window in the web with her sharp fangs.

The moth fell free from the web.

The moth took flight.

The spider returned to her watch.

I found out what the spider would do.

Lisa delivered.

Spiders will do what Mona did.

They recognize poison when they sense it and hungry is better than dead, especially with delicious Ray a goner in the silk.

I felt pretty good after I found out what the spider did. I didn't know whether or not the spider would be smart enough to avoid the moth who had eaten the poisoned peas. The spider was smart enough to discern the presence of poison in her web. If we were all smart enough to know which moth is poisoned and which one ain't. If we resisted the urge to do what we can do and instead focused on doing what we should do, the world would be a much better place.

Speaking of better places, Lisa's delivery was a better begining. Her offspring, half poison and half not would never have to liquefy in silk and contempt.

As evening fell, I decided to smoke a cigar.

My work was done.

I know I shouldn't smoke but what the hell, I had just learned a great lesson.

The night was still. Fireflies were everywhere. I lit a candle. I stuck the end of my cigar into the flame of the candle. I took a couple of puffs.

I blew three perfect smoke rings.

Perfect smoke rings are possible on a windless night.

As the third smoke ring floated away, a moth flew right through the midddle of it and headed towards the candle flame.

As the moth neared the flame, I noticed threads of silk dangling from the wings of the moth.

The moth didn't get any nearer to the flame than moths always get to a flame but not too many moths are carrying a thread of silk.

It was the silk, not the moth, that kissed the candle. The flame shot right up the silk. The moth burst into fire and headed towards the smoke rings expanding in the distance.

The moth momentarily stood out amidst the fireflies.

The moth had become flying fire.

Then it disappeared from my view forever.

Peace, at last.

[thedoctorisadhd]

what's once on this island about?

i hope ur happy anon, bc this took me literally like six hours im not exaggerating even a little

short answer: so u take the original plot of the littlest mermaid and u plunk it down rIGHT in the middle of 1920s haiti, right

long answer (like, REALLY long answer. like REALLY long. im sorry i dont know how to summarize when there are so many good things):

“there is an island where rivers run deep…”

“where the sea, sparkling in the sun, earns it the name, ‘jewel of the antilles.’”

“an island where the poorest of peasants labor —”

“— and the wealthiest of the grand hommes lay.”

“two different worlds on one island!”

“the grand hommes, owners of the land and masters of their own fates.”

“and the peasants, eternally at the mercy of the wind and sea, would pray constantly to the gods.”

those are the four storytellers, beginning the play. lydia started the first line, then abby, then dori, then natalie, and repeat.

(oh yeah, also this is the jr version. also, i dont know everything bc i was backstage the majority of the time)

so the gods that the beach people / peasants are dancing to, theres 4 of them. asaka (played by lavanya in our production) is the goddess of the earth, erzulie (played by luke who’s closeted, so i change it to a god, erzulio) beautiful goddess of love. agwe (played by ian) is the god of the sea, and papa ge (eli, of course, and it’s literally pronounced papa gay), my personal favorite, is the sly demon of death

and this is all described in the first number “we dance”

stay tuned yo it gets better.

(its so good. dont ever listen to any version besides the chatham one i can guarantee you that any non-eli papa ge, any non-luke erzulie / erzulio, any non-lavanya asaka, any non-ian agwe, any non-lydia / dori / abby / natalie storyteller will not be as good)

so basically theres this storm, and in this storm is a little girl and the gods are like “no papa ge we’re not killing her you fuck” and they irresponsibly plunk her down in a tree

and so tonton julien (ben) and mama euralie (izzy) come along & are like “holy shit a kid” (and this girl is crying her eyes out of course bc as mr adam creatively put it to the girl who played young ti moune, “you were just dropped in a tree by some randos you’ve never seen before in your entire life”) but like theyre poor and dont have a lotta food and shit so they try to leave but the gods, showing some small modicum of responsibility, like, use the force to pull them back. so these peasants adopt ti moune and name her ti moune and theres a whole big number about her growing up called “one small girl” which i quite like actually

then ti moune is grown up (sammie) and she sings about like “whats my destiny yo” all naive in “waiting for life” and sees a car which is a big ol lead-in to the next number. which brings us to

so in the beginning of “rain” theres this HILARIOUS section of dialogue with the gods picking mangos and here it is bc i cant not include it man

asaka: 🎵 pick a mango! 🎵

agwe: 🎵 a juicy mango! 🎵

erizulie: 🎵 a lovely mango! 🎵

papa ge, being Himself: 🎶 a poison mango! 😈 🎶

[all of the other gods look at papa ge]

anyway, after that theyre all proposing things to do to get ti moune less naive, with such wonderful suggestions from these dumbasses as “splash her with a wave” and “scare her half to death”. and then erzulie is like “yeah u do that imma give her what she wants bye” and the other gods are like “????????????” and shes just like “You Heard Me” and just goes like “Love Can Conquer Anything!!!!!!! :)))))))) ❤️💞💕💚💛💙💜💝💘💗💖❣️” and papa ge is like “that’s bullshit this whole thing is bullshit that’s a scam fuck the love here’s like two reasons why” and they argue (and asaka remarks that this is “more amusing than mangos”) and the gods are all “HMMMM🤔🤔” and then they all go “A BET!”

and the gods all start like pitching in to set up this bet, so like erzulie gives her strength and asaka’s gonna guide her but then papa ge interrupts like “IM GONNA MAKE HER CHOOSE” and then johnny boy i mean ian i mean agwe then calls dibs on choosing the circumstances of the bet

and u remember that car right? well ian agwe is like “that. thats the place where the 2 worlds meet” and he creates a big ol storm and in the song he says (one of my favorite lines, actually) “rain makes the road such a dangerous place” (he did amazing in that song but i feel kinda bad bc like. he was overshadowed by the other gods who are all incredible singers, and parts of it were too low for him. like, eli can sing as high as he did, but ian really cant sing that low)

also they used the fish flags from the seussical two years ago when sammie’s sister sidne played the cat in the hat. i always found it hilarious that dori of all people they couldve chosen played a fish

ANYWAY. so the car is goin down the road and crash oh no a car accident. totally not what agwe was (shot)gunning for

and so ti moune pulls this guy outta the car right, and — by the way, now we’re in this super intense number called “pray” — and this song is real fuckin good alright.

my opinion upon this is based almost solely on the fact that within the first like ten lines of this epically long song a peasant, talking about the guy that got pulled outta the car (daniel, that’s his name), says, literally: “papa ge wants him!” i will remind you that papa ge is pronounced “papa gay” and what makes it even more astronomically fuckin funny is that both hank, the guy that played daniel, and eli, who as u may know played papa ge, are mlm.

anyway no one wants to help daniel even tho he’s Actively Dying bc Fuck The Grand Hommes, Am I Right Guys We Cant Do Anything Were Peasants And There Is Sanctity That We Must Never Talk To Look At Or Think About A Single Grand Homme, Ever™ but ti mounes gonna help him bc Fuck You Guys and she keeps him alive while tonton julien goes to find the guys family after she’s Finally persuaded the guy to do this

and ti moune doesnt sleep for Three Fucken Days by the way. thats important in the next number

also daniel is supposed to be good looking so of course ti moune Falls In Love With Him despite never having seen him before in her entire life, and also hes unconcious the Whole time. i dont understand the heterosexuals

anyway, tonton juliens at the gate to daniels family hotel and he’s like “pls let me in i need to speak to monsieur beausome!” and the gatekeepers like “get the fuck away my guy” and hes like “no but its urgent!!” and the gatekeeper SLAPS BEN [LAST NAME REDACTED]*

so ben i mean tonton recovers and like seriously gets down on his knees and begs and the gatekeeper is still like “FUCK! NO!” and then ben fucking [last name redacted]* SCREAMS SAVAGELY “I HAVE FOUND HIS SON!” HOO BOY

and then at the end of pray you hear a long high note and then one specific girl takes it HIGHER ????????? idk who it is for sure but im willing to put my money on lavanya bc jesus christ can that girl sing

*people always say bens full name when referring to him for some reason, so it’s not ben bc which ben? it’s not ben b. it’s ben [last name redacted].

so pray goes ge STRAIGHT into forever yours. not the reprise, thats later.

so. forever yours. in a STUNNING turn of events (sarcasm. absolutely the least stunning thing after the whole “papa gay wants him” in pray), the VERY fucking FIRST LINE IN THIS WHOLE FUCKING STUPID HEARTFELT SONG is literally ti moune saying “i am a tree, holding away the storm”. are you fucking serious. are you kidding me. you waste the first line on that monstrosity,

anyway basically what happens in this is ti moune is singing about tending to daniel here it is

i am a tree holding away the stormhere in my arms i’ll keep u safe and warmeven the gods wont dare to cross this linewhere my life is forever yoursand you are mine

and on that last word, “mine”, papa ge joins in and it is fuckin CHILLING, not LEAST bc eli has the voice of a fuckin angel (and sammie too, but i think eli’s is just slightly better)

so eli stalks in and the first thing papa ge does, in a True demonstration of the gay / ge agenda, is Drag The Het.

(then he goes on to say “this boy is mine”)

so eli’s also got a knife (a fake one) and this is another Important Thing so yeah

anyway sammie ti moune should “TAKE MINE FOR HIS.” (her life she meant) and papa ge is SHOOK. he just … stops. “wot”

so yeah. ti moune, in one of The most IMPRESSIVE displays of heterosexual tomfoolery and ridiculousness i have Yet Seen (scene), trades her life for this Complete Fuckin Stranger she pulled out of the car wreck whomst has not as of yet spoken a Single word to her bc HE’S BEEN UNCONSCIOUS THE WHOLE TIME!?

and heres another good line, the first gay daddy nico diangelo himself eli papa gay papa ge has had since “wot”: i am the road / leading to no return

(and this is also where eli goes REALLY high. like not for basically everyone else, but for him)

then daniels two dads apparently, grant and hugh, pick him up and take him back to the hotel and ti moune is like “NOOOOOOO” and makes mama and tonton let her leave to go find daniel, and frankly i am not very interested in this specific part of the song so fuck that i skipped it lmao lets get to lavanyas fuckin SOLO

alright. “mama will provide”. exactly what it says on the tin, taking it into account that asaka would be mother earth i guess

really all this one is is lavanya’s fuckin angelic voice and What Exists In Nature, and i cant very well put lavanya’s voice down on the page for yinz to hear can i? the only notable thing i can really think of besides this next piece a dialogue  will share w u is in the beginning theres a bunch of ensemble doing weird repeating acapella and some hopping in like frogs. “COO COO coo coo cOO COO COOO” “SHAH shaSHA-ah” “buuuuu BUM! BUM! bum” its sounds slightly weirder than it is

anyway here’s the best dialogue:

everyone: MOSQUITOS??

asaka: HA!

ACT TWO HERE WE FUCKIN GO ALRIGHT

ok, so ti moune finds daniel who doesnt know who she is bc, you know, he was unconscious the entire time. she gets him to know she was the one who nursed him tho. and they go to the front of the stage and ti moune sits and daniel puts his head on her lap. again, poor hank

now, “human heart”. jesus. i have literally cried over this song.

so erzulie goes out on stage to where hank is slowly suffering, probably, and sings this GODS DAMN BEAUTIFUL SONG about like, love n shit i guess. the storytellers and the other three gods act as a sort of choir. that’s pretty much all there is to say about human heart tho. moving on

ok so for “pray (reprise)” the gossipers (which are apparently supposed to be the storytellers, but fuck that thats lame, give my Cool Hoes lianna and taylor parts tbh) go out on stage and sing about how daniel is spending all his time w a peasant and shes a witch and yadda yadda yadda. and then theres some lame romance shit that i dont have fuckin time for

anyway, the song culminates with daniel’s father comin out on stage (lmao). which father, u ask? he had two of em? well that was grant and hugh, this one’s iain. conclusion: daniel has three polyamorous gay dads. this is the gayest production of a play ive ever seen. i mean papa ge? “papa ge wants him”? the fact that tonton means uncle so mama euralie and tonton julien arent married? “this boy is mine” coming from daddy gay himself? the fact that daniels last name means beautiful man? the “beautiful god of love” (as luke said, refusing to misgender himself in his introduction U GO LUKE)? the fact that out of the main cast (the 4 gods, the 4 storytellers, daniel, ti moune, andrea, mama euralie, and tonton julien) there are literally eight (8) actors who Arent straight (id bet that two others arent str8 and or / cis as well but im not sure)? just change daniel to danielle and itll be perfect

ayway daniel’s 3rd dad comes out on stage and tells him to stop this nonsense, young man ANYWAY NEXT SONG

in “some girls” the rich guys at the hotel all are doing a really lame colorless boring dance. then this girl andrea (ava) comes out and sings about the rumors about ti moune, that she’s stupid or wild, and daniel tells her to stop, then ti moune arrives and andrea really condescendingly asks her to dance for everyone and daniel encourages ti moune

so ti moune does a slow lame dance and then it gets loud and wild and fun! then when she’s done andrea goes to daniel and is like “she’s in love with you you oblivious fuck if you care at all you’ll tell her —” (unclear about what he’s caring about) and andrea is interrupted by ti moune who’s like “HI I HEARD MY NAME WHATCHA WANT ANDREA” and daniel goes and breaks her fuckin heart right

how he does this is he’s like “oops sorry i thought u would realize that we could never marry bc andrea and i are already engaged (since we were babies)”. daniel demonstrates an amazing amount of calmness about being forced to marry this girl he’s known all his life, and an incredible amount of insensitiveness bc TI MOUNE WAS NEVER FUCKIN TOLD THAT HE WAS ENGAGED. honestly i loathe literally every single character in this play except for the gods and the storytellers lmao

OK NOW FOR MY FAVORITE FUCKIN ONE WOW :~)

the reprise of forever mine.

so. ti moune is alone on stage and she goes like “gods please are u listening help me” and then. u hear. eli’s fucking amazing evil laugh and the gay himself appears

and he’s like u gotta keep ur promise ti moune im here to collect on that Soul

did i mention elis voice is beautiful? no i dont care, im sayin it again, eli [last name redacted] has the voice of an angel

anyway he’s like “u gave him ur soul, now u have to PAY” (the line he used here is “i am the price you’ll pay” and that sounds cool as shit)

and so “father homosexual,” as he was dubbed by luke, takes out his knife and sings “your life is forever mine” and holds the knife to ti mounes neck and ti moune yells “PLEASE DONT” and and and

he stops.

“trade your life for his.”

so papa ge gives her the knife and tells her to go stab daniel and he sings “i am the road that leads to no return” as he walks to the left side of the stage, and erzulie appears at the right side and sings human heart as papa ge continues with his verse from the first forever mine as ti moune struggles towards and away from daniel, straining, being pulled by opposite forces, love and death, and the two unite in singing “forever mine!” and ti moune casts the knife to the floor and screams “NO!”

and the music stops

and daniel sees the knife and picks it up

and says “why?!”

(fuckin bitch shoulda stabbed him when she had the chance)

and ti moune gets cast out and like, withers away at the gate neither eating nor sleeping, and then daniel comes to the gate with andrea at his wedding and sees ti moune and gives her a coin when she runs after him, and she collapses and the gods, sOMEHOW GAINING SOME MINISCULE VIEW OF THE CONSEQUENCES OF THEIR FUCKIN ACTIONS, all start CRYING. (erzulie won the bet) and erzulie hugs ti moune and papa ges probably off somewhere feeling sorry for himself bc you cant fuckin see him in the footage (nah, he’s off at the side of the stage with the other two gods neither of whomst you can see either), and mama euralie comes to sing this sad and pretty number “part of us” and then tonton and baby ti moune arrive as well for some fuckin reason,

and mama euralie says,

“and then the gods blessed her and turned her into —”

and then the gods hit their staffs on the floor (ian a bit gentlier bc his was falling apart bc he wouldnt stop fucking licking the fucking ribbons, ian) “a tree!”

and the tree comes up, forwards this time thankfully (phew) and and the tree fuckin cracks the walls of the hotel, get rekt scrubs, and the tree fuckin stalks daniel i guess, and daniels son sits by the tree and looks up and theres a peasant girl in its branches, and ti moune touches everyones hearts and also their livers, and everyone starts singing “why we tell the story”

also, fun story real quick, ive never actually seen eli dab i dont think (that’s something i need to accomplish real soon), and the dance he went off to the side and did with like, lydia, and agwe and ben [last name redacted] and daniels son and hugh — i guess all the boys in musical theater and also lydia, and the dance they have to do looks pretty damn like dabbing, and like, eli’s holding his staff so he cant do a true dab, really, but he can do a one armed one — but no. his dancing looks more like fuckin waving. ben [last name redacted] is dabbing, daniels son is dabbing, im like 80 percent sure ian’s dabbing directly behind eli, gloria’s dabbing in the back, but no, nOT ELI. im pretty sure he’s deliberately avoiding it smh

anyway

whOOP exciting parts over. now it’s time for Sad Half Circle Around Tree Girl i guess

“the stories that we weave,” and the storytellers and daniel’s son and the peasant girl in tree moune’s branches all come to the front and —

“there is an island where rivers run deep…”

#once on this island #the storytellers #abby #lydia #dori #natalie #asaka #lavanya #erzulie #luke #erzulio #agwe #ian #papa gay #papa ge #eli #ti moune #sammie #tonton julien #mama euralie #izzy #ben [last name redacted] #mr adam #mangos #seussical #sidne #cat in the hat #hank #daniel #puns

[lovebenjamindavis]

Best Adventure Games for Android

Android or iOS? What do you have for your company? No problem, whatever you have they carry a complete package of entertainment. Everyone likes to play games when idle/or want to feel refreshed. Choices may differ like playing war games, racing games, solving puzzle games and so much. Here we are helping you choose the best adventure games for Android.

Before we proceed further let us understand the meaning of adventure games. Adventure games contain a story that includes collecting important items and completing small tasks to move farther and step to the next level, or quickly escaping from a situation to save game life.

Now comes the next point how to select the best games from the free ones because with the entertainment you get a very short storyline initially and then they convert to paid levels, some are full of ads, which honestly are a big no-no.

Every player has his/her criteria for game selection. If we talk of giving points to each game while selection it can help us with the best selection.

The game graphics, plot levels, balanced level of tough and easy situations in a game are some to be noted. Our game analysis experts went through a lot of Android games, held a conversation with passionate players and then came up with the most liked upon adventure games for Android. Here we go on an adventurous journey of Android.

1. The Silent Age

Wow! What a point and click game. The game takes you to the imaginary world of the future, where mankind is extinct. The hero in the game has to cross several obstacles to travel in the future and past. Joe, the hero in the game has a time travel machine with him and when he uses it he finds himself in the future – without people. Some episodes of the game are free and k2some paid.

2.  City of Secrets

Taking you to the town named Poco Pane and introducing to our heroes Mr. Moles and Rex. The story moves ahead as to how the residents of Poco Pane are not happy and what the player can do to make their lives happier. The most enjoyed part is the game graphics, elaborate puzzles followed by classic adventure.

3.  PUBG Mobile

PUBG does not need much introduction. It stands for Player Unknown’s Battlegrounds. It has turned into a global sensational adventure. The game has taken over many people’s interest since its launch in March’2017. It is also the world’s fifth-best-selling video game.

Every eight weeks the game gets a new season with new rewards. It runs on Multiplayer Mode where up to one hundred player’s fight in a battle royale and fights to remain last alive.

4.  Pokémon Go

Pokémon Go is an augmented reality game. Players get a chance to customize their avatars. According to players’ geographical location the game map is developed which is of immense adventure while the play is on.

The real map surroundings and own created avatars are placed in dangerous situations that are to be crossed. There are options like Poke Stops’ and Pokémon Gyms equipped with various items with locations of interest.

5. Clash Royale

The characters and the world, the folks at Supercell have created have always amazed the players. Once exhausted with Clash of Clans the adventurous world continues with Clash Royale. Elements like collectible card games, tower defense, and multiplayer online battle arena create a unique charm for the game.

Players are ranked as per their number of trophies. Cards, Clans, Clan Wars, Tournaments, Leagues, Quests are all part of the game.

6. Sky Force Reloaded

A completely loaded package with gorgeous visuals and excellent gameplay. It is a shoot’em up experience with flashy explosions and beautiful scenery. Nine missions to be accomplished while collecting stars and upgrading your ships and earning medals. It is a must-play game to get into the perfect storied setup.

7. The Wolf Among us

We will start with the introduction of the main hero- Bigby Wolf, the sheriff of Fabletown. Once a person can be fooled with looks and misunderstand it as an animated film but no it is sure of the genre of point and clicks adventure game.

The story falls as Bigby saves a young prostitute. Fabletown is depicted as a part of New York City where the fairy creatures live. They are often protected by magic and is the crux of the game also.

8. AR-K

The spectacular 3-D graphics attract the players. The heroine of the game, Alicia faces major changes in her life when unknowingly a mysterious golden orb is found in her cabinet. Once the player reaches the heroine the task starts to deal with the consequences.

9. Alto’s Odyssey

Unlike others, it runs on a single-player mode. It is a snowboarding game that moves automatically through procedural generated landscapes. The new version has also come up with desert dunes, lush temple sections, hot air balloons, dust devils and a lot more. Our words are not enough to describe the game so go get it and start playing.

10. Stranger Things: The Game

Stranger things: The Game consists of two seasons with eight characters. 1-7 in the first season and 8th in the second season. With the number of plot chapters, characters, collectibles, locations it is one of the finest games developed. Simple tap control works well with puzzle-solving chapters and action. This is a completely free game at Google Play Store.

Conclusion

We are done with the best of games to date. The order above does not recommend ranking status as it is hard to decide which stands where. We are looking forward to your comments. Do recommend to us what best games you find, we will test them and create another best-of list.

#Samsung Galaxy Prime Core #One Plus 7 Phone #Xiaomi Mi 9 #Google Pixel 3 #Huawei Phones Android #Cheap Mobile Phones To Buy #Android To Mac File Transfer #Vivo Nex 3 #Best Adventure Games For Android #Apple Watch Series 1 #Amazon Echo Dot (3rd Gen) #Realme Xt Review #Smart Watch Samsung

[larryland]

by Barbara Waldinger

Fairy tales never lose their power to affect us, no matter how old we get.  Jeffrey Mousseau’s beautiful production of The Snow Queen at Ancram Opera House both moves and delights us as we root for the good guys to triumph over evil.

Mousseau, co-director of Ancram Opera House (with Paul Ricciardi) and director of The Snow Queen, has partnered with Barbara Wiechmann, his frequent collaborator, who adapted this story from Hans Christian Andersen and wrote lyrics for the music composed by Lisa Dove.  Dove and Wiechmann’s version of this well-known fairy tale has previously been seen at The Kennedy Center, HERE Arts Center in New York City and Siena College.

Andersen’s story is no stranger to adaptations in every form:  animated films, stage plays, musicals, ballets, television shows, video games and operas.  It has inspired C.S. Lewis’s The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and Disney’s Frozen.  Wiechmann’s script differs from the original (written in 1844), mainly in its use of two male narrators:  the Man (James Occhino), who is a writer (perhaps Andersen, struggling against his own demons) and his younger self:  the Boy (Shawn Adiletta).  They are haunted by a recurring nightmare:  the devil’s magic mirror, which distorts everything beautiful into ugliness and turns all good people bad, breaks into a million pieces, lodging splinters of evil into the boy’s heart, freezing it, and into his eye, removing all human feeling and turning him against the people he loves.  When he wakes, the boy is obsessed by the dream of those splinters, seeking a way to remove them, so people will find the good within him.  The man attempts to help the boy by narrating the story of The Snow Queen.

Following Andersen’s story, Wiechmann includes seven sections, featuring a young man named Kai (Adam Basco-Mahieddine), who is the personification of the boy’s nightmare:  it is he who was struck by the splinters and is kidnapped by the evil Snow Queen (Cheyenne See), his dear friend Gerda (a terrific Katie Birenboim), who braves horrendous obstacles in order to save him, and a variety of talking animals, flowers, and strange people.  Three talented musicians:  Elizabeth Gerbi, pianist, musical director and conductor, Louis Rizzo, cellist, and Emma Piazza, violinist, provide the music for both the songs and the underscoring of much of the dialogue.

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The contributions of the design team cannot be overstated.  The brilliant Sarah Edkins, set designer, provides a gleaming white snowscape both onstage and below it, creating two different playing areas draped in white fabric.  The boy, a clever storyteller, often uses origami-type cut-outs to enhance his tales.  Edkins has enlarged this technique to create white cut-outs of all different shapes and sizes, which hang from the ceiling of the stage and below, often attached by strings to a track that enables them to be moved.  Costume designer Denise R. Massman has dressed everyone in white—even the floor and music stands are white!—and created fabulous head coverings for both animals (a crow, a reindeer) and people (the silver-jeweled headpiece for the queen, the crazy hat of an old conjuring woman, and the animal skin that dons the head of the Robber Girl).  Lighting designer Ayumu “Poe” Saegusa injects colors in into the landscape through overhead lights and the back cyclorama, and takes advantage of the glass chandelier to suggest the shards of the mirror that has been shattered.  Sound designer Alexander Sovronsky’s effects add to the tension of the piece.

According to Ricciardi, this new work is a “concert with storytelling”—a first-time genre for this compact theatre.  Several actors hold scripts (in the form of pale blue storybooks), including the narrators, and the ensemble.  In a nod to Brecht, Mousseau seats performers on both sides of the lower playing area (on white chairs, naturally) when they are not embodying specific characters.  They contribute sounds when seated, and rise to surround the action in song and story.  Mousseau utilizes every part of the playing area, moving his actors up and down the two side staircases, and the center aisle as well.  Much of the action is mimed while the narrator, usually seated on an armchair below the stage, informs us of what is happening.  But none of this prevents us from becoming involved in Gerda’s desperate attempts to find and save Kai.  Mousseau is well-versed in the use of theatrical techniques and tableaux to capture his audience, though perhaps an intermission (the play runs two hours), given the fact that the play is divided into several segments, might have been helpful.

The performers are a joy to watch—they are 100% committed to these fantastical characters and events.  The action unfolds through narration, dialogue and song.  The play feels more like a story with music rather than a musical:  the songs further the plot but are not particularly memorable, except for the final one, which leads to a moving ending.  There are traces of The Wizard of Oz in Gerda’s blue dress, red shoes, and the fact that despite the help she receives along the way, the power to save her friend is within her.

There are several standouts among the company:  first and foremost Birenboim as Gerda, whose beautiful singing voice and heartfelt struggle immediately engage us.  Surprisingly there is humor sprinkled throughout the work as evidenced by Brian Demar Jones’ Crow, with his intellectual veneer, David Perez-Ribada’s reindeer, Bac, whose outsized machismo leads him on to more and more dangerous deeds, Lauren Bell’s Robber Girl, who parades her bloodthirstiness even as she saves Gerda, and the competition between Occhino’s Man and Adiletta’s Boy, as they vie to determine who is the real narrator.  Narrators have to decide whether to be unobtrusive observers or actual players. One of the most effective aspects of James Occhino’s Man is how he reacts to everything that happens—his sympathy for the plight of the heroes, for the boy within and without, the emotional involvement of his words as he tries to keep up with swelling music and passionate dialogue, and the peaceful slumber (is it slumber?) when all is resolved.

After years of battling against evil, we are told that the young man and woman, reunited, are now “very old but still children.”  That’s how the Ancram audience feels and that’s why this production will appeal to everyone.  Think of a circus ringmaster’s opening line:  “Ladies and gentlemen and children of all ages.”

  THE SNOW QUEEN runs from December 6—15.   December 6, 7, 13 at 7:00 and December 8, 14, 15 at 2:00.  Tickets may be purchased online at ancramoperahouse.org.  Children are admitted free (age nine and older).

Ancram Opera House presents THE SNOW QUEEN:  Adaptation and Lyrics by Barbara Wiechmann and Music by Lisa Dove, based on the fairy tale by Hans Christian Andersen.  Directed by Jeffrey Mousseau; Musical Direction by Elizabeth Gerbi.  Cast:  James Occhino (Man), Shawn Adiletta (Boy), Katie Birenboim (Gerda), Adam Basco-Mahieddine (Kai), Sandra Boynton (Grandmother/Lapp Woman), Cheyenne See (Snow Queen), Sandy York (Old Woman/Robber Mother), Brian Demar Jones (Crow), David Perez-Ribada (Prince/Bac), Lauren Bell (Robber Girl).  Musicians:  Elizabeth Gerbi (pianist/conductor), Louis Rizzo (cello), Emma Piazza (violin).  Scenic Design:  Sarah Edkins; Lighting Design: Ayumu “Poe” Saegusa; Costume Design:  Denise R. Massman; Sound Design:  Alexander Sovronsky; Voice and Text Coach:  Paul Ricciardi.  Stage Manager:  Hannah Schiffer.

Running Time:  two hours, no intermission.  Ancram Opera House, 1330 County Route 7, Ancram, NY; from December 6; closing December 15.

REVIEW: “The Snow Queen” at the Ancram Opera House by Barbara Waldinger Fairy tales never lose their power to affect us, no matter how old we get. 

#Adam Basco-Mahieddine #Alexander Sovronsky #Ancram NY #Ancram Opera House #AOH #Ayumu "Poe" Saegusa #Barbara Waldinger #Barbara Wiechmann #Brian Demar Jones #Cheyenne See #David Perez-Ribada #Denise R. Massman #Elizabeth Gerbi #Emma Piazza #Hannah Schiffer #Hans Christian Andersen #James Occhino #Jeffrey Mousseau #Katie Birenboim #Lisa Dove #Louis Rizzo #Paul Ricciardi #Sandra Boynton #Sandy York #Sarah Edkins #Shawn Adiletta #The Snow Queen

[news-mashable-yahoopartner-blog]

How the worst parts of the internet helped shape me as a kid

This post is part of Mashable's You're Old Week. Break through the haze of nostalgia with us and see what holds up, what disappoints, and what got better with time.

a/s/l?

If you know what those three letters stand for, there's a good chance you grew up on the internet like myself. An internet filled with opportunities to steal your innocence. 

There was something special about the internet of the late '90s and early 2000s that can never, ever be  replicated. It was mysterious, misunderstood, and truly a free place of exploration. More importantly, it was mostly anonymous, or at least it appeared that way.

SEE ALSO: How creepy YouTube channels trick kids into watching violent videos

As parents currently grapple with how their children interact with the internet at such a young age, it's important to take a step back and look at how we got here. Let's relive some of the horrors I witnessed growing up on the internet and consider what lessons their lingering effects hold for this generation. 

Chat rooms

For those utterly lost, a/s/l stands for age, sex, and location, and was commonly used in chat rooms during the golden era of the internet — 1995 to 2005-ish. Thanks to Facebook and the rise of social media, much of what we now do on the internet is tied to our real names. But back in the day, we hid behind usernames and screennames, and we changed them often.

I don't exactly remember any vivid conversations I had on the internet with strangers, but I do recall frequenting Yahoo Chat rooms when I couldn't find any of my friends to chat with on AIM. Remembering that today, I'm kinda horrified.

While those chat rooms around the internet had plenty of normal people just looking for conversations, they were also riddled with who the fuck knows trying to get off or take advantage of a young kid. There was even a dedicated section just for teens. Even worse, you could chat with people based on a specific location.

A screenshot of Yahoo chat from the year 2000.

Image: yahoo.com via waybackmachine

Yahoo Chat rooms were rife with catfishing long before the internet term was ever coined. You could be whoever you wanted to be when someone asked you a/s/l? And people were pretty upfront about seeking kids to chat with. While, thankfully, there were no To Catch a Predator scenarios for me in the days of the early internet, it's highly likely I interacted with plenty of scummy people looking to take advantage of kids during that time. 

Back in 2005, Yahoo finally shut down user-created chat rooms in an agreement with law enforcement. "Yahoo removed or barred the posting of 70,000 rooms whose names suggested illegal conduct, including the promotion of sex between adults and children," CNET reported at the time. 

Yahoo permanently shuttered its public chatroom feature in 2012.

Somehow, I made it out unscathed, and was smart enough to know better, but the chat rooms of the early internet were truly a terrifying place. 

Rotten.com and gore galore

Just last year, the internet lost one of its earliest and most disturbing websites, rotten.com. For now, at least. 

"The soft white underbelly of the net, eviscerated for all to see: Rotten dot com collects images and information from many sources to present the viewer with a truly unpleasant experience," a welcome message reads on an archived version of the website from 1999. 

A screenshot of Rotten.com from the year 1999.

Image: rotten.com via waybackmachine

Simply put, rotten was a compilation of the worst images the internet could find. From pictures of dead celebrities to photos of brutal crime scenes, car crashes, and botched surgeries, the shock site was capable of disturbing just about anyone who made their way to it. 

Rotten.com was introduced to me by an old boyfriend of my sister's when I was probably 11 or 12. I recall seeing a photo of a man involved in a motorcycle accident, his head splattered across a highway, and another picture of a guy sucking his own dick. The picture of the accident still fucks me up; the photo of the guy giving himself a blowjob is still impressive. 

While I (thankfully) never became a frequent visitor of rotten.com, the disturbing images I saw on the site desensitized and prepared me for the awful internet of today. As I grew up with the internet by my side, I can recall seeing countless beheadings. I watched the entire video of Saddam Hussein being executed in 2006, an unnecessary amount of shootings, car accidents, and just about everything else that would make a normal person vomit. 

Seeing those pictures and videos at a young age absolutely helped me cope with some of the things I see on the internet today. Would I be better off not seeing them? Maybe. 

Porn, porn, and more porn

I was about 11 or 12 when I was sitting at my computer, probably playing 3D Pinball when I overheard my dad and his friend talking in the kitchen, just down the hall.

"You can just type lingerie into the search and you wouldn't believe what comes up," he told my father, revealing that there was actually porn on the computer in the living room, which he literally never touched at that point. 

"No wonder he spends so much time on that thing," my dad joked, clearly referring to me. Jokes on you, Dad, because I had no idea of the obscenities that were available just a few clicks away.

A screenshot of sex.com from the year 2000.

Image: sex.com via waybackmachine

Of course, the first moment I was left alone after hearing there was porn on the internet, I typed something like "boobs" into AskJeeves or Yahoo search. I surfed my way to a crude porn site as fast as my 56k modem could bring me, only to be greeted with an age disclaimer asking me if I was 18 years of age or older.

After thinking it over for a few seconds, I decided to risk it and click "yes." Despite thinking the FBI was going to raid my house for this very serious offense, this began my exploration into sex. I never got "the talk" from my parents. It didn't matter — I had the internet. 

It's worth noting here that the internet moved at a grueling pace back in the late '90s when 56k was still king. So navigating a web page with photos, like porn, took a very long time. Given this fact, and that at the time my computer was shared with my family, I decided to do what any preteen would do with a color printer. 

That's right, I printed out porn. My mom found it in my sock drawer, and still occasionally makes fun of me for it.

While there are more than a few think pieces on how learning about sex through internet porn is terrible for a young boy's mind, and will turn them into sexist monsters with unrealistic expectations, I'm thankful for the unfiltered internet as a useful resource in my horny pubescent youth. 

Talking about sex with anyone — even friends — can be humiliating at that age, and at the time sex education provided to me in school was laughably bad, sometimes even frowned upon. That said, there are definitely more appropriate ways to learn about sex, and as a society, we have much to improve upon. 

Weed, drugs, and an online education

When I was 14 years old, I smoked weed for the first time.

This wasn't some spontaneous decision made in a dimly-lit room forced by peer pressure. I wanted to try marijuana, I sought it out, and I learned everything that I need to know about smoking weed through the internet.

Weeks before lighting up, the topic came up among a few of my good friends at the time, and we decided we were going to do it. I won't lie, I was pretty terrified of what would happen, so I did my best to sift through the bullshit pushed upon us by D.A.R.E., and find out the truth about marijuana. I found Erowid.

While there were plenty of websites dedicated to cannabis in 2001 and 2002, Erowid was, and remains, one of the best sources for information on drugs. The thing that makes Erowid so great is that it provides real information from real people about their experiences with various drugs, including dosages, effects, and experiences.

A screenshot of Erowid.org in the year 2001.

Image: erowid.org via waybackmachine.

I'll be the first to admit that I adopted cannabis use way too young, and I'm sure that it affected my school performance and my brain development. But teens and young adults aren't going to stop experimenting with drugs and alcohol, and at least the internet informed me of the real dangers in a way that wasn't preachy.

Would I have tried cannabis without the internet? Definitely, but using the web to learn about drugs was an invaluable resource that was not available elsewhere. I consider myself lucky for landing on Erowid, and not a forum with irresponsible users suggesting people us harder drugs. 

Are the kids gonna be alright?

I've been thinking a lot recently about how the internet has shaped me as a person, and how it's affecting the youth today. Before muttering their first words, kids have probably already watched a YouTube video. They have Instagram accounts before they're able to read, and hashtags dedicated to their entire lives. 

But for me, the internet was a choice. I sought it out,  and all of its opportunities to corrupt my youth. For kids today, it's become nearly impossible to disconnect. 

And again, when I discovered corners of the internet I shouldn't have ventured to as a kid, it moved at a snail's pace. Today's web is fast, pictures load in the blink of an eye, and HD streaming video is basically expected, thanks to YouTube.

It feels like the internet is at a breaking point, and we as a society are finally questioning the experiment. It's incredibly important for us to ask ourselves how the internet has altered our lives, and not just the convenience factor with 2-day free shipping, but really, how has the internet changed who we are? It certainly changed me growing up. 

I do still value the internet as an important growing up tool, which helped me learn about life, both the good parts and bad. But in the back of my mind I'll always wonder what would have happened to me if I never logged on.

WATCH: You know you're getting old when you remember using these phones

#_uuid:cdef7de6-6b47-3f67-adef-4c1cecbc5715 #_author:Brian Koerber #_lmsid:a0Vd000000DTrEpEAL #_revsp:news.mashable

[beyondforks]

Playing Catch Up! Starling by Lesley Livingston

Playing Catch Up has really been helping me through my ever growing TBR list. I'd like to welcome all other blogs to participate too! If you do, be sure to post your links in the comments section. I'd love to see your Playing Catch Up Reviews, and I'm sure others would too!! *wink*

Want to know more about Playing Catch Up? I'll tell you all about it here!

Starling (Starling #1) by Lesley Livingston Genre: Young Adult (Mythology/Fantasy/Romance) Date Published: August 28, 2012 Publisher: Harper Teen

Mason Starling is a champion fencer on the Gosforth Academy team, but she's never had to fight for her life. Not until the night a ferocious, otherworldly storm rips through Manhattan, trapping Mason and her teammates inside the school. Mason is besieged by nightmarish creatures more terrifying than the thunder and lightning as the raging tempest also brings a dangerous stranger into her life: a young man who remembers nothing but his name—the Fennrys Wolf. His arrival tears Mason's world apart, even as she feels an undeniable connection to him. Together, they seek to unravel the secrets of Fenn's identity as strange and supernatural forces gather around them. When they discover Mason's family—with its dark allegiance to ancient Norse gods—is at the heart of the mystery, Fennrys and Mason are suddenly faced with a terrifying future.

Set against the gritty, shadowed back-drop of New York City, this first novel in award-winning author Lesley Livingston's epic Starling Saga is an intoxicating blend of sweeping romance and pulse-pounding action.

Starling is the first book in the Starling series by Lesley Livingston. The world has just turned upside down for Mason and her friends. I listened to the audio version, which was narrated by the author, and she did a wonderful job. I love when an author is comfortable and really knows how to read their story, and you're able to hear them say the lines how they are meant to be said. I think the mythology through this book is Norse or at least mostly Norse. I'm not as familiar with Norse mythology as I am Greek, so I found it to be interesting in that regard. The plot was intriguing with action and the tease of a romance. I'm very interested in the Fennrys Wolf.  He's still a mystery to me in many ways. Many of the characters are, including Mason herself. I feel like we have much to learn about this world. Then, you have that crazy cliffhanger ending, and well... I'm just going to have to hunt down the next book in this series pretty darn quick.

Mason shrugged angrily out of her brother’s punishing grip as Toby dragged him back a few steps. “Back off, Rory,” the fencing master said as calmly as he could. “Mason, what happened?” “I . . .” Now that she was safely on her feet, the horrible image flooded back into her mind. “I saw something. Out inthe storm. It was hideous—a face—all eyes and teeth and itwas screaming. . . .” “Bullshit,” Rory scoffed. “First you freak out and now you’re making things up. You’re always making stupid shit up—” “Toby said back off, Rory.” Calum stepped in front of him and put a hand on his chest. “You can’t talk to Mason like that.” “Screw you! She’s my sister and I’ll talk to her however I damn well want!” “Stow it, both of you!” Toby finally shouted.In the silence that followed, a sudden frenzy of sound came from overhead, like scrabbling animal claws and ear-splitting keening, somewhere high up on the roof. Mason flinched and looked up, even though she couldn’t see any-thing in the darkness. The unearthly howling floated over the rattle of the rain.

LESLEY LIVINGSTON is a writer living in Toronto, Canada. She is the author of twelve books to date. Her first novel, WONDROUS STRANGE, was winner of the CLA Young Adult Book of the Year 2010, a White Pine Honour Book, shortlisted for the Sunburst Award for Excellence in Canadian Speculative Fiction, and in 2015 was named one of CBC’s “100 YA Books That Make You Proud To Be Canadian”. DARKLIGHT, the second book in this series was a finalist for the Indigo Teen Read Awards. The concluding volume in the trilogy, TEMPESTUOUS, was a finalist for the Monica Hughes Award. These books have sold to more than ten countries to date, and WONDROUS STRANGE has been optioned for film/TV by Shaftesbury Films. Her other trilogies have both won the Copper Cylinder award for Young Adult fiction. In addition to her books for teen readers, Lesley is also co-author of a Middle Grade series with Jonathan Llyr called THE WIGGINS WEIRD. The first book, HOW TO CURSE IN HIEROGLYPHICS was shortlisted for the CLA Book of the Year for Children Award and was longlisted for the Canadian Booksellers Association’s Young Readers Book of the Year award. It was also chosen as one of the selections for the 2016 First Book Canada All-Star Reading Challenge. Lesley’s newest novel is a YA historical epic, THE VALIANT, which will be published in February 2017 by Penguin Razorbill (US) and HarperCollins (CAN) and tells the story of a 17-year-old girl’s journey from fierce Celtic princess to female gladiator and the darling of the Roman Empire. For almost three years, Lesley hosted weekly late-night movie marathons on the nationally broadcast television show, SPACEBAR, as the Waitron-9000, a sparkly holographic waitress with an encyclopedic knowledge of obscure B-movie trivia. For almost two decades, she was a principal performer with Tempest Theatre Group, a Toronto-based Shakespearean theatre company. To learn more about Lesley Livingston and her books, visit her website.You can also find her on Goodreads and Twitter.

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