#i did work at a digital media company for five years and felt like fucking cassandra over literally this issue exactly so like

[essektheylyss]

I know I joked about DVDs but in all seriousness, I'm really glad that there's an option for watching VODs that isn't on Twitch and YouTube. It's been mentioned a few times today, but both of the interfaces of these platforms have been increasingly enshittified. I simply do not use YouTube anymore because of how horrid the interface is. I caught up on campaign 2 entirely on YouTube (and sometimes via podcast) in 2019 with no issues, but it is straight up maddening trying to use it now, and I don't know that I would have made it through the campaign if I was trying to catch up today.

I absolutely understand being tired of additional streaming services and I am absolutely in the same boat, but I also don't know how many people really recognize how gutted media distribution has become in the last ten years in the name of convenience. We all kind of realize it, but it's hard to grasp just how extensive it is. We can talk about independent business choices separately, and we should, but when the only platforms on which you have the option to distribute your work are at best frustrating to use and at worst hostile to human life, when monetization services can censor anyone they please with little explanation and have been cracking down on any content they arbitrarily deem inappropriate, when it is not clear that centralized conglomerate social media sites will continue to exist in the next year let alone decade, it is genuinely crucial for independent creators to start building alternative avenues of distribution that they control now.

#this is not about discussing the independent business choices but just for the record #i do think the way this has been handled thus far is solid and extremely reasonable. #and also i do think people would've lost it if dropout had not started largely subscriber-only and made that decision later. #just saying. I 100% think dropout's model is reasonable but they are STILL more restrictive in subscriber-exclusive content than this is #frankly at this point I do tend to favor creators who actually exhibit some business savvy cuz like #I don't necessarily presume that others will be in the space long term and i just don't have that much time to get invested in things #also cuz imo those people also tend to understand format better which is my vibe lol so there are other reasons but #i did work at a digital media company for five years and felt like fucking cassandra over literally this issue exactly so like #I'm not here to claim that I'm an expert but I do get it #the current situation SUCKS and trying to get through it is like threading a needle during an earthquake. while you're on fire.

[mypalbuck]

SOMETHING GREAT —CHAPTER 1

The day you lost your fiancé to the blip was the worst day of your life. Well, you thought it was until he returned to you and decided he didn’t want to be with you anymore. That was the worst day of your life. Heartbroken, your friends encourage you to sign up for online dating. With nothing to lose you sign up and stumble across a familiar face, a 106 year old super soldier who is sweet as honey. Will love blossom? Or will past experiences sabotage something great?

↳ in which your first tinder match isn’t what you expected (social media au)

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: crude language, failed relationship, mentions of cheating, mentions of beating an cheating ex bf’s ass

Word count: 1.8k

a/n: this first chapter has more writing than social media ik but it is needed to set the story! future chapters will either be all social media, all written or a mix of both! (anything written in italics is a flashback)

“I’m leaving you, y/n”

All it took was four words for your life to fall apart. The five years where Mike was nothing but dust was torture for you, all those sleepless nights where you cried yourself to sleep wishing and hoping he would return to you were all in vain. 

“I can’t do this anymore.” Five words that cut deeper than a knife. You wanted nothing more than to beg him to stay, but your pride knew that it would be pointless, he had made up his mind. There you sat in the middle of your shared living room, mascara dripping down your face. Oh how your friend Vanya would grimace at the sight. “I have nowhere to go...” you whispered sadly, expecting Mike’s stern gesture to soften at your vulnerability but it didn’t. 

“Not my problem! Figure it out.” Mike moved to walk out of the door, but you mustered the courage and yelled out to him. “There’s someone else, isn't there Mike...” He spun on his heel and without so much as blinking he replied “My assistant. Now hurry up and pack your shit, she’ll be here soon.” 

Nodding your head, you packed what little things you owned into your worn out suitcase. It wasn’t the first time Mike kicked you out, you knew the drill. Maybe that’s why you left the majority of your belongings in a storage container. With one final look at the apartment, you moved towards the door to leave. 

“Y/n, wait!” Mike yelled out and your heart leapt for joy. He changed his mind. He jogged up towards you and held his hand out. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before placing your free hand in his palm. Slapping away your hand, he sighed frustrated. 

“I don’t want to hold your stupid hand, I want my ring back.” You looked down to the sparkly ring on your finger, pulling it off your finger you looked at the engraving on the inside “Love, Mike.” You thought it was strange that it said that, normally couples put their initials in the ring to symbolise their eternal love. You guess that Mike wanted to reuse the ring whenever it seemed to fit him. Yuck. Looking up at your former fiancé, you let out a bitter chuckle before pegging the ring at his forehead and leaving. You heard Mike yell out insults towards you, but for the first time you didn’t care. You simply left. You felt fine… until it dawned on you that you were now homeless.

“Taxi!” you yelled from the side of the road. Unlike in the movies, the taxis didn’t stop for you. “Assholes” you muttered as you began walking for gods know how long until you passed a sushi restaurant busy with customers eating their dinner. You stood there for a moment, staring at some of the couples laughing and eating inside when a memory filled your mind.

“What do you want for dinner, Mike?” you asked lovingly, it was the first night you two had moved into your shared apartment. When you heard no response you walked into his office.

“Babe? Did you hear what I said?” you walk further into his office only to see it empty. “Where is that man?” you grab your phone and call him, just as you were about to hang up he answered. “What?” his response made you furrow your eyebrows in confusion. “I just got out of the shower and you weren’t in your office like you said you’d be.” you heard a scoff and some whispering on the other end of the phone before Mike responded “I got called back into work, there was a bug in the coding I have to fix for tomorrow’s meeting.”

“Aw my fiancé is such a hard worker! How about I pick up some sushi for us and come keep you company while you work?” you suggested, placing the phone on your shoulder as you started to get ready to go. “No. I hate sushi.” the phone suddenly fell from your shoulder to the ground. Since when did he hate sushi? What on earth was up with him? You leant down to pick up the phone but realised that Mike had hung up on you.

You laugh bitterly, shaking away the memory. You should’ve known something was up after that phone call. Your first date was at a sushi restaurant, he picked the place! Since that night you never had sushi again. Not even when Mike was blipped away.

Well fuck you Mike!

You loved sushi and you would be treating yourself to some tonight. Stepping foot into the restaurant you take in the aromas of the food being cooked and sigh happily taking a seat at the sushi train. The lady working there smiles at you “Can I get you a drink?” smiling back at you, you reply back with just a water. The waitress turns to the old man sitting next to you “Yori?” she asks “A bottle of nihonshu and two shot glasses.” nodding her head, the waitress moved to get the drink. 

“Rough day? I’m Yori.” the old man greets you, turning and placing one of the shot glasses in front of you. “Y/n and you have no idea!” you sigh, taking the shot, the burn of the alcohol feeling nice. Yori grabbed a plate of sushi off the train and placed it in front of you. “Eat and then we can talk.” your heart began to swell at the kindness of this stranger, following his instructions you began to eat and drink until you were full and tipsy. 

“That bastard! Why would he do that to a nice girl like you?” Yori sighed sadly, patting your back comfortingly as you cried. “I d-don’t know…” you choked a sob before moving to take another shot. Yori reached for the shot glass and moved it away, “Is there anyone you can call to come get you?” you nod your head, mascara streaming down your cheeks. You hand Yori your phone and he makes a call to your friend Vanya and explains everything, at first she was confused but tells Yori that she knows the place and is on her way to get you. In the midst of your meltdown, you begin searching through your bag for your wallet to get money out to pay for your food and the drink but Yori puts the money back in your hand before handing his own money to the waitress covering both your meals. “It’s on me, Y/n. It’s the least I can do.” you begin to cry again, Yori pulls you into a hug. 

“Y?N!” Vanya burst into the restaurant, all eyes were on your beautiful friend as she rushed towards you and checked you for any injuries before pulling you into a hug. “I’m going to castrate that mother fu-” you begin to laugh, sobering up you stand up grabbing your suitcase and handbag before turning to Yori. “Next meal is on me, Yori.” the man smiles at you and nods in agreement. “Do you need a life home?” Vanya asks the man, wanting to do something in return for looking after you. “No need, my friend is planning to meet me here in a bit. You would like him y/n!” you smiled “Maybe another time, I should get going.” Understanding, Yori bid you both farewell.

“Vanya, I’m so sorry. I couldn’t think of anyone else to call…” you arrived at Vanya’s studio apartment. “Are you kidding me, Y/n? What kind of friend do you think I am?” Vanya moved to the fridge, pulling out ice cream and beer. Kicking off your shoes, you move to sit on the lounge. Vanya moved to sit next to you, handing you some ice cream and a beer. “Now tell me everything.”

“I’M GOING TO BREAK EVERY BONE IN HIS BODY! SLOWLY SO HE CAN FEEL THE PAIN YOU’RE FEELING RIGHT NOW.” Vanya growled, standing up and putting her boots back on. Rushing over to her, you grabbed hold of her leg so she couldn’t move.

“No, I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m hurt.” Vanya shook her leg trying to get you to let go “But he can’t get away with it!” you let go of Vanya’s leg. “I’m not.” you walked back to sit on the lounge. “Do you have a plan?” Vanya sat down next to you.

You nodded your head yes “To start fresh, to be happy.” Vanya smiled in agreement “Revenge is a dish best served with a smile.” grabbing your phone, Vanya started typing away. “What are you doing?” you watched in horror as you watched your friend was set up a tinder account for you. “Vanya are you serious!” you tried to grab the phone from her, but she moved it further away from you and winked “Best way to get over someone, is to get under someone else.” You rolled your eyes and took your phone. “I’m not sleeping with a stranger, I just got out of a long term relationship”. Vanya took a sip of her beer “Just have a look, it doesn’t hurt to look does it?” you laughed “You’re not wrong… let me set up my profile how I want it”.

Scrolling through you didn’t swipe right on anyone you saw, all the same profiles trying to show off or hook up. That’s not what you were looking for. To be honest, you weren’t sure what you were looking for until your page was refreshed and you were stunned looking at the most handsome man.

“Wow!...” you gasped, showing your phone to Vanya who nodded in approval. “He’s so cute, in a you know a he can snap me in half way.” you giggled at your friends crude language before reading his description “Hi my name is Bucky. I honestly don’t know what to write here… I’m a pretty nice guy. I like sushi!...” Vanya cheered “Someone to take you out for sushi, I bet Yori would love him!” you laughed at your friend and nodded in agreement. “How old is he?” your eyes sweeped the screen looking for his age and widened at the sight of a triple digit number “106…” 

“Very funny, Y/n. How old is he really?” you scanned the screen again before reply “106.” Vanya grabbed the phone from your hand and saw for herself. You gasped in realisation “That’s Bucky Barnes, former Howling Commando!” Vanya laughed, “Like Captain America, Bucky?” you nodded your head. “Well, what are you waiting for? Swipe!” you nodded your head and swiped right. Your heart beated out of your chest when suddenly you jumped up making Vanya spill some of her beer. 

“WE MATCHED!” You and Vanya began to jump and squeal. Maybe this was happening for a reason, you can’t deny that something changed when Mike came back. The spark you two once had, died many years ago. Perhaps this all happened in order for you to find someone who truly loved you. For you to have something great.

“WELL! MESSAGE HIM!” Vanya yelled, rushing to grab some popcorn for you both. You nodded your head and opened a new chat.

“Here’s to something great”.

next

Tag list: (Tried to tag some ppl but it didn’t work so if your user has a line through it, it didn’t let me tag u :( pls message me so we can fix it!

@mooonmaiden @whatrambles @kaitieskidmore1 @black-sky-always @crimson-darling @kittengirl998 @laheysscarf  @aniia-x3 @kmuir1 @thatone1fangirl @the-chocoholic-writer @allhailthewxtcher @jjlizz @grace-writes-shit @xx-marvelfanatic-xx @cherryblossomskye​  

send me an ask if you’d like to be added to the taglist :)

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes social media au #bucky social media au #bucky barnes imagine

[purplesurveys]

1011

1. Five facts about your current relationship OR five facts about your single life.

a) I haven’t been truly single in...around 6 years, so it’s been a bit of an adjustment.

b) It was my last day as an intern yesterday (but they hired me, so I’m staying after all, haha) and since I’ve felt like I gained a family in the last two months, I thought it would be okay to give professionalism a break and share what had actually been going on with me on my first day on the job, aka when the breakup was still fresh and I was still figuring out how to function all over again. It unsurprisingly surprised everyone and my superior said something like, “Omg it’s the [company name] curse; it’s so strong it broke you guys up before you even got hired” which got a laugh out of me.

c) I’m not interested in seeing other people.

d) Probably wouldn’t be, for a long time. My trust has been irreparably broken.

e) Seeing couples in public has now become annoying. I’m happy for them, but it’s still annoying.

2. Five facts about a past relationship.

a) I’ve known her since kindergarten, but we didn’t become friends till 7th grade and didn’t start dating until junior year of high school.

b) We were legal with her family and her parents loved me and I them. On the other hand, I was never able to come out to my family because she broke up with me before I could be able to do so.

c) She introduced me to vaping.

d) We were never able to truly travel together, which we always planned to do after graduating. The farthest we reached was Batangas.

e) She never knew where she wanted to eat whenever we were out, so I was mostly the one who decided which restaurant we were going to have lunch or dinner in.

3. Five facts about your mother.

a) She has always worked in hotels, which is great because it has always allowed us to get room and buffet discounts, heh.

b) Her family (aka my grandparents, her, and my uncles) struggled financially for a little bit when my grandpa lost his job when she was in college. When her friends would go to fast-food restaurants, my mom would always decline, saying she had schoolwork to finish. In reality she just couldn’t afford anything, and the only money she held was for public transport.

c) She is a little childish considering her age, and I cannot stand her petty tantrums. She was childish even when I was a kid, and I believe my emotional well-being suffered because of that.

d) She has a high pain tolerance and the only time I’ve seen her struggle was when she was getting a tattoo on the back of her shoulder.

e) She is also extremely religious and it especially grinds my gears when she gets hypocritical about it, which is just about all the time.

4. Five facts about your father.

a) He has only ever dated my mom.

b) He grew up extremely poor and at some point his parents actually stopped being able to afford his tuition. Instead of being kicked out, a few nuns who served in the school paid my grandparents a visit and told them my dad would be given a scholarship since he had good grades and it would have been a waste if he got expelled.

c) He was a dancer in high school, knows how to play the guitar, and he also apparently knows how to draw very well. There’s a lot I don’t know about him, considering he has worked abroad my whole life.

d) He breaks or loses his reading glasses once every few months. I know which parent I definitely take after.

e) I have never seen him cry.

5. Five facts about your sibling. If you have more than one, pick one. Or do them all!

a) She had problems crying in school until she was in around 2nd or 3rd grade.

b) She’s in college and is currently taking up digital filmmaking.

c) She’s the biggest introvert I know. I’ve never seen her be willing to do anything silly; not even with her friends.

d) She can’t handle spicy food.

e) Her main interests have shifted from Harry Potter, to One Direction, to 5SOS, and now K-pop. I believe she’s into Seventeen the most.

6. Five facts about your town.

a) The upper part of the city offers amazing views of the Metro Manila skyline, which has recently made the place a kinda popular nightlife destination.

b) There’s a lot of hidden gem restaurants here but because most people spend more time complaining about how far my city is and how difficult it is to get to than actually just making the damn ride over here, the restaurants stay hidden and uncrowded. Their loss.

c) Used to be massively underdeveloped for most of my childhood and teenage years. Now there are several malls and I can easily go to a McDonald’s, Burger King, and Starbucks right outside our village.

d) Because you basically have to drive through a mountain to get to the upper part of the city, it’s not the safest highway and fatal crashes are unfortunately common.

e) The city is known for its suman, except I hate Filipino rice cakes and this actually doesn’t do anything for me.

7. Five facts about your house.

a)  It used to have a balcony until we had that transformed into another bedroom. So technically it is still a balcony; it just hasn’t had that purpose for a while now.

b) My mom used a little cheat in our dining room and installed a huge wall mirror. Most people visiting for the first time always note how much larger it made the room (and thus the house) look.

c) I live in a neighborhood where the houses are of the same model and look (think the Squidville episode from Spongebob). That said, balconies are included in all properties. When my parents decided to renovate ours and turn it into a room, so many houses slowly followed suit as well. It was amusing to see it unfold, knowing the idea undoubtedly originated from us. It was like a revolution.

d) We don’t have a gate, which irritates me to no end because it allows noisy neighborhood kids to just march and run around our property. Sometimes they even make it to our carport and backyard, ugh. :(

e) Speaking of backyard, the landscaping for it used to be a pebble mosaic designed to look like a swan. But over the years the quality deteriorated, so my parents to opted to have the pebbles crushed into tiny rocks and embedded onto the ground. I don’t exactly know what this technique is called, but yeah.

8. Five facts about your niece or nephew. If you have more than one, pick one. Or do them all! Skip if you don’t have one. I don’t have any, but I do have a godson so I’m going with him as I don’t want to leave any section blank.

a) He was born sometime in December. I honestly don’t remember when, loooooool. Worst godmother ever.

b) He’s actually one of my first cousins, but I guess my aunt saw something in me and wanted me to be his godson. I’ve been a terrible one, though; I’ve never bought him gifts or money or anything – to be fair, I was made a ninang when I was like, 14 or 15 lmao.  But I can definitely make up for it now that I’m starting to earn my own money.

c) He’s the calmer, sweeter version of his older brother. His kuya was a pretty naughty kid when he was his age.

d) He mainly speaks English, as how most younger parents raise their kids these days. He understands Filipino of course, but he mostly communicates in English.

e) The last time I saw him, he was in the middle of a ridiculously adorable interviewing phase where he’d approach anyone in the family and start asking them a series of questions: what’s your favorite color? What food can’t you live without? What’s your favorite subject in school? Would you rather win $1 million dollars or know how to fly? It typically got exhausting after the 25th question, but it was so cute nonetheless. None of us have any idea where it came from.

9. Five facts about your education.

a) I went to a private, all-girls, Catholic school from kinder up to high school, and then moved to a public, co-educational, non-sectarian university for college. It was the very epitome of culture shock, lemme tell ya.

b) Some classes I had in my first school that might be uncommon in others have included penmanship (because my school has its own brand of cursive), environmental education, and I don’t remember what this next class was called anymore but we were basically taught how to write professionally? Like how to write cover letters and resumés and all.

c) My first school is extremely homophobic and went so far as to ‘hire’ spies  tasked to check up on who’s been in same-sex relationships, list them all down, and report them to the guidance office so that they can be called one by one and be interrogated, and for the most part, pressured to come out. I don’t know if they still do this, but the younger batches are definitely more vocal and woke now thanks to social media and I doubt those practices would still fly today.

d) My university education was a breath of fresh air. Suddenly people were wearing sleeveless tops, mobs and rallies were a common sight to me, and my instructors were now atheist and not shoving Catholicism and Jesus and salvation down my throat. I loved every single day of it.

e) The most interesting class I took in college was a course called Pornography in Electronic Media, under the broadcast communication department. Getting to tell people I take a class where we sit down to watch porn was such a fucking ride.

10. Five facts about your job.

a) I got hired last Wednesday, but I had been interning for the company for around two months before they extended the offer.

b) I’m pretty much gonna be doing the same things I did as an intern, except I’m now accountable for any boo-boos I make HAHAHAHA. Also, I’m gonna be paid a lot more, obviously, which is sweet. I really thought we interns were severely underpaid considering the work that we help with on a daily basis.

c) My role is going to be with another department which is a little scary because it means the things I learned with the department I actually interned at will be pretty much useless. I’ll be starting from scratch again, but I’m still excited.

d) It’s a work-from-home situation, which is a relief for me because I don’t have to wake up early and I don’t have to face traffic. 

e) My job interview for the position was actually a bit of a bomb because I absolutely fumbled with and messed up the first question I was asked; and since first impressions matter, I really thought I lost the gig from the very start of the interview. I made up for it as the interview continued and fortunately was able to break the ice and build a rapport with the team members who spoke with me, and I guess I did enough for them to want to take me in anyway.

For those who are curious, I blanked the fuck out when they asked “Tell me something about yourself that isn’t in your resumé.” Slowest 15 seconds of my life.

#survey #surveys

[scottielambchop]

Tite Five Vol. 1

Here's the deal: Unemployment really sucks.

But it's important to keep "flexing my writing muscle." So, I decided to take the blog format I had with my old company and take it here. Which is rad because I can now write all the f-swears I want. But even better, I can rename this stupid fucking thing. So without further ado, I present to you my Tite Five.

Arby’s Subscription Box

Well, the more things change, the more they stay the same. I may not be writing blogs for an ad agency anymore, but that doesn't fuckin' mean I won't talk about fast food.

For those who don’t know me (and now that I’m writing on my own blog, I don’t know why the fuck you wouldn’t), I have sort of backed myself into a corner with Arby's. It all started innocently enough. I wrote a Facebook post asking if anyone wanted to go on a romantic date to Arby’s. Seemed like a funny-enough thing to say. But then I doubled down and asked the same question again a few weeks later. Then again. And again. Soon enough, I became the “Arby’s guy.” Which, to be honest, isn’t the worst thing to be known for. Especially since Arby’s is pretty good and their Pizza Slider is one of the most underrated QSR food items on the market.

Alright, now that I got that little nugget of useless bullshit out of the way, let’s get to this subscription box. For the past couple of years, Arby’s has been fucking killing it in the advertising game. Their hilarious Ving Rhames-voiced copy spots and subsequent transition to more visual stuff with H. Jon Benjamin, their delightfully nerdy paper-craft social posts, and now, their subscription box. That’s right, you fuckin’ heard (or read) me correctly, Arby’s now has a subscription box.

In early January, Arby’s tweeted out they would be sending a subscription box called Arby's of the Month. All you had to do was sign up for $25, and you would get six mystery boxes of seasonal gear from everyone’s favorite roast beef provider. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering, “Who the hell would want that?” Well, let me tell you, a lot of people the hell would want that. It sold out in less than an hour.

Minneapolis' Fallon (my dream agency) has done amazing work with Arby's. They've taken your grandparents’ favorite fast food joint and turned it into something for everyone. By simply getting weird with everything they do, the younger generations have latched on. Honestly, who the fuck would think about sending a subscription box full of roast beef swag, and how the fuck did it work so well? The answer is Fallon.

P.S. If anyone from Fallon is reading this, my portfolio is scottielantgen.com. Hire me, please.

Re-Watching South Park

One of the most beautiful things about unemployment in the digital age is the ability to hunt for jobs across the country while sitting on your couch and streaming a seemingly endless supply of shows. And that’s exactly what the fuck I’ve been doing with South Park.

Now before I begin, I just need to say that, yes, the show’s liberal use of the “f-word,” “r-word,” and countless racial stereotypes DO NOT hold up well to today’s standards. And honestly, I’m not going to defend it. It’s not my place.

Problematic dialogue aside, what I love about rewatching South Park from almost the very beginning (just skip the first three seasons. You're not missing much) is how it’s a perfect current event/pop culture time capsule. I seriously forgot about Elián González, Terri Schiavo, how the popularity of Paris Hilton made everyone fucking terrible for a while, and just the Passion of the Christ in general. But thanks to South Park, those headlines came rushing back in vivid detail.

South Park still holds up as some of the best satire ever created. It’s quick, funny, and often offensive. And I’m pretty sure that’s what Trey Parker and Matt Stone wanted it to be.

Also, Butters and Randy Marsh are two of my favorite fictional characters.

Skittles Commercial: The Broadway Musical

The “Big Game” (who has the money, amirite?) is tomorrow, and it’s like a goddamn advertising cotillion. It’s the day where the entire country gathers around a TV to eat a variety of sauced meats, drink one of three different beers, and watch the newest batch of commercials from some of the biggest brands in the country. I am told there’s also a football game.

This is the day companies spend millions of dollars for 30 seconds of air time. It’s absurd. But it’s the most viewed event of the entire year, so companies feel the need to get their air time. Except for Skittles. They've been doing something a little different.

Last year, Skittles was fed up with the high price of “Big Game” ad placement, and decided to ditch that mess and do their own thing. So, they did what any other rational company who wanted to advertise to millions of viewers would do. They made an ad for just one person (Check it out. It rules). This little stunt got them billions of media impressions, which, in a lot of ways, is just as good as paid placement.

Where does Skittles go after the major success of last year’s stunt? Broadway of course. During halftime, Skittles will present a one-time performance of Skittles Commercial: The Broadway Musical. Lead by Six Feet Under’s own Michael C. Hall (fuck Dexter), this 30-minute musical is slated to be very meta. Their website states, “Through song and dance, the show takes an absurdly self-reflective look at consumerism and the ever-increasing pervasiveness of brand advertising in our lives.”

It’s fucking brilliant, and I can’t wait to hear how it turns out.

Companies Taking a Stand

Other than writing as many “fucks” and “shits” as I want, one of the coolest things about writing this blog untied from any agency has to be freely expressing whatever dumb-fucking-shit opinion I have. Don’t get me wrong, my old company gave me a lot of freedom, but I always felt it best to stray away from any “controversial” or “political” opinions. Now I’m off the leash and ready to spread my leftist propaganda like a mother fucking virus!

There is a great divide in our country. I know it’s always been there, but it seems way worse ever since the 2016 campaign trail. Regardless, with this growing separation between liberals and conservatives/left and right/cool dudes and white people, companies are also taking sides. And I think it’s a really fucking smart idea.

As you’ve probably seen (and possibly burnt your own shoes about), Nike was one of the first major companies to take a stand for what they believed in. Hiring “controversial” athlete, Colin Kaepernick, to be the face of their newest campaign was a really bold move, but it paid off big time.

Yes, they faced a backlash. Fox News was all up their ass about “DiSrEsPeCtInG tHe FlAg,” and Twitter users shared a litany of videos of people destroying the products they already bought and paid for. But overall, the campaign was killer and showed that the company was willing to put themselves at risk for equality and doing what is right—though I’m sure they’re heartbroken your shitty uncle won’t buy their socks ever again.

Gillette was the next big company to pick a side. They took a stance on the truly controversial topic of “not being a shitty dude.” I really don’t know where the backlash for this came from, but apparently, men don’t like being told that it’s wrong to catcall and sexually assault women. For a bunch of “manly-men,” they’re really crying like little babies over a minute-long video. The ad is still pretty new, but it already seems to be resonating well with younger male audiences, but not so much with boomers. Weird, right?

And lastly, Patagonia just announced that they will donate all 10 million dollars they saved on tax cuts to environmental groups. I don’t know how people will find a way to be upset by this, but I don’t doubt for a single second that someone will. The world is a nightmare.

Listen, I know there are always going to counter-arguments.

“Oh, they’re just exploiting a current issue to make money.”

“Oh, you may think they’re doing the right thing, but their internal business model is totally fucked.”

“Oh, not all men.”

“Oh, that money could have gone to hard workers and not a stupid tree or whatever.”

It really doesn’t matter. This is advertising. They are spreading a message. You may not need a razor at this moment, but that spot can also serve as a reminder to be a better man. You may prefer a different brand of athletic wear, but that doesn’t mean you won’t be able to see how much a person has sacrificed to support a cause. You may not be a white Instagrammer, but now you know that some companies are doing honorable things. These companies aren't just selling products, they’re also selling ideals.

Gratitude

As I’ve alluded to throughout this post, I recently lost my job. I wanted to make light of it a little, but I also just wanted to get some things off my chest. The truth of the matter is this: I am forever grateful for the opportunity I was given and the people I befriended along the way. I was able to work with and learn from some of the most talented people I have ever met. I took a huge risk moving to a smaller, one-agency town to take this job—and I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I am forever thankful for this time in my life.

One of my biggest New Year’s resolutions was to express more gratitude. As I said before, the country is divided. I can’t seem to hop on any social media channel without seeing some kind of bullshit-fueled fight going on. Everyone seems to be focusing on the negative and no one really cares about the positive (I fully understand the irony of this sentence). But this could change by expressing more gratitude for the people in your life and amazing opportunities.

Listen, I could be really pissed about the current state of the world. And honestly, I am. But I’m trying to express more positivity. Everyone else can complain about our turd of a president 24 hours a day. Why not tell the important people in your life why you’re thankful to have them? It’s a really fucking simple thing to do—and it could possibly start a chain reaction.

Listen, I’m not going to tell you to not focus on the bad parts of your job or whatever because that shit is so much more easily said than done. And it also goes on a job-by-job basis (I couldn’t really think of a positive in working in corporate finance or some soul-sucking shit like that). But I will say this, I’m thankful I was able to work a job where I could see a bright side. I learned a lot and I’m looking forward to the next steps in my career.

I know it seems tough to remain positive in such dark times. But, fuck, this is your life. You’ve only got one of em. Don’t spend it worrying or complaining all the time. Find the positive and try and improve upon that… or don’t. It’s your fuckin’ life. Do whatever you want.

Well, guys, that’s it for my very first Tite Five (but also not, ya know?). I hope this was as enthralling as Chris made it out to be. I love you all. I’ll probably see you next week with another post of sorts. Take care and don’t drink and drive after the “Big Game.”

[yourhappypappypatton]

5 analogical

#5: Can we just pretend like we’re normal for once? Pairing: AnalogicalWord Count: 1060Warnings: Cursing, Depression, Anxiety, mental health problems, near panic attack, mentions of bad parentingSummary: Humman! Au analogical getting together. 

Logan and Virgil were not a normal couple. One was a child protegee, everyone was always so invested in his academic accomplishments, he never had the chance to truly be a child and really be emotionally and mentally healthy. He had to grow up much too fast, so more often than not he simply chooses to ignore all of his emotions, this has earned him many unflattering titles throughout the years. Simply because he’s not empathetic, prefers to work out issues using logic rather than tact, and at times doesn’t yawn when somebody in his immediate vicinity does, does not mean that he’s a psychopath, thank you very much. The other partner was a depressed, anxious child, one whose parents neglected his mental health, and told him to simply get over it. This caused his mental problems to get bigger, and bigger, until he finally got a therapist, Dr. Picani, when he moved out.

 The two men were both emotionally and mentally vulnerable. They needed to find solitude from their problems, and they found that in each other. They met in their sophomore year of College in the library, Logan was perusing a thick book that was nearly the size of his head, writing down notes every once in a while, and Virgil was a few tables over, nearly edged into a panic attack.

Logan had noticed the other man’s erratic breathing, abandoned his task, and helped ground Virgil. He asked if he had permission to touch Virgil, and upon receiving an affirmative, he began to slowly rub circles into the anxious man’s back, directing him to use breathing exercises and to look around for five things he can see, four things he can hear, three things he can feel, and so forth. After getting Virgil down from his near attack, Logan introduced himself. Virgil was drained from the high emotional state he was in, so his mental floodgates could hold less of his thoughts in, so he mumbled “I’m Virge, and you’re kind of pretty.” at that time, many other patrons of the library could have attested to have hearing the human equivalent of the Windows Error Noise coming out of Logan’s mouth. Eventually, he helped Virgil back to his dorm. The encounter was a little awkward for Logan, but he felt that it was the right thing to do, awkwardness aside.

Second semester came along, and with it came some new classes. It just so happened that Logan and Virgil had a class together. Near the end of the first day, Virgil approached Logan somewhat awkwardly and apologized for his actions in the library all that time ago. Logan brushed it off. He didn’t need an apology for something so small in the grand scheme of things. Logan honestly tried to shake off Virgil after that, he had never needed a friend before, and he wasn’t going to start needing one now. Logan had logged into his tumblr after the fiasco of a class and began vaguing about college life, and then posted a few lines of poetry to clear his head before going to his next class. He checked the social media after class and was a little surprised when he saw that someone had messaged him. @panic!ateverywhere…? Was that a reference to something?

Logan opened up the message, and it was a fellow college student. they somehow related to Logan’s position. Apparently they had approached someone in class today, and they had simply brushed them off. How curious, that situation was nearly an exact parallel to Logan’s own. He offered a few objective words of advice to the student to speak to the fellow classmate… if he had only known that the man, Virgil, would use those exact strategies that Logan had suggested to the online user just a few days earlier. Logan raised an eyebrow at that, and then remembered a post that he had saw a while back, saying that you should comment on one’s shoelaces to see if they are also from tumblr, because apparently asking somebody if they are on that specific social network isn’t a “thing to do”.

Logan asked the question, and Virgil looked at him in confusion for a few moments before it dawns on him. He mumbled back “Thanks. I stole them from the president.” Logan nodded once. “Am I to infer that you are @Panic!ateverywhere?” Virgil nodded dumbly. “Yeah, that’s me. Does that mean you’re @LogicallyInfered?” Logan held back a smirk as he copied Virgil’s prior action. “That would be correct.” “Oh… cool.. So, would you- like mind my company… or? Ugh- nevermind.” Logan rested a hand on Virgil’s shoulder. “I would not object being friends with you.”

After a while, everyone on campus knew that Logan and Virgil were the dynamic duo. Virgil became more open and snarky the longer he was around Logan. Logan became more emotionally open, going so far as to yell “falSEHOOD!” on more than one occasion, and shocking the entire room. The two were inseparable, and it wasn’t really a surprise to anybody when they began dating about a year after meeting one another. Their relationship really didn’t change all that much except now there was a title, a little more cuddling, and kissing… thing is, even with all of this progress that they’ve made throughout the years, they were still damaged.   Day of graduation, Virgil was combing his hands through Logan’s hair, trying to get rid of his nervous energy. “Lo, I don’t know if I can go through with this. I’m too fucked up for actual society, society won’t let me live off of tumblr commissions and existential crises. I can’t be normal like everyone wants me to be, I just can’t! Logan, they won’t understand… they can’t!” Logan turned around, stopping Virgil from playing with his hair. He grabbed Virgil’s hands gently and pressed a kiss to the back of one of them, his favourite way to show affection. “My dearest, we can act normal for just one day. After today, we can be as odd as we want, I shall help you make your living off of tumblr, and possibly even your many crises. That one British man did it via YouTube.” “Dan Howell?” “Affirmative. We shall figure something out for you, my love.” The two were undoubtedly still damaged, but they had each other.

(A/N) I know I changed the prompt a little bit, but supportive Logan is my lifeblood. I got really into this one. goodness, I love my boys.  If you want to send me a prompt, click here! 

Taglist taken from the Editable Taglist Spreadsheet under the cut.@sanders-sides-thuri@logically-asexual @trivia-goddess@vivimarius@storytellerofuntoldlegends@strangerthings-and-phan@watch-me-introvert@tree4life25@sarcastic-anxious @emokittenlikesgore@paxtonlovestea@neko-ereri@happypappypatton@confinesofpersonalknowledge@urtrashhq@thegirlwiththedragonheart@fandergecko@too-random-for-me@hissesssss@deathbyvenusftw@ill-interested@johnnyboylaurens@the-prince-and-the-emo@inkyroo@staticsanders@allthemetalsoftherainbow@depressed-alone@icbatocomeupwithausername@walking-encyclopedia@magicmapleleaf @pieces-of-annedrew@saphirestrike@asalwayss@anxiousoddish@romanssippycup@virgils-anxiety@redundant-statements-for-400@skylagamingfea@clueingforblogs@rainbow-beaniegirl@vampyrsarah@all-these-trees-stealing-mah-o2@hghrules@migraine-marathon@alextheodd@sandersfanders @pansexual-cat@hanramz-the-fander@darude-sanderstorm@kurna-kovite@royallyanxious@thestoryofme13@silentwhistlingwind@madelynna@a-blog-just-for-sanders@galacticallynonbinary@trashfireiplier@the-optimism-of-the-ostriches@sanderssides-deathangel@lacandra@starry-eyed-haiku-dreamer@digitally-analog@shygirl4991@sides-of-a-sunset@strangerthings-and-phan@musicphanpie-b@superintrovertfangirl@silversunshine2012@makemeaplant@out-of-existence@koalaaquabear@deep-ocean-blues @catsandrandomness@rose-gold-roman@aliferous-ly@musicsavedmefromdeath@devastate-my-space@heythereprincey@yourhappypappypatton@dudlebuggs@sanders-trash-4ever@on-lock-like-attica@siriuswhiskers@thenerdycube@pinkeasteregg@an_anxious_gay_mess@multi-fandom-trash-x9000@kirsten-the-freak@thepusheenqueen@artistictaurean@funsizedgremlin@pal-im-not-clever @logan-exe@thecrimsoncodex@unknownsandersfan @dementeddracon@ive-given-up-on-it@blazeimagines101@sanders-fam-ily@trashypansexual@toujours-fidele@grey-lysander@sehtah@sugarblob0@do-rey-me@septifanderplier@hottopicvirge@rptheturk@urte1108@ffsas-side-account@shadow-walker-1201@milomeepit@fricksonsticks@baileystarsketches@yurai-brokeit@voices-and-stardust@deadinsidebutliving@acechirou@ocotopushugs@lynisnotamused@datonerougecookeh@lana–22@kentato-kenart@robanilla@anxie-teaa @logically-sided@osnapitzbc@areyousirius-noheisdead@ruuworld@aikogumi@kickthecel@theworldismysupernova@jughead-is-canonically-aroace@purplesatankittycat@mercythemermaid@etherealweekes@pearls-of-patton@ahoardofsides@memesanddreamsinc@jade-dragon226-fan@mollycassmith@nightmarejasmine @ace-v-p-d @pandagirl0730@acrobaticcatfeline@thomas-must-get-to-sleep@sesame-icecream@dreamerhowelll@nyxwordsmith@roman-is-a-gay@reba-andthesides@thesilentbluesparrow@angered-turtle@fanatic564

#analogical #logan sanders #virgil sanders #dr picani #thomas sanders #sanders sides #fander #fanders #fanfic #fanfiction #sanders sides fandom #my writing #drabble #prompt #human au #college au #alternate universe

[so-writing]

The Purge 1/3 - Bill Skarsgard

The television was set at top volume and the worry was evident on her face.

“Please protect my son,” she took hold of my biceps, her nails digging into my skin, “he is all I have left.”

“Elora,” I gently placed my hands over hers, “I will guard him like he is my life. You know me.”

Her grip relaxed and she fell into me, careful to keep her tears from ruining the expensive fabric her dress was made of.

Elora Skarsgard was the queen of a high fashion clothing dynasty. She and her husband, Van, had started the company several decades ago and they had become a household name through years of hard work.

When Van passed, Elora kept things going and she made sure that she trained her only son to follow in her footsteps. Bill would eventually take over the company.

Bill Skarsgard. He was pushing thirty and he was as bratty as he was when he was in his single digits.

It must have been nice to grow up with a platinum spoon in your mouth.

I had promised Elora years ago that I was on her side. Like my father, I was dedicated to her and her family.

“I will protect Bill, I promise. I’ll protect you too.”

My name is Lindsay, and I’ve been working for the Skarsgard family as long as I can remember. My father is their head of security and he spends most of his time in Sweden, making sure that no one fucks with them.

I have been trained to make sure no one fucks with them when they’re in the states.

The goddamn Skarsgards just happen to be in the states during the purge.

Fuck. Me.

*

“Linds, are you ready to meet with him? Just a heads up, he can be quite a bit of a dick.”

“I know.”

I had, almost, grown up with Bill. We were the same age and though we had grown up in the same home, our lives were very different.

Bill didn’t associate with me. As far as he was concerned, I was the daughter of the help and someone that he could easily ignore.

It had always been that way, but things were different now.

“Lindsay, it’s good to see you.”

Bill stepped into the room. I had to admit that it had been years since I had seen him and he had changed very much since that day.

He towered over me, his at least six foot frame making a mockery of my five foot and five inches.

“Bill, hello.”

I had never noticed how sharp his features were, and how lovely they actually were.

“You’re the one they assigned to protect me? I guess I’m fucked.”

There was no hint of playfulness or sarcasm in his voice.

“Bill, no one here is going to fuck you, trust me. I’m here to make sure you survive the night.”

He moved across the room and sat himself on a plush loveseat. Running a hand through his hair, he sent a wicked smile my way.

“We’ll see. Do you know who is targeting me?”

I did.

“The dumbass look on your face says no. Get your shit together, princess. I actually need you, because I am finished otherwise.”

I let it go and turned away from him without a giving his attitude a second thought.

“Andre, what kind of coverage are we getting? Anything Skars-specific?”

Corny? Yes, but it made the situation a tiny bit lighter.

Bill stifled a laugh and even though I wasn’t facing him, I knew he had followed it with a long swallow of his wine. He tried to play it off like it didn’t matter but I knew he was on edge.

“Nothing really on main television news but there’s some action on Twitter. People are not a fan of him.”

“Him?”

Bill rushed across the room to join our huddle around Andre’s laptop.

“We’re a family. There are two of us. Why are you saying him?!”

The wine was sloshing around his glass as he spoke and the fear was evident on his face.

“Bill, we have your back. We always will. Have a seat, let me grab you a cigar.”

Andre had been Bill’s bodyguard for the majority of his youth and was still his protector and friend to this day. He knew how to calm him down.

This time it didn’t help much.

Bill’s hands trembled as he cut the tip from the cigar and placed it between his lips.

“So w-what are they saying?”

His voice shook and he took a long swig of wine.

“They’re saying you’re…”

Andre trailed off, not wanting to upset Bill.

“Tell me, man. You’re my best friend. Tell me what they’re saying.”

It was the first time I’d seen any kind of emotion from Bill in years.

“Bill, don’t concern yourself with this. Lindsay and I will keep you safe and then we’ll get you home and you don’t have to think of this moment ever again.”

Andre’s voice was soothing and, for a moment, it seemed like Bill was going to let it go.

“Andre, please?”

He turned to me now, his green eyes meeting mine.

“Lindsay, please? I need to know.”

Andre sighed and waved his hand, giving me the go ahead to tell Bill what was going on.

“Bill,” I paused and took in his wide eyes and hard set jaw, “I want to be completely honest with you. I’m not going to sugarcoat it. There is a talk that you’re a direct target of a certain group.”

“Why? What group?”

“According to social media, they call themselves ‘The Fallen’ and you’re their target because, well, you’re you.”

“What does that mean?!”

Leave it to Bill to dramatically roll his eyes and give attitude even though he’s been told he has a target on his head.

“Do not stress this, man. It doesn’t matter.”

Andre tried to soothe him but I wasn’t having it.

“It means that you’re wealthy and lucky and they don’t like that and they don’t like you.”

“Linds, c’mon.”

“Andre, I know you’re trying to protect him but he’s not a kid anymore. He needs to know.”

We both turned to Bill, he was leaning against the wall with an empty wine glass and obvious fear.

The silence between the three of us lasted several minutes before Bill spoke.

“Please get me through this. I probably don’t deserve it, but please, help me.”

I had never felt sorry for Bill before. Despite his shortcomings, all I wanted to do was keep him alive.

“Your mother hired me because I’m one of the best. I won’t let her down and I won’t let you down. Head to the bedroom and get some sleep. You’re going to be fine.”

***

Several hours has passed and everything was quiet. Andre, myself, and a plentiful amount of security staff had been monitoring the cameras placed around the property and patrolling when it was safe.

So far, nothing.

“Lindsay, come over here.”

Andre’s voice pulled me out of almost sleep and I hurried across the safe room to see what he had found.

“You see them?”

“Yes.”

Our view came from a security camera at the base of the three story building we had Bill in. They were quick, but we still spotted them.

A person in a mask with an automatic rifle ran through the view of the camera.

“That was a mistake,” Andre said, “there are probably at least three more of them we can’t see.”

He was right. The purger in question hadn’t meant to appear on security camera but they did and, to our advantage, we knew they were coming.

Bill had a few of his staff with him in the hiding spot. Elora was in a different location for security reasons.

“Ladies and gentleman,” I stepped into the main room and addressed his staff, “there are people here that want to hurt Bill. You need to take cover at this time. If you need anything or have questions, Andre can assist you.”

The double doors from the bedroom slid open and Bill stood between them.

“Are they coming for me?”

I had told him to get some sleep but it was evident he hadn’t slept at all.

“Yes, but you’ve got Andre and you’ve got me. You’ll be fine.”

He rushed forward and took his large hands in my small ones.

“Please fucking make sure I’m ok. I don’t want to die, Lindsay.”

“You won’t. Stay in here and make sure you’re familiar with the placement of the weapons in the room.

“I-Is that necessary? I’ve never shot a gun.”

Bill looked at me with wide, scared eyes and I couldn’t help but feel bad for him. He never asked for this.

“It might be necessary, but it’s going to take a hell of a lot to get through Andre, your security and me to get to you.”

“Do you mean that?”

“Yes. I’ll check with you soon, until then, try and get some sleep. It is better that you sleep peacefully through this night.”

“Yeah, I’ll fucking try, Linds,” he gave me a soft, genuine smile and then I decided that maybe he wasn’t so bad.

All I needed to do was keep him alive and see if that was the case.

#bill skarsgard #bill Skarsgard imagine #Roman Godfrey #roman godfrey imagine #bill Skarsgard fic #roman godrey #roman Godfrey imagine

[steady-stone-glance]

So I just wanted to share a little about my day before bed because a) I’m in a much better headspace tonight and b) I feel very accomplished by what i was able to work on today.

My company’s division leaders and executive team met with HR, with a president of a corporate training organization and our insurance carrier and we addressed a big issue:

Our company’s mission statement, vision statement and core values were WAY out of date with our company’s current brand and culture.

It’s funny the meeting space I ended up renting to facilitate this off-site board meeting was actually a communal office space used by tech start ups who don’t have brick and mortar locations. So EVERYTHING was ultra modern and very hip and creative and visual. Such a contrast from our classic dark wood meeting room!

But here we are as a 30-million dollar locally known blue-collar construction company in a building for Emerging and Digital Media (which is like dropping 5 Alabama rednecks in the middle of Shanghai with no context or guide.) and I personally felt like it encouraged a great entrepreneurial, start up mindset. Instead of looking at the company from 1993 forward we asked “if we started over today..” or “if this was the very beginning of the business..”

I’ve been in meetings with these people that drag on and are so inefficient and don’t yield tangible resolutions. So I 100% did not think we were leaving with even a draft of a statement today AND I thought each of our 3 divisions would have separate statements or values.

Wrong.

We have a brand new, fully cemented mission, vision, and values that we drew from by examining the behaviors and habits of our most valuable front line level employees.

Once we saw it on the white board in writing there was this collective “holy fucking shit” moment. It was like finally being able to look our company in the proverbial face and say “THAT, that is who we are.” It just breathed this entire new life into the company and everyone in the room felt it.

We’re unveiling it printed in a company-wide January kickoff meeting. We also set a mantra for December— “finish it!” To encourage all aspects of the business to GET SHIT DONE. Clear 2017 off the books, fulfill the communication, get the collections, knock out the punch list, etc. for a clean slate in 2018.

It was just such an energizing and awesome meeting. Everyone was fully pumped and on board. We know our current core values and aspirational values for what change we want to spark in our culture. It’s like this whole other level of meta for businesses.

And as the designated meeting facilitator I didn’t expect to be in the coversation as much as catering to/assisting/recording but actually I had to really drive the conversation and challenge some of our leaders to pull solutions out of them. And I got a lot of praise from really all the bosses in the company.

I was writing on the white board and the marketing director goes “honestly I can see what a good teacher you must’ve been, you’re really good at this.”

Amd the Vice-President high fived me at the end and goes, “You seriously brought us to a new level today.” And the GM for my next job, literally the guy who will be my boss, told me “you’re an integral part of the executive team.” And I said “yeah but next year I’ll work under you and won’t be an executive so I won’t be in these meetings.” And he looks to my current boss and says, “we can still let her come in right? She has more decision making clout in this group than some of the rest of us.”

Which is ridiculously flattering but also I have mixed feelings on it.

But just that feeling of being valued for my mind was such a freaking high.

And my boss said it out loud today in front of everyone...

The longterm goal is to take the south and open new locations. And he wants to train me to go to the next location as soon as the contract ink dries which will likely be late next year at some point. And I funny enough now have an unofficial cohort. A junior supervisor was moved in sales in the division I’ll be in and my boss told him similar to what he told me- stay mobile, learn different aspects of the business and processes, look at what managers do, and try to learn in case you lead the next location. So I think I know who my sales manager will be when it comes time to move.

[lucretiars]

David Berman: Honoring the Collective Void

In today’s world, through any medium you can write a eulogy. That is the magic of language; no matter the vehicle, if something is meaningful, there is no denying its impact. This is the way I felt when I read musician Kevin Morby’s Instagram post eulogizing the late great David Berman, former poet and songwriter of the Silver Jews and Purple Mountains. Morby writes, “David Berman one-liners are like verbal baseball cards. When you find yourself in the company of other Silver Jews fans you all wanna show off your favorite one. He’s been one of my secret handshakes over the past 16 years since discovering his work.” That same magic of language is something that Berman himself was a master of. A Berman-ism is at the same time instantly recognizable yet fascinatingly inventive. A completely refreshing way of seeing something we all internally experience. A deeply universal and profound observation of life disguised colloquial punch-line. No matter the channel, his fluidity, cleverness, and insight using words could forge some new association to a thought or a feeling that you thought was so deeply internal that is wasn’t able to be conveyed tangibly. In Berman’s absence, his words remain and waver potently through my headphones in my ears and on the page I graze my fingers across. And I think, is there a difference between the power of lyrics and the written word? As celebrated for his poetry as he was for his songwriting, Silver Jews was the initial and primary vehicle for Berman’s writing until his first and only book of poetry, Actual Air, was published by Open City Books in July 1999. After a decade of silence post-Silver Jews, Berman’s newest musical project, Purple Mountains, published an album just 3 months prior to his death in 2019. In his music, Berman’s distinctive baritone growling voice serves as an amplifier to his words etched against the background of melody. In his poetry, his words contain the ability to extend his experimental language further than the limits of a song. Through both channels, the writer is veiled behind the guise of the “speaker” or the “singer”. Both create worlds open to interpretation by the masses. Both can hold facets of yourself and both can be crafted with lies, dreams, and fiction. Born in 1991 wading between the grouped identifications of “post-Generation X” and “Millennial”, I was a guinea pig to the internet beginning at a fairly young age. I grew up online late enough that I didn’t have social media or a cell phone until high school, but early enough that I learned and adapted to the strange solace of screaming out into a collective void. I grew up in the emergence of the digital age early enough that when I hear a specific song, I still anticipate the opening chords of the next one on the album because I’d spun the CD over and over, but late enough that I only listened to music on tapes and vinyl for the experience of it, not the necessity. The Warehouse (a CD palace) was my church, and on some Sundays my mom would let me pick one out that I would later on be able to play on my very own boombox, sprawled on the carpet buried deep in the liner notes reading along the lyrics as they played. Words always meant something to me, and I found poetry in everything: in the comment section on songmeanings.com where anonymous users professed their love for a lost memory that the song was associated with, the comments section on Youtube videos where folks anonymously bonded over the gravity this music video had on their life, and the sprawling cacophony of chat rooms and IM exchanges expressing the mundane yet somewhat magical musings littered with typos and faces made with colons and parenthesis. The internet was there for you when nobody else was. It was a conduit to transform some sort of thought you had inside into words on a screen. Words that everybody else could read. When Berman died, that collective void of the internet erupted. Fans of Silver Jews and Actual Air alike joined forces shared their own Berman-isms on social media accounts, blogs, comments on Youtube videos, Reddit posts, etc. I had always heard that along with being a lyricist, Berman was a poet and had his own collection, and after finding myself beckoned through the screen of my laptop and immersed in the world of Berman’s words, I needed to get my hands on it. Amazon was selling books for $200 a pop. eBay was even more. And Drag City, the record label that produced the book, was sold out. On their website there was a button to select to put your name in for an order when they become available again, and though I was doubtful it would even work, I pressed it. Five months later, living in the same city that Drag City operates out of, the same city that Berman last occupied before he died, I receive notice that my book is on its way. Given my taste for always trying to find some meaningful intimacy in the written word, I held this email I received quite close to my heart. Hey there, loyal Drag City customer web 134064-5, We've actually lived up to our end of the bargain – your order has shipped! Keep in mind that all orders are shipped via USPS First Class or Media Mail, depending on weight, so they may take a few days to arrive and there's no tracking number. In our know-everything digital age, isn't it nice to get a surprise in the mail every once in a while? We think so and hope you'll agree. There was something about the candor and sweetness this message held that enveloped me in a wistful appreciation for my love of words and the power they convey. If I can find beauty in this 2-sentence email that was probably just mass-texted to hundreds of people, sandwiched between spam advertisements and bill notifications, I had the dawning realization that no matter the medium, language is hugely influential and the act of crafting it to deliver a feeling that once only lived inside is the raw and subtle beauty of existence. The difference between lyrics and poems is that through poetry, language is the instrument. In music, the words reverberate against a background of sound. Which is more vulnerable? Which is more exposed? Why did David Berman choose to publish the words he wrote on paper and the words he recorded through song? How do we compare the literary resonance between lyricism and poetry? No matter the vehicle, Berman was equally revered for both forms of work, who honored the righteousness of personal experience and was not afraid to expose despair and honesty through art. Through my dive into Berman’s work, I was thrilled to find hidden connections, especially ones that I couldn’t determine if they were purposeful or not. One particularly “deep-cut connection” I found was through the openings of Silver Jews albums The Natural Bridge and Purple Mountains: a slow, almost apprehensive “Well, I….” And “No, I….” (respectively). These articles prefacing the personal claims Berman gets ready to confess next almost serve to give both us and him a moment to prepare. The Natural Bridge kicks off with “How To Rent a Room”, a rumination on death, loss, and coping, and Berman conveys both unease and accepted reflection in “No I don't really want to die./I only want to die in your eyes.” Purple Mountains kicks off with “That’s Just the Way That I Feel”, a circular repetition of apathetic pleading. Berman sings in an almost comedic honesty, “Well, I don't like talkin' to myself./But someone's gotta say it, hell./I mean, things have not been going well./This time I think I finally fucked myself.” In addition to their trepidatious starts, another common aspect of the songs is the juxtaposition of a joyful, energetic melody and dark, pensive lyrics. Berman creates a tune so hypnotically catchy through the verses (including one of the most clever feats of wordplay I might have ever heard with “I've been forced to watch my foes enjoy ceaseless feasts of schadenfreude”) and slows us down in the hypnotic carousel of insatiability in the chorus, merely repeating: “The end of all wanting is all I’ve been wanting.” The want. How unbearable is it to want? We wake and we want, we rest and we want. We are overflowing with want. In addition to this voraciousness, another powerful aspect of “That’s Just The Way That I Feel” is the fact that these lyrics were the first words Berman gave us after a decade of silence. He illustrates his triumphant return of joyful self-hatred, quintessential honesty, self deprecation, and the confident lack of hope. Not everything has a happy ending. In a particularly notable YouTube video of one of the Silver Jews’ last shows, they jam through a standout song “Black and Brown Shoes” from the album, The Natural Bridge—a fan favorite that includes the palpable and dreamlike depictions of the views around us (“a jaded skyline of car keys”, and “the water looks like jewelry when it's coming out the spout”). Towards the finality of the piece, Berman slows the band, places two hands around the neck of the microphone and instead of continuing with the melody in his voice he reads the next lyric as if it is in fact a piece of poetry: “When I go downtown, I always wear a corduroy suit./Cause it's made of a hundred gutters that the rain can run right through.” After these words are spoken, the melody gradually begins to emerge once again, as Berman drawls the next and final lines in song. The break of song to highlight this almost absurd yet striking musing lets the audience absorb the gravity of the words. In “Pretty Eyes”, an introspective ballad that closes The Natural Bridge, a gentle guitar strums against the concluding verses: “I believe that stars are the headlights of angels/Driving from heaven to save us, to save us/Look in the sky/They're driving from heaven into our eyes/And final words are so hard to devise/I promise that I'll always remember your pretty eyes/Your pretty eyes.” Through an observation alluding to death, Berman illuminates the beauty in physical tangibility against the beauty in imagined personification. Heaven, a beacon of hope is observed against the permanence of memory in the subject’s eyes. Even if everything is lost and through the most delicate nature of fleeting time, that memory will remain. After Berman mutters the final line in “Pretty Eyes”, there is 43 seconds of gentle guitar strumming, almost allowing the listener to reflect on this closing observation. This instrumental decrescendo moans like a lullaby. This purposeful pocket of time in which no words are spoken almost acts as a space in which the listener can consciously do nothing. The song still holds us in its grasp, but we are given the opportunity to mediate on what’s been spoken through the absence of words. “Introduction II” begins the Silver Jews’ 1994 album Starlike Walker. Through slow and jagged guitar chords, Berman drones fragments of words and sentences almost inviting the listener into his psyche: “Hello, my friends/Hello, my friends/Come in, have a seat/Come on in my kitchen/My friends, take it easy”. After these drifting portions of thought, the music quiets and the final lines of the 1 minute song are sung in a juxtaposed conciseness: “Don’t you know that I never want this minute to end?/And then it ends.” This powerful reflection on the passing of time, introduced in such an intimate way, is a driving theme in many of Berman’s pieces. The poem “Classic Water”, which includes brief moments of anaphora and reminds me of Joe Brainard’s “I Remember”, reflects on the past in order to somehow solidify a lost memory into a tangibility. He writes, “I remember the night we camped out/And I heard her whisper, “Think of me as a place” from her sleeping bag/With the centaur print.” (Berman 4) Similarly in “Tableau Through Shattered Monocle”, after eight dense stanzas detailing a piece of architecture, the final line reverberates: “These words are meant to mark this day on earth.” (Berman 12) This remark serves to honor the virtue of personal experience—the power in documentation and creating a testimony of a life. Both convey this feeling of capturing the rawness of immediacy; the long-winded desire of marking a certain feeling or moment in a permanent way—making what has been lost somehow last. The final line of the poem “The Moon” acts as a portal through Berman’s process: “And the moon, I forgot to mention the moon.” (Berman 27) The lack of poetic intention in these words is apparent, yet the notion of needing to include that idea of the moon and the evident affect it had on the speaker further conveys the tenderness in capturing emotion and transitory feeling. There is power in observation and inspiration even in the mundane or ordinary. We cradle the things that we have experienced and use them as evidence that we have lived a meaningful life. In a similar notion of using writing as a vehicle to document and possibly further understand the world around us and how the past has influenced us, Berman’s work frequently reflects on the past versus the present, transcending time in order to unearth the absence or garnering of growth. In “Trains Across the Sea” on the Silver Jews’ Starlite Walker, Berman sings “Half-hours on earth/What are they worth?/I don’t know/In 27 years/I drunk 50000 beers/And they just wash within me/Like the sea into a pier.” Berman converses with himself, admitting a loss of the grasp of how time passes and using the organic image of something so cyclical in nature—the incessant serenity of crashing waves—to juxtapose against the perpetuation of habit. Tal Rosenberg remarks in The Fader about this stanza, “There’s the setup, the mechanical pleasure of routine beer drinking, and then the unexpected curve — the situation’s cinematic and symbolic equivalent, an image that beautifully corresponds to the same elegant manner of incremental decay.” In a similar notion of exposing honestly in the mundane and the contemplations of personal development through time, the poem “The Charm of 5:30” closes with the stanza: “In fact, I’ll bet you something./Somewhere in the future I am remembering today. I’ll bet you/I’m remembering how I walked into the park at five thirty,/My favorite time of day, and how I found two cold pitchers/Of just poured beer, sitting there on the bench./I am remembering how my friend Chip showed up/With a catcher’s mask hanging from his belt and how I said/great to see you, sit down, have a beer, how are you,/And how he turned to me with the sunset reflecting off his/Contacts and said, wonderful, how are you.” (Berman 44) In the perfected brevity of “Somewhere in the future I am remembering today” we succumb to the idea of our past selves, drifting in memory on loop in our heads—forever. Every splice of our lives is packaged into a pocket of our brains—and ranging from the absolute thrill to the dreadfully ordinary, the things that we experience serve to influence the way our present and future world is shaped. In addition to the contrast between the aural word and the written word, therein lies even a deeper contrast in experience through both of Berman’s mediums of work. The energetic connection through live performance and the detached, yet intimate connection through solitary listening. The act of presently hearing a reading performed without the ability to see the words on paper and the act of reading the work alone, able to analyze and study the words on paper. What is more significant? What hits you deeper? What experience feels more comfortable, and what experience feels more as if you’ve bore witness to something revelatory? In her article “Measuring the Immeasurable”, Sarah Rothenberg discusses the transformation of “active listening”, comparing the capacity of digesting music before and after the technologic revolution. Before recorded sound became a staple in our daily lives, she explains that music was only experienced two different ways: “One made it oneself or one was in a room where someone else was making it.” She goes on to illustrate an anecdote about a young music lover in the nineteenth century who hears of Beethoven’s newest symphony. After months of waiting, the piano reduction is received through mail, and she hastily stumbles through the piece, attempting to recreate whatever it is that Beethoven has just released to the world. Many months after that, she takes a four-hour journey into Vienna to hear the piece played by a professional orchestra for the first time. Rothenberg presses, “You do not know when, or if, you will hear this work again. How do you listen?” Berman held the capacity to create a realm of “active listening” whether the words were divulged live or not. The solitary experience and the collective experience were similarly an act of power. He reaches with a certain word or turn of phrase and it acts as a gentle tap on the shoulder, urging us to wake up! Look at the world around you! Wade in the reality of your life, because we are all experiencing it. The reverberation of his words by themselves are enough to create a resounding experience, but the haunting dynamic of this thought is the fact that Berman will not be able to perform live in front of us, ever again. His words ring, deafening, into the void forever. We know that we will never hear new work again. How do we listen? As Morby wrote on Instagram after his death, Berman’s words are a form of human connection. The collective celebrating of his work is a joyful and vulnerable experience, and that power of resonance, with anybody, about anything, is reverberating. Even sitting at my laptop last night as I put the final touches on this document, wishing I was a half-drunk hero on a barstool with a like-minded soul but instead, was I a half-drunk sap listening to the Silver Jews, I felt closer to these words I have been so obsessed with trying to understand over the past month. Berman paved the way for acceptance of the candid displeasure of the world; the honest beseeching of meaning; somewhere that the meandering search for identity can float without pressure to comfortably land. From his words, I’ve learned that that very discomfort of “not-understanding “can be the tarmac for our emotions. The process of coming to terms with the things that we witness and feel is just as important as the experiences themselves. As the man himself said, “final words are so hard to devise”. So with that, I salute a cheers to David Berman. Thank you for allowing the space to dismantle the fear of unknowing.

[nemolian]

The Death of Bon Appétit Is Proof Media Companies Have No Idea What Makes Videos Work

There are a zillion reasons why I have been mourning the Bon Appétit Test Kitchen. The one that hurts most is that the slow, drawn-out death of one of the most joyful YouTube channels on the internet could have easily been prevented.

If you haven’t been keeping up with the drama, the shit first hit the fan on June 8, when writer Tammie Teclemariam tweeted a photo of then Bon Appétit Editor in Chief Adam Rapoport in brownface. What followed was an explosive public reckoning as several staffers—those who appeared in videos, those behind the camera, and some at the magazine proper—recounted stories of racism, tokenism, and unequal pay at Condé Nast, Bon Appétit’s publisher. Rapoport resigned. Condé Nast Vice President Matt Duckor also left after racist and homophobic tweets (from as recently as 2014) were unearthed. (Duckor has been employed by Bon Appétit since 2011.)

The first part of this saga ended with Bon Appétit posting a pledge on its Instagram to “do better” in reckoning with its culture of racism, sexism, homophobia, and harassment, and assured viewers of a future with more “inclusive programming.” Still, BA had effectively gone dark on YouTube—not because of the pandemic, which the crew successfully figured out how to safely shoot videos in spite of, but because staffers refused to appear on camera in solidarity with their underpaid colleagues.

Things were silent for a bit and then on Thursday, three beloved Bon Appétit stars—Priya Krishna, Rick Martinez, and Sohla El-Waylly—announced via their Instagram and Twitter accounts that they would no longer appear in BA videos because, as you might expect, the corporate suits at Condé Nast Entertainment wouldn’t pay them what they deserved. Soon, BA favorites Molly Baz and Gaby Melian also said they would no longer be appearing in videos as a result. Then yesterday, Carla Lalli also announced that she was leaving BA video. That brings the number of staffers who’ve quit making videos up to six.

G/O Media may get a commission

This is a woefully incomplete recap of issues plaguing what was once a wholesome oasis in the endless barrage of bad news and irony-poisoned memes that now make up the internet. It doesn’t take a genius to suss out that Condé Nast Entertainment is killing a hyper-successful video channel because profits are more important than equitable pay. Compensating these staffers fairly isn’t likely to make a huge dent in Condé Nast’s profits, especially when you consider that Bon Appétit had been irrelevant for years before this group of unlikely video stars came along. Perhaps, Condé Nast is more afraid of what else the staffers will ask for. But regardless of why Condé Nast is being so stubborn, something in Lalli’s tweet was a literal shot through the heart for anyone who has ever produced or starred in a video for a media company.

After describing a once-organic process where people got to pitch their ideas freely and videos were often shot by a one-person crew on a small budget, Lalli then traces an all-too-familiar change in process once BA’s videos began to take off. “By that time, video-related revenue was integral to Bon Appétit’s budget, and [Condé Nast Entertainment] relied on algorithms instead of instinct when determining who could appear in videos. Content decisions were largely data-driven. The editorial team had diminishing influence over video strategy,” Lalli claimed. “I felt that the expertise and interests of the hosts was less important to the decision-makers than platform-specific trends.”

Smarter people than I have weighed in on the systemic racism that’s rampant in food media. But I do know something about making videos for media companies with half-baked plans to “pivot to video.”

Videos are a labor of love. It’s common knowledge that TV and movie productions take months, if not years, to plan and execute. For some reason that acknowledgment flies out the window when it comes to digital media. “How hard could it be?” the publishing executive in a bespoke suit muses. A five-minute video should only take, what, four hours to produce, shoot, and edit? Why not pump out two, three, four, five videos a day? And if a “good” video takes that long to produce, why not opt for “easy” videos that we can shove out the door? After all: more videos, more ads, more money. And that’s really what’s driving it all, in case you’ve never been in the rooms where these decisions are made—advertising sold against video content commands a higher rate than traditional web display ads. It’s absolutely that simple.

To anyone who’s ever been involved with making a video, this brand of c-suite thinking is pure comedy. Hosted videos often involve scripts, written by a video producer and sometimes the on-screen talent. They involve pre-production: creating shot lists, buying props, and brainstorming how best to express a concept with whatever resources you’re given. They involve nuts and bolts decisions like lighting, framing, and set-up before anyone ever steps into the studio. When you actually get around to shooting, there’s no such thing as a single take. You film, saying the same things over, and over, and over again until you get what you need, and then, one more time for safety. After that, it can take forever and a year, depending on your internet connection, to upload footage. Video producers are like marathon runners—they sometimes sit hunched over their computers for 18 hours at a time (usually in “editing bays” that are glorified closets) just to get a first cut done. Sometimes, you have to reshoot bits or re-record audio. Sometimes an editor gets picky with second-round edits. In short: a two-day turnaround for a lean crew is speedy, and likely means multiple people have pulled long hours to make it happen. Two videos a day? You’re asking someone to work themselves to death. Because these days, media executives aren’t exactly keen on providing resources or hiring the staff necessary to lighten the load.

This is true of Bon Appétit’s videos, too, and why the refusal to pay people what they’re owed is so infuriating. Make no mistake, as effortless and freewheeling as BA Test Kitchen videos appear, it requires a small army to keep these videos going. That Bon Appétit’s video crew was obviously having fun at the same time? That’s what made their videos so aspirational for the rest of us.

This is what media executives don’t understand. To them, videos are a vehicle for ad dollars, whether readers want them on not. Executives like to think that if they can game the numbers just right, they’ll have impressive figures to show advertisers, and a fistful of Benjamins to line their pockets. They’re not thinking about why anyone would want to watch these videos. As for paying people equitably for their labor—why would they when they can pay a contractor for the same amount of hours and skip paying the healthcare benefits?

Silicon Valley has hyped algorithms to be infallible arbiters of data-driven truth, but anyone who’s been on a bad Tinder date can tell you the limits of that. Data without context isn’t much of anything. Analytics are meant to guide content creation—not define it. Did Condé Nast’s algorithms foretell just how quickly Sohla El-Waylly would capture the heart of BA fans? Not likely. To hear El-Waylly tell it, she was shoved in front of a camera to make BA appear more diverse. That she became as popular as she did was because El-Waylly was delightful to watch and could cook like a motherfucker. Did the algorithms predict that challenging a neurotic pastry chef to make gourmet versions of snack foods would be a hit? Probably not. That sounds a lot like editorial staff shooting the shit and deciding why the hell not? No machine would possibly know a tall weirdo who can barely finish a sentence trying to ferment various foods would be beloved by millions. They watch because Brad Leone is hilarious, and the shady choices that BA’s video editors make are also a hilarious meta-story in and of itself. 

What I’m getting at here is that people are what make videos work. People—given the license and resources to have fun—are the reason why viewers hit the play button. People are the reason why you hit that like and subscribe button. Even as BA grew from a sleeper hit to its own cinematic universe, what kept it successful was that the human element came through in moments congenial, frustrated, heartbroken, petty, and embarrassing. No one watches BA Test Kitchen because they’re fans of Condé Nast, or want to see Condé Nast succeed.

It’s heartbreaking, then, to watch BA’s staff fight to make things right, to see their fans vocally and passionately support them in that fight on every conceivable platform, and know that Condé Nast does not give a fuck. It’s depressing to know that the people who made the BA Test Kitchen magical are not the ones who get to decide its future; that the best most of them can do given the circumstances, is to walk away, knowing their bosses see them as barely more than a rounding error.

It doesn’t have to be like this. The solution is right there in plain sight, for everyone with a pair of working eyes to see. It’s like this because the adults in the room don’t care: They barely understand what they own, and hardly notice when they sign its death certificate.

via:Gizmodo, August 13, 2020 at 11:27AM

#IFTTT #Feedly #Gizmodo

[shirlleycoyle]

Turns Out Blogging Is Hard

The first time I logged onto Gawker.com as a writer, it was early evening, my name was temporarily Enid, and I was clutching my asthma inhaler, toying with the outlines of a panic attack. I'd already worked a full day at my staff writing job at the Village Voice, and I had agreed to work a paid night shift for Gawker to audition for a role at the site, a tradition at the company. (Because I had a day job, I used a pseudonym for my Gawker shifts, and deliberately picked one that was clearly, obviously fake: Enid Shaw.) Six-ish hours later, I'd written a few posts. My eyeballs were raw, my vision was blurry, and the site's commenters had broken me spiritually. Blogging, as it turns out, is hard.

Not truly hard, of course: Blogging is not like working in a slaughterhouse, grave-digging, diamond-mining, labor organizing, surgery, home healthcare, pediatric oncology, smuggling, teaching, or fighting forest fires. But it's skilled labor, and night- or weekend blogging is a particularly terrifying balancing act, full of pitfalls, potential legal and copyright risks, and the possibility that the commentariat could rightly own you straight to hell. (Gawker commenters were supernaturally talented at finding factual errors, embarrassing typographical mistakes, and logical fallacies, then gently strangling you with them.) When media executives are forced to take on that job themselves, following a series of extraordinary self-created crises, they don't seem to last very long.

Anyone who's ever done a night blogging shift could tell any executive tasked with keeping a site live and updated just how difficult—and brutal—it can be. The sort of executive in a position to listen about this wouldn't listen, of course, but if they were willing to do so, maybe they could at least look a tad less foolish.

At the Gawker Media sites, night blogging involved cranking out five or six posts of the course of a long evening, alone, with an editor available on call for true emergencies. You found your own stories to report out or (more often) aggregate from other sites, you did your own line-editing, you sourced your own art, and you published everything on the site, praying all the while you hadn't fucked anything up majorly. Night and weekend bloggers were responsible for covering breaking news events and not just doing so in a way that wasn't factually wrong, defamatory, or phrased in a way that would turn the internet's ire against you, but doing so elegantly and cleverly.

I did not end up taking a job at Gawker, but did eventually work at Gawker Media for five years, mostly writing for Jezebel, before leaving in October to work for VICE. In that time, Gawker.com died at the hands of Peter Thiel and the company underwent a series of minor and major name changes and various cataclysms which have been covered extensively. The company is now known as G/O Media.

One basic constant throughout those five years was the number of people, mostly on Twitter, telling us that our work didn't matter, and that we were easily replaceable. ("You're just a blogger" was a favorite quip to throw at us; since it was also true, it didn't feel like a particularly effective burn.) For a lot of people, blogging seems simple, basically unskilled, something any borderline-literate schmuck could achieve, and separated from "real" journalism, even when the membrane is vanishingly thin. (I put investigative stories on Jezebel and other Gawker Media sites that took me months to do. I also wrote things like this.)

For years, before the digital media unionized, that just-a-blogger sentiment was used to keep pay low, writers' self-esteem lower, and the industry as a whole unstable. Writers at a lot of companies weren't given the time, space, funding or editorial support to work on bigger stories, and then were made to feel like their professional and economic insecurity was their own fault.

Recent weeks have felt like a return to the height of the bad old days. We all watched the staff at Deadspin—all of whom I consider friends, if you need any more full disclosure here—fight their new management over autoplay ads, which are known to be objectively terrible, and then we all watched them quit over a ridiculous stick-to-sports edict handed down by the same management.

G/O Media's CEO Jim Spanfeller told the Times last week that the writers would be replaced, and that the site would continue smoothly on. "We’ve got quite a number of recruiters out there pounding the pavement, trying to find great people,” Spanfeller told the paper. “We don’t just want to get any old person—we want to get good people.”

Spanfeller is surely being sincere there; there's no doubt he'll try very hard to stack the site with his version of "good people." But in the meantime, the funniest possible thing to happen in this scenario would involve management themselves being forced to blog. And it seems possible—likely, even?—that that's precisely what happened.

With the exception of one freelance contribution from a writer who, facing immediate backlash, vowed never to work for G/O again, everything that's appeared on the site was bylined as simply "Deadspin." All of it read precisely as though it were written by Paul Maidment, G/O's short-lived editorial director, something the company hasn't confirmed or denied. (Maidment is middle-aged and British; the number of references to "chums" on the site did skyrocket.) The New York Times did report last week that Maidment "is running the site himself as G/O Media seeks a new top editor."

No matter who was blogging, it seems safe to say, it was not a success. The sentence structure was uniformly strained. The ledes were clunky. Many of the paragraphs were simply lists of scores, football plays, or marathon finishing times. (The Kenyan runners who won the New York City marathon were unnamed in a headline and described as "cantering," which is something horses do, not people, a phrasing I argued on Twitter was, uh, problematic.) Attempts at cusses were embarrassing: a few things "sucked" or were "dumbass." The headlines were dizzying verb-thickets that had to be read multiple times to be vaguely comprehensible. After a few days of these horrific word-manglers appearing on the site, whether they were his malformed children or not, Maidment resigned, citing an "entrepreneurial opportunity" he simply had to pursue.

Giri Nathan, an ex-Deadspin reporter who was one of the people to resign last week, wrote on Medium about a day he published two things: a long, meticulously crafted profile of a tennis superstar, and a blog that was kind of an extended diarrhea joke.

"They are both blogs," Nathan wrote, "'Blog' is the great equalizer. And neither was any more or less of a Deadspin blog. "

Nothing is funnier, in a dark and endlessly frustrating way, than watching media executives who thought they knew what good blogs were try to make their own. Managerial edicts are easy. Blogs are hard.

Turns Out Blogging Is Hard syndicated from https://triviaqaweb.wordpress.com/feed/

[ecotone99]

[MF] What the wolf thinks watching the sheepdog work.

A thick stack of plastic bags sat on Shane's desk. They were the kind used by most retail stores; 14 X 14 with perforated handles and a company's logo printed on the face. These bags had been prepared for a grocery store, HEB, but the lettering was screwed up and the graphics were cockeyed and overlapping. The 'E' was sideways intersecting the 'H' and the 'B' was five inches away jumbled into the confusing mess of mislaid graphics.

Shane tapped his fingers against the armrests of his chair and looked across the desk at Brian, the floor manager. Brian shrugged.

"Hell," Shane concluded and stood up angrily. He walked to the window overlooking the factory and shoved his hands in his pockets. Below, employees carried on their work; loading raw supplies into machinery, inspecting final products rolling down conveyor belts, carting boxes and barrels hither and yon.

"We give them this pallet, gratis," Brian said. "We messed up, but we'll correct it."

"Hell," Shane sighed. He returned to his desk and sat down.

"You know they'll still use these," Brian held up the flawed bags. "Put them in one of their League City stores where nobody gives much fucks. It'll be okay."

"I'm not worried about that." Shane scowled. "But this was Virgil, right?"

Brian lifted his eyebrows. "This was on my watch, boss. Lots of things went wrong, I should have-"

"-Don't bullshit me, Brian. Virgil screwed this up. Again." Shane brought a fist down on the bags, not violently, but with emphasis. "Hell."

Brian sat back and waited.

Eventually, Shane continued, "Don't cover for him, Brian. You won't be doing him any favors if you are. You know this."

"Look boss," Brian leaned forward. "Yeah, he screwed up. And, yeah, he's been distracted lately. But he's on time every day, his eyes are clear, his hands steady. I'm not saying I greet him with a big hug and kiss when he gets here, but we work pretty close and I haven't smelled anything on his breath. Not like I used to."

"So what's going on?"

"I don't know. Nothing bad, I don't think. He seems happy. Just a little... out of it."

Shane swiveled his chair right and left a few times then said, "Get him."

***

Virgil entered the office, whistling brightly with a grin on his face. "You wanted to see me, boss?" he said, then saw the bags on the table and his face fell. "Oh."

"Sit down," Shane said, motioning for him to grab one of the plastic scoop chairs lining the wall. Virgil did and dragged it over to the desk, legs clacking on tile.

"Damn, I'm sorry, boss, I-" Virgil started, but Shane held up a hand to cut him off.

"All I want to know, Virg.," Shane said. "All I want to know is this: Are you drinking again?"

Virgil's head snapped back and he made a wry face. "What? No! Why would you...?"

"For a senior man, you've been making a lot of rookie mistakes lately, Virg. I'm not out of line asking."

Virgil nodded his head. "Yeah, right."

"If you are, you have to tell me now. Right now. Fuck these bags, Virg.," Shane swept them off the desk and launched them at the trash can. "You're down there working with heavy equipment, training some young folks. If you're drinking again, we have to deal with it. You understand?"

Virgil's head continued nodding. "No, I get it. You're right. Absolutely."

Then nobody said anything for a stretch of time. Virgil nodded at Brian and smiled, then back to Shane.

"So?" Shane prodded. "What the hell, Virgil?"

"Well, I got married, you see," Virgil scratched the back of his neck. "And I'm meeting my wife for the first time tonight. I guess I'm a little nervous about it."

***

Her name was Sabrina and Virgil had - surprise! - met her on-line. They'd connected over a series of digital images posted to a social media site depicting a scenic wilderness. Virgil made a comment that he'd love to camp there; Sabrina replied that it would be worth the trip. Virgil thought her profile picture was compelling so he replied back saying, well, hope to see you there!

And they're off!

In a protracted series of friendly, but not flirty, posts; Sabrina expressed a love for camping and outdoors in general. She posted pictures of herself standing in sun-drenched fields of flowers and sitting around campfires in shadowy forests; always looking super cute with her wide eyes and big smile, braided hair and tanned skin, wearing hiking pants and cotton T's. Virgil responded with gentle compliments, careful not to sound too much like a stalker or a pervert, and always thanking her for sharing.

She pressed Virgil to post some pictures of himself - because his profile image was actually of his beloved dog, Fido, who'd died a few years back. I don't even know what you look like, she'd written. Virgil figured that would be the end of it. After all, he was bland, bald, on the wrong side of 40, and had never gotten around to losing the post-alcoholic thirty pounds. Ah well, he thought, I shouldn't be doing this type of nonsense anyway. Not fair to Sabrina either; a doll like her wasting time on a creepy old troll like me. So he sent an image from one of the office retreats when Shane had taken the whole crew fishing - Virgil sitting in a deck chair with a rod in one hand, a bottle of seltzer in the other, and a stupid, floppy Gilligan hat covering his head. It had been a good day and, in the picture, he was smiling and happy. It may not have been flattering, but it was honest.

I guess I should have warned you I'm old and ugly, Virgil commented when he sent Sabrina the picture.

Shut up! she replied. You look adorable!!!

Kind of her to say, Virgil thought, but he didn't expect Sabrina to maintain the frequency of their communication going forward.

However, it didn't stop; it didn't even slow down. Sabrina continued contacting Virgil many times a day; mostly to share something fun, but occasionally asking for his opinion or advise. You're so smart, she'd write, and; I really value your friendship.

She inquired about his life - where he worked, what else did he enjoy besides camping? Why wasn't he married? But don't answer if you don't want to!

Before long, Sabrina knew everything there was to know about Virgil Templeton:

Divorce is hard, I'm sorry you had to go through that.

I'm so proud you were able to quit drinking. My father never did and it killed him in the end. Please, stay strong for me!

That's a long time to be with one company! You must be very good at your job!

And so forth.

Conversely, Virgil learned an awful lot about Sabrina Achari:

She said was in her mid-thirties and worked as an administrative assistant for the government where she lived - a small island nation in the Indian Ocean called Macnas. A pretty place - she'd really love for Virgil to see it some day! - but it was poor and mismanaged. Not much tourism because it can be dangerous, especially after dark.

But you don't need to worry about me! I'm pretty safe because of where I work.

At one point during this 21st century courtship, Sabrina went silent for days. She didn't respond to Virgil's posts or even emails sent directly to her account.

Virgil worried about her intensely; but he also wondered if it was just her way of getting rid of a bothersome old man.

So he stayed up all night crafting an email insisting that she contact him, if she was able, just to let him know she was safe. As long as he knew she was okay, he wouldn't mind saying goodbye forever if she had grown tired of him.

He read it over and over again, making sure the tone was right. Then, with the first rays of sun spilling through the window, Virgil finally steeled his nerves enough to click Send.

And he waited. And waited. And despaired. And spent another long night writing an email he wouldn't send, because the next morning she finally responded.

I love you so much, Sabrina replied. I would never just stop talking to you!

I love you. 1.4.3. For the first time, it was said (written, posted, texted, commented, whatever) between them.

And, having read those words, Virgil felt, well, he felt.... He felt drunk. Happily drunk.

However, the rest of Sabrina's reply was worrisome. The reason she'd been off-line so long was because the government had to move its offices suddenly and it took a while for them to get their internet connection back. She made it sound as if it was no big deal, but, reading between the lines, Virgil could tell. She was scared. Governments don't just pack up and move in the middle of the night. Not even shitty little third world governments.

Virgil wanted to respond quickly, so he didn't waste any time firing off a reply. In it, he gushed about how happy he was to hear from her, how much he'd prayed for her safety, and how he loved her too.

And he wrote that she would have to come to America as soon as possible. She couldn't stay there any longer.

Honestly, Sabrina wrote back, I wouldn't mind leaving. This is my home, and I love it here, but it's become so different these past years. Unfortunately, I can't manage to move now. Soon, hopefully, but not now.

Is it money? Do you need money?

It's complicated.

If it's just money...?

I love you, Virgil, but I'm not taking any money from you. I couldn't do that. You have to understand.

I have enough money, it's not a problem. I love you so much - I need you to be safe.

Let's not talk about it anymore. I'm okay now. Thank you very much, however, you're very sweet.

If we were married, it wouldn't be my money. It would be our money.

...

Can you Skype?

***

One month later and Virgil was a married man with a wife he'd never actually met in the flesh en-route somewhere over, oh, probably New Jersey by now.

Being men of the world, Shane and Brian circled around the elephant, trying to find safe landing, but Virgil grounded them first:

"I know it might be a scam, guys. Marrying a woman I only know from the internet? I can't believe I'm doing it myself. But what if she is just like she says? What if she really does love me? Guys, this could be my last chance."

Shane used the opening to ply his employee with contact information for a smart attorney, a good doctor, and a worldly priest. Virgil promised he would call them, all of them, when the time was right.

As a man of the world, it was the best Shane could do.

***

Standing at the window overlooking the factory floor, Shane said, "Look at your boy."

Brian laughed. "Right?"

Below them, Virgil Templeton was dancing with a broom, swinging the handle around like it was Ginger Rogers. He handed it back to the janitor who shook his head, laughing. Virgil went over to the line where he told some jokes and slapped some backs and made all the workers there smile. He back-stepped away from the heavy equipment towards the hallway where he had an office in the admin wing, throwing a salute. People waved at him as he left.

"What it is?" Brian continued. "For the first time in his life, Virgil's gettin' sum on a regular basis."

"God bless 'im," Shane said, returning to his desk. "God bless her, too, I guess. Maybe she's not a scammer after all."

Brian sat across from his boss. "Only time will tell."

"True." Shane collated some papers, arraigned some folders, and looked at the photograph of his own family - wife and three children in a gold frame. "Have you met her yet?"

"Not yet," Brian replied. "He says soon. They're still getting settled." He made an obscene gesture with a finger pumping through a thumb/index circle.

"Nice. What are you, twelve years old?"

"Hey, I'm just trying to keep up around here. You know what Virgil told me the other day? He said, 'You need to find yourself an Island girl. They're different!' He didn't actually wink wink, nudge nudge, but I got the drift."

"He didn't really say that? Our Virgil?"

Brian nodded.

"Well, God bless 'im."

Shane slid some papers across the desk for Brian to read. Both men studied the sheets for a while until Shane lifted his head and said, "Still. I'd like you to keep an eye on him."

"Yeah. I know."

"When she breaks his heart, that bottle's going to call him out by name."

Brian nodded solemnly. And these men of the world returned to their work.

***

Brian burst through Shane's office door and said, "You will NOT believe this!"

Shane, water glass raised to his mouth, held up a finger for Brian to wait.

But Brian did not wait, instead he said in a rush, "Virgil just ate a pubic hair sandwich!"

Somehow, Shane managed to set the water down without spilling a drop. "You asshole," he said. "While I'm drinking? You couldn't wait?"

Brian threw himself in the chair. "We're sitting together in the break room and Virgil pulls out his sandwich and starts laughing, for no reason I can see, so I ask him what's funny. Then I notice all these curly black hairs on the bread."

Shane blew his nose, motioning for Brian to continue.

"We're all alone in the room, but he leans forward and whispers like the walls have ears, 'Sabrina's hair', and the way he said hair...."

Shane made some sounds and shook his head. "What? Why?"

"Well, apparently they were talking after sex - that part's implied - and she asks about his ex-wife. He tells her how, when they were first married, his ex had been real sweet and all - putting love notes in his lunch and stuff - but that it didn't last very long.

"So Sabrina apologizes because she's never put any kind of note in Virgil's lunch, and then he tells her 'It's okay, you're not that type of wife, thank God!'"

"And today she put a note in his lunch?"

"I guess so!"

Shane looked at Brian meaningfully. He arched an eyebrow.

"Well?" Shane asked.

"What?"

"Did he actually eat it?"

Eyes wide as saucers, Brian nodded Yes!

***

"I'm suing this company for sexual harassment," Brian said, closing Shane's office door behind him.

"Fuck you." Shane responded. "Suck my dick, too."

"You're the one told me to keep an eye on Virgil. You're responsible."

"For what?"

"Today," Brian sobbed comically, "he made me feel inadequate."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Brian sat down, hooked a leg over a knee, leaned back and asked, "Have you ever had a threesome?"

"Are you making an offer?"

"No, that's what Virgil asked me today. Have I ever had a threesome."

"Oh Lord what now?"

"Well, Goody Sabrina has found a small community of immigrants from her paradise island home and, occasionally, they like to get together to talk about the motherland. As immigrants do. Anyway, Virgil came home last night just as the party was breaking up and his loving wife introduced him to a very special friend - a girlfriend she'd known since childhood."

"Do I want to hear this?"

"I didn't. Anyway, one thing leads to another and today Virgil asks me if I've ever had a fucking threesome. Do you know any good lawyers? I'm suing this dump."

"He must have been joking."

"You know Virgil better than that."

"That's right, I do. He'd never swagger around bragging about something like that."

"Who said bragging? No, he was being serious. He wanted to know how to handle himself." Brian leaned forward. "Shane, he was asking for advice."

"I don't want to hear this."

"Yeah? Tough shit. I had to," Brian pointed a finger for emphasis. "You have to."

***

Virgil smiled and nodded to the small gang of Macnas-ites as he passed them entering his house while they were leaving. As a people, they were brown and short with big smiles and bright teeth. Most of the gaggle coming out of his house were girls, but two petite men blended in with the crowd. All of them giggling and tugging each other on their way.

A happy people.

Sabrina greeted Virgil at the door with a deep kiss and her hand on his buttock. He reciprocated enthusiastically.

"Come see," she said, taking his hand and pulling him inside. "This is unbelievable!"

She led him to the living room where she presented one of her countrymen. Or, more apropos, country-WOMAN: A very pretty girl with long black hair and a trim figure who bowed her head and spoke in broken English.

"So happy to meet you, Mr. Virgil sir."

\***

The girl's name was Shubra and she had been Sabrina's best friend growing up in Macnas. They sat on the couch and chattered back and forth in their native tongue, of which Virgil understood not a word. Every once and a while, Sabrina would explain something to him, but it didn't take long for Virgil to realize he was a third wheel in this reunion, so he offered to go and bring back food. Of course Shubra would stay for dinner! Virgil exclaimed. He couldn't let such a lovely lady leave his house hungry.

Oh, how they giggled at that one.

\***

Later, after food and drink (wine for the ladies, seltzer for Virg.) they rested in the sitting room. Virgil took the sofa while Shubra and Sabrina sat smooshed together on the love-seat, arms circling each other.

They were, apparently, very close friends.

And they mostly spoke to each other in Macnas-esse (if that was such a thing) for Virgil spent the evening cocking his head like a confused dog - unable to follow any of the conversation between the two women.

At one point Sabrina howled with laughter and their voices rose to a level of near hysterics. Sabrina caught her breath and explained to her husband:

"Shubra wants to know if it's true about the white man," she said. "The size."

Virgil, bless his soul, didn't get it at first, until he noticed both of the women gazing at his crotch.

"Macnes men are small," Sabrina explained. "It is a well-known problem on the island."

The best-friends howled and hugged on each other more and Virgil blushed until his hair turned red, then Sabrina launched herself from the love-seat and yanked him standing.

"Show her!" she demanded, fiddling with his zipper.

Virgil liked to die.

But, a testament to his stamina, he didn't even pass out when Sabrina tugged him lose and hung America's Pride over the crotch of his khaki Dockers.

Both girls laughed and it sounded like screams.

Then Sabrina said something in the foreign language and translated to English, "Wait, it gets better!"

And she took Virgil in her mouth.

Then, it was very possible Virgil did die for a petite moment. Certainly, his heart briefly stopped. Also, his vision failed. When he regained control of all his senses, he discovered Shubra had taken a knee next to Sabrina, both women laughing as they passed his rod between them; each taking a taste in turn.

\***

In the bedroom, on the bed, Virgil was worse than useless. He'd lost his tongue and his muscles. He couldn't contribute at all to the unraveling events. His wife and her best friend caressed each other, kissed each other, licked each other; and he just sat there on the corner of the mattress like a dork; hand's folded like a peaked tent over his aching dick which, honestly, didn't give a shit. It just wanted to get in the game, man!

But when the women tried to coax Virgil into the pile, he went hesitantly, and only with intentions for Sabrina. When she tried to guide him toward Shubra, he rebelled and retreated to his corner. At one point, he harshly pushed Shubra's ass away when she'd thrust it at his face. The women laughed about that, and Sabrina went to work calming the situation, but the damage had been done.

Sadly, Virgil just didn't know how to handle himself at an orgy.

\***

Shubra snored in her sleep. She was on the far side of the bed between Sabrina and Virgil.

Sabrina carefully unraveled herself from Shubra, rolled over and placed her hand on Virgil's heart and said, "You're awake? ... You're mad?"

"...no..."

"You didn't like it?"

"...nuh..."

"You didn't?"

"Sabrina, I...."

"I'm sorry."

"No, don't be. I'm sorry."

...

"The island is different," Sabrina nuzzled against her husband. "When we're young girls.... We have to take care of each other. We have to teach one another. It is like a tradition, yes? We survive together."

"Okay."

"I hope you're not mad."

"I'm not."

"I love you, only you. But Shubra...? She is part of me. She is very much like me. When I touch her, I touch me. Do you understand? When you touch her, you touch me. Yes?"

She hiked a leg over his stomach. He felt her wet sex pushed against his hip. Her breasts against the side of his chest.

"...okay..."

"Don't be mad." Her tongue found his ear.

"I'm not. It was just.... Unexpected. Better stop. You'll wake her."

"You're upset. It won't happen again. I'm so sorry."

"No. I'm okay. It's okay. It was just.... Unexpected."

"If she wakes up...," Sabrina didn't finish the sentence; she just rolled on top of her husband and reached for his stiffening dick.

***

"He wanted to know if all young people today partake in the ménage," Brian concluded. "He was worried that he'd been too... what's the word he used?... fuddy-duddy about the whole thing."

"So what did you tell him?"

"Nothing, man! I just hemmed and hawed and said whatever like a hundred times before making some excuse to run away."

"Maybe I should talk to him," Shane said. "After all, I do have more experience with that sort of thing."

Brian made jerking-off motions with both fists. "Switching hands doesn't count."

"Oh, never-mind then." Shane sighed. "How concerned should we be about this?"

"Yeah, well, it's going to end badly," Brian said. "That's plenty obvious. I just don't think there's anything we can do right now."

"I could call Archer. He could run a background check."

"And what would that accomplish? No matter what he found, Virgil wouldn't listen. And he would resent the hell out of you for doing it, too." Brian shrugged. "Look at it this way - maybe Virgil is being taken for a ride, but what a ride!"

***

Time passes. Virgil's work performance remains steady, but his bonhomie demeanor starts to fade. There are days where he's just checked out; still doing his job, but otherwise disengaged. At first these days are rare, and then they become more frequent. By the end of the third month, his co-workers start to talk. They can't remember the last time anybody saw Virgil smile.

***

"Hey Virg." Brian said, entering the break-room for a cuppa. Virgil, at the corner table, didn't return the greeting. He sat there, gazing blankly at the coffee, hands on his lap, a furrow upon his brow.

"Heeeeeeey," Brian tried again. Again, nothing.

"Yo! Virg!"

With that, Virgil snapped out of it and jerked to attention. His knees whacked the bottom of the table, knocking over his cup. Coffee went everywhere.

"Oh, man, I'm sorry." Brian grabbed some paper towels. When he got there, Virgil was standing, coffee dripping off his pants. A puddle at his feet.

Brian held out the towels, but Virgil didn't take them. "Virg?"

Brian then noticed tears welling up in Virgil's eyes. Almost spilling over.

"Virg? You okay?"

"What?" Virgil aggressively wiped his face. "Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I'll clean it up. Sorry."

Brian went for more towels and came back to help, kneeling on the floor next to Virgil.

"What's up, man? You look bad."

"No, I just.... Late night is all. My wife's brother is staying for a visit."

"Oh?"

Virgil nodded. He wiped his nose. "She says her brother."

***

Sabrina called him Jimmy and, from the moment he'd entered their house, she was never an arm's length away from the boy; constantly taking his hand, squeezing his narrow shoulders or fussing with his long black hair.

"My loving brother!" she exclaimed. "He's going to stay with us a few weeks - isn't that great!"

Jimmy didn't say much. He smiled a lot, but spoke infrequently and when he did his voice was soft and barely above a whisper, so Virgil didn't catch much of what was said.

The brother seemed nice enough, though. A very small man - shorter, even, than Sabrina - with delicate features. Like his sister, he had big, dark eyes.

But sometimes Virgil would sense those eyes on him, turn and see a thin-lipped smile spreading across the boy's unnaturally handsome face, and he would feel.... Uneasy.

\***

Virgil normally liked to announce his return from work with a boisterous call or a suggestive comment, but since Jimmy had been staying with them, he'd been more subdued.

He unlocked the door, stepped into his house, and went to the kitchen where he got a bottle of seltzer. "Babe?" he called out, heading for the living room. "Jimmy?"

In the master, he found Sabrina reclining on the bed halfway under a thin, white sheet; breasts exposed, the form of her dark pubic triangle visible. She held out her arms for him.

"Mmmm," her voice was sleepy. Dopey. "You're home."

Virgil took a step towards the bed then stopped. The master bath was open and he saw movement through the door. Jimmy, naked, appeared in the doorway. He spread his arms to grab each side of the frame and stood there with his slightly aroused penis dangling freely and that thin, sinister smile on his face.

"Come," Sabrina beckoned, curling her fingers.

Once again, Virgil's body failed him. Unable to move, he made a low noise and one knee buckled, causing him to teeter. Sabrina was out of the bed in a flash, grabbing him around his waist, leading him to the sheets. She made loving noises. Her hands and mouth were all over his face, smothering him with kisses, stroking his cheek then the back of his head.

She moved down to his neck, kissing and nipping at his throat. Her hands unclasped the few buttons on his Polo short-sleeve. Virgil felt another set of small hands reach around from behind. They pulled his shirt un-tucked and then went to work on his belt.

Virgil twitched, tried to move away, but there was nowhere to go. Sabrina, on her knees now, pushed his head between her breasts, cooed at him like a child. Called him "baby". Told him to shush.

Now his shirt was off. Behind, thin lips pressed against his shoulder blades. Hands moved up his stomach and tweaked his nipples.

Before him, Sabrina laughed and rose up, standing precariously on the mattress. It was just the right height and she guided Virgil's face towards her sex. Jimmy whispered, "yes," and Virgil felt the hot breath on the back of his ear.

She says her brother....

\***

Virgil asked for medical leave to have voluntary hernia surgery. Shane gladly signed off, telling him to take all the time he needed. The man looked bad. In conference with Brian, they concluded that this was it - Virgil's bizarre marriage must finally be coming to an end.

They resolved to keep tabs on him; make sure he didn't do anything too stupid. Shane knew a very good lawyer who would handle the divorce; still, it would certainly cost Virgil a ton of money to get away from this vixen. Nevertheless, Shane also knew how much Virgil's stock options were worth. He could absorb a hit and still manage retirement.

As long as he didn't do anything too stupid.

***

Two weeks leave turned to a month. Six weeks. Two months. Throughout, Shane and Brian made frequent phone calls and sent numerous emails inquiring about Virgil's health. The replies were always vague and grew increasingly hostile:

I'm still sick. You can fire me if you want. I'll see you in court.

That's how Virgil responded to Shane's last email inquiring if he and his wife would be attending the Company's Fall Picnic.

***

No other cars were parked around the house when Shane pulled his Lexus GX into the driveway. He worried that he'd made the trip in vain. The yard hadn't been attended to in a while; it was covered by fallen leaves with clumps of weeds growing through. Shane picked up two of those nuisance freebee newspapers on his way to the front door.

It was a nice, one story red-brick in a peaceful suburban neighborhood. Upper-upper middle class. Shane pushed the buzzer and waited.

He listened intently, but heard no sounds coming from within. He buzzed again. Time stretched. He muttered a profanity under his breath and turned to leave.

The door opened a crack. Virgil's face appeared and he asked, "What are you doing here?"

A week's worth of dirty, patchy stubble clung to the pallid skin of his cheeks. He'd also neglected to shave the ring of hair lining his scalp and it grew over his ears, grey and stringy.

But worse, his eyes: they had sunken into his skull, creating two deep, black pools on his face.

"Christ, Virg.," Shane said. "You look like shit."

Virgil had a hard time processing that information. He just shook his head, scowling.

"Hell," Shane approached the door. "Let me get a look at you."

Virgil closed the crack, peering out with only one eye. "Go away," he said.

"Virgil, buddy," Shane pressed. "You gotta come with me right now to go see a doctor. Come on."

"I can't," Virgil said. "You need to leave. Sabrina will be home soon."

"Bullshit," Shane took another step and Virgil slammed the door. "Virgil!" Shane pounded. "Come on, man, open up!"

A muffled voice through the door said, "Leave or I'll call the cops."

"And tell them what? Come on, Virgil, let me in." Shane pounded some more. "Virgil!"

Shane gave up on the front door and jogged around to the back. That door was locked, too, and he got no response when he hammered on it. "Virgil! Goddamn it!"

He cupped hands around his eyes and peered through the kitchen window. At the other side of the house, a skeletal shape crossed the entry to the bedrooms' hallway. "Virgil!" He rapped knuckles against the glass.

Another shape appeared in the hallway; short and dark in the internal shadows of the house. Shane had difficulty making out any features, but it looked like a man - or maybe a boy? - standing there naked.

Then it was gone.

Shane backed away. "Hell," he said.

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A Team of Destiny: Ten Takeaways from Eagles 41, Patriots 33

What a ride, man.

The disrespect, the doubt, the misfortune – wasn’t it there from the start? There was always something hanging over this team, some nagging apprehension in the back of the mind that made you wonder if they really could get it done.

It honestly started in Week 1, when Ronald Darby dislocated his ankle. There goes the #1 cornerback Howie Roseman had just traded for.

In Week 2, a tough loss at Kansas City. We spent the next seven days arguing about Doug Pederson’s run/pass play-calling split.

Week 3, then, they’re cruising against the Giants before Eli Manning wakes up. Jake Elliott hits a 61-yard field goal to salvage the game and keep the Eagles from falling to 1-2. How important was that?

Was Doug good enough or was he Andy Reid junior? Was the secondary capable? Would Jim Schwartz interview for head coaching jobs?

The questions just wouldn’t go away.

And the injuries… Jesus Christ, the injuries.

Darren Spoles, done for the year.

Jason Peters, done for the year.

Jordan Hicks, Joe Walker, Chris Maragos, Carson Wentz… done, done, done, and done. No way they recover from all of that, right?

The left guard rotation.. remember that one? Chance Warmack and Stefen Wisniewski. The Carolina game and the lopsided penalty flags. Big V needing help at left tackle. A second round draft pick who didn’t even play until Week 17.

Oh yeah, “They haven’t beaten anybody yet!”

That’s what the national media said before the Seattle game, and the Birds lost. But they stayed out west and bounced back with a clutch victory in Los Angeles, beating COACH OF THE YEAR Sean McVay on his home turf. No way they were better than the Vikings or Saints though, right?

They were a disrespected #1 seed, underdogs in three straight postseason games, two in their own house. They felt that all the way, from September through the first week of February, and it all ended with Nick Foles beating Tom Brady in the Super Bowl.

For real.

The Eagles won it all with Doug Pederson coaching a backup.

This truly was a team of destiny. Philadelphia has removed, from around its neck, the biggest albatross on the face of Mother Earth. No more Dallas Cowboy fans chiding your loser fandom. No more soul crushing losses. No more choking on the biggest stage. Memories of Rodney Harrison and Joe Jurevicius forever banished to the Pit of Misery. From here to eternity, you’ll be able to tell people where you were when the Eagles lifted the Lombardi Trophy.

They got into a shootout with Tom Brady and won. And they left themselves little room for error, overcoming a missed extra point, a missed two-point conversion, a red zone false start, and an incredibly unlucky interception. When the Pats took a fourth quarter lead, did you think that might be it? Honestly, did you? I wasn’t sure the defense would get it done, but they did.

It was an incredible game. Think about it as a neutral, if possible. Both teams came flying out of the gates and put on a show. No lulls, no boring blow out, none of that. We had guys throwing down power bombs and dropping big hits and executing on trick plays. It was a Super Bowl that shattered a ton of records.

This is what I want:

At the parade, I want the Eagles to introduce every single player and every single coach individually. Start with the rookies and second stringers. Talk about something that each one of them contributed this season, because it truly was a team effort, every single person involved from the trainers to the practice squad to the sports science guys to Joe Douglas and Howie fucking Roseman. Build it up. Hit the crescendo by rolling this guy up to the podium:

  1) Big dick Nick

28 for 43, 373 yards, 3 touchdowns, and an interception that really wasn’t his fault.

Oh and he caught a touchdown pass, too. Nick Foles caught a touchdown pass from Trey Burton in the Super Bowl. Doug Pederson asked a backup tight end to throw a pass to a backup quarterback on fourth and goal.

Nick was phenomenal, leading the Birds down the field on a 13-play drive to start the game. They settled for a field goal after Zach Ertz committed a red zone penalty, but my immediate takeaway was that Foles had come out and established a rhythm and looked incredibly comfortable in the pocket.

He made some tough throws into tough windows and generally put the ball where his receivers could make a play. He dropped deep dimes for Corey Clement and Alshon Jeffery and was excellent under pressure:

Blitzing Nick Foles? Not a smart move tonight! #SBLII pic.twitter.com/c3JremYqFG

— Pro Football Focus (@PFF) February 5, 2018

There was some motion as well, where Foles did well to hit targets when moved out of the pocket and forced to use his feet. The Eagles finished 10-16 on third down and 2-2 on fourth down with a 34:04 to 25:56 time of possession advantage, some of which, honestly, was because the Patriots were scoring at will in the second half.

Either way, the play of the Super Bowl MVP kept the Birds above water when it looked like they might sink in the fourth quarter under a constant barrage from Tom Brady and company.

This is a guy who was considering retirement less than a year ago. It’s one hell of a story.

  2) RPO, play-action, and balance

No, not every play-action pass is an RPO, and Cris Collinsworth and Al Michaels misidentified some plays as the latter last night, which isn’t surprising.

For example, this play isn’t RPO because the linemen are pass blocking all the way:

But the Birds did what they typically do, mixing and matching all the way down the field with a lot of balance.

Just looking back at my notes, they unloaded the playbook with basically everything they’ve used all season long:

It’s all in there.

RPO, play action, runs from under center and shotgun, pitches, a fake toss, a wheel route, some flat/bubble stuff on the flanks. I don’t remember exactly what “Clement fancy fuck” means but I’m sure there was a good reason for writing that down.

  3) A whole lot of bending

Bend but don’t break, right?

It was one big bend from the Birds defense, but they made some key plays to get the job done.

First was the Rodney McLeod third down tackle on Brandin Cooks– the power bomb:

The great tackle on 3rd down by Rodney McLeod on Brandin Cooks pic.twitter.com/XUrGh9zX5M

— Dov Kleiman (@NFL_DovKleiman) February 5, 2018

That forced the Patriots into a field goal try, which they clanked off the post after a bad snap and/or hold.

Second was the 4th down stop, the pass for Gronk down the right sideline that went incomplete.

And finally, of course, the late-game strip sack from Brandon Graham.

In a high-level offensive game, the Eagles defense didn’t make a ton of plays, but made a few more than the Patriots defense, and that was the difference in this one. New England shot themselves in the foot with the missed field goal and failed 4th down conversion, which allowed the Birds to open up the double-digit lead in the first half. I feel like the Patriots win this game if they had gotten points out of those two aforementioned drives, instead of having to play from behind in the second half.

Sheil nails it here:

Eagles defense got gashed tonight, but Jim Schwartz's unit went the entire season — 19 games — without allowing a point in the final two minutes of the fourth quarter. Unbelievable.

— Sheil Kapadia (@SheilKapadia) February 5, 2018

  4) Defensive matchups

One of the things we mentioned last week in our preview series was New England’s ability to dictate matchups and identify mismatches all across the field. The Eagles had a lot of trouble with the no-huddle, up-tempo execution and looked gassed midway through the second half.

They actually had Malcolm Jenkins on James White, and he did a great job on the dangerous RB/WR hybrid, limiting him to 2 catches for 21 yards.

But with Jenkins on White, that left Corey Graham, Ronald Darby, and others to deal with Rob Gronkowski, Danny Amendola, and Chris Hogan. Think about how the Pats were slicing up the Birds even after Brandin Cooks had to leave the game with a head injury. That was a low-key HUGE development.

So New England adjusted in the second half, targeting Gronk five times on the opening touchdown drive. He finished with five first-half targets and 10 second-half targets, putting up 116 yards and two touchdowns.

The Eagles just had trouble getting to Tom Brady with a four-man rush. Fletcher Cox was double-teamed most of the night and Nate Solder did a really nice job of protecting the blindside at left tackle. When they did try to blitz, they just couldn’t get there, and Brady would easily identify where to go with the ball (think of the 3rd and 3 play in the 4th quarter after Darby made a nice open field tackle on second down).

New England put up 500 yards and didn’t punt. That’s incredible. We’ll dive into that when the all-22 film comes out.

  5) Illegal formation?

Doug Pederson’s ridiculous call right before halftime was the play of the game for me.

When I went back and looked at it again, I thought it actually might not be a legal lineup, so I combed through Twitter and found this:

My NESN colleague @chatham58 pointed out that the Eagles only had six players on the line on Foles' TD catch. He's right. pic.twitter.com/TRfB2teuMJ

— Zack Cox (@ZackCoxNESN) February 5, 2018

Yeah, I mean, he’s not wrong. That’s Alshon Jeffery up top, who needs to be on the line of scrimmage. Did the officials think he was? Or did they just blow the call? Maybe the pre-snap movement was a distraction.

Jeffery says he checked with the ref on the far side and got the okay.

An excerpt from an excellent article by Peter King over at Sports Illustrated:

Except Jeffery claimed he got the okay from the official on the right sideline. The way formation rules work, players can look over at a side judge or other official nearby to see if he’s in the permissible spot.

“I’m on the ball,” Jeffery said. “I pointed. What are you talking about? Man, you know I checked with the ref!”

For what it’s worth, Pro Football Talk cites an anonymous source saying the play was a “judgment call”:

The question is whether the wide receiver was on the line of scrimmage, in which case the formation was legal, or behind the line of scrimmage, in which case the Eagles only had six players on the line and were in an illegal formation.

The official thought the wide receiver was lined up close enough on the line to be covering the right tackle, and as a result the league doesn’t believe the Eagles got the benefit of a bad call.

The Eagles may or may not have got away with one there, but whatever. Hang on while I shed a tear for the New England Patriots, who have never had anything go their way in a Super Bowl.

  6) Broken records

This was one for the ages.

The Birds and Pats combined for 1,151 yards of offense, which isn’t just a Super Bowl or postseason record. That’s the most yards put up in ANY NFL game EVER. We’re talking Baylor vs. Texas Tech here, and not Matt Rhule’s Baylor, the scandalous Baylor from a few years back.

Some people rolled their eyes at the defenses last night, but I honestly think it was more about tremendous offensive execution and less about poor defenses. The Birds are a phenomenal unit and just looked outclassed last night.

A chunk of the records that were broken last night were Tom Brady eclipsing or extending his own Super Bowl marks, but some of the non-Brady records include:

Most points scored by a losing team – 33 (New England)

Most passing first downs in a Super Bowl – 42

Most yards in the game – 613 (New England)

Most combined yards – 1,151

Most passing yards in the Super Bowl –  500, (New England)

Most passing yards, both teams combined – 874

Fewest single team punts in a Super Bowl – 0 (New England)

Fewest overall punts, both teams – 1

Most missed PAT conversions in a Super Bowl – 4 (both teams)

Just incredible stuff when you think about it.

  7) What is a catch?

Ugh, you knew this shit was gonna rear its ugly head.

Two instances in this game, first the Corey Clement touchdown:

Here's the Corey Clement touchdown reception pic.twitter.com/2dqhkfJAeb

— Ian Wharton (@NFLFilmStudy) February 5, 2018

He gets both feet down, but sort of readjusts his hands mid stride. When the “third foot” touches, he’s out of bounds. But I don’t even necessarily see this as a bobble or a lack of control. To me, he has control from the start, and re-positions his left hand to secure the ball. It feels like a fluid motion to me, and not necessarily one where he’s trying to gain control of the ball while bobbling it.

Make sense? I could see them easily overturning that, but I really do think it was the right call.

And the game-winning touchdown:

.@ZERTZ_86, and the #Eagles take the lead.#SBLII | #FlyEaglesFly pic.twitter.com/9sDAh6B4VQ

— Philadelphia Eagles (@Eagles) February 5, 2018

Cris Collinsworth really did not want that to be a catch.

But it is, because the officials correctly ruled that Ertz had established possession and therefore became a runner, meaning that the touchdown is confirmed as soon as the ball crosses the plane.

That’s the difference to me vs. the Dez Bryant play from a while back and the Jesse James catch earlier this season. Dez didn’t cross the goal line with the ball and James didn’t confirm possession and take multiple steps like Ertz did.

Either way, thank the Lord we’ve reached a point where the NFL can now address this problem and redefine the rule in the offseason.

  8) Doug’s worst call?

I do this entry for every writeup.

His worst decision I think was going for the two-point conversion and then throwing a back shoulder fade to Alshon Jeffery. They didn’t need to go for two there, and then I didn’t like the call on top of it, even with a bit of misdirection in throwing four receivers out in a wide right look.

Also, the third down call to begin the fourth quarter, the little swing/reverse to Nelson Agholor for an eight yard loss, he would probably want that one back. Not a bad play design, but New England did a good job reading it.

On the final drive, he could have thrown it on third down and tried to kill the game right there, but opted for the field goal to take an eight-point lead instead. I could have gone either way on that decision, but it ended up working out just fine.

  9) Doug’s best call?

The Nick Foles touchdown reception will go down in NFL history as one of the most gutsy decisions of all-time, illegal formation or not. The irony, really, is that it’s not like the illegal formation provided any sort of advantage or whatever. The position of the top receiver made no difference in the play. It’s not like the Eagles got away with putting 12 men on the field or whatever, know what I’m sayin?

Obviously the second-best call was the decision to go on fourth down with 6:00 left in the fourth quarter. You just couldn’t give the ball back to the Pats at that point, and Doug made the correct choice to keep it rolling.

It’s incredible to see how far he’s come as a play-caller and decision maker in less than a year.

  10) Everything else

Admittedly, I wasn’t paying too much attention to the commercials, which I think got better as the broadcast went along. There was one really goofy one with Martin Luther King, Jr. that had to do with selling trucks, which I don’t think Dr. King would have approved of, but what do I know?

And what about the failed commercial break? 15 seconds of dead air on Super Bowl Sunday?

Woof man.

Someone’s ass is fired!

No, for real though, I thought the cable went out. What the hell was that?

Also, I found it hilarious how everyone kept retweeting this Justin Timberlake selfie picture and turned the kid on the left into a meme, but didn’t realize that Freddie Mitchell was standing over to JT’s other side:

"Let me get a selfie with #JustinTimberlake real quick." #SuperBowl pic.twitter.com/aPtMvhCb5R

— Sporting News (@sportingnews) February 5, 2018

As far as the broadcast, Al Michaels was okay. I think he’s tired. He’s been tired all season. Guy’s had a wonderful career and it might be time to call it quits and enjoy retirement. Cris Collinsworth, I don’t have anything against him, but his commentary on the catch/no catch stuff was unbearable.

Anyway, let’s check in with Ernest Owens to see how he’s celebrating:

White folks will celebrate with Black people "as one" when we fuel their capitalist sports system that values our Black bodies like million dollar slaves subjected to intense abuse (CTE) while keeping us silent.

Kaepernick wanted more and they sacrificed him for it. #SuperBowl

— Ernest Owens (@MrErnestOwens) February 5, 2018

Go Birds.

Super Bowl Champions.

A Team of Destiny: Ten Takeaways from Eagles 41, Patriots 33 published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/