#it’s literally his go to response about everything unless he does something spectacular

[cecoeur]

I’m about to go back and clip every single radio message from Daniel’s career where he says, “understood” so people stop wringing their hands about his Q2 radio.

It’s time to reclaim “understood” back from the McLaren era, folks. The only time he stops yapping is in the car.

#daniel ricciardo #dr3 #it’s literally his go to response about everything unless he does something spectacular #yeah he said it a lot at McLaren but what was more important about that time #was his demeanor after sessions #it’s literally night and day now

[qqueenofhades]

I was hoping you would be able to help me form a response when my family says they're sick of hearing of systemic racism and white privilege because THEY have had to work for everything and believe nothing got handed to them (true in the way they're thinking, but you know what I mean).

Welp. First, I applaud you for taking the initiative to engage in difficult conversations with your family, since the only way embedded racist ideas are going to get confronted in white society is if racist white people hear it from their friends and family. They are going to cheerily ignore protestors, academics, newsreaders, popular culture, and certainly politicians who say anything to the contrary, but it’s harder to ignore and brush aside when it’s coming from people who are directly within your own family group. They can still then ignore it, but at least you’re trying to do something that is not at all fun but which is deeply necessary, and good for you.

First, there are a few things for you to consider. Is this a case where they actually don’t know the difference, but are willing to learn, or is this essentially sealioning (where they act like they don’t know the difference, but they absolutely do, and put the emotional labor on you to extensively define and explain and educate while never intending to change their stances on anything). If it’s the former, then there is some point in engaging in dialogue with them. If it’s the latter, it’s a giant emotional trap that you are within your rights not to engage with until they signal that they’re willing to engage productively. You don’t have to educate someone who is categorically unwilling to be educated (especially when it’s often deliberate ignorance). As people like to say, Google is free, and it’s their responsibility to take the first steps to change. You can continue to talk with them, but yes, that is contingent on them actually standing a chance of listening to you and not just you wearing yourself out on something that they don’t want to actually hear (because it threatens them and makes them feel Personally Wrong, and white people don’t like that).

There have been various books written on why it’s so hard to talk to white people about racism, which you may be interested in checking out, not least the book "Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race” by Renni Eddo-Lodge. Ibram X. Kendi has also written “How to Be An Antiracist,” one of the bestselling books of this summer, either of which would be useful either in shaping your own arguments or (if they’re receptive) giving to your family. Once again, this is contingent on them signalling that they’re actually willing to listen, and not just to make you do pointless emotional labor. These books are probably available from your public library (though there’s probably a waitlist) or in other easily available formats.

Next, it’s a basic tenet of an anti-racist education that white people have never had to do this kind of reckoning, and thus get whiny, defensive, guilt-tripping, and “it’s not about ME I’m a GOOD PERSON” when it comes up. This also rests on the damaging and deeply intertwined effects of racism and classism, which has to be understood if you’re going to talk about it. One of the greatest tricks that racist capitalism ever pulled is convincing poor white people that they had more in common with their filthy rich white masters (people whose way of life will never in a thousand years be anything like each other’s) simply because they shared the inherent racial “purity” of being white. There have been political studies written on how poor/undereducated/working class white people have become such a reliably Republican constituency, because they have been successfully manipulated to believe that the white overlords are their “people” and they will constantly vote against their own economic, social, and cultural interests in favor of enriching amoral white demagogues who beat the populist xenophobic drum. Then they blame black and brown people for society’s ills and for the reason that they stay poor, rather than the rampaging oligarchs awarding themselves massive tax breaks and billion-dollar bailouts and refusing to extend unemployment benefits in case people “make too much money” from not working, just to name the most recent example. They are so poisoned on populist politics and white supremacy, which assures them that they’re better than anyone else by virtue of being white, that they actively attack politicians and policy platforms and other social welfare initiatives that would materially improve their own lives as “un-American.” This is maddening and sometimes baffling, but it’s how it works. Whiteness trumps all, currently literally thanks to the Orange Fuhrer. Problems in life are the fault of the Other.

This isn’t to say that poor white people are “dumb” and just unable to realize it, because they’re caught in a system that has done this literally from the start of America. In the early 17th century, indentured laborers and slaves in the American colonies were in fact more likely to be white. (The word “slave” comes from “Slav,” since that was the predominant ethnicity of slaves in medieval Europe; i.e. white eastern Europeans.) But even despite the fact that they were unpaid laborers, they were still white and thus recognized as human by their white masters, and thus when slave ships began arriving, it was easier for everybody to simply outright demonize and dehumanize the black African slaves. The poor white indentured servants got to feel better than the black slaves simply for the fact of their whiteness. Their lives obviously sucked, but their whiteness was in fact a mitigating factor in the suckiness that it involved once it was easier to use “animalistic” black people. And we wonder why America can’t ever confront its racist history properly. As Kendi calls it in his other book, it is stamped from the beginning.

As it has been put before, white people can and often do have difficult lives, because late-stage capitalism devours its workers no matter what color they are, but their whiteness isn’t a factor in why their lives are difficult. They will never encounter racial prejudice, race-based hate crime, discrimination for housing, education, employment, bank loans, daily microaggressions and identity erasure, constantly racist tropes in the media, politicians fingering them as everything wrong with America/the world, casual prejudices or assumptions even from close friends, assumed criminality based just on their race -- etc etc. The list goes on and on. Just because you have a hardscrabble economic background does not mean that your life has been made harder by your race -- because if you’re white, it hasn’t. (And as noted, poor white people have consistently voted for megalomaniac white men who don’t give a shit about them but promise them that everything is fine or should be better for them because of their whiteness, and then blame minorities for being the source of their problems.)

I honestly wonder if racism would still be such a problem in America if we had a remotely more equitable economic system, because when you’re well off and have your basic needs consistently met and don’t need to worry that you’re one paycheck away from disaster, it’s harder to constantly be paranoid that your differently colored neighbors are stealing everything from you and the cause of all society’s ills. The historian Patrick Hyder Patterson wrote a very interesting book on material culture in Yugoslavia in the 20th century, where he basically argued that despite the spectacular collapse of the federation into the Yugoslavian wars of the 90s, things didn’t really go to hell until after the economy crashed following Josip Broz Tito’s death in 1980. While there were obviously ethnic fault lines and conflicts between Serbs, Croats, Montenegrins, Bosniaks, Albanians, etc, when there wasn’t any money and any jobs and everyone thought everyone else was to blame, THAT is when the whole thing blew up into a genocidal civil war clusterfuck. Food for thought.

This is why people talk about economic justice and racial justice as going hand in hand. When there is a scarcity of resources and no social safety net, people are obviously more inclined to look for scapegoats and to blame someone for taking their entitlement (while still somehow refusing to blame the billionaires and corporate oligarch who are ACTUALLY stealing from them). They indeed actively resist any attempts to make their own lives better as being “socialist” or “un-American” and take pride in the fact that there’s absolutely jacksquat nothing (until of course, something like the coronavirus pandemic hits and it’s revealed just how many of us were always one missed paycheck away from disaster). Then when they need government assistance (while disdaining the government as tyrannical the rest of the time, unless it’s Trump’s actively tyrannical lot, but hey, we don’t have time to unpack all that) it’s still shameful and something they shouldn’t be using, instead of their basic entitlement to a decent life.

This country is poisoned on a lot of toxic beliefs, but this is one of the deepest-running one, and which will always get in the way of poor white people dealing with racism: their lives suck, but they have ALWAYS been told that despite that, they’re still better just for being white, which is their consolation prize for supporting white populists who actively rob them, and they haven’t even always consciously registered that. They just feel that if they’re “fine,” even if they’re not fine, then black people are just malcontents and criminals who can’t hack it. In 2016, there was a lot of ink spilled over how poor white people felt a sense of economic grievance and being left behind, which was why they voted for Trump, but... Trump was never going to do a damn thing about that??? He doesn’t actually do anything for his supporters except feed them his jingoistic Orange Nazi stump speeches. They voted for Trump to feel vindicated, not to actually improve their lives, and it’s damn clear by now that not only has he NOT improved their lives, he has no desire to do so. He just wants them to cheer for him and feed his ego, not fix any problems.

Basically, racism and capitalism and the American political system intersect in multiple deeply toxic ways to do precisely what you’re talking about; producing poor white people who feel that they shouldn’t be included in the reckoning with racism because if THEY worked hard and they don’t live in a mansion, somehow racism is fake and black people should just shut up and get a job etc etc. This is because poor white people have been systematically conditioned to support white supremacy at the direct expense of their own economic and social interests; it’s terrible, but that’s how it functions. They will never in a million years have anything in common with the (white) ruling class, but they still instinctively identify with them rather than people in their own deprived economic class who are different races or colors or religions. That is how white supremacy has supported the hyper-inequality of the industrial age, and vice verse, and it is one of capitalism’s best functions for survival, so it’s in the interests of the overlords to maintain it. Stop the workers from recognizing pan-racial solidarity based on economic grievance, and compete with each other and blame each other rather than the overarching system, easy!

Anyway. Once again, this is long. But in short, the attitudes your family are exemplifying are a direct result of both racism and classism as they have been deliberately cultivated in the American social and political system, and the interlocking causes and symptoms of both have to be recognized (and acknowledged) before they can get to dealing with that. I don’t know how that will go, and I don’t have an easy shortcut. But I’m glad you’re trying. Good luck.

#politics for ts #history of racism #long post #anonymous #ask

[thesinglesjukebox]

TAYLOR SWIFT FT. BRENDON URIE - ME!

[3.53]

Things have changed for "ME!"...

Alex Clifton: A lead single should not make me think, "Oh, is this the Kidz Bop version?" [3]

Abdullah Siddiqui: This isn't the Old Taylor or the New Taylor. It's some entity so devoid of anything remotely substantive it doesn't warrant a human name. And I'm not very familiar with this Brendon Urie, but his delivery of the line "and you can't spell awesome without 'me'" sounds like the sonic embodiment of a Disney XD mid-season replacement choking on its own blue-cotton-candy puerilism. And I know that makes literally no sense but it's honestly the best way I know how to describe it. [2]

Taylor Alatorre: On the one hand, this was designed to subvert as few expectations and step on as few toes as a late 2010s Taylor Swift lead single can. On the other hand, it commits so hard to the bit that it ends up becoming a Lonely Island parody of the kind of post-Glee positivity pop that fueled the Hillary Clinton presidential campaign. Our culture may be more jaundiced since then, but the market for that stuff hasn't gone away, and Swift and Urie deliver the message in a way that feels more true to how people actually consume those songs. Rather than offering the prize of social recognition as a package deal with some nebulous invocation of societal change, they make a beeline for the inner voice of narcissism that resides within the overworked neoliberal subject. They listen to that voice, they give it what it wants, and the result is a communal celebration of self-regard that, in all its candidness and mutual puffery, makes you feel connected to something larger than just another grueling megastar album cycle. Unfortunately, that "something larger" happens to be the same collective unconscious that apparently just wants Panic to be the "High Hopes" band now. [7]

Jessica Doyle: It's catchy, granted, but so insistently, aggressively vapid that I am resisting the obvious conclusion that Taylor Swift actually thinks that this is work to be proud of. It makes more sense as a reconciliation of three opposing forces: she wants to make music; she feels responsible for the multi-hundred-dollar machine she's spent half her life putting in motion; and she dislikes and resents the performer (maybe also the person) she's become. That would explain pairing a catchy song with lyrics such as "can't spell awesome without ME!" and a video whose final shots suggest she is actually made of toxic rainbow sludge. [3]

Katherine St Asaph: A garish mess in exactly the same way "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" was. Yelpy vocals, forced whimsy, obnoxious spoken word, slapdash everything -- well, almost everything. The chorus is the second song in a year to rip off Emeli Sandé's "Next to Me," which really wasn't in need of two ripoffs. The old Taylor can't come to the phone right now, because she's been replaced with the New Boring. Brendon Urie is the best thing about this, though I'd rather listen to three minutes of him singing Vines. [3]

Tobi Tella: Can something be inoffensive enough that it becomes offensive? It's hard to imagine a song this generically pleasant and basic angering people off the heels of some of the Reputation singles, but here we are. It's disappointing to see Taylor put out yet another vapid lead single devoid of any deep themes, but goddamn if this didn't grow on me almost immediately. It's just so much dumb fun, and even though these two people are capable of much more and I'll probably forget about it in a few months I will definitely scream it every time it comes on the radio for now. [6]

Will Adams: The singular badness of Taylor's past three lead singles can all be boiled down to their overblown-ness, whether in song, in video, or in their inevitable absorption into The Discourse. But "ME!" is a special kind of bad, one whose wrongness comes from all directions to create something truly confusing. There's the sonic rehashing of a single from two albums back (also those terrible horns), inert lyrics that offer nothing recognizably Swift, the aesthetic 180 that makes Reputation feel even more pointless and, worst of all, the patronizing kids show affect. It's really hard to figure out what she was trying to do here. Without Max Martin's catchphrases, Shellback's sheen, or even Jack Antonoff's weirdness, we're left with an overblown Train song. Here's hoping, come the album, she keeps her promise that we'll never find another like "ME!". [1]

Jibril Yassin: Taylor Swift loves dispatching red herrings for her forthcoming albums in the form of lead singles. While she couldn't fully commit to the heel turn, Reputation went out of its way to show her songwriting capacities hadn't diminished, but it says a lot that I already want the Right Said Fred-aided Taylor back. "ME!" flows and surges with the pop efficiency she's mastered, but the lyricism resembles a once-sharp camera lens out of focus. Draping herself in the sounds she last used on Reputation, now drenched in major-key sunshine, also feels like a serious misstep when a theatre-kid diva like Brendon Urie decides to show up and completely steal the show. A song like "ME!" calls for high theatrics and powerful vocals and here, Taylor doesn't play to her strengths. [3]

Katie Gill: Taylor Swift was one of the first people to sign on for the movie-musical Cats. I'm not saying this just because that fact brings me joy and happiness every time I remember it, but because you don't agree to be in a show that features tap-dancing beetles, a magic show, and a character called Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat unless you have a healthy appreciation for cheesiness. And this song further proves that Taylor Swift is fully embracing the concept of cheese. Why else would she include lyrics like "hey kids! Spelling is fun!". But three things prevent this song from reaching its full, beautiful, glorious Gouda potential. One: the fact that the chorus seems designed from the ground up to play in a Target commercial. Two: the fact that the lyrics never get past the braggadocio, "I'm so awesome" hubris that tainted a lot of her Reputation-era work. Three: Brendon Urie's existence on the track. [6]

Ryo Miyauchi: Taylor's past fuck-yous to her former guys worked because she didn't leave room for them to speak in the song's narrative or actually in the music itself. Brendon Urie in "ME!" functions as wish fulfillment on top of wish fulfillment, singing the ideal response from the man to go with Taylor's perfect last words. His presence is extra fluff that the track can do without, but he's just one of many campy toppings that sugarcoats the stinging bitterness at the song's core to the point they wash away any taste when consumed. The cliche series of contrasts in the pre-chorus, the Sesame Street bridge, filler rhymes just to get to the next lyric -- all of this lyrical blandness doesn't help prop Taylor up as the underdog to cheer for in this breakup. [4]

Joshua Copperman: Every part of this song sounds like other songs that were successfully upbeat without being too cutesy. "ME!" isn't one of those. Like former contemporary Katy Perry with her "Swish Swish" video, Swift actively tries to be cringey but the attempts at cringe make her cringey. It's like Patrice Wilson's self-conscious follow-ups after "Friday" if he was given a Dave Meyers video budget. Taylor's own friend-by-her-right-ay Brendon Urie helps a little bit, because he's good at hamming it up, but while Taylor has pulled off hamminess in the past ("Blank Space" is one of her most-loved songs for a reason), this doesn't suit her. Even the lines about fighting in the rain feel like perfunctory good lyrics. The rest of the album will probably be fine, as even 1989 led with "Shake It Off." But even that song's bridge didn't have "spelling is fun." [3]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: For a second, right around "spelling is fun," I thought this would ascend, phoenix-like, into glorious schlock. But before and after that incredible interlude, "ME!" is not even the exciting kind of trash. It's content to just be mediocre, occasionally winking at the camera in ways that its authors clearly think is endearing but mostly come off as desperate. It's an emphatic shrug of a song, at once saying nothing and doing so loudly. [1]

Scott Mildenhall: Tonally aimless, it's very hard to deduce the spirit in which this is meant. In its most desperate moment -- yes, "spelling is fun!" -- it doesn't so much tip its hat to the audience as frisbee it into their face, but at the same time it's not so ironic as to be mean-spirited. As a whole, it's like a Wiggles mash-up of "Blank Space" and "We Go Together", and it's hard to know how anyone, whether their intentions were wholesome or cynical, would ever reach that by design. Perhaps this is simply just a spectacular misfire. The thematic mismatches, zero-dexterity crowbarring of aphorisms, desultory brass parps and gossamer-thin hook suggest seriously misplaced ambition. The one time "ME!" seems to be heading in its intended direction is its conclusion, at which it becomes an ever-ascending celebration. By then, though, it's already dug itself a deep hole to fly out of. [5]

Alfred Soto: The first time she's sounded manic and desperate, like someone pleading for her life; she could've titled it "You Must Love Me." [3]

Stephen Eisermann: Remember when everyone said "Look What You Made Me Do" was Taylor's worst lead single and it could never be worse? I do. And guess what? This is worse. [1]

Jonathan Bradley: "ME!" takes as its starting point the belated success of "Delicate," the late-cycle Reputation single that helped remind more than a few listeners and critics that they'd radically misinterpreted that album on its release. It makes sense that Taylor Swift would return to the source of that renewed goodwill, and this new single does sound designed as a rebirth of sorts: it is sunny and outward-looking after an insular and intimate record. It's also unashamedly and jubilantly corny. That should not surprise; Swift has never only been a dextrous chronicler of emotional contours, and corn has been a part of her songwriting toolbox going back at least to the time she wrote a gushing romance starring Romeo and Juliet that ended with a marriage and hefty key change. "ME!" is unabashed in its goofiness, pairing that dorkiness with the frivolity of "Shake It Off," her biggest hit to date. Panic! At the Disco's Brendon Urie fits in well with this theatricality, and Swift helps temper his archness; he's had "High Hopes," but never this much fun. And it's this sense of fun that makes "ME!" so enjoyable. This is a song that sees the strangenesses and imperfections of ourselves and the people around us, and greets them with optimism and -- Reputation hasn't entirely left us -- a bit of wanton selfishness. I've been to plenty of Taylor Swift shows and, as with "Shake It Off" or "We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together" or "This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things" -- I can already tell how much of a blast of a setlist-capper "ME!" will be. [8]

Joshua Minsoo Kim: "Taylor finger, Taylor finger, where are you?" [1]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

#Taylor Swift #Brendon Urie #pop #music #music review #writing

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

a good man goes to war

so, in lieu of doing a big long multi-paragraph essay about what was good and bad about “A Good Man Goes To War” I’m just going to bullet point it.

I have....a Lot of thoughts about this episode

the good:

The Last Centurion “I have a message and a question”. The framing of all of this was spectacular. Also, who knows what with the rebooting of the universe, but I’d love it if the Last Centurion was still a legend. I think Amy implies that he still is, which...frankly doesn’t make sense, but Hey! Moffat. Nothing’s going to make sense so I’ll take the fun stuff.

Rory the Roman in general is pretty cool. I mean, I love Rory. Also, now I’m thinking that he’s the one who taught Amy to use swords, since she seems to know what she’s doing in the pirate episode? Unless she was just taking fencing on her own who knows. (i love the headcanon that Rory worshiped/still prays to Fortuna occasionally)

Madam Vastra and Jenny! they might not be as well written as they should be in later episodes, but this introduction to them is fab

“A Sontaran nurse?” God. THAT is great. to be on a field of battle but unable to participate? I can unreservedly say that’s brilliant. Strax is great, like even his bedside manner is good but also keeping in character with a Sontaran soldier?

The light in River’s eyes when she tells her pops it’s her birthday, before she knows it’s Demon’s Run. She’s just!!! A kid!! excited to see her parent!!! not that we know that, of course, but still. This is one of those episodes where Alex Kingston’s talent really shines through.

sidenote: this is one of the few (only?) River episodes I can think of that didn’t revolve around her romantic relationship with the Doctor, and frames her more with Rory and Amy, which is fantastic. You can tell she’s remembering all those times she cried for her mummy and daddy and all she had was Kovarian but now she gets her parents and it’s. Good but awful.

and then the way her face falls when Rory says “they’ve taken Amy and our baby” like!! That’s her mom and River knows what comes next, her fucking terrible childhood and she just maybe wants her dad now? 

“this is the day he finds out who I am” which is why River can’t be there til the end...I’m assuming this is because Moffat is finally observing the basic rules of not interacting with your own time stream (a rule which apparently doesn't apply to Amy?)

the prayer leaf is lovely

“don’t slump, it’s bad for your spine,” Says the Sontaran nurse, whilst holding a gun on you. bless

“good men have no rules. this is not the day to find out why i have so many.” this is a much more sinister version of the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, who says that since he hasn’t a heart he must take care to never harm anything or hurt anyone because he wouldn’t feel remorse. I do like this. The Doctor isn’t always Good. The Doctor sometimes has to try very hard to be good, and I’m all right with that

Rory and Amy crying at each other. Nurse Rory checking his daughter to make sure she’s okay

(”let the others die first” is funny, very Amy, and seems like a believable response to everything Amy’s been through)

Honestly....the caliber of acting in this episode is off the charts, particularly in the last ten minutes and specifically with Karen and Arthur. Amy and Rory’s devastation and then numbness is just heartbreaking. And the way they’re almost disgusted with the Doctor--he told them to trust him, and look what happened

The moment with Rory and Strax is just great. Honestly, this episode has a lot of good emotionally-vulnerable-but-not-letting-it-slow-him-down moments for Rory

this is one of the first times the Doctor says he’s so sorry, and you can tell--you can just tell that for Amy, sorry isn’t enough

the bad:

the slightly ambiguous opening where you’re like “ohhhhhh DAMN the baby is the Doctor’s” like. that’s unnecessary.

the headless monks--mostly just the forced volunteering of personnel to join a religious order. paired with the rampant loss of bodily autonomy in this collection of episodes, a gay man being forced into religious reconditioning and bodily harm is...not great. might not be as noticeable in a different context but in this episode? yeah. not good

“the Doctor’s darkest hour” ok so....Moffat just really ignores the Waters of Mars. I remember him downplaying Ten’s struggles in the 50th as well. Am I arguing that this is not a truly terrible moment for the Doctor? No. But he’s not threatening to become the literal worst version of himself by making himself a god, so. 

“this is the day he finds out who I am” also goes here because...did he know who she was when he took her ice skating earlier? I get so confused about when the Doctor knows things and how River knows if he knows and if they know that’s great, but I, as a viewer, would also like to know

the headless monks have robes and laser swords so...they’re sith. they’re literally just headless Sith Lords

this is, I think, the first time we’ve seen the Doctor this cruel to his enemies? We’ve seen hints of it, certainly, with Ten and Harriet Jones and Ten and the spider star lady, but this is, as i’ve said before, a different temperature. Where Ten’s anger was fire, Eleven’s is ice

Amy and Rory haven’t see each other in almost a year....let them hug

ok so...I remember when Martha was cloned, and the clone smelled bad? and the the Doctor smells Melody and Amy...you’d think something like that would. you know, mean something. 

ok, props to the show for reminding us that the Time Lords only became such after millions of years of exposure to the untempered schism, and Madam Vastra brings up good points about how that would affect humans during conception, but like...it’s still a bit eh. Melody being conceived next to the Time Vortex suddenly makes her a Time Lord, or at least mostly-Gallifreyan? Okay, then, so Rose, in swallowing the Time Vortex, is definitely capable of regeneration and Idris might have been if her body had survived. Thanks for the new canon, Moff!

I’d honestly buy Melody being a Time Baby if she’d developed in utero on the TARDIS. More exposure to the vortex. But the implication is basically that they waited for Amy to get pregnant and then immediately kidnapped her. Which also means they were scanning her, waiting for her to get pregnant. Gross.

the moment the Doctor looks at River, realizing who she is is wonderful, it’s heartwarming, but it’s also, for me, undermined by the fact that he’s not just...happy to meet his best friends child, but that she’s his sort-of-girlfriend?

the absolutely appalling:

Amy is a literal hostage of a group of people who literally just wanted her for her babymaking abilities 

repeated use of “guys” by a military commander addressing his troops

The Doctor not remembering Lorna. Bullshit. I suppose this could feed into a greater narrative about how unconcerned the Doctor is with Little People, idk, but it seems fairly out of tune for the Doctor as a whole

The Doctor’s reaction to finding out Melody is River is, to me, weird. Like, when you find out you’ve been dating/making out/??? with your best friend’s kid, wouldn’t that give you pause? For just a moment? 

“I know where to find your daughter, and on my life she will be safe.” Unless he’s talking about adult River in the Stormcage, this makes me incredibly angry. because the next thing we find out is that the Doctor didn’t find her, didn’t make sure she was safe because she was being brainwashed into a child assassin. Again, like with Ganger!Amy, if he knew but didn’t do anything, that’s not okay. that’s worse. 

River says he finds her and keeps her safe but....when? I mean, isn’t the ideal time for that before she tries to kill you and gets jailed for it???? 

he then just leaves his incredibly traumatized best friend all alone in the place she was held hostage, leaving her grown daughter to explain that she’s Amy’s baby....jerk move

also, he supposedly leaves to find River, doesn’t reach out to Amy and Rory, and still doesn’t find River. You can talk, if you want, about how he can’t change his past or River’s past or timelines or what-have-you, except that this is the Doctor and these are his friends, and the only reason Amy and Rory don’t get to raise her is so that she can wind up dating and marrying the Doctor and maybe it’s somehow less weird if he’s not in her life when she’s a child?

There’s really no reason for the Doctor to not be able to rescue River

Except, of course, the idea that what makes a female character “strong” is how much you can make them suffer and still live, I suppose

the surprisingly great:

when River is dressing down the Doctor about what he does, about how he instills fear in people and then those people banded together and kidnapped a child that they’d turn into a weapon just to defeat him, I had the unexpected reaction of DRAG HIM BABE.

because the Doctor only knowing what he knows, he’s right to be angry at this person who he asked for help and who did not give it

but River is also very much in the right since she was kidnapped, brainwashed, probably emotionally abused because people were afraid of him and wanted to kill him. She’s right because he promises her parent’s that she’ll be fine, and yet. And yet she still goes through all of that. She still misses out on being raised in a loving home, surrounded by people who care for her

so yeah

DRAG HIS ASS, RIVER

the music. not surprising, but still fantastic. River’s theme is beautiful and haunting and still my fave

#dw rw #rant #anti moffat #doctor who #i am MAD #also: once again typos while on muscle relaxer

[xx-thedarklord-xx]

Virginity is a Gift, Use it Well

So, I am horribly stuck when coming to this series of mine. I am rereading it in the hopes to pick up on the muse that was once there and decided to post a snippet on here. I suppose it is longer than a usual snippet but, oh well. *Shrugs*

-------------------------------------------------

            Normally, the warm heat of the classroom would have lulled Draco into a sense of calm. Normally, the heady aroma of the ingredients and the bubbling cauldron would have him at ease in the knowledge that this was the only thing in his life that he could control. Normally, he would have spent several minutes finding the perfect way to ruin Potter’s potion by now. Normally, he would be halfway into a loud debate regarding whether Weasley’s father was going to sell one of their children to keep food on the table.

            Only, Potter and Weasel were ruining this by being bloody weird.

            Today, Snape had them partnered up. Typically, that meant that Granger and Weasley were a unified front, especially considering the two were now an item. Draco shuddered at the thought. Salazar, he wasn’t sure which one had the worst of it in regard to the relationship. He wouldn’t wish either of them on another person.

            Instead of Potter teaming up with Longbottom, he chose to partner with Weasley at the back of the room. He had seen Granger frown at them in suspicion, so whatever was going on, she was just as clueless as he was. Which he figured was her karma for being so insufferable in the first place. Serves her right.

            It wasn’t necessarily that they teamed up that was so odd, it was their unusual behavior. They had been arguing from the moment they arrived, leading Draco to assume they had been quarrelling long before they reached the classroom.

            Since they were behaving out of character, he decided to work in the back of the room as well. Naturally, of course.

            Snippets of their not-so-quiet whispered debate had reached his ears from time to time. He didn’t have as much time as them to gossip, since he was flying solo on the potion. Zabini had been foolish enough to take that drivel the Weasel twins were selling to get out of class. It had worked as intended, he fainted alright, just never woke up. The other end of the disgusting sweet hadn’t worked as it should. So, the unfortunate bastard was lying in the hospital wing, missing out on all of this oddness.

            “Have you gone mental?” Weasel’s unpleasant voice carried over to where Draco was studiously counting his counterclockwise stirs.

            “I know you don’t understand it, Ron.” The frustration in Potter’s tone had him arching a curious brow.

            “That’s the only thing you have said all day that makes sense!” A pause. “Of course I don’t understand it. Are you sure you haven’t been cursed or poisoned?”

            The scoff Potter released was so harsh, Draco wondered if it had hurt. Couldn’t hurt to wish, right?

            “I take offense to that.” Potter crossed his arms and stirred the potion the wrong way. Bloody idiot. The instructions were clearly on the board and yet the golden boy wondered why Severus treated him so badly.

            “It isn’t something I just decided on a whim, you know. I thought long and hard about this. It’s what I want to do.” Draco furrowed his brows as he wondered what they could be talking about. He hated that he was getting so caught up in this. It wasn’t as if they actually mattered. He shook his head as he decided to just ignore them. With his resolve firmly planted, he focused on his work.

            “Besides, it’s my arse on the line. Literally.”

            Draco could practically see his resolve burning in a spectacular show of mental Fiendfyre. The statement had him horribly hooked and he begrudgingly hung onto wherever this argument was taking them. Damn Potter.

            “Oh God.” Weasel let out a pitiful moan, almost to the point of exaggeration. “Are you trying to make me ill? Is that what you are aiming for? Because if so, then just send me to Hospital Wing now.” Well, no one said the Weasleys weren’t dramatic.

            Potter huffed as he threw in way too many bat spleens. Draco knew the potion was unredeemable now. There was a flash of vindication that filled him as the putrid smell of their concoction wafted around the room.

            “Potter, Weasley.” The two in question startled in surprise to see Snape towering over them with a sneer in place and anger raging in narrowed eyes.

            “I sincerely detest interrupting your important conversation. So important that you have neglected to use your brains. Limited as they were to begin with.” Draco couldn’t stop the smirk if he had tried.

            Weasley spluttered inelegantly. Not that Draco expected anything less.

            “Which one of you dunderheads thought it would be a brilliant idea to use Billywig Sting instead of Billywig Slime?”

            All eyes were now on their table, so Draco felt no shame in leaning forward to observe them better.

            “It would appear that you need glasses Weasley. The instructions are written right there.” The man gestured behind him to the board. “Unless of course, you just can’t read.”

            Ah. The red hue to the freckled face was always one of Draco’s favorite sights to see. Whether Weasley was shamed or angered, it mattered none. The result led to the boy being uncomfortable and that was always Draco’s goal.

            “If it was you Potter, then I fear you are a lost cause. Can’t cite that you can’t see, now can you?”

            If there was anything that Draco liked better than an angry Weasley, was definitely an angry Potter. The way the other boy’s vivid green eyes darkened in rage was honestly a sight to see. It always fueled his own satisfaction every time he got under Potter’s skin.

            “No, sir.” Potter spat out as he clenched his fists.

            Snape vanished the contents of the wretched potion with a lazy flick of his wand. “Zero marks, again.” There was a smirk quirking at the corner of thin lips. “I want a thirteenth-inch essay on where you went wrong and how you could have fixed your mistakes. Due next class.” A billowing of black robes and the man was on his way back to his desk.

            “Longbottom, five points from Gryffindor for not letting your classmates know they were making a mistake.”

            Draco had to hold in the low whistle that was threatening to come out. Merlin, his head of house was on form today.

            “But Sir-” Granger piped up in confusion but also with a horribly annoying persistence.

            “Don’t question my decisions. Another five points.” Draco bit his lip in an attempt to stall his laughter as he began to bottle his potion into several vials.

            When they were dismissed, Draco noted that Weasley and Potter were still arguing with each other. He couldn’t deny that his interest had been piqued a long time ago. Despite being close to the doors, the two had waited for everyone else to leave before heading out. That alone sparked enough of a reason to follow them at a slower pace.

            “See what I mean? Just talking about it ruined our potion. Imagine actually following through with it!” Ron pointed out as they left the room.

            Harry sighed heavily. He was sick of this argument. He just wished Ron would let it go already.

            “Yes, because our hypothetical discussion was what ruined the potion. It couldn’t possibly be our lack of attention.” He rolled his eyes at his best friend.

            “Don’t get caught up in the details.” Ron warned. “That is beside the point. Explain to me again why you want to do this.”

            Harry grabbed Ron’s elbow to drag him down the opposite direction the rest of the class had gone. He didn’t want to be overheard.

            “I already told you. I feel as if things with Voldemort are going to pick up soon and I don’t want to die a virgin, not if I can help it.”

            Ron leaned up against the wall with pinched brows and a mouth curled in distaste. “I can understand that, I can. But why does it have to be him?” The last word was said with more confusion than disgust but the message was still clear.

            The question wasn’t one without merit. Harry had been asking himself that for months. Even after everything that had happened between the two of them, he couldn’t help but gravitate towards the other boy. It was as if they were two magnets on opposite ends of a room. Despite their hectic lives trying to keep them at warring ends, they kept inching forward until they met in the middle with such force that it ended in harsh fights and horrid insults. He looked back to Ron a little helplessly.

            When they locked eyes, Harry tried to convey what he was feeling with a meaningful glance. There was frustration mounting inside of himself at not really knowing his own feelings on the matter. For whatever reason, it did have to be him. It was always him.

            “There’s just something about him, you know?”

            “Fuck no.” Ron vehemently shook his head. “Unless you are talking about a stuck-up git with an unhealthy fascination for his father, then yes, I do know.”

            Harry rolled his eyes. “Why are you begrudging me of my choice? I am not saying I am going to marry him. I just want him to shag me senseless.”

            “What did I tell you about sending me to the Hospital Wing?” Ron’s face had turned a sickly green shade, causing Harry to let out a low chuckle in response.

            “I wish I hadn’t told you.” Harry mumbled as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I knew you weren’t going to agree with me but I didn’t think you would push the issue like this.”

            “I am your best friend.” There was an almost hurt quality to his tone. “And as your best friend, it is my duty to make sure that you don’t make the biggest mistake of your life by sleeping with someone like that.”

            Harry’s mouth twitched. “His qualities are the very reason I want him.” He pointed out.

            “You really have been cursed, haven’t you?”

            Harry couldn’t help but laugh at the seriousness to Ron’s facial expression.

            “Why don’t you pick someone else? What about Ginny? I am sure she would be okay to sleep with you. She’s fancied you for ages.”

            “Are you seriously offering up your sister?” Harry asked incredulously.

            “Desperate times call for desperate measures, Harry.”

            Harry groaned and knocked his head against the wall. “Even if we were to ignore the fact that she is like a little sister to me, she doesn’t have the things I am looking for.”

            Ron scoffed before scowling. “What is that? A permanent sneer and a holier-than-thou attitude? Because I got to tell you, those are horrible qualities in a person.”

            “When Ginny magically grows a cock and loses the breasts, then we can have this conversation again.” Harry said rather dryly.

            “Oh sweet Merlin.” Ron shuddered violently. “What a horrible mental image! Don’t ever say that again.”

            “I was trying to make a point. I don’t want your sister. I don’t want a girl. I want a boy. Preferably him.”

            “Say he turns you down, or makes a mockery of you. Then what are you going to do?” Asked Ron with a hint of worry. Harry knew his friend was only looking out for his well wishes but the repetitive conversation was taking its toll on him.

            “I guess I’ll have to come up with a backup plan.” He paused for a moment. “Do you think if I was of age, Snape would ever…” Harry trailed off expectantly.

            The way Ron spluttered and then choked, probably shouldn’t have amused Harry so much.

            “No. Hell no. What is wrong with you?” Ron was as pale as Nearly Headless Nick. “Are you a masochist? Because you are just asking for pain. First him and now Snape.”

            Harry grinned widely. “I suppose I could be. I’ll have to explore that at a later date.” He really was having too much fun. Watching the different hues Ron’s face could turn was the highlight of his day so far.

            “That isn’t a backup plan. That is suicide.” Ron shook his head rapidly. “I can’t let you proposition that dungeon bat. That would make me the worst friend in the history of shitty friends. I guess I will have to settle for your first option.” The reluctance was thick.

            Harry perked up immediately. “You mean that? You aren’t going to question me anymore?” Regardless of what Ron thought about the whole thing, he was going to do it anyways. It just would be nice to have the support of his best friend.

            “Oh, I’m going to question you about it. Probably wonder what the hell you were thinking for the rest of our lives. Then, I am going to silently and publicly judge you.”

            “But…?” Harry grinned widely at the resigned sigh the redhead let out.

            “But I will respect your decision.”

            It took a lot of willpower to not whoop out loud. But Harry figured his giant grin was good enough.

            “It isn’t exactly going to be easy.” Ron mused as he scratched his chin. “You don’t have the best history with each other.”

            Harry rolled his eyes. That was entirely obvious.

            Ron released a resigned sigh. “What are you going to do, walk up to Malfoy and say, ‘I know you’ve been an utter prat for almost five years but do you think you can stick your cock up my arse, so that I won’t die a virgin?’”

            Before Harry could so much as roll his eyes, a new voice spoke up.

            “What an intriguing offer.” The drawling voice had their eyes widening. Harry was filled with mild horror and drowning in embarrassment. Merlin, help him.

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Here is to hoping that my muse magically appears as I try to finish this series. If you are interested in reading the rest of this story, have no fears. That is done and already has a sequel, or two. Check it out here.

#Drarry #Draco Malfoy #Harry Potter #harry x draco #draco x harry #Snippet #Need a muse

[theswiftarmy]

#29 - What Is The Time, You Ask?  Why, The Time Is 4/4, Of Course.

“What do we do now?” Scott asked.

           Carl Lawyer spoke in a steadfast tone his words like stone.  “As your attorney I advise you to find a very fast car with no top.  And you’ll need a tape recorder for special music…  and Acapulco shirts.”

           “Hmmm… What kind of special music?”  Scott Borchetta replied, this time in a Hunter S. Thompson voice.  Or, perhaps it was more of a Johnny Depp voice interpreting the character of Raoul Duke as written by the various writers who reworked the screenplay based on the original story as penned by Hunter S. Thompson, it’s hard to say.  That’s the thing with art, with all art, there’s no way to know if the version you’re seeing is the original genesis, THE very first iteration, or if it is a sample, a cover of the original, an echo, an art echo, an archo.  And how do YOU know any creative thought was yours to begin with, or were you exposed to an archo yourself and from you a new art echo, a new iteration of the same reverberation is coming through you, like a virus infecting and then replicating before it’s passed on to the next person to repeat the chain of exposure and replication, and maybe including a slight mutation giving it that newness, reworking the existing to create something new from the original art echo.  An echo of art.  Archo.

READ IN A ‘JOHNNY DEPP AS RAOUL DUKE’ VOICE (this is the Johnny Depp in spirit, the Johnny Depp before he ever met Amber Heard, the Johnny Depp before the news broke, when he was still most likely hung up on Winona Ryder, when he would still hear a song that reminded him of her, of a life long gone, and perhaps that song ends, and a new song begins that reminds him of Kate Moss, or any of his other lovers, every lover has a song or two… and sometimes when you hear the song, your brain says, I don’t know what to do, I just can’t get rid of you):  When foul things are afoot you’d better watch your step and when you have to watch every step, it’s hard to focus on anything else.  The voice you hear could be any voice, or every voice.  ‘What voice, there’s a voice?’ you ask yourself.  Well?  IS there?  Don’t just stand there all day, man, answer the question!  When you try to recollect it later, all you remember are the words, or the emotion as it hit you right smack in the middle of the amygdala.  The intonation of the voice can become whatever you want it to become when you recall it from memory as long as it fits in with the proper emotional response.  That’s all that matters.  Or maybe instead of the proper emotional response, you just laugh, and laugh, and laugh.  Of course, only a madman or madwoman would be laughing a time when matters are meant to be serious.  They would have to be mad, well, mad or seriously under the influence of something spectacular.

           RESUME NORMAL VOICE:

           “What kind of special music, you ask?  I’ll explain later, I suggest we get the heck out of LA.  And we’re going to have to arm ourselves, to the teeth, megaphones should do the trick, we’ll need one for each of us.”  Carl pointed at everyone individually moving his index finger like a sprinkler slowly spraying a thirsty patch of lawn.  In his mind he was doing the sprinkler dance with his entire body but all everyone saw was his index finger inching its way around to everyone.  He had a fleeting feeling like he was 22 again; it came like a flash of lightning, or a shooting star, gone as soon as it was there.  It was that very quick moment when you hear a song you first heard all those years ago, that song you listened to over and over again at 19, and again in your 20s, and again in your 30s, and you think… the first star I see may not be a star, isn’t that what you said, isn’t that what you thought this song meant?  Every song means whatever it means to the person listening to it.  It is what makes our music experience so unique.  One person’s skipped song on a playlist is another’s repeat.  Two very different emotions from the same song.  ‘I hate this song’, says one person thinking of the last time they heard the song, ‘I love this song’, says another thinking of the first time they heard it.

Scott nodded.  He stared at the sky.  “It’s awfully quiet in LA tonight.”

“Yeah.  I noticed that too.”  Carl looked around then up at the sky, catching a glimpse of a shooting star.  It was there, and then gone, so quickly that it may not have been there at all.

Wind rushed down the street blowing through them and then kicking up a plastic bag.  It hung in the air for just a moment displaying the glimpse of a logo before falling close to the ground.  Suddenly it was pulled back into the air, as though someone were carrying it, overly excited about their new purchase.  The bag was a shopping bag, but not just any old shopping bag, it was from a specialty-clothing boutique of some sort.  A Beverly Hills type of shopping experience, the sort of place you get the latest fashion and the finest apparel.

“That’s weird.”  Kymmie said in a soft voice, she held her journal up to the street lamp trying to get a better look, ignoring the shopping bag as it danced in the wind gliding just over her shoulder, an electric hum noise whirled through the air, it too carried by the wind.  It danced and weaved with the wind down the street and then joined the boutique shopping bag in a graceful waltz like two lovers dancing under the streetlights.  And then, the electric hum and bag vanished in the distance, gone with the wind.

“What is it?”  Her dad asked.

“I swear I had this playlist in a different order.”  She held up the journal inspecting the words.  They seemed… alive.

“Well, you wrote them down Swiftly—”

“Did you just say I wrote them down Swiftie?”  Kymmie looked up at her dad, she was sure she heard him say Swiftie.            “No I said you wrote them down Swiftly.”

“Oh.”  Kymmie looked back to the journal.  There was just something about it, and maybe because she wasn’t used to looking at paper, what a strange backdrop for content to cling to, no backlight, nothing illumining the words and images.  I mean, sure she’s used it before on a couple of occasions.  Her dad taught her how to write with pen and paper.  She always thought it was so silly, who would EVER want to use pen and paper unless you were someone from ‘the olden days’?  But… with her phone busted and given that all the cell phone stores were closed, or everything seemed closed at the moment, there was something more about this book—the imperfections of the paper, the tiny imperfections on the page hiding behind the words sitting there staring back.  Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her.  Paper.  It’s just so peculiar.  She reached out to touch it like she would the screen of a tablet; she felt her finger against the rough surface.  It was so different from a digital screen.  She pushed her finger into the paper and felt it give a little.  She pressed her nail into the paper.  She smiled at the slight indent left behind. She scribbled a little something just for the heck of it.  Something in the margin, and it was magic.  She knew how to write with old-fashioned pen and paper, and she was a natural too!  I mean, how many other kids at her school could actually write with real pen and paper?  She recalled a day when she told some of her friends about how her dad gave her lessons and they made fun of her for it, they made fun of her because her dad had taught her what they had told her was ‘such a useless skill’.  Yeah, well who cares what any of them think, this journal was the only thing saving her life right now, and the only way to use it meant putting the pen to the paper.  And that made it the most useful skill she’d ever learned from anyone in her entire life.

“Does anyone else feel weird?  Like, strange?”  Billie asked.

Kymmie looked up from the journal but didn’t say anything.

“Yeah.  Like… My mind feels Tiffany Twisted.”  Justin answered rubbing the sides of his forehead as if he had a bad headache, he now had two earworms inside his head, the old one from Selena and the new one from Taylor, or, maybe it wasn’t Taylor, but it was certainly Taylor’s music that was used.  If it wasn’t Taylor that used her own music to insert a new earworm, then who was it and what kind of earworm was inside Justin, or inside all of them?  What kind of art had they been exposed to?  Perhaps it was an art exposure of unknown origins.  Had they all been infected?  If so, then where did it come from?  A Trojan art earworm.  What a strange and curious concept, Trojan art… taking someone else’s art and adding another layer to it, something subliminal, something you wouldn't even know is there unless you inspected it very, very closely, like looking for imperfections behind the printed words on the page of a paperback book.  It was only a matter of time until they started dancing to that beat.  A Coachella of the mind… Synchronized together like a giant world wide line dance… or global drum circle…

“You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave…”  Billie said back.  She wasn’t sure if she’d been infected.  She felt… strange… Normal, but strange.  New.  New normal.  Except… something else was inside their heads.

“You can Swiftie any time you like, but you can never leave…”  Justin sang.

“Did you just say you can Swiftie any time you like but you can never leave?”  Billie asked.

“Yeah.”  Justin replied.

They laughed for a moment.  A slow and hazy laugh, a blurred lines laugh, a double vision laugh, a relaxed heavy breathing laugh, a slow motor response laugh, laughing the laugh of someone else laugh, the under the influence ‘I love YOOOOOOUUUUUUUU’ laugh.

“I just want to say that Bad Guy would have sounded amaaaaaaaaazing coming through those speakers, that literal wall of surround sound would have been fantastic.  Finneas would approve.  Speaking of Finneas, where is he?”

“I don’t know.”  Scott replied to her question.

“I mean, really, it was more of a hallway of sound than a wall of sound.”  Kymmie commented, rewinding the conversation back a few seconds.  “Or a tunnel of sound.  You know, like the tunnel of love, but this was sound.”

Billie looked at her.  “You really do make the oddest observations.”

“Can we take our headphones off now?”  Kymmie asked, turning to Oak Felder, changing the subject off of her own odd observations.

“Yeah, I think it’s safe.”  Oak removed his headphones and everyone but Justin took their headphones off too.

“Here, try these on.”  Will B. handed a pair of small sleek looking ear buds to Justin.

“Oh wow.  These are so much better!  No offense Oak.  But these are a pretty sleek upgrade over those old clunkers.”  He pushed the small Airpod looking buds in his ears.  “Whoa…”  They seemed to grow and mold to fit the contour of his inner ear.

Oak reached out his hand and took Justin’s old headphones from him.  “None taken.  Whatever works for you.”  Though Oak didn’t have any reason not to trust Will, he felt overly okay with the fact that a complete stranger they only just met was simply handing things out all willy-nilly.  Justin didn’t seem like the kind of guy to take anything from anyone and stick it in his ears, but there was zero hesitation from Justin, which, under normal circumstances may have played out differently.  Then again, they weren’t exactly in normal circumstances right now, everything at the moment was new, new normal, norm noodle.  Normally new, so what can you do?  “I’ll hang on to these, just incase.”  Oak opened up a backpack and placed the old headphones safely between a Shure SM57 and a Shure SM58 microphone.

“What do you hear?”  Kymmie asked.

“The sweet sound of silence.  Thanks Will B.”  Justin smiled and held a hand out to shake Will’s hand.

Will smiled as he shook hands with Justin.  “And they connect via Bluetooth to all 12 of your cell phones.”

“Cool!  You’re a lifesaver.” Justin stopped for a moment to think, he looked incredulously at Will B,  “How did you know I had 12 phones?”

William simply smiled at Justin and for some reason Justin was okay with that as a response.  Without new normal it would have been creepy but in their current situation, minds and emotions altered, it was comforting.  It felt like the person who pays it forward at the coffee shop and smiles awkwardly at you, like they know you, but in actuality they don’t, they just have a welcome smile.  And in that moment you know each other… and if a song is playing, sometimes that moment can live forever each time you hear that song, again, and again, and again, you think of that person that one single moment in time you crossed paths in life.

Justin’s enjoyment of a moment of silence seemingly spread to the others.  One by one the conversations flickered out like candles burning the last of their wicks until they stood in the street taking in the quiet.  Just, listening to the sound of Los Angeles sleeping, just like Sleeping Beauty.  A bite out of the Apple infected with a Swiftie spell, and now, the sweet sound of silence…  Not a single car, or bus or bicycle or… Scooter.  No plane overhead.  No train.  Nothing but silence on the brain.  Zen.  They reached out and held hands in a circle.  They took in the moment.  Everyone closed their eyes.

“What time is it?”  Kymmie asked, breaking the silence.

“4/4.”  Justin checked the time and held up one of his phones.  Then he started to check his other phones; where the clock time would normally be displayed as hours and minutes, instead, all of them said 4/4.

“That’s not a time.”  She said sassily back at Justin.

“Sure it is… 4/4, 4 beats in a measure.”  Oak Felder answered her.

“Just a second, everyone, let me see your phones…” Carl asked.  “Hold them up.”

“Everyone’s phone says 4/4.”  Oak observed.

Carl looked at his own phone, “I was so busy worrying about getting a signal and preoccupied with the SMPTE error I didn’t even notice the time.”

“Common time.”   Scott stated looking up from his own phone.

Carl replied back, “Does anyone have service?”

Their responses were serial, one, then the next.  “No—nope—me either—uh uh.”  Someone pointed to the small space where a signal status icon would show, “Mine just says S…M…P…T…E.. Error”  They showed everyone.  “Mine too!”  Two others replied in unison.  Someone else tried to pounce the acronym as a word, “Smip-tee!”

“It’s pronounced simp-tee”.  Carl said correcting everyone and they nodded back.

“But look, there’s another number, and each one is different.”  Lizzo held her phone close.

“Tempo!” Billie bellowed.

“Same time signature different tempo.  Maybe that’s why it took us different amounts of time to get through the wall of sound?  To show up… here… Wherever HERE is…”  Scott suggested.

“It was more of a tunnel than a wall.”  Kymmie corrected.

“Okay, well, whatever you want to call it.”  Scott continued,  “It’s like a whale song moving through water instead of music moving through air.  We all just moved at different speeds.”

Billie Eilish eyed Scott Borchetta and thought to herself, what do you mean by that ‘whale songs through water’ comment?  Maybe that means something, she wondered.  Maybe he knows something more about all this then he’s letting on.

“Why are we all on different tempos?”  Kymmie asked disrupting Billie’s ‘whale song through water’ thought.  She pulled out her own phone and saw that the time signature and tempo had also changed on her phone, everything else remained frozen, but she too had her own tempo slightly different from the others, even though the time signature was the same, they were all on their own tempo, some a little faster, and some a little slower.

“Something has changed.”  Carl looked around at the group. “We need to get out of here.”

Okay HE definitely knows something, Billie thought, looking at Carl.  Everyone knows more than they’re telling everyone else.  Her eyes moved between them—one person to the next.  It’s like a giant game of poker, she had to look for the ‘tell’, everyone has a ‘tell’, just like in poker.

Kymmie and Billie caught eyes then Kymmie looked up at Will.  “Will, can you help us get out of here?”

He nodded back at her with a small smile but didn’t say a word.

Maybe Kymmie doesn’t know anything, she just seems so innocent, Billie thought, it just seemed that even if she were told something by her dad Carl, Billie was pretty certain Kymmie wouldn’t truly understand it.  All Kymmie knew was if she posted lots of cool things on social media, she might get famous.  Okay, true, I’m not much older than her, Billie thought, and teens are smarter than adults give them credit for, that’s why she loved her brother so much, he treated her like she was an equal and not a know-nothing young punk, but… Kymmie just seemed, more naive than most.  There was just something about her, like she hadn’t yet been through anything bad in life.  She just radiated this joy, like everything was new and cool and fun and interesting and nothing she could ever encounter in the future had a dark side to it.  Kymmie was just so… innocent.

“Hey Dad.  What’s going to happen next?” Kymmie Lawyer asked her dad Carl Lawyer.  But she said it in a way as if someone were asking what happens next while watching a movie and eating a tub of freshly popped popcorn, or being read a book, not the way someone who was actually in the situation themselves might ask.

“No one really knows… “  He replied to her and everyone else in a very ‘matter-of-fact’ tone, “All we can do is get out of here now, we’ll figure things out later, form a new plan.  There’s nothing we can do now.  If there’s something in the music, it’s out in the world now like rain in the atmosphere, wet as possible.  But, I get the feeling, based on Oak’s findings that it always has been in the world, just like rain.  It’s just getting stronger, more potent.  Each loop embedded within a song, sampled, sang over or rapped over...  Each new remix, samples layered on top of one another, each new version of recording software, each new instrument created, new synth and sampler, new computer software and FX plugin, each new style of music brings us one step closer to singularity of song.   Or, as it’s called in the classified files, songularity.”

“Songularity?” Kymmie echoed the word as a question.

“Yes.”  Her dad replied. “It’s…”

“…When all music sounds the same.” Oak finished Carl’s sentence.

“Exactly.  Well, not exactly, but, yes.  That’s the basic idea.  It’s based on the idea of a perpetual number one hit single, I haven’t mentioned this before, but I think it’s time… my legal side hustle is representing a secret group of musicians researching to find out what makes someone put a song on repeat.  They’ve code named the research project ‘Want Another Play’, or WAP for short.  They have been layering and analyzing songs and samples to find out what makes someone hooked to a song.  It seems that if you loop a vocal sample and rap over it, there’s a very high chance of WAPablity.  WAP seems to occur more frequently with looped vocal samples than with looped instruments.  But we’re not entirely sure why that is yet.”

“How many people are working on this?”  Oak asked.

Carl turned to Oak and responded directly like addressing a witness on the stand, “A lot.  It’s an arms race to find a song that will stream forever.  There’s a lot of money in a song that gets millions of plays… Every. Single. Day… Forever.  Make a WAP, and you’re set.  The cash flows in, perpetually.  Every single day everyone will want another play of the song.  You might say it’s what dreams are made of… with that kind of cash you could spend your days skateboarding down the highway listening to Fleetwood Mac and drinking Ocean Spray cranberry juice every day, all day…”

“Dad.  Why would anyone with all the money in the world skateboard all day drinking Ocean Spray?” Kymmie asked.

“Why not?” Carl answered back.

“That’s what you have a question about?”  Lizzo questioned Kymmie.  “Out of everything he just said, you ask about THAT?”

“Well, I already know about all the other stuff.”  Kymmie smiled, then turned to her dad.  “Also, what’s a Fleetwood Mac?  Is it, like, a kind of mac and cheese?”

Everyone shook their heads and rolled their eyes.

“It’s music from the olden days.”  Carl said back.

Kymmie thought for a moment and then opened her journal to write something down.

Scott shifted his stance.  “We’ve got to get to the helipad.  We don’t know what was just broadcast into the world by Taylor Swift, or what just happened, or heck, even what is going on right now.  Like Carl said, if there’s special music in the atmosphere, it’s too late now, it’s Everywhere.  But I think it’s best if we get out of here, and quick.  Come along… we better make a start.”

Billie Eilish started to sing as they walked through the ghost town that Los Angeles seemed to be in the moment, “Something’s happening… happening to me… my friends say I’m acting peculiarly… come along baby… we better make a start… better make it soon before you break my heart…. Ohhhhh I… I wanna be with you everywhere…”

@taylorswift

#taylorswift

[d-dumais-blog]

Keijo!!!!!!!! Review: I Like Big Butts & I Can Not Lie

Keijo is awesome! It’s insanely stupid and yet, somehow it succeeds at nearly everything it attempts. Keijo’s success is quite honestly an anomaly.  A quick glance at premise, studio, and staff would suggest this show should have been forgotten before it even finished airing, and yet somehow it stuck around and resonated with fans, particularly in the West, in a way that no one involved saw coming.  Its success in the West isn’t only a surprise to me, it appears to be a surprise to license holder Funimation that currently has NO merchandise available for purchase. No posters, no key chains, no announced bluray release.  So let’s talk about why it works and why I love it so damn much.

Let’s start with the basics; this show is not for everyone.  Keijo is a show about girls fighting each other in bathing suits using only their boobs and butts atop a variety of floats in an Olympic sized pool. Yes it is as dumb as it sounds. Yes there is an obscene amount of fan service focusing primarily on the girls’ butts.  I completely understand why some people might be turned off by its objectification of the women portrayed.  You might consider the show sexist, and you might consider me sexist for my enjoyment. A quick note on that, I’m a fan of all fan service both male and female.  I’m a straight male with a particular affinity for the female rear end, check the title of this review, but you bet I appreciate some well drawn men in various states of undress.  Anime has the opportunity to unrealistically portray human sexuality and I think artists are free to draw all manner of people however they’d like.  I hope this helps you to understand why I won’t be talking about the sexism debate that surrounded this show.

 Keijo’s fan service is excellent, and a show so focused on fan service would never succeed unless it was good, really good.  The show focuses on a few girls, but has a great ensemble cast full of all sorts of girls of varying shapes, sizes, age, and color.  Two points of clarification, there are very few different colored women, none of which are black, and that’s a bummer, and two while they vary in age all girls in the series are over eighteen years of age which we’ll discuss further down this post.  Back to the subject at hand, how to properly handle “tasteless fan service.” Keijo’s fan service is omnipresent, leaking into every scene.  This means it’s not a major shock when a butt fully envelopes the screen, it’s expected and not even that distracting.  This differs from a majority of shows that feel the need to randomly insert their characters in compromising positions so that the viewer gets a better look at their body.  It’s low hanging fruit but let’s compare this to Sword Art Online, it makes an easy comparison because pretty much everyone has seen it and most know its flaws.  SAO II episode one while introducing new female protagonist Xion pans up her body while she lays down in a sniper position.  The camera literally stops and does a quick zoom on her ass before finishing the shot.  It’s disgusting, it’s distracting, and it feels completely out of place in a show that intends to be about technology and coping with grief.  

The other most important thing about the fan service, aside from the age, is the fact that all of the girls are complicit in the fan service.  They might be shy, and a bit embarrassed, but they are never forced into a compromising situation against their will.  There seems to be this prevailing idea in anime that anime characters are cuter if they are pure, but we also need to see them without clothes on because of course we do.  This results in a number of horrible tropes that need to stop, the most prevalent, light novel guy walks in on light novel girl changing.  It’s almost always the establishing shot for their relationship over the series and I just hate it.  The other trope is somehow even worse, girls in fan service shows need to stop being raped! People generally consider Asuna’s rape scene in the second arc of Sword Art to be the beginning of the decline which is absurd considering Silica was sexually assaulted by a plant in the first twelve episodes and no one seemed to care.  It’s so gross and so often over looked.  There’s nothing wrong with a girl being okay showing her body, and if an anime character is going to be undressed, I hope that character is willfully undressed. This goes a long way to help make your characters actual characters and not simply objects.  I think the girls are surely still being objectified, but there’s a difference between looking at a Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition and looking at leaked celebrity nude photos.  The context matters and Keijo gets the context right.  Our secondary protagonist Miyata even admits that she started Keijo because she wanted a cute swimsuit made custom for her and I think that’s something all of the viewers would also like!

 This show did far better in the west than in Japan, and that’s largely thanks to the way it was adapted. Xebec isn’t exactly known for its great adaptations; in fact I’d argue they generally suck.  Their best known for To Love Ru and Shaman King; two shows that don’t do a lot to improve upon their source material.  Most recently they were responsible for the horribly bad Clockwork Planet.  Apparently that’s actually a pretty good light novel, which should be no surprise considering it’s written by Kamiya Yuu, the celebrated author of No Game No Life. I can’t speak to the actual quality of the Clockwork Planet books because the first episode of the show turned me off of anything that has to do with it.  Point being adaptation is not a strength of Xebec, hell Xebec doesn’t honestly have a ton of strengths aside from their willingness to get smuttier than other studios if that’s your thing.  

This is entirely different in Keijo, the adaptation is immaculate, and makes it far more appealing to a western audience.  For starters, the anime skips the entire first arc where our two female leads are still in high school and under the age of 18.  The girls first appear in their bathing suits in the anime after entering the Keijo training school.  In the manga there are multiple battles that take place before this while the girls are learning Keijo for the first time at the stadium event shown at the start of the first episode.  This arc is also gross for western fans for a number of reasons on top of age.  For some reason at this point in the manga guys are allowed to compete in these non official Keijo matches.  Guys of course only compete for the opportunity to rub up against girls in swimwear.  Girls who, I’ll reiterate again because it’s important, at this point are underage.  There’s also a ton of guys in this manga, which is weird considering there’s really only one in the anime and he’s less of a creep more of a sports fan.  The men in the Keijo manga come to watch and gamble on Keijo and are depicted as perverse onlookers.  Nozomi’s teacher is one such male who has a gambling addiction and comments on his underage student’s physique more than once. The anime made the right decision removing him from the series.  This first arc also has an extremely uncomfortable and short lived love interest in the form of Nozomi’s brother.  They might actually be cousins, the translation I read wasn’t exactly clear on that, but still something western audiences always frown upon.  His feelings are never reciprocated by our star Nozomi, but the whole situation is uncomfortable, especially since he’s eager to jump in and battle her in her first mock Keijo match.  There’s also more preliminary try outs the anime totally skips and that’s to the show’s benefit because again the girls are underage, and it cuts out a plethora of characters that don’t matter at all.  The adaptation also does a great job with its references, choosing series that are particularly popular in western fandom. Attack on Titan and Fate/Stay Night are popular around the world, but really struck a chord in the states and Keijo very obviously references these shows multiple times to great effect. Other references to Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure, One Piece, and Dragon Ball are all also greatly appreciated and largely absent from the manga.  

Keijo performed very well in weekly viewership numbers, both legally and illegally, but was quickly written off by most.  Everyone who watched it seemed to enjoy it, but wrote it off as “just another fan service show” and that’s unfair.  It stands out among its peers, and should be celebrated as such.  It was ranked the fifth most popular show according to Myanimelist, beating out shows with more popular appeal in pedigree like Occultic;Nine, Izetta the Last Witch, and season 2 of Ajin.  It also beat out several truly spectacular shows in Sound Euphonium season 2, Flip Flappers, and the fifth season of Natsume’s Book of Friends. This wouldn’t have happened if it was “just another fan service show.” If you’re still in need of proof that season had just another an service show, it was Brave Witches, a fairly tasteless follow up to a reasonably successful show about young flying military girls who don’t wear pants for some unknown reason.  People talk about Keijo as if it’s like Brave Witches, and no one talks about Brave Witches because no one cares.  It might be easy to right it off if you don’t watch a lot of fan service shows, but let me tell you Keijo is special.  I’ve lived in Trash Mountain for some time and am an expert in awful anime fan service, please don’t compare Keijo to that garbage; it’s far too good for that. Keijo is excellent! End of statement, no caveats no excuses, it’s really great.  The show is easily the best thing director Takahashi Hideya has ever helmed. It’s arguably the best series Xebec has ever produced solo, inarguably the best this decade.  I love Keijo, and I hope someday fans look back on it with the respect it earned.  

 8.5/10

#keijo #keijo!!!!!!!! #anime #fan service

[homeplanetreviews]

It Comes at Night (2017) SPOILER Review by: Tristan Bunn

Every so often, a film comes along that splits audiences down the middle. It can even split critics and audiences apart with one side praising it while the other condemns it to the five dollar bin in an Idaho K-Mart, never to return. This year’s It Comes at Night seems to have done both. Trey Edward Shults’ claustrophobic “horror” film currently holds an 87% critic rating on Rotten Tomatoes, but holds a 44% audience score on the same website. Personally, I don’t put weight into a film’s tomato rating. In fact, it makes me sick that films come out and are given a number on a website that they will never escape, but that’s a topic for a different day. Today, I’m simply reviewing It Comes at Night. The film has been out for over a week now, so I’m going to discuss the film in depth, including SPOILERS.

You want my non-spoiler review? It’s a masterpiece of filmmaking. Terror, paranoia, and remarkable work from cast and crew are here for you to see. It gets my perfect score of an A+. If you haven’t seen it then go do so. Just don’t go in expecting a typical horror movie because the audiences who went in wanting that left disappointed. I understand that, but this is a moving and powerful film. I need to discuss spoilers to do the film justice so this is your last warning. SPOILERS AHEAD! If you haven’t seen the film then please stop reading, go watch it, then come back and see what you think. Here we go!

SPOILERS:

It Comes at Night is not your typical horror film. Many people would be reluctant to call it horror at all. I am not one of those people. I believe this film embodies true terror. I love a good monster movie, ghost story, or creature feature. However, those films very rarely terrify me or get under my skin, that is unless they’re carrying a deeper meaning under the surface like most of the great horror pictures do, currently more than ever before. My favorite sub-genre of horror has always been home invasion. Something or someone invading the one place you are supposed to be protected from the outside world. Your home? Yes, your home…but also your mind.

It Comes at Night is, to put it incredibly basic, a home invasion film in the beginning. We follow Paul, played to perfection by Joel Edgerton, watching over his wife (Sarah) and son (Travis) in a house that has only one entrance. Something has happened in the world. Travis’ grandfather has grown sick or become infected with whatever it is the world or this family seems to be fighting. Paul makes the decision to put him down. He has to, right? He must protect his family…even if that means sacrificing a member of his family that endangers the rest. The film opens with the very dilemma that will plague the family in the finale. However, it isn’t much of a dilemma in the opening. It’s just what has to be done.

This is one of the brilliant pieces to It Comes at Night: the autocracy that Paul commands with. He’s not a power-hungry man. He’s just a father who wants to protect his wife and son at all costs. He has very strict and clear rules. Stay together when you leave the house, the one entrance stays locked at all times, and most importantly to Paul: never go out at night. These rules seem to have kept his family safe up to this point. We have no idea what has happened in the world or what this sickness is because it doesn’t matter. The film carries shades of The Road throughout (another post-apocalyptic masterpiece). Whatever is going on is already happening. Dwelling on it won’t change anything. Shults is fully aware he will immediately lose audiences that want to be spoon fed information. I say good riddance as well.

Eventually there is commotion from the room outside the door one night. Paul and family wake up and go to the room to find Will, a man who has broken in searching for food for his own family. As the audience, we are in the minds of Paul’s family. We only see and know what they see and know. This has been done before, but this is the remarkable piece of the film that I adore and that many audiences want. We, the audience, are not God. We don’t see everything. We know what Paul’s family knows, which makes us even more invested in their journey and their pain. Paul questions Will about his family and learns they have food…or so Will says. Will does indeed have a family and Paul takes them in. This is where the film begins to unravel.

A lot of people seemed to think this was going to be a “monster in the woods” film. I can completely understand that. Instead, It Comes at Night explores paranoia. We’ve let strangers into our home, our safe zone. We don’t know if they can be trusted. We question every word out of their mouths. We question every action. This builds up inside Paul and the audience until it boils over. Will arriving at Paul’s home has changed everything. They already wear gas masks to avoid whatever virus this may be, but now they’re attempting to trust strangers. Will’s story doesn’t always add up and we see the internal struggle Paul is going through. This can also be chalked up to Joel Edgerton’s masterful performance. I have loved Edgerton for a long time, but this is one of his finest pieces. He embodies Paul completely. The entire cast does tremendous work here, particularly Kelvin Harrison Jr. (Travis.)

The film follows Paul and his family getting to know Will and his family. As the tension slowly starts to burn through our veins, Travis continues to have terrifying dreams. This is not the horror cliche using dreams instead of real scares. The dreams are creepy, but Shults never tries to trick us. One of my favorite critics, Chris Stuckmann, noted that Shults changes the aspect ratio every time we enter a dream Travis is having. I caught this in the theater as well, which I thought was fantastic. Some people think this takes the tension away from the film because we know it isn’t real. I disagree, because we see the paranoia within Travis. These dreams are an indication of something sinister looming. They get more and more intense and he can’t seem to shake them. I thought it was a beautiful touch for us to see Paul’s struggle with paranoia through real conversations, while viewing Travis’ paranoia and fear boiling up within him as he sleeps.

Ultimately, Travis wakes up from a nightmare to accompany Will’s son back to his room after finding him on the floor. He also finds the red door (the one that should stay closed because Paul has the only set of keys) is wide open and their dog is suffering behind it. The dog took off in the woods earlier in the film and vanished, as you know if you’ve seen the film. Paul and Will put the dog down, but these brings more questions. What nearly killed the dog? Why was Will and Kim’s son not in their bed? Who opened the door? Is someone sick? We don’t get all of our answers…because neither do our characters.

Paul separates the families and the climax arrives when he believes Will’s son is sick. Travis touched the child’s hand so that would make him ill as well. They engage in a brawl outdoors that results in Paul murdering Will’s entire family, his child included. This is a horrifying, brutal, and spectacular scene to watch. Paul literally has to go to the furthest lengths imaginable to protect his family. He has to murder a child. Paul and his wife then discover that their son, Travis, has in fact been infected with this disease that has plagued the family and possibly the world. Travis’ mother reassures him that everything will be fine.

The final shot of the film is Paul and his wife, Sarah, staring at each other in the kitchen, knowing what they should do…but can they go through with it? This last frame is a brilliant finale and a remarkable ending to a remarkable film.

Shults’ writing and directing continuously push this film out of its genre and into absolute greatness. I’m shocked at some of the response this film has gotten. One of the main complaints seems to be that we, the audience, don’t get any answers. What killed the dog? Who opened the door? How was the child infected or was he infected? What about Travis? Was Will lying about his brother?

As I noted earlier, we are not God. As an audience, we only know what Paul knows. Doesn’t that make it terrifying?!

Would these audiences have been happier if the film reveals that there’s a big blue monster in the woods that eats dogs and infects humans? It might have pleased some people…but it would have drained all tension from the film. The tension mounts through (say it with me again) PARANOIA. The human psyche is crumbling in front of us. Scratch that. OUR psyche is crumbling. Over the course of 90 minutes, we are the characters and we question everything. I’m sure Paul wanted answers. But he doesn’t get them! Shults has purposefully removed any answers from the film so we can take this journey with the characters. I mentioned this earlier in the review, but that is what makes the paranoia and tension mount.

Humans are scarier than any monster. Paul fears for his family’s life. He is so protective of them, that he rules with an iron fist. There are rules in place to protect them. He believes what he is doing is the best way to protect them, and it might be. So this brings us to a burning complaint or question many people have with the film.

What the hell comes at night? Perhaps the marketing can mislead people into believing something is coming at night to destroy the family or change their lives. Oh wait…..

..THAT HAPPENS!!!

This is just my personal take on the title. “It Comes at Night.” What comes at night? Another human. Another man. Will comes at night. When we open on Paul, Travis, and Sarah, they seem to have adapted to this autocracy Paul has built. With the exception of having to put down the grandfather, they seem to be doing okay. This all changes when Will tries to break into the house one night. Everything for the family flips when Will comes at night. The director has also said the title is a metaphor. Perhaps just meaning danger, paranoia, and betrayal. However, in my eyes this all begins when Will shows up one evening claiming to seek refuge for his own family. Paul takes them in with promises of food. He gets his food, but he also gets something he didn’t ask for.

This is another aspect of this film that I find so brilliant. There isn’t a clear antagonist. When Will first arrives, we assume he might be a villain. No. He’s just a man trying to survive, it seems. When the climax begins, Will doesn’t threaten to kill Paul. He is simply trying to get his wife and baby out of that house with a fair share of the food. He just wants to leave. Paul can’t let them. Does this make Paul the antagonist? No. It makes them human. The film constantly tears apart the human brain and examines how choices we make can affect the rest of our lives (particularly in an infected apocalyptic wasteland.)

Was Will’s son sick? We don’t know for sure. If so then he must have infected Travis, right? Maybe not. Maybe it was the other way around. We don’t get these answers because the characters don’t have the answers. Another big complaint is Travis’ dream sequences. I mentioned that the director is never trying to fool anyone. Travis’ dreams seem to be an indication of something sinister approaching, a demise that he won’t soon escape. Could the dreams be a symptom of the virus? Possibly. Could the lifestyle be catching up with him? Sure. Is there any way out of this hell? Unfortunately, no. We see that there’s no way out in the last frame. Does Paul kill his own son to protect himself and his wife? That would be the logical thing to do and would fall in line with his lifestyle thus far. But without his son, why should he live? It’s a haunting final scene that is still burning under my skin.

It Comes at Night is a masterpiece of modern horror. It’s important to remember that while monsters and creature features are tons of fun, it is the human psyche that serves as the darkest demon among us. The human mind, and the thoughts it can create, is with us every day. Depression, grief, paranoia, and fear are always present in the back of our skulls, waiting for an opportunity to pounce. There is no villain in It Comes at Night. There is only circumstance. And so the issues must be dealt with. A sane person might handle these situations gracefully. Perhaps Paul does handle them gracefully. However, the world these characters live in is no longer for the faint of heart. It is not for the weak minded. Only the strong survive. But fear is powerful. Once it grabs a hold of you, it doesn’t want to let go. Fear latches onto Paul and he does what needs to be done, even if he’s not exactly pulling the strings. These people are prisoners to their own mind…and that’s the most sinister monster of them all.

Grade: A+

#it comes at night #it comes at night review #trey edward shults #joel edgerton #kelvin harrison jr. #christopher abbott #A24 films #a24 #carmen ejogo #riley keough #movie review #filmreview #homeplanetreviews #itcomesatnightspoilers #spoilerreview #Horror Movies

[alliance-recruitment-agency-blog]

Sales Headhunters - Best Sales Headhunter In City

As an executive Search Consultant specializing the particular recruitment of senior level executives, Producers and Producer teams for the retail brokerage community, I have had the ability over the past several years to assist dozens of human Producers as well as Producer teams to create transition into a new brokerage house. I see this can be intimidating trouble with your car is the original time anyone could have made this type of move. This short guide is designed to help you navigate using the process to create sure when come out on another side utilizing new firm, you supply all the information.

Image Source:

Headhunter Sales - 25 Of The Punniest SALES HEADHUNTER Puns You Can Find  

Practice exactly what to be articulate simply because it would also help to have sales recruit consulting standing. Sales recruit talent is not always latent in individuals starting your sales position. They have to be created and nurtured into the fullest. A sales recruit sales headhunter firm will automatically be the first to find the talent inside you and for the to smooth talk route out. Practice pronouncing each word carefully and clearly for an even more lasting impact.

Image Source:

 Sales Headhunter - 10 Powerful Tips To Help You SALES HEADHUNTER Better 

It can't be unique to New York, but no local job seeker should not have a Linked In story. As a recruiter, I am (literally) logged onto my Linked In account from day to night at the office, keeping on top of my network and in need of qualified campaigners. Social media has made data and information so now more democratized and accessible that there are no excuse for not fully utilizing social networking tools, for example Linked In, in job search. Internet site Linked In, 49% of its users are "Business Decision Makers" (aka: people capable to hire you or offer a referral). With odds like that, the reason for not linked in?

Video Source: 

Hire Sales Headhunters -  My Biggest SALES HEADHUNTER Lesson 

There are exceptions; some headhunters have such good long term relations using clients how they say ' trust me you need to see this person. they will be a star.' but additionally can only say that confidently when they have been met for you. And they won't waste their time meeting you unless you meet a few of their criteria in the spectacular great way. So you're back to the fact that you is required to be a real near match to their specification or have a wonderful achievement in at least one portion of specification. 

Top Sales Headhunter - When SALES HEADHUNTER Competition is Good  

Now that. According to a study conducted at Carleton University in Ottawa, people are forming first impressions inside of 1/20th of one's second. 

First of all, your home office need to in a room that is dedicated furthermore conducive to. A den, or extra bedroom (w/o the bedroom) is usually going to get your first choice, mainly has appeared to be slated as an extra room and is in all likelihood nothing higher than a repository for stuff you cant find a spot for.

How should an executive job search be launched? On value, right? That does it? No one. And "value" is just a basic ingredient in the event that think in it for some time. But that's the first of numerous major pitfalls you will encounter for a traditional job hunter.

This is my favorite benefit. I have great satisfaction from knowing that I have brightened a persons life. Got an executive come at least me after Sales Headhunter Recruiters one of my humor seminars and say, 'You opened up a brand new world for me.' I almost cried right in an instant. I'll never forget the idea.

Again and again we talk before we act and after that think twice about it a while later. Regardless of whether it is an unconstrained choice to leave, or a well-thoroughly considered decision, leaving a place of employment can frequently be a battle. Another point to contemplate is that with scaling down, work jumping and mergers normal, you can't anticipate when you may keep running for your old manager once more. "Leave the intense subject matters at home" exhorts Sales Headhunters Services Mark Katz, overseeing accomplice in an exceptionally Detroit-based official inquiry firm. He reviews a lady who took in the outcomes of cutting off ties the most difficult way possible. While leaving her place of employment at a promoting organization, she disclosed to her manager everything that he, and the organization, were fouling up. "She recently felt that the association didn't comprehend what they did and let them know so," he tells. Her tone was "extremely stooping and antagonistic". 

Be that as it may, are generally extensively more youthful than Churchill was as he driven absolutely free whataburger coupons World to triumph in World War II. Despite everything you have a technique to use before you achieve the age when Henry Ford hit pay earth with his Model M. When he was almost 40, James Michener, writer of scores of books, including Tales from the South Pacific, was informed that in the event that he had not composed a novel by age 35, chances were he never is probably going to. 

So truly, offices and talent scouts could without much of a stretch get in your drive if proficient vocation interruption. be that as it may, they function admirably for together with a strong reputation in the field they have to seek after. Also, boost your odds of having a productive association with an expert or talent scout. Initially perceive that they work in specialty markets; in which you segment firms are 'boutique' not shopping territory. So pick the organizations that you approach cautiously. Also, discover what data other than from you and how they like it given you. Ensure that your CV is the correct key expressions and comes finish full with the things you have accomplished. Thirdly, be individual. when they have something they require you for, they is to you need to. I had an organization come to me generally as of late. I had heard nothing from them for more than multiple times! 

On the other hand, need to do end with the range can unnerve me, as well. For example, in the occasion the workplace comprises of very entrenched veteran representatives, for what reason haven't they been advanced 5x on their residency? 

Neither the enterprise nor Young conversed with Automotive News, yet the production expresses that The Detroit News is announcing that GM has employed a business talent scout firm to discover Young's substitution.  

New strong. In the event that you have adjusted the business successfully while having carried out your responsibility, you should have an upper hand amid alternate Brokers you're contending with. 

On the underlying day inside your new business convey a report. In the event that by the real day it's a bit much hear by methods for "taken care of" class #1 gathering, begin calling them and discover they got the get. They may have a spam blocker that may have kept the notice from getting infers of. This will allow to set that gathering to go get the BOR. An individual have all the "taken care of" "tied up". Begin centering close to the "I suspect as much/50/50". Call them, go visit them, and push to get the BOR. third exercise aggregate strive to these at fix. Good fortunes, whenever done right occupations make a psychological and budgetary lift for you have! 

Author Name:- Shreya Mehta

Address:- 104 Esplanade ave 120, 

                  Pacifica, CA

Mobile No:- [phone]

#sales headhunters #headhunter sales #sales headhunter

[msbigredmachine]

Into The Deep End - Chapter 38

Sasha has always tried to play it safe, to keep her life as simple and risk-free as possible. Things change, however, when she garners the interest of a handsome, charming, younger man from a completely different world than hers. As she starts to question her own rules, is she ready to take the biggest chance of them all? Will she let herself take that dive? Roman Reigns/OC.

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CHAPTER 37

The week flew by and on Thursday Joe and Sasha were on a plane to Pensacola. Flying business class for that matter. Sika was in a giving mood and paid for it all, and Sasha thought it was very generous of him. The couple arrived at Joe's beach house late in the evening, and tired from the long day they had, they went straight to the master bedroom and stumbled into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

Click here to see Joe’s Pensacola beach home

Sasha woke to the sound of water running and her boyfriend missing from the bed. Reaching for the shirt he wore the day before, she put it on and headed to the bathroom, where he stood in front of the mirror inspecting his reflection. "Hey sexy," she said.

He smiled at her through the mirror. "Morning, baby girl. Sleep well?"

"Very." She leaned against the doorframe, eyes scanning the beige-colored bathroom. It was much bigger than the one she'd already seen in the guest room, with double sinks, a shower and a Jacuzzi tub. There was a window from which one could see the stunning ocean vistas. "What are you up to?" she asked.

"Not much. I went grocery shopping this morning so there's food in the house now. I took out your toiletries for you," he said, as she joined him at the sink and picked up her toothbrush to brush her teeth. He rubbed his bearded jaw and picked up a razor. "I totally need a shave. I'll be looking like Rollins soon enough."

Sasha rinsed her mouth and put her toothbrush away. "Let me do it," she offered.

Joe looked at her. "Shave me?" She nodded. "Uh, do you know how?"

"I shave my legs," she shrugged. She'd groomed a couple of her boyfriends in the past as well, but that part was better left unsaid.

"Um, legs and a beard are two different things," he countered.

"Not really. Sit." She pointed at the wooden stool in the bathroom. Reluctantly, he sat down while she took the razor from him and stood between his legs. "Sweetie, relax. I won't hurt you. Much," she added with a wicked grin.

"Much? Sasha! I'd rather not be slashed open on the night of my parents' party."

She burst out laughing at that. "For Pete's sake, relax. I got this." She wet a washcloth with warm water and gently wet his bearded area, waiting for a while before lathering his face with shaving cream. She could feel Joe's grey gaze on her, watching her warily. "Bend your head back," she instructed, smiling as Joe closed his eyes and shook his head before obeying.

Sliding her hand into his hair to hold him still, her expression was one of utmost concentration as she very gently began stroking the razor up from his neck to his chin, revealing a patch of smooth skin beneath the lather. She ran the razor up his neck again, widening the patch. Joe cautiously opened one eye when she turned to rinse the razor in the sink. "Cut me yet?" he queried.

"Shut up," Sasha snapped. Joe snickered in response but said nothing further, letting her carry on. There was something seriously sexy about letting her groom him. But then again, he thought nearly everything she did was sexy. She'd done his hair many times but never the one on his face until now. This was more intimate, with their faces inches from each other, allowing him to study her beautiful features as she shaved him. Feeling rascally, his hands glided up her thighs under the oversized shirt she was wearing, his fingers absorbing the softness of her skin. Just as he neared the juncture between her legs, Sasha abruptly tapped the side of the razor on his nose. "Don't do that," she warned, "Not unless you want me to cut up your pretty face."

Joe smiled mischievously and raised his hands in surrender, and Sasha was allowed to finish her work in peace, sculpting his goatee the best way she could. She wet the washcloth with warm water to rinse his face, then dried his face with a towel. "Done, and not a drop of blood spilled," she said proudly.

He turned to look in the mirror. "Not bad, Morgan."

"Told you," she said proudly, watching him admire her handiwork in the mirror. Her eyes flickered over his gorgeous body, his broad back, his waist narrowing into the towel that covered his delectable derriere. He was so sexy and hot, it made her head spin sometimes.

It was several seconds before he realized she was staring at him. "What?" he asked.

"Nothing." Sasha licked her lips, eyeing him again. She came up behind him, rubbing her small hands along the front of his body, grinning inwardly when his ab muscles twitched beneath her touch. Meeting his heated gaze through the mirror, her voice was husky, seductive. "It's just...the sight of you makes me wet."

Joe's amused expression instantly became serious, and he swallowed hard as his grey eyes dilated. It was always a thrill for Sasha, watching his control slip, anticipating what he was going to do to her.

He turned from the mirror and dragged her to him, sliding his hands back under her shirt to cup her backside. "I'm gonna need proof of that," he told her in an equally throaty, heated voice. Before he could carry out his little investigation, however, his phone rang, with Sika's picture popping up on the screen. Unimpressed by the interruption, he sighed before picking up. "Hey Pops."

Patting his back, Sasha slipped away to give him privacy, walking down the hallway and into the living room area. She liked that everything was on one floor and she didn't have to do any climbing. The front door was open, letting in the warm outdoor breeze. She stepped out onto the patio, taking in the spectacular view of the beach. Joe obviously had a thing for picturesque scenery and she did not blame him. This was a far cry from the decrepit concrete and crackled-plaster combination that made up the environs of her apartment complex. She definitely did not mind giving that up for a place like this someday.

Joe wandered out onto the patio a few minutes later, covered up in a t-shirt and faded jeans. "Where'd you run off to?" he asked.

"I was looking around while you were on the phone. Everything okay?"

"You're here, so everything's great." He walked over to her, wrapped his arms around her waist and laid his lips on hers in that loving, tender manner that always filled her stomach with butterflies. "Mm. Minty fresh," he said against her mouth, laughing when she playfully slapped his chest. Kissing her forehead, he walked back inside the house, pulling her along behind him. "What would you like for breakfast?"

"What you got in mind?"

"Eggs. Bacon. Pancakes. Whatever you want."

Sasha nodded. "Let's see what we can get done."

They made breakfast together, with Sasha dancing around the kitchen to the music playing from Joe's iPhone, giving the Samoan a glimpse of where Mia inherited her talent from. In turn Sasha was treated to Joe's very impressive delivery of Dr. Dre and Eminem's 'Forgot About Dre'. All shenanigans aside, they managed to prepare a nice spread, consisting of French toast, bacon, sausages, croissants, blueberry pancakes and fruit, along with freshly squeezed orange juice and their favorite coffee blend.

"I like that there's not much furniture in the house," Sasha said between bites of her French toast as they sat side by side at the kitchen island. "It's just the bare essentials but it's cool. Gives the house a more open layout than it already is."

The Samoan picked up a croissant. "I prefer it this way. I'm not here often so there's no point having so much stuff. The first time Matt showed me this place I literally snatched the keys and paid whatever it cost. It was perfect. I'd just got out of the shit with Andrea and I needed somewhere to clear my head. I love beaches and I still wish I lived right next to one in Tampa."

Sasha took a sip of her orange juice. "You said I'm the first person you've ever brought here?" Joe nodded, and she smiled softly. "I'm honored. I love that you trust me enough to share such a private piece of your life with me."

"I do trust you, baby girl. And I hope to share more with you in the future," he replied, his eyes tender as they searched hers expectantly.

Sasha smiled, aware that she felt the same. "Me too." She leaned towards him to brush her lips with his, feeling his smile as they kissed. She pulled back to chuck a piece of bacon into his mouth. "So what time are we meant to be at the party?"

"Seven-thirty. Cassie planned everything. I don't know how she does it. I'm shit at planning stuff."

"Well, she is an event planner. That's kinda what she does," Sasha said. Nodding in agreement, Joe gave his girlfriend a long look. "I hope you'll like the things I got for you tonight," he said.

Sasha raised an eyebrow. "Things? I thought it was only a dress. What else did you get?"

He smiled and winked. "You're gonna have to wait and see," he said cryptically. "I'll show you around the rest of the house later. We didn't get to do that last time."

"Cool."

The rest of breakfast was spent in companionable silence. They spent half an hour cleaning up afterwards, and things would probably have progressed faster had they not been too busy touching, kissing and stealing glances at each other the whole time. Later on in the day, they took a stroll outside, walking around their secluded compound and down to the beach. Afterwards, Sasha lounged on the patio in a super-comfortable wicker chair, sipping a fruity cocktail while Joe was on a conference call going over the night's activities with his sisters.

"So are you going to reveal your little secret now? What did you get me?" Sasha asked when they were in the bedroom. The sun was setting and it was time to get ready for the evening.

He cast her his trademark half-smile as he walked towards his sizeable wardrobe, very much like his one back in Tampa. Her eyes widened as he started bringing out a number of boxes and shopping bags, setting some on the floor and others on the bed. "I had them all delivered here over the week. I wasn't exactly sure about what you'd want so I thought I'd let you decide," he explained.

She stepped closer to the bed with wide eyes. There had to be at least ten boxes and shopping bags in total. The two biggest boxes, which were wrapped in single bows, were probably dresses. Another was a big silver and black case with M.A.C. printed on the side. Pam had one of those. It was filled with every makeup item imaginable and in every shade imaginable. Another bag contained body wash, mist and lotion from Bath & Body Works. Her eyes fell upon the three boxes on the floor, and she felt faint. "Oh my god, are those..." she trailed off, recognizing the beige shoe boxes with the famous cursive lettering of Christian Louboutin. 

A pair cost twice the amount of her monthly rent at least, and here were three of them. Overwhelmed, she turned to Joe, who stood by calmly watching her reaction. "It's just one night, Joe. Why get all this expensive stuff only for you to have to return them tomorrow?"

He smiled. "Who said anything about returning? You're keeping everything."

What?! "Everything?" she choked out.

He nodded. "All of it. It's all yours."

Stunned and fighting the urge to cry, Sasha shook her head. "Baby, I..." she stammered, looking around in amazement. Sure, he'd got her gifts over the course of their relationship but this was overload. "This is too much."

He flashed her another sweet, warm smile. "For you nani, nothing is ever too much."

"You don't have to spoil me, babe. You didn't have to do all of this."

"Sasha, I'm your boyfriend. Boyfriends spoil their girlfriends, that's what we're supposed to do. But more importantly, I want to spoil you." Walking up to her, he gently tipped her chin up to meet his eyes. "Baby girl, if we really want this thing between us to work," he gestured between them, "you're gonna have to deal with the fact that I like buying you nice things. I like spending my money on you and I wouldn't have it any other way. Alright? Is that okay?" He locked gazes with her, awaiting her answer.

"Okay." She didn't know what else to say.

"Good. Now why don't you check out the other stuff?"

She continued to peruse the gifts one after the other; perfume, hair appliances, accessories. There was even lingerie, from Agent Provocateur of all places. She picked up the lace bra and checked the label. "Hmm, you got the right size," she smiled at him.

Joe smirked. "Babe, I been takin' off your clothes for months now. I think I'd have an idea what sizes you are."

"True," she conceded with a giggle, glancing around at the spread on the bed and exhaling heavily. This was generous and then some.

Joe draped his arms around her waist and kissed her cheek. "We better start getting ready. I know you ladies need all the space you can get so I'll get dressed in the guest room. Come find me if you need anything."

"Okay," she smiled and nodded, and Joe gave her a kiss before he exited the room. Sasha turned back around, looking at all the items on the bed. She started with one of the boxes containing the dress, a gasp leaving her when she opened it and gently held up the garment. It was a floor-length, one-shoulder mermaid gown in ruby red, the traditional color of the fortieth wedding anniversary. It had a partial sweetheart neckline and a beautiful embroidered design on the right bust. The second dress was a flowing strapless coral silk gown. They were both stunning, and the backs were not too revealing, meaning she could wear a strapless bra. She couldn't begin to imagine how much the dresses cost and she tried not to think about it. She tended to the shoes on the floor. Never in her wildest dreams did she imagine owning one pair of Louboutins, let alone three. She opened each of the boxes and inspected the shoes. All three were high enough to guarantee that she at least reached Joe's shoulder height-wise. They were all beautiful but she couldn't keep her eyes off the silver strappy sandals, which she thought went perfectly with the red dress she preferred. There were even clutch bags to go with each outfit. Her man had thought of everything.

An hour went by as she shaved, showered, did her hair and makeup and got dressed. She was checking her updo in the mirror when there was a knock on the door and Joe entered. She turned to face him and he halted in his tracks, speechless.

Damn. Red was his favorite color on her but this was on another level. From the form-fitting gown which accentuated her voluptuous, hourglass figure, to her red lipstick, she looked unbelievable. "Sasha...you're breathtaking," he stated finally, regaining his ability to speak.

She smoothed down her dress and grinned. "Thanks, baby. You look so handsome." More than handsome. He looked sinfully fantastic in in his tailored black suit and black shirt with a red tie that matched her gown. His jet-black hair was slicked back nicely and gathered into a bun at the nape of his neck, and all she wanted to do was dig her fingers in and disrupt all that neatness and order, preferably with him on his back. It was going to be a tough task, keeping her hands to herself all night. Noticing the item in his hands, she said, "What's that?"

"Something to complete your outfit with," he said simply, presenting her with an aqua-colored box tied in a white bow. Sasha went numb when she saw the name on the box. Tiffany & Co. Wow.

He extended the box to her. "Open it, baby."

She was almost afraid to, but not wanting to hurt his feelings, she pulled the ribbon off the box and found a note underneath.

These reminded me of you, Nani. Precious and simply beautiful.

Sasha smiled at Joe, and noted how his shoulders relaxed at the gesture. She lifted the lid off the box and gasped.

Nestled in Tiffany blue satin was a white diamond and pearl necklace with a teardrop diamond pendant. Lying in the middle of the necklace was a pair of matching diamond earrings. The stones sparkled and the pearls had an iridescent glow that reflected in the light. With wide eyes, Sasha lifted the necklace out of the box. It was smooth and cool to the touch. They took Sasha's breath away. "Baby, they're fabulous."

"Put on the earrings. I'll help you with the necklace." He came to stand behind her, taking the necklace from her and unclasping it. He draped it around her neck, and her fingers touched the pendant as it lay on her collarbone. Turning her around to face the mirror, he raked his gaze over her and ran his fingertip under her necklace against her skin. Sasha stared back at her reflection, feeling very much like a Princess on her way to the Ball.

Joe rested his chin on her shoulder and placed his hands on her waist, his gaze meeting hers in the mirror. "You are the most beautiful woman I've ever seen," he whispered.

She smiled shyly at him, her eyes soft and loving. "Thank you. You clean up pretty well yourself, handsome."

Gently kissing her cheek, he straightened and checked his tie in the mirror. "Ready to go?" he said.

Checking that she had her clutch bag, she nodded. "So we're going in the rental?"

"Nope," said Joe. "There's a limo waiting outside for us."

"A limo," Sasha repeated.

"Mm-hmm." He eyed her, amused by the frown on her face. "Or would you rather we walked to the venue?"

At the sarcastic statement, she cut her eyes sharply to him, making him laugh. "The limo it is," he surmised.

Ensuring the lights in the house were switched off, the couple exited, Sasha's hand tucked in the crook of Joe's elbow. Sure enough, a black stretch limousine sat outside the house. The driver was outside waiting, and he opened the back door for them. Joe helped Sasha inside first before following behind her. She settled in the plush leather seating, skimming over the interior of the limousine with bemused eyes.

Joe turned to her, seeing the look of bewilderment on her face. He weaved his fingers through hers, kissing the back of her hand and looking into her eyes. "I know you're not used to things like this, Sash. But I want you to be," he said. "You're my woman, my queen, and I plan to keep treating you as such."

His queen. It still astonished her how into her he was, just like she was into him. She rested her head on his shoulder, feeling his arm wind around her hip and his other fingers link through the ones she placed on his chest. As he kissed her temple, Sasha shut her eyes and tried to convince herself that she wasn't dreaming.

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The anniversary party was being held at a country club that Joe's family belonged to. It was the biggest ballroom Sasha had ever seen, decorated beautifully with themes of red and white and colorful flower centerpieces, twinkling lights and candles. A red guestbook branded with Sika and Patricia's name sat at the entrance for everyone to sign in. Up to a hundred guests of relatives and friends were scheduled to appear and it looked like most of them were already here. A live band was stationed at a visible corner tuning up.

"This is amazing," Sasha gushed, looking around. "Cassie definitely did a great job."

Joe smiled widely. "She did. Come on, let me introduce you to some people." He snatched up two glasses of champagne from a waiter and handed one to her as they began mingling about the vast room. They met uncles, aunts, cousins, friends, acquaintances and strangers. They were polite to Sasha, but their focus was firmly on Joe. The big TV star, the newest shining diamond in the Anoa'i family. Sasha stood quietly next to him, watching them all fuss over him. They asked about his injury and his recovery, some speaking Hawaiian or Samoan, and he answered every question, more graciously with the older guests, and less formal with his age peers. The room was quickly filling with people, and Joe stayed close to Sasha's side, his hand resting protectively on her lower back as he showed her off to everyone.

Of course, her handsome, famous boyfriend caught the eye of several ladies. Their looks lingered for too long and their gazes bored into the couple's backs as they mingled. There was one in particular that fawned over Joe a little too much for Sasha's taste. She tossed her head back and laughed too loudly, leaned too closely and kept her hand on Joe's bicep. She was striking, tanned and toned with long black hair down to her waist and her red and white dress hugged her outstanding figure. It was obvious Joe knew her but it didn't make Sasha any less piqued. Excusing herself from a lady she was talking with, she sidled over to Joe, who smiled brightly as she approached. "Hey," she said, noting how the woman’s flirtatious smile instantly converted to a scowl as she eyed Sasha rudely.

"Hey babe. I was about to come pry you away from Aunt Miriam. She can be quite chatty," Joe said with a laugh.

"She was alright," said Sasha, casting a pointed gaze on the stranger. Putting a hand on Sasha's waist, Joe gestured to the girl. "Sasha, meet Chrissy. Chrissy, this is my girlfriend Sasha. Chrissy and I went to high school together."

"We dated, actually," Chrissy announced proudly.

It wasn't lost on Sasha how eager the girl was to make that little tidbit known. "Oh, how nice."

With a tight, dismissive smile at Sasha, Chrissy refocused on Joe. The other woman could have been air for all she cared. "Come Joey, let's take a picture," she said, holding up her camera.

"Okay. But only for you though," said Joe.

"I could take it for you if you want," Sasha offered, playing nice. For now.

A derisive smirk formed on the younger woman's face. "Are you sure? I mean, the camera's a little hi-tech," she said.

"I'm sure I can handle a Canon 700D, darling," Sasha said, the statement evidently taking Chrissy aback. The floozy probably didn't even know the name of her own camera.

Chrissy forced a smile and thrust the camera into Sasha's hands, causing her to almost drop it. Joe put his arm around Chrissy for the photo, and Sasha noticed how she placed her hand over his, making the pose more intimate than it should have been. When she was done, Chrissy took the camera from her, uttering one of the most insincere 'thank you's that Sasha had ever heard. "How long are you in town for?" Chrissy asked Joe. "We should get together. Catch up." She batted her fake eyelashes, and Sasha wanted to shove them into her eyeballs.

Joe's smile was apologetic. "Sorry, Chris. I'm only here for the weekend, and I plan on spending it with my girlfriend," he replied, holding Sasha closer to him and smiling down at her. The mother of two kept her expression calm but inwardly she was doing cartwheels and snapping her fingers in the girl's face.

Clearing her throat, Chrissy flashed another false smile. "Well then...it was great to see you again, Joey. Don't be a stranger, huh?" Eyeing Sasha up and down, she said, "Nice to meet you...Ma'am." Without another word, she sauntered away.

Ignoring the petty jab, Sasha shook her head at the retreating girl and raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend. "Joey, huh?" she smirked.

Joe cringed. "I am really sorry about that."

"Chrissy and Joey," Sasha sang.

"Oh god, stop. I hate being called Joey. Always have, but I guess she never got the memo."

"She seems interesting, I'll give you that." That was the most polite adjective she could find.

"Yeah...she was a handful even back then but I'd rather not delve into that," he said. "I'm interested in only one woman now."

Her lip turned up on one side. "Really? Enlighten me."

"Just this sassy, hot as fuck restaurant manager that I'm head over heels in love with. You might know her," He grinned. "She's got the prettiest smile, the softest skin and the sexiest ass I've ever seen or touched. Total MILF."

"Hmm. Does she know you feel this way about her?"

"She does. And it turns out she's in love with me too." Handing her a fresh glass of champagne, he held her close and leaned down to whisper in her ear, "You look so gorgeous tonight, nani. I can't take my eyes off of you." 

His smile was possessive yet loving, and Sasha warmed at his words. He really was suave and smooth, wasn't he?

"Ladies and gentlemen, please find your seats," the live band leader announced over the microphone. "The guests of honor will be arriving shortly."

Joe and Sasha were seated at the head table with his parents, his siblings and their spouses. She politely greeted the spouses before giving each of the siblings a warm hug. "Cassie, this is an amazing party. You did a great job."

"Thanks Sasha. Come on, come sit down before my parents show up," she said, and Joe guided Sasha to her seat between him and Cassie.

The ballroom door swung open, and the couple of the hour walked into the hall to thunderous applause. Sika stopped midway to dip Patricia down low and kiss her tenderly to more applause. Patricia blushed furiously. Sasha couldn't stop smiling. Patricia was wearing a beautiful red evening dress and Sika was in a black suit and red tie. They looked young and happy and still very much in love. As they made their way through the crowd to their table, they stopped to shake hands and give hugs to other guests. Sasha turned to Joe and grinned up at him.

"They look so happy. I'm happy for them."

"Me too," said Joe, as his parents came over. Patricia hugged Sasha tightly on her way to her seat. "I'm so glad you could come, Sasha."

"I'm very happy to be here, Patricia. Happy anniversary. You look beautiful."

"Thank you." They exchanged kisses on the cheek before Patricia enfolded Joe into a hug.

Sika swept Sasha up in his gigantic arms, all smiles. "Hello, dear. Glad you could make it."

"Happy anniversary." Sasha swallowed. Their last meeting hadn't ended pleasantly. "Sika, I-"

He shushed her gently. "I deserved it, sweetheart. But it's all good. No harm no foul. We're celebrating tonight."

As everyone settled down, Sika stood up, tapped his water glass with his spoon and the room hushed. A microphone was handed to him. "I want to thank you all for coming tonight, and extend a special thank you to my lovely daughter, Cassandra, for making all of this happen," he spoke, his deep voice reverberating around the quiet room. "Folks, if you want a party or an event organized, call her up. As you can see, it will be money well spent."

Laughter and applause rippled around the room at the plug. Sika smiled down at Patricia and she blushed prettily. "I am so blessed. I have had the honor and privilege of spending every day with the most incredible person I've ever met for forty years. We've known each other for even longer and I wouldn't change a single moment of it. Patty, la'u pele...you are my best friend, the love of my life. I'd say 'I do' a thousand times over. Thank you for putting up with my crazy self, for our four beautiful children, and for teaching me how to make oka properly."

Everyone laughed again, and Patricia wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and grinned at her husband. Joe held onto Sasha's hand, his eyes fixed on his parents.

"Happy anniversary, baby. Here's to another forty years." Patricia stood amongst the applause and Sika kissed her soundly.

Dinner was served a few minutes later. As the guests ate, a video package rolled of the couple's life together for the past forty years. Joe and his siblings made several appearances in the video in varying ages, including four-year-old Alma and two-year-old Matt as ring bearers at their parents' wedding day. A few loved ones who couldn't make it to the celebration sent in videos congratulating the couple. The Fatu twins, Jon and Josh, were among them as well as the one and only Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson, to the guests' delight. Patricia was dabbing her eyes with a napkin and Sasha felt the urge to join her. It was really beautiful and emotional.

The band began to play 'Endless Love' by Lionel Richie and Diana Ross, and Sika got to his feet. "I believe this is our song, beautiful," Sasha heard him say to Patricia. He took her hand and everyone watched as he moved her effortlessly across the dance floor. They came together, gazing at each other as though they were the only two people in the room.

"Your parents are so in love," Sasha murmured to Joe.

"Yeah, it's kinda gross sometimes." He shook his head, but his grey eyes twinkled with humor. "Come on, let's go join them."

Sasha looked out onto the dance floor and saw other couples getting up to join the Anoa'is. "Thought you don't like dancing," she taunted.

"For my folks, I'll make an exception," said Joe, standing up. "If I step on you I'll massage your feet when we get home."

Sasha accepted his extended hand and rose to her feet. "I'm holding you to that."

They went out to the dance floor, and Joe pulled her into his arms as she circled hers around his neck, gliding along the floor to the classic song. Sasha cupped his cheek in her hand, her insides heating up when he turned his face to kiss her palm. He held her tightly against him and laid a soft, sweet kiss on her lips, gazing into her eyes. "I love you, baby girl."

"I love you too," she smiled, letting him kiss her a couple more times before she rested her head on his shoulder as they swayed along to the soft music. This had turned out to be a magical night. She caught sight of Sika and Patricia a few feet away. He whispered something in her ear and she grinned, instantly flushing crimson. Watching them together, reveling in four decades of wedded bliss, Sasha realized she wanted that too. She wanted this to be her and Joe's celebration in forty years' time, the two of them still as giddy as they were the day they married and with their children toasting to their longevity. She wanted it all, and it was a dream that deep down she wished one day would come true.

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CHAPTER 39

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