#its on par with duct tape

[tony-andonuts]

New Frankenstein Edit to add to the comp

#gonna see if i can use my dads old phone to screen record it but to anyone wondering its Canada's Drag Race S3 Ep 9 #starts at 41:03 and ends at 41:05 #i think its on par with the daya betty duct tape clip imo #tony speaks

[randomboo256]

Pac-Man World 3 Review

To say that the Pac-Man World series has been rocky so far is an understatement. Pac-Man World 1, while having some fun concepts, had generally poor level design and bad controls. Pac-Man World 2 meanwhile reinvented the formula to work as a proper 3D platformer, however it left some good things behind in its attempts to improve. Mainly, it left behind the feeling of exploration the original had. Not only that, but the whole last two worlds of the game were complete garbage, which in a game as short as this amounts to a sizable chunk of the overall experience.

This puts a Pac-Man World 3 in an odd position. It should optimally produce a game with all the good of World 2 removed from the bad as well as recapturing some of that lost exploration all while giving good reason TO explore. However, Pac-Man World 3 is not a game interested in giving us a more refined Pac-Man World 2. It, much like its predecessor, wants to completely reinvent the Pac-Man World formula, arguably making it the most different game in the whole series. It's the black sheep, apparently.

Of course as a kid I knew none of this when I played World 3 for the first time on my mom's duct-taped together PSP. World 3 was one of the first video games I ever remember playing, although I never got very far into it. Not sure I even really passed the first level honestly. I sure did love that box art though. Regardless, it was enough to get me to be a fan of Pac-Man from an early age. Him being in Smash For was actually what got me to buy that game, which lead to me becoming as big of a video game nerd as I currently am. So in a way, this game had a pretty big impact on my life, despite never truly playing it beyond the first level.

So anyway, how's the game itself? Well for starters, story. This game actually has one surprisingly. I won't spoil much bc this bizarre plot was actually part of what kept me playing. Overall the writing was decent. I'd say it's on par with a standard Cartoon Network show or such. They actually had some pretty decent jokes all throughout, but nothing must play by any means. The real highlight is Pac-Man himself. He's not silent anymore. He's now a fully voiced proper main character with frequent dialogue with other characters, even mid level. He's written perfectly. He's some a loveable upbeat guy with just a hint of sarcasm thrown in. The voice acting overall is pretty solid for a Gamecube platformer. Overall, this was one of my favorite aspects of the experience. Some people say that this approach to storytelling is too different from Pac-Man World 1 and 2, but is being different really that bad? They still have the same light hearted cartoon tone. It's just that one goes for minimal story and the other leans into it. I think it works honestly.

As for gameplay, it's also pretty different. Firstly, more moveset changes. The kickflip is gone, which is a shame. Yeah it was pointless but it was satisfying. Next, they further nerfed the butt bounce. In World 1, the butt bounce was so much higher than your normal jump that you're basically forced to use it as an awkward replacement. In World 2, your default jump was massively buffed, meaning using the now only slightly higher butt bounce was pretty pointless. In World 3, it now doesn't give you any height at all. However, it does create a shockwave on your third bounce, which helps with how imprecise it felt as an attack in the first two games. Speaking of attack, we now have a three hit combo. Considering he's been wearing boxing gloves this whole time, it's kinda weird he didn't have this yet tbh. Anyway, the combo is quick and snappy. I quite like the controls of it tbh. We also have brand new Wall Jump. It feels good enough I suppose, and they really get some use out of it here and there. Lastly, the best change was to the rev roll. It has momentum! You can now use it more or less the same way Sonic would use a spin dash. You can rev in place for a second, quickly jump, and go much farther. The rev roll in general gets a lot more well deserved use in this game. Overall, I think this moveset was an improvement. It kinda sucks that the bounce is only an attack/quick jump now, but it's not a big deal. Honestly after World 1, I was completely sick of the butt bounce anyway.

As for level design, it's also very different. While World 2 was a 3D game, it was pretty Crash Bandicoot. Running down linear hallways to the end. World 3 meanwhile is much more open. You're in wider areas with a fully controllable camera as you figure out the path forward. It's still a linear level by level game mind you, just not in the literal "nearly the entire game is an actual straight line" sense anymore. With collectables scattered everywhere, many of which being required to open doors or open Pac-Dot chains, World 3 really does a lot to recapture that lost feeling of exploration. The level design on the whole was honestly pretty solid. I thought it had a lot of fun platforming, even late into the game. The game also lacked a world map and rather decided to naturally segway into the next level at the end of the previous. All in all, this game out of all of them truly felt like an actual adventure rather than just a standard level by level platformer, which this game still technically is. That feeling is helped by the game's much longer run time, at least for me. I beat the others in just one or two sittings. I beat this game over the course of a week, although I was taking my time to explore.

Level design wasn't perfect though. One big issue was that because of the more open design, I sometimes had issues figuring out where to go or what exactly to do. I ended up wasting a lot of time just stumbling around. I think this is part of the reason I never got very far into this game as a kid. Although even then, with how challenging a few of this game's later moments were I doubt I would've finished it as a kid anyway. While I'm complaining, a big issue is that all of your non-key item collectables are now even more worthless than before. Everything that doesn't explicitly open a path forward now only gives you points, even including Pac-Dots which you don't even have a counter for anymore. World 2 gave you a free health wedge every 50 Pac-Dots. They could've at least kept that, but alas. However, despite these not doing anything I still went out of my way to grab the extra collectables because it was honestly still fun to do so. I managed to top most of the built in leaderboards as well, although I'm not sure how much of a brag that is.

But I think I should finally discuss the elephant in the room: combat. While the first two games had minimal combat, World 3 doubles down on it. In short doses, I think the combat in this game is honestly fun. When it's just two or three enemies along your platforming path, it's no big deal. However the game also has the tendency to drop you in a room full of enemies as you slowly have to just beat them all. The problem is that there is very little variety. Your combat moveset pool is small and there's only a few enemy types, making nearly every combat encounter of this type boring and repetitive. They do throw in a few power ups, but those also get repetitive. It gets worse though. We also have ghost attacks where you're forced to stand in an enclosed space as you wait for a power pellet to spawn, eat ghosts, run away, and repeat over and over until it ends. It's mind numbing.

Of all of this combat shit is what the game is most known for, and yeah it's bad. However, does it really ruin it? Honestly, I don't think so. Most of the game is spent platforming and exploring. While the combat sections are suffocating, it's only like 20% of the game. However, when combined with the additional maybe 10% of me running around aimlessly to figure out where to go, we end up with roughly 30% of the game that wasn't an enjoyable experience. 70% ain't bad, right?

Overall, I think this managed to be the best game in the series. It has the best story, the best moveset, and the best exploration, even if a large percentage of that time was spent in miserable combat. I'd say this game is a high 7/10, compared to the low 7/10 of World 2 and the 3/10 of World 1. If you can only play one of these games, play this one, although you won't be missing much if you don't play any.

[dragons-and-yellow-roses]

My parents gave me their old car after I got into an accident (not my fault) which is wonderful and I appreciate her, her name is Bernadette and she has 224,735 miles. But ALSO my parents live in a one plate state while I live in a two plate state, so they didn't have screws for the front plate to be put on.

So did I find new fitting screws? Did I use Velcro, or any other simple fix that the internet will readily tell me? No. Why would I do that?

I took some smaller screws that I had lying around my home, and some loctite. I filled the fucking screw holes with loctite before putting in the smaller screws so that they would properly stick in there. THEN the heads of the screws were too small to keep the plate on, so what did I do? I filled in the gap with loctite. I reinforced every goddamn piece of cursed hardware with loctite, and let me tell you, that plate isn't going anywhere.

It makes no sense to do things properly when you can instead do them with the wrong materials in a way that will definitely cause problems later

#im excited to get that plate off when i have to transfer it to a new car #its gonna be fine. its staying perfectly well #loctite is a miracle substance #its on par with duct tape #i make do with what i have

[birdscreeches]

The River | Aisha R.

Five days before Miles Santos dies, the sink in his bathroom breaks. 

It started with a trickle of water dripping from the pipes underneath before growing into a spurting torrent that soaks his knees. This is what he gets, he muses, for not switching to water replication plumbing. He goes through his things looking for anything to fix it, but his condo is a crowded mess of wires and screens. Miles manages to find a roll of duct tape tangled within an extension cord. 

With shaking hands, testaments to the sleepless nights of the past week, he wraps the leaking pipe with tape. Outside, his tablet continues playing the video he left it on. The voices drift into the room quietly, bouncing off the porcelain. Soft, pattering sounds of disaster. 

“—the eye of typhoon Tomas was located, based on all available data, at 2,635 kilometers east of Southern Luzon. This is still outside of the Philippine Area of Responsibility. It has maximum sustained winds of 130 kilometers per hour and a gustiness of up to 160 kilometers per hour. It is moving west at 30 kilometers per hour. This typhoon is expected to enter PAR by Saturday—”

Water slips past his fingers and soaks his arms. It splashes against his face, sharp and cold. Miles coils tape around the pipe over and over, choking the water back in the place until finally, the pipes yield.

“—when we say super typhoon, it has to sustain a wind speed greater than 220 kilometers per hour. Typhoon Tomas is not a super typhoon, but it still has a long way to go above water before it reaches landfall and thus has the potential to, ah, acquire more strength.”

“So it’s possible for typhoon Tomas to become a super typhoon.”

“There is a possibility—”

Miles’ hands are soaked. His shirt is damp. His bathroom floor is a glorified puddle and he’s kneeling in it, an attempt for absolution. It’s a flimsy attempt at best, he thinks. He will never be clean again.

He stands up from the mess he’s made, sits down at one of his monitors. Still cold and rapidly becoming colder, he types and creates a monster.

-

Is it done?

yes 

am i good now

No, you still have to install it.

We’ll also need a physical copy on a hard drive.

A team will come by next week to confiscate all your equipment.

It will all be compensated for, so you don’t have to worry.

okay

when will the payment come through

After we have the system and after you install it.

you’re sure

Yes.

I’ll text you again with details for the drop.

Stay updated.

-

Three days before Miles Santos dies, the traffic on slows to an unbearable crawl right on the bridge of Marcos Highway. Trapped from every angle, at mercy to the sheer power of unmoving vehicles, Miles has no choice but to see the river. He could keep his gaze straight, focus on every detail of the truck in front of him, but the river would snake its way into view. From his periphery into his mind, the river is there, demanding attention, until he can’t help but turn to look at it.

Already, the water is higher than usual. The surface ripples with turbulence as it rushes forth, crashing against the concrete bed that slopes down from the riverbanks. There was a time when those banks were nothing but the same earth and silt it had always been, but Miles couldn’t remember it. He was born only after they started constructing the improved channel. He grew up climbing over chain link fence with his friends, a flattened cardboard box in hand. On summer days, the river was docile. Dry. Just a trickle of water in a ditch too large. Miles and his friends would sit on the edge of the concrete slope, cardboard safely under him, and push off the edge, sliding down to the sound of laughter and a barangay tanod yelling at them to get the fuck outta here, stupid goddamn kids. 

The pillars shake Miles out from his memory. On the edge of the concrete slopes, tall, grey magnetic pillars stuck out every few meters. Unactivated, they stood silently. Watchtowers over a vicious beast.

There is a barrage of beeping from behind him. Miles scrambles to step on the gas and drive forward.

The truck in front of him stops. Miles brakes. Alone in his car, he feels he can’t breathe. The river is there. A chill wells up deep in his stomach, branching out to his body. A restless energy.

Miles drums his fingers on the wheel and slowly, as the cars inch forward, rain begins to fall. 

It’s hours before he gets to his mother’s house. The drive seemed like it wanted to drain the entire day away before he could live it. The house, fittingly enough, was gray and drab. The plants in the garden were alive, but slumped in lacking care. The paint of the gate was peeling, showing off the hard metal underneath. His mother’s house looks like as if all the days had drained away years ago.

His mother is much the same.

The mother he grew up with was sharp and nagging. Always scolding him for every mess and mistake, pushing him to be better, yet never showing him anything more than an absent nod for his achievements, too busy with cooking for the small carinderia she ran on her own. Now, too old to work, she sat in a house Miles got for her the moment he had enough money to, out and away from Tumana and into the quieter neighborhoods of Antipolo. Her edge had been weathered down by time into something weaker, but no less biting. Her memory was fuzzy at the edges, always calling Miles by the wrong name, or forgetting the date today, or forgetting that she had forgotten in the first place.

Miles came over every other week to have lunch with her, whether she liked it or not. Today’s lunch had passed in the same old questions followed by the same old silences. 

He helps his mother from the dining table back to the living room. She reclines in her rocking chair, and massages her temple. “Matt---”

“Miles,” he reminds her. 

“Miles, habang nandito ka pa, ayusin mo nga yung TV,” she says. “Ang choppy ng signal ‘tas ang hina pa nga ng volume, wala na akong marinig.”

“Ma, computer science yung alam ko, hindi engineering.” 

She scoffs. “Sana nag-doktor ka na lang.”

Miles doesn’t say anything. He simply stands to fix the TV if only to escape another endless circle of conversation.

He switches the TV on and watches the glitching static distort the face of a variety show host. The host’s grating laughter distorts through the speakers, an awful, terrible sound. As he unplugs and plugs different wires with barely trembling hands, the noise flits in and out. Miles manages to get the volume up higher again, like his mother wants it, and his own voice finds its own sound.

“Ma, medyo busy ako for the next few weeks, ha.” With a hard thwack to the back of the TV, the screen phases into clarity. He looks at it instead of his mother, continuing. “I won’t be able to come by for a while, but, uh, I got a really big bonus at work, and I’ll forward the money to you, okay?”

“Ha?” His mother says, squinting past him to look towards the TV. “Anong sabi mo?” 

“Wala,” Miles shakes his head. “Wala, ma.”

-

11pm

MRMC Station 3, Tumana.

Don’t be late.

-

On the day Miles Santos dies, he goes back to where he used to live. He parks nearby, and walks through the rest. It was a part of the slums that had been demolished to make way for the large, hulking powerline that fed into the electric pillars of the river. Where once there was a cluster fragile houses Miles would once run and duck through, there was now just flat rubble and the metal reinforced wires trailing through, out and away. 

There are a few kids kicking a ball around, scuffing dirt and laughing. One of them kicks the ball too far, rolling towards Miles’ feet, and Miles forces a smile as he bends down to toss it back to them. He tries to forget he ever saw them, but when you see one person, the rest keep coming in. A fruit vendor passes, pushing his rickety cart filled with cool pineapple. Women with streaks in their hair snickering and gossiping. A stray dog following at the heels of a young girl.

Miles used to live here, and the ache of seeing the place again after working so hard to leave it thrums through every inch of his body.

All he wanted was better.

And look where that got him.

He arrives at the drop location hours early. In his car with his silence, he sits and watches the rain engulf him.

To his left, he can see the crowded Tumana slums barely illuminated by the dusk. It was home once, when he was smaller. Houses here were small and grimy and flimsy ribcages people would live in. The streets and pathways would get narrower and narrower the deeper you went ,the ground a perpetual a slog of sticky earth and discarded garbage. The canals that ran through the barangay were as sleek and high tech as the main river, with smaller but no less advanced magnetic pillars, but all the innovation had stopped there. The ribcage houses were finally safe from the river, but weren’t safe from everything else. 

To his right, the river slithers into his periphery, demanding attention. Next to one of the pillars sticking out of the concrete banks, there is a small building, STATION 3 emblazoned on the side in block letters, punctuated by frantic sprays of vandalism. The station was just one of many dotted along the length of the river. Manual control systems for the improved channels. Nobody’s used them in years.

Dusk bleeds into night. One by one, windows of the slums light up. Old school fluorescent lights mixing with the newer EMLED lights. 

Miles hears it before he sees it. The undeniable thrum of energy. Miles swears he feels the earth shift when. It does, in a sense. The magnetic pillars were a revolutionary piece of technology, but it took energy to power. More energy than can be taken without a price. 

The grey pillars light up, a soft, illuminated blue streaking across the center of each one. The top of the pillar beams out an arch of light connecting to another pillar on the opposite bank. Like dominoes, all the pillars buzz to life, creating an endless, unbreachable tunnel of energy. Rain that falls onto the magnetic field slides off, slipping into canals at the side that filter back into the river. Every canal and ditch is encased in a magnetic tunnel, pulsing through the roads, veins and arteries of rainwater filtering into the river. All the rain coming from the mountains, from the city gutters, from the sky mercilessly pounding rain into the earth. 

The Tumana slums tremble into darkness, all the power sucked into the cages keeping the water captive. 

Miles doesn’t do anything but breathe. The restless energy is gone, replaced instead by a deep, stinging chill that constantly scraping at the walls of who he is. He sits there, unmoving, and lets the rain and the night pass him by. 

He watches the magnetic field. Hours pass. The water rises. Rises. Rises past the riverbank, the magnetic field the only thing holding the water back from overflowing and drowning the slums just meters away.

Up ahead on the road, a nondescript red car parks in front of him, the headlights still on, shining directly into Miles’ eyes. The lights blink at him. Get in. He grabs an umbrella from the backseat and exits the safety of his car, brisk walks through the torrential downpour, hurriedly opens the door of the other car, and clambers into the passenger seat.

Four is sitting behind the wheel, phone in hand, idly swiping. He looks just about as pristine as Miles knew his own self was the opposite. Four looks up, eyes scanning over Miles’ soaked frame, bored and amused at the same time

“You really had to bring all the water with you, no?” Four asks, looking at Miles with that unimpressed gaze he always has.

“There’s a super typhoon,” Miles grits his teeth. “In case you haven’t noticed.”

“Touchy. I’m just joking,” he rolls his eyes then holds a hand out. “Physical copy?”

Miles digs a small plastic ziplock bag from his pocket. Inside, a small USB stick. He hands it over to Four who doesn’t even spare it a glance, stowing it in a side compartment without looking up from his phone. 

“No other copies exist?” 

“None.”

“Alright then, we’re nearly done,” Four says, tapping on his phone. “I’ve queued the payment transfer to go through once news sites start blasting the breaking news headlines. You get back into your car and follow me out and—”

“I’m not going.”

Four’s typing stops. He looks up and meets Miles’ gaze. Miles can’t find any shock in Four’s eyes. If anything, the only thing that’s there is a twinkle of intrigue. 

“You’re not?”

“I’m—” Miles tries to find his words, all feeling awkward and clunky. “I’m staying here. I’ll deploy the program here.”

There’s a beat of silence. The rain outside is coming down so strong, the noise blurs into a static. Everything and nothing. A held breath.

“Hm,” Four looks back to his phone. “That explains the payment thing. I wondered why the account wasn’t yours. Whose is it?”

“None of your business.”

Four actually laughs, and Miles thinks it looks like a snarl. “I guess you’re right. Do me a favor and wait til I’m out of the danger zone before you run the program, will you? The payment expires if any of my programs detect a sign of an untimely death.” Four swipes his finger across his phone and Miles hears his own phone ping. “This car’s details,” Four explains. “Watch over me while I drive.”

“Can I go now?” Miles says. He wants to get out of this car. He wants to never see Four again. He wants to never have met him in the first place.

“Sure,” Four smiles. A sneer trying to look kind. “This is good work you’re doing here. Remember that. Pleasure doing business with you, Santos.”

Miles gets out of the door and slams the door shut. Under his umbrella, he watches Four back the car up, turn, and drive away. 

He pulls out his phone and taps on Four’s car details. Miles watches his GPS show Four’s car drive further and further away. His trip is made short and smooth by clear roads. Too late and too rainy for anybody to drive out. People are in their homes, sleeping soundly. 

When Four passes the threshold into Quezon City, Miles closes his eyes. When he opens them, he can feel every drop of water on his skin like a knife pressing into him. In his hand, his phone feels like a grenade.

He opens his program. The pin is pulled.

Miles had created a lockpick. A universal lockpick. A program that could adapt to any system and open any doors. Untraceable, quick, and efficient. Creating the program was a long and delicate science of knowing where to make it prod and where to make it push. A balance between toeing the line and destroying it. He understands more than anybody the meaning of a breaking point and what happens when that point is pressed. 

It’s child’s play now. He runs his program remotely from his phone into the servers of the Station 3. From there, he watches it frolick along tens of security measures and failsafes. He watches it weave past all of them. He watches it mangle the system to pieces.

Miles can’t watch it finish, his shaking hands dropping his phone into the muddy ground. Even if the water shorted his phone out, it was too late. His body wasn’t cold anymore. His body was an absence of everything. He’d been hollowed out and then deleted. It was over.

Miles doesn’t look up from his phone. He doesn’t have to. Through the reflection on his screen, he sees the lights of Marikina City come alive. The streetlamps, the homes, the stores. Power surges through all the lines, unbidden, rattling appliances awake, blowing out too-old lightbulbs, taking every home hostage. The night glimmers out of the darkness in chunks until the city is thrumming with electricity.

Behind him, the magnetic field flickers. Once, twice—

#fiction

[momo-de-avis]

The life of the Infamous Banana Art work is honestly fucking hilarious because it’s an exact reflex of what happens when someone fucks with the art world and incites passionate responses both for and against it.

The art's initial price was at 120.000$, and has bid up to 150.000$. Two museums have so far acquired a banana each.

There are also 3 editions of the same work.

According to the gallery (Perrotin) representing Cattelan, 

"Back then, Cattelan was thinking of a sculpture that was shaped like a banana," it reads. "Every time he traveled, he brought a banana with him and hung it in his hotel room to find inspiration. He made several models: first in resin, then in bronze and in painted bronze (before) finally coming back to the initial idea of a real banana."

(remember, this is the guy who made a fucking toilet out of 18-carat gold and it got fucking stolen).

Recently, a performance artist just straight up walked up to the wall, peeled the duct-tape, peeled the banana and ate it. He does not regret it, claims he was hungry (and, in fact, did not eat prior to this action, so he could experience maximum potassium enjoyment) and that the banana was, in fact, delicious.

after that, the banana had to be removed from Art Basel because people were going absolutely bonkers over it, and lines were so long and the space around it so crowded, security had to just remove the art work. This was all for a chance at a cool instagram photo.

And like, yall remember when the Berlin Dada group made an exhibition basically insulting the bourgeoisie, got roasted by the whole city, then did a second one, tripled the price of the tickets, and when people got there it was basically Hueselbeck saying “why the fuck did you idiots spend triple the money if you hated it so much”?

Or when Tristan Tzara, at the Cabaret Voltaire, along with Hugo Ball, made such a bonkers show that people (again, high-society folk) showed up with bags of rotten fruit---prepared beforehand, after having been there several times, since they had apparently developed a passion for just to going there again to feel angry---and started wrecking the shit out of Cabaret Voltaire, to the point where they destroyed figurines and props? And Tzara calling it “the final victory of Dada”?

Or like, this whole ‘the travelling banana was an inspiration for me’ just sounds a whole lot like when Jasper Johns heard someone say that famous art marchand Leo Castelli “could sell two beer cans if you had them” (or something to that effect), and Jasper Johns dead ass said “it’s on”, and the mad man actually did a bronze cast of two beer cans and Castelli actually sold them?

We can even go way back, to Manet. The moment Olympia was presented at the Salon, it was so infamously known across Paris, people flocked to it to see it in person, so much the Salon had an influx of attendees like it never had before. And the sole reason was to make fun of it lmao even fucking Courbet was there daily, pointing at laughing at ‘nakey girl staring right at me’.

Or like, when Kienholz displayed his walk-ins, in which one of them was a car with a teenage couple engaged in sex in the back seat, and the gallery had the audacity of forcing the artist to close the door and plant two body guards there not to shock the audience? And despite being outraged by this, people still went there en masse.

And I’m not even going back to the obvious influence here, papa Duchamp with his urinals, but I’ll say this: I don’t remember his name, but the dude who smashed one of Duchamp’s urinals and peed on the other is pretty on par with the guy who just ate the banana, albeit for different reasons (and, well, dude who peed in a Duchamp was arrested both times lmao).

Every single one of these instances, which caused so much outrage across the art world, appeared at a crossing point in history, somehow, and they are there for a conspicous objective: to bring out its own hypocrisy. And like papa Duchamp (who every single critic immediately establish a connection with), they are being assimilated, though faster than they were back in the day. The dude who peed on the urinal did so because he contests The Fountain being on a museum, defeating the art work’s initial purpose and proclaiming the first avant-garde’s movements ultimate failure. It should be noted that Duchamp signed 14 urinals and authenticated them as authentic reproductions (one of them smashed, another peed on lmao. Idk if the others are fully intact). And this dude with the banana is no different.

One article states something very interesting about Art Basel:

Mary Rozell, the global head of art collection at UBS Group, said the works she wanted were all snapped up. Pieces under US$1 million were going especially quickly.

"Half the stuff is sold before you get here," she said.

Amoako Boafo's portraits were all gone within seconds, and hundreds of collectors put their names on a waiting list, with prices for the artist du jour ranging from US$25,000 to US$50,000.

(...)

Mnuchin Gallery, which had an exhibition by Mr Clark last year, sold several smaller works, with prices ranging from US$150,000 to US$300,000. Michael McGinnis, a partner, said he sold one of the works during his flight to Miami. "I could have sold it five times," he said.

Ms Rozell said she finally managed to buy some art. One was a painting by Jeffrey Gibson. Another, a sculpture by Shinique Smith, whose works were on view at the UBS collectors' lounge at the fair.

"You've got to take your time," she said. "But then act quickly."

Act fast.

There’s a lot that could be said about this, and I’m not writing an essay, just rambling with the knowledge I have, and we all know how art fairs across the world serve as 1) a place to See and Be Seen, and the pruchase of expensive art works is a Thing of Status, and 2) it’s money laundering. It’s blind investment by random private auctioneers who need to put that dirty money fast onto an object they can quickly transform into an asset should they need to get rid of it---etc, etc. But like, think about the ludicrous implication here: you gotta buy fast, otherwise you’ll just get there and come out empty-handed, which for some reason, for these folks, it’s the worst that could happen. So like, it’s no wonder a guy who taped a banana onto a wall sold this shit for such a high price. I can’t point out the reason why this person bought the art work, because honestly being either money laundering or just rich person trying to invest fast into something they don’t know the value of---both sound incredibly plausible to me (in my country, there was an influx into the art market in the 80s, where people rushed to buy EVERYTHING, and it inflated the art market---and keep in mind, Portugal is a small country with barely any market at all---to the point where some of the artists who sold the most back then have fallen into oblivion, and the people who bought their works have been desperately trying to get rid of them for decades, but they are worth nothing and they refuse to get the full price back lmaooo).

This shit is mostly why I nurture a profound hatred for art fairs. Like, on paper, they’re a nice concept, but as of today, worldwide, we have over 500 art fairs everywhere, and couple this with the art market inflation and all the nasty shit we know about (take the fucking Sacklers, for example), it’s the perfect playground for us to have a French Salon multiplied by 500 where contemporary art is transformed into an Appearance Thing. 

But every so often, a dude shows up and pulls some really bizarre shit and I am again reminded that there are still a lot of not exatctly Duchamps, but people like Jasper Johns or Tristan Tzara or even Robert Rauchenberg, which somehow manage to create a really poignant moment of hypocrisy. The really atrocious downside to this is that these artists exist in a fast-pacing scenario and they’re being assimilated at the speed of light. While neo-dada appeared in the 60s to confront the assimilation (thus, failure) of the first avant-garde movements, today it happens in real time. 

This is where I tell you guys the banana was apparently sold with a 14-page manual, which states shit like:

It should be hung about 175 centimeters from the ground, fixed to the wall at a 37-degree angle and the banana should be changed, "depending on its aesthetic appearance", about every seven or 10 days. About the only specification omitted is the optimum length or bendiness of said banana.

(the bendiness of the banana lmao)

Also, funny correlation: Duchamp’s work was called The Fountain, but we all call it ‘the urinal’, in the same way this work is called The Comedian, but we call it ‘the banana’. Make with that information what you will lol

#momo speaks #commentary #comentario #just rambling about art #pls dont ask me for precise sources on some of these statements #i linked the direct quotes and stuff related to the art work in question to several articles #but the rest its just accumulated knowledge throughout years #they come from books and college classes and stuff I cant remember like papers and lectures #its v hard for me to know pin point exactly where i took this info from

[aeon-borealis]

If you could write the Alejandro one off that’d be great! But if you do honeymoon, throw in some nsfw ;) jk jk

NOTE: As promised, here is the follow-up. I didn’t include any big NSFW, but there are a few Stargate references no one asked for! For anyone that missed the first part: Heather’s Time-Warpy Experience.

Alejandrohad been especially wary of scoping out the halls near Chris’quarters, let alone the plane cockpit after the challenge in London.Ruse or not, he had been so startled it’d shaken hisself-confidence a bit. As someone who liked to believe he could win agame of fourth dimensional chess, Alejandro didn’t take it lightlywhen someone managed to successfully trick and gain the upper handover him. That’s exactlywhy a certain mean raven-haired beauty was on his radar (and hecouldn’t deny he had other non-game related hopes for her as well).

Buthe couldn’t let his hair-on-its-end instincts stop him from gettingwhat could be incredibly useful intel. The kind of intel that couldmake or break his success on this stupid show. Heplayed by the rules for the most part, but he wasn’t above finding,exploiting, and pushing the envelope with loopholes or “convenientlyacquired” pieces of information.

Sohe took a deep, calmingbreath, then slowly crept along the wall towards Chris’ quarters.As he crept closer, he heard at least three different voices: Chris’all-too-familiar snark, a slightly deeper baritone, and a morereserved, soft-spoken voice. Alejandro sneaked a few glances aroundfor Chef’s larger, imposing form. While he’d been able to smoothtalk his way out of the past few times he hadbeen caught skulkingaround here, he just couldn’t shake the feeling this time was goingto be very different. MaybeChris was cracking down on Chef a bit more?

Whenhe didn’t see Chef anywhere, he steeledhimself again and stealthilyslipped under the doorknob. Thenhe peered through thecomically convenient keyhole. 

Therewas Chris, leaning as far back in his luxury recliner as he couldwhile one of his poor interns massaged his feet. A man with a buzzcut and a fully decorated military uniform leaned on the wall nearestto the recliner. While his uniform gave off the impression of a veryimportant authoritative figure, his expression carried the sameobnoxious nonchalance Chris’ expression usually held. That aloneunnerved Alejandro. If Chris was borderline psychotic with what kindof legal ambiguity he had access to as a famous reality TV show host,Alejandro could only imagine how much worse he might be as a hard-assmilitary general. Just the passing daydream was enough to sendshivers down his spine and threaten nightmares worse than the realityof the idiotic Owen as a teammate.

Tohis disappointment, Alejandro couldn’t quite see the third figurein the room. Every so often, he saw the dull brown glint of the rimson a pair of glasses and sporadically moving hands, but that was it.He turned his attention towards eavesdropping, waiting for a goodpoint to start at least trying to piece together what the ongoingdiscussion was.

“…timesdo I have to say it’s dangerous?!”The soft-spoken man complained.

Chrisand the military man chuckled.

“That’spart of the fun!” Chris brayed enthusiastically.

“Theteens on this show have dealt with worse and they’ve all signedpretty iron-clad contracts,” the military man added.

“General,with all due respect, I am part of the classified project that dealtwith some of the artifacts in that warehouse. I waspretty appalled by how many broken and sparking pieces I came across.I almost sprained my ankle just trying to climb around piles ofjunk!”

“Iwonder if somebody will die…” Chris stroked his chin thoughtfullywith a sinister glint in his beady eyes.

Thatwas enough to make Alejandro shiver as if he’d been hit with an icygust from Antarctica itself.

“It’llbe impressive if they make it past security alone.”

Chrisgrinned like a kid in a candy store. “Ratings are gonna be throughthe roof! I can feel it.”

“Ihave another surprise in store, too.” The military man smiled withsimilarly fiendish delight.

“Tellme! Tell me!” Chris squealed.

Alejandrosuppressed a sigh when the military man leaned in and whisperedsomething to Chris. As much as he strained to listen, Alejandro onlyheard Charlie Brown “wah wah” noises and watched Chris becomethat much more eager.

“Willyou guys listen for one damn minute?!” The soft-spoken man raged.

“Iknow, I know. Dangerous tech endangering lives. Yada, yada….”Chris rolled his eyes.

“Ireally wish they’d sent that little spitfire Samantha instead ofyou,” the generalmuttered.

“Sinceyou both have such disgusting disregard for human life, especiallychildren at that.”The soft-spoken man stood up and folded his hands. “Allow me to putthis in a way you’ll understand: There are highly classifiedartifacts in that warehouse. Artifacts that even General McClean haslimited clearance and knowledge of. I don’t care how iron-clad yourcontracts are or what clearance you already have. Step foot in thiswarehouse. Find one of these artifacts and have it show up on camera.You’ll be facing some pretty dire consequences. Thrown in prisonfor the rest of your natural-born life consequences.”

Alejandro’seyes widened at the name “McClean.” That explained a lot here.

Thegeneral cleared his throat and folded his arms behind his back,trying to appear professional. “Daniel, I had a team thoroughlysniff out those artifacts this morning. You’re only here to signoff on everything and give me the go-ahead.”

Therewas a beat of silence as Daniel fished something out of his pantspocket. Alejandro couldn’t quite make out the details from this farof a distance, but it looked like a small golden locket with a brightred gem in the center. Daniel cleared his throat while GeneralMcClain’s face turned bright red.

“Thoroughly?”Daniel sighed. “I found this the minute I walked in!”

“That…?”General McClain stomped over and snatched the weird locket fromDaniel’s hands. “That’s a bauble I got for my niece’sbirthday. She’s a big fan of this kind of old…antique-ystuff!”

“Uh-huh.You conveniently got her a present that looks exactly like somethingfrom the dossier .”

Chrissnickered and folded his arms behind his head, obviously enjoying theshow.

“Igot it two weeks ago.” General McClain replied haughtily.

“Where’dyou get it?” Daniel was in full view now. He was surprisingly leanand muscular for a bookish type with slightly ruffled brown hair.Sweat was dripping down General McClain’s face to the point hemight need a few buckets. The more nervous he appeared, the angrierDaniel became.

Suddenly,Daniel’s pocket buzzed. He pulled out his cell phone andimmediately stalked to the other side of the room. “Now isn’t avery good time…”

GeneralMcClain dabbed at his forehead with his arm. Gritting his teeth, heshot a look at the weird bauble in his hand, then ran a hand throughhis hair. Rolling his eyes, Chris snatched it away. The reality TVshow host took one look at it before hefting it towards the door withas much strength as he could muster.

Secondslater, Alejandro felt something lightly bump against the toe of hisboot. He looked down and was surprised to find the weird locket lyingthere. He heard the general and Chris arguing, but it all becamemuffled background noise as he gingerly scooped up the locket to takea closer look. It wouldn’t hurt to try and develop some better ideaof what this bizarre object was before squirreling it away andreturning to his team. The more he could figure out here and now, thebetter an advantage he’d have later.

Smirkingto himself, Alejandro idly ran his thumb around the circumference ofthe strange artifact. Upon closer inspection, there were twoconcentric rings around the beautiful red gem. The ringsfeatured various Egyptianhieroglyphs. Admittedly, Alejandro’s knowledge of ancient Egyptianart and hieroglyphs wasn’t as up to par as he’d like, but none ofthe symbols looked like anything he had ever studied personally. Thesymbols were utterly alien to him. Carefully, he ran a finger overthe hieroglyphs, in turn rotating the ring on front-

-Alejandrofelt himself lurch forward slightly. The world around him blurredcrazily in what appeared to be a wobbling, almost hallucinogenichaze. After a few dizzying moments, Alejandro found himself floatingout in space. He felt like hewas weightless and drifting about aimlessly like a fisherman’sbobber. Moments later, the nameless, hypothetical fisherman starteddrawing in his line at a breakneck speed. Cringing, Alejandrosqueezed his eyes tightly shut.

Therewere a few moments of darkness and silence. Then he felt a lightsqueeze on his upper arm. Hehesitated, wondering if he’d fallen unconscious or experienced someother bizarre episode. He took a deep breath, feeling slight reliefwhen he heard his steady heartbeat. Now he was ready to wake up inthe crap-tastic makeshift infirmary in the plane: He could alreadysee the worn-outcouch and the worrying duct tape pieces slapped over mystery holes inthe pale yellow wall.

“Alejandro…?”His arm was squeezed again. And he immediately recognized that voice.Both his heartbeat and hormones took off like a dual pair of rockets.Maybe his infirmary trip would be more pleasant than he otherwisebelieved.

Grinninggiddily and preparing for snarky banter, he finally opened his eyes.

“Areyou okay?” Heather leaned closer towards him, her expression a mixbetween concerned and mildly irritated.

“Iam now,” Alejandro replied, putting on his most charming smile.“I’m waking up to an angel.”

Heatherlaughed, rolled her eyes, and playfully hit his shoulder. Thatreaction set off alarm bells and Alejandro took a closer look atHeather. She looked mucholder: she had a fuller figure, a naturally confident set to hershoulders and brow rather than forced, and other details Alejandrocouldn’t accurately pin down or describe unless he took the time tothink it over. But those details were significantly differentnonetheless.

Inaddition, she was wearing a…wedding dress. A form-fitting,high-fashion, glitter and sequin-covered wedding dress. The dress wasalmost tacky but in style enough that Heather justified her choiceswith her bold personality. Alejandro felt his face burn up as herealized just how many little things he’d picked out about her.Yes, he had a laundry list of obscure, ridiculous details about allof the contestants, but the more he learned about Heather inparticular, the stronger his rose-tinted glasses.

“You’reblushing!” Heather leaned towards him and pinched his cheek. “Aww,you’re so cute when you’re vulnerable.”

“W-what?”He couldn’t help it. Alejandro had completely lost his composure inthis surreal situation. And he was losing more as he drank in more ofhis surroundings.

“Scaredof your first official night as Mr. Heather?” She teased, running afinger along his collar bone.

Swallowinghard, Alejandro was very, uncomfortably aware of the canopy bed withgold satin sheets and matching curtains. The bedroom itself wasequally high-end luxury: the walls were aquariums full of variousexotic and colorful fish. A potted palm tree sat in one corner nextto a plush velvet armchair and an old-school record player.

“Ah…giveme a moment to collect myself?” Alejandro managed.

“Yeah.”Heather chuckled as she carefully climbed off of the bed and stoodup. “I want to be seduced tonight, Alejandro. Level 10 of yourspecial charm, got it?”

“Yes,ma’am.” Alejandro swallowed again. In his mind’s eye, his facewas an even darker shade of red than before. The same shade as thefreshest, ripest tomatoes in Mama’s little garden out back.

Nervously,Alejandro watched as Heather sashayed towards the record player.There was only one record and his heart sank deeper in his chestbecause he knew exactly what it was. It cemented the legitimacy ofthis bizarre daydream. There was one song in the universe that hookedhim and pierced him right through the heart. This one song drew outevery sappy, saccharine emotion in his body. He swore it’d be themost romantic thing ever to make love to someone he washead-over-heels crazy for.

Thesong started up, and Alejandro closed his eyes while he let out along, slow breath. For a few moments, he let himself enjoy the rhythmof the song and get lost in this weird, but strangely welcomeself-indulgent dream. Because it was just a dream. And because it wasjust a dream, he could thoroughly enjoy what was about to happenconsequence and guilt-free…

“Al!Al! HEY AL!” Owen’s scratchy voice sliced through everythingworse than a record scratch.

Alejandro’seyes snapped open to the big buffoon grabbing him by the shouldersand shaking him like a salt shaker with little contents left.Thankfully, the big oaf stopped as soon as he realized Alejandro wasawake.

“Hey,buddy. I’m so glad you’re awake! Are you okay?” The wordstumbled out of Owen’s mouth in one big rush.

“Yes,”Alejandro growled through gritted teeth.

“I’mso glad!” Owen wailed, diving towards him and ensconcing him in atight bear hug. “I thought you died!”

Alejandrowas sure death was imminent from being snapped in half with everypassing moment and Owen squeezing that much tighter.

“Lethim go before you kill him, you big lug!” Heather cried.

“Oh…yeah…heheh….Sorry.”Owen immediately let go. Alejandro hit that dreaded worn-out couchwith a heavy thud.

AsAlejandro tried to collect himself and his bearings, he felt like thewind had been completely knocked out of his lungs now. His attentionzeroed in on Heather. This was his Heather: eternally grumpy, quickto anger, and mean to the core Heather. Currently, Owen was thetarget of her piranha-based ire. He cowered slightly, taking a stepback as she chewed him out, and Alejandro could swear he saw aglint of canines in her mouth.

“Alright,alright…” Owen snickered. “I’ll leave you alone with yourboyfriend.”

“He’snot my boyfriend!” Heather barked.

“Riigght.”Owen winked at Alejandro, clicked his tongue, and wiggled his browsobnoxiously as he bowed out of the room.

Heather’sdemeanor fell slightly once it was just her and Alejandro in theroom. Alone. The gravity of the situation pressed down on Alejandro.Normally, he’d take this opportunity to flirt very openly andobnoxiously with her, but that weird honeymoon dream was just toofresh in his mind. It was one thing letting his unconscious mind playwith such an absurd scenario. It was another thing entirely to belooking at the real Heather, thinking about their current standingand dynamic, and then worrying about how smitten he must be toentertain fantasies like that so soon.

Heatwas crawling up his face again. He desperately hoped he could justplay it off as a slight fever when Heather finally looked back up athim.

“So…youcame to check on me?” His tone didn’t have the flirty element hewanted. Instead he just sounded matter-of-fact.

“No!”Heather’s face was slightly red and her fists clenched. “As if. Iheard you were lurking around Chris’ quarters and faintedunexpectedly. I came to see what you’re up to.”

“Howsweet of you.” This time hewas able to bounce back to his usual bravado. But he couldn’t helpthe doubt prickling at the back of his mind as he remembered bits andpieces of the scene in Chris’ quarters.

“Seriously,Alejandro. I’ve got my eyes on you.” She folded her arms andglared.

“Idon’t mind,” Alejandro replied with a low, flirtatious growl.“I’m quite a sight to behold.”

“Shutup.”

Alejandrogiggled.

“SHUT.UP.”

“I’llbe fine, by the way.” Alejandro gingerly sat up, touching his ribsto make sure Owen hadn’t cracked anything.

“Areyou sure?” Heather asked despite herself. She even took a few stepscloser. “Owen’s a pretty big guy-”

“Aww…”Alejandro tilted his head back and batted his eyelashes at her.

“Guhh!You’re so insufferable!”

“Kissme better?” Alejandro made an exaggeratedly dreamy sigh.

Heatherplaced a palm in his face, then turned and stomped off withoutanother word.

Onceshe left and Alejandro couldn’t hear her retreating footstepsanymore, the room felt that much smaller and unbearably silent. Themore he thought about her, the more his heart started roaring in hisears and a blush crept up his face again. Images of her now flashedthrough his mind followed by visions of an older Heather.

Ifhe were a cartoon character, there’d be clouds of steam pouring outof his ears by now. He was thankful for the thin blanket covering hislegs. Wait? Where’d this blanket come from? He pulled up one cornerof it and blushed even harder at the name stitched onto one of thecorners in gold thread: Heather.

Suddenlyhe was gripped by an insatiable, irrational urge. The strange pendantentered his mind. He started pawing at his neck, finding only histrademark bull pendant. Then he rifled through all of the pockets inhis pants and even went so far as emptying out both of his boots.After that, he sprung up and pulled the couch apart, digging undercushions and picking through the holes and patches he could reach. Hestopped after a few minuteswhen he realized how foolish he might look and the fact that anyonecould walk into the room at any time.

Blowingout a long breath, he tuckedhis feet under his legs and ran his fingers through his hair, hatinghow hot his face was and trying to regain his composure. A strongsense of disappointment gripped him as he realized that Chris, Chef,or that Daniel guy had probably taken the pendant.

Therewas only one thing to do now: meditate on his long list of pettyschemes and pranks to pull on Owen. He just couldn’t focus on thegame right now because a lot of his plans were, of course, tied intostopping her…

#aleheather #tdwt alejandro #tdwt alejandro x heather #tdwt fanfic #tdwt fan fiction

[kiwisfics]

Vampires and Assassins - Chapter 1

A/N - Ignore my incapability to make good titles. Anyway here is the beginning of the self indulgent mess of a fic I started... over a year ago? Possibly over two. Heed the summary and warnings. This was started during the time I was struggling with massive toxicity in my home and the main character reflects that (though she has taken a life of her own). Let’s be honest, I’m posting this for the validation and because it’s easier than churning out requests.

Summary: Kady Lason wasn’t brave, not that she was going to let anyone other than herself know that. Her actions far from reflect her internal dilemma, leading her on escapades in the middle of the night, far from her turmoil-fueled family life. Which is exactly how she ends up kidnapped and sold into a world that few know exist: a world of vampires. If the shock and fear isn’t enough, she ends up with a target on her back, just her luck. The past is easy to forget when facing threats most saw as myths, but, somehow, everything always ends up connected, doesn’t it?

Panicked breaths rushed through my nose, my mouth blocked by duct tape that had been slapped sometime in between my pathetically weak attempt to fight my captor and waking up from the right-hook he'd decked me. I could almost swear I still heard ringing in my ears.

My eyes darted around wildly, landing on this face and that, drawn mostly to the few female outliers of the crowd. While the crowd varied in age, most of them were men, doing nothing to ease my fear.

God knew men set me on edge, with good reason.

The women, I had been informed through quiet easedropping on my fellow captives, came mostly seeking presents for their sons or simple help. I could only assume the intentions of the men and I couldn't assume any less than the abuse I had come to expect from them.

My feet were chained securely to the stage below, preventing me from darting from the stage or attacking my kidnappers—something I had attempted more than once.

My fear didn't immobilize me, if there was anything I could be proud of. At least they didn't know I was scared of them.

I was scared though. Terrified. The feeling buzzing in my veins as I forced a brave face. I wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing that fear, though; if I was going to die—or suffer whatever fate these human-shaped beasts saw fit—I was going to go through it as I always had.

And that meant digging divets into the insides of my cheeks to keep tears at bay and standing tall.

My hands were tied with rope, rubbing my wrists raw—I wouldn't be surprised if they were bloody when the rope was removed. Of course, my vicious tugging had done nothing to help the skin, as the pain had done nothing to convince me to stop. It'd taken exhaustion for that.

As my eyes scanned the crowd, still hoping for some semblance of hope for escape, prices far greater than that of my parents' yearly incomes put together—let alone the pathetic wage I received from stocking shelves in a local shop—were called out for the woman to my right and the prices only continued to rise as the seconds ticked by. Just how wealthy were these people?

I cringed as I heard the word billion thrown into the air.

The woman acted as though this were just another day for her, her face blank—a stark contrast to the pure fury my eyes conveyed to the crowd. Her mouth was uncovered, unlike my own, clearly, I was the only new arrival to this party.

It was impossible not to notice that I was the outlier among these women. While they were treated with only chained feet, I was restrained as if I was a danger—let alone the differences in our body types. All the women were tall, taller than me at least, but that wasn't a difficult feat; it was the obvious that stood out.

They might as well have been models, their faces lined with only a light layer of makeup and their bodies scantily covered—not that I envied the clothing, not with the prying eyes of men drilling into us—but it was obvious they had done their best to cover my features that weren't on par with those of the women standing aside me.

Some of the women had the gall to smile and wave at the crowd, though even they carried a look of absolute disgust in their eyes.

What have I gotten myself into?

The auctioneer was a tall, dark skinned man with a deep voice and a grin that almost certainly would have fooled anyone into a sense of security—save those of my disposition, who refused to trust others on a good day. He was the first I had been introduced to, playing the part of a gentleman, until he saw that I wasn't falling for his act.

He made no attempt to keep peace among the ravenous crowd, letting chaos reign until he heard a price that pleased him and sent other buyers into silence

"Sold, number 187!”

"Now, for our final item!" A deep growl rumbled free of my throat at the word item, though it went unheard through the chatter and my blocked lips, it satisfied my need for protest. "Nineteen years old, turning twenty within the month. Unlike our more petite slaves, she will not be as easily broken." I huffed indignantly, once again unnoticed, at his reference to my less-than-slim form, "While she is untrained," This information sent most of the crowd mumbling and muttering among themselves, "this can be an advantage for anyone who wants a fighter. Not to mention, she's a Category H. We had to sedate her to keep her this calm, she's not one to take kindly to orders

That's right. They had sedated me. The panic had blocked the thought of the drugs from my mind, but at the mention, I couldn't help but let out yet another indignant huff. I could still feel the sedative running through my veins, attempting to give me a false sense of relaxation, but they hadn't dared to give me enough to knock me out and had, in turn, neglected to give me enough to do more than give me a very slight drowsy feeling.

A nap sounded good anyway, but with the sedative? It almost sounded like heaven.

"Who wants to start off the bidding?" At his words, I held my breath, trapped somewhere in between praying for a woman to bid and wanting them to all stay silent, to let me die.

It wasn't the first time I had wanted to die, after all.

Silence overtook the crowd and, despite my previous thoughts, a shiver went down my spine. Was it that no one wanted a challenge or was it simply my age? All the other women were well over the age of twenty, yet, here I was, nothing more than a child compared to most of the people in the crowd and on the stage.

No, I realized. I had seen plenty of children before being brought out on this stage; a different grouping, but still present.

I could feel the pity-filled stares of the other women on the stage. My kidnappers and most of the women had made it painstakingly clear that if I wasn't bought, I would be killed, like any unwanted and untrained slaves.

A look of realization crossed the auctioneer’s face, followed by a devious grin. I knew, whatever he was about to say, I wasn't going to like it. "I forgot the best detail! This girl is a virgin."

I felt like a train had slammed straight into my chest. I couldn't catch my breath.

The first bet went up, followed by another, then another. Before long there was an all-out brawl going and I had never felt such a simultaneous mixture of fear and anger in my life.

This couldn't be happening. I needed to sit down. I needed to get my bearings. A bitter taste rose in my throat and fear and disgust ran like ice through my veins. Of course, it wasn't much of a surprise, after all, there were a very limited number of things I could have been kidnapped for, but having my fears confirmed set aflame the burning hatred I had subdued from the moment I had awoken in this situation to keep myself alive. I almost fell forward as I lunged at the auctioneer, pulling ever harder on the rope binding my wrists.

The pain was excruciating, but anger completely enveloped any ounce of care I held. Fear was forgotten under the guise of my rage, flowing off of me in waves. My body ached with the desire to end the man, but I couldn't break free.

I couldn't even rip into him to release my anger and, as such, the anger fermented in my chest, burning more than even the mangled skin of my wrists.

I'm doomed.

As my anger melted into hopelessness, I fell to my knees, staring blankly at the crowd as they argued over me.

For once in my life, I was wanted, and I hated it.

Guess this is what they mean when they tell you to be careful what you wish for.

I would have given anything to go back to high school in the moment, even middle school. I would go back to the times in my life that made me want to die and, if I retained the knowledge of how much worse life could get, I could suck up the pain of emotional abuse and bullying. Whatever mistakes I had made that had lead me here couldn't stem from that far back.

Maybe if I hadn't spent years hating myself, I wouldn't have ran off that night and I wouldn't have ended up here.

I just need a do-over.

As I stared into the crowd, fighting the panic attack building with each breath I took, I noticed a hooded man making his way to the stage.

I couldn't see any trace of his face under the hood and its shadow, leaving me unable to read anything about him. As he made his way through the chaos of the crowd, it was as if no one noticed him. He seemed to be the only one in the crowd not fighting tooth and nail to purchase me so I kept my eyes trained on him, using his movements to anchor myself and remind myself to count.

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Forty. Fifty.

When he finally made it to the stage he motioned for the auctioneer to lean down. The dark-skinned man did so and the hooded man spoke into his ear. Had his mouth not been hidden from me, I could have, at least, read his lips, but their positions made it impossible.

When the auctioneer stood, there was a large smile on his face, stretching from ear to ear. "Sold to number 7!"

My head swung to the women beside me, fast enough to hurt, as my eyes desperately searched their faces for a sign that somehow I was lucky. That, out of all the people, I hadn't been purchased by someone pure evil. Each of them shook their heads, only slightly, their eyes bleeding pity.

My heart dropped.

#assassin's creed fanfiction #assassins creed fanfiction #assassin's creed #assassin's creed x oc #jacob frye fanfiction #Jacob frye #jacob frye x oc #altair ibn-la'ahad fanfiction #altair ibn-la'ahad #altair ibn-la'ahad x oc #ezio auditore #ezio auditore x oc #connor kenway #connor kenway x oc #edward kenway #edward kenway x oc #desmond miles #desmond miles x oc #desmond miles fanfiction #connor kenway fanfiction #ezio auditore fanfiction #edward kenway fanfiction #vampires #vampire au

[thedpu]

“They are worse than we knew.

The people who run the Masters are not just stubborn rich guys who don’t want female members cluttering up their precious fairways, although that is bad enough.

Members stood around Wednesday and listened to Billy Payne, the grand pooh-bah of the Masters, deliver a mean-spirited lecture about the private life of Tiger Woods. The other members in attendance did not rush up and sedate Payne, or slap duct tape over his rude mouth, or jeer him down. They let him continue. Ol’ Billy probably wasn’t saying anything the other men in the green jackets hadn’t thought.

Without being asked, Payne launched into a prepared statement at his annual pretournament news conference, saying Woods had “disappointed all of us, and more importantly, our kids and our grandkids.”

He added: “Our hero did not live up to the expectations of the role model we saw for our children.”

Remind me again why we are supposed to talk in reverent tones about the Masters. Because it stands for money and power and the exclusion of women and goodness knows what hidden messages in the public rebuking of “our hero,” who is part Thai and part African-American.

Just asking, but would Payne have been so quick to deliver his little sermon to a white golfer who was caught straying? My guess is that some kind of double standard whacked Tiger Woods on the backswing. How dare he stray after all they’ve done for him?

This golf tournament, in the person of its top official, has delivered a needless moral rebuke to a man who has opened his veins in public twice in recent weeks, admitting he had broken his marriage vows, admitting he was taking treatment for an addiction.

That was not enough, apparently. Here we all were in the last few weeks, sucking our thumbs over whether the gallery would be polite to a man trying to play golf and save his marriage at the same time. But the problem was not the fans, nor was it the credentialed golf media, always so respectful. Even most bloggers out in blog-land understood this is a complicated and personal issue.

But not Billy Payne. Sounding like a caller on some bad sports-talk radio show, Billy from Augusta dredged up the drama that has been going on since Thanksgiving night. He came armed with a statement about a golfer scheduled to tee off Thursday and make a lot of money for Billy Payne’s people.

Rather than perform for these people, Woods should have picked up his ball and headed down the highway, get about the real business of his life, which is rehabilitation and trying to save his marriage.

Payne, who ran the 1996 Summer Games in Atlanta, is now the moral voice of the Masters, or still was as this was being typed. The board members had not yet hauled him off for doing something worse than streaking amidst the azaleas.

“His future will never again be measured only by his performance against par, but measured by the sincerity of his effort to change,” Payne continued. “I hope he now realizes that every kid he passes on the course wants this swing, but would settle for his smile.”

Who asked him? Who really asked him? Perhaps Payne was busy in recent weeks and missed Woods’s somber demeanor as he discussed his return to golf after revelations of his multiple affairs. We know all this, dude. The mark of a gentleman is not to jump all over somebody in a precarious spot.

But Payne could not let up.

“He forgot in the process to remember that with fame and fortune comes responsibility, not invisibility,” he said. “It is not simply the degree of his conduct that is so egregious here, it is the fact that he disappointed all of us.”

Tiger Woods disappointed Billy Payne and all the other men in the green jackets. How sad. They doze to sleep at night in their green pajamas dreaming of the tooth fairy and Santa Claus and public figures who do not cheat on their spouses. What a sweet, rich world they live in.

But Payne is not the only tasteless note to Masters week. On Wednesday evening at 6 p.m., Nike presented a television commercial with the voice of Earl Woods, Tiger’s late father, asking his son: “I want to find out what your thinking was; I want to find out what your feelings are. And did you learn anything?”

How could anybody use the memory of a proud father to make some bucks for the corporation? Nike released a statement saying, “We support Tiger and his family.” Of course they do. More to the point, Tiger and his family support Nike. If Woods knew about it, why did he go along with it — unless somebody from Nike reminded him just how much his little collision with the fire hydrant cost that great and magnanimous corporation?

Oh, but excuse me. Was I raising my voice? We are all supposed to whisper and tiptoe around and act with dignity, just as Billy Payne did.” - George Vecsey

#woods #tiger

[dontcallmecarrie]

Your rambles have my imagination working. What if, in an AU TWIFFON, a Steve who is romantically involved with his Tony meets The one the regular Tony has to deal with?

…which one? MCU!Steve, or TWiFFON!Steve? Mind, there’s not much difference until later on in the fic [past the Civil War arc, or the Final Battle], but…hmm. For simplicity’s sake, let’s stick with post-Final Battle arc, because that’s where the crack takes the spotlight. Since I like messing with team reactions, let’s toss that in there as well, shall we? 

…also, misread this at first, so might not be as expected. Under the cut, because it grew on me. Again. Because my brain did a thing, and it might be continued at a later time. [Ha. ‘Might.’ Very funny, brain.]

Not sure if this counts as a minific or not, but here goes anyway. 

Steve’s doesn’t know what’s going on, but there’s an alarmingly familiar suit headed towards them, except it’s all black and gold, which, when contrasted to Tony’s red right next to him, means that something is most definitely off. [The slightly different skyline’s just a footnote, really.]

Clint rocks back on his feet when he points it out to them, and goes “remind me to punch the weirdo fucking around with the fabric of time and space when we get back,” which…Steve can’t even fault him for. Not when he doesn’t recognize where they are, not when they’re surrounded by what looks like a slightly more sinister version of the Iron Legion. [Thicker panels, unfamiliar turrets on the shoulders; where exactly were they?]

The Avengers, however, have learned to roll with it over the years, and it’s not like the Prank Wars of ‘14, so it can’t be that bad, can it? They’re ready for battle, but they’re in a place they don’t know, so diplomacy’s the way to go. They can do that, sure. [Doesn’t mean Steve doesn’t feel slightly anxious about Tony being the greeting committee/representative, though. And it doesn’t mean he’ll leave Tony’s side, for that matter.]

The black armor doesn’t falter, just calmly strides up to them, slaps Tony in chest with a metallic clang and him with…that’s a pamphlet, okay. He got hit with a pamphlet, that’s new. But even as he’s trying staring at its strangely specific title [Accidental Shadow Government? Really?], a cool and dispassionate voice says, “come with me.”

…that’s Tony’s voice. [”Yep, definitely punching that guy once we get home,” Clint mutters, and Steve ignores Natasha’s unsubtle smack to the shoulder.] Different universe, got it. With an Iron Man, though, so shouldn’t be that different, right? And yet.

“I take it you’re our greeting committee?” He finally asks, because this is weird and at his side Tony’s busier analyzing this new suit. He needed some way to establish rapport, some way to start the banter because this was weird even by his standards and—

The faceplate finally goes up, and Steve felt a rush of ice as Tony looked back at him, meanwhile his Tony went rigid, and he heard Natasha’s carefully measured exhale behind him as Clint hissed. [Goodness knew what Bruce and Thor were up to, but doubtlessly they were also gearing up for battle.] Steve didn’t blame them; after all, they were dealing with the Merchant of Death here, all sleek lines and sharp smiles edged with menace.

“No, just in the neighborhood when Jo sounded the alert. Come with me, we’ll clear this up. Your faces aren’t exactly welcome in some places, you know.” And it’s Tony’s voice, but the team’s never heard him that cold, apart from that one time with Ross and Bruce had a picture of the then-Secretary of State’s face on his lock screen because that had been a doozy. 

It’s Tony, and this should be familiar, but the way he’s acting is downright alien, because not even during the train wreck of a first meeting in the Helicarrier was he as frigidly dispassionate as he is now. In the back, he can practically hear Natasha’s mind frantically taking everything in, trying to catalog the differences while at his side Tony’s almost scarily silent.

“I think we’re in a different universe,” Steve offered, trying to break the silence that’d settled after Tony [the other Tony, geez this was going to get confusing] had said his part. 

But the faceplate simply went back down, and it’s a cool female voice from behind them that remarks, “we are aware of that, Captain. Please follow Dr. Stark this way, a call has already been made to the proper authorities and Dr. Strange is already reviewing possible ways to expedite your return home.”

He…doesn’t know what to say, to that. [”What the hell happened here?” Clint muttered, and Steve wishes he knew.] He bumped his shoulder against Tony, and felt a bit of relief when Tony nudged him back, a smidgen of familiarity in this strange universe.

Their Peter had been at school when their latest battle had happened, but it was still jarring to see him acting so warily around them. Especially since, not a day ago, he and Clint had been ‘applying the practical applications of physics’ [nice try, Clint, now put the nerf guns away] and joking around. And yet. 

Yet here, Clint got the cold shoulder, and why was Peter pretending Steve didn’t exist?

“What the hell did my counterpart do?” Steve couldn’t help but ask, and the scoff he got did not help his growing dread. 

At all. 

That his Tony refused to leave his side helped; the looks thrown their way whenever they saw the red-and-gold armor so close to him, however, didn’t. 

This Dr. Strange was apparently running late, and while the penthouse they were situated in looked nice, Steve was well aware that it was just like the one they had at home, to monitor possible threats while trying for a peaceful resolution. 

At least Tony had removed the helmet, though the look of dawning horrified fascination was not exactly comforting, as he read through the pamphlet he’d been given. 

Actually…that reminded Steve of the one he’d also gotten a copy of. The one he’d stuck in his pocket, and had forgotten about with the Merchant of Death’s appearance. Just what was stressing Tony out so much? Steve carefully started to flick through his copy, and—

…ah. No wonder Tony was freaking out so much.

“Well then. This is new,” he couldn’t help but say, after rereading it just in case he’d missed something, and reached towards Tony reflexively. 

The flash of gold that came out of nowhere was just the icing on the cake, really.

After the chaos that ensued with Dr. Strange’s arrival [quelled by the flicker of green in Bruce’s eyes], things started to make more sense than before. 

Even if nobody really answered Steve’s increasingly-unnerved questions as to just what the hell his counterpart had done, and leaning against Tony because force of habit was a thing, he got an idea as what went down.

It was in their faces when Tony had snapped “hands off my partner, asshole”, and in the way Vision eyed them oddly when Clint muttered about hell dimensions and ‘next thing you know I’ll have a wife and kids for maximum Twilight Zone bullshit’ and Natasha’s hovering near them with a quip to offset Tony’s stress even more because Steve could only do so much when he himself was trying not to freak out.

He didn’t know just what went down, for the Wasp to stare when Clint made a world domination joke, or just why this other Tony was even more guarded than before, if that was even possible when he was wearing nothing more heavy ordnance than a Tom Ford suit. 

Steve didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like it. 

Now, maybe Something Goes Down, or…actually, something that’d be pretty spoilery for what I’ve got planned re: TWiFFON, so let’s just make up an excuse for them to meet up, now, shall we?

Steve had been caught flat-footed for the past few hours now. This universe seemed to be out to get him, and JARVIS’ blunt briefing had been an eye-opening experience. 

On the plus side, at least his imagination wasn’t torturing him with possibilities of his counterpart being a Nazi, or something…but Steve wasn’t exactly pleased with hearing just what he had gotten up to, either. 

And he might’ve possibly been leaning on his team more than usual, but it was only par for course, when James had failed to hide his surprise at Steve’s ‘being an actual team leader’ [that had stung, even if this James wasn’t his Tony’s best friend]. 

All in all, Steve wasn’t exactly a happy camper. 

Neither was the rest of the team, for that matter; Clint hid his nerves with only-slightly-forced banter, Natasha’s smiles had an edge that normally meant she’d get first pick next movie night, Bruce was on his fifth cup of tea and counting, meanwhile Thor’s normally congenial nature had been dampened by all the wary looks thrown their way.

Not to mention his Tony.

His Tony, who hadn’t removed his suit since their arrival, who had become their spokesperson despite clearly wishing to be anywhere else and reluctant to let the team out of his sight even if he clearly wanted to talk to his counterpart.

So, when Steve got…forcibly introduced to his counterpart, things kind of went…sideways from the start.

…huh. He’d thought Dr. Strange’s face had been entertaining, when Tony’d pulled out the big guns and fake wedding rings, but if this was what he looked like when stunned, Steve didn’t blame Tony and the others for teasing him so often. [More entertaining than the other Tony’s face, to be certain.]

…didn’t mean he didn’t want to punch his other self, though. 

Actually, strike that; punching was most definitely on the table, nobody talked about Tony like that on his watch—

Suffice it is to say, JARVIS got some lovely footage of Captain America fighting Steve Rogers while defending Tony Stark’s honor, and it was as entertaining as it sounds. Breaking it up ended up requiring one Bruce Banner, two Thors, and an impressive amount of duct tape [good to know Peter’s rubbing off on you, Clint], among other things.

And that’s before Steve found out about Siberia. [If the team had known, they would’ve been cheering him on, and/or jumping in.]

…um. Dammit, brain! 

For some context: AU!Avengers crash-landed TWiFFON post-Final Battle arc. Their team dynamics are basically the ones from the Inception-y AU I Sometimes Want To Write, aka healthy, team-as-family, etc. 

This isn’t their first rodeo re: dimension-crashing, but it’s pretty close. Same with the TWiFFON crew; the encounter was surreal for them both.

Steve and Tony aren’t married, but they’ve been dating for quite a while, and the ‘fake’ rings Tony conveniently had on him were the ones he’d picked out because he was trying to figure out a way to propose but was having as much success in doing so as he was in telling Pepper he was dying, back in IM2. 

More to this, but I’ll continue it later on, in that one sequel/spinoff fic for TWiFFON, because this got pretty long as is.  

#I got an ask! #The War is Far From Over Now #How To Make Sure You're Not Accidentally Shadow Government In 10 Easy Steps #behind the scenes #behind the scenes mini fic #? #Naught rambles #my brain did a thing #gdi brain

[thepurplewriter333]

Facts about HTTYD you probably didn’t know

1.  Toothless is actually the first character to be seen in the movie. His silhouette is seen flying through the star-filled night sky during the DreamWorks intro.

2.  In the book, Toothless is a little iguana sized dragon much like the Terrible Terror. The directors changed this as they wanted a dragon Hiccup would be able to climb on to and that would have a design helping it emote better.

3.  The sounds Toothless produces along with his behavior and personality were inspired by cats, dogs, and horses.

4.  Toothless’s design resembles Stitch’s from the Lilo and Stitch movie. This can be attributed to the fact that both directors for HTTYD also directed Lilo and Stitch.

5.  At one time, one of Toothless’s animator stuck a ball of duct-tape on his own cat’s tail for reference which ended up perfect for the shot in The Gift of the Night Fury where Toothless tried to shake his new tail off.

6.  Animators had to attend “flight school” during production. It is a legitimate program in which they would study flight physics and movements of different creatures for realism. After graduation, they each even received a diploma.

7.  Throughout the film, Hiccup vehemently declares he can’t kill dragons while the other Vikings boast about all the dragons they've killed. Ironically, Hiccup is the only Viking we actually see kill a dragon in the whole movie.

8.  HTTYD features lots for beards and fur. Not only are beards tough to rig but designing them is also tricky. Stoick’s beard alone took months to make.

9.  John Powell’s amazing score for the movie was nominated for an Academy Award. The song "Romantic Flight" was actually played during this year’s Oscars, introducing Jamie Foxx and Jessica Biel on the stage to present the Best Original Score category.

10.  In their efforts at giving HTTYD a more epic and cinematic feel, the filmmakers turned to eight-time Oscar nominee Roger Deakins (Skyfall, Prisoners, The Shawshank Redemption) to help with the movie’s visuals.

11.  One of the focus groups used to preview the film was so moved by the ending scene, they insisted the directors keep their decision to make Hiccup an amputee as they connected with it and though it was daring. A kid among the group said “It was sad because Hiccup lost something but then he gained so much more”.

12.  Astrid’s character isn't in the original book. She was created especially for the movie.

13.  Dragons had their own language in the original books. Early on, the team decided they should only communicate physically so they’d feel more animal-like.

14.  The eye opening as Toothless's wing passes by was an accident in the animation process. The filmmakers kept it because it looked creepy and very fitting.

15.  When Hiccup reads the Dragon Manual, the writings in it are actually in plain English cryptographed into runes.

16.  Before Toothless brings Hiccup and Astrid to the dragon's nest, we get several shots of other dragons. Pay attention to one shot of a Monstrous Nightmare; it can be seen holding Gloria, the hippo from Madagascar. (Confirmed on the DVD's commentary)

17.  When it came out in theaters, HTTYD was praised for its use of 3D during the flying sequences which some people claim was on par with or better than Avatar’s which came out around the same time.

#httyd #httyd facts #httyd fun facts #thepurplewriter333

[sohannabarberaesque]

The Coffee Obviously Wasn’t From Starbucks--Especially Considering Scrappy-Doo’s Role in This Particular Case

A second-rate magic act in a second-rate Branson "music show." And the particular forte of this particular "act" (if you could call it so) was that "coffee out of thin air" routine, served piping hot to otherwise unbearably suffering audience members accompanied to some rather reechy circus music, and it seemed that the pot somehow kept going bottomless--until, for some reason, about the 69th cup into the routine, the coffee stopped coming.

To which the magician, in fake sophisticated accent expected of the "music show" Kultur in Branson (to better appeal to the so-called "REAL America" falling for such a sham, to begin with), explained that "we are experiencing technical difficulties, and we hope to have the problem corrected shortly."

The problem, it turned out, coming in the rubber hosing essential to this trick, delivering the coffee via pump from a vacuum pot concealed under the stage. The pump, it turned out, being operated by a certain Flim-Flam, acting under vow of secrecy essential to the magician's trade; at a rather unlikely spot in the act, a leak developed in the hose causing coffee to leak out unto Flim-Flam's T-shirt (and cause a stain in the process). Whereupon, "out of the blue" essentially, a certain Scrappy-Doo arrives, wipes the coffee stain out of Flim-Flam's tee with some Tide 2 Go, and patches the leak with duct tape--or tries to, at any rate. Instructing Flim-Flam to get back to the pump, Scrappy finds his way to a trap door leading unto the stage from whence the deus ex machina would have originated in the classical Greco-Roman drama at a crucial point in the play. And then, as the coffee service resumes--

"Ta-ta-ta-ta-ta-TAA!! PUPPY POWAH!!!" (Howls of laughter ensuing from an otherwise dismal and ill-sorted audience.)

"And just who on earth are YOU to barge unto this routine?!" asked the by-now-steaming magician behind thos coffee act.

"The name, I will have you know, is SCRAPPY-DOO!!"

"F*** off, you imposter with no regard for Real America!"

(Whereupon the audience's laughter turned to indignation at the magician's use of the F-word on the Branson stage, otherwise seen as an Unpardonable Sin of the Branson Stage in its Luscious Glory of seeking to present itself as the True Bastion of Kultuur Representative of the Real American People and Nation--howbeit "white trash" and of low intellect made up for with crude and jingoistic patriotism for the most part.)

Sensing serious Civil Disorder was about to come unto the making, the curtain is lowered, Scrappy gets back under the stage to pick up Flim-Flam--and flees out of the theater before Bad turns to Worse.

"I think you may have saved my life just now, Scrappy!" remarked Flim-Flam excitedly.

"No time to waste, Flim-Flam!" exclaimed Scrappy. "Let's run for it!"

And about the third or fourth theatre down Shepherd of the Hills Expressway--

"Rell, rell, rell--!!" (It turned out being no less than Scooby-Doo, who we all know as Scrappy's uncle never mind the unknown sire of Scrappy out of Rooby-Doo.) "RAPPY--!!"

"Uh, Uncle Scooby, if I may explain--"

Whereupon Freddie led Scrappy and Flim-Flam into The Mystery Machine for what turned out to be quite the debriefing about what was getting to be the talk of the Tri-Lakes by this point in the story--as in how Scrappy-Doo somehow destroyed what had hoped to be a prefectly good "music show" of the Branson ideal by his own snarky personna during a "coffee out of thin air" routine which had gone sour when some rubber hosing leaked. (And Flim-Flam showed the ensuing stain on his T-shirt, or what remained of it.) But before long, irate crowds were ganging up on The Mystery Machine when--

"Like, Freddie," Shaggy exclaimed, "we'd better hightail it out of Branson before such easily-led crowds get out of hand!"

In any case, Freddie, thanks to some evasive manouvers, quickly drove off and down Shepherd of the Hills Expressway, eventually joining 76 Country Boulevard and then down I-49, crossing Lake Taneycomo at high speed towards the Arkansas line.

"Thank God," Velma remarked, "that mob must've thought that Scrappy-Doo was a joke!"

"You were talking about youts truly?!" observed Scrappy, hiding behind a carton of Kreamies. "Right," replied Velma indignantly. "And if you ask me, Branson seems to attract a rather ignorant and unsophisticated crowd!"

"'Ignorant and unsophisticated' ain't the half of it!" seconded Daphne, adding "Besides, their patriotism is right there on a par with Nazi Germany!"

"I can get what you're saying, Daph," Velma responded. "Crude, base and fanatical. Which can only go so far."

As was bound to be the tone and tenor of the conversation through the Arkansas night heading southbound and out....

(And you THOUGHT it was the Louisana Hayride playing on the radio....)

#fanfic friday #hanna barbera #branson music shows #scrappy-doo #flim flam #coffee out of thin air act #fake magic acts #scooby doo #white trash

[alienafterlife]

Eating the $120,000 Art Basel banana didn't destroy the art, because art

When Italian artist Maurizio Cattelan duct-taped a real banana to the wall of the Galerie Perrotin at Art Basel Miami and listed it for a starting price of $120,000 dollars, it was par for the course in the art world.  When Georgian artist David Datuna walke… #top

Thinking Bigger at Art Basel Miami Beach Last year, in a rare move, the Miami Beach fair actually scuttled two sectors, Film and Public, attempting to centralize its activities in the convention center. Organizers are always keen to distinguish themselves in a crowded field. The art fair paradigm … #blogdestroyer

#top #blogdestroyer

[simplemlmsponsoring]

New Post has been published on http://simplemlmsponsoring.com/attraction-marketing-formula/list-building/the-content-marketers-toolbox-3-real-life-tools-for-gaining-insight-inspiration-amplification/

The Content Marketer’s Toolbox: 3 ‘Real-Life’ Tools for Gaining Insight, Inspiration, & Amplification

In the modern content marketing age, leveraging a diverse set of tools is par for a successful marketing course. Tools help unlock insight. Tools help capture attention and reach. Tools help drive efficiency. Tools help you measure, analyze, and optimize for better success. The simple truth is: Every content marketer needs a robust toolkit that’s tailored to their unique business and marketing needs—but that toolkit doesn’t begin or end with your martech stack. Uh-oh-oh.

via GIPHY There’s no denying the importance that marketing technology plays in today’s ever-changing and sometimes tumultuous digital landscape. But your toolbox needs more than software. It also needs more tangible, real-life tools to help you uncover the context and insights that can help you be more effective (and help you use martech tools more effectively).   From my perspective there are three key, non-tech tools that should be content marketing toolbox staples. And with the help of a few fantastic insights and tidbits of wisdom from marketing industry leaders, I dive into them below.

via GIPHY The “Real-Life” Staples to Gain First-Hand Insight, Inspiration, & Amplification #1 – Your in-house team members from across departments. For eons it seems, sales and marketing team alignment has been a top struggle yet a key best practice for gaining marketing (and business) traction. Today, that still holds true—but now it’s increasingly crucial for marketers to widen their collaboration scope to include other key departments. Why? Creating an incredible customer experience is the new challenge and opportunity for marketers. In addition, better alignment across major business functions ensures your efforts are truly contributing to the growth of the company—whether that be sales, talent retention and recruiting, product development, or customer service. “Marketers need to work collaboratively across the various areas of marketing as well as partnering with other parts if their company such as sales,” Justin Levy, public speaker and the new Director of Paid Social Media Operations at ServiceNow, told us not long ago. “Marketers need to be integrated and focused, working off of the same strategy instead of working in silos on their own projects.” [bctt tweet=”#Marketers need to be integrated and focused, working off of the same strategy instead of working in silos on their own projects. @justinlevy #ContentMarketing” username=”toprank”] Beyond creating synergy, your internal team members are insight tools. Sales and customer service reps are talking with customers every day. Your product development team is creating products or services that aim to alleviate customer and prospect pain points and solve problems. Your human resources department is actively recruiting and looking for ways to engage current employees. Your organization’s employees are insight engines who can help you craft more helpful, interesting, and inspiring content—and they’re also engagement and amplification powerhouses, ripe for a little employee advocacy and/or thought leadership. “Leveling up content marketing means going beyond creating consistent customer-focused content. It means engaging your internal experts to share their expertise,” Michael Brenner, Founder of Marketing Insider Group, shared earlier this year. “And it means activating the entire organization to share your passions, your stories, and your expertise.” [bctt tweet=”Leveling up #contentmarketing means going beyond creating consistent customer-focused content. It means engaging your internal experts to share their expertise. – @BrennerMichael” username=”toprank”] Think of your collaboration with other key departments like the bond a hammer and nails share. Without one another, the work doesn’t get done.

via GIPHY #2 – Your “captive” audience. Customers. Prospects. Social followers. Newsletter or blog subscribers. You have a “captive” audience that has sent signals that they’re interested in what you provide and what you have to say. But when’s the last time you leveraged your known audience to gather intel or simply connect at any stage of your content marketing process? “If you haven’t spoken to anyone in your audience in the last month directly—about their work and their lives, not about your company or products—then you aren’t ready to plan anything,” Jay Acunzo, Founder of Unthinkable Media, said in relation to content strategy and planning. He goes on: “It’s so breathtakingly simple: If you have a 40-hour per week job, then take literally .2% of your month (20 minutes) and have an informal conversation with a customer or prospect. You will be shocked at how much easier content marketing gets.” [bctt tweet=”It’s so breathtakingly simple: If you have a 40-hour per week job, 20 minutes a month and have an informal conversation with a customer or prospect. – @jayacunzo #ContentMarketing” username=”toprank”] Not only can you leverage your audience as a tool to make content marketing “easier,” but you can also create content that is more impactful and targeted. “When it comes to content creation, far too often content is created in a meeting room with a bunch of marketers without any thought for the day-to-day reality of the person consuming it. BIG mistake,” Dave Charest, now the Director of Content Marketing for Endurance International Group, says. “Level up your approach by creating content in partnership with members of your target audience.” [bctt tweet=”Level up your approach by creating content in partnership with members of your target audience. – @DaveCharest #ContentMarketing” username=”toprank”] Think of audience insights as your Swiss Army knife. They’re a trusty tool that can lend insight and tactical help in nearly any marketing situation.

via GIPHY #3 – Your team of external partners. Your internal marketing team as well as your key contacts across departments are flush with insight and expertise. But there are undoubtedly gaps that need to be filled—resource gaps, budget gaps, and knowledge gaps. This means that in order to get the kind of marketing traction you need and want, you need to build out your team—with people who serve specific purposes. After all, a tool by definition is a device that is used to carry out a particular function. Hilarious and seasoned marketer, Tim Washer, PowerPoint Comedian/Emcee at Ridiculous Media, suggests thinking outside the box when it comes to building out your team. “Build a virtual team. Recruit talented freelance writers and videographers, including college students, to help contribute engaging content production,” he says. [bctt tweet=”Recruit talented freelance writers and videographers, including college students, to help contribute engaging content production. – @timwasher” username=”toprank”] Whether you’re looking for execution help or need a larger force to handle strategy, creation, and optimization, an agency partner can be an incredible tool in your toolbox. (Not that we’re biased or anything.) “One of the primary responsibilities of any marketing agency is to lighten your workload and alleviate some of the stress that comes with it—and do it in a way that helps drive results,” Alexis Hall, TopRank Marketing’s Vice President of Client Accounts, shares. “From conversion rate optimization (CRO) to reducing cost-per-lead on PPC campaigns to expanding your search footprint, a full-service digital marketing agency can have its subject matter experts dig into the data and make actionable recommendations for optimizing your content or strengthening your tactical mix.” [bctt tweet=”One of the primary responsibilities of any #marketingagency is to lighten your workload and alleviate some of the stress that comes with it—and do it in a way that helps drive results. – @Alexis5484″ username=”toprank”] Think of your external partners like duct tape. They can be molded and implemented for a variety of different functions to help you achieve your ultimate goal.

via GIPHY Bolster Your Content Marketing Toolbox with Real-Life Tools Your martech stack is just one piece of the content marketing toolbox pie. You also need to look internally to leverage the real-life tools that are right in front of you and ripe with opportunity. Start by looking inside your organization to identify opportunities to collaborate and gain alignment with internal stakeholders and partners. In addition, commit to connecting with your captive audience on a regular basis to gain insight. And finally, add to your tool stack with external partners to fill gaps and add third-party insight and expertise. Oh. And fear not. We’ll cover some martech tools you should consider for your content marketing toolbox next time. What does the future of content marketing look like? Get the scoop on the latest content marketing trends that you need to pay attention to in the new year.

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[mst3kproject]

The Astro-Zombies

This one was directed by Ted V. Mikels, who also brought us Girl in Gold Boots (released the same year).  It stars Wendell Corey, who was in both Agent for HARM and Women of the Prehistoric Planet, and John Carradine's also in it.  Poor John Carradine.  I told you we'd be seeing him again.

The Astro-Zombies is kind of a hard slog.  The opening feels like we're seeing a series of beginnings to stories we will never be told the rest of.  First, a woman drives home and is attacked by an astro-zombie in her garage – the thing's face looks like a cross between a rubber skull mask and a rubber alien mask.  Then the opening credits play over a sequence of toy robots fighting.  Then a car accident, where the dying driver is being dragged away from the scene by a guy whose name is definitely Igor.  I don't care if the credits call him Franchot (which John Carradine pronounces to sound like 'Bradshaw'), he's got Igor written all over him.

(The shot above is re-used several times in the same scene.)

Then we see a man in a car, rewinding a tape and putting it in a case.  Then we cut to an office or something – whatever it is, it's got a table of plastic innards – and somebody finally starts talking.  Seven and a half minutes into the movie, characters explain to us that there have been a series of unusual murders, which seem to indicate that somebody is trying to build a Frankenstein-like 'astro-zombie', a creature of synthetic organs and actual human body parts which can be controlled remotely by radio. The original purpose of this creature was for long-distance space flight, allowing actual humans to stay safely on earth while artificial ones did the dangerous stuff for them.  But naturally when somebody actually built one of the damned things, it immediately went mad and started killing.

Now, the mad Dr. DeMarco and his assistant Igor are trying again, hoping to build a functional astro-zombie to fight the evil one, which is still searching for beautiful women to kill. Meanwhile, the CIA (I think), with help from DeMarco's former partner Dr. Petrovich, are trying to track him down – and agents of a never-identified foreign government, led by a woman who calls herself Satana, want the astro-zombie for themselves as the perfect weapon.

So eventually, all those disaparate beginnings do start to make sense.  The woman in the car was murdered by the rogue astro-zombie, who apparently mistook her for Jeanine, one of Dr. Petrovich's assistants – she was the last person the brain donor saw before he died.  The corpse Igor stole from the car wreck is destined to become the second astro-zombie.  The rewound tape is a recording of a speech Dr. DeMarco gave on how to create an astro-zombie, which the man in the car sells to Satana (and is then run down in the parking lot so she can get her money back).  I guess in the end it all makes sense... except for the toy robots, I have no idea how those figure in.  They do reappear over the closing titles, so we have that.

I've talked before about misleading titles and posters in old movies, which tended to promise (or at least imply) things that were in no way actually in the movie.  One of the things that strikes me about The Astro-Zombies is that its marketing is surprisingly honest.  The movie certainly is about astro-zombies, and all the things the poster promises us we will SEE! are in fact in the film, in pretty close to the form we were promised them.

The main image here is a skull-headed dude with a machete threatening a woman in her underwear.  While we never see any of the little rockets or satellites in the backdrop, this is in the movie, albeit in a scene so dark and badly-shot that we can barely see it at all.

The poster tells us that we will SEE an Astro-Space Laboratory!  There are two labs in this movie, Dr. Petrovich's and Dr. DeMarco's.  The former's doesn't seem to have much that's astro or spacey about it, but while the latter's is in his basement it is used to make astro-zombies for space travel.  Astro-Space Laboratory?  Seen!

SEE Brutal Mutants Menace Beautiful Girls!  Not only do the astro-zombies themselves hack up the redhead at the beginning before going after Petrovich's foxy assistants, there's also a weird sideline where Igor has a woman in a bikini duct-taped to a table in the lab.  I dunno if Igor's a brutal mutant but he's definitely menacing her.

SEE Crazed Corpse-Stealers!  Igor steals the corpse from the car wreck at the beginning, and he seems pretty crazy (what with his duct-taped bikini girl and all), so that's another yes.

SEE Berserk Human Transplants!  Dr. DeMarco isn't crazy enough to count as berserk himself, but he does perform human transplants – and the result of those transplants, the astro-zombies themselves, are definitely berserk.  Seen!

Of course all these things are kind of watered-down from what our imaginations may produce at reading the poster, and that's because the movie is obscenely cheap.  It was mostly filmed in a suburb of Los Angeles, with people's kitchens and living rooms standing in for high-tech labs and secret hide-outs.  The only actual location appears to have been the nightclub.  The day-for-night is on a par with Attack of the The Eye Creatures.  Only one astro-zombie is ever on screen at a time because they could only afford one mask.

There is one place where the cheapness actually enhances the movie: I quite like the garage sale aesthetic of Dr. DeMarco's lab.  This guy is a mad scientist working outside the system.  He's not gonna have access to the best high-tech equipment, so of course he's building it out of bits and pieces, using a fish tank to keep his artificial heart alive and part of an old lamp to make a brain scanner!  It works far less well in Dr. Petrovich's laboratory, which is full of test tubes of different kool-aid flavours and plastic models of various organs, some of which appear to be standing in for real organs and some of which may be plastic organs within the movie, but it's hard to tell which.

Cheapness is rarely a movie-killer in and of itself – in fact, cheapness can be hilarious under the right circumstances.  The plastic brains that stand in for the more realistic props the production couldn't afford are funny as hell.  What makes The Astro-Zombies so difficult to watch is that the whole movie is very badly constructed.  I already mentioned that the movie seems to begin several times, and the way all these beginnings are put together makes them confusing rather than intriguing.  This continues on into the movie, as we will see something that makes no sense and must then wait several scenes to see it explained, by which time we may have forgotten about it entirely.  By the time we find out that the guy who sold the tape to Satana was apparently an Italian count(!), it's hard to remember who 'the hit-and-run victim' even was.

Far too much time is devoted to things that turn out not to matter. We get to watch the process of astro-zombie creation in great detail – the corpse's memories are erased, its blood is drained, and then it is frozen so work can begin on it.  Most of this serves no purpose except for killing time – the only part that turns out to be important is that astro-zombies run on solar power (no, really).  We see various double-crosses and murders among the secret agents who are after the astro-zombie secret, but have only the vaguest idea who these people are.  Satana speaks with an American accent, her crazy-eyed, knife-wielding assistant is called Juan, and the guy who betrays them is some kind of Eastern European.  Maybe they're Canadians.

Oh, and we can't forget the topless dancer.  There's an extended scene of a dancer at the club, wearing nothing but panties and body paint.  The paint makes her look like she has a very strange physique and her breasts are weird.  This is occasion for a number of jokes about 'studying anatomy' but is mostly just an excuse to have a topless woman in the movie.  The two secret agents have also taken their girlfriend along to this (just one girlfriend for the two of them – the best sense I can make of the relationship among the three of them is that they're polyamorous).  Does anybody in the real world actually take their girlfriends to strip shows and call it a date?  Because I suspect that's a good way to become single again right quick.

At the end, the movie tries to make some kind of a point.  I think we're supposed to assume that astro-zombie mark 1.2 deliberately electrocutes itself along with Satana because it is horrified by the monster it has become, but I wouldn't bet money on it.  The other characters then observe that it is impossible to fully remove emotions from the human brain.  This has so little to do with anything that came before it just feels like an afterthought.

Then they leave without searching the lab.  I hope CSI came back to give the place a good once-over later, or that bikini girl on the table might starve.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the astro-zombies #poor john carradine #60s #everybody do the zombie stomp

[ecoorganic]

Golfer Loses Match at U.S. Amateur After Caddie’s Shocking Blunder

Segundo Oliva Pinto lost his match at the U.S. Amateur thanks to an incredible error by his caddie.

That’s an amateur mistake

A golfer competing in the Round of 16 at the U.S. Amateur Championships in Oregon was eliminated on Thursday after losing his match on the final hole—not because of anything he did, though. 

Segundo Oliva Pinto was tied with Tyler Strafaci heading into the final hole and put his third shot on the par-5 hole into a greenside bunker. Oliva Pinto could still get up and down to save par but instead automatically forfeited the hole due to the actions of his caddie.  

The caddie stepped into the bunker and brushed the sand with his hand. That’s a violation of

USGA rule 12.2 (b), which states you must not “deliberately touch sand in the bunker with your hand, a club or rake or any other object to test the condition of the sand and learn information for your next stroke.” The same goes for the player’s caddie, who could relay the information to the player. In stroke play, it’s a two-stroke penalty. In match play, you automatically forfeit the hole. Since Oliva Pinto and Strafaci were tied, the blunder handed the victory to Strafaci. 

“As soon as I get back there, the referee comes up and asks my caddie what happened, and I’m completely shocked," Oliva Pinto told the Golf Channel. “I’m just trying to get this shot near [the hole] and try and make an up-and-down and win the match. He touched the sand or something, and that’s a penalty.”

Golf Channel’s Brentley Romine reports that Oliva Pinto’s caddie told the rules official, ”I didn’t touch the sand” and repeated the assertion on the way back to the clubhouse. 

The caddie’s infraction was spotted by the caddie for Strafaci, his father, Frank Jr. The younger Strafaci said it was too bad the match had to be decided that way.

“It sucks that it came down to that because it was a phenomenal match,” he told the Golf Channel.

The Golf Channel identifies Oliva Pinto’s caddie as Brant Brewer, a local caddie at Bandon Dunes, the upscale golf resort with five world renowned courses where the tournament is being played. It’s shocking that a caddie at a prominent course like that, especially one apparently trusted enough to get such a high-profile assignment, wouldn’t know the rules. 

I’ve only ever had two jobs: writing for Sports Illustrated and caddying at a country club. I carried golf bags in Connecticut from eighth grade until I graduated from college and started here, and I’ve actually been in a situation similar to what happened with Oliva Pinto. After a heavy rain storm, I bent down to touch the green and see how much water it had retained. My player’s opponents could have called me on it but they were just rich guys playing for a couple of bucks per hole, not in the final stages of one of the country’s top amateur competitions. 

The best of SI

Purdue coach Jeff Brohm has an idea to make spring football work in the Big Ten. ... The NFL, meanwhile, has a different proposal to help accommodate a spring Big Ten season. ... The 12 teams that could win this season’s Super Bowl. ... If anyone hits .400 this year, are people going to think it’s legit? ... The goal Tyler Adams scored for RB Leipzig might be the most important one by an American in European club competition.

Around the sports world

Nebraska is backing off talk of ditching the Big Ten to play football in the fall this year. ... A homeless man reportedly spent two weeks living in a luxury box at Tampa’s soccer stadium. ... Joe Kelly went off on the Astros, calling them “snitches” and “cheaters.” ... Gord Miller, who called the five-overtime game earlier this week, recalled that when he called a five-OT game in 2003 he drank so much Dr. Pepper that he felt like he’d “eaten a bowling ball.” ... Indians pitcher Zach Plesac recorded a video explaining how he violated the team’s coronavirus protocol and blamed it on the media. 

How did that not work?

Damian Lillard had another amazing game

Stephen Strasburg got ejected from the stands for telling the ump, “You are brutal”

He had to the leave the game after this but what a catch

The ‘Inside the NBA’ crew sent the Spurs fishin’ before the playoffs for the first time ever

Legend

‘Madden’ has a new game mode that looks a little like the old ‘NFL Street’ games

Tua is the best

He’s got what it takes to be a starter

Is this guy from “Madden”?

Not sports

Australian airline Qantas is going to start offering day-long flights over Antarctica. ... AMC Theatres is reopening a bunch of its locations and selling 15-cent tickets, as if that can lure people out to the movies. ... Steve-O attached himself to a Los Angeles billboard with duct tape to promote his new comedy special. ... Scientists have discovered a bus-sized alligator with teeth the size of bananas that used to prey on dinosaurs. ... A $950 drone being operated by the Michigan Department of Environment, Great Lakes, and Energy (EGLE) was attacked by an eagle and sunk in Lake Michigan.

I had no idea this was possible

View the original article to see embedded media.

Wild pig out of nowhere!

A good song

Email [email protected] with any feedback or follow me on Twitter for approximately one half-decent baseball joke per week. Bookmark this page to see previous editions of Hot Clicks and find the newest edition every day. By popular request I’ve made a Spotify playlist of the music featured here. Visit our Extra Mustard page throughout each day for more offbeat sports stories.

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[qualkoesuce-blog]

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