#lunatics yelling in the streets ; verse
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BENJAMIN “SWEENEY TODD” BARKER
42. heterosexual. he/him. was wrongly convicted for a crime he didn’t commit. spends his time in jail plotting revenge. wants nothing more than to see judge turpin dead. still has hope that lucy might be alive, despite what mrs. lovett said. thinks mrs. lovett is clingy and annoying but he likes her ideas. grows more and more paranoid as time goes on. fc: josh groban. primary.
ELEANOR “NELLIE” LOVETT
38. bisexual. she/her. has been in love with sweeney since she heard the story about him and turpin. is extremely jealous of lucy for getting to marry him. doesn’t like johanna because she’s proof that sweeney has no feelings for her. loves toby like he’s her own child. wants desperately for sweeney to take an interest in her but knows deep down that he never will. doesn’t like turpin because he took sweeney away from her. fc: annaleigh ashford. primary.
LUCY BARKER
40. heterosexual. she/her. didn’t want to go to that party but went anyway so as not to seem rude. rejects the judge’s advances even more after. loves her daughter more than life itself and, even after she takes the poison, does what little she can to make sure she’s safe. doesn’t like lovett at all. is absolutely heartbroken when sweeney is arrested and spends her days waiting for him to come back. takes the poison because she can’t live with herself for letting the judge do that to her. fc: ruthie ann miles. primary.
PHILLIP TURPIN
61. heterosexual. he/him. arrests sweeney so that he can have an easier path to his wife. doesn’t think that lucy will take poison and gives up on her once she does. takes johanna in because it’s the right thing to do and also because he thinks she’s pretty. has been intending to marry her since she was thirteen or so. threatens anthony and would have killed him if he hadn’t had to be in court. wasn't expecting sweeney to know him and genuinely liked him as a barber until anthony showed up. fc: patrick page. plotting only.
SIMON BAMFORD
55. heterosexual. he/him. has been working with turpin since they were young. knew phillip when they were children but didn’t properly meet him until they were adults. sometimes wishes it were him that was marrying johanna, but respects phillip’s wishes to marry her. the only reason he doesn’t kill anthony is because he had to patrol town. has been trying to get the beggars off the streets for years. doesn’t like lucy or lovett, as he thinks they're foolish and flighty. fc: john rapson. secondary.
DANIEL “ADOLFO PIRELLI” O’HIGGINS
32. heterosexual. he/him. used to work for sweeney when he was a child and greatly respected him. saw sweeney and lucy as parental figures. working for sweeney is the reason he’s a barber today. adopted toby from the workhouse. doesn’t like toby very much because he doesn’t bring in good sales. resents sweeney for getting arrested and leaving him without a job. fc: nicholas christopher. secondary.
JONAS FOGG
40. heterosexual. he/him. had an absolutely terrible childhood and was sent to the workhouse at a young age. managed to get out after a year and find work in an office building. worked his way up to become a higher-up and then, once he'd been there for three years, left. decided to open the asylum because something needed to be done about the lunatics in london and he was the best man for the job. treats the inmates absolutely horribly. uses the money he gets from the government on himself instead of putting it towards the asylum. fc: domnhall gleeson. plotting only.
verses
BENJAMIN “SWEENEY TODD” BARKER
the face of a prisoner in the dock ; verse - pre canon.
the demon barber of fleet street ; verse - canon.
sweeney’s weeping for yesterday ; verse - post canon.
his needs are few, his room is bare ; verse - modern.
hearing the music that nobody hears ; verse - crossovers/aus.
ELEANOR “NELLIE” LOVETT
i haven’t seen a customer for weeks ; verse - pre canon.
it’s man devouring man, my dear ; verse - canon.
have all the demons of hell come to torment me? ; verse - post canon.
by the sea we’ll be comfy and cozy ; verse - modern.
my, you do like a good story ; verse - crossovers/aus.
LUCY BARKER
had her chance for the moon on a string ; verse - pre canon.
alms for a miserable woman ; verse - canon.
never said that she died ; verse - post canon.
city on fire, rats in the grass ; verse - modern.
lunatics yelling in the street ; verse - crossovers/aus.
PHILLIP TURPIN
he was there alright, only not so contrite ; verse -pre canon.
when i offered myself to her, she showed a certain reluctance ; verse - canon.
there is indeed a higher power to warn me thus in time ; verse - post canon.
a pious vulture of the law ; verse - modern.
he made the devil so much stronger than a man ; verse - crossovers/aus.
SIMON BAMFORD
spoken of with great respect ; verse - pre canon.
you shall surely see me there before the week is out ; verse - canon.
i try my best for my neighbors ; verse - post canon.
someone has called the beadle ; verse - modern.
the beadle calls on her all polite ; verse - crossovers/aus.
DANIEL “ADOLFO PIRELLI” O’HIGGINS
sweeping up hair and the like ; verse - pre canon.
this is, from early infancy, the talent give to me by god ; verse - canon.
what are we going to do about him? ; verse - post canon.
to shave the face ; verse - modern.
for if you slip you nick the skin ; verse - crossovers/aus.
JONAS FOGG
we are one happy family here ; verse - pre canon.
all my patients are my children ; verse - canon.
smile for the gentleman ; verse - post canon.
now, where shall i cut? ; verse - modern.
to be corrected when they’re naughty ; verse - crossovers/aus.
#char : benjamin barker#the face of a prisoner in the dock ; verse#the demon barber of fleet street ; verse#sweeney’s weeping for yesterday ; verse#his needs are few‚ his room is bare ; verse#hearing the music that nobody hears ; verse#char : eleanor lovett#i haven’t seen a customer for weeks ; verse#it’s man devouring man‚ my dear ; verse#have all the demons of hell come to torment me? ; verse#by the sea we’ll be comfy and cozy ; verse#my‚ you do like a good story ; verse#char : lucy barker#had her chance for the moon on a string ; verse#alms for a miserable woman ; verse#never said that she died ; verse#city on fire‚ rats in the grass ; verse#lunatics yelling in the streets ; verse#char : phillip turpin#he was there alright‚ only not so contrite ; verse#when i offered myself to her‚ she showed a certain reluctance ; verse#there is indeed a higher power to warn me thus in time ; verse#a pious vulture of the law ; verse#he made the devil so much stronger than a man ; verse#char : simon bamford#spoken of with great respect ; verse#you shall surely see me there before the week is out ; verse#i try my best for my neighbors ; verse#someone has called the beadle ; verse#the beadle calls on her all polite ; verse
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Something stirs in me this vacant afternoon;
Something long lost, just one among the bunch.
Probably I've had a drink too many,
Or maybe I've smoked a little too much.
My demons dance on my bookshelf, I see;
Yelling at me verses, that I composed.
My head shakes in a way of denial,
With a little more time, I overdosed.
—
I woke up in a dark empty alley,
The streets lined with skulls and blood.
There is light far away, I see -
But my legs are stuck in the mud.
With enough effort, I walk towards the glow,
My legs are aching, I'm moving really slow,
But the light pulls me closer still,
I scream in agony, but the sound is low.
—
The darkness gets the better of my eyes,
And I hear a bell ring somewhere -
I run like a lunatic on a quest for fairies,
The monotonous black, I couldn't bear.
I get closer to the sound now,
Even the darkness has started fading away,
I see the Death Knell, oscillating from side to side,
I see - the Hellfire was my bright light ray.
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Relationship Call For One(1) Travis Touchdown!
It’s been a while, hasn’t it? “Since what,” you ask? Why, since the last relationship call! Travis Touchdown’s certainly made some big leaps and bounds in his roleplay life, to say the least! But he just as certainly didn’t earn all that development by himself! He couldn’t. It’d literally be impossible. Roleplaying’s a 2-way street - or more ways, if you’re living life off the edge (yes, “off” the edge), like some sort of authorial lunatic.
The point being! The New Life And Times Of Travis Touchdown is a story with an ensemble cast, one that’s ever-expanding, ever-shifting, ever-evolving. And I like to at least have a vague idea who should take the spotlight / where plots could go, etc. So in this post, I’ll be listing off the usual routes in-character relationships can take. And all YOU have to do is leave a like, if you’re willing to have yourself opened up to:
Plotting / talking / yelling about our muses via IM, PM, DM, or whatever else you call it!
The mutual right for us to send unprompted, in-character asks to each other’s inbox, or (with permission) tagging the other in random starters. Hell, send me those kinds of asks, anyways; I love ‘em!
Just keep in mind that I’ll probably wind up being selective with this, depending on how much attention I get! Got it? Good! Without further ado?
ROMANCE
Believe it or not, this loser’s taken. Seriously. Don’t even try. He will never think your muse is better than the landshark woman he loves, and it really won’t take you long to realize. Not with how little Travis shuts up about Rosa. I’m sorry, he’s a gross sap. Breathe a sigh of relief, or mourn your loss... Actually, just do the first.
FRIENDS
Travis is violent, loud, crude, stubborn, temperamental, weird, perverted, nerdy… A lot of things. Negative things. But he’s also a surprisingly social butterfly, a warm-hearted (to those he feels deserve it) guy who’s always trying his best to be as good as he can be. So if you can deal with Travis being a murder-happy vigilante? If you can see where he’s coming from, believe in his inner goodness (and the fact he’s a living, breathing, self-admitted fictional character)? If you love cats, and/or share his taste for pop culture? Travis will die for you. Travis will kill for you. Travis will be your Emotional Support Assassin.
FOUND FAMILY
Second verse, same as the first! Only, y’know, much more extreme. In every. Single. Regard. If you’re in this circle, you’ve more than likely seen Travis at some of his brightest highs and darkest lows… sides of him that not many get to witness... and you’ve still stuck with him. Congratulations. You’ve earned almost everything Travis has to share, and trust me: that threshold is vast. Congratulations. The No More Hero will gladly do anything for you, again and again.
Found family is one of my favorite tropes, too, so you’ll be feeding me.
ACQUAINTANCES
Travis doesn’t really like you, doesn’t really dislike you, or doesn’t really know you. You might be another face in the crowd, a minor annoyance, or a casual drinking / sparring / something partner. It’s actually quite hard to stay in this position, as Travis is a man who’s very quick to form his opinions.
ENEMIES
Hoo, boy. I mean, you saw that laundry list of vices earlier, right? Couple all of that with an almost irrepressible hero complex, and an innate magnetism for trouble... it’s easy to see why Travis Touchdown is a man who makes enemies just as easily (if not more so) than he does friends. Enemies. People who trample upon Travis’s fundamental beliefs, or villains who kill / torment / use others without any regard for morality (or with, if this villain’s one of the card-carrying varieties), etc. Just be wary, group number two! If you get on Travis’s bad side, you’re going to be dealing with a crazy-superpowered, master-class assassin. If you piss him off enough, Travis will never stop coming for you. He’ll never give up, never stay down, never stop talking smack. Not until you’re either broken, dead, or both.
Seriously. Just… be wary. Know what you’re signing your muse up for.
Attacking from an intellectual / emotional standpoint might work better, might not.
RIVALS
One thing I forgot to mention? Travis is competitive, to an almost ridiculous extent. One thing I didn’t? Travis absolutely adores the thrill of combat, of finding and facing worthy opponents. Put those two together, and you’ve got a great way to get him to know your muse! These can either be friendly rivalries or more antagonistic ones, but either way, Travis knows when to give respect to whom it’s due. Fights in this category likely won’t end in death, and Travis might also be willing to (at least somewhat) hold himself back, in case your muse is - to put it bluntly - less OP.
Rivalries don’t have to be based in battle, either! You want to challenge Travis to something, anything? He’ll likely take you on, anytime or anywhere!
YOU HAVE ANY OTHER IDEAS?
Wacky shenanigans? Philosophical discussions? Everything in-between? Just let me know!! Thanks for reading!
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Season 13, Episode 1 (The One Where Blake K Doesn't Get a Rose)
Welcome back, Bachelor Nation! I’m super excited about this season of the Bachelorette (mostly because Rachel is not Nick Viall and will never be Nick Viall). You all know how I feel about Rachel (and that I knew she’d be the next Bachelorette since the first episode of last season), so I won’t wax poetic about her. Instead, I’ll just start this recap. Let’s go!
The episode opens with Chris Harrison talking about how much we all love Rachel. Duh. Obviously. Let’s move on.
Rachel does some street dancing, plays basketball alone, “goes to court” (by which I mean she performs in an instructional video about what lawyers do as directed by someone who doesn't know any lawyers), flashes back to meeting gross Nick (complete with beignet eating and limo crying), takes a plane with her DOG WHOSE NAME IS COPPER (!!!), poses for some pictures, chats with some grandmas, and finally drives up to the mansion.
Time to meet some guys!
Pretty Boy Pitbull Kenny King is a wrestler. He is very sweaty and panty for a solid chunk of his intro video and has a very tall ten year old daughter. (Is Rachel ready to get engaged to a man who has a ten year old child and possibly be that child’s step mother?). He makes a pun about rings.
Jack Stone is a lawyer (like Rachel), is 31 (like Rachel), and is from Dallas (like Rachel). He talks about the passing of his mother while staring out at some water and then plays with a dog.
Alex would like to let you all know that is not a meat head. He likes books and coding and learning and Rubiks Cubes. Ok? Those are things meat heads don't like! Only nerds like those things!
Mohit is a start-up guy. He loves dancing with his family in his living room.
Alright. Here he fucking is. Whaboom -- a manboy named Lucas who frequently wears shirts that have cartoon versions of his own face on them. This guy is going to be either my most favorite or my least favorite.
Blake E (omega Blake) is a sports nutritionist and certified lunatic. He works out on the beach and talks about how amazing his penis is (by which he means it’s slightly below average). Fuck this guy.
Next up is Diggy, who loves clothes and has 575 pairs of shoes (or 1150 individual shoes). Diggy, you see, is a fashionista. He also has a dog, but we don't get to know how many pairs of shoes the dog owns.
Josiah makes me cry. Top 5, easily. E A S I L Y . His older brother killed himself when he was younger and Josiah had to cut him down from the tree that he hung himself on. Josiah has an amazing story and is either this season’s winner or next season's Bachelor.
A meeting of the minds commences. Among Rachel’s panel of advisors is Astrid (who I forgot about), Whitney (who everyone forgot about), nanny-having Corinne, dolphin lady Alexis, Raven (the true winner of Nick Viall’s season of The Bachelor), beautiful princess Kristina, and Jasmine G. (the one who choked Nick -- big fan). Everyone loves Eric, Raven believes that DeMario is amazing (but Whitney thinks he’s THERE FOR THE WRONG REASONS™️), and some ill-advised voice likes Dean (the one who made the “I’m ready to go black and I’m never going back” comment).
Time for the men to come out of the limo. Finally.
First out of the limo is Peter. He is wearing a nice jacket and doesn't say anything awful. Congratulations, Peter!
Next is Josiah, this season’s winner. He makes a lawyer joke. Smells like a wedding to me!
Out comes chiropractor Bryan. He speaks Spanish and looks like a much more attractive version of my neighbor.
Kenny calls her “Pretty Rachel” and then dances with her. I am overcome with grief.
Rob doesn't get much of an introduction, but who cares?
There is also a man named Iggy. Diggy and Iggy. Fine.
Bryce, the transphobic firefighter, lifts Rachel off of her feet. Get out, Bryce.
Next out of the limo is Steve Urkel, followed by Stefan Urquelle. His real name is Will. As in when Will this end?
Here comes Diggy, who loves The Devil Wears Prada. He makes a pun based off of his name.
Kyle shows Rachel his buns. Who is Kyle?
Blake K (alpha Blake) talks about his grandparents who recently celebrated their 65th wedding anniversary. Big fan of Blake K. Huge.
Brady shows up with a sledge hammer. He is immediately terrifying. He “breaks the ice” at which point I feel he should be lead away from Rachel with his hands behind his back. He is also possibly wearing lavender lipstick.
Dean, who made that cringe-worthy comment when he first met Rachel, is shaking and grinning. Rachel lies about loving the comment. This is your season, Rachel. You do not have to lie to anyone.
Here comes Eric, my first round draft pick. Now I find him boring.
DeMario, who brought plane tickets to Vegas to his first encounter with Rachel, looks forward to more “first moments” with her. His confidence is overwhelming.
Gross Blake E arrives with a marching band. Do less, Blake E. I implore you. (Side note: Blake E’s hair is straight up disgusting).
Let’s make misogynistic comments about Rachel! A smart and funny woman? How is that possible? No woman has ever been smart AND funny! There must be some sort of catch! Several men’s heads explode.
Fred, who knew Rachel in elementary school, brings a yearbook. Rachel remembers his bad behavior. I sincerely hope he becomes this season’s Liz the Doula. (Miss you, Liz!)
Jonathan, the tickle monster, makes me scream into a pillow. If anyone ever tried to tickle me upon meeting me I would actually knock them out. Not appropriate, creepy Jonathan.
Lee, whose guitar lets me know it’s alright to hate him, wastes no time in introducing himself as a monster. He is a self-proclaimed singer/songwriter, and a me-proclaimed douchebag.
Alex the Mensa genius brings a vacuum because why not?
Milton, who literally admitted that he wanted to be discovered by a talent agent, takes a selfie with Rachel. Bye!
Adam brings a mannequin named Adam Jr. Adam Jr. (AJ) will more than likely compete on Bachelor in Paradise because Rachel hates him. AJ is left in the corner where he conspires against all of the other men in the house whilst Jonathan tickles people.
Matt is a penguin. Can’t wait until Alexis decks him on Paradise.
Grant arrives in an ambulance.
Anthony is wearing a beige suit. Different!
Jamey is unsavory upon first sight and unsavory upon further inspection.
Jack Stone has a great (crocodile) smile. Maybe he uses it to bite people.
Mohit makes some kind of comment about her having the upper hand. Is he a dom? A misogynist? Both? Neither? Where are his dancing family members?
A man whose legal name is Jedidiah quotes a Bible verse about crying. He is not wearing a full suit.
Michael brings a brownie. I pick him.
The men wonder who will go crazy. Here’s Whaboom. He is contractually obligated to show up when someone says “crazy,” “maniac,” “Whaboom,” or “testicles.” He turns bright red while yelling and carries a megaphone. Can't wait until he’s full drunk.
All 31 men (and 1 mannequin) are now in the mansion. Time for Rachel to like actually kind of meet them, but not really because chances are they’ll speak with her for like 10 minutes each and continuously steal her from each other.
Josiah tells Rachel his story, but she's only kind of buying what he's selling. It’s ok. They just need time to fall in love.
Dean and Rachel build a sand castle together. Dean, the youngest man in the mansion, thinks this is cute. Rachel is his babysitter.
Rob brought a baseball card with Rachel on it.
Anthony would like to understand Rachel.
Eric and Rachel dance again, but the spark is gone.
Someone gave AJ a glass of champagne. He is a child! He cannot drink!
Matt the Penguin asks if Rachel prefers Michael Jackson or Prince while AJ (who, like a clown, is hilarious and terrifying) (mostly terrifying) professes his love for Rachel in French.
Rachel remembered Fred the moment she saw him. He’s the top 5 guy who makes her feel comfortable, connected to her past, but he won't win.
Bryan steals Rachel. He is mature and handsome and surely top 5 material. His confidence, unlike DeMario’s, is endearing because it’s over-the-top in a funny way. You can tell he doesn't really believe all of these things about himself. (I hope). Rachel and Bryan kiss. She didn’t want to kiss anyone tonight, but says that she enjoyed him.
The first impression rose is brought out. Everyone starts sweating (and drinking). Let’s be honest. Bryan is getting the rose. No one else spent that kind of time with Rachel. And, as a first impression rose winner herself, she knows who’s real and who’s fake.
DeMario talks a lot, according to Josiah. Rachel is impressed by his confidence.
Jamey mentioned that his suit cost $2,000. He is Gob Bluth and I was right to hate him.
Men swarm Rachel. She is starting to get nervous. Cancel the season! Send everyone home! Let Rachel have fun in the mansion by herself.
Mohit is drunk and can't seem to find the right way to steal Rachel.
Rachel tells Peter that she doesn’t like chocolate while Whaboom narrates through a megaphone.
Blake E hates Whaboom so I officially love Whaboom. I would very much like to see Whaboom deck Blake E. I would very much like to see anyone (especially Rachel) deck Blake E.
None of these men seem to realize that they can only have a few minutes with Rachel. There are 31 of you and her time is more valuable than all of yours combined. Get with the picture.
I also just realized that Alex brought a vacuum because when we first met Rachel during Nick’s season she danced with a vacuum. Fine.
“Cash me outside, how bow dah?” asks Josiah. Oh, Josiah. I was rooting for you.
Kenny brings up his daughter -- his favorite person in the whole world. Maybe I was wrong to judge him. He’s a good father.
The first impression rose goes to Bryan because duh. Mohit gasps. He is the DGAP.
it’s finally time for the first rose ceremony!
Roses go to:
- Normal Peter
- Will Urkel
- Smiley Jack Stone
- Slimy Jamey
- Forgettable Iggy
- Dance Machine Eric
- Confident DeMario
- Jonathan the Creep
- Transphobic Bryce
- Alex the Mega Genius
- Kenny the Wrestling Dad
- Baby Dean
- Matt the Penguin
- Anthony (and his eyebrows)
- Brady the Lip Gloss Aficionado
- Josiah the Future Winner
- Hatable Lee
- Fashion-forward Diggy
- Fred from Camp
- Adam (but not Adam Jr, which is rude)
- Blake E who is more than likely sticky
and last, but certainly not least
- Whaboom (because this is reality television)
Roses do not go to:
- Bland Rob
- Drunk Mohit
- Forgettable Kyle
- Blake K (who actually voluntarily left to see his grandfather in the ICU -- i.e. the true winner of this season)
- Grant, who was not on this episode
- Bible-quoting Jedidiah
- Milton, who will never get the chance to be famous now (FIRST CRY OF THE SEASON)
and
- Brownie-bringing Michael
Alright, the season has begun. Who will win? Who will lose? Who will beat the crap out of Blake E? Here’s to finding out!
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Cancellation is Now an Equal Opportunity Equation
by Don Hall
Holy Shit.
The hysteria. The hand-wringing. The hair-shirt rending.
Everyone is now in danger. Not from police violence (although that certainly affects approximately two percent of the American population). Not from mass shootings (likewise affecting slightly less than one percent in 2021). Not even from mosquitos (which annually kill about five percent of the population).
Everyone is now in danger...of cancellation.
Here is the distinction that saves the term cancellation from uselessness and hypocrisy: Cancellation is not criticism; cancellation is the absence of criticism. It is the replacement of criticism with a summary punishment. The punishment ranges in seriousness and could include withdrawal of a job or just an invitation, but the salient point is that it is meted out instantly and without deliberation, often as the result of a mob action. When this switcheroo becomes a habit, the normal way of doing things, we can call that “cancel culture,” and it is indeed a sign of intellectual and institutional rot. The failure to distinguish cancellation from criticism is the source of the humor in V. S. Naipaul’s quip after the Ayatollah Khomeini dispatched assassins to kill Salman Rushdie for writing The Satanic Verses. Naipaul called Khomeini’s fatwa “a most extreme form of literary criticism.”
SOURCE
Gina Carano—Fired by Disney after posting on social media that being a Republican in 2021 was similar to being Jewish during Nazi Germany. Her Hollywood agent dropped her, and Hasbro scrapped her Star Wars action figure.
Emily Wilder—The AP Reporter with pro-Palestine inclinations was fired from the AP Arizona beat over tweets during the latest version of the Middle East "let's fight to the death for some fictionalized holy ground" skirmish.
Antonio Garcia Martinez—Hired by Apple. Company knew all about his tech memoir. 2,000 out 250,000 Apple employees signed a petition claiming his book made them feel “unsafe”. He was fired three weeks later.
Al Franken—Probably the earliest example of the right mobbing up to cancel a sitting Senator with massive Progressive street cred, Franken was taken down by the very people he was aggressively working for.
The Right was always a fan of cancellation in whatever forms they could create and use. The Right has been cancelling and mobbing people and companies for as long as I can remember—public shame is a chapter heading in the How to Be a Republican playbook for generations. The Left is now wielding it with a vengeance, citing the bold statement "When they go low, we do exactly what they do because it works".
Everyone is a victim. Everyone is being held accountable by the neighborhood watch, various Karens, and those cancelled are left with no jobs, soiled reputations, and a bitter anger at the moralistic pinings of hypocrites have one other thing in common: their full story is never explored because to look more deeply would reveal the ugly high school mechanations of the practice as a whole.
If asked, most people in and around Chicago would parrot one of my close friend's answers when asked why I moved to the desert: "He burned too many bridges." Others, including my Literate ApeCast co-host, will skate around it but confirm that I was, indeed, cancelled by an online storyteller mob of about fifty. Due to the very nature of cancellation, it doesn't matter if any of this is true.
Does it matter that the storytelling behemoth organization didn't fire me but asked me to take a five-month break so things could die down and I refused? Does it matter that the situation at the public radio station had been strained a full year before the caustic, opportunistic chihuahua went lunatic? Does it matter that Dana and I had been talking about our "been here, done that, and fuck, I'm tired of the cold" yearning to leave Chicago for at least a solid six months before the ugly reputation burning began?
Nope.
See, that's not in the nature of the thing. "...the salient point is that it is meted out instantly and without deliberation, often as the result of a mob action." Once the mob is satisfied, it moves on to the next shiny object like the seagulls in Finding Nemo.
This was [throat clear] problematic when the Far Left decided it was a grand new weapon against the phantom enemies of the lived experience narrative but the Far Right has caught up. Both sides of this ideological culture war are cancelling people like a Whack-a-Mole game. The argument that this is simply about holding people accountable is a leaky boat with no oars.
This is about revenge and power. Revenge in the case of individuals publicly called out by other individuals; power in the case of groups going after institutions and corporations. Further, it is not up to individuals to effectively reign it in—this is entirely up to the institutions and corporate boards allowing the cancelling its teeth.
In the 90s, I ran a theater company. Started as a sketch comedy group, fell apart, and my response was to apply and secure nonprofit corporation status. I was the Executive Director on paper, the only Producer in reality. I was also a director, a performer, the chief marketer, the public relations guy, and the janitor. When there were personnel issues, I was the HR department.
At one point, three of the women in the company came to me and threatened to leave if a single individual, whom they accused of being a sexual predator, was allowed to stay. On the most microscopic of levels, this was a cancelling. Small group demanding the ouster of an individual on moral grounds or else.
I took their accusations seriously. I listened. No specifics of behavior that would be considered illegal or without the possibility of misunderstanding were presented. The dude was creepy. He hugged ladies a tad too long for comfort. He gave unsolicited back rubs. He said things to the women that they felt were inappropriate. He complimented them too much.
"Look," I told them. "I'm not one to negotiate with demands. Ultimatums are a bad faith approach so I won't cave to yours. That said, I'd like you to give me a chance to talk to him and try to instruct him on his behavior. If it doesn't improve in a month, I'll dump him."
They didn't like it, they bitched some more, but they agreed. I spoke with him, allowed him to explain himself, gave him the new rules governing his behavior, and he towed that line. I'd check in with the women every six weeks or so (I marked a reminder on my calendar) and each time for nearly a year, they indicated that he had changed his ways and that it was good.
When AP is confronted by a bunch of FOX News retards calling for Emily Wilder to be fired for her anti-Israel politicking? "Thanks for your concern. We'll take a look into it and if we deem it necessary to discuss the matter with our employee, we'll take care of it. If that's unacceptable, don't read our award-winning shit, fuck-os."
When Disney gets hit with people completely apoplectic about one of their Star Wars actors comparing her existence with Holocaust survivors? "Thanks for your concerns. While a completely stupid thing to tweet as Holocaust survivors rarely got million-dollar contracts to play a space ranger, we think we'll just yell at her some for being a public dipshit and leave it at that."
Being unpopular is not fatal (unless you were born after 1995). Mega-corporations losing the support of a slice of their consuming public because they believe they wield some magical Twitter power that Coca Cola or the NFL can't outspend by trillions of dollars isn't really worth the time it takes to fire someone.
Does this mean Matt Lauer shouldn't have been fired? No, the dude had a secret lock on his office door to trap chicks in there! Kevin Spacey? Yo, buyer beware. The Pharma Boy? Fuck that guy.
It means that, Christ, everyone has a beef and everyone is looking for power and most people haven't crossed the line from harmless offense to Third Reich Activity Club. Dispassionately understanding the difference between dumping toxic waste in the river that poisons a town and culturally appropriating yoga seems pretty obvious but what do I know? I'm an adult who refuses to play the game set forth.
The best outcome for this whole new (old, really old, been going on this way for centuries) cancellation thing is that the most histrionic on both sides of Crazy Town manage to cancel each other.
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My first dive into fanficition. unbeta’d.
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He looked at the scene around him. He was calculating, discriminating, and deducing every bit of information; coalescing it all into a memory that was unlikely to be forgotten. There were a hundred people in the room creating a cacophony of exuberant voices, clinking glasses, and silverware scraping along fine china. It was loud and disconcerting, but he didn’t let it interfere with his thought process.
Sherlock didn’t need to deduce that he was at a wedding. It was his wedding after all. He could tell, however, that his mother was exactly a half a drink away from total inebriation based upon her smudged lipstick and flyway hair. He could also see that Mycroft was having no fun at all by the way he was fiddling with his scotch glass, glancing at his wristwatch, and wearing a decidedly obvious frown. At that thought, Sherlock smirked inwardly then continued to take in the details around the room. He noticed that the room held more people than he actually cared for aside from John, Mary, Mrs. Hudson, and a handful of others. He promptly realized that it didn’t matter when his eyes landed on his bride.
Sherlock decided that Alice was the most radiant individual in the room. At the moment, she was engaged in quick conversation with Mrs. Hudson and Lestrade, and Sherlock took the time to take inventory of her features.
Her chestnut brown hair was coiffed into a simple bun fastened at the nape of her neck. At its center, she wore an antique brocade he had bought her while resolving a case in India. Her gown was sleeveless, which exposed her freckled shoulders, and the sweetheart neckline hinted at the slightest swell in her breast. One could follow the toned muscles in her back as the freshwater pearl buttons refracted the light from chandeliers across her skin. The rest of the gown draped elegantly across her body as it flowed onto the floor.
Sherlock knew that Alice was listening to the conversation attentively, as was her nature as a psychologist, but he would be remiss to disregard the furtive, playful glances she continued to throw his way.
The pair met eight months prior, whilst Sherlock was hurriedly leaving his flat at 221B Baker Street, and Alice was, at that exact moment, exiting Speedy’s with a large takeaway bag. Sherlock wouldn’t have noticed her under normal circumstances, but on this blustery day in late March, Alice had been running uncharacteristically late and was rushing to get back to her office in time for her afternoon appointments. In her haste, she had run head first into Sherlock, spilling hot soup and cold tea on his Belstaff and polished shoes. The impact was forceful enough to cause Sherlock to drop his phone onto the pavement and for Alice to become almost entirely drenched in the remaining soup.
Without looking at her, Sherlock began cursing loudly, belying his dismay at the hindrance the accident was causing him. Alice, too, was cursing and attempting to wipe both of them down with the paltry napkins supplied from the café. Eventually, she gave up and removed her coat and jumper to prevent minestrone soup from soaking into her blouse. Surprised at her audacity to undress in the middle of the street, Sherlock finally looked to her and was struck to see a pair of iridescent green eyes staring back at him.
“Watch where you’re going,” she demanded.
“It was you who ran into me,” he forcibly shot back, heated at the exchange.
It was clear that Alice wasn’t going to back down from this fight “If you hadn’t been so singularly focused in your own bloody world, then you would have noticed me coming and altered your course.”
Sherlock was initially amused at the tenor in this woman’s voice, but then he remembered that he had been on his way to gather evidence in a particularly exciting murder case and was rudely interrupted by soup splattered across his freshly laundered overcoat.
“I would love to argue with you…”
“Alice”
“…Alice, but I’ve got plenty to attend to.”
Sherlock turned and moved swiftly down the street, leaving Alice behind. As he raised his hand to hail a cab, she yelled out “You won’t solve it today, you know.”
Sherlock halted. Intrigued, he turned back to her, perplexed at her sudden outburst. “What did you just say?”
She replied, “You won’t solve it today. The case you’re working on. You’re missing essential pieces of information that you’re struggling to uncover. At this moment, you’re on your way to meet with a colleague…no…a friend, who usually helps to stroke your ego and sharpen your focus when you when you get stuck.”
For the first time in his life, Sherlock was dumbfounded. “How…how do you know this?”
Alice smiled, “Your phone in your left hand was open to a text message to a ‘John.’ No last name, just John. You wear no wedding band, so he’s not your husband, but he is close enough to be saved in your contacts by his first name only. He could be your boyfriend, but it’s late on a Sunday afternoon, so if he was your partner, you would presumably be spending the day with him, not running about like a lunatic. Furthermore, your face is contorted into a grimace, bringing out lines that only appear when you are in deep concentration. Your pace is rushed and you have your pea coat turned up against the wind, indicating that you are prepared to walk, or perhaps jog, your way to your destination in case you couldn’t hail a cab immediately.”
“Impressive,” Sherlock mused, “but you didn’t tell me how you knew it was a case I was working on.”
“That part was easy,” she mocked, “Your text message says ‘Working on case. Stuck. Need your input. Coming at once.’ When you dropped your mobile, I read the message as I was handing it back to you.”
Instead of being perturbed, Sherlock found himself even more intrigued by this clumsy, clever woman, and felt compelled to invite her to dinner.
“Dinner,” he said suddenly. “Tonight. 8 pm. Northumberland and Talley Street. Join me?” Alice smiled widely in response, highlighting a set of dimples that accentuated her features in the most delightful way. In that moment, covered in broth and tea, Sherlock realized he was smitten.
She replied, “I’d love to join you for dinner…”
“Sherlock.”
“…Sherlock. Just make sure wherever we’re going doesn’t serve soup.”
Two months after that incidental meeting, Alice moved into the flat on Baker Street. On a gloomy Monday morning ten weeks later, Sherlock left a ring on her pillow for her to discover when she woke. Now they stood in the dance hall, passing glances at each other between their guests.
While Sherlock was totally focused on observing Alice and remembering their first meeting, he didn’t notice John approach him with a plate of carefully arranged petit fours.
“This chocolate ganache is particularly delicious, don’t you think Sherlock?” John remarked.
“Hmm.”
“Sherlock.”
“Hmm?”
“You’re staring again.”
Sherlock broke his gaze and looked pointedly at John. “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about,” he lightly accused.
John smiled, crinkling his eyes to indicate his mirth. “You do have a right, you know. You did just marry her. By the way, I think Lestrade may be moving in on your territory. He seems to have an affinity for getting close to your new wife.” They both watched as Greg leaned in to lightly touch Alice’s lower back and speak into her ear. They could see her deftly slide away from his touch and redirect her attention back to Mrs. Hudson. Sherlock smiled, “I think you’re off your game, Dr. Watson. Alice is anything but my territory. She can handle herself.”
John chuckled. “Never thought we’d be standing here, yeah?” John queried.
“No,” Sherlock said quietly, “but I am grateful that we are.”
“Oi. Me too, mate. Mary and I are very fond of Alice. She is wonderful with Rosie and it’s obvious that she is very patient with you.”
“Hmm,” is all Sherlock replied, once again watching as Alice kissed Mrs. Hudson goodbye and lightly giving Lestrade the slip. She turns her head slightly, catching her husband’s eye and breaking into one of her broad smiles. She began to sashay toward Sherlock at the edge of the dancefloor, when all of a sudden; the tone of the music changed and a bright, upbeat tune began to play. Her smile turned mischievous, as she added a bounce to her step in beat with the music.
She’s trying to bait me into a dance, Sherlock thought and moved a half step closer to her. At that exact moment, Mary interceded Alice with a ruddy-cheeked Rosie in tow, and he watched as Alice took delight in lifting the baby from Mary’s arms to dance with her. For the first verse of the song, Alice twirled and bounced Rosie around the room, basking in the golden ballroom light and drawing attention to her newly wedded happiness. For a short while, Rosie enjoyed being shuffled around, but shortly thereafter, she tired of the game and reached for her mother. Alice deftly moved her back into Mary’s arms before resuming her original course toward Sherlock.
Sherlock kept his eyes carefully trained on Alice’s as she approached him. He catalogued the way her neck flushed pink with the exertion of the dance, the way the strands of hair that had come undone from her bun framed her face perfectly, and how the whole room watched her reach toward him.
“Hello, love,” she purred, loud enough for only him to hear her over the music, which continued to build on itself in the background.
“Hello. Enjoying yourself?”
“Mm. I would be if I were dancing with my husband.”
“You know I won’t engage in the frivolous and ridiculous jumping around that you consider dancing, especially in front of all these people.” He paused. “Who are these people, again?” he only mildly seriously inquired.
At this, Alice laughed. “These people are our family and friends…and a handful of people we actually like.”
It was Sherlock’s turn to laugh. “You wicked woman,” he whispered to her.
“If I’m so wicked, then dance with me,” she replied.
“That statement makes no logical sense, and no, I will not dance with you to this song.”
“Suit yourself,” Alice smirked and turned to join their guests on the dance floor. As the music reached a peak, she began jumping with the beat around the floor, clearly enjoying her clever take on her husband’s rejection.
He watched her with an amused grin, knowing the last thing she would expect would be for him to join her in the truly absurd dancing she was adamant on enjoying at the moment. The music slowed for a moment, building into the song’s climax, and Sherlock walked deliberately onto the dance floor. He knew he would have the last word, or dance in this case, and that thought was worth a little humiliation.
He reached Alice and stood stock still for a moment in the midst of the bustling, pulsing, jumping bodies before she noticed him. She abruptly turned from a spin into him, surprised and amused, and the music broke into a penultimate chord. Here it bloody goes Sherlock’s mind spat at him, sparking Sherlock to begin jumping up and down excitedly, holding Alice’s small hands in larger ones. In the span of a second, Alice’s expression turned from surprise to utter joy, and she threw her head back in laughter that no one could hear over the crashing melody of the song. She joined in jumping with him, until a small circle had cleared around them; their guests taking in the scene before them.
It was in this moment, Sherlock knew. Knew that this woman would forever be one step ahead of him, and that would be ok with him.
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