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lydia-bell · 4 years

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4200 words of headcanon for Strand and Charlie, because I am not a reasonable human being

Inspired by @coffeesuperhero's great post about Strand’s timeline and raising Charlie, I decided to post this. I wrote it as background for a huge AU I’ve been working on where The Black Tapes was cancelled after Season 2 because after Coralee’s return and Strand learning of all the ways he’d been manipulated, he decided he needed to concentrate on putting his life back together and just couldn’t do the show anymore. I have no idea if that story will ever see the light of day, but I’ve developed a LOT of headcanon in the process of kinda sorta writing it, so I might as well share some of it. :)

Strand would have guessed that he'd feel relief when the podcast was over. And he did, in the sense that he would no longer be having details of his personal life put on the Internet for all to hear. He was dreading what would happen when this episode was done being edited and uploaded. He could imagine all of those paranormal charlatans getting a kick out of it; Richard Strand is so closed off to anything he doesn't understand, so arrogant to those who believe, that he drove his own wife away!

Fortunately, he'd had a great deal of practice not caring about what those people thought of him. Though he did cringe to imagine Tannis Braun making a great show of being caring and concerned. Oh, he would mean it in his way, but—well, that was his brand, wasn't it? People who are trying to sell something can easily cultivate an air of gentleness and empathy. After all, they never have to tell any hard truths.

But Tannis Braun didn't matter. None of them mattered. The only ones who mattered were Thomas Warren and the rest of his cult, who had sent him a spy as a wife and then taken her away. Who had been monitoring him his entire adult life, manipulating him into a marriage and jobs to do it.

He hadn’t intended to hurt Alex’s feelings, but yes, he was relieved to be finished with the podcast. But he had to admit that doing it had provided him with a certain structure, and, if he was very honest with himself, some forward momentum that he might have had trouble sustaining on his own. They’d learned more in the past two years than he had in the previous 15, and there was a reason for that.

He supposed he should have said something to her while she was here. Well. Perhaps they’d meet up for lunch sometime, as she’d mentioned. In his experience, these promises were typically hollow, but it was possible.

He took off his jacket and tie and cleared away their teacups. He considered having another cup but decided on a drink instead. After pouring himself a generous whiskey, he turned off the lights on the main floor and went down to the basement. He was going to have to provide all of the organization and momentum for his inquiries now, and he should get to it. And since Alex wasn't going to be coming by anymore, he had a few more items to put up on the wall.

Like the cases Coralee had brought to his attention after leading him to the Empress Hotel. The information on Thomas Warren's background, his family history tracing back to eastern Ohio. The history of the Howland family, also from eastern Ohio. The next thing he needed to do was talk to Cheryl, and he was grateful that he wouldn't have an audience for that. As it was, he was relying on Cheryl extending him some residual goodwill out of guilt for having once believed he might have killed Coralee, but that wouldn't last. He'd put out feelers with some of those genealogy services, inquiring into both sides of his own family and into Warren's, and the results were...well. He was glad he wouldn't have Alex jumping to conclusions about how just because their families founded towns 20 miles apart in the early 19th century, this must be the key to everything.

That willingness to follow what you claimed were meaningless coincidences is what got you here today, part of his brain argued, but he ignored it. He could be open to possibilities without being willing to accept anything and everything that seemed to offer an explanation.

He was also glad Alex wouldn't be around to air his eventual talk with Charlie.

He knew he needed to call her. But what could he say? "I didn't drive your mother away after all"? But in a real way, he had. "I'm sorry I wasted time with some stupid idea that I could find her with psychic abilities instead of doing something useful and taking care of you?" That might help. He had apologized, after he'd given up looking, after Charlie had left, but it was too late then; how could it matter now, 18 years later? But maybe. He could say it again, if she needed it. At least maybe she could understand a little better what had driven him.

He didn't know what time zone she was in right now, so no, he wouldn't call. Or text, even—he didn't want to wake her in the middle of the night; he didn't want to do anything to upset her at all. Email, then. She'd allowed June to give him the address and even answered as long as he didn't use it too often. He went back upstairs and opened up his laptop.

Charlie,

I didn't want to call or text because I don't know what time it is where you are, but I need to talk to you. I have news

.... what could he say? "I have news about your mother?" "about Coralee?" "Coralee's alive."

The podcast was going to air soon; there was no need to keep it a secret, even if his communications were being monitored (and Coralee was right, it was possible). The straightforward way, then. He deleted the last three words and went on:

I saw Coralee today.

She came to me. She said it was because I was in danger and she was trying to keep me safe. I don't know if you've ever listened to the Black Tapes, but this organization we've been investigating, this cult... she's part of it, or she was. She was part of it when she met me. Over time, she came to realize that they were doing things she couldn't support. So when we fought that day on the drive to Big Sur, when she walked off and we couldn't find each other, she took it as an opportunity to get away from them. To disappear. She thought she would be able to come back when she found the evidence she needed to stop them, but the more time passed, the harder it was to come back.

I know this all seems insane, and there's no particular reason you should believe me, except that you have to know I've never lied to you. Whatever my other failings as a parent were, I never lied to you, not once. And I'm not asking you for anything, but I thought you should know. She's alive, she left by her own choice, and she wanted to come back but she never felt that she could.

And she told me to tell you that she loved you. For what it's worth, I think that's true too.

Call me any time, if you'd like. I know this is a lot to take in. Believe me, I know. But at least we can stop wondering. That has to be worth something.

He struggled with signing it, as he always had. "Love," she didn't want. "Sincerely," though true, was something you'd say to a stranger. What was it that he really wanted to say to her? So many things, but this would do.

I hope you're well.

Take care,

Richard

He didn't give himself even a second to hesitate before hitting "Send" and pushing the laptop away. It was the right thing. Charlie deserved to know; she had every right to know. He was sure she'd have questions, and he doubted he'd have any satisfactory answers, but he was willing to try.

He refilled his whiskey. He wished he had someone to talk to about all this. He thought for a moment about calling Alex, but he'd been the one who ended that association. He'd just taken her show away from her. He could hardly expect to lean on her after that.

Maybe he just needed to take his mind off of everything for a while. He could watch a movie, read a book...nothing sounded satisfying, though. He thought about calling the Jacobsons, but no—they could find out from Charlie. He wasn't proud of himself--they were Coralee's parents, and they had a right to know their daughter was alive—but after all these years, when they'd never accepted him even before Coralee's disappearance, never treated him with more than a distant cordiality (and often with less), never considered him part of their family, he'd finally had enough. Their daughter was alive, they didn't need to look for her anymore, and with that, his last tie to them was gone. You'd have thought that finding her alive would make them more connected, not less, but missing her, wondering about her, had been the only thing they'd had in common. They still didn't have her, any of them. So there was nothing between them. They could find out from Charlie.

But that still left him with nothing to do. The research materials for his book were still stacked on his desk, but he could no more imagine going back to that book than he could becoming a monk. He needed to speak with Jenna about pushing the deadline back.

He also had to decide if he was going to stay in Seattle. The house still wasn't anywhere near ready to be sold, but given that he'd finished his lecturing position (it seemed only fair to the students, even if he'd never take a job there again now that he knew who was behind it) and ended the podcast, there didn't seem to be much reason to stay.

Except that it was still his father's house, and his father had worked at the university for two decades before he died, and he still had so many questions about his father's role in all of the cult nonsense that had taken over his life. He didn't like the coincidence of his family having connections to the Pacific Northwest and Alex happening, independently of that, to include him in her podcast, but as far as he could tell it had in fact been a coincidence. She'd explained how she'd ended up calling him, and they both agreed that they couldn't see any way for Warren or anyone else to have manipulated events toward that end. She and Nic had brainstormed professions one day, and Alex had been the one to bring up "ghost hunter" because she'd seen a show on TV a few nights before. And from there, it was logical that his name would come up, as he was roundly despised in the charlatan community.

No, it really had been a coincidence. He didn't actually like coincidences any more than anyone else; he was just able to accept, unlike most people, that in a world with so many possibilities, low-probability events will happen sometimes.

Of course, he'd thought meeting Coralee was a coincidence, or at least, happy chance. But he was damned if he was going to let this cult nonsense turn him into the kind of person who ascribed patterns and meanings and intent to everything he couldn't explain. That way lay madness and religion.

Still, if he meant to start his life over on his own terms, it might be best to leave this place he'd never really chosen. But not yet. There were more answers to be found here first. About his father, and about Thomas Warren.

____________________________________________________________

Charlie called him at 7 the next morning. She traveled a lot, so she always remembered to take time zones into account, but she clearly wasn't willing to wait one more second than necessary for her answers.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, It's Charlie."

There was a brief pause as neither one of them knew quite how to start before Charlie burst out, "Just.... what the hell?"

He sighed. "It's a lot to take in, I know."

"But she's really alive?"

"Yes."

"And she just...left?"

"It was more complicated than that, but, yes. Ultimately, she made the decision to remain missing."

"I don't... why? Why would she do that?" she sounded so young that he could almost imagine putting his arms around her and letting her cry into his shirt like she did when she was small. When he was still her dad. Before everything fell apart.

But he couldn't do that, so he gave her the only comfort he had to offer. He told her the truth, all of it, everything Coralee had told him, everything he had told Alex. When he finished, and she spoke again, it was with tears choking her voice. "So all of it, the marriage, her being my mom, it was all a lie."

"I don't know. I'm still trying to understand how much was the cult, and Coralee doing what she thought was her duty, and how much she genuinely felt." He almost said "I really do think she loved you" but stopped himself, because what kind of loving parent walks away from a child? But Marie had. She'd been ill, and she might well have made the right choice, but it was still a choice. And for that to have happened to Charlie not once, but twice, was so unfair that his chest burned with it. And if he was honest, it had really been three. He'd told himself that leaving had been Charlie's decision, and it had, but she'd been fifteen. He should have tried harder. He should have insisted. He should have shown her that she was wrong, that she did have a father. Instead, he'd proven her right.

"I don't know how much I really give a shit," Charlie said. She sounded drained.

"That's understandable," he agreed.

"So, what happens now? She left again? Is she coming back? Is she—are you still married?"

"Legally, yes, as far as I know we are. But I don't think she's coming back."

"Because she has to fight this cult. The one that thinks you have some kind of special gene that they need. Do I have it? I mean, whatever it is, are they going to be coming after me too? Or Aunt Cheryl?"

"Coralee didn't think so. She had some idea that it might be sex-linked in some way, but regardless, they don't seem to be after you."

"Great." She took a deep breath and sighed. "Well, I guess the good news is, this can't make the family reunions any more awkward."

He chuckled, despite everything. "How have you been?"

"I'm fine. You?"

"There's been a lot happening."

"Yeah, no shit. So is all this going to be on the podcast?"

"Yes. There's one more episode, and then it's done. I decided not to continue."

"Good. I hated that, having all those people in our business."

"I did, too. But without the podcast, I don't know if I ever would have heard from Coralee."

"I guess." She paused. "Look, I need to go. I've got a conference call in about five minutes. Maybe... I don't know. I'll try calling back later on, or emailing, or something."

"I understand," he said, because what else could he say?

____________________________________________________________

To his surprise—he hadn't let himself get his hopes up—she did email him a few days later. As with all of her emails to him, it bore no salutation. Perhaps she didn't know how to address him, or maybe it was just her style.

So I said I'd email, so here I am, but I'm not sure what else I really have to say. Thanks, I guess, for telling me personally. Finding out on Facebook or whatever would have been...well, I would have hated it. And I guess you're right, that knowing is better than not knowing.

If you're hoping that I'll stop being angry with you now that I know what really happened...I guess? It wasn't your fault, I get that. But I've been thinking about what might have been different if I had known then. And I think I still would have left. Because, I don't know, I didn't feel like we were really a family.

I don't have a lot of clear memories of back when it was just you and me. But when you met Coralee, I guess I expected us to be one of those happy TV families, you know? We'd play Monopoly and go to Disney World and whatever, I don't know. Go camping, make S'mores? Stuff families do together.

And you seemed so happy with her, but it felt like, once she was there, you kind of had permission to check out. To spend more time at work, less time talking with me or asking about what I was doing or playing silly games or any of it. You weren't bad, you made sure I had everything I needed and you met with my teachers and you did everything that was your duty, and I know that's more than a lot of people get. And I know it was hard to raise me on your own and maybe you'd just...had enough. But I felt more like your ward than your daughter. Like you loved me but in this abstract way, the way people love their country or something.

So I went to live with grandma and granddad, and at least they were happy to have me around, and having me around seemed to help them even though they were grieving too, you know? And I didn't feel that way with you. And after a while I just stayed. That was my home, I enrolled in school, and you hadn't exactly moved heaven and earth to get me back. I found out from Alex that granddad told you I'd asked to be emancipated. I didn't. I guess he figured he needed to keep me away from you because you were maybe a murderer (and definitely an atheist). But that was a shitty way to do it, and I've told him that.

Still...I listened to the last episode, and you told Alex that when Coralee disappeared, it threatened to take away everything that was good in your life. Like I didn't exist! Or just didn't really matter to your life, except that you'd gotten some woman pregnant and felt like you had to take responsibility for your mistake.

I don't know why I'm saying all this. I guess it's just that for all this time, I've let my anger over Coralee's disappearance be how I avoided thinking about the stuff I was unhappy about before then. And none of that's changed. But yeah, I can let go of being angry with you about what happened with her, about the fights and the days after she disappeared and all of that. I just don't know what that means about what comes next. If anything. I don't think you're a bad person. I really don't. I just wish things had been different when I was a kid. But I'm not 15 years old any more either, you know? So maybe I can work on it. Or we can go on the way we are. I'm fine. I'm happy. I have a good life.

Anyway. That's where I'm at. Just so you know, I'm going to be in Europe for most of the next three weeks, so there's an eight-hour time difference. Also it's a work trip, so I'm not sure how much time I'll have. I'm not bailing, just letting you know why I might not be all that communicative.

Charlie

He'd never thought that he could ever again cry as hard as he had when Coralee disappeared—or when she returned. He'd been wrong.

____________________________________________________________

Charlie,

I appreciate your honesty in your last email. I know it can't have been easy to write that. And I know that I have had my failings as a father. It's not an excuse, but I hope you'll allow me to explain some of why that is.

You mentioned that it must have been difficult raising you on my own. And it was, but not because I didn't love you. I just didn't know what I was doing, and I had very little guidance. My mother was dead, I still hated my father for not being there when she died, and certainly my friends had no more more idea than I had. Men weren't expected to be single parents then—I suppose it's unusual even now—so I never really felt comfortable with the mothers watching their children at the playground and that sort of thing. I didn't belong there. Marie's parents—well, let's just say they never softened toward you even after you were born. So it was just the two of us. And when all you needed were the basics of life, I could make that work. But as you got older and I realized I was going to have to not just keep you fed and dressed but navigate discipline, making friends, and basically raising a full-fledged human being, I didn't have confidence in my ability to do all that successfully. I loved my mother, and she was good to us, so I tried to follow her example. But so much of what she did was influenced by the times—and by my father, and he was someone I didn't want to emulate.

When I met Coralee, I was relieved because even though her own upbringing was obviously less than ideal, she was warm and patient and kind and seemed to know exactly the right thing to do or say when you had a problem. I think that even if I had felt less strongly about her, I might have considered marrying her just because you deserved to have a parent like that. And you adored her. It wasn't long before it felt like you were more her child than mine. She understood you better, she was more affectionate...and you were thriving. She was the one you turned to, more often than not, when you needed something or had something exciting to share.

When I write it out like that, it sounds as if I pulled away from you because I was jealous of your relationship with Coralee, but that wasn't it at all. I was thrilled for you. I think that I just didn't feel quite so necessary anymore. And nurturing isn't something that comes naturally to me. I took care of my mother when she was ill, and I always felt awkward and out of place and like I was doing something wrong. That ability to understand how someone is feeling, and to know what they need—I tried, I really did. And I tried with you too, but I got it wrong so often. So when you had a mother who could give you that, I reverted to doing the parts of parenting that I felt more capable of: I supported you, I helped you with school, I set rules. I though it was a partnership that worked. You seemed happy, in general.

I can't plead complete ignorance, though. I knew that you wanted more of my time (at least, until you didn't want any of it, which I thought was a normal teenage phase but perhaps not). I don't have a good excuse. I got caught up in my work. It was fascinating and I was committed to it, and in academia, devoting all your time to your work was how you showed you were committed to it. It still is. I'm sorry that I let my career get in the way of giving you what you needed. As I said, I don't have an excuse. It was wrong, and it wasn't fair to you.

I do want to clear one thing up. What I said to Alex about losing everything good in my life—I wasn't just talking about Coralee. I was talking about our family. I was afraid that without her, there would be no center. I didn't see how I could hold the two of us together. And part of it, yes, is that I felt I didn't really know you well enough anymore. I think to some extent that's a fairly common phenomenon among teenagers and parents, but certainly I contributed to it as well. It was never that you didn't matter to me, Charlie. That could never be true. I sit here trying to imagine it, and it's incomprehensible. You're my daughter. You will always matter. I'm sorry that I didn't try harder to keep you with me after Coralee left. I told myself that I was doing what you wanted, that you were happier with your grandparents. I thought maybe it was just as well that I was alone, because I'd driven away the most important people in my life. But if I let you think that I didn't want you to stay, I can only apologize, because nothing could be further from the truth. No matter what Lawrence told me, I should have tried harder to show you that.

I hope you have a safe trip. Call or email me if you'd like, but if it doesn't work out, I'll understand.

Yours, Richard

And in this way, they took the first tentative steps toward having a relationship again. Nothing could change the past 20 years, but they didn't have to be bound by them for the next 20, and remembering that allowed them to move forward.

#tbtp #the black tapes podcast #fic #sort of #I just have a lot of thoughts about Strand's history OK?

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linernotesandseasons · 4 years

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My 19 Favorite Albums of 2019

2019 is coming to a close. The entire decade is coming to a close. This list has been an increasingly comforting exercise the last few years. I guess this will be the eighth annual version of the linernotesandseasons favorite albums of the year list! Crazy how time passes. So here are the collections of songs that I used to mark my personal time & space this year. The lyrics that I learned by heart & sang out in dark & dirty rock clubs. I also made a spotify playlist with two songs from each album if you’re interested in listening along as you read.

This year most of my writing focuses on when & why I fell in love with a specific album. Sometimes the history is important, building a base or connecting some threads, so when relevant, I have also included my history with when I fell in love with a specific artist. And finally, as has become more important to my music chasing brain in the last few years, why this artist or album is important to music right now. What they’re doing to leave a mark on the world, in whatever small space or way.

So without any further ado, here it is, in no particular order (unless you’re particularly knowledgable or fond of the english alphabet) my 19 (well actually 20 cuz freaking Big Thief put out two!) favorite albums of 2019. It’s been a pleasure.

BETTER OBLIVION COMMUNITY CENTER / Better Oblivion Community Center

Spring 2019 in Denver was cold & breezy, sunny & exciting. I had spun the Phoebe Bridgers/Conor Oberst match-made-in-indie-emo-sad-folk-heaven record once through, but in late March I made a game time (like I bought a day-of ticket off stubhub at 6pm!) decision to drive down from work and see their show at the Gothic on South Broadway. I’d been up since 7am the night (morning?) before, watching opening day baseball live from Japan (on March 20th?!). Ichiro’s final game and I was feeling maybe a little emotionally fragile already. But anyway… Better Oblivion Community Center’s live show (they call them meetings) has all the potential to come off as cheesy or contrived. A recorded voice welcomes you, self-help-cult style, and invites you to “celebrate sound & light” & “travel the well worn pathways,” because “we are one.” A mystical backdrop gives a hint of what you’re in for (I didn’t know what I was in for...) with letters at the top reading “It will end in tears.” The band is brilliant, loose, & fun. They play all the songs. They play “Lua,” “Bad Blood,” & “Easy/Lucky/Free” from the endlessly varied Bright Eyes catalog. They turn Phoebe’s “Funeral” into a punk blast. They cover The Replacements! They wear shades and sing a song from lawn chairs! The show feels effortlessly cool and I feel like I’m part of something special again. Music has a way of doing that.

The record is perfectly equal parts Phoebe & Conor. From the opening lines, where Phoebe takes control with “my telephone it doesn’t have a camera” sounding for all the world like a gloriously mopey “Smoke Signals Vol. 2″ to the way Oberst sings the first lines of ethereal closer “Dominoes” sounding 100% like Cassadaga-era Bright Eyes. If you know & love either, you should know the other now. Phoebe carries a torch from early 2000′s emo with a sad-at-heart, genius songwriting style that emphasizes pinpoint autobiographical lyrics, a cutting, (even humorous at times) wit, and a teenage, feminist, internet, millennial heart. Oberst for his part has kept up a steady output since Bright Eyes, and (at least lyrically) doesn’t seemed to have cheered up much. Better Oblivion Community Center’s self titled debut feels fresh & catchy. While there is definitely an aching sadness in the duo’s songwriting, light hearted moments abound, and the writing often points to getting older, all hard work & growth. There is the bouncing outro to “Sleepwalkin’” where their voices rise in unison singing “Acting insane, playing it safe, I wasn’t sold on that plan anyways. Feeling afraid of making a change.” Or in the bright, rolling verses of “My City” where they go looking for “little moments of purpose.” But the one song I kept going back to; the one I recorded to cassette tape and played on almost every drive home from work at 4am through April & May, is the bittersweet closer “Dominoes.” Ironically, this one is a Taylor Hollingsworth cover (I think that’s him adding the random, spooky voice overs) but Conor takes the lead on vocals, singing a mostly lonely, hopeless tale, until the last verse when Phoebe cuts in. She’s “carpooling to kingdom come, into the wild purgatory.” Encouraging us to “Experience a magic rainbow, all you gotta’ do is follow. & if you’re not feeling ready… There’s always tomorrow.”

“The world will not remember when we’re old & tired / We’ll be blowing on the embers of a little fire…”

BIG THIEF / U.F.O.F. & Two Hands

2019 was the year that I finally finally got really really into Big Thief. A band’s band known for their live show (I still have yet to see them live) their following seems equal parts cult-y and universal. How a band that sounds the way they do, made it almost to the top of the indie-rock world is an exciting & inviting mystery.

This year, for me, the catalyst was “Cattails.” Released at the beginning of April, this song struck me and stuck with me, making its way onto almost every mix I made last Spring, Summer, & Fall (including this one for my Mom!) A real song of the year contender (& my #1 most listened to song of 2019 on spotify!), “Cattails” is a melodic, driving, beautiful tune, that finds singer & front person Adrienne Lenker marking Time (”riding that train in late June”) & Space (”going back home to the great lakes”) with grace & depth. There is a sacredness & mysticism tied up in a lot of Lenker’s writing and she refers to her writing experience with “Cattails” saying…

“It was one of those electric, multicolored waves of connectivity just sweeping through my body. I stayed up late finishing the song and the next morning was stomping around playing it over & over again. We thought why not just record it … & when James and I were playing it felt like a little portal in the fabric had opened and we were just flying. Listening back to it makes me cry sometimes.”

In truth, U.F.O.F. (the last f stands for “friend,” a way of humanizing the foreign) is a gorgeous record. Soft & gentle, full of songs about the constant tussle between things known & unknown. A real headphones-on-an-airplane record. And then, out of nowhere, Big Thief announced that they had a second (!) record on the way in the Fall. A dirt & earth twin for U.F.O.F., a special surprise gift for their burgeoning fan base. They announced Two Hands with the vicious single “Not,” a song very unlike “Cattails.” A brooding, ravenous rock song that made me remember why I love unhinged, well-written, unafraid rock & roll music. Another song of the year contender. If you’ve followed this blog the last few months, my well thought out comments to “Not” were “ohhhhhhhhhhhhh shit” & “oh my holy shit.” to the live version! But it was actually the second track on Two Hands that solidified Big Thief’s greatness for me. “Forgotten Eyes” is sonically similar to “Cattails” and rides the same effortless rhythm, driven by Lenker’s repeating guitar riff and James Krivchenia’s consistently impressive drumming. The riff seems to fall in & out magically, and the writing bookends “Cattails” with lyrics that speak to both a great pain & a great universal truth. While she wanders through homelessness & death, Lenker reflects beautifully on the life cycle we (& our planet, & maybe everything?) are all going through.

“Forgotten dance is the one left at birth / Forgotten plants in the fossils of earth / & they’ve long passed but they are no less the dirt / Of the common soil keeping us dry & warm / The wound has no direction / Everybody needs a home & deserves protection…”

BLACK BELT EAGLE SCOUT / At the Party With My Brown Friends

After finding Black Belt Eagle Scout’s debut album late last year, I soundtracked many a dusk, dawn, or midnight drive with her swirling vocals & entrancing guitar, usually in the cold & dark, through the early part of 2019. It made my 2018 favorites list, and her Larimer Lounge show in May was a highlight. I guess it makes sense then, that I didn’t truly fall for her sophomore album At the Party With My Brown Friends (released in August) until it got cold in November and I was able to take it out for some dark, snowy drives. Moody & serious at times, Black Belt Eagle Scout sounds every bit like the gray Pacific Northwest where front person Katherine Paul (KP) hails from. The lyrics are simple, repeating phrases, full of deep, important ideas. Family & friends. People & land. There are bursts of guitar coming out of rewarding slow builds, shredd-y, rhythmic, & melodic. Also, all the instruments on ATPWMBF are played by KP, and the drumming is fucking fantastic.

I have some sort of longer form writing building somewhere in the back of my mind about listening to music in cars, and both Black Belt Eagle Scout albums are perfect examples for that. I have always loved the feeling of having roads (highways or simply long straight dirt back roads) & music to listen to. In high school, we would sometimes get in the car simply to drive & listen to music (small town life ya know?) and I still relish any chance I get to take new (or old & long loved) songs & albums on road trips or just commutes around town. The time to sit with the songs, to focus on nothing but the words & melodies, instruments & voices, & the pull of the road, mystical & magical. Black Belt Eagle Scout’s songs have been a calming companion on a lot of drives over the last year, and I recommend you taking them out on a spin of your own. Drive to that coffee shop that’s 30 minutes away that you’ve been wanting to go to, drive out of town just to drive, alone with your thoughts & the road. You just might learn something about yourself.

“& I wake up / I love you / Screaming loudly / Screaming softly too / Am I here? / My heart dreams…”

BON IVER / i,i

Bon Iver is a long time favorite and if you’ve followed this blog at all, you know how much I love his albums and how much Justin Vernon’s Eaux Claires festival has helped shaped my musical timeline. Seeing 22, A Million (the record that precedes i,i) live in Wisconsin by the river for the first time, was something special. That record made my 2016 favorites list, but until this year, until i,i, my story of the music felt very insular. Special & secret for me, confined to very specific times & places. Only to make me feel certain things. It’s why I was hesitant to buy a ticket to see the Red Rocks show last September. Or why I questioned streaming the album early while I was on vacation in Holden Beach, North Carolina. I thought the songs were only meant to carry me back to the river, back to Wisconsin, back to the Summer. Back to a very specific, special place in my heart. But thanks to the wonders of spotify, and the Bon Iver crew just up and releasing the album a week early under the simple & generous guise of “wanting folks to have the album & learn the songs before the tour!!” I obliged and… YESSSS that’s how you do an album release in 2019! I had the album in my headphones as I ran and sweated on the beach in North Carolina, letting brand new songs transport me thousands of miles away.

i,i is a gloriously weird, perfected mess of a hit indie record. It’s everything I wanted the next chapter of the Bon Iver story to be. It feels personal & widescreen. Little moments stretched out and shared with family & friends. Lyrics about growth & hard work & life (& a few WTFs, it’s Bon Iver after all!) The gang’s all here again (the massive crew that worked on the album are all pictured on the record’s gloriously, weird inside gatefold!) recorded from Vernon’s home (April) base in Wisconsin, to Sonic Ranch in west Texas (also pictured in the liner notes) walking distance from our southern border. The sounds are all here again too. There are hints of For Emma’s Winter falsetto folk in the gorgeous acoustic guitar of “Marion.” There are the industrial swells & stomps, bleeps & bloops of bi, bi’s Spring in the warbling, green grass, warmth of “Holyfields.” Then there is the distortion, the choppy samples of 22, in the jigsaw glory of “iMi,” the way it starts & stops, all choruses & voices, real & programmed. Threads of new songs tied up with threads from long, long ago. There is a fullness to i,i, a generosity, a true front to back album, with hits & new favorites sprinkled everywhere. The second half blooms with the charging folk of “Salem” & “Faith” and the contentedness of closer “RABi.” These are songs that I will love for years to come. These songs make me happy. They make me think. They make me want to share them with friends. They make me want to work on relationships. Songs about life. Songs about true, unconditional friendship. As Justin said way back in 2015, when my journey with the Bon Iver story began “The story is history, nothing more. Only the music can rise anew. & it is gone as soon as it is sung. & so we sing again…” I am soo soo happy to sing again, with songs anew.

“Living in a lonesome way / Had me looking other ways / Cuz I am lost here again / But on a bright Fall morning I’m with it / I stood a little within it…”

EARTHGANG / Mirrorland

EARTHGANG’s major label debut Mirrorland comes in hot & dancing, a hip hop duo with a true tribute to Southern culture, and a whole world encapsulated in 14 tracks. My personal introduction to the EARTHGANG universe, came courtesy of a dusk till dark dance fest at Denver’s Underground Music Showcase on South Broadway back in sweaty July. Their energy was infectious, their stories hilarious, & their songs stuck in my head. Specifically the Young Thug featuring “Proud Of U,” a song that carries enthusiasm & positivity through to the end. Other standouts include colorful, bouncing opener “LaLa Challenge,” & the squealing horns of Atlanta hot spot, name dropping “Wings.” A concept album of sorts Mirrorland references “The Wiz” as a jumping off point saying,

“We thought about how, if we’re going to make a project sonically to rival The Wiz, we got to create another world for people to imagine & go to. You know when Dorothy got swept away and she met the Munchkins? That was such a beautiful thing. You could see Quincy Jones on the piano, just playing away. It’s really colorful. It’s really dangerous. It’s really trippy. It’s literally Freaknik Atlanta in the summertime—folks riding around in cars with big rims with paint on their faces.”

EARTHGANG was formed in 2008 by high school buddies Johnny Venus & Doctur Doc in Atlanta, GA. It’s impossible to ignore Outkast comparisons and for their part, EARTHGANG does their best to keep up the Southern hip hop tradition. Mixing in bits of soul, blues, & jazz, Mirrorland plays like an homage, a soundtrack to the South. A real reminder that the album is not dead. These songs sound best played together. Also, that the hip hop group, or duo, is not dead. And finally, that touring and playing live shows is most definitely not dead. I probably still wouldn’t have heard about EARTHGANG if it wasn’t for their primo UMS slot (at the same Import Mechanics stage where Leikeli47 & Kiltro played!) and infectiously positive live show. Speaking of their live show, see y’all at Cervantes on February 3!

“One time, one time for your baby moms / Two time for the hand in the candy jar / Holy Ghost showed up in my favorite thong / Three times in the car for the way we are / Another white man scared, another black man dead / Another rich man war, another red man bled / I been writing this album down way too long / When I drop my shit, pray it hit the toilet like lala, lalalalala...”

FRUIT BATS / Gold Past Life

In the Autumn of 2013, my coworker Cassandra Disney at Mile High Organics played me “When You Love Somebody” by Fruit Bats (had that song already been out for 10 years in 2013?!) on one of her early morning work mixes, and I immediately put it on one of my favorite (if embarrassingly bro-folk heavy) mixes I have ever made myself. Discovering a weird/cool indie band in the vein of all my other loves (Band of Horses, The Shins, Modest Mouse, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, etc…) but more underground (!) was hipster heaven. I subsequently forgot about Fruit Bats for awhile, but was reminded with their graceful “comeback” album Absolute Loser in 2016. Although that one missed my favorites list, it gradually became a constant road trip companion; from the mountains of Colorado, through the great American Southwest, and even on some epic Mexican back roads. All alt-country, lost 70′s AM radio classics, and wistful, witty, & wise writing about highways and scenery. A true classic.

I was therefore super excited for Gold Past Life (Fruit Bats’s seventh album?!) to drop on Merge Records this Summer, and fell in love pretty quickly on a late afternoon drive across the high road between Taos and Santa Fe, New Mexico back in late June. Swirling guitar, bouncy piano. and Eric D. Johnson’s piercing, clear, impassioned vocals. Fruit Bats sound timeless & effervescent. Upbeat guitar rock with some weird twists, and Johnson’s consistently bittersweet, humorous, & big hearted lyrics. Growing up, growing older, & grinning a wry smile at a golden world. After catching back to back beautiful Fruit Bats shows in Fort Collins & here in Denver at the Bluebird this September, these folks are the real deal. Long live touring bands, long live seventh albums, long live music marking time & space! Here’s to many more Fruit Bats albums, Gold Past Life will be car stereo classic for awhile.

“Still waiting around for some mystical shift in the winds / So honey please, don’t go just yet / Cigarette fingers, a shake in the knees / A bit blue, kind of tired, but not broken… Anticipating a magical bend in the road / So hang on, take it slow / Your go bag is packed & your hangover gone / Another dawn at the edge of the known world…”

HISS GOLDEN MESSENGER / Terms of Surrender

Durham, North Carolina’s Hiss Golden Messenger (folklorist, family man, & singer-songwriter MC Taylor & revolving crew) have become something of a mainstay on this music blog & in my car’s cd player over the last five years. I picked up a used (!), advance (!) copy of Lateness of Dancers in the $1 bin at a record store in Seattle, Washington. after having been passed a burned copy of his 2010 solo album Bad Debt by an old coworker. Lateness ended up on my 2014 favorites list. Two years later, Heart Like A Levee made my 2016 list, and the next year, Hallelujah Anyhow was one of my favorites of 2017! I referred to the songs on Hallelujah as Hiss “building a repertoire, creating a legacy.” This may seem like quite a bit of superfluous backstory, but believe me, it is essential to the story, a journal of the journey. Geographic art for a topographic heart if you will. But anyway, Terms of Surrender…

The title is cryptic, referencing (as Taylor puts it “what we are prepared to sacrifice in order to live the lives that we think we want”) and the songs are deep (& growing deeper) & timeless. Not so much timeless in the way Yola’s songs sound timeless (skip down a few albums on this list to read about Yola!) but timeless in the way the songs seem to seep their way into my bones and stay for years. Terms burst on the scene with the release of the first single “I Need a Teacher” back in stormy June. With bright, rolling guitar stabs courtesy of The National’s Aaron Dessner (whose upstate New York recording studio was home for the Terms recording sessions), “Teacher” is about “the search for infallible guidance in an ever-changing universe.” but it is also about everyday work. Dedicated every night of the tour to all the teachers in the room, a political statement wrapped up in the seemingly obvious sentiment of “Defend Public Schools.” See what I mean? Timeless songs written for the here & now. “Bright Direction” & “My Wing” are reminiscent of Hallelujah’s “Jenny” & “Darkness.” a 1-2 punch of driving, drifting major key numbers, written from a hillside in Virginia, high on mushrooms. They contain multitudes. With a murky middle (Brad Cook gets funky on “Old Enough to Wonder Why” & “Cat’s Eye Blue”) & the already canonical Hiss’ live fav “Happy Birthday Baby,” the back half of Terms spreads out the Hiss’ sound in new ways. New live favorite, the nostalgic “Down at the Uptown,” had me googling maps of San Francisco to find the mythical Uptown bar where Taylor first heard Patti Smith’s Horses.

In late October, Hiss played an absolutely glorious three night run at little Globe Hall over in Globeville, just Southeast of where Interstate 70 meets Interstate 25. I went to all three shows. The shows were special & career spanning; from “Jesus Shot Me in the Head,” to Dead covers (& a Jesus & Mary Chain cover!) to all the Terms songs. I spent the Saturday afternoon before show #2, walking around the disappearing & rapidly gentrifying neighborhood in & around Globeville (& drifting across the highway into Sunnyside) listening to Terms of Surrender on my headphones. Thinking about the things I’m willing to sacrifice, thinking about the life I want, what are my Terms? After all, “It’s a real live world & I wanna live in it.”

“Something drove me crazy / Love had me lazy / Backwards won’t get me to my destination / Move me in some bright direction / Looking to be captured, looking for my freedom / Oh, dreams will come to get you / So careful what you’re wishing / Your family might correct you / Your heart might take a pounding / Make sure you take a picture…”

JUNE JONES / Diana

I can’t remember where I first heard of June Jones, but I’d like to think it was from one of my many Australian music friends (thanks Camp Cope, Julia Jacklin, Middle Kids, Courtney Barnett, Gang of Youths etc…!) The music community is a wonderful thing. June’s songs can be hard to explain, but Diana is an epic album that burns with a steady, stately drama. Most of the songs ride swelling synths and measured, 80’s sounding drums and center around June’s unique, emotive voice and head turning lyrics. Jones had fronted the Australian rock band Two Steps on the Water and written songs on the guitar for many years, but it’s pretty clear from listening to the writing and sound on Diana that these songs were meant for piano, synth, and a solo album. Her own writing. Her own words.

The album begins with the brooding “Rome From Afar” and the opening line “I got drunk again last night & I fell down outside the bathroom at my little sister’s party.” It then follows a dancing bass line into an apocalyptic nightmare of a world ending. “Meryl” is a gorgeous, autobiographical (?) song, an ode to “complicated” hard working women everywhere. There are parts of Diana that nod to it being a break up album, like in the gorgeously melancholic “Boulder Falling Slow” (”I am a boulder falling slow / You’re a magnificent spiderweb”) but I have been viewing it as just a complex, everyday life album. Jones lets her magnificent voice trail slowly over seemingly uncomfortable or awkward topics that she strives to make… not so. Sorry Alex Cameron, your “eating your ass like an oyster” line in “Miami Memory” is only the second best “eating ass” line this year after Jones’ “Look at You Go!” Her voice often belies the emotion in her lyrics, she works it up & down, and lets it stretch out over words, like in lonely closer “Sixteen Horses,” but she also sounds almost matter of fact at times. There is a moment in the piano led “Thorn” where she glibly throws “Have you seen the moon tonight? No, me neither, who cares about the moon when everything is dying?” over an understated horn trill. Everything is dying after all, but I want June Jones to sing it to me like an Australian Lana Del Rey or Matt Berninger. Trust me, you’ll be hearing more about June Jones in the coming years. Watch out.

“I haven’t thought too much about family / Ain’t got no husband or a couple of kids / I’ve spent 26 years in this office / I said goodbye to my relationships a long time ago / What does the mayor of a small town heart do after she retires?”

JUSTIN PETER KINKEL-SCHUSTER / Take Heart, Take Care

My long time music friend Adam over at songsfortheday had been trying to tell me about Justin Peter Kinkel-Schuster for quite a few mixes with songs I loved from his 2016 release Constant Stranger. But it somehow wasn’t until I needed Take Heart, Take Care, that Schuster’s work hit me right. It didn’t feel like a light at the end of the tunnel, but more like a light in the tunnel, something lasting, a collection of songs lifting up & out towards a light. As Schuster wrote upon it’s release…

“Here, I’ve fumbled my way, as always, and of necessity, into a collection of songs that hold a light to the joys & comforts of life not given up on, those that appear over time as we are looking elsewhere, to surprise & delight us when we need them most. Sure, it’s me, so there are glimpses of and nods to the dark, but the dark is not winning anymore. I simply mean to acknowledge its presence. To me, that’s the most fundamental job of songs, of stories, of all art — to be allies, friends, companions, when we need them most and it’s my hope that these songs can do that work in a world that seems to need it. If you are lucky enough to have something good to say, say it. Please. We’ll thank each other, now & later.”

So i guess it’s that second part that I have found solace in through my 20′s and into my 30′s. That songs (and stories & all art, but songs & albums seem to be my thing) can be allies, friends, & companions, and that sometimes (like Hanif Abdurraqib wrote in his brilliant collection of essays “They Can’t Kill Us Until They Kill Us”)…

“If you believe, as I do, that a blessing is a brief breath to take in that doesn’t taste of whatever is holding you under: say I Speak To God In Public and mean more than just in his house, or mean more than just next to people who might also speak to God in public, or say God and mean whatever has kept you alive when so many other things have failed to.“

Take Heart, Take Care is a straightforward, well written, indie rock album. The songs ring true with light & darkness, an uplifting take on growing older and finding “Plenty Wonder” still to be found in the world. Schuster played the Hi-Dive on South Broadway in November, the last show on the Take Heart tour. A show I had bought tickets for months in advance, and I found myself in a crowd of maybe 15 people, celebrating the songs of Take Heart, Take Care. Listening to a writer with something good to say. Trying all in our own way to hold our own. I have a feeling I’ll keep these songs with me for awhile.

“Time is the mender / Whose strange mechanics yet untold / Bid us rise entwined together / So take heart, take care / Be true but beware / & honey we need not be scared…”

KARA JACKSON / A Song for Every Chamber of the Heart

In only 10 minutes & 42 seconds, Kara Jackson creates an intimate, magical world with just her voice and a guitar on her debut EP A Song for Every Chamber of the Heart. Four intricate & intentional songs, none longer than three minutes, finger picked slowly & methodically, Jackson balances a poetic, whimsical wandering with a steely focus on the craft of songwriting. These are the bones of songs, played honest & upfront, with no adornment. There is room for Jackson’s lyrics to really shine, all aching & wistful, yet practical. Like the way she balances “I have a crush, I have an ache” with “I know that love’s just a pain in the ass” in the bittersweet “Crush.” Her songs buzz with a youthful energy & teen angst. Wise beyond their years, finding their way in the world. As a songwriter and a poet, Jackson writes about race, activism, social justice, self, bodies, & humanity.

At 20 (!) years old, Chicago’s Jackson is... oh also a poet. The 2019 National Youth Poet Laureate (!) in fact, and it was her absolutely breathtaking writing about being a teenager that first caught my attention. She quotes Gwendolyn Brooks (pulitzer prize winning American poet) in her Ted Talk saying “write what’s under your nose.” She says that Brooks took the mundane and put it on a pedestal. That she understood there are “poems in train cars, poems on front lawns, & poems in microwaves & tea kettles.” An almost obligation to celebrate the ordinary. Ordinary folks celebrating similar ordinary folks. It’s the way that John Darnielle howls on The Mountain Goats song “Werewolf Gimmick” (track nine on 2015′s Beat the Champ) about “nameless bodies in unremembered rooms.” In his prerelease essay for Merge Records, music writer Joseph Fink wrote that the entire career of The Mountain Goats has been about “giving names to nameless bodies and remembering unremembered rooms.” and what a worthy cause that is. That thought has stuck with me for years and I have always loved the specificity of it. Whether it is Darnielle resurrecting historical characters real or fictional, or the way Lady Lamb (keep reading a few more albums down!) celebrates the specifics of her friends & family, in all the messy details. Written in song, remembered forever. It is also essential that all cultures have artists who look like them and think like them, as the ones doing the remembering. It’s why it’s so important that Kara Jackson is the one doing the remembering for young black girls. The same way Eve Ewing did for her, and Gwendolyn Brooks did before that. I can appreciate the magic of the remembering, but I need to let them be the ones to tell the stories. Oh, speaking of appreciating, I bugged Jackson enough on social media and got a handmade PHYSICAL copy of the EP that I’m hanging onto forever cuz it’s probably gonna be like the next original pressing of Bon Iver’s For Emma! Thanks Kara!

“Don’t take my pillowcase, that's my place to be alone / Don’t take my lamp from me, it helps me read about places I don’t know / Don’t take a lot for me to be on my own...”

KILTRO / Creatures of Habit

My end of the year albums list usually has at least one local Denver band. The Lumineers way back in 2012, Gregory Alan Isakov & Covenhoven in 2013, Nathaniel Rateliff, Covenhoven (again!), & The Yawpers in 2015, Nina de Freitas in 2017 (hey Nina & the Hold Tight, new album in 2020 please?!), and Izcalli last year. Kiltro is a part Coloradan, part Chilean folk band that have been putting on one of my favorite live shows around town this year. The brainchild of Chris Bowers-Castillo, a native Coloradan who spent time growing up in Valparaiso, Chile, Kiltro is named after the Spanish word “Quiltro” meaning a mixed breed dog. A dog that Kiltro has taken for their logo. In their own way, Kiltro is a mix breed; both in the way they mix the sounds of South America with the folk music of North America, and also the way they mix organic, acoustic instrumentation, with electronic, looping sounds and effects pedals. Their live show is a masterclass in layers, with Bowers-Castillo adding loops of guitar rhythms (sometimes simply bare hands slapping beats on the top of the guitar) to steady bass & drums, until the songs swell & build into dramatic crescendos and almost EDM-influenced drops. The extended intros & outros are my favorite parts of their songs and the live versions (from their sweaty 2pm UMS dance party, to Lulu’s Downstairs in Manitou Springs) have stirred hearts & feet alike with dancing not usually found in the Colorado “indie-hipster” scene. Keep an eye on these guys and maybe come out to Larimer Lounge in January and witness the dance party for yourself!

“Somewhere down the bank where the dogs go / Por la calle que te lleva a Curicó / & down the beach, where no others can find / Ni por agua, piso, coche, ni avión...”

LADY LAMB / Even in the Tremor

As I have been writing this year’s favorites list, I’m realizing that so many of the albums I loved & learned, came hand in hand with experiencing the artist, and specifically that new album, live. Lady Lamb released Even in the Tremor, her masterful & moving third album, way back in April, and I had a Spring-y three weeks to learn all her intricate, visceral lyrics to sing back at her Larimer Lounge stop in Denver on the Deep Love tour. Maine by way of Brooklyn’s (by way of a bunch of other places) Aly Spaltro has always written songs for Lady Lamb like her hair’s on fire. Wailing & gasping about blood & guts & death over spiraling electric guitar, there is a realness to her writing that reminds me of the east coast emo I grew up on. But for all the blood red gore & messy heartbreak that colors much of the Lady Lamb discography, there is a light hearted tenderness as well. Tremor has songs written for & about friends, lovers, parents, & god. Quirky opener “Little Flaws” is a first-dance-worthy love song, while personal favorites “Strange Maneuvers” & “Emily” are odes to platonic friendships, mental health, & growing up. In the same way I wrote about Kara Jackson celebrating the ordinary, Lady Lamb has always celebrated specifics of people, time & space. Tremor’s characters are Spaltro’s real life people (Emily, Shervin, Kurt (Kurtie Bear), Isaac, & her Mom), and the places (the diner, the batting cage, Templehof Park, Midtown, Berlin, Montreal, Madrid, a fast food joint, the stage of a church, someplace upstate, Lavanderia & Graham Ave) are specific, varied, & globe spanning. Her stories are autobiographical and rewarding and the music is stirring, singer-songwriter rock & roll with some punch behind it. She is one of my favorite modern writers for her ability to not just tell a story, but to find wonder in the small things and to celebrate the ordinary. Like she tells Shervin, minutes before “Emily” closes the album on a gorgeous, uplifting high note, “No photographic artifact, but here is something better than that.”

“There’s a picture that I found, my first car in the falling snow / Seems like yesterday I drove down into low tide / & Isaac snapped a polaroid of me pretending I was sinking, pressed against the glass pleading / I misplaced it but I’m looking... / When we are young, if only we could see beyond our fears where we are free / When we are lonely if only we could know that in our stillness we are growing... / All the portraits we collected, while we were running around in the desert / We were trying to seem fulfilled to rewrite our New York City narratives / But Emily we were utterly dejected / We took turns crying on the passenger side of America / Too clouded to be empowered by towering Redwoods... / When did we lose the ancient truths? / Is it what we’re born bending our bodies toward?...”

LIZZO / Cuz I Love You

For much of 2019, Lizzo could be heard playing everywhere. The 31 year old Minnesotan’s third full length album Cuz I Love You, came out in April, after a busy three years of huge singles, consistent touring, & building a repertoire of songs capable of headlining arenas. When Lizzo finally exploded these last few years, it has been fun watching the whole world embrace her uptempo, bold, self-love anthems, and hearing them blaring from open Subaru windows in Cap HIll, from balconies & rooftops in uptown, and on the lips of countless joggers & bikers, loving themselves in the Denver Summer sun. I know for my part, I took Lizzo with me to the beaches of North Carolina & through the Southern mountains of Colorado, dancing, singing, & gleefully giggling along. Bottom line, the songs on Cuz I Love You are FUN! You try not to crack a smile as Lizzo romps through “Never been in love before, what the fuck are fucking feelings yo?” on the bouncing, brassy, vocal led, track one title track MOMENT. Or the way she makes up the word “accessorary” on the spot (“my ass is not an accessorary”) and then fires back with “Yeah, I said it, accessorary!” Lizzo has been an outspoken supporter of our generation’s version of the self-love, body positivity movement, and has put her money (and body) where her mouth is, inspiring legions of teens & twenty somethings to do the same. “Soulmate” is a loner anthem that finds Lizzo belting “True love ain’t something you can buy yourself / True love finally happens when you’re by yourself / So if you by yourself, then go and buy yourself another round from the bottle on the higher shelf.” The soulful slowdown “Jerome” is about being the bigger person and ending a relationship that isn’t working. Lizzo manages to actually address her own issues, focus on the work she needs to do (“I’m trying to be patient & patience takes practice.”) and still absolutely belt a singalong chorus that rhymes Jerome with “take your ass home.” Also, the deluxe version of Cuz I Love You tacks on three previous Lizzo singles that hadn’t found an album home. Those singles? “Boys,” “Truth Hurts,” & “Water Me.” Three songs totaling almost 555 MILLION plays on Spotify. With apologies to Ariana Grande & Billie Eilish (Billie see ya in a few months at the Pepsi Center!) Lizzo is the biggest superstar that I want on this list. And she 100% deserves every bit of it.

“If I’m shinin’ everybody gonna’ shine...”

ORVILLE PECK / pony

There is an appealing, theatrical quality to the dramatic country songs on Orville Peck’s debut record Pony. I spent my high school years growing up in small town Western Colorado so country music has been embedded in my brain since I was 11. I’ve gone through so many phases of loving it, hating it, loving it ironically, nostalgically, hating it for it’s sound, cheesiness, backwards politics, etc... But with Pony; these are true country songs written by a gay, masked cowboy anti-hero from.. Toronto? Maybe? Who is Orville Peck?!?! It’s like all the best parts of “country” music came together. And the mask? The fringe? All the packaging & theatrics? It makes it fun. Part Bowie, part Coheed & Cambria, part Grace Jones, part Ghost, part Brandon Flowers. Hollywood meets Vegas meets Carson City.

When I listen to Orville Peck’s songs it brings together so many feelings from my youth. From country radio & boxes of old country cds, to the dramatic side of theatre, play acting on a stage, dress-up, halloween, cowboys, loneliness, & the open road. From the tumbleweed roll & mournfully powerful coyote howl of opener “Dead of Night,” to the shoegaze rumble, autumn ride of “Winds Change.” Peck’s lyrics are honest & heartfelt, drawing on sweeping, western imagery, & idolizing the classic country ideal... the cowboy. Music marks time & place and Peck makes sure to reference the cities along his highway songs. Salt Lake City, Las Vegas, Carson City, Kansas, a veritable Rand McNally road map of the American West. In the same manner as both Black Belt Eagle Scout albums, Fruit Bats, & Caroline Rose from last year, it wasn’t until a highway drive that I truly fell in love with Pony. It was a brilliant November sunset & still warm, but windy & changing, and we knew we had to hustle to beat the snow back to Denver. Highway 159 from the Southern Colorado border through Costilla County, on the way towards Fort Garland & then Walsenburg. Purple & Orange out the window to my left, Winter on it’s way. Peck’s songs sang with a heartache... a loss. a rhinestone loneliness that country finds a way to revel in. When “Kansas (Remembers Me Now)” statics out like a long lost FM radio. When “Hope to Die” fake ends at 3:30 and instead key change pivots like a washed-up Broadway starlet, shooting her shot on a dusty jukebox. When “Nothing Fades Like the Light” draws its last, peaceful breath, closing Pony like the last light of that November sunset. Thanks Orville, this one’s a classic.

“Fell in love with a rider / Dirt king, black crown / Six months on a knucklehead hog / I like him best when he's not around / He gets me high, oh, big sky... Fell in love with a boxer / Stayed awake all year / Heartbreak is a warm sensation / When the only feeling that you know is fear / I don't know why, oh, big sky...”

RAPSODY / Eve

Rapsody’s third album Eve is a masterclass on rap music, and the Snow Hill, North Carolina rapper sounds relaxed & loose, while still staying focused & on topic with an album that reads as, as Rapsody herself puts it “a love letter to all black women including myself.” She is at the top of her game right now, and these songs cement Rapsody as one of the premier rappers in an exciting field of rap talent both young & old.

Each track on the album is dedicated to one of Rapsody’s personal heroes, and I am going to focus these words & my research for Eve (besides listening to it nonstop, which I’m currently doing now!) on those black women. Track one is for Nina Simone (”without Nina there’s no Lauryn Hill, & without Lauryn Hill there’s no Rapsody.”) and features critically important verses about black heritage & culture over Nina’s terrifying & sobering classic “Strange Fruit.” Rapsody is recognizing her legacy and the importance of heritage, but she is clearly claiming her spot in that bloodline. “Cleo” preaches standing up for yourself over a Phil Collins sample (between Cleo & Lucy Dacus, “In the Air Tonight” is getting some serious love this year!) and is named after Queen Latifah’s character in the 1996 movie “Set it Off.” From there Rapsody recognizes artists (Aaliyah), philanthropists (Oprah & Michelle Obama), actresses (Whoopi), athletes (Serena Williams & Ibtihaj Muhammed), writers (Maya Angelou & Reyna Biddy), models (Iman & Tyra Banks), and historical figures & activists (Hatshepsut, Myrlie Evers-Williams, Sojourner Truth, & Afeni Shakur). Bottom line, ALL of these women are essential google material (you’re reading this on your phone or laptop, google and give yourself a five minute refresher if there’s anyone you don’t already know!) While you’re at it, google the lyrics for Eve (and Jamila Woods’ equally incredible, equally name dropping LEGACY! LEGACY!) and listen along. This is an important time capsule document for Rapsody and it’s just a damn good rap album.

“I am Nina & Roberta, the one you love but ain't heard of / Got my middle finger up like Pac after attempted murder / Failed to kill me, it's still me, woke up singing Shirley Murdock / As we lay these edges down, brown women, we so perfect...”

SABA LOU / Novum Ovum

When I listen to Saba Lou’s intoxicating sophomore album Novum Ovum, I am transported to somewhere magical & different. Maybe older, maybe out of place & time. Everything about Novum feels… classic. From the dusty, record-store-bin-find look of the out of focus cover photo, to the laidback natural way Saba Lou seems to dance along on top of a rollicking house band lifted from the 70’s. There are elements of surf rock, shoegaze, late night soul, and classic rock & roll on Ovum, but it is all driven by the singular writing & vocals of Saba Lou. In the liner notes of the record, a note can be found, claiming that this album is meant to be from the future. 2286 to be exact! Is a concept album?! Is it actually from the future & delivered to us by a time traveling band of Germans?!! Does it have songs about Star Trek??!! Maybe, mayyyybeee... & YES!

Yet to turn 20 (!), Saba Lou is a German born singer songwriter who has been making & releasing music since she was literally six years old! Novum Ovum is Latin for “the new egg” and features a hot four piece full band, and wonderfully fleshed out songs that bounce and swing with palpable energy. The lyrics span an awesomely wide spectrum from endometriosis pain (the title track obv) to a Star Trek mindmeld tune sung from the perspective of Gracie the pregnant whale (closer “Humpback in Time”)!! All in all, Saba Lou is an absolutely electric songwriter and her youthfulness & fervor are contagious. It’s the reason I love making this list every year, and what makes discovering new music so exciting. Can’t wait for the next one!

“A brick wall around your placenta / Cut them all off from her mother blood / The hounds call for appassionata / A phoenetic paste for the fetal bud...”

SHARON VAN ETTEN / Remind Me Tomorrow

Over the last few years I started the practice of making a draft favorite albums list in January and adding albums throughout the year, as I fall in love with them. This way I don’t forget the ones I loved in January & February, the ones that got me through the backend of the Winter. I’m able to track my year in music as it develops, a sort of captain’s log. A living, personal journal using music to mark time & space as I sprint my way through another increasingly faster, increasingly chaotic year. Sometimes, scrolling through the list acts as a comfort. “That album only came out this year?! OK, this year isn’t moving too fast, that feels like forevvverrrr ago!” Sometimes it helps to show me how much I’ve grown, how much an album has meant, or has helped with my mental & emotional growth. This year, the very first album I added to that list, the very first album that I fell hard & holy hell in love with... was Sharon Van Etten’s Remind Me Tomorrow.

A blast of energy. A weird synthy, pulsing red & blue darkness. Simultaneously club-y & indie rock vibey. Van Etten’s fifth album is supposedly written from a place of contentment. A marriage, a child, a life & happiness discovered. Less desperation, more introspection. I hear in her voice & words, how taking care of yourself, how striving to be your best self, can bring out the most powerful, most emotional art. She also isn’t afraid to let her voice go and I think her vocal performances are what truly take Tomorrow to another level. “Memorial Day” rides a haunting vocal loop & tumbles in nearly wordless, glimmering vowels, all ethereal magnificence. The chorus of the brooding “Jupiter 4″ spirals upwards & then rollercoasters, a late night drunken banger. But at the heart of Remind Me Tomorrow sits one of my songs of the year, one of my songs of the decade, “Seventeen.” I had heard it first live, way back in October 2018 in the rain in the mountains at Red Rocks. I got tipsy & wrote about it the day it came out, January 8, 2019, after a long, cold stretch working the night shift. This album & especially this song will stay with me for a long time. Sharon has taught me to keep working on myself. To look back in fondness. To think about how, with hard work, how much joy & peace & comfort await in my coming years. But she also taught me to lean into emotions. To embrace the ache of memories and the bittersweetness of growing up. Thanks for making this album Sharon.

“Downtown hotspot, halfway up the street / I used to be free, I used to be 17 / Follow my shadow around your corner / I used to be 17, now you're just like me / Down beneath the ashes & stone / Sure of what I've lived and have known / I see you so uncomfortably alone / I wish I could show you how much you've grown...”

TIM BAKER / Forever Overhead

I have a special feeling tied to the collection of intimate, swirling songs Tim Baker released this year from Canada. Forever Overhead carries a certain small town holiness, recognizable to those who grew up in small towns , but specific to his own personal, north-north-eastern-eastern “small” town, St Johns, in Newfoundland & Labrador, Canada. Growing up on the farthest coast of the Atlantic on the tippy, tippy point of Canada (seriously google it!), Baker fronted emo band Hey Rosetta! for four albums until striking out this Spring on his own with Arts & Crafts Records. There is a very Springsteen-esque bent to the way he writes about growing up somewhere (as someone) small & wanting to be somewhere very big and exciting. He captures the bittersweetness of growing up so perfectly. From the teenage romantic feelings in swaying opener “Dance” & the rousing “Mirrors,” to the friends & bars & singing found in the melancholic “Spirit” and the absolute hit “All Hands.” The latter is the core of the album, a bright, rhythmic guitar number that builds & swells with voices & instrumentation to a few huge, singalong choruses. A real song of the year contender. Baker isn’t afraid to let the songs go on journeys on Forever Overhead and they rarely finish where they begin. Horns & handclaps burst in at points, celebratory & fearless. The sexual tension of “Strange River” is lightened with a false start and a “sorry. In ‘D’” followed by a belly laugh, before restarting. The light & dark are present throughout Overhead and listening to these songs remind me of growing up. I feel like I’m being given a secret glance into Baker’s youth and the parts that mirror mine make me want to lift my voice in unison with those that understand. Sometimes small collections of well written & well played songs can do that, and to me... it’s sacred. Hopefully I get a chance to visit St Johns someday, and if I do, these songs will be playing as my soundtrack.

“A boy in bed, all the windows wide / You can hear the hot rods running from the light / From the light, into the dark / That's all I wanted in my cousin's car / To listen to the wind & to the lead guitars / & feel the reckless running of your heart / Now is that gone or does that all remain? / Can I go back and have it all again? / Well now I know it, where I'm going / I'm going back behind the river / I'm going back behind the rain / Cuz no matter where you're heading / You end up where you’ve been...”

YOLA / Walk Through Fire

It’s clear from the first minute & 30 seconds of Yola’s debut full-length Walk Through Fire, that this album is destined to be an all-time classic. She comes in slow & wistful with “wish I knew what you were wishing for...” over a soft wash of cymbals and mournful country-soul guitar. Then one minute in, her voice swells to gigantic proportions, seeming to lift the song right off the page, carried into another stratosphere, timeless & magnetic. That “Faraway Look” in your eyes.

From there, Yola (36 year old Yolanda Quartey from Bristol, England) takes her commanding voice through bluesy, fiddle-led country (”It Ain’t Easier” & the title track), and laid back soul (”Shady Grove” & “Deep Blue Dream”). Personal fav “Ride Out In The Country” became a backroads, summer anthem for me this year on multiple trips through Southern & Western Colorado. Through it all, her voice booms, whispers, & rocks gently, propelling the songs forward with warmth & light. Her lyrics are full of both dreamy memories & work-a-day stories about the challenges of life. It was fun this year to have different friends & family members get into Yola at different times, getting texts like “have you heard of YOLA??!!” Sharing songs, & collections of songs (like the ones on Walk Through Fire) is what makes making this list every year so fun, and I’m always excited to see what new, life-long favorites I will discover. See you in a couple months at the Bluebird Theater on Colfax here in Denver Yola!! Can’t wait!

“A little shady grove / A memory long ago / A tale too old to know the ending / I gave it all away / It takes my breath away...”

#yola #tim baker #Sharon Van Etten #saba lou #Rapsody #orville peck #lizzo #lady lamb #kiltro #kara jackson #june jones #hiss golden messenger #fruit bats #earthgang #bon iver #black belt eagle scout #big thief #better oblivion community center #justin peter kinkel-schuster

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debtstrokes-blog · 5 years

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WHAT IF

t u m b l r r p aesthetic

BUT

too

much

Hi. My name is Eli, and I’m here to make a rant about accessibility & tumblr rp trends.

I have been role playing on tumblr since 2010. Almost a 10 years. And I’ve watched many trends in role playing come and go. There was a time when all threads had titles, and tag tracking was simplistic and single worded. When everyone used missing e instead of X-Kit, and gif dumps were all the rage.

There was a time when the ideal profile theme was easy to read, easy to navigate, and focused on making sure everyone and anyone who came to your profile would have no trouble viewing your content.

As we’ve grown as a community, I’ve watched the need for us to be hyper accessible to attract other role players decline steadily. The switch from gifs to 100x100 icons was definitely a welcome change, as was the common trend of shrinking text. It made dashboards tidier, easier to scroll through, and load times for those of us with slow internet was better.

But the trends didn’t stop there.

I’m going to preface what comes next with I am not telling you how to run your blog. I am not saying you’re an inherently bad person for doing any of the things I’m about to talk about. I’m not saying you should change your style because anyone tells you too.

This is me ranting about my experience as a person with visual processing issues, and how the changes in tumblr rp from accessibility to aesthetic have made role playing on tumblr difficult.

1. Minimalism

The first major trend in aesthetic that started showing up after I took a six month hiatus a few years ago, was the minimalist profile. Spartan profiles with exceptionally tiny text with incredibly low contrast. I was looking for blogs to follow, and found that I had to highlight, copy, and paste profile information into a google doc or text file just to be able to read them. It became taxing and tiring, and I felt like the odd man out for maintaining my large, well contrasted profiles. I was still trying to rock a 14pt font and colors that didn’t induce eye strain, both for myself and anyone else who was coming to view my blog, but I noticed that people were less and less willing to interact with me. So I changed things up and adopted that minimalist style for my profiles and lo and behold... People started talking to me. I had to give up my ability to easily navigate my own rp blog in order to legitimize myself among the new playing field. I tried to maintain this for a long time, but after a while I had to stop giving a shit just so I could enjoy myself again.

Even still, it’s hard not to feel slightly ostracized because I don’t have a tiny container profile with itty bitty text. I don’t understand why style over accessibility became such a trend. Why not both? Both used to be the norm.

2. Hyper-Stylized Posts

FUCK. I can’t. I caaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan’t. With the varying text sizes from ultra tiny to full blown header sized in bold, with the ridiculous spacing between every single letter. This E.E. Cummings style, everything is varying sizes of text with no capitalization and insane amounts of purple prose feels like it’s just hiding a lack of goddamn substance. It makes me so frustrated because I will read a post. Then I’ll re-read that same post. And then re-read it again and I feel like a fucking walnut because I cannot for the life of me decipher what the hell is going on. I can’t comprehend these posts. And I know that I have visual processing issues, but my reading comprehension isn’t THIS BAD.

I want to play with people, and yanno, there are amounts of post stylizing that are still readable, like, bolding the first few words, doing a smaller text size but not the ultra tiny text sizes, using special quotations for your speech. Hell, I don’t even mind if you don’t capitalize anything. That’s all still readable, but this shit has gone way too far with some people. People who stylize so heavily that there are spaces between every single letter of your post, the text is so itty bitty I have to page zoom (which by the way makes the spaces between your letters even farther apart) to read it. I just want an UNFUCK button for these posts.

Why? Why is the way something looks more important to you than the ability to read it for your partner? You spend all this time, meticulously formatting a post and make your writing entirely inaccessible to people with any kind of visual processing issues.

3. Requiring post formatting of your partners

Honestly? HONESTLY???

Fuck you.

I have read more than one profile (after having to zoom forever or copy and paste elsewhere just to read it) only to have to click away in disgust when I see “If you don’t do some kind of post formatting I probably won’t play with you because it screws up the uniformity of my blog” and I’ve even seen people go so far as to claim “I have OCD so I can’t handle it”.

I have been living with OCD for 15 years, and boy lemme tell ya. Shilling your aesthetic on the backs of those with crippling mental illness is disgusting. I’m tired of it. I know there really are people on this site with OCD who do struggle with visual processing in different ways than I do, but I am pressing X to doubt everyone claiming it to justify their exclusion of anyone who doesn’t aesthetic post format actually has OCD.

Final Thoughts:

I just hate that we’ve reached a point where the look of our posts and our profiles matters more than the content and the accessibility of that content. At the end of the day, this fleeting moment of intense rage at the steady decline of accessibility in role playing on tumblr and the increase of stylized elitism will be behind me not long after I post this. Sometimes, I just need to get thoughts out of my system.

Ultimately, this rant may lose me followers, it may even lose me partners. If I’m following you, and you do aesthetic blogging, it’s likely because it’s not so extreme that I can’t read it. This post is not about you.

This post is addressing what if tumblr rp aesthetic BUT TOO MUCH.

Expending all this effort to make things “look pretty” only to alienate people, and make people with visual processing issues, or reading comprehension issues feel frustrated, is just harmful to the community. This culture has driven away some of my favorite writing partners over the years. They don’t want to be on tumblr anymore because the aesthetic over accessibility, style over substance rp culture has made this place completely unusable to them.

So yeah. What if tumblr rp aesthetic, but too much?

#rant #tumblr rp #tumblr rp wank #OOC #you can reblog if you want i won't stop anyone from that

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crazygirlsworldofbooks · 3 years

Text

Review: The Patient

Book: The Patient

Author: Jasper Dewitt

My Rating: ✯✯✯ (3 Stars)

Read: October 14, 2021

Synopsis:

The Silent Patient by way of Stephen King: Parker, a young, overconfident psychiatrist new to his job at a mental asylum, miscalculates catastrophically when he undertakes curing a mysterious and profoundly dangerous patient. In a series of online posts, Parker H., a young psychiatrist, chronicles the harrowing account of his time working at a dreary mental hospital in New England. Through this internet message board, Parker hopes to communicate with the world his effort to cure one bewildering patient. We learn, as Parker did on his first day at the hospital, of the facility’s most difficult, profoundly dangerous case—a forty-year-old man who was originally admitted to the hospital at age six. This patient has no known diagnosis. His symptoms seem to evolve over time. Every person who has attempted to treat him has been driven to madness or suicide. Desperate and fearful, the hospital’s directors keep him strictly confined and allow minimal contact with staff for their own safety, convinced that releasing him would unleash catastrophe on the outside world. Parker, brilliant and overconfident, takes it upon himself to discover what ails this mystery patient and finally cure him. But from his first encounter with the mystery patient, things spiral out of control, and, facing a possibility beyond his wildest imaginings, Parker is forced to question everything he thought he knew. Fans of Sarah Pinborough’s Behind Her Eyes and Paul Tremblay’s The Cabin at the End of the World will be riveted by Jasper DeWitt’s astonishing debut.

My Review:

After forgetting my current read “The Night She Disappeared” at my mom’s I was looking through my Scribd app on my E-Reader to find a short novella I had been wanting to read, until I can go get my book from my mom’s. Well, this one definitely fit the short novella requirement, being only one hundred-something pages. It was also my first novella ever, most books I read are in the three-hundred range and up. Even though it was okay, ultimately this book was just not for me. It was not a genre I really enjoy but I am glad that I found out for myself and gave it a shot.

To begin with, The Patient is about a psychiatrist, who sets out to cure a very problematic patient, who has been in an insane asylum since he was six. However, he soon realizes that he is in way over his head and that there might be a reason why he incurable. I thought the premise was interesting enough and I really enjoy patient/psychiatrist type stories, so in the beginning I was loving every second of it. I just had to keep reading to see what was wrong with this patient. The pacing was done really well and I really liked that it was written through a blog type thing, a long time after the events actually happened. However, I was hoping it would be more psychological thriller and less horror but that’s not what it ultimately was. I don’t enjoy horror in general in movies or books because I like there to be a more psychological explanation for things, rather than just gory monster-type things that don’t offer much in the way of explanation. This was probably my first true horror novel and I am happy to have ventured into that genre, however, it was just not my cup of tea and I will gladly stick to my psychological thrillers, mysteries and detective type stories from now on.

Further on, the characterization was okay but with it being a novella, I didn’t get as in-depth of a look into the characters’ psyches as I would have liked. It was nice to get through a book so quickly but it felt rushed and left me wanting more. I thought that we just skimmed the surface of Joe and even Parker, the psychiatrist and there could have been more to find out about them. Overall, this was just okay for me.

Finally, the writing style was precise and to the point and helped me to get through this book in a matter of days. With the story being written a long time after the events already happened, that made it a little less “in-the-moment” for me and took away from the excitement but ultimately I don’t have a lot of bad things to say about the writing style. It got the story across and got the job done.

In conclusion, I would recommend this to horror lovers only. I am a psychological thriller lover and this book didn’t have enough psychological aspects for me. From now on, I will be sticking to my usual genre but I am very proud of myself for trying something new that I have never tried before.

#the patient #dewitt #book review

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auggie-hunter · 3 years

Text

connected;

B (train)

the train rumbles quietly beneath them, sounding more like background noise than anything else despite the silence of the train. they’ve been on it for just over two hours, their ride still having two more to go before they made it to their destination. taking the train for this had been her idea.

(“think of the scenery,” she’d said brightly as she booked their tickets without another word. “we wouldn’t even have to pay attention to the road, we could just enjoy the view and each other’s company.”

“i love how you’re trying to sell it to me after you’ve put in your credit card number,” he’d teased, bending down to press a kiss at the crook between her neck and shoulder, before disappearing out into the hallway. “when do we leave?”

“tomorrow! so go pack.”

“tomor--teddy?”

“go. i love you.” she grinned.)

“morning, sleepyhead,” teddy says from the seat across, as auggie sits up better in his seat. he gives her a sleepy grin, rubbing her leg still tucked between him and the wall beside him.

“i didn’t realize how tired i was,” he tells her, giving her calf a light squeeze, lip quirking when she flinches. ticklish.

“if we’d driven, you wouldn’t have been able to nap like that,” she says. “and don’t say i’d be driving because i just made huge progress on my baby blanket,” she tells him, holding up the soft purple blanket she’d been working on.

he parts his lips, as if to speak, but they snap shut, and he has to snort, shaking his head. “i don’t like you.”

“liar. i’m having your baby now, you like me twice as much.” she winks, rubbing the tiny baby bump that seemingly had shown up over night. she sighs and smiles to herself. “my mom is gonna be so excited,” she says softly. “i can’t wait.”

auggie nods, squeezing her ankle this time. “me too.”

incorporate: a tough decision

“if it comes down to it, you save him,” teddy says, hands resting protectively over her belly.

“what?” auggie’s eyes go wide like saucers. “no! i’m not--no!”

“auggie.” she reaches out to grab his hand from her place on the hospital bed, lacing their fingers. “auggie, listen to me.”

“ted. teddy. you can’t honestly expect me to make that decision, you can’t…”

if she doesn’t get him to breathe, he might hyperventilate on her. “baby,” she says, eyes welling as she squeezes his hand. “listen to me, please.”

his expression is begging her not to ask this of him, and she understands. it’s an impossible choice for him. for her, however, it’s the obvious one.

“we almost lost him once,” she says softly, eyes meeting his. “we almost…” she brings their joined hands to her belly, finding a bare spot around all of the wires and pads to monitor the tiny life growing inside her.

“he’s just a baby. he’s a little boy, and none of this is his fault, and--” she sniffles and swallows hard. “if it comes down to him or me--” teddy watches as auggie swallows back a sob, and she has to squeeze his hand again, leaning forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

auggie raises his head, pressing his lips to hers then. “please don’t make me do this,” he begs.

“you have to save lip,” she whispers, pressing her forehead to his. “please.”

with no space left between us

it’s actually insanely fucked up that they’ve been in the hospital this long for this. he doesn’t understand what kind of cruel joke this is, and who has the nerve to think this would ever be funny.

of course, if this were a joke, then at least it’d be fake, and if it were fake, then the sob that teddy lets out when he helps her out of the shower wouldn’t have cut him so deeply. hell, she wouldn’t be crying at all.

but it isn’t a joke. and it isn’t fake. and she’s crying out in a way he doesn’t think he’s heard from her in almost fifteen years. maybe ever. and he would carry teddy graham through a fire and back, and follow her to the ends of the earth, but he never, ever wanted to hear her cry like this again.

“ted,” he sniffles, wrapping both arms around her. “please, baby, just a little longer.”

“auggie,” she cries. ”i don’t think i can do this,”

he kisses her head, pecking everywhere he can reach.

“i…” teddy pulls back and her hand rests on her bare belly, “he’s not moving anymore.”

auggie rests his hand over hers, just a smidge over from her belly button. it’s the same spot he rests it every day. In the morning when they wake up, at night when they’re going to sleep, in the kitchen at 3 in the morning when she couldn’t sleep because she needed chocolate chip ice cream or else she’d “die a certain death, aug.”

and their baby would kick away, seemingly pleased at the attention from both his parents.

except this time, he really isn’t moving

“I’m so sorry,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to her forehead and pulls her close again, leaving no distance between them. “i’m so, so sorry.”

6. empty kiss - when one of you doesn't kiss back, just the stoic feeling of their lips on yours, it’s empty, like no one even cares anymore.

they’d lost their way since losing lip. it’d destroyed them to lose their son so suddenly, and so painfully. teddy was never the same. not really. and auggie had taken upon the role of care taker to not have to deal with his feelings.

they haven’t had a proper conversation in months. two people who used to stay up into the wee hours of the morning just talking have barely said a word to one another.

he’s her best friend, and she can barely look at him.

“we can’t keep doing this aug,” she whispers one day, sitting on the floor of the living room in front of the fireplace. she’s been so cold ever since, but she thinks she’s cold from the inside out. like it’ll be impossible for her to feel warm ever again.

but the fire had felt nice. and he’d quietly joined her a few moments later without a word. he’d do that now. hover. linger. so close, but farther away from her than he’s been probably ever.

auggie turns his head to look at her, brow furrowed. “hm?”

teddy swallows hard, bowing her head before exhaling. “we can’t keep... walking on eggshells around each other like this, i-” she pauses, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “i think we need space.”

“what?”

she breathes a shaky breath, and her eyes immediately well. they did that often and without much effort lately. “one thing was perfectly clear to me from the moment i met you. i knew i never wanted to be away from you again, no matter what.”

“yeah. i know that,” he says, though he knows there’s more to what she’s saying. “i... me too.”

she nods and finally turns to look at him, blinking away the tears in her eyes. “i know.” he remains quiet, giving her a second to collect her thoughts so she can get out what she needs to say. “but i think we need space right now.”

“why? i don’t... why?”

“every time we look at each other, every time we... all i can see in your eyes is him. all i can feel is all the pain we’ve felt since the day we knew we weren’t going to get to bring him home, and--” she squeezes her legs against her chest. “the house is too quiet. and it’s a shell of the home we used to know and i can’t... i can’t keep doing this like this auggie.”

his jaw drops, at a loss for words. she drops her hands and scoots over, kneeling up to press her lips to his for the first time since that awful day. he’s clearly too floored to move because he doesn’t kiss her back, and she almost understands. “i need to breathe, and so do you, and we can’t figure out how to do that in the same place we fell apart.”

“teddy, what are you...”

“i’m going to stay with daily for a little while. i just... i can’t breathe here,” she sniffles.

“but i can’t breathe here without you,” he says, his own eyes welling. “i can’t lose you, too.”

“you’re not,” she chokes back a sob. “you’re not going to lose me, but we just... we’re not doing the best for one another right now. neither of us are breathing here.”

“teddy...”

“auggie.” her tone is soft, but final, trying to get him to understand what she means. “i love you.”

water

the lake is more beautiful than she’s ever realized, and maybe it’s the sunset, or maybe just how peaceful it feels to be here. whatever it is, she isn’t complaining. teddy has needed this, to get away, breathe fresh air, and not be caught up in the bubble of pain back home. she’s needed to just stop for a while.

eliza smiles beside her, and slides an arm around her shoulder, giving her a squeeze. “i’m so glad you came,” she says, pressing her cheek into teddy’s.

“me too,” teddy nods. “this place is just so beautiful… you and thayer are living such an amazing life.”

her best friend’s grin turns bashful, and she glances down at the ring on her finger, before looking back at the lakehouse she’s called home for the better part of the last year. “he’s been good for me,” eliza says softly, and teddy’s heart squeezes.

“you deserve that so much, eli.”

“and so do you, teddy.” eliza squeezes her again. “i never thought i’d come back from… well, everything,” she pauses, remembering how tumultuous her journey had been. “but i did. and i found him at the end of the tunnel. and i know he didn’t save me, i know that, but he helped hold me together while the tape and glue dried. i just… had to give him the chance.”

teddy thinks of auggie, and how despite his reluctance, he was willing to give her space. he let her go so she could heal. she loved him so much for it, especially after all of this, when she felt like she didn’t deserve that grace

“and you and oli… well, i don’t even have to say a word about you.” eliza rubs her back. “i wouldn’t be here if not for you. and now it’s your turn. oli will be here tomorrow, and we’ve got you.”

teddy sniffles, tears spilling down her cheek as she nods. “okay. okay.”

everything is different.

“there’s a part of my brain that blocks out what the skyline used to look like before the day mom and dad died,” allie says. “like, yeah we were little when they used to take us there, and we’ve seen it in photos, the news and the internet loves showing the fucking towers on fire, but i don’t remember the view from before.”

she presses her lips together. “i never thought that’d hurt. but it did. and when i realized i didn’t remember what mom sounded like when she used to me.”

“but this is my son, al,” auggie twists his wedding ring, glancing down at the band before the next words left his lips. “i can’t remember lip.” he says guiltily, and he sobs.

“i can’t remember what he looked like for those two hours before he… and i. i can’t tell her that, you know?” he sniffles, wiping at his eye before trying to regain his composure. “everything is different now, and i… i can’t break her heart like that.”

5.) communication through small gestures.

the jar of nutella ends up on her doormat, the soft pastel one that’s way too nice to be a doormat, but suits her so perfectly that he can’t judge too harshly. after all, he used to look at it every morning before leaving the apartment and every night when he came back.

she’d asked for space. they’d been having a hard time meeting in the middle, and they’d spent more time bickering and getting frustrated with one another than enjoying each other until one final blow out sent their heads spinning.

he’d been staying at ravi and byrdie’s for the last three months since.

but he misses her. and he can’t keep this up much longer without talking to her. except he doesn’t want to overwhelm her.

hence the nutella. look, he never said he made sense.

but it’s like when they used to squeeze into one another on the couch, eating nutella out of the jar while they chatted on the couch.

last ditch effort. or something. he just can’t lose her. it’ll kill him. of course he’d never tell her that.

(but when a crocheted lion ends up on ravi’s doorstep a week later, his heart swells in his chest. lions are his favorite)

Incorporate: autumn leaves

the stray leaves crunch and crack under their feet as they walk along the park path. auggie was kind of relieved when she suggested they talk and walked outside for it, because at least here he could manage fresh air. inside, he doesn’t think he would’ve handled it.

seeing his fiancée for the first time in three of the longest weeks of his entire existence, had sent his heart racing. he’d almost forgotten his own name.

the decision to take a break hadnt come from him, but he also understood it hadn’t come lightly.

he’d known teddy’s heart had been breaking from the moment her doctor had told them they couldn’t find a heartbeat. from the day she’d had to deliver their son, born sleeping on that uncharacteristically chilly morning in july.

surviving had been agony for him, and outright misery for her; they cried for weeks. they cried over broken dreams, over their tiny son, over the silence of the apartment, for and because of each other.

until one day, lying on the floor of the living room on opposite end of the area rug, she told him she was leaving.

not forever, just to her sister’s. she was desperate to heal. he couldn’t stop her.

his agony continued, just alone in an empty apartment.

and then she called one night, sang him a song she’d written, and asked to meet. which brings them here, november.

“so um,” she starts, drawing him out from his reverie. her arms are still crossed as she hugs herself.

he mourns the times they’d walk this holding hands or liking arms or one drunken night after his sister fiona’s wedding, with her over his shoulder like a sack of rice.

auggie watches her fingers press into her arms, covered by a cozy cardigan. it was his, teddy had stolen it two autumns earlier when her dress had certainly not been for the weather.

she’s still wearing her ring.

he nods for her to continue. “remember the other night?”

that stings. “haven’t forgotten; you left again,” he says, unable to bite back the bitterness in his tone. he feels guilty when he spots the brief hurt on her face.

she clears her throat, stopping to face him. “i’m sorry.”

“no, don’t— i’m sorry. that was a dick move. i didn’t mean it i just. why’d you go?”

“aug.” her eyes well as the name leaves her lips. “we weren’t healing like that, i couldn’t breathe, and you couldn’t… we needed space, you know that.”

teddy sniffles and exhales trying to catch her breath. “listen, i promise we will talk about all of it, i—“ she wipes at her eyes. “it’s just. that night was the first time we had sex since…” she trails off and he knows before she even says it.. “the baby…” his heart squeezes. “and i didn’t feel like myself, so i went to get checked out.”

his eyes are wide, concern written all over his face. “did i hurt you?” he hadn’t been patient then, neither of them had. anger and resentment won out that time

“no! no. i’m fine i swear.” she exhaled again. “look, it’s really early, and i’m even shocked it could’ve tested positive this early, but.” she presses her lips together and auggie’s chest squeezes again and somehow feels like it’s pushing into the back of his rib cage. she can’t be—“…pregnant.”

“ted,” he’s breathless, floored in his place, and unable to comprehend the words leaving his friend’s mouth.

“yeah, aug.”

Song: That’s When by Taylor Swift

pregnant. the news had hit him like a ton of bricks, but about a ton of times. it’d outright knocked the wind out of him. but shock and confusion had given way to nervous joy and bone deep fear.

they had so much to talk about. the list just kept getting longer and longer. but the baby conversation came first, and for a few weeks it was while they navigated this brave new world.

until she stopped and turned around from her place on the floor, where her prenatal yoga session had taken place. her bump is tiny, but present, and they’re both healthy and safe as can be.

they’re living together again, though they still haven’t found their footing in each other. preoccupied elsewhere.

“i’m sorry,” she’d said.

auggie looked up from his place at the table where he’d been working on some editing. “sorry? for what.”

teddy hugs her knees to her chest, a position slowly becoming more uncomfortable as time goes on. “for leaving… after lip.” they can say his name now.

“ted, no,” he shakes his head. “i’m sorry i ever made you feel like you had to apologize for that.”

she presses her lips together, crying at the drop of a hat these days. but she looks grateful for that. like she’d been hoping he didn’t resent her. it breaks his heart.

“i get it now,” he continues. “and it was selfish of me to hold it against you. for as much as i hurt, i know for you it’s on a level i’ll never understand.

“i thought of you every day,” she tells him. “from the moment i woke up til when i went to bed… in everything i did.”

“me too.”

the moment it hit me that i loved you

she’s wearing a grey henley of his, baggy and big, flowing over her hands, and she’s buried in the couch, laughing loudly at the john mulaney special on his tv. her hair is picked up in a messy ponytail, and she looks the most relaxed he thinks he’s ever seen her.

she looks… free. like herself. and like she can breathe for the first time in months, every facetime session in the last few months making him more and more worried.

and his heart squeezes in his chest, and fuck he’d been trying to avoid this, but he hasn’t seen her like this in months, and she looks like everything he’s been missing. but he can’t ruin them. not with this. not like this.

and yet here he is. loving her.

kissing scars

his lips trace a line from below her belly button to just the hem of her underwear, and his lip quirks when she shivers from it. and he knows from very different circumstances what happens if he follows that shiver’s lead. but they’re not there yet. not now.

she lifts up a bit, coming to rest on her elbows. “i know it’s not…” she trails off, and her hand comes to lower her shirt. “the baby’s made the scar get bigger.” the scar. lip. when they’d lost their son, all she’d been left with was a broken heart and a two inch line where he’d been ripped away from her. from both of them.

he raises a hand resting it over hers. “i don’t care. i’ve never cared. i’ll never care.” his eyes meet hers and he shifts their hands, raising her shirt again, kissing the raised skin once more. their new baby kicks back in response and he smiles. “that’s lip, and she wants us to know that.”

they’d fallen apart when they lost lip. and the baby growing in her belly was created from the night they’d been the angriest they’d ever been. and seven months in is the first time they start to reconnect. and this right here? this is coming home.

“you’re the best thing to have ever happened to me.”

teddy’s nose and cheeks are flushed red thanks to the wind chill, but she looks absolutely thrilled to be eating her blizzard from dairy queen, and it’s clear she’s talking to the ice cream in her hands and not her very sleepy boyfriend beside her in the car.

“the ice cream right?” she doesn’t even look sheepish when auggie asks. “yeah, yeah, i know,” he says, tilting his head onto the car window and closing his eyes.

she grins. “the baby says thank you for driving.” she reaches for his hand and pulls it inside her open coat, resting it over the more firm part of her belly. their baby’s back is there, and the minute his hand touches her, the baby moves.

“oh, you’re welcome, kiddo.” he says with a yawn. “but don’t tell me that like you don’t know you both have me wrapped around your fingers.”

“don’t be a grump.” teddy pokes him and auggie’s lip quirks, but he doesn’t say another word, instead rubbing her belly as they look out at the view. portland has cliffs unlike anywhere he’s been, and the view of the stars from here is everything.

and so is she.

#a link over the course of the last year

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cryptidandwren · 3 years

Text

OUR FETISHES ARE NO BASIS FOR A SYSTEM OF GOVERNMENT

In this essay we will discuss the media and social environment under which a dangerously unhinged President personally responsible for a quarter million of his people dying can come within ten million votes of winning the popular vote. You are seeing this because you follow my wife’s porn blog, so I'll skip over the part about minority rule’s role in American politics. There is nothing cute to be made of a Senate majority that represents 20 million fewer people systematically eroding reproductive rights, discriminatory protections, and twisting the federal judiciary into a visage of an extreme few. No, you are seeing this because of porn, so let's use porn to understand what is happening in The United States. Personally, I am very interested in dangerously unstable people with complete disregard for their actions’ effects on themselves and others. While it's personally undisputed that crazy is hot, this sexual preference was never going to factor into my dating decisions, because unfortunately I am within the subset of “others”. In this discussion we are also going to be talking about those on the right side of the political aisle, because what we are talking about is not symmetrical fresh-never-frozen-bug-fucking-insanity. The Republican Party started experimenting with putting its dick in crazy beginning with the Southern Strategy, and now its been balls deep in crazy for three decades. Part of the “go balls deep and nut in the worst angels of our being” strategy pioneered by Nixon and allies like the Koch brothers was to create a verdant media environment where you could choose your own adventure on talk radio or Fox News. Choice is where this all goes from “go balls deep and nut in the worst angels of our being” to “tied to a chair in a shady warehouse by the docks wearing nothing but a latex horse mask and being sucked off by one lady, one man, and an oddly enthusiastic aquarium fish.” In broad strokes people are selecting news that makes them feel good in the same way that they are selecting porn that makes them feel good, and people will become better able at determining what exactly they want over time.

Let’s start off by defining what makes something pornographic. For this there can only be one source of authority to begin our inquiry: The United States Supreme Court. The United States Supreme Court defined obscenity as: “1) A thing must be prurient in nature; 2) a thing must be completely devoid of scientific, political, educational, or social value; and 3) a thing must violate the local community standards.” Miller v. California 413 U.S. 15 (1973). The Miller test is the threshold standard for obscenity. Obscenity is a classification under First Amendment law, and not all porn will pass through the Miller test threshold. At the same time Miller is the culmination of a large body of litigation over the question of how pornography, its almost always pornography, should be classified for First Amendment protections purposes. It is important to understand that this is a local standard. Which is to say that the Government’s ability to regulate pornographic or otherwise obscene speech is conditional upon local community standards. While two people fucking on the subway may be a charming part of the morning commute in NYC, or nutting to Lucky, the mascot for the Celtics, may be essential to Boston culture, both acts may be obscene in Des Moines Iowa. When discussing the internet, which we must do in this inquiry, local standards are thrown out. Additionally, Miller is a threshold standard for a certain kind of porn. For these reasons, Miller cannot be said to be controlling on what makes something pornographic.

Fortunately The Supreme Court’s long history of litigation on the legal question of what makes pornography allows us to draw on persuasive evidence. Justice Stewart in his concurring opinion stated that he knows it [obscenity/porn] when he sees it. Jacobellis v. Ohio, 378 U.S. 187 (1964). This rule cures the defect created by a local standard as found in Miller. Additionally, it provides a more sex positive framework with which to approach the issue, as it better acknowledges the full breadth of human sexual expression. Still, it is too subjective to provide a tenable framework, as when everything can be porn then nothing may also be porn. A synthesis of the two rules is therefore appropriate.

The definition of porn requires a global standard, room to embrace the full breadth of human sexual expression, and some objective elements. Drawing on both Jacovellis and Miller porn is: 1) a thing known when seen; 2) a thing completely devoid of scientific, political, educational, or social value; and 3) a thing which violates community standards. Let us now apply this new test to two fact patterns. First, HOT MILF OCTAGON DILDO WARRIOR 3 THE RESUBMITINING is a hypothetical film about mothers, although proof of their identity as such is lacking, fighting with dildos to submit or resubmit other mothers in a octagon with elaborate combat etiquette around naked dildo fights. Starting at the top, let us stipulate that this would be known to be porn when seen. Second, only the most strained and lonely freshman year Lit students could glean some scientific, political, educational, or social value out of what has been presented. Perhaps something to the effect of: “it represents the way in which an overly sexualized capitalist society pits actors against each other in abstracted combat which inevitably comes at the expense of the family unit, and the brunt of this abstract combat falls on women and or female caregivers”. Finally, this would violate community standards. Transgressiveness is hot, and you are not supposed to fight, much less with ten (10) pound dildo flails. Alternatively, there is the Venus de Milo. They would show this on PBS. It's not porn. That's not to say you can't nut to it, but any such nutting would be brought to you by viewers like you. This synthesized rule provides a practical framework to view porn broadly.

Now that we have a definition to apply to the pornographic, let us turn our gaze towards the fetish driven hellscape that is American politics. Our politics have become run by civic pornographic tropes. These tropes exigent before the advent of social media found a newly fertile ground on Twitter and Facebook. In the same way that interest in DADDY BIGFOOT FUCKS ME IN THE ASS AND THEN TAKES ME TO CHILI’S existed before the internet, interest in a secretive government leaker trying to save children and provide life extending technology conspiracies existed before the internet. The internet simply reduces the transactional cost of finding what you are really into.

Sex sells, but faces problems of scalability. Facebook, twitter, and all the rest sell ads. The more you are on them the more ads they can sell. Porn sells like, well, porn, but Pornhub hasn’t managed to destabilize entire governments and escalate ethnic tensions into a genocide. The problem that Pornhub has is scalability. We are closer to chimps than bonobos, so sex can only sell so far. This presented Facebook with a problem. How do you scale up a platform designed to rank your co-workers on fuckability into something that can Grima Wormtounge everyone’s grandmother? Use algorithms to push people towards more and more specifically targeted salacious content and rely on a healthy community of amateur content creators so that there is always something available to engage anyone’s most niche interests. That the business model of Pornhub and Facebook are nearly indistinguishable are no mistake.

To scale up one not only has to understand what porn is, but what the draw of porn is. Porn’s fundamental draw is not the sex, but the fantasy. It is fantasy without the distant mirror, or at least without an intentional one. Porn, unlike sex, creates a reality of your own choosing unconstrained by real worldly limitations and curated to facilitate the chosen fantasy. PRISON LESBIANS 4 NO ESCAPE; BUTTSTUFF FOR BAD GIRLS doesn’t have to be a dingy place standing as a monolith to a horrifying system housing those broken under the crushing wheels of a morally indefensible society of indifference, like a real prison. Instead it can be a well-lit, adequately shot, sanitized play place for beautiful people to fuck like they are in a smutty disneyworld after Disney ripped the still beating heart out of the play Chicago. Through its alchemy porn is able to transmute the real world into smutty gold. Any impurities which may have stood in the way of the fantasy drawn out and rendered golden.

It is this same alchemy that we find at work in the so-called “new media”. GOD KING TRUMP TO KILL CHINESE DRAGON AND FREE AMERICAN WORKERS FROM THOUSAND YEARS OF DARKNESS is no more concerned with the realities of the election than PRISON LESBIANS 4 NO ESCAPE; BUTTSTUFF FOR BAD GIRLS is concerned with The United States criminal justice system. Applying our standard to GOD KING TRUMP TO KILL CHINESE DRAGON AND FREE AMERICAN WORKERS FROM THOUSAND YEARS OF DARKNESS its pornographic nature must be:1) a thing known when seen; 2) a thing completely devoid of scientific, political, educational, or social value; and 3) a thing which violates community standards. Starting with the first element, this exists because someone is into it. It is, like most porn, ridiculous with the benefit of post nut clarity. Secondly, no real value can be drawn from it. Perhaps a vague sense that the American working class has not been served by the last forty years of neoliberalism’s relentless pace which makes scabs out of entire nations, but surely nothing can be gleaned worth thinking about. Finally, Trump by his nature and actions is transgressive and violates nearly every social norm he's ever met. He even paid off several social norms to ensure their silence. This is porn under the Miller-Jacovellis synthesis rule.

“Well that is only one example,” a scarecrow I just created to take down might say. Well scarecrow I've inserted in a petulant power fantasy, we will discuss yet another political pornographic genre.

Let's look at one of the most persistent fetishes in American politics. The fetish that The United States is a meritocracy. First prong is satisfied, because this is a fantasy that exists because it feels good. In a meritocracy one would see social mobility both upwards and downwards. As a person of great quality is born to a low class they would naturally rise. Conversely as a person of low quality is born to a high class they would naturally fall. This is simply not the case. You will die in the same class or a little below as your parents. Men make more on average than women for the same work. Finally, reports of racism's demise after Obama’s election were greatly exaggerated. Much as the realities of American prisons have to be thrown out to allow for the fantasy within PRISON LESBIANS 4 NO ESCAPE; BUTTSTUFF FOR BAD GIRLS or the class and gender implications must be kept at arm's length for HOT MILF OCTAGON DILDO WARRIOR 3 THE RESUBMITINING, the realities of America’s class, gender, and race relations must be transmuted away for the alchemy of porn to take place on the American meritocracy. Element two is met, because this fantasy has no more value than those contained within DADDY BIGFOOT FUCKS ME IN THE ASS AND THEN TAKES ME TO CHILI’S. Any attempt to stratify and rank fantasies based on intellectual merit is more likely to tell us about the author of the list than to accurately rank the intellectual merits with any validity, so all fantasies must then stand on equal footing sexually or not. Finally, we must analyze the transgressiveness of a meritocracy to satisfy the third element. On one hand, this is a omnibus fetish like tits or ass in sexual pornography. However, a kind of transgressive nature does appear to materialize when POC or women succeed. Were Captain America to be cast as a black man it would surely be met with cries of, “that's not right, Cap is White, Libs ruin comic books”. When female characters fail to be thinly veiled fetish items or possess body fat necessary to make it through a day without getting dizzy are cast, one can expect cries of, “WOMEN CAN’T BE.” In this way it is transgressive for those who are not supposed to win based on their immutable characteristics rather than their talents to win under this meritocracy. It is therefore plausible to find meritocracy in The United States as a genre of civic pornography.

It is at this point that we must view those on the right side of the political aisle not as misguided by misinformation with infantilizing gaze and endless forgiveness, but as fetish enthusiasts who open conversations with what grocery store’s ginger makes the best buttplugs. People gravitate towards the news that makes them feel good, in the same way that they gravitate towards porn that makes them feel good. These are active choices to view and active choices to talk about their fetishes. It's fine if people want to read TRUMP ELECTED GOD KING OF AMERICA; TO LIFT US TO MOON BASE WITH MASSIVE COCK or PRESIDENT TRUMP LOCKS BABIES IN CAGES TO HARVEST LIB TEARS; TOO WINNING TOO HARD in the privacy of their own bedroom. Much like sexually explicit pornography, the line is drawn when you start acting on or discussing the weird stuff in the real world without consent.

Fundamentally, when Nixon first suggested to the Republican electorate that they had the freedom to go balls deep in the worst angels of our being, we saw a sort of sexual liberation take place. It started with veiled dogwhistles. Just the “tasteful” little “welfare queen” brand racism used to be enough, but it wasn't really what they wanted. I mean sure, BALL GAG BALLET SWAN TAINT LAKE has some things you like, but maybe GIMP SUIT’S A NUUTCRACKER; CHRISTMAS CUMS ONCE A YEAR is gonna really scratch that itch.

We need to stop asking Republicans to change for us. This is their authentic selves, and it's awful. Accepting someone for who they are doesn't always mean forgiving them for the things they jerk off to in the supermarket in a bizarre attempt to undermine your nation's democratic institutions.

#tw: racism #tw: sexism #these are topics of discussion and hopefully not present in the essay #tw: covid #tw: politics #tw: trump

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itsteaveetime · 6 years

Note

An AU where the Wonka kids aren't completely messed up from the tour and go on to live decent and somewhat fulfilling lives.

[Prompt meme: drop a prompt in my inbox, get a one-shot/drabble]

((Thanks for this prompt, anon! Sorry it took so long.))

He can feel someone’s eyes on him. The man seated next to him is giving him a very long look. And this isn’t really that kind of bar.

“Didn’t you used to be Mike Teavee?” The man asks, shaking his finger like someone has tried and failed to pull a fast one on him.

It’s going to be one of those conversations.

Mike Teavee turns on his stool and gives the man a close-lipped but not unfriendly smile.

“I like to think I still am,” the twenty-seven year old says.

The man laughs, like they always do, and it only grates a little.

“Man, that Wonka contest,” the man says, shaking his head, and Mike lets him go on, because that’s all people really want, and it’s not like he doesn’t have the time. “I spent an entire month’s allowance on Wonka bars. Can you imagine doing something like that now?”

“Not really,” Mike replies, chuckling politely, even though he never spent a single penny in the first place.

“Still,” the man says, pointing at him again. “You got to see inside. You lived the dream.”

“I definitely lived it,” Mike agrees. “It was a trip.”

“Lucky sonuvagun,” the man says. “Oh, and hey, my little nephew? He loves your games.”

By which, Mike has learned over the years, the man means: he has no nephew and is speaking of himself, but is too embarrassed to admit he still games in his thirties.

“Lemme buy you drink,” the man offers.

Mike waves him off.

“Thanks, I don’t drink,” he says. And then, because he can feel the question of why he is in a bar at all start to form in the man’s mind. “I’m here meeting some friends. But: it’s always great to hear people are enjoying my stuff. I gotta go; nice meeting you though.”

He gives the man a firm but distinctly final handshake, and moves toward a back corner where he has spotted her lurking.

“I think you did not even roll your eyes at this one,” she says, her Russian accent slightly more muted than it was at twelve. “I am impressed.”

“Prozac,” Mike insists.

Veruca laughs, and it doesn’t grate at all. The slender young woman is wrapped in a scarf he thinks might be longer than she is tall, a slouchy sweater, leggings, and well-worn over-sized boots. This seems to be one of the default uniforms of all off-duty ballerinas (and some models). Her blond hair is pulled up into a tidy bun. His own hair, by comparison, is a spiked quiff that is a mess by design.

“It’s good to see you,” he tells her.

“Hug me, you idiot,” she demands flatly.

He does. When he pulls back, a meaty hand lands on his shoulder. He turns to face its owner.

Augustus Gloop looms over him. Augustus Gloop looms over almost everyone. A growth spurt at fifteen that Mike cannot help but envy eventually left the German six feet and six inches tall. It thinned him out somewhat as well, and although he will never not be big-boned, Gloop is no longer as wide as he is high. He retains soft edges, a rounded stomach, a slightly ruddy complexion, and a warm friendly face.

“Hallo Michael.”

Like Mike, Augustus has long since lost his high pitched prepubescent voice, but he has retained more of his German accent than Veruca has. He has also retained his blond hair, but it no longer looks like it was placed under a bowl to be cut. In a flannel shirt and hoodie that his mother did not knit for once, Gloop looks pretty cool.

Mike lets the German envelop him in a nearly rib crushing bear hug that momentarily lifts him off his feet. Once released, he goes immediately for Gus’ messenger bag, crouching down, because Gus wears the bag low on his hip, and running a hand over the soft leather.

“This is one of yours, right?” Mike asks.

The German nods.

“Goat leather. Mother had gotten more orders for them, so she had sent me more hides.”

Sewing, apparently, runs in Gloops’ blood as much as sausages do.

“I have made a batch,” Augustus continues, “and that same shop downtown will take them. But also there is a crafting fair that maybe I will go to if I have the days off at the restaurant to-…”

“Shut up and take my money,” Mike says.

Augustus laughs.

“Michael, you know I never charge you. In black, you will want it?” Gus guesses correctly, because Mike remains somewhat predictable about certain things, and Mike is already imagining studding the strap of such a glorious beast as Gloop embraces Veruca somewhat more gently.

“Do we wait for her?” the blond woman asks, more or less rhetorically.

Mike shakes his head.

“We all know she’s gonna be late,” he says.

They head through a door and down a flight of stairs few people know about. A girl at the bottom recognizes Gus from restaurant circles and ushers them into an intimate space where they take a seat in a comfortable booth with privacy curtains. Gus is only still a rising star on the chef’s circuit, but it’s funny how small New York actually is.

It’s funny, how they all ended up in New York, at least, for the time being.

(It’s funny that they are here at all.)

Well. Not that funny. Each of them walked out of Wonka’s factory exactly as they walked in. It was their parents who were altered (although also: not physically).

No magic spells, no potions: just as the Candy Man promised, but one thing Wonka certainly was, was an illusionist. And he had seen immediately who needed to be shown the error of their ways, and few things are as motivating to a parent as the idea of their child in peril.

“I was barely in the chocolate,” Augustus had been the first to explain, the first time they all reunited. “I fell through a bottom. I was not in a pipe at all. It was, I think, a doll to look like me. The falling in was still startling.”

“Yeah, the bloating was not fun,” Violet had said. “But those Oompa guys gave me some antacid and it went away. I got no idea what my dad thought was me that exploded, or what he medically thinks is inside of people, but, uh, thanks for groovin’ on a bop while y’all thought I was dying.”

“Also doll,” Veruca had told them. “How could I call for my pappa with my head removed?“

“…V.R.,” Mike had reluctantly admitted. “I thought I seriously got shrunk and teleported inside the internet, but then it went black and I was just down a trap door with a V.R. headset on. I was kinda bummed, honestly. But on the plus side: I did get a eight inch remote control replica of myself. That was pretty awesome.”

And they had all watched as their parents had reacted to their apparent untimely demises. Had realized the peril their parenting (or lack their of) had placed their children in.

(It had taken Mike slightly longer to realize that his mother had not really been happy about the idea of him being shrunk; that the idea of seeing something like that done to her son and not being able to do anything about it had actually driven his mother temporarily insane, which is probably the strongest and most negative reaction it is possible to have. But he had gotten there.)

After the factory, things had been…different.

None of them had been punished (because none of them had been truly to blame), but all of their parents had certainly changed their tunes.

And somehow it hadn’t been so difficult to get used to after all.

They sit around a table now, well adjusted young men and women. Or: woman, at the moment.

Augustus Gloop has been making a steady name for himself as a gourmet chef. He is working under a celebrity at the moment, producing the epic tasting menu’s the Swiss establishment is known for, but he has headed his own pop-up’s and food carts to great success and reviews.

Veruca Salt is currently a soloist at ABT, after training and dancing at the Bolshoi and the Vaganova. They have all seen her perform: she is generous with her comp tickets. She is also undeniably talented. There have been rumors circling that she may be promoted to principal next season.

Mike Teavee designs video games. Because of course he does. Immensely popular games that require strategy, and critical thinking as much as hand-eye coordination. Some of them have won awards for serving educational purposes. These games, along with several well-received apps have left him unexpectedly wealthy. His first apartment is in San Francisco, but he likes the vibe and the weather in New York so much so that he has a residence in the city as well.

And Violet Beauregard is always late.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” She says, breathlessly, as she joins them. “A thing. But you all know. I don’t even gotta tell you.”

Violet is a celebrity hair and make-up artist. She made her name on YouTube, but she’s as legitimately trained as Veruca and Augustus are. She’s in high demand from both companies and clients.

She frowns at Mike’s hair.

“What happened to the blue?” She pouts.

Mike runs his hand carefully over his ‘do.

“It faded really fast and I didn’t wanna rebleach,” he explains. “It’s fine.”

“I know you’re punk rock as all hell, but seriously: let me do it,” Violet insists. “I will do it in yo’ bathroom sink for the sake of your authenticity if I gotta.”

He eventually agrees.

“Your mothers are having the good time,” Veruca says, with a smirk.

Both Mike and Augustus freeze, because it is their mothers she is talking about. Mrs. Teavee and Mrs. Gloop have long since struck up an unexpected single lady friendship and enjoy taking vacations together. They are currently on an Italian river cruise making the most of Italy, Italian food, and Italian men in a photograph that is burned in both Mike and Gus’ mind that neither of them are sure they were meant to receive and both are afraid to ask about.

“Yes,” Augustus says, smiling a little more rigidly than usual. “…jah.”

“Did she drop a new post on Instagram?” Violet asks Veruca.

“I will never get over the fact that you follow my mom on Instagram,” Mike says.

In her retirement, Ethel has joined Instagram. Instagram is very about her retro aesthetic. She has been interviewed for ‘Racked’.

“She is crushing it,” Violet tells him. “Did you teach her hashtags?”

He maybe guided her in her hashtagging.

“Annnnnnyway,” Mike says, changing the subject and turning towards Veruca. “How’s what’s-his-face?”

“We do not speak his name,” Veruca hisses. “Ballerinos! все мужчины сосать. All men!”

She looks pointedly at Gus and Mike, who know better than to argue with her.

“Yeah, speaking of,” Violet says. “No more 3am Teavee specials?”

“What is this?” Gus asks.

“I kept getting these late night texts from him, and I’m all jazzed because I think Teavee’s got some serious tea for me that can NOT wait and instead I get bull. What was the last one?” Violet asks, while scrolling through her phone. She stops and reads:

“‘Treasures in disguise as monsters’. What in the Dungeons and Dragons is that supposed to mean?”

Mike has buried his face in his hands, but he’s laughing behind them.

“It was the Ambien again, I swear,” he swears. “I got off it. At least I didn’t buy any more non-refundable plane tickets to Shanghai.”

“That was fun, though,” Augustus points out.

“Yeah, it was,” Mike admits.

Off of Paxil, it turns out Mike likes to eat. Like, a lot. And still has the metabolism to mostly deal with it. Gus had been very willing to join him on a tasting trip through Shanghai, lest the tickets go to waste. The trip had left both with fond memories of Ci Fan Tuan, and You Dunzi, as well as up a pants size, but that’s what vacations in your twenties are for.

Gus, Violet, and Veruca order and then sip cocktails. Mike sticks to ginger ale and truffle fries. He has never had a problem with alcohol, because he has never let himself have one, and he knows himself (and his family history) well enough to know that he too easily could.

Things are too good to wreck like that, you know?

He checks his phone.

“Hey, it’s time,” he says.

The others put their drinks aside, and Mike…unfolds his phone. The palm sized device becomes twice its size, then three, until it is a twenty-inch tablet with an extendable stand that Mike places in the middle of the table, and then taps on.

An app connects. A screen pops up. A hand reaches through the screen. They all help Charlie Bucket until he is sitting in the booth with them.

Bucket is thin, for a chocolatier. He is only a little taller than Mike, who is short. He has the same boyish grin he had back when he and his family had nothing.

Mike refolds his device, until it looks like just a phone again. He spends the rest of the evening wedged comfortably between Gus and Violet. Plans are vaguely made for another trip like Shanghai, and more concretely for a sort of pub crawl that consists of, instead of drinking, eating dollar slices of pizza until they have located the best one. Veruca refuses to take part, but will still come along. Charlie cannot make it: he has a factory to run, but they promise to send him a winning slice.

It’s just one of many good days in a more than decent life.

#charlie and the chocolate factory #catcf broadway #fanfic #mike teavee #Augustus Goop #veruca salt #violet beauregarde #a lil' adulting

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hepworld-blog · 6 years

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2017: confusion, hopelessness, and silver linings

Remember on January 1st of 2017 when someone altered the Hollywood sign to say hollyweed? Well I guess we should’ve known the year would be all downhill from there.

Ok that’s not totally fair. On the world stage it was a year of highs and lows, disasters and improvements, and it’s difficult to separate the good from the bad. If I had to sum up my year, I’d label it as in confusion. World events seemed to be one disaster after another all through the year. From a rise in gun violence in the United States, to a humanitarian crisis against the Rohingya people, a catastrophe in Yemen that the rest of the world has ignored to numerous natural disasters across North America, 2017 was a year of suffering across the globe. Not to mention and an increase in oppressive and chaotic policies from world powers: pushback against free speech in China, efforts to curb internet freedom from every major world power in human civilization, Turkey’s embrace of elected dictatorship, the United States’ rollback of protection on transgender individuals, Spain’s takeover of Catalunya, Russia’s imprisonment of political opponents, a genocide against gay people in Chechnya and the United States’ pullback on climate protections. Some claimed 2016 showed a rebellion of the working class against elites, and heralded populist policies as restoring rule of the common person. 2017 showed how misguided these ideas really were.

But in the middle of all the suffering, 2017 showed us a slight glimmer of hope for us to build our futures on. As an observer of humanity, I was very enthusiastic to see the rise and popularity of the #MeToo movement—that a substantial group of people in western society are willing to listen to the claims of women against harassment, and take a stand against anyone who perpetuates this violence. And this new intolerance of sexual crimes even drifted to the most conservative parts of the united states: a (small) majority of Alabama voters were willing to put aside the politically-divisive atmosphere that they’ve cherished in the face of a candidate whose unapologetic bigotry was overshadowed by his alleged pedophilia. After a tense year in most western countries’ politics, this showed some kind of hope that people would stand together to put what is right before their own pride.

Any discussion of 2017’s silver linings would be incomplete if I didn’t mention the strides taken by Saudi Arabia’s crown prince to modernize the countries policies and eliminate corruption. From allowing women to drive, to a reopening of movie theaters, I am hopeful that the oppressive regime will continue its path towards acknowledging human rights to all people. These steps might be small, they may be small victories amidst a larger trend against human rights, but the most oppressed among us are slowly gaining their freedoms. Those people’s livelihoods are worth every struggle. Amidst a general feeling of hopelessness that has surrounded world events, we have a beautiful silver lining. That was a main theme of 2017: hope in the face of hopelessness.

I found it interesting how closely entertainment in 2017 reflected this. Memes became more ironic and cynical as the world seemed to lose its way forward. As life became more confusing and the truth seemed to drift farther away, surreal memes became popular showing the meaningless of the world. Even the newest movie in the Star Wars saga reflected our time, showing how small acts of kindness in the face of huge defeats for the resistance made the whole journey worth it, all while the film’s antihero urges us to put our losses behind us and embrace the uncertainty of the future.

Many of the reactions people had to all this trouble really bothered me, especially people who try to fight what they think is wrong, but aren’t sincere about it. I call it popular protesting, and I know I’ve played along with it sometimes. When there’s some outrage in the world, people speak out about it until its old news, and then they move on to something else. Meanwhile the people affected by the outrage are left to rot, just some pawns in a political game. It’s sick, and it has to stop. Meanwhile people totally ignore crises that are harder to take some fake moral high ground in (again why don’t more people care about the worst humanitarian crisis of the decade in Yemen?).

Of course for us, what makes a year good or bad is more about personal experience than that of world events that don’t affect us personally. And I know a lot of you had amazing years, spending time with friends and making memories. Ironically, I think my year directly mirrored the world’s. Some of the best memories of my life were formed this year, and some of the worst, I felt the general hopelessness and saw silver linings in my own life as in the world. Maybe we’re all just reflections of the world we live in, if we are willing to admit it to ourselves.

At the end of 2016, I asked a friend on Instagram what he thought the key to ethical behavior was. His response was “to accept that you are not any more special than anybody else and act accordingly.” I thought that was a pretty crappy answer at first, but I think he’s right: it takes realizing that you are no superior to anyone else to act in a way that isn’t selfish and act fairly. Everyone is just as confused and scared as you, nobody belongs anywhere, and everyone’s going to die, so you have the same consideration towards all people as you do yourself. So I went into 2017 with that attitude, spent a lot of time thinking about life, and after melding it with my previously-held beliefs, I thought I’d been enlightened or found some sort of key to life. I realize now how arrogant that was to think I had everything in my understanding. I guess if life was easy to figure out, someone else would’ve done it by now.

Here’s the thing. In Atlantis’s culture there’s something called the Jakanta, an ancient practice which refers to a way of living, where you constantly pursue a greater truth, discovering some sort of pattern to the universe. I’m not sure if there’s an allegory in human society but it’s something engrained in our history and I try to live to pursue it. For a long time I felt like I was getting closer to being firmly “enlightened” and gained understanding of reality, and then I came across information that started forcing me to dismantle what I thought were my hard-formed values. The thing is, it was my philosophy of Jakanta that was forcing me out of the ideas I’ve believed my whole life. Realizing that you’ve been wrong and letting go of your so-called sacred cows is probably the scariest thing a person can do. And it didn’t make me happier or feel liberated or anything, it only made my life more chaotic and confusing. Because I loved being that old Hep. That Hep was so passionate and driven, felt wise and validated, like I was going somewhere. I bet if that Hep met me now he would never guess I was once him. Maybe that Hep would rather die than become me, see me as some empty and purposeless shell. But the ironic part is that I came directly from that Hep’s way of thinking.

Anyone who has talked to me at any length knows I’m a more than a little obsessive about the concept of identity (If y’all want, maybe I’ll write a long paper about all I’ve learned about it someday). That’s one of the main reasons I’ve kept my account all these years lol, because constantly being asked who I am by all of you forces me to think about identity and I still don’t have it completely figured out. But this is what 2017 taught me: what defines you isn’t your beliefs or knowledge, because that is constantly changing (either that or you die stupid, like your politicians). Rather I think that what forms a person’s identity is how they think and allow themselves to grow. What are they willing to question? Do they have faith in something? I guess the beliefs that define your identity are the ones about how to grow, not conceptions of the world. So if any of us want to improve, we need to start by adopting a better way of thinking.

So this begs the question, is my way of thinking even good? Obviously questioning and overanalyzing everything like I do didn’t do me any favors, basically destroying whatever walls I’d built up to keep me sane! I feel like after the past year I’ve lost touch with a lot of reality, just drifting through some abstract space I don’t understand. Maybe I’ve gone insane, probably, even. But at least I am authentic to myself. Because it’s so easy to delude yourself, and I’m constantly worried that I’m pushing reality away in exchange for what I’d rather be true to feel secure and accepted. You can convince yourself of anything you want, if it makes you feel good. Maybe if “ignorance is bliss” I should just forget the whole thing and delude myself into whatever is comfortable. For several months I’ve been wrestling with a simple question: if knowing some truth makes me unhappy and sets my life askew, is it worth knowing? I’ve asked a ton of friends about this (thanks y’all). One of them told me what I’d feared: my good friend told me that nobody can never escape ignorance, so learning isn’t relevant. She told me that it’s best to live entirely in faith and not question things that may lead me down questionable paths. My gut reaction was to reject that, but I didn’t understand why. Because she’s right, I will never achieve complete understanding, I know it as did the monks who established the Jakanta in Atlantis 3000 years ago. Was it time to topple that final pillar of my identity and exchange pursuing knowledge for a blissful life?

It took me a while to come up with a good answer: knowledge builds wisdom, and that helps others. A happy life lived only for itself is no meaningful life. However, I can use my understanding of the world to help others who are struggling with similar situations, and not often, but maybe, I can change someone’s life for the better. If I can help just someone, all the unhappiness in the world is worth suffering. How selfish is willful ignorance! Only those who suffer can sympathize with others. That’s why every religion claims their central figure “suffered in every way.” I’m no more special than anyone else, so if I can help someone through real physical struggles, my mental confusion is worth every second of it. So then knowledge doesn’t always make you happy, but it always makes you better.

See I don’t know when I’ll die. I’m just lucky to have survived for as long as I have. I think I don’t value that enough: I need to make a difference while I still can, in the name of those who didn’t make it through the past year. And most importantly, when my time comes I want to die where I stood, following what I believed in. I don’t want to die complacent, like a former hero who has become irrelevant while his work is undone. That’s why I try so hard to keep improving myself, so that I can pursue what I believe till the very end. Life is too short to check out and stop helping people.

I’m realize I’m rambling, and maybe you’re trying to think up some platitude to respond to me, but I assure you that’s the last way I want you to react. This is not at all a plea for sympathy or some way to evangelize my ideas to you, I’m just putting out there what I’m thinking because maybe it will help someone think. And because everyone always asks me what my “true identity” is: well, this is it. I’m Hep, because that’s how I choose to grow.

Is happiness a lost cause for those of us who question everything like I think is right? I thought so at first. But my good friend Taylor made a point that gave me hope: she says that whatever contentment I lost because of what I’ve learned this year will surely pass. Everyone knows that people resist change, that much has been obvious over the last two years. Missing my old state of mind and feeling less happy about life becoming chaotic and confusing is just that same fear of change. If I embrace the chaos, I’ll eventually find that contentment again. I expect this cycle of understanding and confusion will continue throughout my life. Thinking I know myself, losing it, and moving on. Maybe it will bring with it waves of depression or confusion, but all is worth it because with each cycle I will be better equipped to help others. And so out of this cycle of hopelessness and chaos, I have my silver lining.

You know, seems poetic to me that America, in a year full of politically-charged anger, would experience a full solar eclipse. As some of you know, I made the trek out from Atlantis to middle America to see the full eclipse, and maybe those of you who didn’t do the same will not understand this at all. When the full eclipse began, and the sky had darkened, a cold wind rolled over the plains relieving from a hot summer afternoon and the sun became a beautiful iridescent ring, circling a brilliant silver sphere of the moon. It hovered there in the sky, and for a minute it seemed to give peace to everything beneath it. I was reminded of the words of a certain future empress of Atlantis, 19 years old at the time, nearly 2500 years ago. “When nature reveals to us its full glory, it challenges us to imprint its beauty upon our souls.” She said this while leading a rebellion against a violent and oppressive government that ruled Atlantis, a movement which would result in the restructure of our government and issue in an era of prosperity, peace and stability. To me, the eclipse was a reminder that life and society are improved not by opposing anger with anger, but by individuals each harboring a determined peace and understanding as the foundation of their souls.

This thought is by no means original in the current climate, but while these ideas are often used as tropes to make the user feel righteous they are blatantly ignored in practice. Maybe many of them try to live by it. I know I’ve failed at applying this idea many times, because anger is such an easier response to fear and confusion than temperance and self-examination. It is my challenge to keep improving myself to approach this, and I expect I will continue pursuing this goal for the rest of my life.

I’m not a believer in new years resolutions. You can keep your “new year new me” crap, because one week in, you’ll realize you have no means to achieve your goals, give up and be twice the slob you were beforehand. Heck I bet a handful of you already gave up. Because you can’t just change your habits and beliefs on a whim, all you can hope to do is make an effort to grow. So in that spirit I’m giving myself a challenge to give myself a direction to improve. I probably will fail to follow it many times, but that’s okay as long as I keep trying.

Here’s my challenge, to start the year. For one, I’m not going to fall into the trap of popular protesting. If something bad is going on, I’ll either keep spreading awareness and don’t stop until it’s fixed—no letting go when the public stops caring—or I’ll let someone else carry the fight. There’s nothing worse than an insincere activist. And if someone is being unethical it does me no good to hate on them. The best reaction is to behave in the way opposite of them, acting positively instead of negatively. As my man Ghandi once said, you gotta be the change you wish to see in the world. I think I’m going to try to cut judgement out of my life altogether: whenever something happens or someone says an idea, my first reaction is often to identify it as good or bad. Just like I’m not a fan of names, I’m not a fan of those labels, and I’ll work to stop that response in myself. Every time you label something, you keep it from being properly questioned, and that’s unhealthy for me. And finally, as always, I will try to be a decent person, try to make an impact on those around me and work to acquire knowledge and improve my thinking.

That’s where I’m going in the next year. I’m not asking you to agree with it or adopt the same challenge, but I hope you ask yourself where you want to grow. Every day is another step in the journey to make yourself authentic, and I hope you all live to be the best versions of yourselves. Don’t be afraid to leave your pasts behind and look to the future, always find ways to be kind, and never stop questioning your thoughts.

Hep out.

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dvbermingham · 4 years

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Chapter 7: Ebi II

“We’re dead. We’re fucking dead.” Matsuzaka rode shotgun in the limousine, me driving. Not a standard part of my job description according to the union rules but I wasn’t about to argue. The driver wasn’t at the car when we left Aburiya, the keys were on the dash, and Matzu wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. His hands shook as he squeezed the tattered sushi history pamphlet we were ordered to take home and study like he was trying to strangle it. I kept my eyes on the road, glancing over now and again, nervous he would tear it.

“Try not to rip it. It might be useful.”

“What, like this!?” he said and tore the paper over and over again and threw the confetti in my face. I cracked the window and let the New York air whisk away the debris, as though it were reclaiming the pollution back to its pavement bosom. “How the fuck is that going to be useful? Most of it was made up, mixed with shit they found on the internet to make it sound legitimate. You think Guttenberg really had a hand in all this?”

“It’s possible. I mean, you’re young. You might not remember how influential he was back then.”

“Forget the history. We have bigger shit to worry about. Did you see the way he was handling that turtle? The guy’s a fucking maniac. The chef is the Amphibious. What the hell does that mean? Like we’re one of his turtles.”

“The Amphibious?”

“He had hundreds of those things floating around there.”

“Mistranslation?”

“He was telling us in his own insane way that we were just as dispensable as Takuto. And if we don’t somehow figure out what the hell Takuto did to piss them off, we’re going to end up in that alley the same as him.”

“Maybe he’s just under a lot of pressure. Pressure makes people talk nonsense.”

“Pressure?”

“You read the history. That’s a lot of legacy on his shoulders.”

“Pressure!?”

It was getting tense. I reflected on my bodyguard training and remembered how important it was not just to guard the body, but guard the mind as well.

“Maybe we should get outta town for a while. Relax on the beach, go to a spa. Something for you. Something nice.”

Matsuzaka averted his eyes and sniffed. “I don’t want to.”

“Just a suggestion.”

Matsu sighed.

“Thank you…but no, that won’t help. We need to stay in the city. If he thinks we’re running away, we’re as good as dead. The only way to survive is to keep close, pretend like we know what we’re doing.”

My kind of job. I made some right turns, then some left. I got on the East River Parkway and watched each sign for each off-ramp, the underpasses and overpasses, the bridges and walkways and the Roosevelt Island Skyway, each Its own incredible feat of engineering. I got off, pretended I was riding a rollercoaster, pretended I didn’t have a care in the world, pretended like I had never heard of the Imperial Sushi Council. I wondered whether, if I could turn back time, I would give up all those years of living the late night sushi life so I would never have gotten mixed up in all this.

Then it hit me.

“The pamphlet said that the Partition was founded in 1982, right?”

“I don’t remember,” said Matsuzaka.

“I think it did. And it said Guttenberg endorsed the California roll in 1985?”

“That’s right. That I do remember that because that was the year I got my first chef job.”

I came to a stop sign, checked for any cars behind me. We sat at the sign, idling.

“What?” Matzu asked. “Somethign doesn’t sit right. I mean, Senju was an L.A. type back then. If Guttenberg was such a hot-shot sushi lover, why didn’t Senju try to get him on his side. You know, show him a good time, exclusive sashimi deals, ask him to publicly denounce the California roll. Senju’s a savvy man.”

“Maybe they never met. Maybe Senju didn’t know Guttenberg was that into sushi.”

“Senju would never have made a mistake like that,” I said. “The man has his hand in everything. He was using the Hollywood influence from the beginning to keep things tidy in L.A. So I ask you again: Why didn’t Senju have Guttenberg in his back pocket.”

“Why?”

“The Partition got to him. The Partition got to Guttenberg.”

Matsuzaka groaned. “I’m so dead. So, so dead. You’re a good guy Lou, I appreciate you trying to help, but could you just stick to your job and drive.”

“Actually I think we left the driver back at the club. I’m the bodyguard.”

“I know what you are. Just drive.”

We drove. I yawned. I thought the night would be over by now, but such is the life of a bodyguard. I wondered where the driver had gone, whether he was immediately fired and thrown in a ditch somewhere when they realized he lost his car. I tried to remember what I had signed up for, exactly. I tried to remember back to the moment when Alfonso approached me at Fishy Smells, only a few weeks ago now, how he looked at me and pursed his nose, as though wondering how anyone could eat the food I was eating, wondering if I realized what a dump I was in, where that fish had been, where it would end up. Alonso saw something in me. He knew to a man of the oafish persuasion the life of a bodyguard made sense, that we were drawn to it. There are people who protect, and people who need protecting — the world is as simple as that. He had an allegory to go along with it which maybe I’ll get to if I remember it. The gist of it was that, yes, while people should always strive to improve their lives, it is just as important to recognize honestly your natural talents and proclivities and especially your deficits when choosing a lane in life.

There was a time in my life when I didn’t guard people, when I was a cop and later a private investigator, professions for which I was not well-suited due to my forgiving nature, absentmindedness, and a general lack of knowledge regarding the law. I trusted everybody. Whatever someone said, I believed. A real handicap when it comes to mastering the rules of interrogation. The problem was, even when I was sure I thought a perpetrator was lying I would convince myself that in some confusing way that there was honesty behind the lie, that the choice of which lie they told somehow corresponded to a truth. I went so far as to convince myself that the lies could be more true than the truth because anybody could misinterpret reality, but a lies comes out through the subconscious, and how could anything that comes out of the subconscious be a lie? I learned that from Freud, the stuff about the subconscious. He is a personal favorite of mine. I like how he explains behavior by reminding us that our actions are driven by forces somewhat out of our control, like we’re animals in that way. Amphibians, like Senju said.

“What about the tuna?” I blurted out, at the thought of The Amphibious.

“Get rid of it. I don’t want to see it anymore. It’s a fucking burden. It’s going to sit there and rot, just like me when I’m dead.”

“Are you sure? I don’t know what Senju would think…”

“I don’t care. Just dump it.”

I decided to stall a little bit, lefts and rights. Diagonals when I got a chance. We drove for a while. Now and then I reached in the back and peeled a little of the fish paper back and inspected the tuna flesh, poked it with my index finger to see its bounce-back. My finger found its way a little deeper, then still deeper, until it was submerged up to my middle knuckle.

“Where should I go?”

“Where did Takuto take you when you were guarding him?”

“We went to a few restaurants, a few bars. He seemed to like the places that played jazz. One place in particular. One night he asked me to drive him to Long Island to visit his nieces. That was about it.”

“How about the night he died?”

“That was a weird night. No one has asked me about that night, strangely enough. He didn’t call me until late. We were supposed to go out for a drink before the meeting at Aburiya, but he never called. I got in my car anyway, thinking maybe he didn’t expect to have to call, that I’d just show up, so I did, I just showed up. When he answered the door he looked nervous, like he had just had a nightmare. He was wearing just his wife-beater and some jeans. He seemed disoriented. There was crazy jazz playing in the back, and voices. I asked him if he wanted me to come in. No answer. I asked him if he was having a party and again he didn’t answer. He just kind of looked past me, as though he didn’t recognize me, or maybe he was warned not to let anybody in, even if he knew them. Finally, after a long hesitation, he face changed, like he suddenly got his bearings, like his memory came back to him and he told me never to come back here again. I was perplexed. Stunned really. Was I being fired? I just couldn’t quite understand. I knew we had a big meeting that night and we were supposed to go together. Was I supposed to head over to Aburiya alone, without my boss? Would that be worse than not showing up at all? So I waited outside the building for a while, maybe an hour. I was smoking, watching traffic. There was a little side street, just up the block. An alley really, it could fit a small car heading in one direction and that’s about it. A couple of motorbikes parked on the sidewalk there. It was drizzling, the rain making little ripples on the puddles. Suddenly I had this feeling of panic, maybe I heard a noise, a high pitched noise like the ones only a dog could hear but because I got that bodyguard sense I can hear it too sometimes, I don’t know. Anyway, right at that moment, a couple of guys came running out of the side street, I could hear their feet clapping against the sidewalk and through the puddles and they hopped on their motorbikes and sped off. I knew something was wrong, so I went over to the side street and peeked down and there I saw you-know-who lying on the ground.”

“So he had people over, the same people that killed him, you think?”

“They weren’t protecting him, that’s for sure.”

“You said you heard jazz?”

“Hot jazz. Saxophone stuff, real crazy. Loud too, cause it was loud by the door, and I could tell it was way in the back of the apartment.”

“Did he listen to jazz any other time to were with him?”

“Not in the week we were paired up.”

Matzu thought for a minute. “Head to 2nd street and B. We’re going see my friend.”

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mmorpgeek · 7 years

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My MMOs Since WoW

I started playing World of Warcraft with four other friends about a year after it launched. We were those guys that came home in the evening and played like 6-10hrs straight every night. Soon we picked up a couple of others - including the insane, soft-spoken girl who is to this day the best tank I’ve ever seen - and made our own guild. We all learned the game together, learned how to do team content together, and geeked out to an extreme over the game together. If you’ve ever watched Felicia Day’s The Guild, well, that was us. Damn, it was so much fun. I miss these days every time I play any game anymore.

Then, as our guild’s sole healer, I starting working a job where I had very little free time at all, and eventually just stopped trying. When the economy crash happened in the mid/late 2007-8, I made it through until I finally got let go at the end of 2009. I was unemployed and just drank myself stupid and playing console games every day until about April, when I decided to start taking some classes and work part-time. I began playing Age of Conan from launch right after that, which was totally different because it was BRUTAL difficult as well as PvP, and I got hooked. I emailed my old cronies, but they were still balls-deep in WoW, and I was so far behind them at that point I didn’t try to come back, I was busy killing everything with my necromancer.

Until MoP, that is. I looooved Mists of Pandaria, I thought the artwork and the new Pandarian class was so awesome. They didn’t. I played through quite a bit of the endgame content with random people because I loved the world. I began bouncing from guild to guild because I really wanted it to be like it was, but it was pretty -meh- without that tight-knit unit. I left it again.

That’s when I found Runes of Magic, a blatant WoW knockoff, but it was free with no sub. I poured so many hours into that damn game, but leveling TWO classes (Scout/Warden) is a biatch - the grind to endgame was insane, especially after picking up a third (Scout/Warden/Mage). I was doing more dailies than actual content to try to level all three equally, and it burned me out.

So, I decided to get the band back together. But, like total losers, they all had lives by 2015. Professional careers, kids, minivans, all that. I went ahead and tried to play without them, but the world of World of Warcraft had changed drastically by then. Endgame was overrun by people who played to win, not to have fun. Professions were meaningless, because world drops were better than any armor you could craft, and farming ores and mats was so tedious it was worth it to buy them instead. Gold farmers made it possible for people who had no damn clue what they were doing to have everything, and raids were no longer fun. Anymore in WoW, you’re elite or you’re shit - no one at endgame plays for poops ‘n gigs anymore, one mistake and you’re getting flamesprayed in party chat and again on the forums. I deleted the game and haven’t been back since.

I was so, SO excited for Black Desert Online pre-launch, it promised a sandbox with graphics light years ahead of anything I’d ever seen. I pre-purchased the whole damn thing. I spent probably an hour creating my first avatar, and she was STUNNING, I couldn’t wait to get out there and play. Within 3hrs, I hated the mechanics. I made new toon after new toon, and in less than 10hrs of gameplay, I realized that was the only part of it that I was enjoying.

Guild Wars 2 was the darling of the internet by then. It was F2P. It had relatively good graphics. I made my first ranger, and had a BLAST. Holy shit was GW2 fun, and the people?? Hands down the best MMO community since the mid-00s, and I still think it is. It reminded me so much of when we started WoW, strangers would fight together, if you saw someone in trouble you saved them, people res’ed you just because, and it was FAN-F***ING-TASTIC. Divinity’s Reach is possibly my favorite city in any MMO I’ve ever played. I fell in love with GW2. I made other toons, and somehow found myself tanking, of all things, after playing healer for eons and being driven bonkers by tanks. By about lvl 45, I was so insanely bored with GW2. It’s the same basic spells you learn at lvl 10-20 through the whole game. Yes, you can thread your build in a hundred different ways, but it got too repetitive for me. I frizzled out well shy of endgame.

That’s when I started playing FFXIV, which I clearly am having a blast with. I am more in-tune with my avatar than any I have ever played, I imagine her as a real person in a real world more than any other game. The content isn’t the same, and the world - while vast af - just doesn’t do as much for me, and much of the questing and job-specific leveling is not my favorite thing. I am much more into the story of FFXIV and of my character than the actual gameplay of FFXIV. Much of it is garrulous and without a doubt time-wasting grinding, but I absolutely want to do it because I want to see what becomes of my Brigid. I want her to succeed. I am really into my character, I think because I have been on my own so long that this game and this avatar is the first I can imagine doing everything on her own… she is strong, resilient, and continually proving her mettle to a world that didn’t see her coming. I enter every group content event feeling like the underdog, and like I need to prove her worth. I am very into FFXIV because of her moreso than FFXIV itself.

I keep reading, and watching, and thinking about what else is out there, waiting for the next “big thing” and wondering if people will flock to it at launch and two months later think it is rubbish like so many MMOs anymore, but for now? I want to run FFXIV as far as I can. Not for me, but for an imaginary person I have put all of my personality into that is fighting in an imaginary world. I am very much so in love with Final Fantasy XIV.

And, in my own way, that’s really all I can ask for out of any MMO anymore. I’m a total casual nowadays and only play when the mood strikes me, but I always have a memorable time when I do sit down to it, and most of the time I wish I had more time to play more. I’m all-in on FFXIV until it gives me a reason not to, and so far, it has given me nothing but promise. I am loving it.

#final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #world of warcraft #WoW #age of conan #runes of magic #mmorpg #gamer #online gaming #square enix

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sartorialatlantan · 7 years

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Upsides to Hand Rolled Edges

The Internet has made it possible to find out anything and everything within a matter of minutes. If you see an attractive girl in an ad on the side of your screen, you can Google search the company the ad is for, a description of the girl and add “nude” at the end of your sentence and not only find out who she is but whether or not she’s ever posed naked before. Every once in a while you get lucky. My interest in clothing started with work-wear. I searched endlessly for this very particular pair of ankle height, cap-toe brown leather boots that I had seen on Tumblr. I was driven to the brink of insanity trying to hunt down this exact pair. Every time I’d get close there would be something off. The shape looks right, the color is close…but dammit there’s not speed loops on top. What the hell are these boots called?!? I was out to eat with an old band mate and as we parted ways I looked down, and he’s wearing them. “What are those boots?” I practically shouted. I may have actually shouted; we had been drinking after all. Red Wing Iron Rangers, Heritage Collection, these were the boots that had eluded me for days. Like everything else I hunt for online, the wind left my sails when I saw the price tag. But hey, at least I finally found them. Tag your pictures folks. It’ll save us a lot of headaches.

It was Google that grew my footwear vocabulary. It’s a matter of trial and error, over and over until you land on something solid. Follow this Google rabbit hole.

“Dark brown loafers. Dark brown suede loafers. Chocolate suede loafers. Chocolate suede moccasins. Chocolate suede tasseled loafers. Snuff Suede. Dark brown suede. Chocolate, it’s definitely chocolate. Not them, not them, those are close, not them, oh! These might be the ones…nope, wrong soles. Not those. These are close but $900? Oh my god. I think I finally found them. Alden. Alden chocolate suede tassel loafers. Hell yes. Ok, why the hell is there NOT an online store. Shit. Ok, who sell’s Alden? How much? Shit, Let’s go back to that last pair before I found the Edward Green’s, those are more justifiable in terms of price.”

This process is everything for a self-educated man. I learn from research, from observation, from figuring out how to best describe what I’m after for Google to search for. I spent a very long time just recently searching for ready-to-wear single pleat trousers. I eventually not only found some by Canali but marked down too. The lesson I learned, from the shoe search above, is that while the cheaper, thin soled imitations cost far less than the Alden’s I eventually found, they’re garbage compared to the Alden’s I eventually bought. I said it already, but quality over quantity. One or two good pairs of Alden loafers are all you need. You won’t ever put the cheap ones on, even on rainy days to protect the Alden’s because you’ll know, these shoes are no good, and they’ll pinch my toes and hurt my soles. They’ll hurt my soul. And you’ll realize on the way to work that you’re going to spend little to no time outside, and what little exposure to the rain you do have wouldn’t have ruined your suede’s and now you’re stuck in these painful imitations all day. Dammit. And you will eventually toss them all out.

You’ll be down to just the Alden’s. Rain? Who cares? Wear your shoes. Wear suede in the rain. Give them a life. Let them tell a tale. I had to re-sole my first loafers within 6 months. I wore them every day with every outfit. If Squarzi can wear tassels with a t-shirt, jeans, and an army jacket then I can too. I’m not nearly as cool, but he broke the rule, and I followed his lead. His whole store is built on that look. It’s inspiring. Turning vintage military into rugged, classy fashion. It’s great stuff and it’s a great style. A few years ago I sent him several art prints that I had made, all vintage photography pieces. Some of them were quite massive, the others a frame-worthy size. His assistant contacted me recently to inform me that of the collection I sent, a portion had been dedicated to the store. So if you’re ever in Milan, stop by the Fortela store, grab a Vietnam era field jacket and have a look at some Native American portrait prints from yours truly. I forget what all he has, but there are 6, maybe 7 prints of mine on display there. It was and still is truly an honor.

What I was saying before goes back to what I’m always saying. Quality matters. You could’ve never explained to me why Alden makes a superior product over Sebago. Loafers are loafers. BUT after wearing them it becomes clear why they’re superior. The same is true with ties. Who needs a $185 tie? I don’t. But, put on a 36oz printed silk from Drake’s, with very thin lining and hand-rolled edges; feel how light it is around your neck; feel how it drapes and moves with you differently than the $20 tie from Amazon. It only takes a brief experience with a superior piece of craftsmanship to understand why it’s special. I did eventually get those Iron Rangers. I almost bought a cheaper version, but I waited, sold some art prints and picked up a pair. They're beaten to hell now, but still going strong. Quality folks. It’s the upside to all this stuff.

Cheers.

#menswear #menstyle #mensstyle #sartorial #alessandro squarzi #fortela #drakeslondon #aldenarmy #suedetasselloafers

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tainghekhongdaycomvn · 7 years

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Paint by Numbers: Using Data to Produce Great Content

Posted by rjonesx.

It's not every day that I write about content. To be honest, it's probably a once-a-year kind of thing. I will readily admit that I'm a "links are king" kind of SEO, and have been since starting in this industry more than a decade ago. However, I do look over the fence from time to time to see if the grass is greener and, on occasion, I actually like what I see. Prior to joining Moz, I was a consultant at an agency like many of you reading this blog post. More often than not, one of the key concerns of my clients was what to write about. It seems that webmasters and business owners alike can easily acquire writer's block after trudging through the uninspiring task of turning a list of keywords into website copy. So where do you look when you have run out of words

Numbers.

Alright, stick with me here. I imagine for some of you the idea of poring over numbers to remedy writer's block would be like trying to stop a headache with a brick. It's adding insult to injury. What I hope to show you in the next couple of paragraphs is how data can be an incredible source of inspiration in writing, especially if you can hit a few key principles: expose, relate, surprise, and share.

Expose

Chances are your business or website generates some amount of unique, first party data that you can expose to the world. It might be from analytics, your rank tracker like Moz, or from raw user data if you operate a forum. I'll give you examples of how you might tap into these resources (especially when they don't seem obvious or plenteous) but let's start with a canonical example of one great use of first-party data in an industry that seems directly at odds with — dating.

The thought of quantifying and analyzing our love lives seems like an oxymoron of sorts. However, one of the most successful uses of data for content has been produced by the team at OK Cupid, whose "data"-tagged blog posts have earned thousands of solid backlinks and enviable traffic. The team at OK Cupid accomplishes this by tapping their huge resource for unique data, generated by their user base. Let's look at one quick example: Congrats Graduates: No One Gives a Sh*t.

The blog post is fairly straightforward (and not particularly long) but it used unique data that isn't really available to the average person. Because OK Cupid is in a privileged position, they can provide this kind of insight to their audience at large.

But maybe you don't have a million customers with profiles on your site; where can you look for first party data? Well, here are a couple of ideas of the types of data your company or organization might have which can easily be turned into interesting content:

Google Analytics, Search Console data and Adwords data: Do you see trends around holidays that are interesting? Perhaps you notice that more people search for certain keywords at certain times. This could be even more interesting if there's a local holiday (like a festival or event) that makes your data unique from the rest of the country.

Sales data: When do your sales go up or down? Do they coincide with events? Or do they happen to coincide with completely different types of keywords? Try using Google Correlate, which will identify keywords that follow the same patterns as your data.

Survey data: Use your sales or lead history to run surveys and generate insightful content.

A clothing store could compare responses to questions about personality by the colors of clothing that people purchase (Potential headline: Is It True What They Say About Red?)

A car parts store could compare the size of certain accessories to favorite sports (Potential headline: Big Trucks and Big Hits)

An insurance provider could compare the type of insurance requested vs. the level of education (Potential headline: What Smart People Do Differently with Insurance)

There are probably tons more sources of unique, first-party data that you or your business have generated over the years which can be turned into great content. If you dig through the data long enough, you'll hit pay dirt.

Relate

Data is foreign. It's a language almost no one speaks in their day-to-day conversations, a notation meant for machines. This consideration requires that we make data immediately relatable to our readers. We shouldn't just ask "What does the data say?", but instead "What does the data say to me?" How we make data relatable is simple — organize your data by how people identify themselves. This can be geographic, economic, biological, social, or cultural distinctions with which we regularly categorize ourselves.

Many of the best examples of this kind of strategy involve geography (perhaps because everyone lives somewhere, and it's pretty non-controversial to make generic claims about one location or another). Take a look at a map of your country and try not to look first towards where you live. I'm a North Carolinian, and I almost immediately find myself interested in anything that compares my state to others.

So maybe you aren't OK Cupid with millions of users and you can't find unique data to share — don't worry, there's still hope. The example below is a rather ingenious method of using Google Adwords data to build a geographical story that's relatable to any potential customer in the United States. The webmasters at Opulent used state-level Keyword Planner to visualize popularity across the country in a piece they call the "State of Style."

When I found this on Reddit's DataIsBeautiful (where most of these examples come from), I immediately checked to see what performed best in North Carolina. I honestly couldn't care less about popular fashion or jewelry brands, but my interest in North Carolina eclipsed that lack of interest. Geography-based data visualization has produced successful content related to in sports, politics, beer, and even knitting.

If you walk away with any practical ideas from this post, I think this example has got to be it. Fire up an Adwords campaign and find out how consumer demand breaks down in your industry at a state-by-state level. Are you a marketer and want to attract clients in a particular sector? Here's your chance to write a whitepaper on national demand. If you're a local business, you can target Google Keyword Planner to your city and compare it to other cities around the country.

Surprise

Perhaps the greatest opportunity with data-focused content is the chance to truly surprise your reader. There's something exciting about learning an interesting fact (who hasn't seen one of these lying around and didn't pick it up?). So, how do you make your data "pop?" How do you make numbers fascinating?

Perspective.

Let's start with a simple statistic:

The cost of ending polio between 2013 and 2018 is $5.5 Billion Dollars.

How does that number feel to you? Does it feel big or little? Is it interesting on its own? Probably not, let's try and spice it up a bit.

$5.5 billion dollars doesn't seem that much when you realize people spend that amount on iPhones every 2 weeks. We could rid the world of polio for that much! Or, what if we present it like this...

In this light, it seems almost insane to spend that much money preventing just a couple more polio cases relative to the huge gains we could make on malaria. Of course, the statistics don't tell the full story. Polio is in the end-stages of eradication where the cost-per-case is much higher, and as malaria is attacked, it too will see cost-per-case increase. But the point remains the same: by giving the polio numbers some sort of context, some sort of forced perspective, we make the data far more intriguing and appealing.

So how would this work with content for your own site? Let's look at an example from BestPlay.co, which wrote a piece on Board Games are Getting Worse. Board games aren't a data-centric industry, but that doesn't keep them from producing awesome content with data. Here's a generic graph they provide in the piece which shows off average board game ratings.

There really isn't much to see here. There's nothing intrinsically shocking about the data as we look at it. So how do they add perspective to make their point and give the user intrigue? Simple — apply a historical perspective.

With this historical perspective, we can see board game scores getting better and better up until 2012, when they began to take a dive — the first multi-year dive in their recorded history. To draw users in, you use comparison to provide surprising perspectives.

This final method is the one that I think is most overlooked. Once you've created your fancy piece of content, let your audience do some leg work for you by releasing the data set. There's an entire community of the Internet just looking for great data sets which could take advantage of your data and cite your content in their own publications. You can find everything from All of Donald Trump's Tweets to Everything Lost at TSA to Hand-drawn Pictures of Pineapples. While there is a good chance your data set won't ever be used, it can pick up a couple of extra links in the event that it does.

Putting it all together

What happens when a webmaster combines these types of methods — exposing unique data, making it relatable and surprising, even for a topic that seems averse to data? You get something like this: Jeans vs. Leggings.

This piece played the geography card for relatability:

They compared user interest in jeans to give perspective to the growth of demand for leggings:

Slice.com reveals their first-party data to make interesting, data-driven content that ultimately scores them links from sites like In Style Magazine, Shape.com, and the NY Post. Looking at fashion through the lens of data meant great traffic and great shares.

How do I get started?

Get down and dirty with the data. Don't wait until you end up with a nice report in your hand, but start slicing and dicing things looking for interesting patterns or results. You can start with the data you already have: Google Analytics, Google Search Console, Google Adwords, and, if you're a Moz customer, even your rank tracking data or keyword research data. If none of these avenues work, dig through the amazing data resources found on Reddit or WebHose. Look for a story in the numbers by relating the data to your audience and making comparisons to provide perspective. It isn't a foolproof formula, but it is pretty close. The right slice of data will cut straight through writer's block.

Sign up for The Moz Top 10, a semimonthly mailer updating you on the top ten hottest pieces of SEO news, tips, and rad links uncovered by the Moz team. Think of it as your exclusive digest of stuff you don't have time to hunt down but want to read!

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