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apparitionism · 5 years

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Mercury 9

Apparently it’s old-school week around here… this is the penultimate part of Mercury, which I started forever and a day ago (2014!) and have failed to update for almost as long. But as I’ve noted, I finish what I start, so here continues a tale concerning, among other things, Myka and Helena and some existential and ethical questions raised by the whole Janus coin/Emily Lake situation. It takes place at a county fair in Kenosha, Wisconsin, which might seem a trivial (or random) detail but in fact is not. We’ll see if I can pull the pins on my plot-grenades… what’s here will make no sense at all without what came before, and it’s honestly a bit much for a brief recap. I tried to link to the other parts, but I didn’t show up in search, so here’s another try without... [ETA: Whatever, Tumblr; I give up. Here are the links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, and part 8.]

Mercury 9

“It’s a real tossup,” Pete remarked as he walked between Myka and Helena, “whether it’s worse when you’re all over each other or when you’re on the outs.”

Their arrival at the fair that morning couldn’t have presented a clearer contrast to that of the day before: The distinct lack of rocking and rolling all night, as well as the sad absence of partying every day, made sure of that. The drive from the hotel had featured only functional words, mostly between Pete and Helena, and Myka found herself yearning for Helena’s floridly non-silent silent treatment instead. She could have used the low-stakes exasperation she felt when confronted with it to begin to grope her way into feeling that this problem, too, could be set back onto an established track, so an eventual reconciliation would be inevitable.

But a disagreement over Helena’s displeasure with Jules Verne, and with Myka regarding words said about Jules Verne? That was barely skin-deep. This went all the way through, like a bullet, one with both their names on it. A really big bullet… Myka struggled to keep herself from believing that this one was also of Helena’s invention. What goes up—into the stratosphere, into something like happiness—

No, Myka had told herself firmly, halting that line of thought just as Pete was looking at his phone and reporting, “Ida texted. She’s at the barn. Says to meet her, but that there’s no new intel on the Lelands.”

“Still at square one,” Myka grumbled. “Great.”

Pete rubbed his hands together. “It is great. We have to go right by the Pizza Pagoda on the way.”

As they’d walked (and walked and walked), Myka stewed at the fair both in its particulars—had these people never seen an actual pagoda? couldn’t they correctly identify the structure in which money was being exchanged for pizza?—and in its entirety. People were happy. Having a good time. Eating pizza. Wearing smiles.

She didn’t want to kick a rock; she wanted to hide under one. Or send all of those pizza-eating smilers to hide under one so she wouldn’t have to see how unaffected by this situation they all were. How dare they be so unscathed.

Helena had a unique ability to push her to this kind of resentment. After Yellowstone, Myka could hardly bear to look other people in the eyes, in their unknowing, unaffected faces; after Pittsburgh, the same. After, after, after. After Kenosha?

Then again maybe they would never get to the after; maybe they were doomed to trudge through this fair forever with Pete, who was now shaking his head and repeating, “Real tossup.”

Helena, walking on his right side, radiated nonresponse. He looked expectantly to the left, at Myka.

“I’m pretty sure it’s worse right now,” she said. She considered kicking him under a rock.

“Well, for you,” he fake-pouted. “You never think about me.”

“Right. Never. Who just bought you that slice of pizza at that Quonset hut they didn’t even bother putting in a pagoda costume?”

“The pizza fairy. Hey, you could be her twin!”

And that, surprisingly, made Myka smile and shake her head. She twitched an involuntary glance rightward and realized that Helena was having the same response.

Helena looked up and leftward, met Myka’s eyes, and clearly came to the reciprocal realization.

The atmosphere shifted.

One look didn’t reverse the effects of the past twenty-four hours, not nearly. But Myka was self-aware enough both to understand how that one look softened the air between them, and to resent how smoothly and easily it had done such work.

How dare you, she said to herself. How dare you knuckle under. If you’re going to be angry and jealous and unreasonable, you could at least have the rank obstinacy to stay that way.

And Helena had this unique ability too: to make everything Myka did, everything she felt, seem right and wrong at the same time.

This nonsense at a fair might have been a particularly egregious example of Myka tripping over Helena and stumbling into that state, but it wasn’t the only one.

She remembered, as a paradigmatic case, a time when she had been trying to hide an injury. “I’m on the way!” she’d yelled from the bedroom as she quickly dealt with changing the dressing on her wound. Just a flesh wound, nothing serious, certainly not life-threatening, and barely even blood-supply-threatening: a cut on her abdomen. Nobody reasonable would have called it a gash or a slice or anything like that. She’d made Pete promise not to tell anyone about it, post-retrieval, because sure, it hurt, but it didn’t matter.

Judging from the horror on Helena’s face when she barged in and realized what Myka was doing, though? It mattered to her. And the potential for that horror was a large part of why Myka had tried to hide it—but Helena’s face was now shouting that Myka had failed. She’d made Helena feel the horror, and maybe worse, she’d rendered Helena unable to hide that she was feeling it.

“Don’t get like this,” Myka said. (Because warning Helena off always went so very well.)

“I am not getting like anything.”

“Okay, okay,” Myka then said. (Because placating Helena also always went so very well.)

“I am reacting, as a human does, to another human’s injury.”

“And don’t play it off either! You wouldn’t be getting like this over Pete.” The latter, Myka said because it was true, but even as she said it, she saw that pointing it out wasn’t going to be any sort of positive contribution to the situation.

“You want my reaction to be entirely because of you, yet you also want me not to have it at all.”

Under other circumstances, Helena might have smiled as she said something like that, and Myka, with an admittedly unreasonable hope that the smile might still be forthcoming, said, “Yes.”

It wasn’t. “But you knew I would have it,” Helena said, unsmiling and prosecutorial. “You were trying to hide this from me.”

When Helena got prosecutorial, Myka got defensive. “Okay, yes. I didn’t say it made sense.”

“Good, because it doesn’t.” Stubborn.

Which Myka could match: “I know that. I just said that.”

“I want to care for you.”

Helena didn’t mean “take over a mundane first aid task,” and Myka knew that too. Yet she snapped, “I can take care of myself.” Even as another part of her was prodding her with You want her to care for you and How long did you really think you could hide the need for this mundane first aid task from her anyway.

“I’m certain you can.”

That was raw hurt, shivering under an inadequate coat of dispassion—and Myka responded wrong to both: “Right. Just like I assume you can.” And that was out-and-out perjury. Helena’s fragile body, so tenuously and lately re-housing the soul it should… Myka was absurdly protective of that body, but Helena shouldn’t have felt the same way about Myka. Shouldn’t have had to feel the same way, and certainly shouldn’t have been boxed into showing that she felt that way.

They’d papered over that confrontation somehow, but Myka couldn’t remember the resolution, which had to mean that it had been something as simple as what had happened just now, on a graveled pathway at a fair in Kenosha with Pete standing between them talking about a pizza fairy: mutual recognition of a shared response. Some reminder of commonality of feeling, of purpose. Surely that was the wrong way to handle conflicts in a relationship… but just as surely, it was right, too.

However: They still hadn’t said a meaningful word to each other by the time they reached the barn. Myka was still perversely attempting to work her resentment back up, and Helena was clearly avoiding looking at her, maybe just as perversely, maybe to avoid creating another moment of fellow-feeling, and Myka tried selling herself an even more unreasonable story about that: It’s because she knows she’ll bust out laughing when she sees my face working to stay surly, and—

“I realize I’m being a busybody,” Ida said, first thing, “but I’m sensing some tension between my leading ladies. And not the kind that keeps people tuning in.”

Pete said to Myka, “She means UST.” To Helena, he said, “They tune in for UST.” Both of them must have looked baffled, for he gave up on them and said to Ida, “It was like that with them, for basically ever. Before they R’ed the ST. But you can keep that going only so long, you know?”

Ida nodded. “So many shows get it wrong.”

“For what it’s worth,” Pete said, his voice conspiratorially low, “I think Myka and H.G. got it right.”

Mere moments before, Myka would have had to struggle to keep from saying, irritably and out loud, that Pete should shut up. But the shift—it kept happening, Pete’s words helping it along, despite Myka’s attempts to wrestle herself angry. She and Helena had certainly not apologized, or compromised, or exchanged more than that single glance, but between them there was a tuning, like the manipulation of a radio dial: static, then the beginning of decodable sound, the tiny twist calling music, voices, a signal more and more clearly into the receiver from the ether. Any errant twitch of fingers on the dial might cause the transmission to be lost again.

Myka didn’t want it lost. She looked, with purpose, at Helena, and Helena looked back. Still no apologies, no compromise… but the signal strengthened.

“You’re very sweet to them,” Ida told Pete.

Now Myka rolled her eyes, but she tried to keep the motion as small as possible.

“I know, right? You’d think they’d appreciate me more.”

“You need a love interest,” Ida said.

“I double-know that. But the fans, I think they’d still be all about Bering and Wells.”

Ida looked at Myka, then Helena, then back and forth again. “Which one is which?”

Pete put on a boxing-announcer voice: “In this corner, you got your tall, dark, and broody: that’s Bering. Across the ring from her, there’s Wells: not quite so tall, also dark, also broody, but with epic, extra fallout.”

“Isn’t that funny,” Ida said to Helena.

Helena crossed her arms in defense. “What? ‘Epic, extra fallout’? That is not funny.”

Might not be funny, but it isn’t wrong, Myka thought. Then Helena turned a quick, overbright glare on Pete with a mutter of “and I know what ‘fallout’ means now, thank you very much,” which made Myka think, But maybe also a little funny…

“It’s funny that you’d show up here,” Ida said.

“Here?” Pete asked, and Helena echoed, “Here?”

Before Myka could do the same—because that didn’t seem funny at all—Ida followed up with, “And I just now worked it out: H.G.! I see why that’s your nickname.”

“It’s not my nickname,” Helena said. She’d uncrossed her arms, but now she crossed them again, and Myka wondered whether any photographs existed of Helena as the sulky, impossible child she must have been, when she wasn’t otherwise occupied with charming everyone into treating her as the miniature adult she no doubt considered herself to be.

Pete gave Helena a quizzical look. “But it kind of is your nickname. I mean, those are your initials, so… wait. Here. Ida, you are brilliant and so am I, because I know exactly what you’re thinking. And now I got it: I also know exactly what we’re looking for.” He looked at Myka, then at Helena. “Because who’s from Kenosha?” To Ida, he said, “Don’t give it away; they think they’re so smart, but we’ll see.”

“Who’s from Kenosha?” Myka repeated. “Probably almost everybody at this fair. Except us.”

“But who else is from Kenosha?”

“Probably almost all the other people who live in Kenosha?” Myka looked to Helena for help, but Helena shrugged.

Her own look, followed by Helena’s shrug, and immediately it struck Myka: that was their first real, intentional communication since the morning’s argument, and it did figure that it was about not knowing what Pete was getting at. Myka wasn’t yet ready to admit to anyone, including herself, that Pete was actually being very helpful today.

“Plus?” Pete pushed.

Myka tried, “Plus people who moved away?”

“Exactly. And who moved away?”

“A lot of people. Probably.” Myka knew she was being uncharitable, but small towns really weren’t her favorite. She figured living in Univille was most likely a karmic punishment… for what, she wasn’t quite sure, but she certainly hadn’t spent this life, or probably any other, being as perfect as she’d intended to be, and small-town-South-Dakota purgatory was undoubtedly the result. “Maybe,” she softened, ideally defraying some of the spiritual cost.

Pete snickered. “Not a lot who used a microphone and people believed it.” He stopped and waited, mouth a bit expectantly open, like a dog waiting to be rewarded for chasing a ball. “Really? No ideas? How about you, supergenius? Kinda up your alley, there, Agent Wells.”

Then Myka got it, and so did Helena, for they said in unison, “War of the Worlds?”

Pete exhaled an at-last noise. “That’s right: Orson Welles, Kenosha boy. Hated the place, but still.”

War of the Worlds. Of course. Myka sighed, because it really had to have happened sooner or later. “You’re saying you think this is the microphone from the War of the Worlds radio broadcast?”

“I’m saying it loud, and also proud, because I’m the one who thought of it, with the fabulous assist from my best friend Ida. I could say it through the thing, so you’d believe me like all those radio listeners believed Martians were attacking, but I don’t think I’m gonna have to.” He fiddled with his phone and turned the screen to Ida. “It looked pretty much like that, right?”

“Just like that. And that’s funny too: I’d forgotten it said ‘CBS’ on it, but it did. What a terrible witness I’d make in a courtroom drama.” She looked at all three of them in turn. “This TV show I’m running around like I’m on, it isn’t a CBS one, is it?”

Pete shook his head. “Not so much. Maybe Fox? Lower budget, though, so probably Syfy; FX if you’re lucky. But don’t tell.”

Myka couldn’t find it in her to be angry at him for saying too much, particularly not when Ida said, with real regret, “No one would believe me anyway.”

“Well, no,” Pete said, but he put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “On account of you don’t have the microphone.” He held a sssshhh finger to his lips.

“But that leaves us still at square one,” Myka pointed out.

Pete frowned. “And not on the way past pizza this time either.”

“I have an idea,” Ida said.

Pete now flung his arm around her fully. “Like I said, you’re brilliant. From the start I knew I liked you. This idea, is it about pizza?”

“It’s about knowing, not pizza. Knowing, and believing. Ginny knows she’s going to lose the pie contest, because of Agnes and key lime. But what if she happened to win instead?”

He wrinkled his brow. “What if she… oh, I get it. She’d be very into being there. You think that’d override their supervillain plot, whatever it is?”

“I think it would override her grandchildren. And the fact is, she does believe in herself—she always holds out a little hope in these key lime years. Dreams the impossible dream.”

“So we flush her out, assuming she’s lurking, by making sure she wins? But how do we do that?” Pete asked.

Ida smiled. She looked very proud of herself. “I’m going to make Agnes’s pie disappear.”

“Poetic,” Myka said, and she couldn’t help herself; as she said it, she looked at Helena.

“Ironic,” Helena countered, directly at Myka..

Poetic, ironic… and then this struck Myka: those were the first real, intentional words they’d said to each other since the morning’s argument.

An ironic, or possibly poetic, twist of lip from Helena acknowledged that she, too, knew the exchange for what it was.

Pete said, “I personally am an expert in making pies disappear, so maybe I should be the one who sticks his neck out on this one.”

“You’re so sweet,” Ida told him, and Myka had to concede that it was actually true. (Except when it wasn’t.) Ida went on, “But if I’m going to be on a show, no matter what network carries it or who I can tell about it, I’m certainly going to see it through. Plus, in a very CBS way, I’d like everything back to normal.”

Myka thought, Sing it, sister. Not that I know what normal is, but I know what it isn’t.

Yet she and Helena walked side by side as their little team crossed the fairgrounds, the air between them unheavy. It wasn’t a normal walk by any means… but it wasn’t a march to be endured, as she’d begun the day thinking all their walks would be. She might have turned to Helena and said normal words. She didn’t, but she might have—and that was progress. Reparative progress.

The pie-judging location was not, Myka was pleased to find, a named pagoda, pavilion, patio, or promenade, but rather a large and simple tent, with no sign designating it the Pie Tent, probably because it was also the bread, pickles, and jam tent. She could feel Pete’s mouth watering as they entered the space.

Ida lasered in on the pies, which were clearly the main attraction, displayed like crown jewels on inky-velvet–clad shelving. “I’ve never tried such skullduggery before,” she confided. She looked at the pies, then looked at Myka and Helena in a way that Myka found immediately disconcerting. “I’ll need a distraction. Leading ladies, would you oblige?”

Pete snickered, but he applauded as he did so. “Oh, you’re good. You definitely watch a lot of the right kind of TV. My hat’s off to you, ma’am.”

“No,” Myka said. “Just no.” As if things weren’t bad enough, now she was supposed to put on some show for—

“Now wait,” Helena said, and her tone was her most “reasonable,” which at no time did Myka ever find to be actually appeasing, “Mrs. Thatcher has a plan, one that may very well succeed. Shouldn’t we contribute to that potential success? Agents don’t simply stand around and watch while other people make and implement plans to help them.”

“I really don’t see why not,” Myka said, deploying her own version of “reasonable.” “Or maybe Pete could stuff all the bread in his mouth. That’d be distracting.”

“Maybe I could,” Pete said, appraising the bread entries.

Helena did that little ironic, or poetic, twist of lip again, and now Myka knew perfectly well that she was being dared to think about Helena’s lips. The twist became a full smile as Helena said, “Won’t you kiss me passionately before the good people of Kenosha?”

“It doesn’t have anything to do with pie,” Myka said, knowing it was a nonsensical objection, not fully knowing why she was making it, because she did want to kiss Helena. But ideally someplace where they could work things out—which was emphatically not before the good people of Kenosha.

“That’s why it’s a distraction,” Pete explained, with seriousness. “Or you could have a slap fight. Your choice I guess; they’ve both got about as much to do with pie.”

Ida shook her head. “I’ve seen slap fights over everything in this tent, pie included. That wouldn’t even register.”

Myka raised eyes and palms heavenward in capitulation, because what choice did she really have, and Helena took that as her cue: “At long last,” she declaimed, “I declare publicly my love for you. Good people of Kenosha, you are my witnesses.” She gestured floridly to those witnesses, obviously to ensure that she had attracted, and would attract still more, attention. Then she turned back to Myka, displaying an impish facsimile of ardent sincerity. “Tell me that you reciprocate my ardor, so that I may live out my remaining days a happy woman.”

Myka began, “You are just too—” and she would have ended with “much,” but Helena took advantage of her mouth saying “too” to bestow one kiss, then another, and Myka had no choice but to play along.

“I know you don’t like to kiss me in front of other people, most days, and today perhaps not at all,” Helena murmured as they kissed and stopped, kissed and stopped. “I know it’s a hardship for you.”

“Hardship,” Myka sighed out. Why did Helena have to dig at her like this? “Are people watching?” she asked as they continued these strange, designed-to-be-seen kisses.

Helena smiled through one kiss, then another. “As if they were judging our worthiness for a ribbon in an osculation contest.”

“This is ridiculous,” Myka muttered.

“More so if you don’t participate. I myself want to win, not merely place.”

So Myka participated, to the extent that she could, given the still-unreconciled business of the day before, and the night, and this morning. She felt herself make a face as they broke apart minimally again—and then she made the break definitive, for she saw Pete give her a thumbs-up. “Pie achieved,” she informed Helena. “Thank god.”

“Myka,” said Helena, in mild rebuke.

“Helena,” Myka sighed in response. “Why do we do this?”

“Because we prefer it to the alternative,” Helena said. “At least, I do.”

And the challenge made Myka kiss her one more time, kiss her right. “I do too,” she said, making no face this time.

Helena shrugged her slim shoulders and said, with a tiny smile, “More than earlier today?”

“Exactly the same,” Myka told her, because it was true: she preferred every aspect of their relationship, even its most difficult terrain, to any alternative she could imagine… and for that response she was rewarded, because there was the smile, the precious one that graced Helena’s face at the best of times, the one that made Myka wonder how she had made it through decades of her life before this maddening presence swept in and made herself at home.

Myka hoped, given that the kissing seemed to have facilitated the pie-stealing as intended, that the proceedings would hustle their way to a conclusion… but no. The actual pie-judging was an elaborate affair, even unto the deployment of ceremonial utensils: knives of various sizes and sharpenings, serving implements with ornately sculpted handles, forks featuring equally silvered intricacy. Slicing, lifting, raising morsels with surprising elegance to judgmental mouths.

And speaking of judgmental mouths—and eyes, and pointing fingers—several of those continued to be directed at Myka and Helena. Helena, of course, settled into a showy preen, as if the attention obviously was entirely congratulatory, and Myka was as hard put as ever to understand how a literal Victorian could be more openly defiant of any given situation’s norms than someone who’d learned the world a century later.

But the century-later-learner in question was Myka, who labored to find and abide by every nuance of the norms governing any situation. And the literal Victorian in question was Helena, who would have defied norms regardless of when, regardless of whose. Regardless, Helena would have flown a flag that said Yes you should be looking, and you should be applauding my audacity, and as for anyone who fails to do so? I will spare no time or thought for those unfortunate fools.

But also: Look at me for my audacity. Not for the feral, fearful animal it hides.

And what about Myka, drawn to both those things?

Every nuance of the norms: of course, at the worst of times, she clung ever more tightly to those norms, begrudging Helena both the audacity and what it hid, condemning herself for finding all of it irresistible.

How handy, in those worst times, to have Emily Lake to wield as a cudgel. Or a scalpel.

Right, Myka thought, help them punish Helena, you and Helena, more: No, Regents, don’t trouble yourselves, no no no; I, Myka Bering, will take it from here. Because I am exactly the sort of dutiful idiot who would do that.

She didn’t want to be that sort of dutiful idiot.

So don’t, she told herself. Don’t do their dirty, punitive work. Make things better, not worse.

Myka deliberately caught the eye of a younger woman, one glaring a disapproval that belied the idea that that that demographic was wholeheartedly embracing change… Myka raised her eyebrows at her—not quite Helena’s flag-flying, but a challenge all the same. Then she moved so that her shoulder rested against Helena’s. Helena looked up in surprise, then let her own body lean, with the most gentle of pressure, on Myka. A whisper of relief. And all that mattered, in this moment, was Helena’s body, this long-lived body that had borne, and was still bearing, so much more than it was ever meant to. Myka was embarrassed by her own tendency to stagger under the weight, when what she should have been saying, and enacting, was I’ll carry you.

One clasp of Helena’s body, one breath into her hair; Helena turned once into the curve of Myka’s neck. These soft things didn’t reverse the past twenty-four hours either. But they allowed Myka, at least, to begin to pay productive attention to more-mundane problems.

Like a case to be brought to a conclusion. Slowly.

“What are those judges even doing?” Pete was asking Ida, and that earned him a tsk-tsk. They tasted the pies one more time, she told him, to make sure. “Even though they already basically know who won?” he complained.

“Without the second tasting, this plan wouldn’t work,” Ida reminded him, “because Agnes would already have won. Besides, you seem like the kind of man who’d feel a kinship with people who like having lots of opportunities to eat pie.”

“Yeah, but it’s taking them forever,” he groaned, and Myka was inclined to echo him.

“It’s important,” Ida told him.

To Myka’s surprise, Helena said, “She’s right.”

“Pardon?” Myka said.

“This… deliberation. Over something so seemingly small as the taste of a pie—it reminds me of the past. Not the harsh past, which I extolled to you, but its softer, slower aspect.” As Helena said this, her eyes weren’t misty, exactly, but they were looking at some fair that wasn’t this one. “I was wrong to maintain that the difference runs in only one direction. Forgive me?”

Myka’s impulse was to say “There’s nothing to forgive”—but they both had a lot to forgive. It also seemed to slight Helena’s… nostalgia? And her sincerity about that nostalgia. So Myka hesitated.

Helena then said, “From time to time I fail to acknowledge that a position should have nuance.”

As if Myka’s pause had meant she needed Helena to offer still more words of expiation. As if only then might Myka say “yes” in answer to a question about forgiveness.

It made Myka want to cuddle her. And shake a fist at her… but then again, she knew that she herself inspired the exact same push-pull in Helena.

So: “Me too,” Myka said.

And she was glad she’d got that out when she did, for then everything started happening: Ginny Leland’s peach/apple pie was announced the first-place winner “due to an unfortunate last-minute withdrawal,” and suddenly Ida was pointing, saying “There it is!” and Pete was rushing up to an ecstatic woman and a startled man, the latter indeed in possession of a microphone.

“I don’t understand,” said Paul Leland.

“I don’t care!” his wife declared. “I won!”

She rushed away to claim her ribbon. Her husband took a step as if to follow her, but Pete tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Excuse me, sir, but would you mind letting me have a closer look at that vintage sound equipment you’ve got there? It’s from about 1938, if I’m not mistaken, which I’m not. Right?”

“You can see me,” said Paul Leland.

“Yes I can,” Pete said. “And just to make sure that keeps being true, why don’t you pass the mic to this nice lady in the fancy purple gloves… ha! For a fistful of truth!”

“I don’t understand,” he said again, and he did look utterly baffled. He didn’t resist when Myka took the piece of history from him.

“Beastie Boys,” Pete informed him.

Myka muttered a cautionary “Pete…”

“Yeah, sorry. I actually don’t understand either, because I’m sort of getting a vibe that you’re not a supervillain. But you know what I’m also sort of getting a vibe about? This maybe has something to do with how you don’t watch radio.”

“I didn’t want anyone to see me…” Paul Leland said slowly. “I didn’t want anyone to see me, and then they didn’t. Why didn’t I want anyone to see me? Ginny!” he called to his wife, then headed in her direction. Myka didn’t see any need to stop him; they had the artifact, and Pete was most likely right: he wasn’t a supervillain.

“Maybe that’s the downside?” she wondered to Helena. “Wanting to be invisible?”

“Then why his wife as well?” Helena wondered back. “If it’s simply a consequence of using the microphone, wouldn’t it adhere only to him?”

“You don’t know the Lelands,” Ida said. “How could anything happen to one of them and not the other? They’re inseparable. Adhering’s a good word for it… look!” She gestured toward the now-reunited couple, and indeed, as Ginny Leland glowed with pride over the blue ribbon she held, Paul seemed to shine too.

Pete said, “So we’re thinking that on account of him not wanting to be seen, they weren’t, then on account of her really really wanting to, they were? That’s… some kind of teamwork.”

And Ida mused, “It’s like that sometimes.” She looked, with intent, at Myka and Helena. “Isn’t it.”

“Isn’t it,” Helena echoed. She leaned once again on Myka.

Myka was still gloved, still holding the artifact, so she unfortunately couldn’t take much enjoyment from that lean, or do more than vaguely return it. “Let’s go behind the tent,” she suggested, and Pete whistled. “To bag the microphone,” she said, but her withering tone never had any effect on him.

Ida followed them behind the tent, and once again, Myka couldn’t see her way to objecting.

Pete had a static bag in hand; Myka tried to slip the microphone into it, but he insisted on putting on gloves himself and taking the artifact from Myka, and then he insisted on Farnsworthing Claudia before he did anything else. Myka didn’t understand why until he said, “And now here we go. All you lovely ladies are witnessing my very first literal mic-drop.” Myka heard this “literal” as a minor, if most likely accidental, miracle, while Claudia said an extremely dry “waited a lifetime for this” and “imagine my delight.”

“I’m starting to develop a theory about why you people bring up mushrooms,” Ida said, gazing at the Farnsworth.

“In my day we often suggested it was laudanum,” Helena told her.

Ida made a noise of speculation. “And I’m starting to develop a theory about why you said ‘H.G.’ isn’t your nickname.”

Pete held the microphone up and waved it. “Show’s happening right here right now! Come one come all to the center ring!” Before Myka could object that this was a fair and not a circus, he dropped it in.

Nothing happened.

“Here in Kenosha,” Ida said—gently, as if Pete’s feelings might be hurt—“we wouldn’t really call that a ‘show.’”

Pete shook the bag, seemingly encouraging it to work harder. “Claud, could we be in a defective static situation?”

“If so,” Claudia told him, “It’s one of those really random black-swan thingies. Not impossible, but—”

“I’ll try another one,” he assured her.

Nothing happened.

“I see what you mean about the low budget,” Ida told him.

Pete looked mournfully into the bag. “So I was wrong? Not an artifact after all… hey, waitaminute,” he said. He shed a glove, fished the microphone out, held it up, and said through it, “Sugar is nutritious.” His voice boomed even more than usual.

That’s a funny thing for him to have said, Myka thought, because of course—

“Hey, Mykes, how do you feel about eating sugar?” he asked.

And that was a funny thing for him to have asked. She gave him her best Pete you are insane look and said, “Well, it’s nutritious, so of course I feel pretty good about it.”

Did he look… horrified? “This is bad,” he said, and through the Farnsworth she heard Claudia shriek, “You broke Myka! You bet it’s bad!”

Myka tried to reassure them both: “No, sugar’s good.”

“Oh my lord,” Helena said, and Myka couldn’t understand why her voice clutched in a way that nearly matched Pete and Claudia…

TBC

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Mercury #part 9 #I'm assuming that those of you who know the referenced history now get why the story's name is what it is #(if you hadn't guessed already)#it's also a callback of sorts to my own 'Quicksilver' story #and to the fact that Helena is HG #which I continue to find massively appropriate #anyway everything always connects up #or maybe it's that we humans can't resist ferreting out ways in which things connect up #it's like our desperate drive to infer causality where none exists #everyone loves the word 'because'

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morshtalon · 5 years

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Shin Megami Tensei

(Definitely part 3 of a series of posts on the entire franchise)

For the end of MegaTen II, Atlus pulled out all the stops in terms of who you'd meet and what their importance to the lore was. While the ending arguably did leave some room for further escalation, by choosing to continue the story as it was, they'd be agreeing to keep being derivative works in relation to the books that originated their backstory. Sure, it was hardly the case anymore, what with the extreme departures MegaTen II took from the novels, but still. I guess the relative corner the writers got themselves backed into, combined with the clamor to have a more independent franchise on their hands, prompted them to scrap their established continuity and kick off a new one of their own. Whatever the real case was, it was definitely a smart choice, and thus was born Shin Megami Tensei, a way for them to keep their profitable series going. Also probably a much better game than a MegaTen III would have been.

Anyway, with a new continuity, possibilities were endless. They could better retread grounds they had already covered in the previous two games (well, really just MTII, since the first one barely even had anything going on), and expand upon ongoing themes while not having to worry about the usual expectation for a sequel in terms of magnitude and impact. Given that, it's unsurprising that, in comparison to MTII, this game dials things down a notch, relegating most of the more classical power fantasy stuff to the third act and preferring to engage in more character-driven events while leading up to it. None of the final enemies in SMT are as powerful as the ones in MTI and II (in story terms, actual battle stats notwithstanding) and the influence of cosmic forces that would have been enemies fought directly in the titles so far takes on a distant, more psychological approach (for the most part), unable to be challenged by the player. This helps build them as respectable overarching threats, and keeps the setting more subdued and the stakes higher, since it feels like characters are acting under the banner of things so powerful the player shouldn't even think themselves able to scratch them. It's good not to stat things sometimes, and it's quite impressive that they exercised this restraint way back in 1992.

For the demons that ARE fought, though, the artists really put their all into it this time. Even compared to games in the series's near future, I think this is the best looking they would be for a while. I mean, sure, Majin Tensei later on would have more detailed graphics, but I feel the art itself was worse there, with some weird proportions and a lot of palette swaps, while this game keeps things more consistently good overall.

Naturally, one longstanding tradition of the franchise introduced in SMT was the philosophical axis of Law vs. Chaos and the branching story that allowed the player to sit in any one point of the spectrum, with a modified final act depending on your decisions up to a certain point and where in the axis they would leave you once this point is reached. This system was partly a logical progression of the two endings from MTII and partly a way to integrate gameplay significance into what was already the grand point of SMT's storyline. While a good idea on paper and certainly innovative for its time and context, the warring faction-based story meant that as far as the plot is concerned, Law vs. Chaos pertains more to which of the factions you're appeasing with your decisions rather than any particularly lawful or chaotic behavior. There are some things that shift your alignment that have to do with being lawful or chaotic, but those lie mostly outside of the plot, in small actions that only serve to bring things one way or the other on infinitesimal increments and are meant more as an extra level of thought put into the system to label certain actions that were always there. The parallelisms between one faction and the other (i.e. temples that are identical in functionality; quests that consist of killing the other faction's quest-giver or vice-versa), together with certain easily exploitable ways to shift the alignment variable any way you want (so that you can play the game being entirely chaotic up to the crucial point where your alignment is locked, then right before that, exploit the mechanics to bring yourself to Law without having done anything lawful throughout the rest of the game), make the whole alignment system feel arbitrary, or at least the actual coded-in gameplay layer of it. I feel like maybe having only the unrepeatable story decisions actually affect alignment could help mitigate this somewhat. Then again, as I said, the story stuff doesn't feel much like the player being lawful or chaotic, so... I don't know.

Regardless of which path you take, you are going to get into a lot of fights. The game plays basically exactly like MTII, with an overhead top-down overworld and first-person dungeon crawling once you enter an area. This time around, very few areas are safe from enemy encounters, which makes sense since you're mostly just walking around Tokyo and a lot of first-person areas are just sections of the city that are populated (and besides, all of Tokyo is under threat from the demons). It made me realize that it's actually the typical RPG that opts to be nonsensical about the no-monsters-in-towns rule, but I'd be damned if that's not a smart choice on the part of the typical RPG. There are so many random encounters in this game, it's a common occurence for you to get several 1-step fights in a row. When I play an RPG, there's usually a point where I get really bored of always fighting enemies, then I finally escape the dungeon I'm in or go into a town and it's a big relief, like I can finally walk around and talk to people without having to stop dead in my tracks to fight the same enemy I already proved I can beat five hundred times before. Not so much in this game, and you'll definitely be crying out for an Estoma or a Fuma Bell most of the time. If you even know these two things act like repels in Pokémon and realize how useful they are.

If you don't know, however, you're going to need a lot of patience, because once again the game is very easy. Aside from, once again, a difficult earlygame, especially if you didn't put the right stat points into your protagonist (read: vitality and speed), the same basic problems from the previous two games' core concept of walking around and fighting dudes can be found here, but this time guns have ammo. Ammo doesn't actually count how many bullets you have left, it's just an extra thing you can equip that gives your gun attack an extra property such as more damage or a status effect. Thing is, status effects have an absurdly high hit rate in this game, work on most bosses, and there's a type of ammo that causes the "enthralled" status effect, which makes the target attack their own allies. Once you've got your hands on it, the game has been effectively turned into an interactive movie, even easier than the NES ones. Even without it, magic always seems to go before physical attacks, and both lightning and ice spells can stop an enemy for the current turn, so you'll likely always find a way to trivialize encounters within your disposal if you're just playing the game normally, even if you didn't realize it. With good speed, lightning or ice spells at your disposal and some status effect ammo, nothing will ever be able to stop you, no matter how hard they try. Once again, it's a preparations game, and that auto-battle button will get an intense workout this time around. I actually cleared the entire final dungeon under the effect of consecutive Fuma Bells, because of the combined effect a high encounter rate and the knowledge that the bosses could not stop me had on my brain. It's all about knowing which things are actually useful and which aren't, so it's actually just about struggling until the point you figure it out, then blazing through the game's fights half-asleep.

Still, battles notwithstanding, I think the exploration is more masterful than ever this time around. There isn't any significant portion of the game where you're clearly going after McGuffins, the whole story is pretty tightly paced and the balance between open-endedness and plot progression is well kept. There is a clearly evolving status quo for the entire setting of the game, and each time a major change happens new areas are made available while others are locked away. You can feel the effect the events of the narrative are having on the whole scenario, and the progression creates a bit of a disorienting effect as you attempt to find your way to the next significant location (which can and very well may cause you to get hopelessly lost on occasion, but that's part of the experience, I think). It's a pretty admirable blend of elements working together to create a continuous experience. This bleeds over into the characters themselves, who have evolving arcs and, for the most part, continue to be relevant and to have all sorts of crazy things happen to them through the course of the game. Consider it a much more mature attempt to do the sort of character-based revolving scheme that Final Fantasy IV also tried to do.

Overall, this is a game that further plays around with story concept brought over from MTII, experiments somewhat with new ways to go through some of its story beats, and creates a character-based narrative that goes through admirable amounts of change, to the point you can feel the whole cast working through their arcs as things escalate and reach a fever pitch. The gameplay is significantly less refined, though, and, admittedly, even the respectable things in SMT have struggled to stand the test of time, especially when you consider what later SMTs and SMT spinoffs would go on to do. I think this earns the original a 6.5 out of 10, my first non-integer score. It's damn respectable and admirable for 1992, but it has so many outdated things in it that it's hard to actually get oneself into the proper mentality to admire it unless you actually make the conscious decision to play the series in chronological release order. But who would be masochistic enough to do that, right?

#megaten #shin megami tensei #megami tensei #rpg #game #review

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dukeofriven · 5 years

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HOW TO SOLVE BREXIT (HEAR ME OUT)

My solution to Brexit is that, effective immediately, I should be invited to be Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. It’s been 96 years since a Canadian last served in that position - the wonderfully named Bonar Law, of whom not enough is ever said - so although I don’t think I could thrust my way into British politics with quite his length and breadth of talent, not the stately girth of his political acumen, I still think I could do the job fairly well - at the very least I will bend over backwards to stop Britian from being screwed by Brexit. The criteria have not changed since Bonar Law’s time: I just need to be able to command the confidence of the House of Commons. This is trivial, really: I am very commanding, and since nobody in the House seems to have any confidence in one-another, it cannot be well argued that I - a total stranger - command any less confidence than anyone else. I meet this sole criterium just as much as the current incumbent, undoubtedly more so. Since I do not have to be an MP, or a Lord, or be a British citizen, or even be in Britain (Her Majesty can Skype me, hmu on the DM, ma’am), there is no legal impediment to me taking the job. If it sweetens the deal, I have been to Britain more than once, like bits of it very much, think roast chicken crisps are divine, can quote an awful lot of Monty Python, enjoy cricket immensely, and once happily consumed deep fried Haggis - which will make me winsome enough to win-over the SNP and put to bed all this independence nonsense (you might think you want it, but when you go to watch your favourite BBC series and realize that iPlayer no longer works in your country you’ll regret everything and curse the heavens for your short-sighted folly.) As for Brexit, my solution is this: I will telephone President Juncker (and party-line in M. Macron so he doesn’t get all snotty) and have an amiable chat about this and that - how are you enjoying being EU President, do you like the curtains in your office - really stretch out time until he get impatience and goes “What about Brexit?” and I’ll say What about whatnow? And he’ll say. “Brexit.” And I’ll say Cereal, usually - Shreddies with brown sugar for the last week - hey whatever happened to Freddie and Eddie? And he’ll say “Not Breakfast - Brexit!” Brag sit? And what that when it’s a home, then? ”BREX! IT!” I don’t - remind me? “Britain’s departure from the EU!”

I don’t think we’re planning to leave, Mr. President. Seems like an odd sort of idea. Exit the EU? And miss out on cheap flights to Monaco, home to the historic Iron Man 2? Nonsense. Somebody would have said something. “You are leaving!” he will cry - hopping mad, I am sure. (Unconscionably rude of me, I know. Under normal circumstances I would never behave in a manner so unbecoming of a gentleman. but needs must: as your new Prime Minister it would be my duty.) Er... “You are leaving! You triggered article fifty.” ... oh. Oh bugger. Devil’s fardles and ambergris - this is all very embarrassing. Yes, right - they did mention it to me, and they blushed the whole time, and this has been the most MORTIFYING thing you could imagine, but the burden has fallen to me, and I can’t shirk it. Alright, Mr. President: I am afraid there has been... well... something of a cock-up. A truly monumental cockup, but everyone over here has been so super shamefaced about it they couldn’t bring themselves to say anything - hoping it would just sort of be forgotten, go away on its own - but it never did, and now they’ve had to bring me in - a colonial and everything - because nobody here could bring themselves to come clean, its all supremely awkward. Gods, alright, here goes. I am afraid, Mr. President, that all this “Brag Sit” kerfuffle is the most terrible misunderstanding. A mis-hearing, in fact. They... gosh this is hard... they... they... sod it: They didn’t trigger Article Fifty, Mr. President. They triggered ... sigh... they triggered Article Schwifty. ... ... ... ... ... “what?” It was 2017, Mr. President. It was 2017 and Rick and Morty was terribly popular - the third season was all set to start that Monday and, well, the country just got so excited it rather lost its head and did something big and dramatic to show its fandom colours. It took a bit for anyone to notice that the rest of the EU seemed to have misheard them - Britons tend to be a bit neglectful of things on the continent. Also everyone was super cross that there was that two month hiatus after the episode came out and that had everyone distracted - not to mention that whole Szechuan Sauce thing. Anyways, Mr. President, by the time anyone realized the mistake cultural opinion on Rick and Morty had begun to sour and the United Kingdom found itself unwilling to admit that it had been that excited to watch it - they’d already had a fandom fall-out with something called “Briscuit” the year before and nobody wanted to stir-up old drama. Somebody suggested that they pretend Schfifty Five had been a popular retro-meme that month, but nobody thought they could make it sound convincing. So, as has become very obvious by now: after two years of going through the motions, the country is tired of being oppressed by cringe culture. They have made me their Prime Minister in order for me to tell you that although they no longer enjoy the show, there was a time that it meant something to them, but even so they’re very sorry that their intense display of fandom was so insensitive and hurtful. And they’re equally apologetic they didn't try to fix their mistake sooner. On behalf of the United Kingdom, Mr. President, and speaking as Prime Minister, I formally apologize for Rick and Morty and the harm it caused our union. “Uh...” he will say - speechless, utterly speechless. As a way of recompense, I’d like to convene an emergency of meeting of the EU council to discuss extending the reach of BBC iPlayer Europe-wide. “Mr. Prime Minister I - I cannot simply overlook two years of-” Did I mention Mary Berry has a new cooking show already available for streaming? “Two years of .... er... years of... of the United Kingdom not bringing roast chicken crisps to EU council meetings.” Heavens! What barbarians my predecessors were - there’ll be a lorry stuffed with Walkers in the Chunnel in twenty minutes. if you’ll excuse me, Mr. President, I’ll make the call right away. Toodle-pip. And that, ladies and gents and honourable non-binaries, if how I will swiftly and efficiently get rid of Brexit. Your Majesty, my Skype is open: I await your DM for my contact info.

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feijuan · 5 years

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Fist of the Blue Sky: Regenesis, Am I Right?

This review contains a lot of spoilers -- I do not know how much of the anime is congruent with the manga, and as such there may be manga spoilers in this review as well.

Click here to read on Wordpress!

On one hand, as we all ought to know very well,

But on the other hand, I think I liked season 2 of Fist of the North Star: Regenesis more than the first, somehow. I also hate to admit there were parts of season 2 I liked completely unironically, as ridiculous and contrived as most of it was. Such is often my experience with every Fist of the North Star anime, game, etc, that I watch -- though I expected it much less from this, on account of it being maligned by pretty much everyone I know who knows anything about Fist of the North Star, for

Being made entirely in CGI (though I still think it’s the designs that are awful, and not necessarily the fact that it’s CGI, but to each their own I suppose when it comes to visuals)

Apparently not following canon much at all, but that doesn’t matter to me because I don’t know anything about Fist of the Blue Sky canon anyway, which makes my viewing experience… interesting… because I just had to accept whatever nutso bonkers lunacy I saw on the screen as truth.

I berated the first season quite a lot, not just for issues in adaptation, but for issues that are almost certainly in the source material as well. I thought the setting was a ridiculously contrary backdrop for the kind of martial arts antics happening on screen, in a literary and in a visual sense. The martial arts themselves, while always ludicrous in the franchise as a whole, were especially so in Fist of the Blue Sky - and in Regenesis their visual presentation was frankly awful, managing to be both tacky beyond imagining and super underwhelming. The writing had serious problems that required -- I'm not kidding and wish I was -- a Magical Jewel That Showed The Antagonist The Truth to resolve the finale, and the backstory we saw through this Plot Orb was complete and utter nonsense, the likes of which I haven't quite seen in a very long time. This really doesn't even cover all of the issues in the first season of Fist of the Blue Sky: Regenesis alone, because the majority of the characters aren't great either, including the protagonist whose value largely seems reliant on being an allusion to the already beloved Kenshiro, and the abundance of small contrivances throughout to fuel completely unnecessary conflicts.

As objectively bad as Regenesis was though, there were some things I enjoyed about it, namely a few of the characters. I loved Fei Yan and Erika, and as much as I hated Yasaka at first, he grew on me – though that was born from the absurdity of his redemption that made it impossible for me to take any of his crimes seriously. On that line of thought though, what I often enjoyed about season 1 was the spectacle of it, and I think that’s pretty clearly evidenced by my liveblog where I was either losing my mind and frantically posting screencaps to try and even begin to understand what I was looking at and how it was possible, or posting about Fei Yan Being Great. And sometimes complaining when I had the energy to think about the awful writing, instead of laugh it off…

So that was season 1. But what did season 2 have to offer, and could it redeem the anime, even a little bit? Well, short answers: A bit more, and not particularly. So let's get to the list making:

Things I decidedly didn’t like at all about Season 2

Need I even say anything about how the CG model proportions are still awful... looking Yu Ling's model makes me ache all over. But not only are the models in general still grotesque, but there were a few too many instances of flashbacks where characters were supposed to be teens, but they either had a kid model, or an adult model. There's no inbetween. It's extremely weird and jarring when in one flashback Simeon looks like a 12 year old with similarly young looking Himuka, and then "a few years later" Simeon still has the 12 year old boy model, while Himuka has evolved into a 30 year old buff martial artist.

Fei Yan is Still Dead and Yasaka is good but he's not that good. This is admittedly a petty complaint but try to understand... Fei Yan was really good. And I miss him. Thank you for listening.

Fei He was wildly under-utilized, under-developed, and usually just a woman for male characters to make fun of or infantalize -- which is a crying shame (and unfortunately par the course for the franchise, ahem) because she was a link back to Fei Yan and his legacy. Having been partially brought up by him and idolizing him in her youth, she arrives near the end of season 1 to track down Kasumi, who she is pointlessly misled into believing killed Fei Yan for a few episodes. Later in season 2 when she does discover it was Yasaka who killed Fei Yan, nothing… happens, because by that time she has already come to respect Kasumi, so it’s trivially easy for Kasumi to convince her to forgive Yasaka just like he did. Once her initial motivation is snuffed out, she just becomes a detached ally of our secondary protagonist group, which consists of Yu Ling, minor members of the Green Gang, and the worst characters of the entire show!

The comedy duo. Far and away the worst aspect of both seasons of the whole show. The CG? The ugly art style in general? The casual misogyny? The non-canon mismatched cult planning world domination with nuclear weapons? That all pales in comparison to the damage these freaks wreck on every episode they are in.

Their horrendous “bits” are where like 80% of the misogyny this show displays actually occurs. Their boorish fantasies are used as vehicles for the only fanservice scenes in the entire run, and they make up ridiculous plans for Fei He to carry out that degrade her and make her a joke.Their bits are tone-shatteringly out of place and usually shoehorned into every episode since their introduction in the middle of season 1 at the worst time possible. I’m still seething about their prolonged scene in the finale where Yu Ling inexplicably rubs the metal-haired one’s head while her fiancee fights for his doomed life, and he pretty much c*ms and his metal wig falls off to reveal a single disgusting hair on his head -- we literally cut away from the final fight in the whole series so we can see THAT. LIKE WHAT? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!

This show is already so far-fetched and often unintentionally hilarious that it doesn’t benefit in any way from having gag characters in the first place. It’s a net loss in entertainment value, really, because all the gag characters did was ruin serious scenes and interrupt outrageous scenes that were actually funny.

Fei Yan died, Yasaka died, Kasumi died, but THESE CHUCKLEFUCKS LIVED? #JUSTICEFORFEIYAN #GOTHRIGHTS

The whole thing with the vampire cyborg mad scientist soldier making pseudo-zombies. That was a lot even for Fist of the Blue Sky: Regenesis.

Oh, and another quick note about Fei He being poorly utilized: I also didn't like at all how she is revealed to have fallen in love with Kasumi in the finale... like c'mon. Was that necessary? They barely ever spoke! A woman can care about a man dying without being A Thing, Fist of the North Star...

Things I unexpectedly didn’t hate and even sort of liked to varying degrees about Season 2

Speaking of Kasumi, he was a lot more likable in this season and I don't know if it's because we naturally got to know him better as we spent more time with him, or if it's because he just Did More Good Stuff than before, but I'm leaning towards the latter. I really liked his tender moments with Erika going up to the finale and his fight with Himuka was leagues above any of his fights previously in terms of giving us some actual meaningful insight into his personality and beliefs. It's a shame these moments happened in the last two episodes of the series... But I am willing to concede that they were fairly successful in making me like him just in time for him to honourably wander off into the desert and die. Thanks.

As much as I heckled the literally religious cult composed of men in black, mysterious worshippers with pointed hoods sitting around a table plotting world domination, mad scientist soldiers, and assorted martial artists, I ended up kind of liking where the story went with it and the themes that were developed in the last stretch. The second arc had a very on the nose stance on war and weapons of mass destruction as the worst of humanity's creations, and we see it in a lot of places in the story. The narrative unfolding at a time when World War II was on the horizon, the nuclear bomb schematics that had been causing all of the strife in the story being erased from Erika's (a little Jewish girl, as well) mind in the end, and how Himuka was driven to villainy by war and became convinced the only way to create a future without it, was to hit the Hard Reset Button on the earth's population. For all its shortcomings with dealing with the -isms, Fist of the North Star has at least always had anti-war themes, but I especially liked how they were more focused and rooted in history in this season of Regenesis.

I actually... liked?! The villains?!

Simeon had a motivation that was irrational and pathetic, but made sense because of his background. Instead of the story trying to redeem or sympathize with him, he is simply pitied by Himuka who usurps him and puts him out of his misery, which is very rare for Fist of the North Star as a whole. It shouldn't be as rare as it is.

While I liked the anti-war themes, Himuka's motivation felt a lot less organic than Simeon's in my opinion and required a whole episode to be dedicated to explaining it to us, which I'm not a huge fan of unless it's really compelling -- and I don't think it was. Nevertheless I did enjoy his final fight with Kasumi and the philosophy of it, which made it harder than usual not to bend to the narrative's will and mourn him.

They weren’t glorified misogynists or cartoonishly evil goons! 👍

Himuka betraying Simeon and becoming The Real Big Bad was also rather fresh for Fist of the North Star, and it's a shame that it was spoiled in the opening, because if it wasn't I think I might have been surprised. Regardless, shifting gears like that was a good move in my opinion -- even though, yeah, The Villain Is Your Brother, Again.

When Kasumi wins his final battle against Himuka, and Himuka says "I have always been a vessel of nothingness. There is nothing to spill from inside of me" and he like, turns to stone in the rising sun, instead of dying from his wounds? Did it make any sense? No. Was it was raw as fuck and did I love it? Yes.

Erika... her arc in season 2 is very bittersweet, but it is undeniable that I was relieved when Kasumi erased her memories. It's probably not kosher, but when I was watching it I agreed with the narrative's claim that her only way to be free of her immense suffering and live like a little girl should was to clean the slate, and months later when I think back to it, I'm still okay with it. A little girl watching her parents die and being burdened with knowledge that can destroy the world, and everything that happens to her and her guardians because of wicked men trying to get that knowledge from her... I can't really fault the idea of taking that away from her and letting her finally rest. Go play in a sandbox dearest Erika... run along...

Every episode felt like 5 minutes long!

So that's the final impressions of Fist of the Blue Sky: Regenesis -- I ended up having more to say about it than I thought I would, considering how I was speechless most of the time I was watching it... with a list of Positive Points that long, you might be tricked into thinking it's unexpectedly good; but despite everything I liked about it, I can say with confidence that Fist of the Blue Sky: Regenesis is not good. All of the issues from the first season do carry over into this one -- the contrived story-telling and egregious tonal dissonance, lackluster characterization and poor handling of character drama, and just plain absurdity of most things happening on the screen remain intact. Had it not been for a small hand full of likable characters and some good themes trying to pierce through the hideous hide of this story, it would be thoroughly unremarkable, perhaps not even worth touting as a hilarious spectacle of out of context screenshots.

I can't be too sour though, because then I would be dishonest. It's clear as day that while understanding why it is so maligned, I enjoyed many parts of it far more than expected, and the experience of watching it with my partner was fun and at times even emotional. And as much as I can say with confidence that Fist of the Blue Sky: Regensis isn't a good anime, I can also say with confidence, that Fist of the Blue Sky: Regenesis was not even remotely the Worst Anime Of 2018. I think it's very telling that in the anime community, being completely mediocre with bad aesthetics and bad story adaptation are worse sins than that of, say, The Master of Ragnarok & Blesser of Einherjar and Death March to the Parallel World Rhapsody which are both "escapism" series that aired in 2018 and were rampant with pedophilia and slave fetishization that were popular on Crunchyroll when they were airing. Front Page Popular.

Needless to say, watching lots of airing anime every season gives me a sense of perspective and I use it, and so I am content with admitting that I happily watched Fist of the Blue Sky: Regenesis every Monday that it aired and often had a great time, oftentimes because it was an absolute riot to see, and sometimes because despite everything, it could be... decent!

[Happy very belated New Years everyone! I finally finished writing something, so hopefully this bodes well for my productivity in 2019! Enjoy and thanks for sticking with the blog!]

#fotns #fotbs #fist of the north star #fist of the blue sky #Someone Had To Watch It And That Someone Was Me.

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crystalelemental · 6 years

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I never played Bravery Default, what was it like?

Bad.

Okay, let me start with some stuff that’s fair. The demo presented an interesting concept with the introduction of the Final Fantasy classes, and how each performed. There’s some system I remember existing with saving up turns and expending for extra turns or something, but I basically never used it so whatever. The demo was fun because you got to play around with the classes, and it seemed like there wasn’t really a clear “leader” character, almost akin to FF3 where they’re all just sort of there. And I can get behind that! That’s neat!

The game itself, though...okay, there’s a reason that Awkward Zombie’s comic about JRPGs being mostly tragedies of miscommunication was focused on this game. This plot, more than any other I have ever experienced, could have been an entire non-issue if the villain had said literally anything to the characters at any point. Every single location you go to, the antagonist’s direct subordinates are awful people, but in the stupid way where they’re so transparently evil it’s laughable, and yet at the end the leader of this kingdom is supposed to be sympathetic because he knew what was going on and trying to stop the bad thing, except all his actions were stupid and bad and you could’ve at least checked on how things were going with the cackling madmen you put into power in these kingdoms.

But the real shitty part? After you finish chapter 4, there are four more chapters. Each and every single fucking one of them is you doing the same main quest but faster. All of them are you monotonously going to fight the same bosses and breaking the same crystals, in different parallel worlds. It’s super tedious and stupid, and every loop the characters act like “WOAH, THAT’S SUPER WEIRD, HOW’D THAT HAPPEN?” No one catches on. Oh, except they do catch on. Directly, in the main plot. They all figured out your fairy helper is evil, and what’s actually going on. Oh, except when the fairy reveals herself as the villain and they’re all surprised and blindsided by this thing we just had a cutscene about.

From there it kinda spirals into standard Final Fantasy dipshit territory, with an ambiguously motivated final boss that’s just out to destroy worlds for reasons. He’s really the least of your worries, except for how boring and stupid it is. But the real kick in the ass is that, for each new world you visit, you meet the same characters, over and over, in different iterations. World 8 is a completely trivial nonsense boss gauntlet where the villains are still evil but now it’s slapstick (which is way worse considering two are war criminals and one is a serial rapist, but HAHA THEY’RE SO GOOFY). World 5 is virtually unchanged and I don’t remember much from world 6 either but they were more for presenting a bit more character depth to the antagonists. But world 7? That’s the ideal world. Nothing bad happened. The three actually evil antagonists are locked up for good, while every other antagonist who was only a villain by circumstance is completely fine now, with the absolute best turnaround being that Barbarossa and Mephilia going on high seas adventures to find the ultimate summon she was looking for. It was such a good world, and they even present the idea that the player characters are the tragedy of this world, because that’s the one where they died. Oh, but no, we can’t stay in this one, we have to go back to our real world where everyone is dead. No happiness for anyone ever.

Beyond that, it’s a lot of little annoyances. Like how Anges is insufferable and Tiz is your typical stale end piece of white bread protagonist whose removal would improve the game tenfold, while Ringabel and Edea have to try to carry any emotional investment in the playable characters but keep doing stupid shit so it’s really challenging. It’s just such a poorly thought out and poorly constructed game, which was extra shitty because I generally do like a lot of how it handled gameplay. Not everything was great, but I like the class systems, felt they were decently balanced, and they introduced a mechanic that desperately needs to catch on in all games forever where you can double or outright remove random encounter rates from the game. Trouble with a puzzle? Turn off encounters and focus on solving it. Really need to grind EXP or whatever? Double it. There were good mechanical ideas wasted on a stupid, awful story.

So you know. Par for the course with Square-Enix, am I right?

#suitsongirls #bravely default

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letspretendfictionpressworks · 3 years

Text

bachelor chap 3

Three

Adam tilted his head this way and that, staring at his reflection in the full body mirror in his private room. He had to admit, he felt a bit like a doll with the various layers of foundation and blush the helpful attendants had lathered onto his face. One of them—Bertha, her name was and what a lovely name that was—had informed him that the cosmetics were necessary, as the cameras would bleach his “lovely skin of all its color and make him look like a mongrel zombie.”

“It’d be such a shame,” Bertha had sighed. “Almost as much a shame as it is you have to cover up your lovely skin. Your face is so smooth! Do you use any products?”

Adam had laughed and explained no, he was just born this way. She had expressed surprise and recommended some of her favorite products if he ever wanted to try a facial moisturizer.

“Not that you need it,” she had added with a wink. “But you never know when your skin may need an extra pick-me-up.”

His stomach had growled at one point and the kindly ladies had finished powdering his nose to dash off. Now, they returned, politely knocking on his door and coming in, arms loaded with gifts.

“We didn’t know what you might like,” Bertha admitted.

“We got you a bit of everything,” the other lovely attendant, Gretel, added.

“This is too much,” Adam proclaimed, looking between the two. Bertha held two cup holders, each tray filled to capacity with hot beverages. Gretel held two large boxes, one stacked upon the other.

“We didn’t know what you might like,” Bertha repeated sheepishly, listing off her offerings. One of the drink holders several flavors of coffee—caramel, toffee, and mocha—as well as a cup of unflavored black with several sugar and cream packets to go with it. The other tray held much the same, except various flavors of tea—sugar cookie, peach, and raspberry—as well as a simple green.

“And I have pastries and donuts!” Gretel added, rattling off her various assortments of danishes, croissants, bagels, and donuts.

“This is too much,” Adam repeated weakly, guilty that they had spent a small fortune to wrestle together a late breakfast for him.

Bertha shook her head and tried to shrug in a dismissive gesture. She nearly dropped her various drinks and Adam rushed forth to help her place them on a table.

“It wasn’t a problem,” she told him firmly. “A sweet thing like you could use some doting.”

Adam took the boxes from Gretel and likewise placed them on the table.

“Well,” he said helplessly. “I couldn’t possibly finish all this by myself. Why don’t you two lovely ladies join me?”

They melted and agreed.

“What’s your favorite flavor?” he asked them, gesturing at the drinks.

“Oh, no—” Bertha started.

“We couldn’t possibly—” Gretel tried.

“We got those for you,” they both said at the same time. They glanced at one another, chuckled.

“You pick first,” Bertha insisted. “We’re fine with what you don’t want.”

Adam plucked the black coffee from the lot and added a few packets of the cream and sugar. “I’ve always preferred simple things,” he admitted.

Which was true, he supposed, but he also thought that Bertha and Gretel seemed the type to prefer the sweeter options. He was right. Bertha chose the caramel iced latte and sipped happily as Gretel selected the peach tea and did likewise.

He chattered with them happily as they nibbled at their late breakfast. Gretel, it turned out, had an excellent sense of humor and had Adam chuckling more than once with her stories and impressions of some of her coworkers and their ridiculous escapades. Bertha struck Adam as the protective type, sweet to a fault until someone threatened or mocked someone she loved. Then, she had a righteous streak a mile wide, more than willing to call down her wrathful fury on the person who was foolish enough to hurt her loved ones.

They were such pleasant company, but all too-soon there was another knock at the door and a man with a headset and a clipboard poked his head in to say, “Five-minute warning. Time to head out to the stage.”

Adam sighed. “I don’t suppose we could continue this after the interview?”

Both women beamed at him.

“I wish I had auditioned for this season of the show,” Bertha sighed.

“I know,” Gretel agreed. “Honestly, I don’t like the idea behind the show. I kinda think it’s gross, ya know? All those people stripping off clothes and using their looks and body to get the attention of the bachelor. But something tells me that doesn’t impress you,” she added, glancing at Adam. “You’re one in a billion.”

“One in a lifetime,” Bertha corrected, wrinkling her nose. “Have you met the other bachelor yet?”

Bertha and Gretel grimaced in unison. Adam glanced between them. “Something wrong with him?”

“He’s a bit…” Gretel drifted off, trying to find the right word.

“Arrogant,” Bertha chimed in loudly. Gretel nodded in fervent agreement.

Adam considered that, tried to think of what to ask to understand their insult. But before he could utter a word, Gretel put her pastry down and jumped to her feet.

“Enough of that!” she declared. “We prattle on any longer and you’ll be late, and it’ll be our fault you get in trouble.”

Adam felt a twist of guilt. “I don’t mean to run out on you like this.”

Gretel smiled softly at him. “We’re just doing our jobs.”

“You do them very well,” Adam assured them both. “I couldn’t have asked for better attendants.”

“Get going,” Bertha said, not unkindly.

Adam must’ve left his confidence behind him in the room. As soon as the door shut behind him, his stomach twisted into knots. The coffee, it seemed, was a bad idea. It felt like hot acid splashing at his insides. The pain au chocolat didn’t help matters anyway.

You’re excited for this, he reminded himself yet again as he followed the signs on the walls that pointed him towards the stage.

And he was. He really was. Perhaps it was because he was excited that his nerves so often rattled when he thought about the fact that he was going to have his own season on The Bachelor—he was going to be the cause of a heartache on the part of twenty-nine people. The only silver lining to possibly creating such upset was the idea that he might walk away holding the hand of the person he wanted to marry, the person he wanted to grow old with, the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. It was a silly romantic notion, but Adam had always been the hopeless romantic.

But still—twenty-nine people he had to let down. Twenty-nine people he had to look in the face and tell them “you’re not who I’m looking for.”

Maybe he was going to puke up that coffee and pastry, after all.

“There you are!” a now-harried looking young man with a headset and clipboard said as he turned a corner—the same young man who had given him his five-minute warning a few moments ago. “You were due on stage thirty seconds ago—let’s go, let’s go! They’re waiting for you!”

No time to puke, then. He was nudged non-too-gently onto a stage, the young man with the clipboard expertly remaining in the shadows and off camera as Adam worked hard not to stumble as the cameras made an obvious sudden arc in his direction. He lifted a hand and waved at the crowd of mostly women before the stage, smiling pleasantly. A few ladies tried to shout something to him, but it was impossible to hear over the applause, and most women wound up yelling over one another, their words a muddle of sound and excited syllables.

He took a seat in the empty armchair to the left of a lovely brunette woman. On her other side sat a blond man with honey-gold eyes. Adam recognized him as Hunter Henderson, the other bachelor with his own season of the show that was to run in tandem with Adam’s.

Arrogant, Bertha had said.

And yet when he offered his hand to Hunter, Hunter was quick to accept with a strong shake, a friendly smile tugging at his lips. Adam was not one to call anyone a liar. It was easy to perceive and even misperceive things. He had a feeling that whatever Hunter had done to rile Bertha and Gretel, it had been nothing more than a misunderstanding.

Adam took his seat and the brunette lady—the host of the interview—looked between the two men with a beaming smile. “It’s so good to see you two getting along! You know, there was a lot of speculation that you two may have winded up as unfriendly competitors, given that your shows are going to air at the same time, and you’ll be competing for viewers.”

“That sounds like nonsense to me,” Hunter told her. “Whoever the viewers decide to watch is their business, and I respect their choice. At the end of the day, they’ll tune into the show they think is the most interesting, and there isn’t anything we can do or say to change that fact.”

Adam had to admit, he felt similarly. “And,” he added when Hunter finished, “it’s unprofessional and childish to toss hateful comments at someone just because of something as trivial as a TV show meant for public entertainment.”

The interviewer looked between the two men with a touched smile. “Well, there you have it, folks! I’m sitting live with Adam Antonsson and Hunter Henderson! I’m your host, Alex Bell!”

There was a round of cheers, applause, and whistles. Hunter had the sort of smile a wolf may give a sheep before devouring it. Adam’s was more subdued, polite, the smile of a shy school boy.

“I have a few questions to ask each of you. Our audience at home wants to get to know both of you better—”

Alex was interrupted from someone from the audience shrieking, “Adam, I love you!” and a chorus of “yes!” from other audience members.

The host laughed. “Looks like they’re eager to get to know you,” she said to Adam.

“I’m sure there are just as many who are excited to hear about Hunter,” he assured her with a smile.

“Ohhhh,” Alex cooed, winking at the audience. “This one is a keeper. Cute and polite.”

“Well, I know I want to hear about Hunter,” Adam pressed with another smile. “I think he should answer the first question.”

“As the gentleman insists.” Alex shifted to look at Hunter. “How would you describe yourself in one word?”

Hunter’s golden eyebrows drew together in contemplation. “I don’t suppose I could request a phrase instead of a word.”

Alex laughed. “I think I’ll allow it.”

Hunter’s smile shifted into a smirk. “Too hot to handle.”

There were a few whistles from the crowd. Alex used her pile of index cards to fan herself theatrically. “I’ll say! And you, Adam, same question: how would you describe yourself in one word?”

Adam considered that. He wasn’t very good at summing himself up. There had only ever been one thing people used to describe him…

“May I also use a phrase?” he asked.

The host smiled at him. “Oh, why not? It’s only fair.”

He laughed, a little embarrassed to admit, “I would probably say I’m a happy pill.”

“As in, you take happy pills or you are the happy pill?” Alex asked.

“I suppose both?” he admitted, shrugging sheepishly. “I’m the positive sort of person, and a lot of people have told me I’m like a happy pill.”

Alex’s eyes gleamed. “Seems accurate.” She turned back towards the audience, “Now, we know what The Bachelor is all about. A single man tries to find that lucky someone he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and we learn all about the contestants and what they offer our bachelors. But I’m curious to know what these handsome men have to offer. We all want a working partner who is willing to help out with finances. I’d like to know: what do each of you do for a living, and what would you say the hardest part of your job is?”

Her eyes fell on Adam. “And since we heard from Hunter first with our last question, this time we’ll hear from you first, if you please.”

“I was actually a professional athlete for a while,” Adam admitted. “I received a minor ankle injury and had to take some time off and thought it might be time to figure out my romantic life. A romantic partner takes a lot of time and energy, and I wanted to be able to dedicate myself fully to my relationship before I open the next chapter of my life. I have a business major, though, and I do enjoy using social media as an influencer in my free time.”

Alex clucked sympathetically and Adam continued, “The hardest part of my job, though? Probably the hours. It doesn’t get to me too badly, though, because whenever I’m overworked and tired, I just start laughing. A lot of people think I’m crazy for it, but I just get the giggles. I can’t even look anyone in the eye without laughing.” Just thinking about it, Adam felt himself chuckle. “I guess it’s better than getting grumpy, though!”

“A happy pill, indeed,” Alex commented before turning the question on Hunter.

Hunter cleared his throat, “Well, like Adam, I’m sort of taking a bit of a break. I just finished getting a history degree and thought that before I start a career, I wanted to take some time to find the perfect partner so I can start a new chapter together with them.”

Alex examined her notes. “We spoke before this interview, and you admitted to me that you were quite the heavy partier in college.”

“Oh, definitely,” Hunter said with a sheepish laugh. “There were some nights I drank so much, I didn’t remember taking tests in class the next day. Always managed to get good scores on them, though.” “I’m assuming you’re ready to put those days behind you, if you’re thinking about finding someone to start a family with?” Alex quirked an eyebrow in playful challenge.

Hunter sobered. “Yeah, I am. Those days were fun, but I consider it to be part of my college experience. I’m definitely ready to settle down and find that special somebody.”

Alex moved through the questions as quickly as possible, trying to pose the most commonly asked questions that had been collected from various social medias. The crowd offered a round of hoots and laughter when Alex asked Adam, “If you could do or be anything, what would you do?”

“Become a human sponge!” he enthusiastically squawked. “I’d love to absorb every bit of knowledge possible. Everyone has something to offer to someone else. We never really stop learning!”

Hunter earned several blushes—and even Alex fanned herself dramatically—when she asked him what his greatest feature or quality was, and he had to work to keep his wording appropriate for the PG-13 rating.

Finally, she wrapped up with the question everybody was wondering: “This is another question for both of you. Describe your ideal partner.”

She paused dramatically to allow them time to collect their thoughts before turning to Adam to answer first.

“I’ve always been a hard worker,” Adam told her earnestly, “and I’d want to see that in my partner. I want someone who not only appreciates how much effort I put into things, but also reciprocates. I want someone who’s ready to fight for what they want in life, who isn’t a pushover, but who knows it’s also okay to hit the brakes and take the time to offer someone kindness.”

“Someone who’s driven but kind,” Alex summarized, “but who doesn’t let people push them around. When you find that person, let me know.” She winked theatrically before turning to Hunter.

“I’ve been thinking about that for a while,” Hunter admitted. “I want someone who I can say is my equal in every way. I want to meet someone who admires me for who I am and what I do, but who I can admire in turn. Not necessarily because they’re clever, but because there’s something about them that draws me to them—something unique about them, I guess you could say.”

“Oh,” Alex joked, “so you aren’t only after someone for their looks?”

Hunter’s smile was roguish. “I had hoped that was a given.”

The crowd, which seemed to have warmed up to Hunter’s odd sense of humor, chuckled at him.

“And there you have it, folks!” Alex declared, holding her hands up to gesture at Adam and Hunter, listing off the dates and times their seasons were to begin. “Our two bachelors. Which one has caught your interest?”

One of the cameramen gestured that the live recording had come to an end, and Adam turned towards Alex. “Thank you for having me. It was a pleasure being here with you.”

“Aw,” she joked, “the cameras aren’t rolling anymore. You don’t have to offer me flattery like that.”

Adam’s smile took on a quizzical edge. “I wouldn’t lie about that. It’s always a treat to talk to lovely and intelligent women like you.”

She laughed, even as her cheeks flushed. “I hope you find someone who appreciates you on the show. I really mean that.”

“We both deserve that,” Hunter chimed in with a polite smile at Adam. “I wish you luck. Hopefully, the casting team did us justice in the candidates they picked.” He glanced at Alex. “If they’re anything like you, I’m sure I’ll be blown away.”

“Gentlemen,” she said with a choked noise, “you’re going to make me combust from all these compliments!”

“Alex,” a crewman called, “next guest on in three.”

“I think that’s his way of saying we’re overstaying our welcome without actually yelling at us,” Adam joked to Hunter.

Hunter gave him a weak smile. Alex said, “Well, hopefully I’ll see you again after your season of the show comes to an end, and neither of you will be alone.”

“We’ll always have each other,” Adam told Hunter mock-conspiratorially with a wink.

Hunter laughed like he wasn’t sure what the joke was, and Adam supposed he should have worded his jest better. As they walked off the stage in opposite directions, Adam was hit with a thought that niggled at him, burrowing deeper into his brain until he couldn’t ignore it.

Bertha and Gretel had wandered away from his room, but he managed to track them down and insist they return to their breakfast with him. They were nice enough to offer to clean his face of its layers of foundation and rouge before sitting down with him. As they continued to munch on pastries and sip at lukewarm drinks, he finally couldn’t ignore his idea anymore.

“Do you know where Hunter’s room is?” he asked the two.

They traded looks.

“Well, yes,” Bertha admitted. “We did try to do his makeup for the set earlier.”

Adam caught the weird wording. “Try?”

Gretel’s nose crinkled. “He said we were unqualified or something like that.”

Adam paused mid-chew. “Something like that?”

He considered the gentleman he had met on stage. Hunter had seemed confident, but not rude. Adam didn’t think there was anything wrong with confidence. It was true that over-confidence could lead to disaster. It was better to always look at things with a lens of humility, but he hadn’t gotten any sort of sinister or arrogant vibes from the other contestant.

“Why do you ask, anyway?” Bertha said warily.

“I was hoping to stay in touch with him.”

Both women looked as though they were trying to merge their eyebrows with their hairlines.

“I thought we might make good friends,” he continued.

Both ladies’ eyebrows seemed to disappear into their hair.

“I’m not—”

“I can’t say that’s—”

They paused and looked at one another. It was an uncomfortable, tense look.

“I can tell you how to get to his room,” Bertha finally admitted with a frown. “But I really think you should reconsider this whole ‘friend’ thing.”

Adam’s tense expression turned relieved. “Thank you.”

He wasn’t sure what Hunter had done to so greatly offend the two women, but he decided he’d rather judge Hunter’s character himself. Sometimes, those who made the worst first impression turned out to be the very type of person who proved invaluable, the sort you wanted to keep at your side, always.

#hunter #adam #huntix #markam #bach au #bachelor au #bach #au

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askmerriauthor · 6 years

Note

I remember you railing against BvS pretty hard before. Have you seen Justice League yet?

I actually did get to see it just the other evening, yes. Movie review and writing talk after the jump, because spoilers.

To its credit, JL is a far better movie than BvS. That’s a very low bar to set, I admit, but the point stands. That doesn’t mean it was a good movie though.

When I saw BvS I walked out of the theater thinking “Meh, it was boring but whatever”, only to become more and more angry about it from a writing standpoint as I mulled it over in my head in the following days. JL garnered the same initial response but - despite my dwelling and pondering and scrutinizing - has not advanced any further than that same “meh”. It’s a passable movie with plenty of problems (both in production and in performance) at best and just plain ol’ boring at worst. The most generous I can be with the movie is to say that it had a lot of good ideas with very poor execution.

The basic thrust of the movie is that Batman feels guilty about the shenanigans he was up to in BvS and wants to make good by forming the Justice League to deal with threats now that Supes is dead. The world has been getting progressively shittier since that event as society falls into a sort of existential dread afterward, contributed wholly to their iconic hero biting it. Which is somehow what the baddie of the film - a shmoe named Steppenwolf - needs to enact his evil plan of evil bad death doom nasty bad.

Y’know, completely ignoring the fact that Supes was depicted as a severely divisive public figure in BvS that a bulk of the population actively hated, including the US government at large.

Anyway. There’s a nonsense non-story about Steppenwolf needing to collect the three magical macguffins to destroy the world and the heroes need to join forces to stop him. Honestly though? Steppenwolf, as a villain, was utterly pointless. He had no character, no involvement with the heroes, and spent the bulk of his time on screen only briefly popping in via teleportation and back out again. He goes through the film collecting the magical macguffins, but for all the difference he makes himself, they could have just spared the character animation budget and made the macguffins naturally gravitate toward one another on their own.

Also - really movie? Steppenwolf? Really? Of all the characters associated with Darkseid, we’re starting with freakin’ STEPPENWOLF? I admit someone like Granny Goodness would have been a bit much for this movie, but we couldn’t have at least gotten Kalibak?

ANYWAY. So the Justice League is put together from a ragtag bunch of misfits who overcome staggering odds, learning to be a team in the process. Superman is brought back from the dead (because of course he is), Steppenwolf is defeated, and everything is hunky dory until the next movie. Which apparently is going to involve the Legion of Doom rather than Darkseid if the after-credit stinger is to be believed, which just goes to show DC has absolutely not learned their lesson about trying to retroactively introduce characters in a big franchise.

I mean, seriously, who are we going to get in that movie? Deathstroke apparently. Solomon Grundy? Cheetah? Captain Cold? Gorilla Grodd? The general viewing public doesn’t know who the usual array of Legion of Doom’ers are and aren’t going to give one flying flip about seeing them shoe-horned together. Especially not after the cluster that was Suicide Squad doing the exact same damn thing.

AN-NEE-WAY. Justice League has a lot of trouble with its pacing and tone, with a clear breaking point happening halfway through the film when Superman is brought back to life. In reviewing my thoughts on the movie, I keep coming back to that spot being where things really begin to unravel on the whole. Writing wise, the movie has a hard time keeping itself steady as it constantly waffles between trying to be gritty and dour one moment, then playful and slapstick the next. Apparently the film was handed over from Zack Snyder to Joss Whedon halfway through production which would certainly explain quite a lot, but doesn’t do much to excuse the final product.

We have a big ensemble cast to work with that the movie makes no effort to endear us to, on top of them being very contrary to previous depictions where the big three are concerned. Bats, Supes, and Diana don’t act like they did in their previous movies at all. Bats bounces between being grim to actually cracking jokes and being the butt of a few himself, Supes spends half his time just sort of being there looking bewildered and the other half being incredibly smarmy, and Diana (along with the Amazons as a whole) had any-and-all character granted by her own movie violently siphoned out of her until she was a bland cardboard cutout.

Given that we just had such a great Wonder Woman standalone movie, this version of Diana really grates on my by comparison. She’s dull, isn’t proactive, and spends the film needing to be goaded into being a hero by Batman of all people. Bats is constantly lecturing and advising her on how to be a hero, a leader, how to not lock herself away from the world and others… y’know, stuff that Batman classically has trouble with himself and it REALLY SHOULD BE DIANA TEACHING HIM THAT SHIT SINCE SHE ALREADY DID ALL THAT IN HER OWN DAMN MOVIE AND BEING A RECLUSIVE UNTRUSTWORTHY ASS IS LITERALLY BATMAN’S ENTIRE M.O. IN THIS FRANCHISE.

Flash was fun though. I enjoyed his presence and jokes, which felt a bit more natural since he is such a young character compared to the rest. Cyborg was just sort of there as a plot device - dude literally just grows new powers and plucks meta-information out of nowhere whenever the plot needs him to. Thor - I mean Drax - I mean Aquaman was… well, he was there. Yep. He sure did take up screen real estate without actually having any useful contributions to the story, setting, theme, or conflict resolution.

This may just be my own personal sense of humor at play, but there was a gag I really wish they’d gone for with Flash. After he’s first introduced and the movie is half-assedly explaining his powers, he points out that using his superspeed burns tons of calories, so he’s always famished and is constantly snacking. “I’m like a blackhole for snacks. A snack-hole.” he says, while chowing down on an entire pizza himself as he walks. It’s a fun notion that is never used in the movie beyond that. At most he says “I’m hungry” about 45 minutes later and is told to go have nosh off-screen, but that’s it. Since Flash is constantly zipping around from moment to moment, I really wanted to see him always eating whenever he’s not doing something important. Like, every scene should have him munching on something different. He’ll be chowing down on this big burrito in the background as the camera slightly pans away to someone talking, and then when it pans back he’s got a tub of Ben & Jerry’s under his arm. Or in any scene where he has to stand still for more than 10 seconds, each time the camera cuts back to him, there’s increasingly large and varied stacks of discarded food containers scattered around him.

Or, hell, just have him share his snacks with the others. It would’ve been super cute for him to offer Diana some ice cream and have her be genuinely delighted in return.

Except, y’know, that would require Diana to actually have character in this movie…

The strongest scene in the entire movie to me (and certainly to a bulk of the audience for how vocal a reaction it got in the theater) was right after Supes is resurrected. He’s all addle-brained and violent because he’s still grave-groggy, so he starts fighting the League members. As he’s being dogpiled by the rest, Flash kicks into superspeed and starts running around him. The movie shows the rest of the world freezing in place from Flash’s point of view… until Supes’ eyes start tracking Flash’s movement ever so slowly. That single point made for a fantastic “OH SHIT” moment that nothing else in the film managed to hit quite as well. Unfortunate on the whole, but I will give points for that one, if nothing else.

Supes actually tries to fight Flash with both of them going at superspeed, which is a neat bit as well. It’s clear in watching how they’re moving that Supes is indeed slower, but only just, and it’s more because Flash is so startled that anyone can begin to keep up with him - along with his own inexperience - that Supes takes him out pretty quickly. The same can’t be said for the big bad of the film. Steppenwolf is effectively invincible to everything the entire movie, including the heroes. Attacks literally bounce off him without him even realizing they landed in the first place. The League members do their best to fight him and will, from time to time, manage to put him through a wall or stagger him before he knocks them through several buildings himself. But because everyone is pretty much the same level of invulnerable, the fights become pointless because they’re just knocking each other around through papier-mâché set pieces without effect.

But then Supes shows up and instantly trivializes whatever threat Steppenwolf was supposed to have. It’s played like Awakened Neo verses the Agents in the first Matrix movie, right down to the whole “leaning casually away from a mega-punch” move. Supes casually walks all over this villain without any effort whatsoever, actually leaves the fight entirely for a few minutes to go save a building full of civilians (by literally picking up the entire apartment complex over his head and flying away with it, because all effort at gritty realism is long gone), and then comes back to derisively snark “Is this guy still bothering you?” at the rest of the group. And y’know what? Even with all that, the heroes don’t even kill off the bad guy. He gets swarmed by his own mindless Parademons for absolutely no good reason, because apparently suddenly a bunch of canon fodder minions that even Batman can take out in a toe-to-toe fight are powerful enough to overwhelm Steppenwolf?

The movie’s writing falls prey to two very common problems the comics suffer from, and it is purely a fault of the writers. You’ll often hear people say “Superman is a boring character - he’s got unlimited power so he’s impossible to write good stories for”, which is the hallmark of an unimaginative writer. The other common problem is many writers’ fondness for hoisting Batman up on a pedestal as this amazing genius who can do no wrong. We get both here. Batman is the driving force behind everything that happens and all other characters’ motivations, and yet is so vastly outclassed by their power at the same time that the movie struggles to find anything for him to do. Superman is so beyond powerful that he makes the rest of the movie and its entire cast obsolete - he can do anything in this version through brute force alone, so how is there any danger or conflict? He literally stops the destruction of the world by using brute strength to pull apart the three macguffins with his bare hands.

So… yeah. Justice League has a lot of problems if you look at it any harder than just “open eyes, turn off brain, eat popcorn”. If you can do those steps, it’s a passable bit of brainless fluff and flashy special effects. And it’s still a superior film to BvS by a vast margin.

#justice league #batman v superman #wonder woman

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ettaprince-blog · 7 years

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I did an otp question meme thing for Etta/Diana. Be warned: I’m basing this all off the movie, which I’ve only seen once. I might be iffy on characterization or speech patterns. Also, I rambled.

Who is the big spoon/little spoon? Diana likes both, but Etta definitely prefers being the little spoon. The first time Diana tucked an arm around her in bed, Etta’s eyes got really wide and her breath caught, because while she’s a fierce, determined (and previously single) woman in her mid-40’s, she yearns for cuddles. Especially cuddles from tall, beautiful, badass women.

Favourite non-sexual activity? After a number of truly disastrous dates, Etta finally loosens up about trying to corral Diana in public and just lets her be, and finds she enjoys going out and just exploring the city together. They do a lot of traveling, too, to wherever Diana is needed, and even though Etta makes a lot of frowny and/or exasperated and/or frantic faces over trying to be the more organized and responsible of the two during their adventures (you can’t just show up in another country and start winning people’s wars or solving crisis’s, Diana, there’s plenty else that’s got to be considered like food and lodging and not creating an international incident) she loves getting involved and making a difference.

Who uses all the hot water? Diana, because it occasionally escapes her notice that she’s no longer in paradise, and she does have a very subtle spoiled streak (bloody princess); but Diana goes out of her way to make sure Etta gets to have relaxing baths and other self-indulgent activities, so it evens out in the end.

The most trivial thing they fight over? Diana feels that Etta clings far to closely to social rules that make no sense (why shouldn’t I hold your hand in public? I was told this is to show others we are together) and Etta thinks Diana takes safety for granted. The issues are actually not trivial at all, but each thinks it is.

Who does most of the cleaning? Etta. In fact she occasionally gives Diana a hard time about it, but when Diana offers to help, Etta waves her away. Dusting and ironing are as calming as making tea when you live a life of constant adventure. Yesterday Etta had to jump out of a plane. She’ll sort out the mud Diana tracked into the house, thank you. (Also, she did live alone for years, so doing chores on her own comes more naturally to her than trying to divide tasks with someone who’s never any of it before.)

What has a season pass on their DVR/who controls the Netflix queue? As there’s no such thing in this time era, I’ll trade this out for seeing movies at the cinema. And usually it’s Etta, because she keeps up with such things and Diana doesn’t, though if Diana sees a poster she likes they’ll go to that one instead. Diana is much more spur of the moment, though, so when it comes to unplanned things – a walk in the park, a shared ice cream cone, sight seeing – Diana holds the reigns and Etta’s hurrying after her.

Who calls up the super/landlord when the heat’s not working? Etta. She’s the first to get angry when something doesn’t work right, and she’ll get right on the phone or march right to the owner of an establishment (their apartment, a hotel, a restaurant, etc) and raise hell if she has to. She mostly prefers to shmooze her way through things, since it’s safer and gets better or faster results, but you bet your butt she’ll start it on you if that doesn’t work. If it’s something Etta thinks can’t be helped by talking (like how rude a man was to them or poor working conditions, etc), Diana starts giving dramatic, impassioned speeches, or starts yelling indignantly.

Who steals the blankets? Both of them are guilty of it. Diana pursues everything with enthusiasm, and that includes being asleep and wanting to be comfortable; she’ll pull and accidentally roll Etta right off the bed if Etta doesn’t wake her up in time. Similarly, Etta sleeps like the dead and is still used to sleeping alone, so she’ll start curling up and tucking over and Diana will wake up naked and uncovered while Etta is a warm, comfortable bug next to her. It just gives Diana an excuse to smirk, turn over, and tickle Etta awake.

Who leaves their stuff around? The less we talk about how often Etta trips over Diana’s weapons and Diana sits on Etta’s scattered newspapers, the better.

Who remembers to buy the milk? One time Etta sent Diana out alone for an errand (she really didn’t want to, because of the many, immediately obvious reasons why, but she had her own hands full and Diana was so damned eager to help) and Diana came back six hours later with three new friends, having saved one from a minor factory fire, one from an abusive husband, and one’s cat from a tree. She did not remember being sent out on an errand. The cat was adorable, though.

Who remembers anniversaries? Etta has an obsessive memory of precious dates but tries to be nonchalant about it, because who has time to fuss about over how many months ago a first kiss happened or when it was Diana first suggested they stop sleeping separately, but Diana always has a surprise for her or mentions it when whispering sweet things in her ear. Etta’s too charmed for her own good, but that’s being in love, she supposes.

Who cooks normally? Etta loves to eat but isn’t the happiest about cooking – she gets anxious about making her own portions, because any time she’s showed an interest in anything culinary, someone has some snide comment about how tempting it’ll be to make ‘too much’. Diana loves her lover’s body and is quick to discourage fat shamers and Etta’s own internalized fatphobia, and one of the many ways she does this is by suggesting they cook together. She distracts Etta with being too bloody adorable, getting stuff on Etta’s face or trying to get her to lick her fingers, and it’s all smiles and enjoying flavors and no shame.

How often do they fight? Etta will yell something in the heat of the moment (you can’t keep running off like that!) and Diana will raise her voice back (I am here to protect people!) but their actual arguments are usually had after the fighting or struggle is over and Etta wants to sit down and put her face in her hands and cry just to release the stress but won’t let herself, and Diana is still high on their success or, rarely, their failure. Diana is endlessly compassionate, so when she realizes Etta is only upset because she was frightened for Diana or frustrated at how fast and dangerous their life is, her face softens and she stops being defensive and indignant and instead comforts her, reassuring Etta that everything will be okay.

What do they do when they’re away from each other? Etta worries, Diana pines, but both of them focus on whatever task is keeping them apart because it’s usually an important one.

Nicknames for each other? As the months go by and their relationship progresses, Etta starts sassing Diana under her breath or behind her back, though it’s all out of fondness (bloody princess, absolutely out of your mind, etc) and occasionally when she’s feeling frisky she’ll call her “Di.”

Who is more likely to pay for dinner? Etta handles finances and thus pays for most things, she often poses as a secretary at places they’re investigating for nefarious things so she’ll chucklingly help herself to a bit of cash on the way out if their concerns prove true. (This is in direct contrast to when she sometimes gets worried about stealing if Diana picks someone’s apple in a yard or something.)

What would they get each other for gifts? Etta loves both frivolous gifts and practical ones, so Diana buys her things like shoes and umbrellas and flowers and treats, but most of all Etta likes candy, so of course that’s Diana’s first inclination when buying her something. Diana is always ruining her clothes so Etta tends to use gift giving as an opportunity to fix her wardrobe, but she’ll also sometimes give physical gifts, because Diana loves to come home and find Etta waiting for her in the tub or in bed.

Who kissed who first? Diana started the kiss, drew back to make certain she wasn’t doing something Etta didn’t want to do, but it was Etta who dove back in with almost forceful need. Diana’s the most beautiful woman Etta’s ever seen, and Etta’s seen – and pined after – a lot of women.

Who made the first move? Etta, I think, but only accidentally. She made some self-deprecating remark about being a bit greedy when they were talking about attraction (probably sitting on some balcony, watching couples walk by below), and when Diana asked what she meant, Etta talked about her lesbian friends giving her a hard time for falling head over heels for people regardless of gender. “It’s difficult enough getting by liking just the one, what with our lack of women-only islands out here in “man’s world”, however you’d like to call it. And here I am, liking men just the same, and whoever else I suppose, and that’s a bitter pill to swallow for some. They don’t notice that for all that flexibility, I’m still here alone.” And she laughed and tried to make it into a joke but Diana was looking at her with these big, full eyes, going from confused, to angry and indignant, to soft and tender. She held Etta’s hand and was like, “You are not alone” and Etta tittered and said “Well, the view’s certainly been nice lately” in this dismissive way, but Diana immediately smirked and murmured, “You enjoy watching me.” And it was not a question.

The rest’s history.

Who started the relationship? Diana. She and Etta had been carrying on sexually for a few weeks, mostly a sporadic, in between missions/adventures sort of thing, when Diana asked for something more serious. She’d just saved Etta in a dramatic, action movie type situation, and while Etta was trying to be serious and NOT swoon, thank you, Diana smiled at her and said, “I would like to court you.” And Etta tried to wave her off with the usual nonsense excuses (I’m much to old for you) (I’m mortal, you remember, and you haven’t aged a day since we met) but Diana only smiled and told her, “You are a brave and beautiful woman. To share with me your heart” and she cupped Etta’s cheek, the goddamn cheat, “as you share your body now, would make me very happy.” And then she may have dipped Etta and kissed her in front of people, which resulted in a lot less thrown rocks than Etta was expecting.

Who cusses more? Listen, Etta is a suffragette. She’s got plenty of dirty words to hurl back at shitty detractors.

What would they do if the other was hurt? Defend them. Etta has scooped Diana’s weapon up more than once, sometimes just as a distraction and sometimes to kick some ass, and since she’s sometimes in the thick of it with Diana she often needs to be saved. It’s just part of the job.

#wondercandy #wonder woman femslash #etta candy #diana prince #wonder woman #wonder woman headcanons

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thechurchillreview · 7 years

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Each time I get into discussions about superhero films with others (friends, strangers, family) it always eventually leads to Nolan’s Batman movies. However, my opinion and feelings towards The Dark Knight don’t align with theirs. Resulting in arguments/debates. Mainly due to one scene in The Dark Knight I am going to dissect.

CONTAINS SPOILERS for Batman Begins (2005), The Dark Knight (2008), The Dark Knight Rises (2012), Batman (1989), and Twin Peaks (1990-1991).

But first, I have to explain about “bathos”. Bathos is a term coined by 18th century poet Alexander Pope in his 1727 short essay Peri Bathous, Or the Art of Sinking in Poetry. In it, he writes about the abuse figures of speech and tropes are enduring thanks to bad writers. This creates bathos, the taking of something serious into something trivial or an anticlimax of sorts. Said juxtaposition causes unintentional humor thus “sinking” serious poetry. Unintentional bathos is known as “narm.” Or in The Dark Knight’s case, written by Christopher Nolan and David S. Goyer, a serious realization blatantly defused with a joke.

But, let’s look at another quick example. In the David Lynch TV series Twin Peaks that combined straight-up farce, elements from soap operas, and non-sequitur humor into its very DNA, the funeral ceremony of the murdered Laura Palmer has some bathos. The scene opens with a somber and personal eulogy from the town reverend that gets interrupted by Johnny Horne’s yelled “Amen!”. A donnybrook then commences between two of Laura’s boyfriends. Immediately after this, Laura’s sobbing father dramatically leaps atop her coffin that continuously proceeds to go up and down (due to the mechanized lift apparently going haywire) inside the dug grave: the sound effects accompanying this sequence make it unintentionally funny.

In a similar vein, this often quoted line from The Dark Knight undermines the seriousness of what’s happening. Most people will recognize it I’m certain. And here we go.

Now this line comes after capturing Scarecrow and his thugs. During it, Batman stops gun-wielding inspired to do justice copycat Batmen: a clear nod to the Sons of Batman from Frank Miller’s comic The Dark Knight Returns. Interestingly, Nolan’s and Goyer’s Batman is fine with using an overly explosive Intimidate Mode on his tank-like property damaging causing Batmobile. My issue with these scenes in The Dark Knight is that Batman doesn’t condemn their actions. Nor does he label their actions as wrong or unnecessary. Then what does Batman do? He simply warns them not to perform vigilante acts in the future whilst also telling him he “doesn’t need help”. Then of course, copycat Batman Brian Wilson famously asks the Caped Crusader, “What’s the difference between you and me? What gives you the right?” Batman’s replies to Wilson’s weighty query with a bloody joke.

“I’m not wearing hockey pads.”

Basically, Batman said, “It is ‘kay that potentially you used your guns to stop other criminals or whatever. Just don’t do it again. I mean it.”

That was the misplaced bathos moment that angered and stayed me stronger than anything else the rest of the time I sat viewing The Dark Knight in theatres. It is meant to ignite a smirk or be perceived as droll…And I did, through clenched teeth and fists. If I truly meant to be a force for good, I wouldn’t want these dangerous people tarnishing my name or image at all. He could’ve said something, anything more. Borrow from The Dark Knight Returns by having Batman breaking their gun while proclaiming, “This is the weapon of the enemy. We do not need it. We will not use it.” He does bend one of the guns a copycat Batman has. Having such a speech would acknowledge the flawed approach of the copycats and maybe influence them to possibly drop the gun motif in the future. When we’re inspired by someone, we tend to listen and learn you know?

Alas he doesn’t. What?! This awful juxtaposition becomes even more obvious when one listens to what Bruce speaks in the following Know Your Limits Master Wayne scene to Alfred Pennyworth regarding the copycat gun-toting Batmen,

Bruce: “There were more copycats last night Alfred, with guns.

Alfred: Why not hire them and take the weekend off?

Bruce: That wasn’t exactly what I had in mind…When I said I wanted to inspire people.

Alfred: I know.”

See, at the point his stance concerning the copycats with guns is absolutely confirmed. Ironically in The Dark Knight Rises, Bane would be killed by fired weaponry courtesy of Catwoman utilizing Batman’s motorcycle vehicle. Yet, when it matters most, Batman essentially told the copycats nothing of significance. He didn’t impart a valuable lesson. Zilch! Isn’t he supposed to be a hero? A symbol actually worth embodying? Batman’s silence (besides that joke) doesn’t remotely suggest this.

In a way, this coincides with Batman’s “I won’t kill you, but I don’t have to save you” attitude seen towards Ra’s al Ghul in Batman Begins. His verbal declaration and subsequent refusal ends up killing Ra’s when the train crashes and explodes through a scheme Bats himself orchestrated. That’s manslaughter, by the way. Perhaps a small piece of Batman is cool with bad guys dying? Not that he’d admit this, obviously. Although, earlier in Begins, he sets an entire building ablaze with League of Shadows members insides, presumably being responsible for their deaths. That poser Ra’s Ken Watanabe portrays probably died, for sure. On top of that, bombs are implemented to stop cop cars chasing him as well (Jinkies!).

Not that Tim Burton’s 1989 Batman was better in this regard either (Batman blows up an entire factory with Joker’s men inside, purposely dragged Joker to his plummeting doom).

His lone method for halting Two-Face was tackling him? No Batarang? Are y’all aware that The Dark Knight is the first live-action motion picture without a Batarang used by Batman? Tackling was the best option?

I sincerely doubt it.

More like the most dramatic that fits into the movie’s title, er, kind of.

David S. Goyer and Christopher Nolan were a bit too clever for their own good. “I’m whatever the writers need me to be.” Batman taking the fall for the demise of Harvey Dent makes little sense. Joker, who’s been killing people the entire movie, couldn’t be blamed? That slaying the District Attorney, Gotham’s white knight, was Joker’s master plan all along?

In other words, vilifying Batman in the story to match the name of the film is and has always been complete nonsense. This vilification along with the loss of plot device and not a fully formed character Rachel Dawes makes Batman hang up his cape and cowl for eight damn years, according to Rises. *GROANS* Why not, um, say that Jim Gordon, a celebrated hero cop, protected his in danger family? That would of worked. Maybe the, oh, I don’t know, truth? A disfigured man that had his good side messed up driven to intense insanity by another madman? Joker did indeed have a hand in Harvey’s descent into madness. That is indisputable! Established by the story dirty cops working for Joker took Harvey’s life? The killer got away and Batman is pursuing him/her? All of those are significantly more plausible than telling Gotham that Batman killed Harvey Dent, in my opinion.

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jugsdead-blog · 7 years

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Veronica, on the other hand, has a bad habit of repressing her own negative emotions (she prefers helping literally anyone else with their problems). Usually something trivial sets her off, like Kevin bemoaning having to hide his relationship with Joaquin from his dad, or Archie briefly wondering if his dad would like it if he built a gazebo (Betty tries desperately to talk him out of it until Jughead says plainly, “You would literally die if you tried to build something by yourself, Archie” and that’s that, really). But it has Veronica thinking about her own father; how it’s been over a year since he’s held her in his arms, how when he calls her “Princess” over the phone, his voice is strained and tired. On days like those, she asks Jughead if he wants to watch Paper Moon and he keeps her close as she cries through it.

8. Who sleeps in their underwear (or naked)/ Who sleeps in their pajamas? Jughead usually sleeps in a pair of his dad’s (or Archie’s) old sweatpants and a t-shirt. He’s surprised when he sees Veronica in a simple–not sexy, not chic–if anything, it’s too large to be truly flattering–t-shirt for the first time. He laughs when she tells him how she wears pearls and designer nightgowns to Cheryl’s sleepovers to annoy Penelope Blossom, and she laughs with him.

9. Who makes the coffee (or tea)? Veronica is not shocked when she finds out Jughead has been drinking coffee black for most of his life (”Since I was eight,” he says it like he’s proud and Veronica rolls her eyes so hard she gives nearly herself a headache). Eventually she thinks she is able to convince him that, yes, herbal tea can soothe nerves. He never says so outright, but he always appears appreciative when Veronica has some extra tea with her (Veronica had initially not enjoyed having to semi-permanently trade her favorite Prada handbag for a clunky Marc Jacobs shoulder bag on the off-chance Jughead was feeling anxious that day and she needed two thermoses instead of one, but when she pulls it out and he looks at her like she may well have hung the moon, she finds she doesn’t really care).

10. Who likes sweet/ Who likes sour? Jughead likes every kind of candy, but he leans toward sweet. Veronica, as a rule, doesn’t eat candy, but sometimes Jughead hands her a piece of whatever he’s enjoying that day and she can never find it in herself to say no.

11. Who likes horror movies/ Who likes romance movies? They both really love bad horror movies. Not movies that are meant to be bad, but movies that are actually trying to be good and just end up bad. By the end of most movies, it sounds like they’re just trying to out-scoff each other, Jughead saying things like “Wow, that transition was atrocious” over Veronica’s insistence that, surely, they could have found a better looking male lead considering they didn’t even bother to find a good actor.

When the mood strikes her Veronica will turn on a Nicholas Sparks movie, much to Jughead’s vocal dismay. She smirks when he asks her to pause the movie he supposedly hates while he goes to the bathroom, but doesn’t push the issue.

NOTE: i’m skipping 12 bc it turned into an honest to god FIC which i will finish later :-)

13. Who is considered the scaredy cat? + 14. Who kills the spiders Veronica considers herself pretty fearless…but her resolve is broken the second she sees a creepy-crawly in the ridiculous amount of space she refers to as her “personal area.” Usually, she asks someone else (Jughead) to “get it away” but also insists that they do it without actually killingthe thing, which Jughead finds both impossibly annoying and incredibly endearing.

16. Who is scared of thunderstorms? Neither of them tbh. I think Jughead enjoys them while Veronica only laments what the humidity is going to do to her hair.

18. Who is a cat person/ Who is a dog person? Jughead has only ever had a dog, and thus considers himself a Dog Person™, but he doesn’t hate cats with a fiery passion like Archie does.

19. Who loves to call the other one cute names? Veronica, but only because it annoys the ever loving fuck out of Jughead. The only thing he is ok with is ‘Juggie’ but Veronica has come up with several nauseating variations (Juggie-poo, Juggie-pie, Dollface???, Sugar lips????), much to the delight of one Kevin Keller.

20. Who is dominant/ Who is submissive? In their day-to-day lives, Veronica is dominant. And though Jughead puts on a show of battling her at every turn, he usually ends up doing what she wants (sometimes he realizes it doesn’t bother him as much as it should, but then he tucks the thought away because it makes his stomach flutter and, honestly? fuck that)

21. Who has an obsession (over anything)? Jughead is obsessed with Tarantino, as everyone knows. He makes Veronica watch the movies she has seen with director commentary. Veronica smiles when Jughead finds it in himself to talk over even the great Tarantino in order to make a point about the film.

22. Who goes all out for Valentine’s Day? Veronica takes it to a level that Jughead can’t even imagine. Chocolate, flowers, at some point there is a barbershop quartet? The entire day was honestly a blur, ending with Veronica renting out the local cinema and playing what was essentially a chronological marathon of the best Film Noir to ever grace the silver screen.

(The look of happy surprise on her face when Jughead gives her a simple necklace is not one he’ll forget)

24. Who is the talker/ Who is the listener? Jughead rants a lot, but sometimes Veronica will get a little gossip-y…and though Jughead sees himself as “above” that sort of thing, he listens and responds as if she were telling him a very important life event.

25. Who wears the other ones clothes? Veronica Lodge is nothing if not a master at accessorizing. She’ll take a shirt Jughead has grown too tall to wear comfortably and somehow look better in it than he, or anyone, could even hope to.

One time Jughead wore one of Veronica’s bags to Pop’s instead of his usual sack, but that’s a different story entirely

27. Who takes a long shower/ Who sings in the shower? Veronica does both. Jughead listens.

29. Who is the better cook? Jughead can cook simple things. He’s learned to take care of himself since his dad was away a lot. Veronica, on the other hand, is appalled if you ask her to toast a piece of bread.

31. Who is more affectionate? Veronica is more affectionate in public, but you’d have to be watching to notice the little things she does (rest her hand on his leg, fix his hat, slide her unfinished food over to him at Pop’s). In private, Veronica is surprised at how affectionate Jug can be. He has a weird fixation with her hair (“it’s really soft,” he says plainly) and is constantly plays with it when they’re alone.

32. Who likes to have really long (deep) conversation? Jughead loves him some deep conversation. He especially loves it when Veronica disagrees with what he’s saying, because their debates are spirited and sometimes she makes some points that he finds really hard to argue (he does anyway, but).

33. Who would wear “not guilty” t-shirt/ Who would wear “sin” t-shirt? Kevin got a matching set for them (AND INSISTED ON Veronica being “Not Guilty” and Jughead being “Sin”) as a joke (and taking pictures) while Veronica complained about the quality of the fabric and Jughead just complained.

38. Who likes to star gaze? They both enjoy a quiet night together looking up at the stars. Sometimes Jughead will point out the few constellations that he actually remembers from Astronomy, and Veronica will hum and listen while she traces them with her fingers.

Sometimes, Veronica will talk about what her horoscope sai that morning. Jughead can go on for hours about how astrology is bullshit but he doesn’t argue when Veronica tells him their signs are “like, freakishly compatible.”

39. Who buys cereal for the prize inside? Jughead has a private (very private) collection of cracker jack prizes that he knows Archie would lose or break. He flushes when Veronica comes across them while she’s browsing through his wardrobe (as she is prone to do to anyone who will let her), but she doesn’t laugh. Instead she smiles and asks about each one, about when he started collecting them, about how he managed to keep track of them (and it feels like something private between them).

47. Who has the more complex coffee order? Veronica used to pride herself on her complex orders, but apparently she’s spoiled Jughead with her Rich People Coffee™ because he visibly grimaced every time he has to drink something that isn’t a venti, half-whole milk, one quarter 1%, one quarter non-fat, extra hot, split quad shots (1 ½ shots decaf, 2 ½ shots regular), no foam latte, with whip, 2 packets of splenda, 1 sugar in the raw, a touch of vanilla syrup and 3 short sprinkles of cinnamon.

50. Who is the hopeless romantic Veronica, 100%. She honestly believes that everyone has a soul mate. Jughead is infinitely more jaded and openly disagrees with her, but every time they argue, Veronica says something stupid like, “Soulmates argue, too. So we’ll be fine.” and Jughead’s resolve is gone.

#jeronica #jughead x veronica #riverdalefic #alex writes #otp prompt #otp: a pencil and a prada bag #the tense in this is a MESS #and i'm sorry to the people i kept and continue to keep waiting i am just hella busy rn

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unbounded-cardinality · 5 years

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Border Wall’s Hidden Costs

Eruption of supervolcano under Yellowstone, coupled with increasing temperatures in the American Southwest, could motivate a massive migration of American residents. The Border Wall would trap many from a southern escape route.

The conventional wisdom is that a secure border wall on our southern frontier would impede illicit human traffic from Central American countries into the United States. But the blunder in this thinking is that a wall impedes traffic both ways. Here’s why that matters.

There is a supervolcano under Yellowstone; one side-effect of the government shutdown is that our National Parks are now thinly staffed, and almost certainly, our ability to monitor what is going on with this supervolcano is much diminished. That aside, the probability of a massive volcanic eruption in the American West is non-trivial. The catastrophic impact of such an event is hard to measure, but one thing is for sure, it should be measured right alongside rising temperatures that likely will motivate human migrations independently of any eruption.

In an emergency, a solid border wall would block millions of Americans from a southern escape route -- that is, unless our military blew away portions of the wall to expedite escape.

Whatever the future holds, it’s just too easy to come up with what-if scenarios that make the border wall a disastrous choice for American taxpayers. And that leads to my next point.

Logistical nightmare maintaining the border wall.

Some proponents of the border wall have compared it to Israel’s border wall with Palestine. This is nonsense. Israel has an insignificant geographical footprint -- probably something along the lines of a New Jersey in size -- and building a wall along Israel’s border is in no way comparable to building a wall along the American southern frontier.

When is the last time your fence was blown down by hurricane-force winds? When was the last time floods displaced some structure on your property? Have you noticed the terrible damage that a tornado can leave in its wake? The point is that a long-winding border wall is not just something you build and leave alone. No. The wall will be subject to the elements, and thus will require upkeep, maintenance, oversight. Maybe all of this would be ok if the border were a hospitable place. But frankly, there are huge swaths of the border that comprise nothing but scrubland -- dry, rocky at times, even grassless, often desolate. The border in many cases is absolutely not a destination at all.

What would it take to keep our little wall with Mexico pat and sturdy? I don’t know but most certainly it would be a logistical nightmare, and the costs for American taxpayers would be steep.

And just what are American taxpayers willing to pay for the border wall? I have no idea, but if the recent GoFundMe effort for a border wall is any indication, “Not much” seems to be the prevailing response.

Conclusion

I have long considered a Border Wall of any sort to be a solid example of errant administration -- it is ugly, environmentally foolish, economically dumb, but maybe worse of all, it could end up actually hurting American citizens far more than helping them.

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jdiddy3k-blog · 6 years

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It’s Time For White Men To Address Our Own Problem

One of my biggest movie peeves is the “White Hero”. The character that finds himself (almost exclusively a white guy, of course) in an unfamiliar land, surrounded by an “odd” culture that is not normal to him but he allows to go on out of the kindness and of his heart, typically placed there through no fault of his own. He, of course, wants to be left alone, innocently keeping to himself, until the natives force him into action that requires he fixes whatever issues need his special white people skills to fix.

In Dances With Wolves, Lt. John Dunbar escapes to the decimated Lakota Territory and tries to live in peace on his own. He befriends a wolf, because of course he does, and likes it so much he dances with it. He avoids the Lakota, preferring the company of his dog, because that is how we white folk operate. But of course, those pesky natives draw him into their culture with the assistance of a white woman they had as their ace in the hole to trap their own White Hero. (Always good to have a spare white woman around, they are really good at luring in White Heroes.) Anyhow, blah blah blah, Dunbar saves the day.

In the Last Samurai, Captain Nathan Algren escapes to the soon-to-be decimated pre-Westernized Japan and tries to live in peace on his own, pretty much. He befriends a Samurai, does not dance with him, but learns and creates poetry with him, and blah blah blah, tries to save the centuries old Samurai from Japanese soldiers trained by himself and a cadre of White Heroes. He loses his battles but, in the odd twist of victory, creates the best poem, because of course he did. The other Samurai just needed a White Hero poet to solve their poetry slam problems.

In Avatar, which is basically Dances With Wolves in space, Jake Sully plays the White Hero that eventually saves the giant Smurf alien people. He masters their entire religion and winds up being their Jesus-like savior after a tree resurrection, of course. Blah blah blah, the end.

The examples I mention are pretty commonly mocked for using the White Hero Trope. I used easy targets because this is not a film review, it is an example of how dominate the trope is and how easy it is to find and how lucrative it is for producers. White people love the trope so much that it has made millions of dollars in Hollywood. We want to see the same lame story so often, all you have to do is switch up the lost not-white people/species, plug in the “now” white actor, buy bags with dollar signs on them, and then profit.

But white people are not heroes. We do not save cultures, we destroy them. This is pretty easily proven by studying the fine works of America’s grandpa, the Roman Empire and our father, the British Empire. White people move in, cultures become extinct or trivialized, bags with dollar signs on them are made (by the lost people we are save, most likely), and then profit.

Recently, the discussion of black women saving the American political system has been a hot topic. This has gotten to the point of Oprah being touted as a great presidential candidate to fix Washington’s woes. Whatever, fine, do that. Do whatever needs to be done, but the serious issue of white people still lingers.

Who is most likely to murder a massive amount of people with assault weapons? White men. Who is most likely to beat and rape, well, pretty much any other human being? White men. Who is most likely the of head of a business that will exploit and destroy whatever is in their path in order to strengthen the bottom line? White men. Who is most likely to elect an openly bigoted, orange-hued, babbling imbecile that will play the perfect puppet to make the final drain on our economic system and finally destroy any semblance of fairness (not really fair, but at least it used to pretend to be) in our political system? White men.

I am not saying this out of “white guilt”. I am not saying this to bash white men, for which I am a card carrying member of the fraternity. I am not saying this to make excuses. I am saying this because we, white men, need to grow the fuck up, stop being pasty white snowflakes, and acknowledge the problem and focus our White Heroism on ourselves.

Oprah can do whatever she needs to do on her side of the house, but we need to honestly address our own shortcomings and stop blaming everyone and everything else as the problem that causes the world to be a miserable place. We need to stop trying to take over other movements with #NotAllOfUs bullshit and start fixing ourselves. And fixing ourselves starts with us looking at ourselves and saying, “This has gone too far, this is our problem, we need to fix us and let others be.”

How do we do this? We start by doing what we do best - telling. We tell on ourselves. When a white guy shoots 600 people in Las Vegas, we stop with the mental health excuses and say, “Crazy aside, we really do not need enough weapons and ammunition to shoot 600 fucking people in Las Vegas, maybe we should stop that.”

When a system like the entertainment industry, which has always been known to be a white male dominated cesspool of domination and exploitation, does what it does, we say, “Yeah, it has been crazy that this has been going on for so long. We know that this shit happens all of the time, what, with the rapes and abuse, and whatnot. Maybe we need to believe the victims of this abuse without demeaning them or trying to find inconsistencies in their story, because, in the end, we know it is most likely true what they are claiming. It’s not a ‘witch hunt’, it’s a reckoning, a long time coming. Maybe I should just shut the fuck up, listen, and do what we are told.”

We need to own our sins. We need to be anti-snowflakes or whatever. We need to shut up, listen, and stop meddling. We need to grown the fuck up and give the ball to someone else because we, as a demographic, are the ones that caused whatever problems we constantly bitch about. And it is all of us, white men. We benefit, no matter if we have nothing, or are nothing, because our reflection in another race or gender has had it ten times worse than us.

Are you a poor white guy that does not think he has benefited from being white? Well, your reflection in another race has had a much more difficult go of it because they did not have the same breaks that you have had. The difficulty that a white guy has to go through to be properly punished is awe inspiring to other people. On every oranges-to-oranges level of society, a white man has vast privilege over their non-white counterpart. (Of curse there are examples of this not being always true, but remember, we need to shut the fuck up and stop trying to be lawyers, we know that, on a macro level, this is very true, no matter how much we want to argue it is not.)

So, do I think all white men need to go directly to jail? That everything we have as individuals should be stripped away from us as some sort of punishment? No, that is stupid. That is a white man solution, we are the ones that come up with that evil nonsense. No, what we need to do is stop focusing our efforts towards fixing other races and genders and start being honest and looking towards bettering ourselves.

We need to listen to other people, we need to stop doing what we do that harms and represses others. We need to put our hands up in the air, back away, and allow others to take the wheel. We need to be open and honest and we need to listen and hear without tinkering and “fixing” others. We need to look at our part in what is wrong and hold each other accountable and not continually try to intervene in other people’s business. We need to grow the fuck up, be accountable, and do whatever it is we think everyone but us needs to do to make things better.

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93000kmiles · 7 years

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Absurdity and Humanity in the Narrative of Mansfield��s Miss Brill and Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape

Why does one often bite their nails? Habits? Why does one should go to college and graduate with flying colours? Obligation? Why does one clean up to just get it messed up later? Why should one print their schedule while they can access it from their smartphones and stay paperless? Tradition? Some things that we do in life are just done because it’s been done, some of them just can’t be explained why it was done. In this paper, I would like to analyse the absurdity in the short story titled Miss Brill by Katherine Mansfield and a play titled Krapp’s Last Tape by Samuel Beckett. However, before I point out the absurd characteristics in each works, I would like to elaborate the definition of absurd or absurdity itself.

As explained from the Survey of Contemporary Literature in English in-class discussion on The Absurdity of Humanity, absurdity was first brought up by French philosophers named Albert Camus and Jean-Paul Sartre in the 1940s as a result to their inability to rationally explain of human life in general. The term described what they understood as the “fundamentally meaningless situation of humans in a confusing hostile and indifferent world.”

I see absurdity as something that can hardly be understood by rational minds. I think it doesn’t follow either human’s logic or reasonable thinking. Martin Esslin related the word ‘absurd’ in a musical context which he said was originally meant ‘out of harmony’. He also concluded that its dictionary definition is ‘out of harmony with reason or propriety; incongruous, unreasonable, illogical’.(23). Esslin also mentioned that the Theatre of the Absurd aimed to convey its “sense of the senselessness of the human condition and the inadequacy of the rational approach by the open abandonment of rational devices and discursive thought.” (24) This could mean that the absurdity in a literary text does not necessarily understandable for absurdity itself is there to project “a sense of senselessness”. This “sense of senselessness” could probably eventually turn into a habit or something we usually do. Other than that, Esslin also adds that “The Theatre of the Absurd, however, can be seen as the reflection of what seems to be the attitude most genuinely representative of our own time.” (22-23)

Before I analyse the existence of absurdity in both literary texts, I would like to point out the general differences of how absurdity was felt in the narration. In my opinion, Mansfield’s Miss Brill brought up the absurd context through a kind of “normalcy”. Even though it can also be seen through her Sunday routines, the absurd happenings mostly occurs in Miss Brill’s mind and was mostly mirrored through her viewpoint on her Sunday activity. Meanwhile in Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape, the presence of absurdity was very apparent.

In Miss Brill, absurdity appeared through her not-so-peculiar routine. In the story, Miss Brill goes to the park every Sunday, wearing the same set of attire (which style’s strange and kind of outdated during that time) and sitting on the very same spot.

“Miss Brill put up her hand and touched her fur. Dear little thing! It was nice to feel it again. She had taken it out of its box that afternoon, shaken out the moth-powder, given it a good brush, and rubbed the life back into the dim little eyes. “What has been happening to me?” said the sad little eyes.”

The fact that there was a certain kind of “excitement” in just wearing the very same clothes for the very same day and the very same place could not be explained logically or could probably simply meant to emerge the sense of “senselessness”. Esslin in his book titled “The Theatre of Absurd” also mentioned that

“The hallmark of this attitude is its sense that the certitudes and unshakable basic assumptions of former ages have been swept away, that they have been tested and found wanting, that they have been discredited as cheap and somewhat childish illusions.” (23)

A “childish illusions” might be going in the same way with how Miss Brill thought her attire was good and how she was pleasant when she wears it. The fact that she has been saying solely to herself that she’s proud of the mantle she has been wearing could be, as Esslin said, one of Miss Brill’s “childish illusions”, which she only realized that what she has been wearing all Sundays she sat and enjoyed herself on that bench in the park, was hideous and out of date for she overheard the teenage girl who was beside her said so. Other than her pleasure towards the strange clothing she’s really proud of, the absurdity was also perceived through Miss Brill’s non-mainstream perception on the way she sees the people in the park and the fact that the trivial details matter to her.

Meanwhile, Samuel Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape, as said by SueEllen Campbell on her essay titled “Krapp’s Last Tape and Critical Theory”, can also be seen as “the basic formal ambiguity.” (187) She mentioned that

“it is at once a text to be read and reread and a guide for live performance. While to a theater-goer this duality might not seem important, a reader of this text constantly realizes the contrasts between performance and text and their interdependence.” (Campbell 187)

In my opinion, Krapp’s Last Tape portrays almost all sorts of oddity. From the first Krapp’s action in Krapp’s Last Tape are repetitive. From the beginning of the story it projects the physical appearance of Krapp’s. It vividly describes how he dress and his characteristics

“Rusty black narrow trousers too short for him. Rust black sleevless waistcoat, four capaciou pockets. Heavy silver watch and chain. Grimy white shirt open at neck, no collar. Surprising pair of dirty white boots, size ten at least, very narrow and pointed.

White face. Purple nose. Disordered grey hair. Unshaven.

very near-sighted (but unspectacled). Hard of hearing.

Cracked voice. Distinctive intonation.

Laborious walk.

On the table a tape-recorder with microphone and a number of cardboard boxes containing reels of recorded tapes.

table and immediately adjacent area in strong white light. Rest of stage in darkness.” (Retrieved from https://msu.edu/~sullivan/BeckettKrapp.html)

From the quotation above, it can pretty much be projected that Krapp was first described as a man with a very strange way of clothing. He wore some old trousers that’s too short for him, heavy silver and chain, grimmy white colarless shirt armed with a pair of narrow and pointed dirty boots. His white countenance rounded with his purple nose and his unruly grey hair. I think that the attempt of ‘displaying’ a strange appearance of the main character could be a way to set up the “senselessness” of the play. After the projection of the peculiar clothing, we are still blurred by Krapp’s nonsense repetitive movements. He kept bending over the ledger then turn the pages and raises his head and stare at the front and then smiling happily and then he bent over table and started peering and poking boxes, laid it on the table, peered at spools inside, peered at the ledger, peered at the spool, and peered it again. And repeat everything all over again. In between the repetitive acts, there were quite a few jumble of words.

“Ah! Box . . . thrree . . . spool . . . five. Spool! Spooool! Box . . . thrree . . . three . . . four . . . two . . . nine! good God! . . . seven . . . ah! the little rascal! Box thrree. Spool . . . . . . five . . . . . . five . . . five . . . ah! the little scoundrel! Spool five. Box three, spool five. Spooool! Ah! Mother at rest at last . . . Hm . . . The black ball . . . Black ball? . . . The dark nurse . . . Slight improvement in bowel condition . . . Hm . . . Memorable . . . what? Equinox, memorable equinox. Memorable equinox? . . . Farewell to--(he turns the page)--love.” (Retrieved from https://msu.edu/~sullivan/BeckettKrapp.html)

The long, detailed telltale of repetitive absurd acts above still remain there blurring on what was going on the story. The ramblings, short, exclamation words didn’t help clearing on the whole thing going on in the beginning. Esslin also mentioned that The Theatre of the Absurd “tends toward a radical devaluation of language” such as poetry which was there to emerge from the non-abstract and “objectified images of the stage itself” and the component of language still “plays as an important part in this conception.”(26). He also emphasized tha the stage “transcends, and this conception, the words spoken by the characters. (Esslin 26). From both Krapp’s words and Esslin’s take on language as an element of The Theatre of the Absurd, I presume that even though the “jumble of words” above may seem nonsense and somehow “meaningless”, they could be shown or purposed as a certain emphasis on how or to which direction the core of the plot in the play will develop, regardless of the fact that readers might still be clueless to whatever was going on in the story. On the other hand, SueEllen Campbell mentioned that this jumble of words was there for “aesthetic effect.” She said that the main character Krapp has “manipulated his language for aesthetic effect” for she finds that Krapp “apparently has a habit of playing with words which is indistinguishable from the playing on the tapes.” (Campbell 191)

After a series of vivid depiction of Krapp’s ludicrous appearance yet blurry situation, Beckett enlighten the whole situation through Krapp’s tapes. The first tape started to elaborate things quite clearly. The tape said,

“Thirty-nine today, sound as a bell, apart from my old weakness, and intellectually I have niw every reason to suspect at the . . . (hesitates) . . . crest of the wave--or thereabouts. Celebrated the awful occasion, as in recent years, quietly at the winehouse. Not a soul. Sat before the fire with closed eyes, separation the grain from the husks. jotted down a few notes, on the back on an envelope. Good to be back in my den in my old rags.” (Retrieved from https://msu.edu/~sullivan/BeckettKrapp.html)

The quotation above provides full sentences which generates a quite clear and imaginable imagery to have an idea or two on what was going on. However, despite the fact that the existence of the tape have quite enlighten the play, SueEllen Campbell in her essay titled “Krapp’s Last Tape and Critical Theory” mentioned that in order to fully understand or “make any sense of the play” we are required an “active visual imaginations” for he said that the awareness of the readers “constitutes the text’s meaning.” (187). Therefore, it can be said that the tape in Krapp’s Last Tape plays an important role for it literally provides clear verbal and visual imagery. Campbell also said that the tape can be considered as autobiographical. He said that “the autobiographical nature of the tapes does more than reveal the qualities of the play’s language; it also determines its structure.” (Campbell 191)

From a series of explanation above, it can be concluded that both Mansfield’s Miss Brill and Beckett’s Krapp’s Last Tape provides absurd contexts. However both displays absurdity in their respective way. Mansfield’s short story applies absurdity through “the senselessness” of Miss Brill’s Sunday routines in the park, sitting still at the same spot every week, randomly observing people around her with her precious yet strange fur. Meanwhile the absurd play by Samuel Beckett the absurdist was started off from a minute graphic depiction of Krapp’s strange appearance, which in my opinion sets up the absurd contexts even more. The strange mumblings and a jumble of unfinished sentences after the elaboration on his looks confuses things even more. Although Campbell would say that such jumble of words were considered as an effort of “aesthetic effect.”

References

Beckett, Samuel. Krapp’s Last Tape. Retrieved from https://msu.edu/~sullivan/BeckettKrapp.html in June 1st 2017.

Campbell, SueEllen. “‘Krapp's Last Tape’ and Critical Theory.” Comparative Drama, vol. 12, no. 3, 1978, pp. 187–199. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/41152785. Retrieved in June 8th 2017.

Esslin, Martin. The Theatre of the Absurd. Middlesex: Penguin, 1968. Retrieved from https://ia801603.us.archive.org/10/items/TheTheatreOfTheAbsurd/The_Theatre_of_the_Absurd.pdf in June 1st 2017.

In-class discussion of Survey of Contemporary Literature of English on Absurdity of Humanity.

Mansfield, Katherine. Miss Brill. Retrieved from http://www.katherinemansfieldsociety.org/assets/KM-Stories/MISS-BRILL1920.pdf in June 1st 2017.

#shamelessly posting my assignment #shameless #bad writing number god knows what #yeah

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anautisticdragon-blog · 7 years

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Excitation

I had a revelation today that provided further erudition on the vast differences between types of human brain. You see, states of excitation are a worthy topic to mull over, and even more so the sources of those states. So the question I'm asking, here, then is what kind of person causes notable cerebral excitation in different kinds of brains? Is there something innate to this that serves to compel certain brains towards different sources?

Before we continue, I'd ask you to consider that when it comes to every day brain activity levels, regardless of stimulation, introverted and extraverted brains aren't on an even playing field. You need only to take heed of the case of coffe and how it affects both to see how true this is. Introverts have a fairly optimal level of cerebral activity at all times, whereas extraverts find they have to turn the crank a few times to reach the same place. So they'll use smalltalk, coffee, amongst other stimulants to bring their brain into line.

If this is true, then is it perhaps true that how we react to people in our environment could be different for this reason? For example, an incredibly loud, bombastic individual who's very forceful and prone to excessive emoting (to the point of flailing) might come over as aggressive and unnerving to an introvert. This sudden influx of stimulus would be an unnecessary overload and, thus, an undesirable event. It would provide a non-trivial sensation of discomfort, and they'd seek to remove themselves from this source.

This person would seem unnecessarily obnoxious, unpleasant, and toxic. I think that most people don't necessarily enjoy feeling nauseous (though there might be conditions where this isn't the case), so one will always remove themself from this source of discomfort and, through learning, will begin to pattern match just to recognise them in the future. We do this with anything that makes us feel unwell, it's just our survival instinct at work.

This bombastic person who's so overly forceful with the presentation of their opinions that it feels like htey're brute-forcing their opinions, how might then an extravert react to them? Well, consider that the extravert requires bursts of stimulus in order to 'wake up the brain,' so to speak. This is the purpose served through smalltalk and coffee, yes? So the extravert would be excited by the overwhelming levels of gusto, they'd be bowled off their feet, happy.

What happens here is that the extravert is so pleased to experience stimulation that it triggers a dopamine response, which creates the opposite sort of effect to what happens in introverts. The extravert immediately finds this source of noise to be likeble, and therefore by extensions their opinions must be likeable as well. This is what we think of when we say 'charmed,' that something is happening which might impair our objectivity. Not to say that introverts can't be 'charmed' too, but it takes someone more debonair and honest.

So now we understand the appeal of Alt-Blight videos on YouTube amongst the extraverts who watch them, but what about other kinds of sources?

Instead, let's consider a person who's softly spoken, quiet, and a little flat. They understand the importance of context, symbolism, and nuance in speech so they are, more often than not, a little bit clever. Though they're not 'IN YO FAYCE!!1' about, it's far, far more subtle than that. They present information to be parsed, checked, and considered in a very gentle, impartial sort of way that doesn't compel the viewer to think one way or another.

This is going to be unsettling for extraverts as they'll not only find this person boring, but due to the lack of stimulation provided they'll be unable to as easily follow along as they could with the bombastic, obnoxious person. They'll get distracted and look for other sources of stimulation, they'll 'snap back' and note that things have been said that they weren't paying attention to. Of course, I'd think this would unsettle them, even though it's not the person's intent.

Due to their inability to follow along, the extravert is going to come to the conclusion that there's something sly and untoward happening, here. That it might be that the person is being manipulative and using fallacies to confuse them. It's an incorrect assumptin but one I could see very easily being made, confronted with this kind of scenario. They'll accuse the person of being very intentionally obtuse, vague, and shifty, even though they aren't.

So, for similar reasons, the extravert would learn to avoid this kind of person. They don't want to feel stupid by continually zoning out and then having to find excuses to explain their lapses in attention. So they form a negative bias against this sort of person, often they'll go so far as to try to find a bombastic person who's disagreeing with the quiet person just to add some sort of credibility to their bias. This kind of effect loops back on itself, they encounter a quiet individual and they're bothered by it, so they seek out a bombastic one who'll 'speak their own language' instead.

How might introverts react to this? Well, already being at an optimal level of cerebral activity, they're going to be intrigued by the information presented to them. They'll often be inspired to look it up, to research, and to learn more about whatever topics are brought up. The quiet, flat presentation of the video will be non-threatening to them, so they won't form any kind of negative perspective of the person making the video, they'll just know that this person's someone they can learn from without having to feel unsafe. And thanks to the new info, the acetylcholine-fuelled introverted brain will be happy.

Introverts suffer overloads in much the same way as autistic people do due to their higher levels of brain activity, versus the lower base level of the extravert. I think this is why we see this difference, and why it's so much easier to convince extraverts of nonsense. It's been pointed out that introverts/autistic people are farily immune to marketing (the research is out there, Google will help), the reasons why are obvious at this point I should think? Marketing is often quite bombastic, over the top, and filled with nonsensical fluff.

Without information to please the acetylcholine-powered introvert brain, the marketing falls flat. It's just going to come over as unpleasant, aggressive, domineering, and forceful for no reason.

Whereas, again, to the extravert their brain activity will be spiked by marketing, they'll be pleased about this stimulation, so it'll trigger a dopamine response and extraverts will form positive links with marketing that introverts won't. This is also why extraverts tend to believe hoaxes, ghost stories, conspiracy theories, and so on. It's just how the two brains are different.

It was nice to explore this, really. It was just a bit of revelation. Why are introverts like myself interested in YouTubers like Captain Andy, Shaun & Jen, Mike Rowlands, et alia? Why do extraverts prefer Noel Plum, Sargon, Kraut & Tea, et cetera? I think this is why. It's interesting to me, really, and I definitely want to see a study. I want to do a study!

I want to do a study where introverts and extraverts are exposed to 'SJW' and Alt-Blight videos, then asked to rank them based upon how they felt about them. I'm telling you now that your findings will be that the introverts will prefer the more soft spoken, gentle, flat 'SJW' videos; The extraverts will prefer the obnoxious, bombastic, domineering Alt-Blight videos.

Run the study and see. I just know I'm right about this.

#introverts #extraverts #politics #psychology

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flauntpage · 7 years

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DGB Grab Bag: Letang vs. T.O., Offer Sheet Nonsense, and More Hockey Bloopers

Three stars of comedy

The third star: Kris Letang vs. Terrell Owens. I wonder how this hockey player can do on turf against an NFL great? Yeah, it goes about as well as you might expect.

(It didn't go any better for Lars Eller, either.)

The second star: Darnell Nurse vs. Eric Gryba. Look, neither one of these are especially good roasts. I just like the idea that even NHL players fall back on the whole "your vs. you're" thing when they don't have a good comeback on Twitter.

Now I want to see Nurse move on to the next round to face Owens, just for the moment when his uncle shows up with a folding chair.

The first star: Kris Letang vs. Montreal. Hey, look at Letang grabbing two spots on this week's list. This time, he comes away with a clear win.

Normally we'd subtract points for sucker-punching a fan base that's already down, but… it's Montreal.

Outrage of the week

The issue: Once again, we're headed to an off-season where nobody signs an offer sheet, even though there appear to be obvious cases where one would make sense.

The outrage: This is stupid. If NHL teams were really trying to win, they'd be using this tool to improve instead of worrying about hurt feelings or whatever other excuses they come up with.

Is it justified: Yes, but only for Leon Draisaitl.

Settle down, Oiler fans. I'll explain.

It's true that the lack of offer sheets sure feels like a case of collusion, with everyone agreeing to leave one another's players alone. That doesn't actually do anything to keep salaries low—players get 50 percent of hockey revenues no matter what, remember—but it does make life marginally easier for GMs around the league who have to deal with unsigned players.

On the flip side, signing a player to an offer sheet is almost always futile, because they're basically always matched. In the last 20 off-seasons, there's been one unmatched offer sheet (Dustin Penner in 2007). That's it. Matching offer sheets is so automatic these days that teams make a public promise to do so in advance.

So even if you can get a player to agree to sign one—people seem to forget that part—you're basically going to make an enemy of another GM, temporarily tie up your own cap space, and create the small but non-zero possibility that your own RFAs become a target for retaliation. And all for a player that you won't end up getting, because again, the other team is going to match every time. You lose something, and gain nothing.

So what's the point?

Well, as many have argued, teams do benefit by creating cap headaches for each other. This is supposed to be a competition, after all, and making things tougher on an opponent should be fair game. But that's more of a theoretical gain than anything. Sure, the team you target might end up with a cap crunch that forces them to part with some other player at a discount, but who's going to get that player? Probably not you, and maybe a team you're fighting for a playoff spot.

So in a world where matching is automatic, signing an offer sheet is basically a waste of time. There's no point.

Except for Draisaistl and the Oilers. They're the one case where using an offer sheet to screw over another team really would make sense, and the reason is simple. The Oilers are really good.

They have the best player in the league in Connor McDavid. History tells us that means they're probably going to win a Cup, and probably soon. They already made big strides last year. Their championship window is open right now, and it's going to stay that way for at least a decade.

This was a rare chance for other teams to throw a wrench into the title-winning machine the Oilers are steadily building. Throw a $9 million offer at Draisaitl, force the Oilers to match it, and then let Peter Chiarelli deal with the roughly $3 million salary cap headache you've just given him.

I don't want to sound defeatist here, Western Conference teams, but there's a good chance that the salary cap is pretty much all that's going to keep the Oilers from running over you for years to come. The Draisaitl contract is a rare chance for you to step in and tighten its grip on them. Some Western team with cap space and hopes of winning a Cup themselves someday—like, say, the Flames or the Sharks or the Wild—should be looking for any opportunity to derail the inevitable. (Nashville, too, but David Poile has the other top RFA in Ryan Johansen to worry about, so we'll give him a pass.)

We've seen this before. Do you think anyone wishes they'd made life harder on the Crosby/Malkin Penguins back in 2007 or so? Think anyone would like to go back and launch a preemptive strike at the Kane/Toews Blackhawks in 2009?

It won't happen—again, these GMs are all pals and don't want to make life difficult for one another—but for once, it should. When the Oilers are skating around with the Cup in a year or two, don't say you weren't warned, or that you didn't have a chance to make it harder for them.

Obscure former player of the week

It now seems all but official: NHL players won't be going to the 2018 Olympics. Even though the league made that announcement months ago, many fans were still holding out hope, especially after it emerged that the 2017-18 schedule seemed to have been designed with some wiggle room in mind.

But alas, no such luck. Bill Daly shot down the schedule talk, and with Canada finally announcing a non-NHL coach and GM this week, it appears that everyone is moving on.

That means we'll be back to the old way of filling out a national roster: with a mix of amateurs, minor leaguers, and NHL players who aren't in the NHL that year for whatever reason. ( Cough, Iggy.) So today, let's bestow Obscure Player honors on a guy who didn't have much of an NHL career, but got to represent Canada at the Olympics three times: Wally Schreiber.

Schreiber, a winger, had a big year in the WHL in 1981-82. The Caps took him in the eighth round of that year's draft, a few picks ahead of Obscure Player alumni Todd Okerlund. Schreiber never made it to the Capitals, but had some success (including a 50-goal season) in the IHL. He joined the Canadian national team in 1986, and in 1987 he signed as a free agent with the North Stars.

Schreiber played in his first Olympics in 1988, scoring once in eight games. Canada had home ice that year but failed to medal, instead finishing fourth. Schreiber would make his NHL debut a month later, scoring in his first game for the North Stars and going on to score six goals in 16 games. He'd get part-time duty the next season, but managed just two goals in 25 games. That would turn out to be the last action of his NHL career.

He headed to Germany in 1989, where he'd play professionally for another decade, but he returned to the Canadian national team for the 1992 Olympics, scoring twice to help Canada win silver. And he was back again in 1994, earning silver again as Team Canada lost to Sweden in the infamous Peter Forsberg shootout.

All in all, Schreiber played 24 Olympic games for Team Canada—still among the nation's all-time leaders—scoring four times and earning two medals in the process. At press time, there was no word on whether a 55-year-old Schreiber was prepping for a comeback in 2018.

Trivial annoyance of the week

This week's trivial annoyance has been bugging me for years. It's going to bug you, too, so consider this fair warning: Feel free to skip this section. Seriously, I need to get this off my chest but you'll be happier if you go through life without having this question shoved into your brain. No hard feelings. Just head down and meet the rest of us in the YouTube section.

No? Fine, you had your chance. Here we go.

Why do we have two separate penalties for "holding" and "holding the stick", but slashing and slashing the stick are both just "slashing"?

Look, I warned you.

It's weird, right? There's no good reason I can come up with to have separate categories for one type of foul but not the other. You can't hold. You can't slash. You can't do either to an opponent's stick. So why treat them differently?

For what it's worth, the two types of holding are technically violations of the same rule, 54.2, but that rules specifies that holding the stick should be announced as such, and gives it a separate hand signal (it's actually the only penalty in the rulebook that has a two-part signal.) So this isn't just something that referees started doing on their own. Somebody felt the need to write it down.

Meanwhile, the rulebook just defines slashing as hitting an opponent's body or stick. That's it. One call, one signal, and we're done with it. The way the rule is actually called is kind of dumb, but that's beside the point. It's one call, end of story.

Anyway, this is the sort of thing that keeps me up at night when it's almost August, and now it can do the same for you. Enjoy eventually forgetting all about it, having it nestle into your subconscious for a few months, and then suddenly having it burst out the first time you see a "holding the stick" penalty get called in October and it makes you irrationally angry.

Classic YouTube clip breakdown

Much like pop music, the NHL sounded a lot better in 1990 than it does today. For proof, let's blow the dust off of the old VHS collection.

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This segment comes to us from the immortal Super Dooper Hockey Bloopers, which every kid got for Christmas in 1990 if your parents loved you. We've featured it in this space before, including its John Davidson-hosted musical interlude.

Look, I don't say this lightly: Super Dooper Hockey Bloopers is one of the five best hockey films of all time. I don't even think that's up for debate. I have the rankings as: 1. Slapshot 2. Super Dooper Hockey Bloopers on VHS 3. Youngblood 4. Hockey: The Lighter Side on VHS 5. Any footage of copies of The Love Guru being fed into a bonfire.

This bit is fairly simple. They're going to take a handful of highlights and slap some funny sound effects on them. But it was made with footage from the late 80s, so you can pretty much guess what we're going to get: dirty hits, ridiculous clutch-and-grab, and somebody getting a concussion that we all make fun of. Roll the tape.

We get a quick intro, highlighted by an "Oh yeah, Scott Stevens used to play for the Capitals" moment in which he sends Ken Daneyko airborne with a hip check. I'm going to go ahead and assume that this moment was extremely conflicting for this guy.

Next, we get an extended look at the Bruins doing, well, something. I'm not actually sure what's going on here, but Bob Sweeney is cranking his stick into something or other. Our funny sound effect is wood cracking and… wait, is that a baby crying? What are they implying here? This is disturbing, let's keep moving.

By the way, nine-year-old me will never stop thinking that having a guy named Asselstine is hilarious.

Hey, it's an Allan Bester sighting! Bester was fantastic. He was listed as 5'7" and 155 pounds, and I think that was overselling it. He also played for the terrible Ballard-era Maple Leafs, which led to Don Cherry's immortal line: "Allan Bester sees more rubber than a dead skunk on the Trans-Canada Highway."

Next comes my favorite moment of the entire clip: somebody playing "defense" against Wayne Gretzky. This being the late 80s, defense means just grabbing him and hanging on while he drags you around the ice, in this case accompanied by horsey sounds. We all laughed and then forgot about it, because that's just how teams like the Nordiques played defense in those days.

Seriously, that may not have even been a penalty back then. This is your periodic reminder that anyone who tries to tell you there's too much clutching and grabbing in today's NHL has only been watching hockey for a few years.

We get the requisite car crash effect for a pileup, a shot of Lou Franceschetti hitting himself in the head for some reason, and Derek King playing with his stick. Then comes what looks like it's going to be a standard Cam Neely body check, until—wait for it—yep, solid work by the rink crew in Buffalo as always. Bonus points to the cameraman for immediately panning down for the closeup of Neely's remains.

We get another hit, this one sending Benoit Hogue airborne, and I'm honestly not sure if the sound effect at 0:58 is supposed to be what I think it is. If it's a commentary on the late-80s Sabres playoff record, it might be a little too on the nose.

Huh, guess I was wrong. With only a few seconds left, we made it all the way through the clip without making fun of anyone suffering a head injury and… Nope, there it is. Pete Peeters take a shot right on the button, and he's down for the count. It goes without saying that we get some cuckoo-clock sound effects to accompany the moment, because we were all terrible people back then.

And that does it for our clip. Again, the entire production is a masterpiece, from the truly weird opening sequence to the various bits like the Dubious Distinction Awards. I can't recommend it highly enough.

Have a question, suggestion, old YouTube clip, or anything else you'd like to see included in this column? Email Sean at [email protected] . DGB Grab Bag: Letang vs. T.O., Offer Sheet Nonsense, and More Hockey Bloopers published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

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