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yo…. when jet breaks in the tea shop and accuses zuko and iroh of beinh firebenders….

do you think any of the patrons looked at zukos scarred face - obviously done by a firebender - and immediately think jet was an asshole? like

jet: hes a firebender!!!!

patrons, thinking about the backstory they concocted for zuko and iroh where their home was invaded by firebenders and they barely survived with their lifes so they could come and have a peaceful life selling tea in a city the war doesnt touch:

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Lower Manhattan, Winter 2008, the big building on the southeast corner of Broadway and Houston that had impressive paintings every season on its North exterior wall for years had been turned into a Hollister, replacing the good rotating paintings with just a boring Hollister logo four stories up.

The air is bitter cold, and the wind tunnel on Broadway makes it exponentially worse on any exposed skin. But this flagship Hollister in SoHo just opened, and they know how competitive this strip is for the ever-so influential twenty-something-tourist-who-lives-for-Gossip-Girl demographic, so sure enough, every day they have have two shirtless men standing outside the entrance, modeling the store’s shorts and their own glacier hard abs.

I would pass them three times a day on my daily commute, it was hard not to when the store overlooked the nearest station for the N, Q, R, and W. Sometimes they got to wear a puffy jacket, as long as it was open to show off their abs.

We all knew the economy was fucked, but this very specific visual example was when I knew corporations were evil.

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I remember that, when I was young, my mother preferred birch beer. Any time we went to a grocery store or deli or pharmacy, if we tried to get root beer, she would check to see if they also had birch beer. I liked birch beer, too, in the same way you like RC Cola... it's better than not having soda. Root beer was more my speed. On the rare occasion sarsaparilla was available, that was like a pure droplet of angelic perfection that, were I a religious man, I would kneel at an altar and pray unto. It was honestly just the sweetness. I was young and my tastebuds only understood extremes, and the further up the "sweet" scale that drink goes, the more my raw and pupating senses prefer it. A simple idea I can comprehend, not an ornate palette of colors, shapes, and ideas. My mother, she adored the palette.

Decades later, I'm still ordering root beer. We have a history together. But one night my Jack in the Box comes with something unexpected. The flavor is similar, but clearly a wholly different thing. It's good, but it's not what I was anticipating. I check my order and see that I'd forgotten to specify my drink, so they gave me a Coca-Cola Ravine Rush, the just-launched new flavor exclusive to Jack in the Box. This is tasty. This is •exclusive•. I can only enjoy this specific flavor when I order from Jack in the Box and nowhere else because nobody else has it. This is my new go-to drink at Jack in the Box. Everywhere else, still root beer.

Months later, I order Jack in the Box and, of course, Coca-Cola Ravine Rush. It's •exclusive•. As I pull up to the drive-though, the cashier says "we're out of birch beer, could you pick another flavor?" I didn't order birch beer. I ordered Coca-Cola Ravine Oh My Glob is it birch beer? "Um, root beer, I guess?" Have I been ordering birch beer all this time? Have my tastebuds matured to the point that they recognize the ornate palette lacking in root beer? Are these the same colors, shapes, and ideas that my mother was experiencing when she drank birch beer when I was a kid? Am I having a moment where I am, on a deeper level, appreciating my mother through this soda that was successfully marketed to me by the closest fast food chain to my apartment?

No. The beverage description is "regular Coca-Cola with 'Hints of sweet Cherry and Vanilla Creme.'" It was just the cashier using shorthand. Isn't it? Is that birch beer is?

No. Birch beer comes from birch sap. That's different than Coca-Cola. Isn't it? What is in Coca-Cola?

Does birch beer even exist?

Yes.

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Idiocracy, only Luke Wilson wakes up in a world of people wearing comfy clothes with pockets, hanging out in book nooks, playing with fidget spinners. He is the lone neurotypical in a world of neurodivergent and only he has the wisdom that 2 and 7 are both numbers.

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So Game Changer made a game that purposefully designed for Brennan to lose. Then it made a game that, while not intended with Brennan in mind, ended with him getting second place, the goal of the game and something he despised more than losing.

So now all Game Changer needs is a game to make a game where Brennan shouldn't WANT to win, force him into first place, and have him scream his head off about something along the lines of him despising being put in a game where trying your best leads to punishment. I want that trifecta of Brennan monologues to be complete.

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I don't presume that my depression is the same as anybody else's. Everybody's suffering is unique and beautiful in its own way.

This weekend, a very drunk friend expressed concern about my emotional state and attempted to dig deep into it, which resulted in me lowering my mask a bit and giving him honest answers, which he found upsetting and unacceptable, insisting that I need to accept his sudden interest in helping right away. All this does for me is confirm the same thesis I prove every first session with a new therapist: that my mask is working because people think I'm far less hopeless than I am because of the consistent effort I put into presenting as anything but.

And I know his intentions were good, but honestly addressing the problem only makes it louder and more painful, like a canker sore that grows more irritated as you tongue it when the best thing you can do is just ignore it until it quiets down and you can go about your life again.

So I've spent the rest of the weekend intensely aware of this hopeless bleak despair when, if he hadn't inquired so fervently, I could have just been watching movies and playing video games.

Thanks a lot.

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The Princess Bride's treatment of story structure, narrative, tone, and archetypes dictate its production design. The closest film I can think that does the same is the Wachowskis’ Speed Racer. Had that film the same oral history framing device, would more people accept it as a work of genius?

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The plural of Rayman is Raymans.

As in: "Have you played multiple games in the Rayman franchise?" "Yes, I have played several Raymans."

The plural of Raymond is Raymend.

As in: "Did you watch that Everybody Loves Raymond marathon over the weekend?" "Yes, I watched so many Everybody Loves Raymend."

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X-Men 97 the side bits

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yes, maddy. yes.

X-MEN 97' - 1.03 | Fire Made Flesh Madelyne Pryor

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I asked Adobe Firefly to render a hi-fi stereo system in a y2k aesthetic, with photo, iridescent, and glassmorphism as style settings and these initial results generated quote the dose of serotonin

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I was scrolling too fast and thought this said “autistic pop” but on closer inspection I’m not sure I was wrong.

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Something to consider…

Both times Cyclops has been killed in the X-Men comics, it was immediately followed by a notably lackluster time in the franchise history, then he was resurrected outside of the main book, followed by a singular storyline of him being emotionally distant and more militant in his battle to protect mutantkind, immediately followed by an iconic rebrand of the X-line by a marquee writer.

He died in Alan Davis’s The Twelve, followed by probably the least popular Chris Claremont X-men run ever, came back in The Search For Cyclops mini, was a militant dick partnered with Wolverine in Scott Lobdell’s Eve of Destruction arc, which was followed one month later by Grant Morrison’s New X-Men.

He died in Charles Soule’s Death of X, followed by the dreadful X-Men Gold and Blue runs that included that included anti-semitic imagery, came back in Cable and an Uncanny Annual, was a militant dick partnered with Wolverine in Matthew Rosenberg’s This is Forever arc, which was followed one month later by Jonathan Hickman’s House of X.

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“Hi, Barbie! Hi, Barbie! Hi, Barbie! Hi, Ken! Hi, Ken! Hi, Barbie! Hi, Barbie! Hi, Barbie! Hi, Ken! Hi, Barbie! Hi, Barbie! Hi, Allan! Hi, Barbie! Hi, Barbie!”