#:: Snag; You know that I’m right I’m not dying tonight It’s a holiday ::

[galaxofmuses]

Honestly I'm going back and forth if I want a silly singing voiceclaim for him, but I think Weird Al really works for him cuz the range can turn seriously good to an absolute goofball.

[adenei]

Summer of Jily - Week 7

Yahoo! I'm all caught up for @efkgirldetective's summer of Jily Challenge!

This week's prompts: Ice cream and "I don't want anyone touching you like I do"

*********

Two days passed since their impromptu first date in the coziness of the cabin, and things could not be better. At least, that’s what James thought. The only snafu in the plan was that neither he nor Lily had discussed telling their friends about the relationship. Stolen moments alone were spent enjoying each other’s company while keeping an ear out for anyone who might intrude on their private time together.

They were no closer to coming up with a way of revealing their relationship, and if James was being honest, he quite liked the thrill of keeping his girlfriend, Lily, a secret from the Marauders. Sirius would probably hex him into tomorrow if he found out James was hiding something, but he would deal with that when the time came.

After two days of rain, the weather had finally cleared up, and the boys found themselves roaming up and down the main street of town while the girls were off shopping.

“Honestly, how much shopping can they possibly do?” Peter asked as he plopped down on a bench.

“With Mary and Marlene at the helm? It’s safer not to ask,” Remus thought out loud.

“It’s been two hours, and they’ve still got another half hour before they’re due to meet us for that picture show Mary’s been droning on about,” Sirius pointed out.

In an effort to avoid his friends’ complaints, James looked around the area for something to pass their time. His eyes settled on an ice cream shop across the street.

“Well, we could either sit here or go get some ice cream over there at that shop,” James suggested.

Peter perked up at the mention of ice cream while Remus gave a noncommittal shrug. Sirius was the only one to verbalize his agreement as he stood and led their way to the shop, his mood much brighter than moments ago.

“I could go for some ice cream! I prefer Muggle cotton candy ice cream to Fortescue’s strawberry peanut butter any day.”

The rest of the Marauders followed and approached the queue. They stood behind an older couple and waited. James continued to observe their surroundings, hoping that the girls might appear. He already missed Lily despite only being separated for a couple hours. As he was scanning the area, a group of girls who looked to be around their age joined the queue behind them, which Sirius was quick to point out.

“Look how hot that lot is, mate.”

James nodded, though he didn’t take the time to check them out. He was about to change the subject when one of the girls took notice of them and giggled. The sound caught his attention and distracted his attention. One of the girls was eyeing him; she was blonde with bright blue eyes and a petite frame, certainly attractive, but no longer his type. His type was Lily Evans, plain and simple.

He flashed a polite smile, then averted his gaze as the queue moved up. The boys were called up to the next window to order, and he was happy to put some distance between them and the group behind. Knowing it was easier for them all to order and have one person pay, James placed his order first and then turned to have the others follow suit. He dug out his muggle money to handle the transaction while the rest of the Marauders moved over to the pick-up window to wait for their treats.

“This is so different from Fortescue’s. Why can’t we watch them prepare it?” Peter whined.

“You mean scoop ice cream into cones and dishes and hand it to you? Beats me,” Sirius chided.

“He has a point, Pads. It’s interesting to watch sometimes,” Remus defended Peter’s observation as James chuckled.

“Yeah, beats waiting around having to make small talk with you,” he joked.

“Large cotton candy?” called the attendant from the window.

Sirius leaped up to claim his ice cream, looking like a kid in a candy store upon his return.

“Care to share a lick?” James teased as he leaned in to try and swipe a bite before Sirius had a chance to dig in.

“Not a chance!” Sirius guarded his cone as the attendant called out again.

“Crazy vanilla!”

“Ooh, that’s me!” Peter clapped his hands and went to collect his order.

Remus looked at James and Sirius. “Does he realize that that flavor is just vanilla ice cream but dyed different colors?”

“Shh, don’t ruin it for him, Moony!” Sirius waved him off. As Peter returned to the group, Sirius waved him along. “C’mon Wormtail, let’s go snag that table over there while these two wait for their more complicated orders.”

They took off while James and Remus continued to wait.

“Hot fudge sundae!”

“That’s me!” James jumped forward, approaching the window at the same time as the blonde who was checking him out earlier, and both reached for the same dish.

“Oh! Sorry,” she said, pulling her hand back and tucking a strand of hair behind her ears.

“No, no, go ahead,” James took the dish and handed it to her. “You’ve got good taste,” he added with a polite smile.

“So do you,” she smiled back. “Are you on holiday with your mates?”

Her inquiry takes James by surprise, but he supposes a bit of small talk can’t hurt. “Er, yeah. We’re staying in a cabin on the lake.”

“Oh, us too! On the north or south side?”

“Er, north, I think?”

James wasn’t sure if he was being honest, but it wasn’t like they were going to run into the girl again, so a little white lie couldn’t hurt.

“Same for us! I’m Elaine, by the way.” She held out her hand with the introduction.

“James,” he responded, reaching out to give her hand a quick shake.

“Say, what are you doing tonight? We could get together for a fire or something?”

Unfortunately, it looked like his willing response gave the wrong impression as the girl to the opportunity to ask him out. Her smile had turned seductive and James realized a moment too late that she was flirting. Had he really lost his game so quickly since making a go of things with Lily?

Another hot fudge sundae order was called along with Remus’s chocolate milkshake. James was about to excuse himself to grab his ice cream when Remus appeared out of nowhere.

“I’ve got this, mate.”

“Oh, er, thanks.” James grimaced.

Because Remus didn’t know about Lily, he didn’t know that James needed the ice cream as an excuse to get out of this.

Of all the times Remus decided to urge me on.

“It’ll be a fun time, I promise,” Elaine winked. “Come with me to our table and I can write down our address for you to meet us later. It won’t take long.”

The blonde reached out her free hand to graze James’s forearm and lead him to the table her friends had occupied. He followed since he couldn’t think of a way out of it. At least the solution after this point was easy. He’d thank her, make a false promise to show up, and then never follow through.

He wasn’t expecting Elaine to keep hold of his arm, and the feeling sent prickles of discomfort through the rest of his body. James wasn’t even aware that the girl was still chattering away as he was still thinking of a way to get back to his friends, and hoping Lily was still on the opposite side of town so they wouldn’t get in a row over this.

And that’s when he felt another hand grasp his opposite arm.

The feeling of the second touch was much warmer, searing his bicep as it pulled him away from the blonde with a force he wasn’t used to. As his body spun around he caught a flash of red hair before the second person’s lips were on his, the kiss deep and searing, taking him by surprise.

He was familiar with the feel of Lily’s lips by now, and forgetting that they were in public, James’s body melted into the embrace even though it was far from romantic and comforting. As Lily’s arms snaked around his neck to pull him closer, James realized she was staking her claim and it was hot. He felt the immediate arousal strain against his trousers as the thought of Lily’s jealousy sent a course of desire through his body.

It barely phased him that they were in a very public place, no doubt in front of all their friends. Yet, when the thought finally registered in his lust-filled brain, clarity sobered his body, replacing the desire with a nervous excitement.

So much for keeping things quiet.

When Lily pulled away, her gaze was fierce as she narrowed her eyes and squeezed his arms a bit harder while whispering in his ear, “I don’t want anyone else touching you like I do.”

Bloody hell, would it be improper to disapparate us back to the cabin to have my way with her right now?

Yes, yes it would. Stupid statute of secrecy.

The battle to act on his instincts versus do the right thing warred in his mind.

“And you,” Lily peered over his shoulder to the blonde who was standing behind them, mouth gaping open in surprise, “keep your hands off my boyfriend.”

“Your WHAT?!”

A chorus of shouts and shrieks escaped the mouths of their friends at Lily’s over-zealous warning.

“Looks like it’s not a secret anymore,” Lily shrugged as she pulled James back to their friends.

“Hmm, I was hoping that maybe they didn’t notice the public snog assault you just attacked me with,” James laughed. “You know I wasn’t going to do anything with her, right? She cornered me and Remus of all people helped her along. I couldn’t get away.”

“Yes, yes, I trust you. I just let my temper get the best of me, I suppose,” Lily admitted, though she didn’t seem ashamed in the slightest.

“Don’t worry, I like Aggressive Lily. Maybe I’ll let other girls try and whisk me away more—”

“Don’t you dare,” she warned, though the glint in her eye reassured him that she knew he was kidding.

“I suppose it’s time to face the onslaught of our friends, don’t you think?”

Lily sighed, “You’re sure we can’t just disapparate away instead?”

“I wish, but I’ve got a hot fudge sundae over there with my name on it. If you answer all the questions, though, I might be inclined to share.”

A devilish smirk crossed her lips as she dropped his hand and made a beeline for the table. “Not if I get there first!”

“Hey!”

James followed after her, knowing full well he’d share the ice cream with her regardless as they took turns answering their friends’ questions. Maybe it wasn’t the way James and Lily intended for the group to find out, but it certainly made for a good memory to look back on someday.

[teenwolfsnippets]

Release The Beast

“Mom, get in here, it’s about to start.”

His mom rushes in with a bowl of popcorn and two full glasses of Dr. Pepper.

“Alright. After we listen to the announcement, we should play monopoly,” she says, plopping down onto the couch.

“Again? We played that last year,” he says.

“Don’t whine. You love that game.”

Scott rolls his eyes and turns back to the television. He made the mistake of telling his mom that monopoly was an okay game and they’ve played it during every Purge since. He was six when he told her that. He doesn’t complain, however, when she snuggles closer and grabs his hand. Though Scott has never suffered a bad Purge, he knows his mother and father have. They don’t talk about it and he thinks it might’ve even been before he was born.

“Ready?” she asks, squeezing his hand.

He nods and squeezes back. The screen turns blue, the government sigil faded behind it, and the emergency alarm sounds.

**

Stiles paces back and forth, glancing out the window every few minutes. It was about to start and his father wasn’t home yet. He hasn’t cut it this close since-

The cruiser comes flying down the quiet street and into the driveway. Stiles flings open the front door, fingers twitching when his father doesn’t move fast enough for his liking.

“Come on, come on,” he mutters.

“I’m coming, I’m coming. Stop worrying so much, I had plenty of time,” the man says with a sigh.

Stiles grabs the front of his jacket and pulls him into the house, ignoring his spluttering protests.

“No, you didn’t. If you’d had enough time, you wouldn’t have been breaking every traffic law to get here,” Stiles grumbles.

He firmly shuts the door, snicks the lock on the doorknob, twists the three deadbolts into place, and then slides the chain across.

“Stiles-”

“Just help me lockdown,” he says.

His father sighs, but goes about checking all the windows and doors on the first floor, while Stiles does the same on the second floor. He knows he’s already checked everything, but you can never be too careful. On his way back to the living room, he double checks the front door before scouring the rest of the floor for any faulty areas. Or in case his dad missed something.

“Kid, everything’s locked up tight. Now, will you come sit down? I bought dinner,” he says.

He holds up a box of curly fries enticingly.

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles mutters.

He follows his dad onto the couch and snags the remote. His dad always turns the volume up too high. If it’s too high, they won’t be able to hear if someone’s breaking in.

“Let’s get this over with,” the Sheriff says.

He places his weapon on the side table for easy access before bringing Stiles closer to his side, arm wrapped around him. Stiles tries to relax against him, knowing his father is trying to make him feel safe.

He never feels safe.

“This is not a test.”

No one is safe tonight.

**

“Get in the house, right now.”

Jackson frowns and holds back a heavy eye roll.

“Where the hell have you been?” his father asks.

“You know the rules. Home by 4 o’clock on The Annual Purge. We’re supposed to celebrate as a family.”

“I was with Lydia, calm down. Not like I was downtown or something.”

He tunes out his father as the man starts ranting about The Purge this and The Purge that. Jackson fully supported the holiday, he just didn’t see why he had to stay home and spend the night with his so-called ‘family’. He still couldn’t get over that little fact.

Adopted. Him, Jackson Whittemore, wasn’t actually a Whittemore. It was infuriating. Not to mention confusing. He didn’t know he was anymore.

“Jackson, aren’t you coming to watch with us?” his mother asks as he passes by.

“No,” he snaps.

The woman sighs, but doesn’t pester him further about it. She wasn’t even really his mother.

Jackson flops down onto his bed and turns his radio on, hoping to drown out the obnoxious noises of the dying poor people tonight.

“This is your Emergency Broadcast System announcing the commencement of The Annual Purge, sanctioned by the U.S. Government.”

Scoffing, he turns it back off and puts in his earbuds. He was going to drown out the world even if it killed him.

**

Lydia slams her bedroom door, hoping the noise will signal to her parents that she was fed up with their stupidity. She presses her ear to it and groans when she can still hear them fighting. They were both being ridiculous. It was a holiday. At least Jackson’s parents understood that and wanted to spend some actual time with him.

Sitting down in front of her vanity, she scowls at the dark circles under her eyes. She quickly touches up her make-up and drags a brush through her hair.

In the mirror, she can see the screen of her television has already turned blue, the words scrolling up. She watches it for a moment, a flash of worry zapping through her. Her home is fully protected by state of the art equipment, but she’s heard stories of people using trucks to bring the walls down. It’s not like she was scared though. She had a fully stocked arsenal of chemicals needed to make a decent sized bomb stashed in her closet. Lydia was always prepared.

Downstairs, she can hear the plasma television drowning out her parents' raised voices.

“Weapons of Class 4 and lower have been authorized for use during the Purge. All other weapons are restricted.”

**

“All your windows locked?”

“Always, dad,” Allison mutters, flipping through her magazine.

As usual, her father still strolls into the room and double checks them himself.

“I don’t know why you bother asking.”

“I just like to know you’re safe,” he says.

He then plops himself down on her bed and makes himself comfortable. Allison frowns at him and then also at her mother when she does the same.

“What’s happening?”

“We’re going to watch as a family tonight,” her mother says.

“You’re kidding,” Allison retorts.

At her mother’s harsh glare, the girl sighs, closes her magazine and sits back to endure tonights torture. She hated this stupid holiday.

“I know this holiday doesn’t make sense to you now, but you’ll understand when you’re older,” her mom says.

Allison makes a face at the back of her head and her father huffs beside her, nudging her with an elbow.

“Government officials of ranking 10 have been granted immunity from the Purge and shall not be harmed.”

Allison sighs at the hypocrisy of it all.

**

Blades sharp and sheathed in his belt, Derek takes a moment to look out at the forest. She was out there somewhere, possibly even unarmed. He has no idea what the hell she’d been thinking, taking a trip this close to the Purge. A trip back to this awful town of all places.

With a heavy sigh, he switches on the beat-up radio. He has to fiddle with it to get the right frequency, but eventually the message is playing loud and clear. Derek doesn’t wait to hear the whole thing. The alarm will sound within a few minutes. He needs to be already searching for her by the time it begins. There’s a chance someone else has his sister in their sights and he can’t let her die. Laura is the only thing that keeps him going, keeps him sane.

“Commencing at the siren, any and all crime, including murder, will be legal for 12 continuous hours.”

His sister’s scream drowns out the rest of the message.

**

“Police, fire, and other emergency services will be unavailable until 7am, when the Purge concludes.”

The citizens of Beacon Hills lock their doors and close their curtains as The Annual Purge begins.

“Blessed be our New Founding Fathers and America, a nation reborn.”

Those who still stroll the streets are armed and ready to release the beast.

“May God be with you all.”

Shots are fired and screams can be heard as the siren blares. One woman’s scream in particular can be heard echoing through the trees of the preserve.

The citizens of Beacon Hills pretend not to hear her dying cries.

[gallivantingheart]

Me, a Princess? Shut Up!

masterlist | previous | next

⏮️ chapter 6: mulan ⏭️

who?: jihoon/woozi x (f)reader

word count: 1717

genre/s: fluff, humour, social media!au

warnings: mild coarse language

synopsis: Life’s pretty good for y/n. Easy, even. Until someone claiming to be her grandmother says she is the queen of a small island country - and y/n, a princess.

a/n: i have no reason as to the TWO WEEK wait, but i still hope it’s okay. Also, I know nothing of international politics or table etiquette, don’t @ me

**please ignore the timestamps - they are not accurate**

TAGLIST: @strykiss, @karrotkarrotkarrot, @3sriracha​, @minkwans​, @annakemi​, @chaseyui​, 

don’t hesitate to send an ask or dm to be added!

Soonhee follows you with eagle eyes as you circle the dining room, elaborate table setting laid out along with decorative lemon themed table centrepieces.

“And who sits next to France?”

You rush to answer, not facing her. “Belgium. Like on the map, because France and Germany don’t get along politically.”

“And across from Germany?” She calls, idly adjusting forks and spoons.

“Thai - uh, Spain, sorry. Thailand is next to Spain, before myself. Then Soonyoung and yourself at the head of the table, north.”

You pause to turn and wait for Soonhee to assess your answer. She’s dressed in a silky champagne two piece blazer and skirt, her blouse designed with a high neckline and thin necktie. The click of her heels are a constant, reminding you of a metronome - just to torment you a little more. She nods, finally.

“I didn’t quite ask for all of that, but yes. You are correct. Have you had your final fitting? You must be presentable before the attendees. Reputation and first impressions are vital.”

You bite the bottom of your lip, nodding. “I had it the day before last. Everything is as ready as can be.”

“Hmmm. You are dismissed. I suggest you study on the conversation topics from last week and compose yourself before tomorrow. Please be here at 1pm, sharp. Antoni insists on natural light and I wish to be ready as early as possible.” Soonhee still doesn’t look at you when she speaks.

As much as it makes your blood boil from the aloof and disparaging manner in which she speaks to you - and only you, it seems - you push down any unpleasant urges against her. She’s a queen; a ruler of a country. No doubt not used to her opinion being challenged, much less by someone your age. There are better things to utilise your energy on rather than fighting the brick wall that is your grandmother.

“Yes, grandma.” You’ll still push the envelope and call ther that though, something a little less formal for the times. “See you tomorrow.”

You instantly turn out the room, pulling your phone out of your back pocket. Those dreadful heels click hastily after you.

“And no socialising tonight! We can’t afford any bad press or late nights for anyone.”

Her voice has never been loud but it carries remarkably well. You huff and jam your phone away, a chicken and drinks session with the boys off the cards. Mingyu is out of town on another holiday with family, so it would have been Minghao and Jun, your fellow foodies.

Despite the early bedtime, you can’t seem to sleep, tossing and turning, tangling yourself in your sheets. You hope Antoni is as good at hiding sleepless nights as he is at shaping eyebrows.

The dress is beautiful, of course. (You had the wine gang help you choose over text. Secretly, of course.)

And while you’re still sceptical of Antoni after the debacle he caused concerning your identity, he blathers on and on in apologies as he pins and fiddles with your hair so you don’t mind too much by the end of it all. Soonhee seems to think he’s redeemed himself - the queen’s word is law. Soonyoung looks super chic in his blazer and turtleneck. You pout at him in his fashionable attire no one else in their stuffy suits appears to bat an eye at.

“Soonie you look great.” You say from the bottom step of the main staircase - grand entrance and all.

He can’t help but preen. “Thanks, as do you, Boss.”

“Gross. But I look like a glitzed up puffball. If I had known that it could have been more casual I-”

The queen cuts off your whining as she glides over in a gauzy ivory gown, crown glittering with every light fixture. “Y/N. Very appropriate. Soonyoung, handsome as always. Are you sure you don’t have my genes?”

What? A - A joke? Where? You have to forcibly shut your mouth from the conversation in front of you. Soonyoung has a steady dancers’ posture - or maybe just a royal one. Straight spine, relaxed held back shoulders and a level gaze. You twist your fist in the many layers of your skirt, to both hide and release the frustrating tension radiating through you. The ambassador laughs, fluffing shyly at his bleach blonde fringe.

“Oh, ahaha. Your Majesty, no. No, I do not.” He mumbles.

You dip yourself in a short bow before dodging the pair in order to attempt to mingle. Droning conversation topics flick through your mind, like forcing the pages of a book. Finally, you set your sights on the Swedish ambassador, if only to talk about Eurovision - the one fun subject allowed to be discussed with you.

You find though, that most of the conversations you attend cycle through the same process. The notice of your presence and an introduction between you all - ministers, ambassadors and their companions. Then a resuming of the current conversation, you being too afraid of looking stupid to add any effective input. You have to bite back a sigh of relief when dinner is announced.

Soonyoung is right. You need a spoon for the cool soup served. He flicks the edge of the one you are supposed to use and you kick his ankle in thanks. The conversations from the foyer are carried into the dining space and you lose India to Thailand. Soonyoung is chatting avidly with Scotland across from him, his hands gesturing from their place on the table cloth. Despite this, main course goes swimmingly, a chicken lemon dish on rice with a hint of garlic and herbs. You hesitate on your chopsticks before picking up a knife and fork like most of the other dignitaries. You feel eyes on you and glance over to see Soonhee evaluating you from the head of the table. She still manages to look severe to you, even with the amicable situation - but maybe you’re just imagining things.

It’s when dessert is around the corner that it falls apart. Spain’s representative, a lovely man named Eduardo is discussing the lemon market of Amaide with you, something you are luckily very proficient with. As you speak, you demonstrate the incline of the market, you tip your water glass over. The elder man, easily in his fifties, smiles warmly and lets you fix it up with an apology to him and the waiter on hand to clean it up. Thailand’s eyes squint at you dubiously and you bow back to them. You describe the style of orchard the royal lemon ceremony is held in, gesturing over your shoulder at the Queen Mother, and the critical breeding of the trees that grow all over the country. A stray hand wave collides with the melting ice bucket with a clang, tipping it sideways… all over Eduardo. Now the pleasant man is drenched from head to toe, Portugal catching the spray and flying bottle of champagne. Thailand is awash as well, nowhere near as bad, but he seems to seize up in panic, dabbing and pressing at his shoulders and sleeves. The dining room is in a commotion now as you bite your lips and frown, grabbing your own napkin to dry down the man next to you. Your hair is damp, slowly going fluffy and frizzy from the water. People are standing up, including yourself and Soonhee.

“I-I-I’m so sorry. I’m not usually this clumsy! Are-are you okay, Eduardo?” You protest.

He shoots you a severe look, only tempered by the reputation of every single person in the room. Obviously not. You chew harshly at your lip as the waiters fuss and someone talks quietly about offering a change of clothes.

You look around the dying chaos - even Soonhee is amongst it, joining in on the many dabbing gingerly at the spanish ambassador’s suit with a napkin. Soonyoung catches your eye as you slink backwards towards the ajar french doors, leaning over to the waiter.

“If anyone asks, I’ve gone to the power room, okay? I-I, uh, shouldn't be too long.” You murmur out the corner of your mouth.

He glances at you, nodding. Soonyoung frowns, gesturing with a discreet finger back to his side. You shake your head, signalling a time-out. You hike up your skirts the moment you turn the corner, clacking down the dim hallway as fast as you can to pick up your purse from the cloak room. Making a detour, you go for the east bathroom, in favour of the north one closer to the dining room.

Slamming the door behind you and locking it, you turn the toilet lid down to sit on it for a moment. A time which gets longer and longer the more you worry your lips to oblivion, thinking on your next move. There is no salvaging what you just did. Humiliating yourself, your victims and the Queen Mother - and by extension, your entire country. No. Surely you couldn’t stay. But how to get out of the embassy without causing more of a fuss? You check the time. Only forty minutes left of the dinner anyway. They couldn’t miss you while still cleaning up. Your stomach turns and lurches heavily, so you turn to press your face into the cool tiled wall.

So, leave. But to where?

No one was in the city, having gone away for the break. Certainly not just home. You wanted just a moment away from everything. You peek your head out into the empty hallway. There is an employee exit next to the kitchens - only the cctv would see you then. But where to? Jihoon? Would he still be around? Would he be okay with seeing you?

You set up a ride for the university before making a break for it, gasping as you lose a bracelet, snagged on the curled handle of the door. Punching in the default entry code, you power walk over the concrete and gravel out to the side street as a little green bug of a car pulls up.

The window winds down to show a man in his early 30’s. “Ride for Y/n?”

“That’s me. Thanks.”

You glance back over your shoulder, through the wrought iron gates to the deadly still building. Jumping in, you tug your long, fluffy skirt in after you.

Bonus

[artificialqueens]

Galactica, Chapter 67 (Group Fic) - TheDane/Veronica

A/N: Click here if you’re looking for previous chapters (or here if you’d rather read on AO3). 💫

Previously: Bianca introduced the world to her scandalous new girlfriend (in spite of strong disapproval from her friends, especially Fame), and Violet worried about Sutan’s friends accepting her.

This Chapter: Team Adult gather at Fame and Patrick’s for their annual chosen-family Christmas party.

***

“No, no, not that one!” Fame stepped in front of the catering girl, picking up the wine glass she had just put on the dining room table. Fame held it up, catching the rim of it on the light, a smudge of white haze clearly clinging to the glass.

“Look at this!” Fame handed it to the woman, “Rewash. Now.”

The girl ran off, and Fame sighed, annoyance at the inconvenience of it all crawling under her skin. It was incredible how she always had to go through everyone's work with a fine-tooth comb, the ability to do things right the first time worryingly rare.

The dining room was almost complete, a crisp white table cloth spread out, glittering baubles in silver and glass placed in between plates and cutlery.

They would start the evening in the parlor, the bartender she had hired ready to make drinks for everyone as waiters moved through the crowd with trays of hors d'oeuvres. After that, they’d come here to the dining room for dinner, while dessert would be served in the living room.

Fame had perfected the seating chart, making sure to put Raja and Sutan on separate ends of the table so they wouldn’t speak Indonesian all night, Karl and Raven kept separate as well so they wouldn’t snap at each other, while Bianca had been sat as far away from Detox as possible so he couldn’t question her about anything related to the very unfortunate situation of Courtney.

(Fame had every expectation that it would all crash and burn, and honestly, the sooner it happened the better, Bianca’s newest brain damage doomed to fail from the start.)

She moved a fork with the tip of her finger, making sure it was perfectly straight, another wave of annoyance rolling over her at the thought.

“Having a good time?”

Fame looked over her shoulder, just to see Patrick stand in the doorframe, a smile on his face, his hair still wet from the shower he had taken after Charles’ evening walk. He was wearing the outfit she had put out for him, the blue wool sweater making him look absolutely fantastic, the new chinos she had ordered perfect on his legs.

“Are you giving me attitude too?” Fame fought the impulse to roll her eyes, Patrick always poking fun at her attention to detail, even though he never complained when she made sure their life ran like clockwork.

“Oh never,” Patrick pushed away from the door, the smile still on his face as he walked over. “But you deserve it sometimes.”

“You’re so fortunate I promised for better or worse when we got married.”

“If this is for worse,” Patrick leaned in, placing a sweet kiss on her lips. “I’m sure I can manage.”

***

Karl braced himself from the cold as he pressed down the doorbell, a piece of opera he didn’t recognize playing out because Fame never did anything halfway, ever.

He had come directly from London, only stopping at his hotel for a quick shower and a change of clothes, the catnap he had taken in his first class seat barely enough to tide him over. He’d planned a week in New York to see his friends and get some work stuff done with the American head office of Elite before going home for Christmas with his family.

The door opened, and Karl looked up to see Patrick stand there, a big smile on his face.

“Karl!”

“So good to see you,” Karl smiled, responding to the tight hug Patrick gave him, the man quickly taking his coat and directing him upstairs to the parlor.

It was always exciting to see what theme Fame had gone with, the live string quartet that was seated in a corner promising him one of her more extravagant moods.

In spite of his desire to always play it cool, a smile immediately broke out on his face at the sight of his friends.

God, he had really missed them.

Raja and Detox were standing near an enormous white Christmas tree decorated with silver ribbons and glass baubles, the usual Persian rug exchanged for a pure white one he was fairly certain had been bought just to fit this year's Christmas aesthetic.

“Raja, De!” Karl grinned, his friends greeting him with hugs, Raja pressing a kiss against his cheek, the patchouli scent that always clung to her wonderfully familiar. She was wearing a blue suit with a deep neckline, several golden necklaces hanging from her neck, one of them so long it was tucked between her tits. She was stunning as always, but he loved Raja’s bitchiness most of all. The years had made her more diplomatic,however, the judgemental asshole was still in there--now, it just took a cocktail or three to get her out.

“Love the hair,” Karl raised an eyebrow, trying to convey how sarcastic that compliment was, Detox’s hair a shade of bright, fire-engine red. “Dyed it for the holidays?”

“How’d you know?” Detox smirked. He was reliably the worst-dressed in every room, tonight donning a red velour blazer, white shirt, red bowtie and white pants, hair only slightly more horrible than the entire ensemble. “It’s gone over better than the Halloween green.”

“Much better,” Raja drawled with a grimace, and they all laughed, which drew Fame over.

“Karl!” Fame smiled, opening her arms. “Oh look at you!” She pulled him in for a hug, pressing a kiss against his cheek, her hands as always surprisingly cold.

“Look at you,” Karl took a step back, holding Fame’s hands in his so she wouldn’t run away, Fame constantly fretting and correcting in her evergoing quest to be the perfect hostess. “Fucking stunning.”

Fame giggled, the flattery clearly getting to her, and Karl couldn’t help but love her. She was wearing her signature white, a structured dress ending just above her knees, the neckline classy and sexy, her blonde hair in a curly updo.

“Where’s your drink?” Fame tilted her head, her teeth biting into her red lip.

“I’ll go get one.” Karl released her, making his way across the room, but first stopping when he saw Adore. She was in a black dress and her typical loosely-tied combat boots, hovering over a waiter to snag appetizers from his tray. It was comforting, Karl realized, how much these people never changed.

“It might be time,” Karl slung an arm around her neck, his cufflinks almost catching on her hair, “to start paying a little attention to your diet, hon.”

“It’s the holidays,” Adore grinned, her mouth full, and Karl couldn’t help but laugh.

“You don’t have to listen to me,” Karl released her with a shrug. “But when you’re fat, I will have no sympathy.”

“I just love you fashion people,” Adore rolled her eyes. “Obsessed with superficial nonsense.”

“Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels, my dear,” Karl smiled.

“Well that’s a fucking lie,” Adore grinned, pushing her hair over her shoulder as she took his arm and led him towards the couches. “Have you ever had the cheddar biscuits at Red Lobster? Or any form of fried cheese?”

“Oh god,” Juju groaned, already sitting amongst the plush white pillows, her belly basically a perfect ball on her tiny frame. “I would kill for those cheddar biscuits right now. But I guess I’ll settle for you...Hi, stranger!”

Juju reached her arms up towards Karl and he laughed, bending over to kiss her cheek.

“Nice to see you too, Juju. You’re looking...uh…”

“I’m a fucking whale, you can say it,” Juju sighed, shaking her head.

“Nah, it takes all the fun out of it when you say it first,” Karl told her with a cheeky grin.

“Leave her alone, bitch! She’s glowing and gorgeous!” Raven came up behind them, looking exactly like the supermodel she was, not a hair or an inch of fabric out of place. She handed a full plate of appetizers to Juju, adding, “Here you go, love.”

“Really? You didn’t have to!” Juju smiled brightly, taking the plate. “You’re the best.”

“Come on Juju,” Karl grinned, tapping her leg. “You know she’s only doing that in case she ever gets pregnant, so we all have to kiss her ass and wait on her hand and foot.”

“Hey!” Raven exclaimed, a hand on her hip. “I resent that.”

“Am I wrong?”

“Well, no.” Raven laughed, leaning over to give Karl a hug and a kiss.

They chatted for a bit, catching up on everything that had happened since he was last in New York. If anyone had told him twenty years ago that his closest friend group would be mostly lesbian women and straight couples, he’d have laughed in their face. But now, years later, here he was, hearing about Adore’s newest lesbian punk band, Juju’s pregnancy, and Raven’s search for the perfect wedding invitations.

“Karl!” He turned around to see Fame, arms crossed and brow furrowed, voice scolding as she asked, “You still don’t have a drink?”

“Sorry, sorry!” He laughed, making a sweeping gesture towards Adore, Raven and Juju. “I guess I just got distracted by all this feminine grace and beauty.”

“Eat a dick!” Adore retorted, mouth full once again.

“Happily,” he shot back. “Who’s serving?”

Fame wrinkled her nose, taking Karl by the shoulders and gently guiding him towards the bar, where he was met by a bizarre sight, Patrick and Bianca standing side by side and chatting, both smiling and drinking what looked to be schnapps.

Karl had honestly expected Bianca to be public enemy number one of the friend group right now. Raja had caught him up in an email after he saw the pictures of Bianca with her newest blonde, who was apparently Fame’s assistant, Raja always the one to go to if you needed a detailed update on the alliances and altercations in the friend group.

He wouldn’t lie--he was a bit excited to witness the drama of it all. Unfortunately, in this moment, everything seemed disappointingly copacetic.

He was just about to say hello to Bianca when a blood-curdling scream came from upstairs. Detox took off, running up the stairs two at a time to attend to whichever one of his twins was having a meltdown.

When Kelly was little, Karl understood why they had to drag her around to events. But now, both Detox and Juju had established careers and plenty of money to afford child care at home, so it made no sense to him that they were there with the nanny instead of home with the nanny--though at least they knew enough to keep them blessedly out of sight, probably parked in front of a TV upstairs.

“Jesus christ,” Bianca groaned, and Karl nodded, the screams of children surely their own category of horrible.

“I was thinking the same thing,” he chuckled, and Bianca grinned, pulling him in for a hug.

“We need to get him a drink,” Fame said to the bartender, apparently unable to relax until he was properly lubricated.

“You’re been spending a lot of energy trying to get me drunk,” Karl said. “You don’t have any ulterior motives, do you?”

Bianca guffawed. “You two would truly be a match made in hell, huh?”

“You’d know all about matches made in hell, wouldn’t you?” Karl asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

Bianca narrowed her own eyes at him for a second, then laughed slightly, shaking her head. “Good one, bitch.”

“Karl,” Fame whined, gesturing towards the bartender.

“Alright, alright. Uh, can I just get a triple tequila on the rocks?” He turned to Fame, asking, “Happy? This’ll catch me up quick.”

Fame gave a satisfied nod, but then Karl was distracted by his name being called from across the room.

“Karl!”

Karl turned around to see Sutan at the top of the stairs and he instantly abandoned everyone at the bar to go greet him.

“It’s so good to see you!” Sutan smiled brightly, pulling him into the tightest hug and holding him close, the two men locked in an embrace.

Karl had really truly missed Sutan, emailing or calling not the same as actually being with his friend, even though they were in contact almost every single day. He was so overjoyed that he almost didn’t notice the dark-haired woman standing at Sutan’s side, a pair of crutches under her arms.

“Violet, this is Karl, one of my closest friends who unfortunately abandoned us to go live in London,” Sutan said, punching him affectionately on the arm. “Karl, meet Violet.”

“Hi, nice to meet you,” Violet said, balancing one of her crutches to shake his hand.

If anything positive could be said about Sutan’s dreadful taste in women, it was that they generally had a strong sense of personal style, and this one was no exception. She wore a deep green dress with a high neck and long sleeves, the cut flattering on her slender frame and hiding her cast.

For a moment, he was almost impressed- until he noticed that she was barely paying him any attention, her eyes all over the room behind him like she was looking for something.

“You too, Violet,” Karl said. “I love this dress. Is it Versace?”

“Yes.” Violet glanced at Sutan, who put an arm around her, looking very proud of the incredibly mediocre first impression his girlfriend had just made. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” After a moment of awkward silence, Karl gave a tense smile.

Good lord, this girl was dull as rocks.

It never failed to astound him how Sutan wound up with such basic bitches. He supposed that it had something to do with how laid-back he was: he almost never chose the girls; they chose him.

Although if his idiotic grin could be believed, he was strangely gaga over this one.

Karl knew he should have told him to just call Violet back in September, being ignored by her clearly terrible for Sutan’s critical thinking skills and decision making.

“Karl, you left without your drink,” Fame said, handing over the glass, and suddenly Karl was grateful for her relentless hounding, taking a huge swallow and letting the tequila burn down his throat.

“So…” Karl looked back at Violet. “I hear you two have been shacking up.”

He loved Sutan with his entire heart, but the man wasn’t easy to live with since he always put work first, wasn’t easy to be around - not even with a broken foot. But if Sutan’s emails were to be believed, there hadn’t been any issues at all, which meant Karl had to do his own digging.

“How’s that going?”

“It’s been great,” Sutan laughed, “Right, lovely eyes?”

Karl had to use all of his strength not to retch at that particular nickname, studying Violet’s reaction. Upon closer inspection, her face was not quite as pretty as she looked at first glance, especially the set of her lips--resting bitch face was an understatement, everything about her mean and distant.

“Yes. Great.”

Karl couldn’t pinpoint it, but her tone was terrible, dry and uninterested, like she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Can I-” Violet looked around the room. “I need to sit down-”

“Right. Sorry!” Sutan looked around, spotting empty seats near the bar. “Come on Karl!”

***

Bianca wandered towards the girls with her drink in hand, dropping a kiss to the top of Juju’s head before gesturing to the sofa.

“Mind if I sit?”

“Go ahead!” Juju smiled up at her, one of her hands resting on her belly, “Although at the rate I’m growing, there may not be room for you much longer.”

“Ha!” Bianca sat down, placing her drink on the side table. “So I guess I shouldn’t ask how you’re feeling?”

“I’m feeling like a cow,” Jujubee complained, though she was rubbing her thumb up and down, gently petting her belly. “Thank God this is the last one, and that there is only one this time. Another set of twins would have killed me.”

“I’m very glad to say I can’t relate,” Bianca laughed.

“Oh, come on, Bianca, you’ve been a mother,” Raven said, her voice silky smooth, lashing fluttering as she continued, “I mean you practically raised Adore and just adopted a new baby, right?”

Bianca knew, of course, that this was Raven’s sad attempt at a joke about Courtney’s age, and she rolled her eyes, asking, “Wanna get to the punchline, cunt?”

“There’s no punchline! I just think you’re a great person for being so generous with today’s youth,” Raven said proudly, and Bianca responded with another eye roll.

“Where is your little conquest tonight, anyway?” Juju asked, sitting up straight as Detox came back down the stairs, thankfully without a toddler on his arm.

“Working.”

“Oh...what a shame,” Raven clucked. “I was really looking forward to having her catch me up on Sesame Street.”

“Princess please, she’s obviously watching a big girl show like Dora the Explorer,” Raja cut in, settling down beside Raven on the loveseat.

“You know what, you’re both assholes.”

“Maybe we just think you can do better, Bibi,”  Raja shrugged, putting an arm around Raven.

“Exactly,” Fame piled on, perching delicately in a chair. “I mean for god’s sake, Bianca, I’ve seen her wear neon. You can’t be with someone like that.”

“Yeah, well, neons are back,” Bianca grumbled.

“Neons are great,” Detox grinned, settling beside his wife. “Very in amongst high schoolers.”

Bianca attempted a smile, but it came out more like a sneer. She’d been expecting this, of course, but it was still annoying. She looked around, craning her neck to try and spot her sister.

Where was Adore? Surely she’d be just as annoyed at everyone talking shit about her best friend, but she was probably sneaking a cigarette on the back terrace or hiding upstairs with the kids.

“I think she’s great,” Juju said, and Bianca was grateful for at least one person on her side, ignoring the eye rolls from the peanut gallery as Juju continued, “She’s sweet, smart, spunky, I totally get why you like her.”

“Thank you! See, this is why you’re my favorit-”

“But she’s too young for you,” Juju finished, and Bianca scoffed. She should have known there’d be a ‘but’ coming.

“I’ve always hated you,” she said flatly, taking a swig of her wine as the others laughed. “But come on. She’s in her 20s, what’s the big deal?”

“She’s on the wrong end of her 20s,” Juju said with a light grimace, Detox nodding at her side.

“No, she isn’t. She went to school with Adore. So she’s what, mid 20s? That’s not even-”

“She’s 21,” Adore said, choosing that moment to return, flopping down onto the floor next to the sofa with a full plate of snacks, casually adding. “She graduated early.”

“When are you flying to New Orleans again?” Bianca asked, and Adore laughed.

“Listen, don’t be mad at me. I totally ship it; you know that,” Adore said, handing Bianca a napkin with a mini quiche as an apology.

Bianca took it, chucking her sister on the cheek before barreling on.

“By the way, you’re all a bunch of hypocrites, because nobody gave Tan shit like this when he started dating Violet!" Bianca gestured towards the bar where Sutan and Violet were chatting with Karl and Patrick.

“Wait, we didn't give him shit?” said Juju. “Oh man, I gotta think of some jokes.”

“Bianca, listen,” Fame said. “The real problem is that she’s barely competent-”

“Rude,” Adore muttered, and Bianca rewarded her loyalty with a shoulder squeeze.

“I’m just saying, she already has enough trouble focusing on her work. I don’t need you breaking her heart,” Fame said pointedly.

“Look, she really has improved since she first started,” Raja said, continuing with an arrogant wave of her hand. “I see her growth, as minimal as it is to me. I just don’t think this is the best idea you’ve had regarding relationships.”

“Duly noted,” Bianca snapped, gripping her glass tightly, more than ready to change the subject.

When they finally moved on, she did her best to follow the conversation about everyone’s vacation plans, but found herself still feeling tense and irritated. She excused herself from the group to go get another drink, then instead headed upstairs to have a moment of peace and quiet.

***

Courtney pulled her coat tighter around herself, grateful that at least she now had protection from the freezing cold wind and rain whipping around her.  It had been a long couple of days--weather miserably gray, full of stressful end-of-year fire drills. She’d finally finished putting together the long list of Miss Fame’s business contacts so that she could approve gifts and holiday cards, and was anxious to get home.

Her stomach clenched when her phone began to buzz in her handbag, praying that it wouldn’t be some urgent task that required her to turn around and go back to the office. Surely Miss Fame had her hands full tonight with her party.

When she saw that it was Bianca calling, a big smile broke out on her face. She stepped under an awning to answer.

“B! Hi!” Courtney exclaimed, “I figured you’d be busy with your friends all night.”

“I decided to take a break from the festivities,” Bianca said flatly, and Courtney laughed.

“Having fun, huh?” She tilted her head, hand twirling a lock of hair.

“Oh yeah. What about you? Are you still at work?”

“No, I’m walking to the train,” Courtney said.

“How would you feel about hopping into a cab and coming to my place instead?” Bianca asked.

Courtney looked at the time on her phone, confused. There was no way they already ate dinner, it was barely 8.

“Aren’t you gonna be there for awhile?”

“I think I’m gonna skip out early,” Bianca said with a sigh. “I’m just not feeling it tonight. So, whaddaya say? Thai?”

“Are you sure?” Courtney asked, holding her breath. Of course, dinner and an evening with Bianca was about a thousand times better than the night of cup-o-noodles and Netflix on her phone that she had planned, but she also knew how important Bianca’s friends were to her. “I don’t want to take you away from them if-”

“I’m sure. Please come. I really want to see you.”

Warmth filled Courtney’s chest as she took a deep breath, her smile now so big that it threatened to crack her face in two.

“I’m on my way.”

“Great. See you soon, angel.”

***

“Where do you think you’re going?” Fame demanded, a hand on her hip. She’d noticed Bianca slip from the room earlier and had followed her, her friend now coming downstairs, coat on and cell phone in hand.

Bianca looked down at Fame, a slightly guilty expression on her face and Fame instantly felt her stomach clench.

“I’m...I’m sorry, blondie, I’m just not feeling up for the whole thing tonight.” She let out a sigh, adding, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that already,” Fame informed her, brow furrowed. She had no idea why Bianca was being like this. Of all people, Fame would think that she’d be the first one to be able to take a few jokes about her ill-fated relationship.

She’d certainly dished it enough to all of them over the years.

“Well, I am,” Bianca said, but made no move to remove her coat or put it back as she came down the last few steps, still clearly planning to leave.

“Wait Bianca, what about dinner?” Fame exclaimed, finding it easier to focus on food than her feeling of being abandoned by someone she considered her closest friend on such an important night, her stomach in knots. “We haven’t even had the first course!”

“Would you rather I left in the middle of the meal?” Bianca asked.

“No, I would rather you stayed and had a good time and stopped being so...so…” Fame was looking for the words, anger and fear and worry swirling in her guts.

“Please,” Bianca pressed a kiss to Fame’s cheek. “I’ll owe you one, okay?”

“No. No. This is not okay!” Fame burst out, refusing to accept how this conversation was going, how Bianca was being so incredibly selfish, the fact that she already owed her several ‘ones’ clearly forgotten by her friend. “It’s not okay. I really don’t understand this, we’re just looking out for you.”

“I know. But I’d rather skip ahead to the part where you guys are happy for me.” Bianca sighed, rolling her eyes, and it hit Fame like a punch to the stomach. “Which I assume you will be, eventually.”

Fame groaned. It seemed like Bianca was determined to take this little fling way too seriously, daring to prioritize someone completely new over all of them.

Fame only hoped that when it all crashed and burned, she’d have a functioning office. She shook her head, resigned to the fact that Bianca really was leaving early, skipping out on what was usually her favorite night of the year.

“Merry Christmas, blondie.”

“Merry Christmas,” Fame grumbled back, barely patting her on the back when Bianca hugged her goodbye.

[justwritingscibbles]

You Can Count On Me

For Friday 13th I wanted to write something different than the usual boys. So I hope you guys don’t mind me throwing these guys around. And I hope you all like a little Vampire story-telling.

It’s not scary but I wanted to write something different for a change.

The instant you stepped off the train and into the darkening streets, you knew it had been a bad idea to come home at this time. Even Dark, upon getting your text messages scolded you fiercely for the decision.  “You are aware of what day it is, yes?” His growl of a voice vibrated through the phone’s speaker. You sheepishly nodded, even though you knew Dark wouldn’t see it.  “Yes, yes, Friday the 13th. I’m aware. I’ll speed walk home, it won’t take long.”  “The Manor is at least six blocks away from the train station, (y/n). And you need to walk through the side streets to get here. No, stay there and I’ll come and get you.” Dark’s voice held no room for an argument. But you were already two blocks away from the station. And upon hearing his, Dark grunted. A noise that sounded between a heavy sigh and a feral growl. “Fine. If you are so intent on getting yourself killed then I have no voice in your decision.”  You rolled your eyes at Dark’s dramatics. He always complained about Wilford’s exaggerations and then he goes and says things like that. The two could rival one another on theatrics. But you knew he was only getting irritated, and dare you say concerned, about you walking home at night. While you’ve been away, there had been string of murders in the area. And the very thought had you walking a little faster when you remembered Google’s explanation on the gory details. Something you had asked him for over the phone while on your holiday. You didn’t learn quickly enough to be careful what you ask of Google. The Android didn’t know how to filter details.  “I’ll be ok. My battery is dying so I need to go. But I’ll call you when I’m close.” You said and Dark made another exasperated sigh.  “You better. And if you take too long, we’re all going out to look for you. And you won’t like it if I find you first, (y/n).”  “I know. Trust me, I won’t be stopping to pet any stray animals. I’ll see you soon.” You hung up after that remark. Pocketing your phone but keeping a tight grip on it.

Every shadow seemed to mock you as you walked. The lights were a lot dimmer than you remember. But then again, it was cloudy night. The full moon was peeking through the rain clouds to cast it’s silver glow over the streets. It was eerie. But you were glad for the luminescence. You turned a corner and halted your steps for a moment. A man stood in the centre of the street. He was thin, facing away from you. But the shadows from the very dim street lights cast a shadow over him. Making him appear to be a shadow himself. You didn’t know whether you should turn back around or keep walking. But your decision was made when you blinked and the figure disappeared. You stayed there for a moment, looking around for the man, but continued walking when you found no-one. Your skin crawled with a shiver and you couldn’t help but survey the area around you. There was a sensation on your back, like a pressure. You knew this feeling from living with the Ipliers for so long.  You were being watched.  Your footsteps sped up. Gripping your phone tightly you deeply regretted not accepting Dark’s offer to pick you up. A sound carried on the wind. A giggle. Or a high pitched cackle. You weren’t sure, but it unnerved you and soon enough you sped up to a jog. You were about to turn a corner when something snagged your elbow and jerked you into the shadows of a building. A figure loomed over you. Reeking of a metallic scent and their grip soaked your jacket with some kind of warm liquid. Through the gloom, your gaze was transfixed by the stranger’s. They were warm and pools of sparkling emeralds. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from them. They were beautiful. Even as a clawed hand skimmed under the material of your shirt or as the man’s tongue dashed out to taste your skin, you were stuck. Staring into those green gems.  “Yer not gonna scream for me.” The man’s Irish accent was thick, but it was snatched up by the rumble that radiated off his chest. “And yer gonna stay still while I treat myself.”  You found your head bobbing on it’s own. Even as your eyes widen when the man leaned down, you didn’t fight his lips brushing over your neck. Your mind willed for him to stop, but your body molded into his as he drew you closer. 

“Release them. Now.” Another voice boomed and suddenly the green-eyed man was thrown away from you. The haze lifted and you stumbled back. Straight into a pair of arms that cradled you against a firm chest. You shook your head to get rid of the fog in your mind, looking up as a monster rushed towards you. In a blur of movement, you were swept into your rescuers arms and soaring into the air. You were set down on the roof of the building as the man landed on it. He barely made a noise as he did and you turned to him. Backing away when the moon’s glow lit his face.  “D-Dark?” You asked. But it wasn’t him, something was off about his gaze. His complexion sharing that hint of difference to Mark’s appearance.  “I’m afraid not, my dear. But introductions will have to wait.” His voice held a hint of Transylvanian accent. Like the ones in movies. The man moved you behind him, keeping his arm raised as something crawled over the side of the building and onto the roof.  Anti... No. Again, the resemblance to the Youtuber was almost identical. Save for the glowing green eyes, that seemed to swirl in their sockets. Like small colored vortex’s.  “I told you this was my hunting ground, Count.” A hiss of a voice echoed over the roof to you. “That mortal is mine.”  “They are beginning to suspect you, Marquess.” The man, Count, said in a calm but firm tone. “And we never agreed on hunting grounds. This is my land by right. My brethren live in this area. If you do not stop they will come after you.”  The other man, Marquess, moved forward. His steps graceful and light, like a dancer.  “I do not care for brethren like you do, Count Iplier.  Or else I would have scurried to my “kin” as you call them, long ago.” Marquess stepped closer. And Count moved you back. The cloak of his outfit brushed against your skin and you felt a chill run through you. Had that just moved against you?  “I won’t say again, Marquess Septiceye, leave this area. Before you make me do something I do not want to do.” There was an undertone to Count’s voice. It reminded you of Dark, when he was beginning to lose control of his shell. But this man didn’t seem to be getting angry, only impatient. And even so, he showed no emotion but a small crinkle around his gaze. 

“Then battle me, Count. Let’s fight for these bloodbags.” Marquess leapt into a sprint before he finished speaking. He left a cloud of dust in his wake and you barely saw him move before Count had him by the throat, and threw him into the ground. His cloak exploded and rose high above Count. Looming over him like a beast as he bared two fang like canines at the fallen man.  “I do not want to battle you. Purely for the sake of keeping this human from seeing our true faces. This one is under my protection. I will not let a dear friend to the Iplier Manor fall victim to rabble like you!”  The shadow beast crashed down on the Septic Ego and then lifted off into the sky. It left it’s master on the roof but carried Marquess high into the air before erupting into what appeared to be hundreds of small bats.  Count turned to you as the sound of the other man’s crying filled the night sky.  “My apologies, my dear. If I had known you were arriving tonight, I would have escorted you home myself.”  You were unable to speak. Your eyes widening further as the swarm of bats dived down to gather around Count’s back. Reforming his cloak just as the other Ego plummeted into the alley beside the building. You didn’t hear a splat or a cry of pain, so you could only suspect that the man had landed neatly and ran off.  But your guess was shattered when a green cloud of crackling vapor shot into the air and dived towards you. You saw a misty form of reaching claws and eyes that glowed brighter than lightening as the mist raced towards you.  Suddenly you were enveloped in a chilling cloud of black as Count flew his cloak around you. It was like being wrapped in a thick furry blanket, but it was as cold as ice. It shook as the vapor struck it. A screech of fury from the other being could be heard and then a bellowing roar filled the air as Count spun, swiping at Marquess as he formed flesh. Black claws raked down the Septiceye’s chest and he reeled back as Count charged forward. His eyes ablaze with a deep pink brillance. The same swirling vortex sight filling his iris’.  “Leave, Marquess. Or I will make sure your coffin stays shut forever!” Count bellowed. The air shaking with his voice.  Marquess hissed and disappeared over the side of the building. You stayed silent for what felt like an eternity. Waiting for the Septic-Ego to come back. It was only when Count turned to you, his eyes had returned to normal. But you could see the tips of his fangs poking out from beneath his lips.  “Excuse my indecency. That creature brings out the worse in me.” Count said. His voice careful but smooth. It reminded you of Dark when he was trying to coax you into calming down.  “I...I’m sorry, I’m kinda of in shock right now. Who are you?” You forced the words out so you weren’t standing there like a fish gasping for air. Count smiled patiently and nodded, bowing and sweeping his arm in a gracious curtsy.  “I am Count Iplier, my dear. And I must apologize again for my ignorance. It is true I have yet to make myself known to the rest of my kin. But I know all about you and the other Ipliers. I wanted to know if this...Manor was of my tastes and I had to investigate it. And I must say, my kin aren’t exactly.... altogether.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Nodding in agreement. “They’re a bunch of strange men. Who are probably out hunting for me right now.” You quickly checked your phone and cursed quietly. You should have at least reached the Manor’s security border by now. Google would have seen you on the cameras and no doubt would have sent Dark out to escort you the rest of the way. Count looked off into the distance. His eyes narrowing a little and he offers you a gloved hand.  “Perhaps it is time for me to introduce myself to the rest of my brothers. Would you like assistance getting off this roof, my dear?” He asked, as casually as you would when asking someone if they wanted a glass of water. You rolled your eyes, already seeing the resemblance between this man and the others. You took the offered hand, the leather rather cold against your skin, and the man pulled you tightly against his side. Count guided you to the edge of the roof, holding you steady when you wobbled from looking down, and then dropped.  You yelped loudly, but Count was careful to hold you so he landed first and could soften you fall by lowering you gently to the floor. 

Dark heard the yelp echo through the streets and made a beeline for you. He stalked through the shadows, coming into the street just as you did. His snarl was beyond furious and you backed up a little when he closed in.  “I gave you a fair warning to what will happen if you take your time-” But Dark’s threat was cut off by Count stepping out of the shadows. The two regarded each other for a long, tense moment. And you could practically feel the air between them ripple with suspicion.  “I take it you are the cause of all these deaths.” Dark’s tone returned to it’s natural calm drawl. And the Count nodded.  “A few. But the real culprit is Marquess Septiceye. Another Vampire Ego. I’d suggest retreating the others to the Manor. He’s been feasting for three days. He’s strong if you’re caught in single combat.” Count replied in an equally cool tone. You dearly hoped these two kept on good terms. You knew how younger Egos weren’t as strong as the popular, older Egos. But you had a feeling that Count was a threat in his own right. Being a....Vampire.  Your thoughts were scattered when Dark’s firm gaze turned back on you.  “We aren’t done. But I will save your scolding when we get home.” Dark took a firm hold of your elbow and went to drag you behind him when he quickly spun back around.  His fingers came away wet with red liquid, and he quickly removed your jacket to inspect the area.  “Marquess had recently fed.” Count informed Dark, as the Ego withdrew his hands and returned your jacket upon seeing no injury. “He is covered in blood. You will smell him before you see him.”  You didn’t want to put the jacket back on. The red stain sickened you. And now you could feel the blood sticking to your arm that had soaked through your coat. Count seemed to sense your unease and took the jacket from you. His eyes strayed on the stain for a second longer than was necessary. But he nodded to you, trailing along behind you and Dark as the older Ego led the way home.

[cyberleaf69]

TWO  OLD  STAGEHANDS  REMINISCING

I bought a new device this morning(Black Friday), disrupting my savings to the tune of $278.19; this was NOT a doorbuster bargain, but was their least expensive 'laptop.' This purchase has relieved me of the burden of Google Chrome & brought back Cortana("Hey!"); also I have the use of my WiFi, and can stay in touch with the Amell family(up in those woods). When I ventured out this AM, it was about fifty degrees out; I got a biscut-breakfast at Hardee's, before negotiating my holiday purchase; after bringing my prize back to the room, I sped off to get 4 packs of cig's and some(6 for $1) donut sticks. Hurricane Michael has managed to permanently close down my Harvey's, so it's Family Dollar, Dollar General & Dollar Tree for now; this has increased expenses significantly, while reducing overall quality & variety. I'm sure to think of something else to write about, but for now, I'm sending this along.

Outstanding! Glad to hear from you. I had another episode with another blocked artery. I'm up to three stents now. This happened right after Michael blew through, so I'd been wondering how you were doing. This news is tonic for me.

sorry; I was checking out alternative forms of identification; not sure if this is tonic(because I'm tone-deaf), but I'll dash off something for a three-stenter; keep this up and you'll be setting off metal detectors at airports and courthouses; when you say 'episode' you should elaborate, even if you have to make the shit up; making shit up has become quite presidential lately RE:Hurricane Michael - about 7 PM, my power went out; luckily, between 5 & 6 PM next afternoon, it was restored I opened my drapes for lighting, and sat facing the window until around 12:30 AM, when the worst of it had passed that bitch was loud, and at one point, while still approaching from SW, one sheet of steel roofing blew off our U-shaped building; a shower of sparks as it blew across the parking lot got my full attention did you purchase a copy of "Whose Boat Is This Boat?" it took 30 min's to get this far...  updates and such[speaks to the age of the model I was sold @STAPLES] cheese grits on the breakfast menu, but first I'll be needing a shower

Of course we didn't catch the full fury of the storm, but we got plenty of rain and wind, I have several washed out sections of driveway I need to attend to, it's a rough ride down into the valley here. In regards to my ongoing heart troubles, in 2011 I had a blockage of the left anterior descending artery, that was causing great pressure in my chest, felt like an elephant was sitting on me, no heart attack with that event, but the docs implanted my first stent. The heart attack this past April was brought on by blockage of the right coronary artery, I aggravated my heart by over-exerting myself digging my dogs grave. That event was marked by rapid heartbeat, dizziness, sweating, confusion, and pressure radiating out from the left side of my chest. That blockage was remedied by stent number two. The latest episode at the end of October was preceded by a week or so of pressure and mild discomfort in my chest that was remedied by taking a dose of nitro-glycerin.  I awoke with that pressure, took a dose, didn't get any relief, I alerted Debbie, took another dose, but by then I was having difficulty breathing and having strong chest pain, Deb called 911 and gave me a third dose of nitro, at that time I was hyperventilating uncontrollably, sweating profusely, and the pain was very intense...I was sure I was about to die. The EMTs arrived, got me in the ambulance, took my blood pressure, and an EKG, drew some blood, analyzed that with the fancy computer analyzer and came back with "Everything looks fine, you don't appear to be having a heart attack." I got to the hospital, had a quiet morning and afternoon, save for the drawing of blood and the checking of blood pressure. Later that night though, I had six more non-heart-attacks. I won't go into all the drama wrapped around that due to my vitals all showing good normal indications. Anyway, I got my third stent early that next morning, after being catheterized and they found another blockage in the right coronary artery that was downstream of the second stent. Phillip, during those six non-heart-attacks I was truly sure I was going to meet the creator. I had told Debbie all those things you tell someone when you think you're dying. But apparently I've either got unfinished business or I'm just getting some extra time here on earth due to my exceedingly good looks, wit, and charm. ;)

good looks, wit & charm aside, since you have unloaded onto DEB all those last minute appurtenances, you should think about what must be/should be said about your time together since recovering from those six downstream pain events[& consider the high dose of TNT necessary for that most recent download]

We're getting ready for our Thanksgiving tomorrow. Lots of cleaning and such. I'll be in and out all day. Got yard-work to do now that the rain has passed. I have a fire going to save electricity, and the added benefit of warm glowing light is helpful. I've got to go buy a used bass guitar in a little while. I'm snagging parts off of it to make a cigar box bass guitar for Patti (Tuck) Tuckwiler's brother's Christmas gift. I'd already had my oatmeal & blueberries along with a patty of turkey sausage and a slice of toast. I let this guy named Possum hunt on our property, he gave me a slab of backstrap as thanks for hunting privileges. I'm thinking about having a backstrap on a yeast roll for lunch.

shower complete backstrap a la antlered-buck, I'm assuming had some online interaction w/TUCK[doubt she will remember] will your son attend tomorrow's feed? you sound pretty busy, so I'll catch up w/U later

oversized notebook w/no disk player[complicating printer connection]

trak-pad offset too far to left of center[due to hard drive's location to the right of it]; I keep right-clicking when I want to left-click I'm running down my battery for the first time today[not sure whether these rechargeables benefit from 'training'] still 'customizing' my task bar/I can use my 'task view' to 'see' what's down there[and access w/a click] tomorrow will be a 'shopping day' as I'm out of grits limerick is kinda fun most forms are the kind of challenge a writer loves I once wrote a Petrarchian sonnet[back in high school]; it was a love-poem to my girlfriend; in order to fit her 2-syllable name into it, without breaking with meter requirements, I wrote it as G_____[just one syllable]; this came in handy later; I was able to recycle my metric sentiments for future girlfriends. https://www.booksie.com/sent-messages https://en.wikichip.org/w/index.php?title=User:Phillip_DeNise&action=submit

My youngest son works for a company that resolves gift/cash card issues. They're well moneyed, they pay their employees very well, and they feed them like royalty. The company had bought a Thanksgiving feast for 9 people. They spent $1700 on that meal, that was catered by Olive Garden. There was so much food left that all the employees got to take home...like...doggy bags for elephants. My son brought some of that bounty to share with us for our thanksgiving dinner. We also had plenty of food leftover, so much that we sent all the family members home with food for days, and we still have much left in the fridge. I'm having some fettucine alfredo, and yeast rolls for my late lunch. I'd been busy cleaning and straightening from the dinner. Also I'd bought a $50 bass to sacrifice for parts I need to build that cigar-box bass I'd mentioned that I'd disassembled before taking lunch. I'm trying to stay busy and keep moving. Whatever amount of life I have left, I want to use as much as I can, as wisely as I can. After I wrap up this message, I'm going to chop some wood and get a fire started for this evening. It's supposed to be in the low 30s tonight. Cheers! I hope that laptop ain't making you crazy.

fettucine alfredo is one of my all-time-favorites; 1st time I had it, my sis made it at home; she did it so well that I was forever hooked; add smoked chicken breast & sliced, fresh button mushrooms, and...  well, Italian ambrosia; plain f.a. is the perfect side for veal marsala do you have to smoke all those cigars for authenticity?  ...probably a good way to end up w/John Prine's voice check came yesterday; I'll go to Liquor Locker at 11[as it is usually sans-customers then; less chance of a robbery], to get my wad of ca$h then $625 to motel-boss, $60 + any cash from last mo. goes into savings hidey-hole, leaving about 3 Benjamins for necessities

All the cash that I have to my name is tied up in two guitars and a guitar amplifier. Got them all up on eBay, and Craig's list, hoping some aspiring young rock star has a need...soon. I'm living off the fat of thanksgiving today. Got that fire going, saving on heating bills, and trying to figure out how to get the most cash I can for the HHR. I've got about 1.75 years to go until I can take SS early retirement. I honestly don't know how I'll make it that long, barring a minor miracle or a random act of kindness, but somehow we've manged thus far, I have faith and hope for better days to come. As far as cigar box guitars go, we find the boxes online or at tobacco shops in the area. I haven't had a cigar or cigarette since April when I had the heart attack. I do find myself "wanting" quite often but have taken up gnawing a straw, gum, or a toothpick. The good news is that it's saving me between $10 - $20 a week that I don't have anyway. Yay. Anyhow, I'm going back out to work on the cigar box bass. Peace to you Phillip.

get some sax-reeds for your oral gratification-smoking abatement strategy; a cigar box will make an excellent homemade resonator for a sax-like sample to feed into your reactionary music what changes when you claim your partial & have significantly improved your survival-horizon in the interim?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8buJ2-oD02E https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDqoTDM7tio https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f2-XU8jm02o where do the best stories come from? editors are famous for taking out the stuff that isn't needed; old men have a similar process occurring among the aging neurons in their noggins; this is giving them a new voice; problem is:if they show their wizened faces, nobody will listen to them; time to employ a mask...  a truly vital issue that cannot be ignored Calories are units used to measure heat. Mammals maintain their body temperature by chemically converting starches and sugars back into H2O & CO2. When we burn hydrocarbon fuels, the heat production and the waste products are the same. Plants do just the opposite; they use the H2O & CO2 to store the heat energy in their starches and sugars. Down in Brunswick, there is a company called Hercules; when you pass by their manufacturing plant, you will see tree stumps piled high; they use the waste from lumbering operations to convert the cellulose into gunpowder. The lowly peanut vine, hosts on its root systems, colonies of bacteria[also plants] that 'fix' the nitrogen from the atmosphere, so that it is soluble[thus available to the vines for uptake through those roots]. Rotating to a planting of peanuts can quickly restore the depleted nutrients resulting from cotton or corn plantings. The lint caught up in the air circulating in a cotton mill can cause an explosion if rapidly oxidized. Corn silos can be dangerous concentrations of these plant-stored nitrates as well. As a child, I was the agent providing the fixed nitrogen, when I 'strowed sodie' about the roots in a plot of sweet corn. These crystals of explosive nitrates are chemically produced from nitrogen in the atmosphere. 'Scrubbing' the atmosphere of dangerous concentrations of CO2 can be done in a similar process. If the energy needed to trap the carbon can be 'captured' from sunlight, then the corn plants and explosive fertilizers can be dispensed with. If animal life forms are so much more intelligent than plants, then they should consider taking over all the terraforming functions that they mindlessly perform in their own self-interest. Terraforming distant Mars seems to depend heavily upon creating a breathable atmosphere there; what are our scientists doing about terraforming the Earth, where a kingdom of plant life forms could be better harnessed to accomplish our desired balance of CO2, O2 & N2? Climate change, probably in a warming phase, is increasing our atmospheric H2O; this will eventually reverse the warming trend. In the interim, it seems logical that there are locales on the planet which will benefit from the current trend; these are the places we should be colonizing. Diverting the hordes of humanity, that are fleeing the effects of climate change, into these mostly unsettled areas, not only solves the immigration problems of industrialized nations, but represents a tremendous business opportunity for expanding their struggling economies. These new colonies offer to the 'survivalists' among us, destinations where there is less government and enormous freedom to develop their ideas into social organizations that will promote their own desired political and economic change. No matter where they chose to go, they will still need shoes...  need clean drinking water...  shelters constructed from available materials[rammed earth domes are remarkably resilient] will immediately be needed; and what will they eat? Business solutions exist for almost every difficulty that such a growing society must soon encounter; why continue looking to charitable organizations and over-burdened governments for the answers?

Everyone now has the capability of being able to hide behind a digital mask on them damn interwebs. Here we have the vastness of mankind's accumulation of knowledge, and people choose to watch cat videos on facebook. There's really not much hope for people in my best estimation, masks or not. I understand why there needs to be a revolution of the mind, heart, and soul. I understand that I'm not the only one that sees this, and I'm glad I'm not alone. One of the problems we face today is the blessing/curse of the internet. People aren't using it so much as a learning tool, but rather as a distraction from all the folly of the times. That said, I'm going off to work on a box.

time actually flies when we are having so much fun; my cheese grits are already at stage one[awaiting the time when I shove the green plastic bowl into the nuke-o-wave, while those frags of kernal-corn soak/soften in cold water], I'm fully dressed & the bed is made; the TV is on & I'm halfway through my first cup of joe and my first cigarette[which I have stubbed out and noticed that the first half was the most generous one]; a great noise is being raised outside my place[some sort of gas-powered welding machine], so staying in bed would not have been a workable alternative; it's rainy out, which is a meteorological condition that could remain in place for three days; I saw that coming, so I visited my nearest Family Dollar yesterday, when it was seventy-two degrees and sunny GATOR used to be right here "gator takes a ride" is my visual offering for today; not sure why the hands call him gator, but getting sent up to the loading bridge is probably a status indicator; I spent a lot of load-in's & load-out's watching and listening from high above the groundlings; I was also rewarded with a department head's position on a national tour for having filed an NLRB charge; that got me to thinking IATSE Local 41 is still on display in cyberspace; do you ever go there? That is where I snatched this image for my ACER. I snuck in using a private browser & made off with my prize. "behindthemain" reminds me of something my Dad used to say; "Once you back your ass up to the teaser, you'll never be able to go back." The age of Rock 'n' Roll was the greatest AGE because they wrote songs about US! How cool is that? What is totally uncool is my mail.com, which has just refused to send this draft until I remove my stolen image; so just imagine a close-up of a stuffed gator-doll perched on an arbor loaded with counterweight which was originally posted by some dude called @behindthemain

Time, at least for me, has become compressed. Three days, maybe a week will go by in the blink of an eye, and there's really not much I can do to slow the procession. The best thing I've found that I can do is create, fabricate, manufacture, and repair. Just trying to stay, to keep from spending too much time in my head. Now there's a dark place. I wouldn't send anyone to spend any time there. One problem is that of psychic transmission on my part. Bad enough I should have to spend time there in my mind, but I was also gifted with the ability to broadcast my thoughts, so, certain lucky "receivers" get to share the "Matt experience". I generally know who's getting that broadcast because they either don't know me but they're able to complete my sentences, or I'll be thinking of or about a person that I know, and they will call me on the phone. If the case is the former, those people tend to try to stay away from me. I'm thinking they can't handle the stream. If you're in the latter group, we're connected. Probably always have been. Determining which thoughts are your own, and those that come beaming in seemingly out of nowhere is the catch to all that. Thoughts??? P.S. I don't consider myself a receiver, but maybe I just can't sort my thoughts from the thoughts of others... Herman Hill passed away a few days ago. He was a receiver of my thoughts. I bet it was confusing for him to be in proximity of me.

intelligence originating from without, as you should already realize, is sorta my thing if I have connected with your interior spaces in the past, I must assume that it did not seem so dark to me I would remember being put off in such a manner

Deb & I have been buying, selling, and trading electric guitars, and amps. Unofficially we are Pocataligo Guitar Exchange. I also do minor repairs to electric guitars & basses. We've flipped 4 Squire Bullet Strats, an ESP - LTD EXP200 Explorer copy, and a DeArmond M65C Les Paul Studio copy, as well as a Peavey Mark III Citation bass amp head, and a Peavey Citation Mark IV guitar amp head. The fun thing about this is that we get to try all kinds of gear that we wouldn't ordinarily get to play with. :)  

now you will be needing a PGE logo; some consideration should be given to the silk screening process, when you select a design; the reason for this being cheaper T-shirts and complete PGE control over their manufacture & distribution; just sayin'

1st things first - incorporate as an.LLC. Get a bi'ness license. Then we'll get around to tee shirts and what have you. This will also be the outlet for any cigar box creations.

LLC's are pure crap; there are many ways to protect your #1 asset[your residence] from liabilities you may not see coming, while operating this[any] business at your residence; you can pledge the equity in a residential property as collateral for a small business loan, while your LLC could not; of course your CFO[DEB] would need to chime in on such risky decisions[but risk is what living is all about; security a delusion] got up early[9:03] as per usual on Sunday, in order to catch Jane Pauley on CBS; NOT! there is a tornadic fear monger down in Tallahassee pre-empting the network broadcast to tell me that I need to get in my safe place; all last night there were alerts interrupting my TV-viewing; this 'storm' is indeed unusual for December, with lightning & thunder[started hearing rumbles about 8 PM while watching "Rampage"]; there have been accumulations down here between 2 & 3 inches, but no real cause for flash flood warnings[every 5 to 7 minutes]; added to that sort of aggravation, I'm now an expert in the minutiae of George Herbert Walker's 94-year-long public life[best part is watching secret service guys puking up their guts while an 85-year-old maniac races his speedboat around Kennebunkport's rocky shoals]; if TRUMP died suddenly, we'd really be consigned to TV-hell; so, those warnings expire and they start six minutes of backlogged commercials; sheesh!

Cocoa Beach secret stagehand local?

Titusville; Dad had a friend down there; entire membership of this four-digit film unit was featured on the cover of IA Bulletin

One of the reasons we ditched Atlanta and moved out here was the abundance of nature out here. Ample wildlife, some wild berries and muscadines to be had in good years, plenty of breathing space, no bumping elbows with neighbors. Deb took this picture about 10 minutes ago...

when I go hunting for muscadines, I take along a paper sack; I collect a few in my sack & leave them on that 'shelf' below the rear-window of the jalopy; now the car is infused with the most wonderful odor[perhaps for weeks to come]

It's beautiful, mild and partly cloudy today. I may get out and try to find a good sized deer to take down for our winter meat needs. Possum put up a deer stand that's fully enclosed, about 10 feet above ground that I may go sit in to see what comes by. Rick Scheuerman had a great idea - there's a hangout in Athens named Nucci's Space. It was originally a place where one could rent musical rehearsal space by the month, that also has a coffee shop. I think, as I recall the story, that Nucci had committed suicide, but someone kept Nucci's Space up and running. So one of the things they do there is have auctions of art and musical instruments to provide support for depressed/suicidal people. Rick suggested that I take some of these old beat relical guitars that I have in abundance just sitting around, make them into pieces of art, and either donate or perhaps take a small percentage of the sale of these items. What sayeth thee old friend?

I like the auction angle[not so much the 'cause' enumerated]; also, auctioning off unwanted guitar-bodies converted into 'art' would not provide the benefit I imagine; I think you should cobble together an instrument, using all your acquired skills, that is meant from its conception to be auctioned off @Nucci's Space; the bidders would be local musicians/collectors that you'd be pleased to meet[& that may commission lucrative projects going forward]; no charge for this wonderful idea

the Athens music scene has developed a somewhat muted presence online; it was in emergence-stage, when I was dating my 1st wife & made the drive frequently in my VW-van, fitted w/8-track stereo system sorry I did not mention my amazement at DEB's photo of tomorrow's lunch; I'll use that image for cover art soon, and look forward to gator's comment on it once I have the TITLE, I'll know what to write about in the contents; these images can entice many more clicks, and that is what I'm exploring @Booksie.com my 'editor' sucks, but I'm also exploring better ways to make use of its features; learning as I go keeps me busy at this keyboard not much real interaction with other readers/writers has occurred; there is a moderator calling himself Booksie Guy; BG is probably not a BOT, but I have not really gotten to him yet I tried to get a new persona at Retirement Online, but have not heard back from its Appleton, WI moderator/witch checked out 'online banks' without any success; ALLY requires govt.-issued ID to open an account if you had been able to open my home-video, you could have seen me vibrating; my tremors are pretty bad, and when my paycheck arrives, I usually sign the damn thing first thing in the morning, before I have my coffee; this seems to make the scrawl more legible my typing ability is affected, and this over-sized keyboard is a help with my target acquisition difficulties https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVlSVkzbJDA check out the antiquated studio equipment featured here

Gary Jules, Michael Andrews

All around me are familiar faces Worn out places, worn out faces Bright and early for their daily races Going nowhere, going nowhere Their tears are filling up their glasses No expression, no expression Hide my head, I want to drown my sorrow No tomorrow, no tomorrow And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take When people run in circles it's a very very Mad world, mad world Children waiting for the day, they feel good Happy birthday, happy birthday Made to feel the way that every child should Sit and listen, sit and listen Went to school and I was very nervous No one knew me, no one knew me Hello teacher, tell me what's my lesson Look right through me, look right through me And I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad The dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had I find it hard to tell you, I find it hard to take When people run in circles it's a very very Mad world, mad world Enlarge your world Mad world

The cover art is from a photo taken in 1968. The building featured was a new one, and I graduated from Bass High School on its stage. Most of the boys were headed for college...  or Vietnam. I chose the former, and believe that it has made all the difference. When roads diverge in a yellow wood, noticing their width and worn condition is just one approach to the decision-making quandry. I was taught to choose door number three. 1968 was a good time for such choices, and many of my contemporaries made just such a definitive choice. If you possess the technology to view/listen to DVD's, might I suggest the enhanced edition of WOODSTOCK; the movie. You'll see what many of those, that chose door number three, looked like. My graduating class was small by most standards; we chose to sing a song from "Man of La Mancha." But we 'walked' in a less-prescribed manner. I drove off in a Renault Dauphine with a slow-moving-vehicle sign attached to the rear. Though I might like to be eighteen again, at the time, I was not looking back. I did return to this building many times though; I worked there on many occasions. Sometimes I worked on that stage; sometimes I worked in the exhibit hall at the other end of the complex. The construction of this facility, by the municipality, was considered to be an important urban renewal project. That is how 'buttermilk bottom' disappeared from Forest Avenue. Another blight vanished when Fulton County Stadium went up. In 1951, the city received the All-America City Award, due to its rapid growth and high standard of living in the southern U.S. Annexation was the central strategy for growth. In 1952, Atlanta annexed Buckhead, as well as vast areas of what are now northwest, southwest and south Atlanta, adding 82 square miles (210 km2) And tripling its area. By doing so, 100,000 new affluent white residents were added, preserving white political power as well as expanding the city's property tax base And enlarging the traditional leadership upper-middle-class white class. That class now had to room to expand inside the city limits. Federal court decisions in 1962-63 ended the county-unit system thus greatly reducing rural Georgia control over the state legislature, enabling Atlanta, and other cities, to gain proportional political power. The Federal courts opened the Democratic Party primary to black voters, who surged in numbers and became increasingly well organized through the Atlanta Negro Voters League. Rush week was soon upon me, and I attended two of the parties; choices! ALPHA TAU OMEGA was where one of my acquaintances at work had become a paddle-wielding brother, so I checked out their presentation. As a sort of back-up plan, I also checked out the men of ALPHA EPSILON PI; they checked me out as well; I was rejected on religious grounds. Time for door number three. I carried a full load for four consecutive quarters at my new school, before that other door presented itself. From Fall Quarter of 1969 until Fall Quarter of 1970, I was out of school, but stuck to my solemn vow to return in one year[against all the odds]. It had been too cloudy and overcast to see the eclipse of the sun that year; there was a lot going on that I did not see very clearly. When I returned to school, I changed my major from 'undecided' to ANTHROPOLOGY; a Greek professor guided my acquisition of this love for studying men; he was Greek Orthodox, and would have been rejected by those men at AY-EE-PIE as well; he took his 101 class to the Church he attended, and we followed the liturgy in Greek[and wrote a paper on the experience]. The mosaic in the dome was impressive. I never adhered to my degree 'program,' and so I never graduated from GSU; a classmate from Bass had gotten his degree in just four years[Class of '72]; I ran into Ross at SEARS, where he was selling tires; I went back to that stage, where the Class of '68 had sung about walking on through the wind.

Everyone knows that without a valid photo ID, you cannot purchase a box of breakfast cereal. The folks across the wall will need a better system, and the increasing use of bio-metrics[by connected data terminals] is a giant leap for the AI kind. UPC's can be scanned to track products as they change locations. RFID's are often laminated into photo ID's, so an employer can track his/her minions, and control their access to sensitive areas within their workplace. In the US, your SSN connects you to an exhaustive data base that 'knows' how hard you work, how much compensation you receive and where your 'assets' are currently being stored. What can be 'learned' about an individual, and how quickly this new data can be accumulated, attached to the appropriate individual files and how quickly those updated files can then be assessed is what AI exists for. Current business models[like at FaceBook & GoogleChrome] will each gradually lose its earning potential[a process being accelerated by the public sentiment in favor of government regulation of all their data collection and sharing practices], as the flow of data becomes more centralized and access to those files and data streams more restricted. The global expansion of connected Android devices is shifting the product consumption patterns in growing/struggling economies towards some ill-perceived goal, that becomes more and more achievable with each passing minute. Both of the big 'data players' in the streams of ones and zeroes now being catalogued here in the US, have made agreements to share it with our government. If we assume that there are adults in the room, where the analysis of this growing horde is being coordinated, then we can also assume that some of those individuals will be targeted to administer this collection and analysis process, once that 'responsibility' is transferred to a more 'independent' entity, resembling the Federal Reserve in its organization. At that point, the elected representatives in government will be reduced to an ordinary subset of identified individuals, to be monitored and manipulated by an increasingly automated system. If the drones can find you, you could be quickly eliminated. What will determine your value to that global system? Your consumption patterns is the obvious answer; BUY WISELY! I'm off to get an HBO fix; at eight they are replaying a missed episode of "My Intelligent Friend" just for my benefit; this series is filmed in Italian & broadcast with English subtitles; this makes it difficult to enjoy the imagery, because I'm busy reading so I'll know WTF is going on.

AI may be the thing that brings us into full globalization, perhaps the issue that preachers in my past have warned us about. Our baptist preacher out in Mableton used to hand out Watchtower pamphlets that had articles regarding the evils of globalization. Hmm ... to be overseen by the great computer in the sky (cloud networking).

I've been keeping my cloud-connection turned off

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bixby_(virtual_assistant) https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jen_Taylor https://www.pcworld.com/article/2099943/microsofts-cortana-digital-assistant-guards-user-privacy-with-notebook.html https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Invoke_(smart_speaker) https://www.ask.com/youtube?q=cortana&v=DxrJWSi_IWo https://www.windowscentral.com/why-splitting-cortana-and-search-windows-10-makes-sense https://www.zdnet.com/article/microsoft-moves-key-technologies-including-cortana-from-research-to-product-groups/ https://arstechnica.com/information-technology/2012/06/inside-the-architecture-of-googles-knowledge-graph-and-microsofts-satori/

https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=ASMR like those furries, these 'artists' are being accused of deviance; what say you? https://www.youtube.com/results?search_query=furry+fandom

To be sure, I'm not understanding the nature of adult cos-play.

cable TV is definitely turning my brain to mush, but some furries have serious behavioral issues that can be mitigated by their cos-play; ASMR is the new player on the block, and their 'offerings' have been 'taken down' on multiple forums as somehow inappropriate; I find this lack of freedom[of expression] to be indicative of rapid 'political' corrosion of the medium; that button labelled REPORT would be less attractive, if your reporting history came up with your profile info; STFU would be door # 3 Gibi explains it quite well:  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCE6acMV3m35znLcf0JGNn7Q

I'll start back driving for Uber or Lyft later today, after having taken some time off due to those pesky heart issues. I didn't feel confident driving people around knowing that I was possibly still at risk for another "coronary event". The cardiologist has cleared me to return to normal activities. I didn't start driving for these ride-sharing companies to impress anyone, hell there sure as shit ain't nothing glamorous about carting poor people around all day. What it does give me is nearly instant income that I can access almost immediately after giving someone a ride. Pair that with there ain't a boss riding my ass. I can drive whenever I want to, I set my own hours. And lastly it gives me something to do beside sit here and piss and moan about things over which I have no control. :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tg0BNTebcbY  

there are two types of people in the world; when your 'ride' climbs into your vehicle, do you re-adjust the rear-view mirror to center onto the face of the speaker; door #3 is insisting that he/she rides up front; keep on smiling RYAN wrote: I make projects of my experiences working UBER. Last video of this nature got a lot of attention- though, I deleted it to be (slightly) more professional. So here is another few weeks worth of footage. These videos have been for nothing but fun, and I'm glad others have appreciated them. It's awesome to have an audience watch something that I've created and I want to see if this little project can go somewhere. Those in my videos consented to being in my project, blurred identity or not. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pVOJ5ZfzjF8

my TV took a shit...  and now SANTANA is blaring; this album, the one with all those damn faces, was given to me by a chick that thought my DONOVAN eight-tracks were just not going to get me there; of course she was right...  and so there were drums in the house; another tape cart that was played in that house was WHO'S NEXT; I thought it was pretty good travelin' music, along with a Beatles-thing called RUBBER SOUL; gettin' high & gettin' out on the road was a pretty good way to pass the time on my gap-year; when I decided on ANTHROPOLOGY, it was mostly because it legitimized the study of sex, drugs & rock'n'roll...  so I studied...  HARD! playing this complete album seems to have slowed down the clock; that's an unusual effect; I'm shopping for a King Crimson video                 [  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=no8L51U_KlM  ]; not any WHO'S NEXT videos that do anything; guess I'll just let it play for awhile I get my TV going, and dammit...  the water goes off; they're out there digging up the street; probably gonna be off the rest of the day brewed my coffee w/ice cubes; just try and outsmart an old white guy...  go right ahead wrote a new ICU last night; about 40 peeks at it, w/no comments, so...  vanished new text has less film-script niceties...  less humor...  no dialog...

He had to admit...  he couldn't see a thing. A good bluff sometimes can win the pot. He spoke into the darkness, "I see you!" He hoped it had sounded convincing. Not a sound. Why had he come out here without his trusty flashlight? Only gonna be gone for a minute. Tell it to the wind. He turned with a confidence he wasn't actually feeling. In a slightly lowered voice, he spoke to himself as he walked away from where he thought the creature must be. "I'll be right back,...  so don't you dare move." Not a sound. He tried to imagine his 'creature' when it was not cloaked in utter blackness. The imagined lighting his mind put into those trees just beyond the clearing where his friend had parked his truck was of no use; he could see the trees right enough, but the image he needed simply would not materialize there. Not knowing what was there with him...  not knowing how far his friend needed to go in the truck to fetch water...  not knowing how fast he could make it to the imagined safety of the old cabin...  not knowing was making him sweat. And that creature could smell the fear...  smell the open containers with food in them...  smell where the truck had been parked, and the odor on that other one...  that was far away now. His thoughts were on the amaretto hidden in his sleeping bag; then his hand was on it. He poured into the tin cup...  the one he knew he'd left on the table; cup in hand, he closed and latched the rustic door. It was pitch black in the cabin too. He drank deeply. Forty proof means about twenty percent alcohol; better than a beer...  smelling better too. Now there was scratching and clawing at the corner of the door. "I'd pour you one too, but I gotta find that flashlight,...  first. Then maybe I can find another cup." He mock-toasted his little friend, and drank deeply once again. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_UNMTthguCQ

confession:the only GARCIA I like has cherries & chunks of chocolate in it

I've been rummaging around in those dusty old memory-bins, trying to remember when I switched from eight-track tape-carts over to vinyl LP's; first came WQXI, and then FM-stations became a thing; we were at 481 Clifton Rd., by the time I bought a stereo system[I would have been a senior in high school at the time...  1968]; 8-trak player/amplifier w/2 speakers that weighed nearly nothing; in the next room, my sister[13 months younger] was spinning LP's of Firesign Theater, Mothers of Invention & Jimi Hendrix Experience to annoy me; I moved out of there JAN 1970, & took that same stereo system to my Briarcliff apartment; during those tape-cart-years, I was driving an old VW 'bus[w/windows all-round]' that was repainted blue & gray; I had a tape player[under-dash] professionally installed; two ceiling-mounted speakers and a six-volt to twelve-volt converter mounted on the pan beside my engine; you could hear muted spark-field-noise when your tracks played[like a subtle audio-tachometer]; this 'dustbin' is kinda like a public library filled with stories packed onto shelves that nobody ever disturbs; these stories have sacrificed chronological accuracy for other, more aesthetic consistencies; at this point in my recollection process, I believe that "Tea For The Tillerman" was a tape I had bought, and that "John Barleycorn Must Die" was purchased on vinyl; both these were released in 1970; one night, in that first apartment, I popped in a tape that I distinctly disliked, and slept all night while wearing bulky headphones, and while the tracks endlessly looped; Blood Sweat & Tears...  NYC's antidote to Chicago; I cannot remember when I bought a better home-system & a turntable, but I recall listening to Ten Years After, Grand Funk Railroad & Bloodrock; "The Survival of Saint Joan" was also an LP that I bought[released 1971 by a Tucker, GA garage band]. In 1972[Fall/Winter], I drove around the US in my '71 VWCampmobile[bought new], with nothing more than a German-built radio; the best I could do, was find a pirate station, broadcasting at major mega-wattage, from a tall tower located on Canadian soil.

over there, I'm friedlich I'm new there, having joined on Black Friday tonight, I ran across your e-mail address, in a COMMENT you had left most folks do not do that, and maybe you are different from most folks[that, at least, is my hope] I sometimes publish my e-mail address, trying to encourage a more image-friendly medium of exchange my privacy concerns are next to none, and anxiety over firewall-type protection against virus/worm/spam/whatever is negligeable the site reminds me of a multi-player game moreso than a community of writers of course, I'm still figuring out how to use the site for my own purposes I'm an older guy, living in southwest Georgia a retired stagehand; been writing since I quit working in 2005 not a boozer[or any other vice that costs money] caffeine & nicotine are my thing[like most writers...  ALLEGEDLY] my stories run the gamut, and there is a lot of it that could be described as non-fiction fiction is preferred, when stinging truths are being revealed a cloak of plausible deniability my favorite author is Neal Stephenson hands down but I read a lot of books, and admire some of the fascinating women who have chosen to write Barbara Kingsolver springs to mind  -  http://www.kingsolver.com/books/ send me something you are working on

Ready for rain. My youngest half-sister, Sandra, (who's roughly 16 years older than me) married this guy back in...66 - 67. Perry Carlton Buie, aka Buddy. I have no idea how or where they met. They had gotten a house over near Columbia Avenue, behind Belvedere Plaza. Sandra had two daughters in tow from a previous marriages, Belinda, and Johnnie. Belinda is two years my senior, Johnnie is 4 years younger. My mother and I would visit them pretty often, and they were all lots of fun to visit. Buddy was a budding song writer/producer that had been working with southern recording legend Bill Lowery. Bill at that time owned Mastersound Studio, and had a publishing company called Low-Sal. Buddy's first hit was a song called "I Take it Back" recorded by Sandy Posey'

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r-zoLSF_-3c

And that was the launch of a very successful career for him. I won't bury you under all the details of all the artists that he has written for. He passed away a few years ago.

When he was really starting to bring in the money he was working with members of Roy Orbison's stable-band, The Candymen. They had some nominal success, but The Candymen begat The Classics IV, which did very well and had a handful of top 10 AM radio hits. The Classics IV begat The Atlanta Rhythm Section. ARS did great in the album oriented rock (AOR) format. But as always success has a price. Sister Sandra was jealous and didn't trust Buddy, he was always around southern rock celebrities, and their hot ass girlfriends. Not a good combo, so that marriage flopped.

The real point of it all though, was to say that I had some early life exposure to the music industry and I knew back then that I wanted to be somehow in the business of working in and around music. A car radio installer. A stagehand cum audio assistant. A song writer and a casual player of guitar, bass, and synthesizers, and now a maker of fine cuban cigar box instruments. (laugh at the last one).

When Buddy would have the guys from The Classics IV come by for rehearsals, me and little Johnnie would hang out in the hallway listening intently to what they were playing. What I saw about Buddy that was so appealing to me was that he kinda just did what the fuck he wanted, when he wanted to, and had very few people to answer to.

I liked that aspect of R&R...

you told me about BUDDY once before, and now I get the CANDYMEN connection to that pineywoods thing you sent; did you visit Blue Devil-country often enough to learn your way around?  ...any Belvedere Plaza experiences that would make a story or song lyric? Those places were within cycling range of my Little Five Points-hood; my gang would even go fishing in a creek out there. Kids today ain't about shit; so much character-building movement across a sprawling urban environment; we weren't afraid, and we weren't over-supervised I'm writing about my Sunday morning, which is the only day of the week, when I make the effort to rise from my bed as early as 9 AM. I'm retired now, which carries with it the unquestionable benefit of 'sleeping in.' I make this conscious effort, because I cannot bear to miss the SUNDAY MORNING broadcast.

An interesting ARTICLE, aimed at baby boomers who read such 'posted material,' requires that I first do a bit of research. This morning's research has yielded the e-mail address directing this COMM to some unknown reader. What if this lucky recipient became known to all those that rise early on Sunday morning, like I have done? Such a story, to actually make the cut, would need to have some visual appeal...  something for the camera to 'see' that is not just another talking head. If it becomes about the many suggestions that are not considered by the show's producers, I'm imagining an over-the-shoulder shot of an INBOX displayed on a PC's monitor; boring...  right? Following the next suggestion that has some potential, through a chain of CBS News employees, into a roomful of writers and producers having the kind of discussion that ends with a proposal that will get funded, while turning the negative into a positive, still lacks the kind of imagery that will excite a camera crew. With the show's long history, many of the best ideas will have probably been done before, but a story about the technology that has changed the whole process probably has not been considered. Retired persons have an attachment to the kind of resistance to change that would permeate such a story. They also have a strong dislike for seeing a computer screen depicted as a character in a film or TV broadcast. And reading those texts that pop-up on the screen, because there is a SmartPhone in the scene, is particularly annoying. A surprising amount of the liesure time that retirement affords my boomer colleagues is devoted to online communication, by the many individuals who have made the necessary adjustments to modern technologies. These intrepid 'explorers' deserve a part in the story, but the visual appeal considerations must still be artfully applied. Some 70 million retired individuals make up a significant slice of an imagined pie-chart, that represent specific demographic segments to be considered as 'topical' by story creators up there. Please don't show us the pie chart...  boring! Show us the bewildered old guy, searching for a qualified salesperson at Best Buy, to guide his purchase of an affordable laptop. Engaging that much younger demographic, now driving story selection in those board rooms, is a key consideration, if I'm to get my story selected for production. So, lets have a look at that young salesperson, that gets to help the customer make this purchase of electronic gadgetry. Are we talking tatoo's, facial piercings and a blue tooth-device protruding from the ear canal? Do we focus on his/her need to pay off the loan that sent them to some university, that forgot to teach them about being over-qualified for that sales position they would end up in? The scene ends in two ways; the kid sells the customer more gaming capability than he'll need for Skype, his gmail account and finding his grandchildren's FaceBook pages; or,...  and this outcome is far more unlikely...  the grandfather bests the salesperson, walks out of Best Buy with the low-end device he can afford[and was surprisingly in stock] and encounters no insurmountable difficulty, when he turns the contraption on at his comfortable breakfast-table, later that day, after a frustrating 45-minute ride on a metro bus, and a 20-minute hike, from the nearest bus stop, carrying his purchase with tired old arms, and painful arthritic hands. The interaction between the two alien cultures, that needs to occur for a purchase to be transacted, holds out the best hope I have for this story to get made. There are casting considerations, of course; two actors with current shows on CBS works best, so who could we actually get? They should both maintain residences in the same city, and those probable 'locations' to be used during production should be near a cooperating Best Buy retail store. My Dad was a technician that was employed by CBS News, back in the film-days, when a 3-man crew was required to document a story. He would go out with Laurens Pierce when cities in the South were burning; a dangerous job at the time, for a man armed with a Sun Gun. I got lucky enough, just once, to get one of these call-outs from our local affiliate; the three of us lugged equipment up to a crowded office-space at CDC Headquarters; a story was breaking about syphylitic men going untreated, during a clinical study over in Alabama; the prepared statement that we recorded there, was hardly worth all the labor involved[much less the expense incurred due to union wages that were paid]. This 'story' has already been published; here is a LINK to the page:  https://www.booksie.com/577188-sunday-morning Please spare no expense with your REPLY to my e-mail. I'd like to add it to the story.

When I consider bits and pieces of the article, not viewed as a whole - "lacks the kind of imagery that will excite a camera crew."  that statement kinda stuck out. Who gives a fuck what motivates a camera crew? I'd think, and wtf do I know, that the union pay scale would in and of itself be motivational. Having put that out there, it was just the first thing that came to mind. For my edification, in this story, what is your objective? How easy or how difficult the purchase was to make? Beat the kid at the sales game? Having made the purchase, the seemingly sad and somewhat difficult trip home? Perhaps an object lesson about our aging boomer population? All of the above? I see angles. Perspectives. I see an opportunity to make Best (fucking) Buys a proletariat hero, which is just bullshit. I see an opportunity to attempt to make plain to the children of boomers how difficult life can be. I see an op to make the whiz kid at BestBuy look like a jerk. What made the bus ride so frustrating?

Q#1:crew excited by producer's idea will spend more time and produce more fascinating video; imagine being CBS's go-to guy for interviews Q#2:dual objective:sell someone @CBS to do such a story & use e-mail text as content for Booksie.com[fixing to go silver sometime today] Q#3:under 'all of the above' I was trying to imagine what a crew could do to illustrate 'the story' with video that might be doable; my first trip to STAPLES to buy[for ca$h] my new laptop left me leaving for Office Depot with 'urge to kill' etched on my wizened face; next to finding out that the model displayed, at a sales price I can afford, is no longer in stock, my 2nd greatest peeve would be that sales pitch to purchase the more expensive laptop, conveniently on display right next to the one they don't even have, pointing out all that upgraded capability, like he was trained to say to his customer, because he don't know HDMI from HTML; the portrayal of transportation difficulties experienced routinely by retirees, goes to the value to the customer of the salesperson getting everything right on his first try Q#4:at the very end where you highlight the frustration, it would be up to the crew here to depict in their visual medium, the sorts of riders one might encounter, on a ride that zig-zags through all the housing projects, picking up more annoying riders, or perhaps letting the worst of them get off, stopping too abruptly, engaging in stupid arguments over the payment of the fare that delay any forward progress, and arriving at the desired destination 45-minutes later, when a crow could fly that distance in about three minutes its been pretty quiet up that way,...  so a shout-out found a new 'place;' it's called bookrix throwin' life a spitter; got up about 7:30 when I do this, I end up snoozin' during my news broadcasts latest short story kind of a poke at LGBTQ's Y-knot try something new? might bring some of these trolls out of the woods kinda stole these paragraphs, for...  ??

The life of a writer is pretty solitary, both by design and necessity. While you may find yourself in the neighborhood coffee shop a few days a week just for a change of pace, being a writer can be lonely and quiet.

Well-meaning as they are, your friends and family don’t understand the nuance between conflict and crisis. Try as they might, they can’t relate to the complexity of creating a consistent voice.

It’s no wonder that writing and alcohol are familiar companions. But it’s not happy hour yet. Here’s the good news: you’re not alone. In fact, right this moment, writers just like you are actively participating in writing communities all over the web. It’s time that you meet.

don't care for the alcohol bit, but it might fly did the coffee shop bit; kinda cool, but I'm persona non gratis at the downtown one cain't afford that shit no more nohow; cain't even get it together for Burger King Dollar Tree had some tasty canned goods; a $1 can of red beans & rice went down smooth[& spicy] lady behind me in line says that it's $.89 @Wal-Mart the pie-filling I bought would be $2 @Harvey's trade-off looks like Mueller's plannin' a warm reception for those freshmen/women Congressfolk Macron's reception heating up across the pond[the two M's havin' a populist crisis too; Europe's toast] it all started @NAPSTER; not Putin's doin' like some think battery in this Windows lapbook is for shit still fightin' off the FANG crowd; my spam folder still empty, but saw a browser-history thing pop-up w/firefox this AM tried out my MS-internet explorer as plan-B, but BING keeps interferin' & there are other annoying features I use WordPad, so I don't activate my introductory Office suite if I shut down instead of sleep, I have to close the cloud thing that slips in firefox wants to be set as default[another bothersome keystroke] there was an MS e-mail account that can't be used without a phone for activation code figuring out workarounds is my puzzle-thing; won't even register for ACER is there some LINUX browser code? wouldn't want snoopy here to know I was looking into that friedlich is being shamed for trolling already gonna try for a haircut today; it's gettin' too long[sides & back] clipping backside tricky w/tools I got w/trimmer[blind barber w/shaky hands] then there's the mess to clean up there's always the pony-tail option I also have one of those wave-caps, if I go native looking at the side of this new LG, there are yellow[video], white[L or MONO] & red[R] inputs and an S-VIDEO thingy w/tiny pins no HDMI I should find something like the back-up drive you suggested that can 'go there' have not heard back from CBS; no surprise they found a dead body on the corner; not watching my local news broadcasts means checking online for further details maybe they were digging his grave when the water went off my rides to the store, often two trips, indicate a decline in my physical strength that is mildly disturbing after 935-days of incarceration, I had soon gained back some musculature three trips to my storage unit, bearing incredible loads, took a lot more physical prowess than I now command I reminded myself that 2013-2015, I used to hoof it to the store[about 1 mi.], and backpack/carry back my supplies cycling is a luxury I'd hate to suddenly lose this motel-living is also a luxury[said the once-homeless man] I gathered all my manuscripts into one pile[for disposal?] took out any 'identifying documents' for safekeeping also have one three-page ms in an envelope I'll send that way one day tried giving away some of this ladies' apparel, but I think I offended my neighbor-lady with the gesture she liked the costume jewelry that was swag/booty found on the floor of my plan-B hidey-hole across from BK running out of ideas here "lady on"

I can relate to having lost some of that muscle. After I had the shoulder replacement I was laid up for about 8 weeks. Couldn't use the left shoulder at all, and was in a sling/pillow assembly that kept the arm in a state of comfortable non-use. That was pretty much the beginning of the end for my muscle tone. I'm striving to maintain the strength I have. I never thought I'd be this diminished. I sometimes have trouble lifting a full gallon of liquids such as water or milk with the left arm. Pair that with nerve damage that's caused a loss of sensation in my hands...argh...it's frustrating, considering that there was once a time when I could lift a chain motor with 75' of chain with just the left arm. That day has come and gone. I'd love to go pull that shrimp net with you again. Some of the most fun I've had was down at St. Andrew's sound, especially during a mullet run, where the dolphins were snagging mullet that were jumping the nets. What a great show of nature. I'm off for my half-mile round trip hike to the mailbox & back, then back to work on this bass guitar wine-box project for Tuck's brother. I'm almost finished with that, I just have to install the neck, the volume & tone controls, solder all the connections, install the machine heads, and seal the box. Ciao4now. Seizure later agit8r.

Seizure later agit8r ain't bad; mine was Ricky's tagline my intro to chain motors resulted from the now infamous "A call is a call" policy instituted by Local 41 bakNtheDAY; I was offered the chance to say no or yes to the worst thing on offer, before being skipped until my name rotated all the way back around; there was great benefit, on occasion, to getting first crack at something nobody else wanted to fuck with; this 'strict' policy was also a great way for a crook to skip quickly over a lot of referrals, before starting to fill a film crew, with a long list of assholes that turned down anything not film related, in order to maintain their position in this 'privileged' part of the rotating list; a full-time stagehand, with no friends in office[never wanted any], had to say yes every time[endless 4-hour calls] in order to eat; my rigging days started when OMNI Coliseum was new; we routinely had a 5-man crew[one groud rigger]; most points were not directly below any steel accessible from the catwalks in the pods; this, of course, meant guaging the lengths of two cables, Y-ed together with a down-length, to hit the bullseye; this was not only years before riggers became spider-men, that could rig points from beams running between pods, but also years before roadcrews trooped enough cable to deal with arena-shit like the fukkin OMNI; the building had enough cable for their everyday rigging needs, but...  it was all 1/2" shit; add the weight of 30 to 50 feet of 1/2" cable, to about 90' of chain, and you get two men pulling against two other men in another pod, that they cannot see or hear; a good ground rigger was key, and you didn't want no sound puke up there pullin' on that heavy shit beside you; no pussies need apply! - a manly physique was the result, when most of the[by now hundreds of them] guys on the old rotating list found out what was required to say yes to a rigging call, and the list just spun right back to the last 5 guys that took a call at the OMNI; I got seriously beefed-up, before this bullshit came to an end[& before those spider-men showed up, and they started paying a premium wage to get them] I couldn't find any rigger-pics, but this attachment shows the connector tubing; access to the catwalks was from the roof; to access the steel at the apex of a pod, you had to walk up the outside of the pod, using a rope left dangling for the purpose; if brave enough, you could save a lot of time and effort, walking the very broad tube to the next apex position; one problem, however...  there was a crotch-height + 3" lightning rod half way across; not so bad far the tall cowboys

I got lucky having Reagan, Milo, Hokey, and Big Bob to show me the ropes as it were. The Fox and Civic Center were generally easy rigs with most points onstage being single-point because of the way the grids were laid out. The Classic Center grid is a different story though. with 7 main beams spanning upstage to downstage, and no beams spanning left to right, practically every point was a compound bridle. At least in The Classic Center you can see & hear the up-riggers. Also nice is that The Classic Center had installed expanded steel grates between the beams so you can stow cables and gear up there. I miss being a rigger. I miss being healthy enough to rig.

I think 'stinger' should read stringer here; a 'stinger' is a 10' grounded extension cord[I had to ask the Best Boy]; bridle, basket & chain-motor are okay; when I took my ground rigger's training in Vegas, there was only one correct way to lay out pieces and parts for baskets...  one way to engage the shackles with 'economic' motions of hands, feet & back...  one way to tie a completed bridle out on the floor so the high men could inspect the work before lifting; the up-rigger 'makes' the basket[shouldn't have to undo a shackle or untie a bowline knot, to secure the hardware properly]; at the fukkin OMNI, the poor ground rigger frequently had to hold the 1.5 ton motor overhead, long enough for his four guys to secure both baskets, because it's 110' to the apex & the chain was all paid out; at least, if held above the headbone, the dropped shackle ain't a killshot

know of wire-rope, and witnessed a splicing operation @OMNI one day; the splice was as long as the arena[cleared for the process] Kermit[Spradlin] tryed over and over to teach me to splice hemp; that turn-back on the end, that was what the old guys did[pretty quickly] when they cut a rope[often for a snub to tie off a line set], instead of all that gooey electrical tape, was about all I could ever handle; the other end of a snub[about 6'] had a short loop spliced into it[about 14" splice enough for securing the 'safety' to the pinrail] I still think that stinger is just wrong, Wrong, WRONG!

O Peaceful One, That’s what the word ‘friedlich’ means in my first language. And yes, I remember Linda Goodman and her books. The first one was very good, but by the time the second one appeared Linda had ‘caught’ spirituality and went way, way, way over the top with it. She invented a new numerology that did not make any sense at all, if I remember right and I can’t recall whether I read that second book to the end. It was a very poor affair and just cashing in on the success of the first one. God bless and have a good day, With love – Aquarius

2nd book disapointed the girls as well; they weren't half bad predicting love matches, nasty break-ups & etc. they would get your birthday in their crew-roster, and find the one for you my best match was the lighting designer, but he had too many other boyfriends[ballerino's everywhere] I'm PISCES, & the match w/wife #1  not so good[CAPRICORN]; next tour was a GEMINI that earned herself a full-length fur coat she was way too smart to become #2 my mentor was Aquarian man; smartest man I've ever known horoscopes are like fortune cookies; a dream-job if you are a writer[used to love the 'fortune' in BAZOOKA bubble gum] write the stuff correctly, and anyone will agree that his/her sign just got pegged; those coin-op dispensers don't have 12 hoppers Mary Alice Kemery a.k.a. Linda Goodman, of course, would not/could not agree but,...  who wouldn't rather have 12 good forecasts in each daily paper instead of[in my case] one fishy one the shepherd that first saw a maiden bringing water in the heavens over his thirsty head, should get more credit, than some ancient astrologer, wearing ermine, & bearing myrrh this mentor had a way about him[buckle-up,...  I'm talking about you now]; every person in his presence, big or small, credentialed or insignificant, would instantly be made to feel of prime importance; the sun shone upon you; this is bearing water, dear meanwhile, your defenses utterly destroyed, he'd be in your head...  deep in your head, figuring things out... for YOU...  for HIM...  for someone else, that he may not have even met yet...  well, that all depends on how the 'long game' plays out he could artfully manipulate anyone, make them feel good about it, and even if things turned out pretty badly 4U you loved him all the more...  hating only his enemies[that had attacked you, because he was invincible] he would take you to 'special' places, impart sacred knowledge only meant 4U, find things you thought forever lost all the things a magus commands he was quite the yenta as well[but would probably end up 'with' your perfect girl] he moved in some pretty powerful circles, and it was as easy as 'teaching' kindergarten children his favorite recording was a live one w/Neil Diamond enduring an actual Hot August Night this was, of course, him, singing his siren-song to every young girl in a 100-mile radius are you blushing yet DON'T I love you! Everything about you! I'm not, however, fixing to drink your blood.

when I ran away from home[1st & last time], I was driving my sweetie[Diane was a year older w/fiery red hair] in a red Renault 10 w/push-button transmission For 1963 (initially only in France), Renault offered an automatic transmission of unique design, developed and produced by Jaeger.[7] It was first shown at the September 1962 Paris Motor Show.[8] Although it was described as a form of automatic transmission at the time, in retrospect it was more realistically a form of automatic clutch, inspired by the German Saxomat device which appeared as an option on several mainstream German cars in the 1950s and 60s. The clutch in the system was replaced by a powder ferromagnetic coupler, developed from a Smiths design.[8] The transmission itself was a three-speed mechanical unit similar to that of the Dauphine, but from the beginning with synchromesh on all gears in this version. The system used a dash-mounted push button control panel where the driver could select forward or reverse and a governor that sensed vehicle speed and throttle position. A "relay case" containing electromagnetic switches received signals from the governor and push buttons and then controlled a coupler, a decelerator to close the throttle during gear changes, and a solenoid to select operation of the reverse-first or second-third shift rail, using a reversible electric motor to engage the gears. The system was thus entirely electro-mechanical, without hydraulics, pneumatics or electronics. Benefits included comparable fuel economy to the manual transmission version, and easy adaptability to the car. Drawbacks included performance loss (with only three available gears) and a somewhat jerky operation during gear changes. The transmission was also used in the Dauphine and the Caravelle. https://otto-models.com/en/  -  build your own Renault at 1/18 scale

This ability to do some figuring, is greatly enhanced, because of the rudimentary training I received, on how to use those FRACTIONS. Most classrooms today allow the use of calculators, even during exams. Some students, much younger than I, have trained themselves in the use of their digital assistant, through trial-and-error regimens, that work well for ONLINE GAMES. Learning long division is a thing of the past, but having learned that method greatly improves one's ability to calculate something in one's head. ESTIMATING the answer can greatly simplify these mental processes, while providing acceptable numerical results. You may not have a CALCULATOR handy, when you suddenly need the kind of guidance, that a numerical calculation could quickly provide. 'Scientific Calculators' are reasonably priced, and include many more FUNCTIONS, than their stripped-down companions on the shelf have. My favorite one of these added functions, at the touch of a button, causes a randomly generated three-digit number to be displayed. How utterly useful! Another pre-loaded data point, that makes these calculators much more useful, would be a FORMULA remembered from some geometry class, or a physics lab you endured in college. With a formula, and an understanding of the relationships between numerator and denominator of two separate fractions, you can do a lot of useful shit. This verity is the reason they sell calculators at Home Depot & Loew's. They also sell the kind of tools needed, to remove the electronic device from its bubble-packaging. A formula I like is the one for calculating the length of a circle, which uses both its diameter and pi[the Greek symbol that roughly equals 3.14]. This FORMULA is useful for calculating the speed at which our planet circles about the sun, if you remember how far away that star is. Using such a large quantity in a calculation, means that your answer will sometimes be represented in 'scientific notation.' This is to save space on the tiny read-out screen, and should not create insurmountable problems for the operator. Similar calculations, using the same formula, will tell you how many tulip bulbs will be needed, of each color that you have chosen, for several varigated, concentric circles, planted hastily in the FALL, when the bulbs are widely available, and much cheaper to purchase. Figuring out how many eggs you should boil, so you can mix up a three-day supply of fluffy egg salad, is a different kind of problem, but it also has a trial-and-error solution. Believe it or not, it was this trial-and-error process that enabled Apollo astronauts to land their LEM on the moon.

three 'wise' men, bearing gifts followed a star[which some say 'moved' in the night sky in a noticeably unusual fashion] was there any disagreement among these three about what had been observed? three's are pretty important, as you know are there psychological implications buried in this belief in the 'power of 3?'

I was in ANTHROPOLOGY, and freely admit shortcomings relating to psychology cocaine use & Red Book symbolism did fall within my purview study & research into astrology, sorcery & freemasonry have me leaning towards early roots involving healers

this said, I'm quoting the 20th century's most prominent spiritual master:

Black Magic has always one definite characteristic. It is the tendency to use people for some, even the best of aims, without their knowledge and understanding, either by producing in them faith and infatuation or by acting upon them through fear.

this scrap of text was saved, because I was anticipating your e-mail response, so prepared myself I choose to 'act'/think about YOU, instead of wonder why I'm doing it I did take a senior-level course with a new textbook:"Culture & Personality" what did a gal, with an astrologer's webpage, study in preparation? reading stories gently molds the 'story of SELF' that determines our ability to ACT any 'story' requiring these 'edits' simply cannot be accepted as FACT[two rhyming stanzas... should I go for THREE?]my story is so long, that the attention span required does not yet exist language is the real key to a greater understanding in most every FIELD useful language always ends with a tryst negotiating a willingness in the other to YIELD[4 stanzas] this 'sentiment' is purely Darwinian the truth is, since civilization was birthed by, and gave birth to an alphabetic written form of the spoken language there are far too many individuals, fully integrated into society, that can choose to be motivated by artificial drives that do not contribute to successful reproduction like writing stories about it blame it on the moon

Think that would be handy for calculating sidereal time, vs solar time?

you mock me; how tall is your obelisk?

I'm not mocking you brother, I was just having a chuckle. We're victims of our own mechanisms. The calculator made us weaker and less knowing. This is also happening with computers and smart phones. We aren't pushing our minds to be all they can be. I haven't stored anyone's phone number in years. The argument is that you can use your mind for other, more important things ...like watching cat videos on the screen...

yeah,...  those damn cat-videos; I meant your reference to sidereal time, and something I had written about shadows moving about on the floor of my two-man cell

FaceBook, Apple, Netflix & Google are the 4 FANG stocks, which are characterized by their unreasonable P/E-ratios. When I boot-up my device, the first set of keystrokes that I execute, get me disconnected from 'the cloud.' Then, I can click on several options, colorfully displayed, when my FireFox portal screen is displayed. [though this browser is pinned to my task bar, I keep on declining to set it as my default browser;2 more keystrokes] These options are 'ranked' & Google & Amazon are ahead of the Mail.com option that is convenient for me. I have never even visited the Amazon site, but a lot of their junk came already loaded on my new device. There is another one included in my top six, waiting to whisk me away to a MicroSoft APP-store. I wonder what their current P/E-ratio is? There is a YouTube link, but I do visit that Google territory frequently. Apple sold-out to Microsoft, before Microsoft sold-out to Google, and that was before FaceBook & Google sold-out to HSA. In 2011, law enforcement technicians took physical possession of my Notebook device in order to duplicate its drive. Nowadays, such nonsense is no longer necessary. LE's problem now is sorting all those automatically sorted files that keep piling up on their servers. They do not have enough agents to do the necessary sorting & opening of so many suspect files needed to keep up. Instead of a new SpaceForce, Uncle Sam should be preparing for CyberWar, like the Russians & Chinese have. Losing the CyberSpace Race ain't gonna be good, and they have already received several 'Sputnik-embarrassments.' Android OS, in combination with a successful G5-buildout, represents additional frontiers to be protected. During WWII, piles of printed propaganda, were dropped by aircraft overflying urban areas in Axis-territory. The US CyberSpace is being overflown by simiar distributors of toxic materials, and we are powerless to respond. This, as our own propaganda grows increasingly less toxic. Ill-advised trade wars further weaken our position globally, as well as incentivizing new agreements & partnerships. Recent downward pressure on both stock & bond markets simultaneously, is being characterized as a rare occurrence. What happened on those historical occasions? A declining US Dollar would have just such an effect on financial markets. Where assets are denominated in weak currencies, one can expect tandem movements of all asset classes. The global currencies headed in the opposite direction should not be invested in such assets. Large trade imbalances where those debts can be paid off with ever-cheaper Dollars, are also undesirable. So, when India seeks to export significantly less product, what happens to prices in the US? And what becomes of the bluff, that our media has labeled a trade war?

We've been being profiled with steadily increasing depth as data storage became abundant and inexpensive either locally or remotely. A terabyte of retail hard drive storage is about $50, cheaper if you choose to cloud-store your data. My first HDD was 10MB and cost around the same amount. Between AI driven flagging mechanisms, faster and more abundant storage, and our own willingness to share personal information on therm inter-webs, anyone with a smart phone, tablet, or other computing device most likely has a profile. I feel sure that since 1991, there's been enough information gathered about me to provide LE a solid psych profile. I bought my first PC to begin determining the myriad of ways that we're being surveiled. We're screwed, dude.

I'd prefer, at least, the courtesy of a reach-around; wonder if Snowden is still in Moscow?

I think it is laughable, and very French, that yellow vests only clog Parisian boulevards on weekends, as they have to work. Picket lines at the GWCC, and @warehouse where my dear old Dad was a captain, were like that. I remember when all of Poland went out on strike, and "Solidarnosc!" entered the conversation. I spent four long years in a non-union apprenticeship, suggested by an old redneck @BAT. At one point, there was a 'hearing' and I was to be booted from the program. I invited this old bureaucrat to sit in on it, as a concerned observer. Problem solved. Repercussions loomed however. After a series of job interviews 'they' referred me to[where the member-contractor had already agreed not to hire me], I went to IBEW to seek their help. The union organizers sent me to a job site, they were targeting[in order to get at union members working there], where I was quickly hired at journeyman wage. I'd give those 'slugs' a dose of vitriol, as I was going in about 7:45 AM. Then I'd pocket the sign-in sheets, when I got upstairs[40th floor], and secreet them to the organizers. When that job ended, I returned to the Fox stage, a wiser man.

1988 Democratic National Convention in Atlanta at The Omni & GWCC. Just miles & miles of cables running between those two facilities. Seemed rather weak. The bridge/turnaround between The Omni & GWCC. FBI labor racketeering agent Brian Hitt on the scene with with his team of covert cam-ops and the audio squad with their shotgun mics. It's all well documented in the FBI & GBI archives, but you can't find dick about it on the internet. It's as though only one low-rent food workers union was the only union to apply any (laughable) pressure on the DNC in 1988. I will say this, whoever came up with the idea to oil the up-ramp to the bridge/turnaround from Int'l Blvd to the Omni was a fuckin' genius.

there were live feeds from convention hall to CNN secured to the bottom of that bridge; another fuckin' genius made some air-gaps interrupt the video; some kinda stones, huh?

From what I hear, there were several instances of air-gapping the cable runs. ;) Must have been just a series of unfortunate accidents.

probably slipped on that slippery slope, with a sharp cutting-tool inhand; unfortunate indeed

RUNNING for a Congressional Office builds up a momentum; a physical movement towards certain achievements, related to specific ISSUES, that should never be interrupted, by a 2-, 4- or 6-year rest period. Learning how to draft enduring legislation, need not involve years slaving away in some accredited law school. YOU can acquire the necessary skills in a fairly brief span of study-time. You must begin, by reading as many 'representative samples' as you can obtain. You could limit the documents to be thoroughly parsed, to the kinds dealing specifically with the ISSUE you have chosen to focus your efforts on. Your problem, initially, will be expanding your vocabulary enough to be clearly understood, once you enter the writing phase that will follow. Certain traditional 'forms' should be employed during this second phase. Phase three begins, when you furnish copies of your document to qualified confidants, for their opinions regarding certain changes that should be made, forecasting prospects for successful passage of such legislation or suggestions about how courts might reinterpret aspects of any resulting LAW's. For this, you need e-mail addresses for serving Congressmen, judges currently on the appropriate bench and affected business entities that can refer your inquiry to a battery of litigators. Replies to your inquiries will almost certainly indicate certain adjustments to your output that would be advisable. Phase four involves giving credit for the introduction of your BILL, to some ranking member of Congress, that has publicly attached himself to your ISSUE, in order to get himself elected. Previously unaddressed ISSUEs are somewhat problematical in this regard, but can be advanced by celebrities, clergymen and struggling local politicians that are 1)not camera shy, & 2)looking for a powerful issue to which they might attach themselves. More e-mail addresses will most likely be required. My ISSUE was pension administration, and it was very unpopular. I did considerable research, to be sure that I had my facts straight. I collected a plethora of e-mail addresses. I wrote a speech, and practiced before a mirror while timing myself, until I could, basically, read forcefully, everything that I had written, in less than 15 minutes. The facts I was pointing out, never made opinions change very much, but did garner me a lot of attention that had not existed before. I became "Chicken Little," delivered my speech years before my time and eventually, was proved right, when the sky indeed fell. About 700 participants, in my defined benefit pan, were adversely affected.

An ACT OF CONGRESS is not always the creation of a LAW. Often, these 'acts' invite some Administrative Agency to enact new LAW's, or otherwise ENFORCE certain specified REGULATIONS. Such LEGISLATION, must be carefully & unambiguously worded. Most of our 20th century Congressmen, though many of them were indeed trained litigators, were either unable to write the legislation they 'introduced,' or indisposed in some way to do so. Sometimes large staffs of competent individuals get the job of creating a BILL, while often obliged to adhere to instructions given them, to keep in mind, always, that whatever is introduced, cannot be awfully objectionable to the majority political party, in either end of the domed Capitol building. Another source for these craftily-worded proposals is the legal staff, maintained by some powerful business or political entity, whose well-paid lobbyist will deliver the carefully prepared 'suggestion,' at a steak dinner, over an expensive bottle of wine. In the 21st century, 'diversity' among the freshmen/women arriving in Congress every two years, often means that even more of the BILL's that we hear about will have been outsourced. In fact, the ability to read/comprehend proposed legislation, is also in rapid decline, and so the advice from adequately trained staff members grows in its influence, and its importance to the constituency. When you complain that some desirable change in your current situation would require an Act of Congress, you have unconsciously ceded your own ability to be effective, to myriad third parties with agendas that are often going to prove quite toxic. STOP WHINING! First, remove the most glaring ambiguities from that internal expression of your most fervent desires. Get help if that is what you need. Then, ACT...  like Congress. Or maybe that should read, "like Congress should be capable of doing, willing to do & adequately prepared to do."

my sign-in/homepage @mail.com was the fist thing that I saw this AM, after a full boot-up[& ditching that cloud] went into that little gear-box yesterday, and while I was changing a few things, I asked a few questions & paid those Firefox folks a visit too there's even some research on MS & that sell-out to Google[fukkin Chrome-enablers] oops!  there's an APP Explorer update notification[@taskbar]; WTF did that shit come from[I don't do APP!] there's some flamin' MS news thingy keeps me apprised whenever there are 'significant developments' RE:the Mueller investigations not too annoying, and that's how I found out about the 'big' earthquake the other day[4.7 in TN/GA] have you been reading about Jesse & Fred? I also wrote/posted something about the reveered Booksie Guy[founder/moderator] this prompted the evil Dr. Acula to kick me out of his publishing 'house' of 1000 horrors[had to move 4 'books' to QWERTY QUORUM] house-cleaning a sure sign that 1)I'm hitting a nerve, & 2)there's NAZI's @Booksie.com that deserve a little more attention trying to be subtle, & really do try to suppress MY trolling tendencies I'm up pretty early this AM, & lookin' forward to a SPAM-sammy for breakfast egg salad came out great, & there's still 8 eggs in the fridge 4more eggs are relatively cheap, so gettin' out my portable kitchen worth all the trouble & upset my theater-sound in disarray[but still available in a pinch] Miss Universe was a Filipina; I thought NEPAL had the best eye candy[in the top 20]; Miss Ecuador[eliminated earlier still] was HOT! Eagles squeaked past Rams last night; lot of spoilers in the mix this season[go Chiefs] Mariota's on Saturday[?]; some screwy holiday scheduling BS I wonder how my Thunder will fare, when B-ball takes over the only sports event awareness I had while in Vegas, was brother-in-law's phone call during Masters taunting PV about Tiger in AZ, it was Churchhill Downs here, the natives get restless[& loud] during March Madness and NBA playoffs I'm the lone holdout for the fukkin World Series that's all I have on sports

There's so much movie and TV work going on that the wonder girl is frazzled and looked about shot-out. Tuck sez they work 12 - 14 hour days 5 or 6 days a week. She programs lighting systems for the industry. Naturally we didn't just talk "banjo". Mostly she just explained all the different stuff she has going on.

TUCK needs WYSIWYG; design the lighting from home

Whaaaaaaaaaat? Gay musicians...un-fucking-heard of!!! Those shoes are just screaming "what a 'mo."

in high school, I wore the world's first pair of bright orange saddle oxfords; what was that screaming?

You wore 'em, you tell me. ;)

my Grandfather was a painter[both of houses & portraits], and on one of his visits when I was a child, he had returned from a job with a bit of dark brown in a can; I'm in the backyard with Joe, watching him organize all the shit piled in the trunk of his old beater; he sees that there is enough of the viscous remnant, and begins stirring with a broad pig-bristle brush; then, with a brushfull of shiny brown possibility, he throws his foot up onto his rear bumper, and applies a generous coating to his paint-speckled brogans[sock & all]; I guess it made an impression; Mods & Rockers were changing fashions and orange saddle oxfords seemed apropos to getting with it; they were my most comfortable pair[I had five pairs of saddle oxfords; a different look for each day in the school-week], and were badly scuffed from wear; I FIXED THEM! I was already queer-bait, so flamboyant footwear only added the faintest shout to already broadcast "come hither's"

if Mexico were to fund & build a wall on their northern border, they could design & control any gates thought necessary Canada could come to this same brilliant conclusion, but have a much longer border to their south USofA would quickly become a 'backwater' & learn some diplomacy Abe[not Lincoln] has decided to add a state-of-the-art aircraft carrier to their somewhat modest self-defense force's naval arsenal I can't wait to see it sailing proudly upon the China Sea those Russians, allowed to continue their occupation of Japanese territory in the 1965 treaty, better look out Abe could pull a 'Thatcher' on their ass[still claiming self-defense] Modi will not let this important development go unobserved Aussies could use any help coming from both these Asian-Pacific naval assets all that ocean water makes a poor border-wall Philippines & Indonesia could be taking sides soon, and they represent major populations that produce surplus foods on DEC 21, Antarctica will be at the peak of their summer thaw, and we should start seeing some scary video from down that way South America is fast becoming a bigger wild card than Africa Panama will need two[very short] border-walls; they could get whatever they need from Home Depot Online I'm fixing to adjourn long enough to grate some boiled eggs & craft myself a sandwich I had Special K for breakfast[at 1:08 PM]

not so long ago, Japan had the most avid/affluent collectors of vintage guitars like the market for fresh tuna, they kinda became spoilers[unless you are a seller]

Japan was, at one time, made the best guitars you could buy outside of the US. Nowadays, with computer assisted design, and CNC milling machines almost any putz with a few thousand dollars to spare can be in the business of making precision, high quality guitars. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b4bbUaqwTlk

Japan also distills the world's highest quality Scotch. whassup w/dat?

So, you pair that CNC mill  (with which one can also mill metal parts) with a computer, and a 3D printer, and I'm sure that ones ability to fabricate virtually anything becomes reality. Whoa. Hold on there, buckaroo. What about Mr. Retailer and his market-locked semi-monopoly selling copyrighted and patented products? DIGITAL RIGHTS MANAGEMENT...

NAMM was a wonderland, where competing instrument manufacturers got a very expensive opportunity for exposure. Some very well-attended guest artist performances at GWCC come to mind. Who plays your instrument is really the price-driver, and the actually-played instrument catapulted into the price-paid stratosphere! That auction you mentioned, could become a venue for one of these recognizable artists from the Athens music-scene. Have him or her[maybe them] play all your inventory, right before the bidding begins. Let the artist auction off the companion signatures, for the cause. Am I getting through here?

if Siskel & Ebert were arguing about some new film that was just out, their heated discussion might drift onto PRODUCTION VALUES(only EBERT would be likely to do that); if he argued for a THUMBS UP, based on excellent production value(making a film is like telling a story; some tell the same story better), he will say nthat the film's producers used amazing cinematography(spent lots more $$$) to express several themes/ideas, where most would not have(or would not have to), & that added P.V. made the film infinitely better, more entertaining & the extra-mile techniques became like another character in the story. YOUR TASK:when you have decided upon a particular 'song' to work-up for improving the ESSENCE ACT, do a YouTube search for videos & collect all that you may find(especially the less-professional and/or amateurish looking/sounding ones that somehow got posted); next, watch them all(probably several times each) & select the best few from the batch; discuss w/band-members WHY you thought those were the best ones; you may tend toward the better sound quality or the best of the musicians; you might find that you wanted to choose one of them, not for the music, but something they did that was captured in the video, or there were close-ups of fingering that you appreciated or just that the film featured separate performers at the right change-ups. My 1st TV-production had two cameras & a switcher; it was a softball game, sponsored by 96-ROCK & Alex Cooley, played by DJ's vs. band-members from KANSAS, when they came into town for a Concert(Cooley Promoted); it drew a large & raucous crowd of KANSAS-fans to Piedmont Park one sunny afternoon, helped promote both the Concert & the radio station(while having video-production equipment/personnel at the game helped boost all the excitement); one camera was fixed on a tri-pod behind the plate(to capture pitches & swings) & the other was just past 1st-base, and could pan to follow a hit and catch the play in-field or out-(w/close-up on 1st-base action); there was just one microphone, so I put it on a tall stand w/heavy, steady base, and placed where I got an adequate feed for both Alex's play-by-play calls on the P.A., and good coverage of the crowd-reactions(and even some overheard conversations in the bleachers); it took 3 of us, cameraman on 1st to do the panning if there was a hit/play, another guy on the switcher at my truck to change from behind-the-plate coverage, to the panning view of the field, whenever he heard that sound an aluminum bat makes clobbering a softball; then, of course, I was there directing(or perhaps repositioning the mike or just speaking a fake-part as faux-fan), and could have made the spectacle even greater, if I had carried a large megaphone around & shouted-out camera/switcher cues. Things went smoothly with 3-crew, and even though cameras weren't sync-ed & each switch rolled the image, the tape we produced gave the feeling of being there with crowd/Alex/KANSAS; my BetaMax was so amazing, that when I loaned my only copy to Alex, he never returned it(but word got around about my Channel 41 Productions, because this big promoter showed it to everyone that stopped by his office om business)!!! The Production Values of the song-videos you collect and watch depends on so many different things, that it would behoove ESSENCE to thoroughly exploit as many of them as practical in their future bookings; your SHOW can be good enough to disguise any musical- or talent-shortcomings, while growing a better- or well-organized local fan-base, that by bringing more folks to your bookings will equal higher- and better-paying gigs as you mature as a group, or change-out various artists as needed.

https://www.facebook.com/oldstagehands/photos/a.1375675492750537/1375675312750555/?type=3&theater

Following a performer around with what amounts to a big flashlight sounds easy, and probably looks easy too, if you watch while it's being done. Well, it ain't; and your lack of ability is most immediately apparent to the other operators who can make those first outings tough on you if they wish. That's when those relationships first begin to pay back dividends. The lighting director will be less aware of your foibles because the angle from which he is observing is a bad one; the audience even less able to see anything of what is going on. Your buddies can cover for your short-comings, and try to talk you through the rough spots. You'd better be able to take a ration of good-natured ribbing about it too! Watching an experienced operator while the show is going on is one of the best ways to get a heads-up on many of the subtleties that can take years to acquire. If you show the proper respect to his situation, you can ask questions and get helpful answers during the show. This exchange is doubly instructive because you observe the mysterious operations while in direct correspondence to actions occurring on the stage. Sometimes the cuing is coming through a biscuit(a small portable speaker) and you see that much more clearly how his responses co-ordinate with what is taking place. The respect part is something that you must learn about too, in order to understand; when to ask your questions so that they are not bothersome, distracting or downright disastrous; being aware that the presence of the headset sometimes means others are hearing everything or aware of your presence in the booth. Few apprentice operators ever spend that much time doing this; many experienced operators are glad they don't!

Phillip DeNise: ever change the hot carbons? 3rd paragraph from PREFACE to "Work For It, Baby!":Writers are frequently counseled to write about what they know. This writer knows spotlights better than anything else he was exposed to while in his secret world. What I know about them, if taken alone, would provide the content for an exhaustive technical manual. If we begin to consider how I learned what I know, a process then becomes the subject of the manual. Describing that process is most naturally facilitated by making constant reference to actual experiences that I had while learning to operate this specific piece of equipment.

[sickdaysofficial]

Day 2: Sick at a Party

OCs from my story “Their Give and Take”

Jason wandered through the sea of employees in the museum lobby. Most were chatting as they sampled hors d’oeuvres and sipped champagne. The space room had been converted into a dance floor, which was always popular. And a few of the well-known introverts were content to linger in the early civilizations wing, reading on their own or pretending to be watching over some of the new displays they’d gotten in that couldn’t be disturbed. However they wanted to spend the company Holiday party was fine with him, as long as they had a good time in the end. After a year of massive budget cuts, a lost touring exhibit bid, and losing their associate director to her own nonprofit, his staff deserved to celebrate this year.

And Jason wanted to celebrate as well, but he couldn’t find Parker anywhere. He checked room after room, finding many people he was glad to see but not the one he truly wanted. Just as he was about to give up, he caught sight of some movement over by the Medieval armor room he hadn’t checked.  There, just inside the doorway, stood his man, looking handsome in his dark gray suit and festive holly berry tie. His eyes stared down at the glass in his hand through his black-rimmed glasses. And his salt and pepper hair flopped forward a little.

“Right where I wanted you,” Jason said upon approach, his grin far brighter than any of the spotlights on the armor and weapons throughout the room.

“Oh?” Parker replied, his fingers sliding against the glass in his hand, restlessly playing with it.

“Mmmhmm. Look up.” He reached Parker and pointed upward. A ball of mistletoe hung from almost every doorway in the museum tonight, and this one was no exception. He leaned in for a kiss, but Parker pulled away, stumbling back a few feet. The back of his leg made content with a ben in the middle of the room and he wobbled but didn’t fall.

Jason frowned.

“Wh-what if your employees saw us?”

With narrowed eyes, “They all know I’m married to you, Sir. Frankly, I think they’d be more shocked to see us here not kissing.” He swept forward to close the gap, wanting to take his husband in his arms at last.

But swiftly Parker maneuvered around the seating area, putting two benches between them.

And this was something Jason could not ignore or excuse. “All right, what’s going on here? Why are you avoiding me? All night you kept disappearing on me and now, when I’ve finally found you and we’re alone, you won’t even look me in the eye.” Careful not to spill the champagne in his flute, he crossed his arms over his chest. This was his museum, his turf, his party. Did Parker have a problem with this? Or did he have a problem with something else? Instantly, self-doubt set in. Jason lowered his voice and hung his head submissively. “Did I do something wrong, Sir? If so, please tell me so I can correct it.”

There was a soft sigh and the sound of footsteps coming closer, but Jason did not dare look up. He worried his lower lip between his teeth and closed his eyes, anticipating the worst.

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Jase,” came Parker’s voice, soft to match. “I was hoping I’d get through tonight without you finding out… I think I’m getting sick.”

Jason’s head snapped up. “What?”

“Sore throat. Congestion. Headache throbbing to beat the band. And I know you keep the museum cold to preserve artefacts and things, but it feels like twenty below in here to me. And…. I… hehp!” Hastily, he withdrew a white cloth handkerchief and pressed it to his face. “Hehhppptddshhhhhhhh!”  But he didn’t stop there at just the one. “Hehhhhpdjjjjshhh! Hihhddschhhhh! Heh hehh IHtppshhhhh! Hehppddshhhh! Hehhhdshhhhhhhh! Hehpptschhhhh!” He paused, hanky to his nose, making sure there were no more. There weren’t, at least, not at the moment. So he wiped the cloth back and forth under his nose and stuffed it back into his pocket.

“Bless you,” Jason said, taking Parker’s drink from him. He set it on the bench with his own. The janitors would take care of those later. Jason took out his phone. “I’ll text Amy and tell her I have to go. Then I’ll go get our coats.” He reached around to Parker’s back pocket, pulled out the man’s wallet, and snagged the two coat check tickets and a few singles for a tip from it before putting it back. “I’ll meet you at the door in three minutes.”

Parker smiled a little sheepishly. “We don’t have to go. I’m not dying. It’s probably just a cold. I dragged you to my office’s stuffy holiday party last week. Least I can do is wait this out. I don’t want to take you away from your staff or ruin your good time. Heh!” He got the hanky out again, very nearly missing it this time. “HehppTIHSchhhhhh! Sniff!  Oh… sniff! I just thought I could just hide myself away until it was over. Didn’t want to get anyone else sick.”

“I won’t be able to enjoy myself now that I know you’re sick. We’re going.” Taking his husband’s hands in his, he squeezed tightly, reassuringly. “I want to get you home right away so I can get you started with some cold medicine. Then I’ll help you into some warm pajamas and tuck you into bed.”

With a sniff and a rub at his nose, Parker finally nodded in agreement. “Since when did my sub get so bossy?”

“Since your sub saw his Dom sneeze seven times in a row. Now, go. I’ll meet you by the front door.”

[galaxofmuses]

// He is finally here! My tragic gremlin glitched Sonic! Gosh I love Snag sm and it was so hard to figure out who reminds me of them but I eventually figure out. There is a lot of hints.

Inspiration List:

Sans (Undertale)

OVA Sonic

Cait Sith ( Final Fantasy 7)

Ash Williams (Evil Dead)

Ziin (Kamen Rider Geats)

Jeremy Brasieri (Royal Sentai King-Ohger)

Empty Template Below Cut!

[galaxofmuses]

// I love that this playlist has gone from serious to a chaotic comedic mess and that works so well for Snag afhsdjkhf