#every platform on the internet feels like an abandoned mall these days

[sesamestreep]

my brain cells trying to think of an argument that would get me to finally post those TWO complete fics sitting in my drive that maybe need a few minor edits but are otherwise READY TO POST

[ibitesharkbubbles]

The Restless Worshippers

He didn't expect her to agree so readily. They had discussed taking the trip weeks before and she had seemed hesitant, cautious. Now, laying in bed, the subject came to mind again.

"I know it's a bit of a drive. And we'll definitely have to be careful once we get there," he said while watching her play with her hair. It was a habit she had when there was deep thinking going on. "Daytime is safer for going in... we should still bring a flashlight, just to be on the safe side, y'know?"

His careful planning was what tipped the balance of her indecision. She was the one who was rash, spontaneous; she loved having him around to pull into last minute adventures. "Flashlight and a picnic?"

"Let's grab something on the way there. The less we carry, the better -- we might have to run."

"Run? From who?" The thought of having to run made her less excited to go.

He moved close, kissed her cheek. "The place is abandoned, and the cops do patrol around from time to time. I'm sure we'll be okay as long as we're careful and quiet."

Feeling a little less nervous, she perked up. Nearly rocketing from the bed, she turned to him. "C'mon then, slow poke, no time to waste." Rummaging around for jeans and something with long sleeves, she didn't see him smiling, only heard the quiet laugh as he started to dress.

On the way, he told her more about their destination: "It's been abandoned for at least twenty years now. Place was shut down for all kinds of bad shit -- mistreatment, sexual abuse, keeping people well after they shoulda been released... patients just wandering around half-naked and drugged outta their minds. Sure, it was an insane asylum, but that's crazy."

He chuckled at his own joke while she rolled her eyes. "Why haven't they torn it down then? Place has gotta be falling apart."

"Some kinda governmental land dispute crap. Y'know, trying to figure out who's supposed to pay for demolition and all that. It was built back when they built shit to last, all brick and steel. You saw the pictures I pulled up on the internet... still standing tall and proud as the day it was finished."

"Yeah, it looks impressive in the pictures. I hope we don't get there and find it burned to the ground."

Slowing down to catch their exit, he glanced at her quickly. "If it's a bust, I'll take you shopping, okay? I already found an outlet mall not far from it." She wiggled in her seat; he knew how to plan ahead for every occasion.

Finding the parking lot that was within walking distance, they took a moment to gather their provisions. Fast food wasn't his first choice for breakfast, but she had insisted on getting some "eggy goodness" for energy. They began to make their way through the first patch of forest.

After a couple minutes, a path opened in front of them. He figured it was an old access road to the asylum and stopped to scan their surroundings. Across the way, there was a large wooden post with a sign on it. As they approached, he knew they were headed in the right direction:

"Sayermount Hospital

Private Property

No trespassing"

Underneath, scrawled in black marker: "Welcome to Hell" and an arrow pointing ahead.

She paused. "Hell? That sounds so inviting."

"Kids think their so dark and evil. Be prepared for lotsa dumb graffiti full of devil horns, bad grammar, and tons of penises."

"Wasn't sure if I wanted to go until you mentioned penises," she quipped, grabbing his hand and dragging him onwards.

It wasn't much further before they saw the tops of the main building peeking over the trees. Even from a distance they saw the overgrowth, greenery jutting off the roof and down the sides. The path wound around as if they had made it to avoid nature. A parking lot that had become a field appeared on their left; the concrete posts that marked the reserved spaces were tombstones of the past.

An intact gazebo, large enough to fit a wedding party, stood next to the lot. They decided to take a break, eat their food, and stare at what lay in front of them. Pictures did it no justice. As much as it seemed that the earth was attempting to reclaim the land stolen by man, man's testament to time fought back. Many of the windows were broken, and in a few spots the walls were open, but overall it was still in charge of the ground it stood on.

"Geez, will ya look at that," she pointed up at the edge of the highest building. A tree was sticking out, careless of gravity. Someone had tied a rope onto one of the lowest branches, and what appeared to be a stuffed animal was dangling in the wind. "Fucking weirdos... 'Oooh, I'm sooo clever, this'll be freaking people out'." She waved her arms in mock excitement. "'I'm so cool'... Tuh, idiots."

They stuffed their trash into an over-flowing receptacle full of beer bottles and other fast food wrappers. "C'mon," he said, stepping down onto the broken pavement, "Let's find a way in."

There were signs of a makeshift path along the side of the main building: trampled grass, broken branches, and shifted debris marked the way inside. A fire door, rusted and bent, was pried away just enough to squeeze through. The only light was what crept through with them, so he took out the flashlight. In the darkness of the stairwell, above and below swallowed their sight.

Even with the beam of light, shadows loomed all around. The way up seemed promising but after the first landing was blocked with stone and file cabinets, they worked their way down. Smells of mildew and stale air were heavy, and she tired not to breathe through her nose.

At the bottom, they could see sunlight pushing past the remains of low windows. It looked like a service corridor, doors spaced out along the left side. They peered in the first one and were disappointed by the empty room. The next two were much the same, only filled with litter.

The third room held their attention. He thought it was the furnace room, but a lingering odor pushed the truth into him quickly: they'd found a crematorium. Its large metal door was wide open and a series of platforms were slid out. A previous visitor left a sneaker sitting on the edge, probably hoping to give someone the creeps.

It worked on her. "Okay... I'm ready to move on now." She could see another stairway at the end of the corridor, and felt the need to get up and out of the basement.

Going up this time was easier. There were tiny windows all the way up, and aside from discarded paper and more broken bottles, nothing was in their way. They looked through the doorway at the first landing, seeing patient quarters on both sides. They traversed up to the next floor; it was the same except for a collapsed inner wall at the far end. The next floor held more interest, as he could see the signs for the asylum's chapel.

"This way. Watch your step." In one of the forums he had read there were talks that the chapel was the only room untouched by vandals. He hoped it was true.

Pushing on the door, it budged slowly, trying to keep him out. "Gimme a hand, please?"

"Only because you said please," she laughed, putting her shoulder to the door next to him.

It relented to their combined efforts. He was not disappointed; she stood there, in awe of the scene. The pews were straight, evenly spaced, moldy bibles sitting in the pockets on the backs of each set. A beautiful stained glass window in the shape of the cross lit the pulpit in a cascade of rainbows. High above, two ornate chandeliers still hung, bulbs glimmering. The only signs that anyone had been in there were scuff marks and handprints in the decades old dust. It was truly a stunning sight.

He walked slowly, taking it all in. Normally talkative, she was swept into silence, trying to fumble with her phone to take photos of their find.

*click*

He spun on his heels and shouted, "NO! DON'T!"

Startled, she dropped her phone. "What the fuck is wrong with..." was all she got out before he ascended on her. He snatched her by the arms and pulled her close, spittle frothing in the corners of his angry mouth.

"Taking images in this holy place is a sin!" His voice tore at her ears. "Blasphemy in the house of the Lord is a sin! Do you understand?!?"

Terrified, she tried to pull away, but his grip was iron, his hands hot. Something passed over his face, a shadow in the light.

A whisper wormed into her brain: "Blasphemer... heretic... sinner..." It repeated over and over, wrapping around her consciousness. 'Yes,' she thought, 'I am a sinner.'

He started yelling, more gibberish than words. "Foul foul foul thing arghhhplease thy faaaaathrrr... lick cleeeeannnn their harrrrrrrts..." Voices welled up from the ceiling, from beneath the pews. More shadows stirred, enticed by the new intruders. She was weeping, pleading for mercy, tears blurring her sight as the shadows blurred reality.

A newer noise piped in -- her phone chimed, the alarm she had forgotten to cancel. The sound grabbed the faint bit of her memory, dragged her back to temporary sanity. She could see the whites of his eyes, the tendons in his neck taunt with the strain of his ramblings.

With a jerking motion, she broke free of his grasp. He was motionless except for his mouth, drooling and spitting out nonsense. In a panic, she ran from the room, sprinting faster than she could ever imagine. Halfway down the stairwell she paused for a second.

'I should go back and get him,' she briefly thought, but a loud scream from the hall above pushed her back to flight. Retracing their steps was simple, yet the darkness of the basement disoriented her. Everything was closing in, the sun shying away from assisting her exit. She fell once before making it to the next stairway. The wet walls were almost comforting beneath her hands as she carefully groped her way up and out. The final door was there, right in front of her, the world waiting for her return.

The hand that snatched her by the ankle tripped her forward. Instinctively she kicked, screamed. It let go and she scrambled for freedom.

By the time someone found her wandering in the parking lot, the sun was beginning to set. An hour later, with police and an ambulance arriving, it was dark outside. The red and blue lights swung through the night. An officer on duty that night told his wife, "I wish they'd tear that damned place down already... I'm getting tired of all these missing kids...

"Tear it down and salt the earth."

[wordy-weight]

Introduction

Hi! 

I’m fat. Probably in denial obese. This is the start of my journey towards healthy living. 

Some stats: 

Name: Emily 

Age: 28 

Height 5ft 10inches 

Weight: 285lbs 

Legs: Long 

Torso: short 

Shoulders: wide 

Arms: Lanky and awkward 

Neck: Average 

Head: Weirdly small 

Location: Los Angeles, California 

Mission: Stop shopping in the plus-size section. 

Other Stats: Empath, Extrovert, Ennegram 7, Anxiety and Mild Depression. 

A lot of my weight stems from emotional eating or eating to suppress xyz. I gained the majority of my weight when I was 18 and had difficulty handling a bipolar music teacher. Instead of speaking up and saying his yelling tactics and isolating methods were not healthy for me, I took to fast food for comfort and respite. I was twenty when I lost nearly 100lbs through unhealthy eating for the man I fell deeply in love for and ended up gaining most of that weight back when I found out he was dating another woman for the duration of our relationship. My personal life has been anything but stable with several moves to Orlando, Juneau, Northern Ireland, and Switzerland. For about six years I sat pretty comfortable at 260 and fluctuate 20 or so lbs per season. Mom is fat, Dad is fat, Brother is getting fat, and even the dog is getting a little chubby. We are not an active family and tend to celebrate through food instead of activities or objects. Cheeseburgers are our jam and Kale enters the house about twice a year. 

2019 was a full year. I lived in Northern Ireland, earned a Master’s Degree in English Literature, published a book, moved back to the States. Which poses the question: Does one’s environment need to be stable in order to lose weight? Since Brexit is a bitch and I’m laughably broke, I decided to move back in with Mom and Dad. That’s right gentlemen, I’m fat, anxious, AND broke. Don’t all come at once. 

2020 came with a decision to change. I started cooking for the family and focused on clean eating. This worked for a little while until the fast-food temptation took over once more. To try and balance out the fast food (why are you so delicious Chic Fil A) I bought a bike. Except cycling in Los Angeles is about as sane as a squirrel running across the 405. My chubby love handles got catcalls, swore at, and was close to being hit three times. All this in two weeks. After that, I went to a free-spinning class. The culture was awesome and oh man, did I sweat. Spinning is often done in a smallish room with a wall-to-wall mirror. The music is pumping loud (probably so you don’t hear your panting and wheezing). Eventually, you get into a group beat to the point where your shoulders are bouncing with the collective- left, right, left, right. Boom Boom Pow. I didn’t not like it but I wasn’t in love with it. Plus, it was a smidgen out of the way and the schedule didn’t perfectly align with my schedule.

Lesson number one: Have your work out routine work with your schedule and is close to home and/or work. 

The week after spinning I abandoned the keto diet due to french fries and ate quite a lot. The mentality of being 28, living at home, not having a job was getting to me. It was time to join a gym. I felt some sort of magnetic pull towards crossfit, specifically Woodland Hills Crossfit. I did crossfit in Juneau for about four months before quitting. I wasn’t seeing results and hated having to zoom downtown to workout with people who were half my weight and twice my strength. Crossfit Woodland Hills was always in the peripheral vision. Coming home from the freeway, on the way to the mall. Convenient? Check. Before entering the box, anxiety decided to send an email first. I really didn’t want to enter a gym that was solely focused on competition nor did I want to be a part of a gym where I was the only one who had fat flopping around. Crossfit Woodland Hills answered my email professionally and helpfully. They were open to modifying the workouts to my level and were open to not screaming at me military style. I decided to go on a Monday night at 6:15pm. 

Aimee was my fitness coach and she did the perfect combination of motherly love and fatherly wisdom. The people in the workout were a combination of Hercules to overworked Mom to me, The Hunchback of Woodland Hills. I finished the workout. Barely, not pretty, and a sweat outline profiled where I worked out like a crime scene. But I did it! I. Did. It! The next day I could barely move. Every muscle hurt, even reaching for the french fries was a disaster. Getting out of the chair was about as painful as being stabbed by 17,000 needles.  I made a promise to myself that I would go three times a week for three weeks and if the enviornment wasn’t suitable, I would find a way out. 

Each work-out consists of warm-up, stretch, explanation of the movements, and a timed work out, usually 20-35 minutes, a warm down, sanitizing of equiptment, and answering of any questions the group has. Sometimes petting dogs is involved, sometimes dancing, often times dying on the floor. Each Workout of the Day (or WOD in Crossfit lingo) is different and focuses on different body parts. As I am doing Crossfit Cardio instead of full on Crossfit, the workout is cardio (usually on a fan bike), a gym move (burpees or situps or pullups or some other unique way to torture me) and a weight move (dumbbell squats, arm curls, the works). All of these moves can be modified to a work out level that is comfortable for you. For example, I’m used to carrying around 20lbs of books around so I am comfortable around the 20lb weight. The mom in the group who is really good at stamina can kill it on the bike but sticks to low weights such as 5lb or 10lbs. The gym rat, who I swear is at Crossfit three times a day, often can go to the Rx (as prescribed) weight. They never go above the weight. There is no ‘beast’ mode. It’s modified to the Rx and below. Not the Rx and above. The Gym rat is often times dying just as much as I am at the end. 

The first three classes I could barely move the next day. The next three classes I recovered more quickly because of recommendations made by the coaches: get a foam roller, drink lots of water, get some sleep. The next three classes were more of a mental game than a physical game. I was upping the weights and getting comfortable with the movements but one big thing started happening: I was gaining weight. Both on the scale and on the waistline. Some things to note: my alcohol consumption *cough* sugar *cough* increased, I started eating a lot more ice cream *cough* stupid period *cough* and I decreased healthy food in effort to maintain under my calorie weight. Except for one day, I was under calorie intake. For the record, I use myfitnesspal to keep track of calories. Cue obsessive google searching. Phrases such as, “Does crossfit have you gain weight first?” “How long does it take to lose weight?” “How long does it take to lose fat?” Whomp Whomp Whomp. It’s week four and monday’s class added some fun because I brought my brother along. My brother, who could complete a 5k without training in under 30 minutes, who can often go weeks staying stationary and then go on a 14 mile hike with no sweat, copped out after two rounds in the workout. Okay, not going to lie, this made me feel 40% superior because a) I completed the workout and b) I decided at the last minute to do 20lbs instead of 15lbs. The Rx was 25lbs for women. My brother explained that he misheard the instructions and went all out on the bike in one round instead of easing it across the 12 rounds. 

At week four, I’m floundering a bit. Do I: 

a) Continue going three times a week but upping my weight count? 

b) Go four times a week and maintain the same weight count? 

c) Go Three times a week and try to focus on my diet? 

Understand, random internet reader, I am in no way a professional nor am I even an expert. I am meerly just using this as a platform to rant out my thoughts and hope that you find something useful throughout this read. Just remember, you are not alone. Losing weight is not easy. It’s okay not to be perfect. 

[anserini]

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[junker-town]

My awkward, long-lost Geocities page about Michigan football makes me feel 13 forever

The internet was a much simpler place in 2001. It was also WAY more embarrassing.

Welcome to the Geocities website I made about Michigan football when I was 13. Click the link; it’s important. Here is a wavy flag:

Geocities gave you the chance to run your own internet boom town. Anyone could start a website using its platform, and it let you do a lot. Geocities could handle a broad spectrum of colors, sounds, clip art, animation, and pages layered behind pages of content about whatever you wanted to present to the world. A lot of it was gibberish that rarely appealed to anyone, but that gibberish was made with love. Anyone who started a Geocities website felt like a pioneer, magician, and tech god all in one. They created something where there was nothing, and they did it using computers.

This is how I chose to introduce myself to the world:

Welcome everybody to my homepage. My name is Louis, and I'm a 13 year old 8th grader in Ann Arbor Michigan. I am a diehard fan and follow football very religiously, including recruiting, the draft, and coaching. Also, It is a dream of mine to become a football coach when I grow up, so if you could e-mail me at HPDrifter128@ameritech.net with some tips, I would be ever most greatful. In this website I will post links to some of my favorite sites, plus articles by moi discussing thing going on in Michigan football. Plus the occasional article on hockey or basketball, plus updated links on articles by ESPN, Sports Illustrated etc.

I wrote that in 2001. They’re my first words ever as a sports writer and quite possibly the most earnest words I’ve ever published on the internet, too. Back then it was cool just to let people know who you are. Someone in China could stumble on my homepage and go, “Oh shit, there’s a kid across the world who’s into sports,” and that extant possibility was gratifying on its own — someone I don’t know knows me. There was less understanding — or at least, I didn’t understand it then — that you were whispering into a chasm or that you couldn’t stand out on your basic facts alone. But then, I really was what I said I was: a 13-year-old dork looking for coaching tips to a sport I could never dream of playing.

On Oct. 26, 2009, Yahoo! shuttered Geocities for good. There were approximately 38 million Geocities pages at the time, according to Wired, mine among them — all gone. Let’s call this day The Darkness.

On the day The Darkness came, a lot of love left this world. Granted, a lot of those sites had been abandoned and broken already. The people who let those pages wither never wanted to see them die, however. As Geocities went down, a number of web collectives started saving every page they could.

Don’t click any of these links, they’re probably malware.

If you really want to relive those halcyon days, you can download a 652-gigabyte torrent from a “loose collective of rogue archivists, programmers, writers and loudmouths” called Archive Team and rummage through the detritus yourself. I found my old page years ago when the memory of it (I don’t know from where) entered my head and I began to google. Maybe on the fifth page of results, I landed on the Wayback Machine.

Unfortunately, most of the links on my website don’t work anymore. Just three of the Features on the left-hand side are clickable — recent articles, schedules, and an “About Me” section.

No good Geocities site didn’t have an “About Me” section. Note: It’s not an “About” section. Websites then were treated like virtual mountain tops where plain people could tell the world how plain they were. Geocities sites nominally provided a service — back then, I believe 80 percent was dedicated to GoldenEye cheat codes — but behind those services was somebody who really just wanted you to know who he was and be proud of his work.

In my “About Me” section, I revealed that I was the clinical definition of a goober.

Backround- I was born Nov. 22nd 1987 in Ann Arbor Michigan. I have lived here my entire life. I stand at 4 feet 11 inches, and am the shortest person in my 8th grade class. My favorite color is blue(of course), and my second favorite is green. My favorite food is couscous. My shoe size is a 7 mens. My favorite movie is Any Given Sunday. And my favorite book is Pet Semetary by Stephen King, my second favorite is the 2000 Michigan football media guide.

Music- I am very ranged in my tastes of music, I like from Garth Brooks (long neck bottle) to Limp Bizkit (Keep Rollin' Rollin' Rollin' Rollin'). My favorite group is the Beastie Boys who play my favorite song called Paul Revere. My favorite person from the Beastie Boys is Adrock. We were both born A cusp of November (He was born on Oct. 30th, the cusp beween November and October, I was Born on Nov. 22nd the cusp between Scorpio and Sagitarrius).

These may be the most mortifying words that exist about anyone on Earth. I’ve struggled to write this section because I have to look away from the screen repeatedly due to debilitating embarrassment:

The counter still works, and is now counting AWAY from the Michigan vs. Washington game.

The shame is two-fold: 1) Because everything up there is true — I remember that media guide as one my favorite Christmas gifts ever, and God help me that’s what I thought music was then, and 2) because I remember how much care I put into writing that.

As a small, exceedingly shy, anxiety-ridden kid, I really cared about that website. Whoever archived it found it at its inception. The counter shows 21 visitors. I had more than that over the course of the probably year-and-change I kept it up. I got traffic from family and from the members of the Michigan message board that I lurked on. Any time I updated the site — with either fresh links, or a new game recap — I’d post it to the message board, and would receive a lot of mostly friendly feedback about what I thought Lloyd Carr should have done (throw the ball) and not done (run the ball).

I considered these exchanges “conversations.” I had trouble making words come from my mouth. People call that “talking,” but talking was a stretch goal for me. In school, anytime I thought I ought to speak my heart thumped so hard that it suppressed the air from lungs and stopped the words at my chest. If I said anything out loud it was in a whisper, at the floor, several beats later than I wanted. But in writing, words don’t have volume. That’s why I got into sportswriting then and largely why I’m still in it now. Writing is still best way I know how to speak.

[A brief interlude] Hahahahaha eat it Corso:

"Michigan has no chance to have a great football season, in my opinion. They play too many good teams that are as good or better than they are, and a lot of them are away from home. That makes it more difficult. They can stumble and be a really fine football team, losing three games at least."-ESPN analyst Lee Corso on Michigan the summer before Michigan's 12-0 record and national championship season.

[OK, back] The schedule section is easily my favorite part of all this.

First, there’s the internal logic. You can tell the importance of each game by the font size: Michigan State is a marginally more important game than the rest, but it’s nothing compared to Notre Lame or OHIO STATE!!!!

Second: “Notre Lame” is such a satisfying thing to say or type in bold font, and it pains me that I can never use it unironically ever again. At some point in your life, you come to realize that your team isn’t intrinsically better or worse than any other and that sports tribalism is petty and arbitrary. I know that, but I still don’t feel it to be true.

I want to yell “Notre Lame” from my roof into the night. I wouldn’t, because I know that I would feel like a goofus afterward. But the fact that “Dame” rhymes with “Lame” is immutable. It is truth; as true as night turning into day or that Notre Dame went 4-8 last season.

This is my second favorite part:

Forgot to mention in my profile that I'm a master at fooseball. Let me put it this way, my sister beats all the Frat brothers at the University of Wisconsin, and I beat her 10 to 6. Plus I can beat my dad, who is better than my sister. Here's a link to fooseball.com.

When you’re a largely incapable adolescent person, you glom onto what few skills you have. I could have put Mario Kart up here, but I was all about foosball at the time. The day I beat my dad was one of my proudest, and I mean that. Being better than your dad at something is maybe the first sign in a young man’s life that, someday, he won’t suck. I went to fooseball.com a lot. It outlined a lot of techniques that I practiced on my own. I think the site was based in the United Kingdom. It doesn’t exist as it did then.

Here were my hobbies.

My Hobbies- Sports and hangin' around are my hobbies. When I'm with friends we always play basketball, or football, or soccer, or some sort of sport. Following all sports is fun to. It's like watching a masculine soap opera. Hanging around is always fun, I'm a pretty lazy guy so that's what I do most of the time. It's always fun to go the mall or downtown and talk to people, just random people. I have made many friends that way, and enemies.

For the most part, these are still my hobbies. My life has centered on sports and hangin’ around since I was born. They’re still maybe my two favorite things. Sixteen years later, I’ve learned that adding 1) alcohol, and 2) pals to sports and hangin’ around often makes both things better, but otherwise I’m not a fundamentally different person than I was then. I still think I’m a lazy guy, only now I feel obligated to deal with the complex question of why that is.

The last two sentences of that excerpted paragraph are lies. I liked to wander the mall and downtown with my friends, but I didn’t spend much time talking to anyone. At most, I might yell something dumb my friends told me to yell at a stranger; a product of being into Jackass. I made no friends that way and haven’t had an honest-to-god enemy in my life. I was the most innocuous kid on the planet. I wrote those words to add intrigue to what I may have felt even then was a fraught and boring but otherwise happy existence.

Unfortunately, we only have one snapshot of that paragraph. I’d like to see how it evolved over time and what other activities I invented. Geocities let me create, mold, and catalog an image of myself as I saw it. Geocities illuminated that image. For a while, it was my claim in a world that was so much smaller then.

If you, too, have an embarrassing old Geocities/Angelfire/Blogspot/Xanga/LiveJournal/SB Nation page, PLEASE share it in the comments below.