#i bid you all a great big fuck off on this discord

[tinygayproductions]

continuing off from my last post, i also think its okay to ship what you want so long as its between consenting adults, but also because not all of sigma and moira's relationship is inherently toxic, its just a bizarre dynamic. especially because some of their interactions in game, he does shit to annoy her because he thinks its funny. but also there are more than two sexualities aside from gay and straight, sigma and moira could also be bi or pan sexual and the assumption that they can only be one or the other bothers me because it is as foolish as it is problematic just because you're actively erasing bi and pan sexual folk in the process

[janamelie]

Dimension Jump XXI Report

I suppose I’m a DJ veteran now as this was my fifth consecutive one and the fourth at the Nottingham Crowne Plaza which is an expensive four-star hotel.  Sharing with a friend helps keep the cost reasonable and honestly, it’s worth it for the sheer convenience of being right there in the hotel and being able to nip back to your room as required.  (To be clear, you don’t have to stay in the hotel to attend the con.  There are plenty of other hotels nearby.)

Plus there is always the chance that you’ll see a guest at breakfast as I did Danny once.  He picked out a few pieces of fruit and nibbled at them before wandering over late to his photoshoot.  What else would you expect from a cat though?

Friday

Myself and @downonthepharm-red-dwarf (Amy) had arrived the previous day so had plenty of time to be near the front of the queue for registration.  Which meant we saw Hattie Hayridge arrive in a stunning designer coat and with smart luggage.  She really brought her outfit A-game and looked great the whole weekend.

Once we’d presented our respective proofs of full Covid vaccination or a recent negative test, we were given our DJ passes and booklets.  The latter has spaces for signatures from guests, an Order Of Events and various handy tips for the weekend.

The con kicks off at 5pm with an hour of gradual build-up in the Main Hall - they show videos from previous events, specially made titbits with various guests past and present such as Mark Dexter doing a mock guide to DJ and Rebecca Blackstone voicing Pree.  It all helps with the atmosphere, as do the numerous RD posters dotted around the hotel.

Then it was time for the Opening Ceremony featuring various Fan Club team members and an overcrowded stage full of cardboard boxes - the joke was that they’d had too much time on their hands during lockdowns and bought loads of stuff online.  It was obviously also a nod to Lister’s hoarding in “The Promised Land”.  

The sketch featured a specially made shot of the AA adverts’ Starbug model landing outside the Crowne Plaza and an 80s computerised version of the lovely convention logo.  You could tell a lot of loving effort had gone into the whole thing.

Once the guest line-up had been announced (I’ll get to that not-really-a-surprise-guest shortly), we went straight into the RD Pub Quiz, hosted by Hattie.  DOTP and I had been joined at our table by Lapsang and Barbs from our Discord (No Kind Of Atmosphere) plus various other attendees we’d befriended.

Someone in the crowd yelled “I love you, Hattie!” to which she quipped “I’ve pulled already!”  Another bloke shouted “Fuck off, she’s mine!” which led to a few shouts of “Fight!”  When neither seemed keen to do so, Hattie joked: “Only two?  That’s a bit pathetic!” and then we got started.

The quiz is hard, by design, but I’m good at quizzes and my team - No Kind Of Atmosphere after our Discord - came joint third which was gratifying.  (I was on the winning team a few DJs ago, to blow my own trumpet for a moment.  This is my report, after all.)

And then it was time for the first guest Q&A with - surprise, surprise - Johnny Vegas aka the Crit Cop in “Timewave”.  Not a great episode but he more than made up for that with an appearance I can only describe as chaotic.  Warning - DO NOT attempt to heckle him unless you want to be singled out and humiliated in front of the entire audience in a “Can’t look away” fashion which was nonetheless entertaining.  The man in question tweeted about it afterwards and seems to have taken it in good spirit.

Once we’d moved on from encouraging people to leave unpleasant things in room 429, it turned out Johnny’s a big fan of the show and owned it on VHS (so did I).  He thinks of the main characters, Holly would win at “Taskmaster” and had good reasons for that conclusion.  

He was dubious about the pink costume he wore in “Timewave” as he thought it might take away from the character but said he eventually decided he needed to get over what he was wearing and just go for it.  He also said one of his worst working moments was on “Benidorm” when he had to hold his breath underwater in a freezing swimming pool and his co-star kept forgetting her two lines so they had over 30 takes.  Ouch.

Johnny left commenting that he got less love at his 50th birthday party.  But we hadn’t seen the last of him by any means as people kept buying him drinks during the Auction, leading to him successfully bidding for one of the items on offer.

And then he was back for the Karaoke.  Now if you - as he informed us - had to undergo emergency dental surgery in the morning and had practically lost your voice, would you sing karaoke?  And not only that, would you sing a version of “Love On The Rocks” which lasted 11 minutes according to someone on Twitter (I wasn’t timing it, but I can believe it), followed by the full-length version of “American Pie”?

If you answered no, you’re clearly not Johnny Vegas.  He went to bed so late that the unfortunate Fan Club team member assigned to look after him got a grand total of 90 minutes’ sleep.

Saturday

DOTP and I had paid for the Photoshoot with Mr Vegas, Danny John-Jules and Ray Fearon.  We got in the queue at 9am which was when it was supposed to start.  An hour later we were still waiting.  Yep, Danny was late.

Once he made it to the hotel, I got my photo in front of a Science Room backdrop.  You might think Mr Vegas would be hungover and rushing through it, but on the contrary, he was still enjoying the hell out of proceedings which was refreshing to see.  Since he’d been added to the line-up too late to be in the souvenir booklet, he signed extra inserts for the Fan Club which they handed out to everyone at the later Autograph sessions so attendees got his autograph after all even though he’d finally left.  That’s what I call throwing yourself into an event.

Next up was a combined Q&A with Danny and Ray (originally separate but Danny’s lateness meant they were teamed up).  This wasn’t a problem at all though - on the contrary, it worked really well as the chumminess between them added to the vibe.  Also it was Ray’s first convention so he probably preferred to have Danny backing him up, especially since the poor man tripped on his way to the stage and almost fell.  I don’t think he was hurt but I cringed with secondhand embarrassment and empathy.  He wasn’t the only one to fall foul of the edge of the stage that weekend; I think it was the slightly raised dancefloor in front of it.

As is usual for Danny, we were treated to over half an hour of what you can only really describe as a stream of consciousness as he pontificated about various things.  He and Ray did also talk about working together on “Death In Paradise” and Ray described his worst working experience there - he had to play a scene in a club in 45 degree heat with a live snake wrapped around his neck!

Ray is attractive in a “Hollywood hunk” way and Danny was clearly conscious of this, joking that he’d “brought his own security with him” and muttering “I’m better-looking anyway!”  But all in a jokey way as they’re clearly friends.

Danny had come from filming and dropped a heavy hint that he’s appearing in a Dickens adaptation which I imagine will be shown at Christmas as they generally are.  He also complained that Craig Charles never answers his phone: “You send him a message and he answers it on Twitter a month later!”  (Interestingly, Chris Barrie later mentioned a recent phone conversation with Craig so make of that what you will.)

Ray was quieter but happy to talk about the vagaries of showbiz and typecasting - he said that due to his Shakespearean background he gets a lot of serious roles so people were genuinely surprised that he could also do comedy but “I was always funny!”  He also gently teased Danny about the age of some of his references before admitting he still finds Tommy Cooper funny.

Danny usually performs “Tongue-tied” with a good grace when inevitably asked to by an audience member but perhaps it’s finally starting to pall as this time he did it in the style of Oliver Reed’s Bill Sykes and included a lot of X-rated references to cunnilingus etc.  It was entertaining though.

Next up was a live Q&A (over Zoom) with Chris Barrie.  Danny decided to stick around as he wanted to show Chris something he’d ordered online.  It took a while to get the cameras in the right position for Chris to be able to see it and Danny needed a knife to open the parcel, leading Chris to quip “Is this a good time for me to step out for some lunch?”

However, it turned out to be worth it as it was a custom-made Ace Rimmer doll which impressed Chris with its quality and he complimented the maker.

Danny and Ray then departed for their lunch and to take part in the Coffee Lounge which this year had reduced its numbers for Covid-related reasons and held a ballot for entry in the interests of fairness.  Amy and I didn’t get in but happily stayed for the rest of Chris’s Q&A.

In the “working from home” spirit, Chris was in a hoodie in his living room as opposed to his more usual smart suit.  He was suitably relaxed and revealed he got through lockdown by concentrating on the things which make him happy, such as his hobbies, his garden and his family.  His favourite episodes are “Marooned”, “Dimension Jump” and - less predictably - “Twentica”.  He also referred to a recent “mannerly, as he would call it” phone conversation with Craig.  No details but it had clearly been a positive experience.

Amy decided to liven up the ending of his Q&A by asking a vitally important, “TPL”-related question.  Whom would Rimmer find more attractive, a female version of Lister or a female version of Cat?

Once the laughter had died down and Chris had bought some time by pointing out that “neither of them are women”, he gave the question appropriate consideration.  He pondered whether Rimmer would be more taken by the “simple charms” of Lister or the “feline grace” of Cat.  This next bit is courtesy of Amy as my memory isn’t infallible: He said it’d be a choice between a feline form or a rounder, a bit more slovenly woman - he wouldn’t want the perfectly feline woman because she might not like his imperfections, but he also wouldn’t want someone who ate curry three times a day.  “Basically, a balance would be ideal.”

That was the last question but Chris provided a little more entertainment as he had a “How do you turn this off then?” moment a la Gordon the computer in “Better Than Life” and made amusing faces as he figured it out.  If it was anyone but Chris I’d think it was a deliberate reference to that but I think he was genuinely befuddled.

We then broke for lunch, followed by Autographs with Hattie, Danny, Ray and Norman Lovett.  I got the latter three to sign the “TPL” poster I’d brought with me but gave Hattie the booklet instead as it seemed more tactful.  She complimented the dress I was wearing and I returned the compliment, telling her how much the fans appreciate the effort she makes with her DJ outfits.

Norman commented how there’s a version of the “TPL” poster he isn’t on, bemusedly.  Fortunately mine was the version including him. 

I spent the rest of the afternoon chilling in the bar with Amy, Lapsang and Barbs, chatting to other attendees.  Graphic Designer Matthew Clark was now in the Merchandise Room with various props from Series XII and “TPL” including the Starbug manual used onscreen.  I got his autograph on my poster but it’s an incomprehensible squiggle.  Oh well.  He was very friendly and easy to talk to.

After a break for dinner, the Main Hall reopened for the Costume Competition.  This seems to get better every DJ, with an amazing “Greyscale Rimmer” who was discomfiting to be around due to the corpse-like makeup, a Natalina Pushkin, a Nirvanah Crane who could almost have been Jane Horrocks herself and a Diving Suit Cat from “BTE”.  Other entries included Rimmer’s Mum, “Giraffes who were armed and dangerous” and a Confidence And Paranoia who were later pictured at the bar chatting to Paranoia himself, Lee Cornes.

We then had a special video message from Doug Naylor which I won’t go into as I’m sure everyone’s already heard the details.  Suffice to say, his tone was positive.

The second Auction was hosted by Ian Boldsworth who made it more entertaining by adding his own commentary to each item.  This was followed by a stand-up set from Norman.  It was amusing but he misjudged the mood a bit, I feel.  When you’re waiting for a disco to start and it’s already hours late due to Danny’s tardiness, you don’t particularly want to contemplate your own mortality.  We were here to get away from all that, as much as possible.

Anyway, the Disco was a lot of fun even if Dave Benson Phillips’ presence as host was sorely missed.  Hattie danced for the best part of an hour alongside everyone else.  The stand-in DJs did their job and I stayed until the end.  The final two songs were “Bohemian Rhapsody” and … “Tongue-tied”.

Sunday

Not being in the Sunday Photoshoot, Amy and I had a nice leisurely breakfast and got over last night’s festivities before the first Q&A, live over Zoom with Robert Llewellyn.

This was hosted by Ian Boldsworth who in his capacity as Dave era audience warm-up knows Robert well.  Clearly well enough to get away with teasing him relentlessly about not being at the con in person until poor Robert was a mess of Krytenesque guilt.  

His protestations that he’d been scheduled to be in Munich this weekend but no longer was (he was at home) only made things worse.  Ian: “Oh, so that’s two sets of people you’ve disappointed now!  Stop saying yes to things!”  It was hilarious and Robert took it in its intended spirit.  Also Ian was getting a measure of revenge for Robert - in character as Kryten - dry humping him at recordings.  One attendee asked “With the groinal attachment?!”

Robert admitted that he finds Kryten’s various groinal attachments hilarious and if he was writing the show they’d be in every episode.  He praised Doug’s restraint.

He also admitted that in “TPL” he had an earpiece to have his lines fed to him.  Since it’s controlled by an iPad, certain unscrupulous cast members took great delight in feeding him rude ones.

He still intends to update “The Man In The Rubber Mask” but atm “Fully Charged” is consuming a lot of his time as it’s become much more successful than he anticipated and he’s in charge of several people.

Surprisingly, he would hate appearing in RD without the Kryten makeup, both because it’s become much quicker to apply and because it provides him with a shield and he becomes Kryten and forgets stagefright.  He still can’t watch “DNA” for that reason.

Lapsang, who played Kryten in “Into The Gloop”, asked Robert if he’d seen it.  He hadn’t but said he was now very curious and would find a way to.

Next up was Lee Cornes aka Paranoia who said he originally auditioned for the lead roles and like the other unsuccessful actors got the consolation prize of a guest appearance.  Upon being asked if he’d gone out for a drink with Craig Ferguson’s Confidence, he said no because at the time they had a frosty relationship due to rumours that Craig was plagiarising other comics’ jokes.  Lee said it was all very silly and he’s since apologised.

Interestingly, Lee is a qualified science teacher and carried on with that career alongside his media one, leading to surreal situations where his pupils would ask: “Sir?  Were you on the telly last night?”  “Yes.”  “Are we on the telly now, sir?”

Someone asked a good question - what would Lister’s Paranoia be like now 33 years later?  Lee would be willing to reprise the role but isn’t sure it would work as the original had a childish quality whereas he feels now the character would be a lot darker and less funny.  Lee was both thoughtful and entertaining in his responses.

He was followed onstage by Hattie and Norman, who resolutely refused to rise to the bait of an audience member attempting to stir up a rivalry between them.  That only works when one isn’t the nicest person you could meet.

A tactless audience member asked both if they’d watched “TPL” instead of directing the question at Norman.  Luckily Hattie had seen it and particularly enjoyed the cat flap joke although she felt there was a little too much focus on the guest cast.

Norman didn’t really watch RD after he left but Hattie has seen Norman’s early episodes as he lent them to her back when she was originally cast as Hilly for research purposes.  Bear in mind this was 1988 when they weren’t even available on VHS so presumably he recorded them off the TV.  

Hattie confirmed with a sigh that she’s simply never been asked to return in any capacity: “That’s the short answer.”  What the hell, I’ll say it one more time - Bring Back Hattie!  One episode, that’s all I ask.  As it stands, it’s starting to look like a pointed and deliberate snub which mystifies me.

We then broke for lunch, followed by Rob Grant and Paul Jackson.  For obvious reasons they didn’t go into the current legal mess, opting instead to entertain the fans with the story of how they met and their early pre-RD work (Rob and Doug as freelance writers for Paul’s producer).

We saw some clips from their early shows including “Three Of A Kind” with Lenny Henry, Tracy Ullman and … later magician David Copperfield; apparently they all had the same agent and Paul took on David as a favour.  For a 40 year old show it held up pretty well and was in much better sound and picture quality than older shows often are. “Carrott’s Lib” was just as funny.

It’s a bit hard to summarise but this session was entertaining and gripping.  Rob still wants to write another RD novel and I believe there’s nothing actually stopping him as both he and Doug had an option to write a second solo novel.  So we’ll see.

The final Q&A was Matthew Clark who was very informative and interesting, showing us numerous production stills from Series XII and “TPL” and talking us through them.  There was a groan when time was called before he was finished.

By now time was running short and Amy and I went back to the room to pack and leave our luggage with reception before watching the start of “Dibbley Family Fortunes”. Since I knew I wouldn’t have time to watch it all, I instead nipped upstairs to Autographs with Lee and Ian, timing it perfectly as the queue had almost vanished.

Ian was still performing, drawing scornful attention to the fact that Lee had a longer queue: “Can you imagine all these people queueing to see Lee Cornes?!”  It sounds rude out of context but he was clearly joking.

I decided to ask Lee what flavour the yogurt Paranoia eats was.  He said it didn’t really taste of anything as it was the cheapest, nastiest canteen yogurt available and was also starting to curdle under the studio lights so eating it can’t have been much fun.

Since I now had about 15 minutes before I had to go, I caught a bit of Dibbley Family Fortunes, said goodbye to Amy, Lapsang and Barbs and then dashed off to catch the tram to the train station.  Another great DJ.

[theliterateape]

The Trouble with Transactional Relationships and Recognizing Them

by Don Hall

"Who the FUCK spends $288.00 in a Denny's?!"

Back in the 80s, the Wild Wild West was known as King 8 Casino & Hotel and was host to the King 8 Grill. At the time it was one of the hottest spots to eat in Vegas off the strip. Today, the King 8 Grill is a Denny's franchise and separate from the casino and hotel. Managers can still comp guests (and staff) but the company pays the Denny's Corporation for the courtesy.

Given the lack of perks for the guests, the Denny's comp is about all the managers at the West have to placate those with a beef.

The machines are rough around the edges. Approximately a third of the Game Kings and Buffalo's are decades old and break down frequently while players have money in them. In the earlier days of Vegas, slot machines were mechanical. Today, they are almost entirely Microsoft computers, monitors, and bugs.

✶

I noticed one of my cocktail waitresses at two tall Buffalos. She was flanked by two women who were both a solid foot taller than she was and highly animated, talking and gesticulating wildly. I came over, saw that the two machines were frozen. One had $11.00 in it. The other had $10.00 but had frozen during a Bonus Round. I tapped my waitress out. "I got this."

I held up my hands dramatically.

"I'm going to predict the future!" I exclaimed. "I'm going to get into these machines and do my level best to get them up and running so you can continue playing and you can get your bonus round. For the next ten minutes or so, I will endeavor to fix this. But I'm going to say something now that, if I cannot get things up and running, will not change from now to then. If I can't get your machines up and running, you will be given your $11.00 and $10.00 back, no question but you will not be awarded for a Bonus Round unplayed. You will now commence to bitching about this while I work."

And bitch they did commence.

For eight minutes I pulled out all the tricks. I checked the bill validators. I unplugged and plugged back in the silver box, the blue box, and the main computers. I put in my special reset card and reset both machines twice.

All the while, the two women yelled non-stop about how they treat people at the MGM Grand, about how one was a nurse and if something didn't work with a patient it would be on the hospital to compensate them, that the casinos were all making so much money that we could afford to pay out Bonus Rounds even if they weren't played. During the cacophony, I learned that they were mother and daughter but hardly looked it, that they were there with 'boyfriends' who they didn't really know too well (neither could get the mother's male companion's name right), and that they played here at the West all the time.

"OK. I tried. I failed. As I predicted, you will now be refunded the money in your machines."

Immediate discord.

My hands went up again. "Alright. I hear you. Here's what I can do. For you (the mother) I can give you your $11.00 back. That's it. My apologies and $11.00. For you (the daughter) I can either shut down the machine and you can wait for a slot technician to come and fix it and then play your bonus round. That'll happen next week and I can call you if you win anything. Or I can refund your $10.00 and offer you a meal at the Denny's for your trouble."

A pause.

"How about four meals? There's four of us."

I did a quick calculation in my head. I could get away with four meals at Denny's and justify it if for no other reason than to shut these ladies up and move on with my day.

"OK. I can do four meals."

The four of them, satisfied, walked over to the Denny's. I went to the cage and got them their $21.00. I handed it off as they were getting drinks. "This is on the house," I told the waitress.

I went about my business.

Ninety minutes later, the Denny's waitress came over to give me the bill so I could fill out the comp slip.

"$288.00?! What the hell did they freaking order? Holy Shit!"

Four steak dinners. Four milkshakes. Four desserts. Three breakfasts, a sandwich, and a meatloaf platter to go along with two more milkshakes. An order of brownies. The list went on. I was stunned and furious.

I was so caught off guard, I left the casino to smoke and vent out loud to myself. The first trip around the property I was angry at them. The second trip, I realized I was pissed at myself. I had opened the gate; they had just walked through it.

Twenty minutes later, I came back and noticed they were still there. No longer at the Denny's but back playing the machines. I knew that as soon as my general manager saw the $288.00 comp, it was my ass but I thought I saw a way out. I approached the four, all smiles.

"Did you enjoy your meal? You should've because you got enough food to serve a football team!" And they laughed.

"You sticking around? If you are, can I get you some drinks on me?"

They were and I could. They ordered four double shots of Patron. $72.00 in tequila. "Absolutely!" I said. I was betting these idiots wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Patron and El Toro so I had the bartender pour four double shots of the latter. A $1.80 comp.

Sure enough, they didn't know the difference between premium tequila and horse piss so they were feeling quite taken care of. I kept this up, delivering my fake Patron double shots every 45 minutes or so, chatting them up, directing them to slots that I told them were big payouts but, in fact, were more like donation boxes.

Six hours later, they were plastered and had lost over $6,000.00. I had made my $288.00 back and then some.

A few months later, I saw them in the joint again. The mother was having a problem with her free play points. There was no chance I was being suckered twice. I explained that I could email our marketing department to look into it but there was nothing I could do for her at the moment.

"What about some Denny's?" the daughter asked.

"No. I'm sorry but I can't give out Denny's for a $5.00 free play issue."

"That's alright. We already jacked up that stupid manager." They both started laughing. They didn't recognize me as I had shaved my beard off since our first encounter. "We ordered $300.00 in food. We ate on that for two days. That white boy was DUMB."

Yes. He was.

✶

In the casino most of the relationships are openly transactional. That's the very nature of the business. The casino wants people to come in and lose their money on slots. The people want something in return if they keep losing. Everyone is looking to get one over on everyone else. The nicest encounters from the nicest people can turn ugly in seconds as soon as the staff refuses a request.

My difficulty in life has been my inability to recognize these transactional relationships outside of the casino.

When we moved to Vegas, we came out here with a friend who financed the move in exchange for our help. He was disabled and couldn't handle the move. We were friends and it all seemed kosher until we arrived and the move was complete. The transaction had been concluded but the relationship was cemented in our obedience to more transactions. After all, he was still disabled and expected that we would continue to do his bidding and as soon as either my wife or I refused a request, we became his enemies.

My second marriage was transactional. She wanted someone to produce her artistic inclinations; I wanted someone brilliant to create shows I would produce. When I stopped producing shows of any kind, she moved on to a mutual friend for a year before we divorced.

In the earliest days of the theater I founded in the nineties, I thought we were all in it together but whenever I attempted something that would benefit us all and I failed, my failure resulted in my perceived comrades in arms turning on me in a split second. I spent the first several years of that endeavor constantly worried that the ensemble would simply leave should I not meet the transactional requirements in place. Eventually I got tired of that pressure and when people left only to scorch the earth with tales of what an asshole I was, I couldn't be surprised.

I was definitely the asshole. I reneged on the premise of the relationships. I was there to serve them, they were there to be served. I rejected the premise thus the promise.

Upon reflection, I've never been great at making friends. I can lay blame on a host of reasons for this but I'd wager that the rolling stone nature of my growing up has me gaining status and relationships based in large part from what I can supply. I'm worth your time because of what I can do for you. As soon as I find myself resenting the transactional nature of the friendship, as soon as I stop doing things, the relationship becomes null and void.

I'm getting on in years at this point and I find a healthy sense of misanthropy is settling into my bones. My earlier inability to understand the transactional nature of so many of my relationships—from the assistant I trained at the public radio station who was instrumental in my resignation to the misperceived friends I had in Chicago who abandoned me in the face of controversy—has fostered a desire to be left alone.

Yes. There was a time when I blamed them, was angry at them. After a second walk around the property, I realized that I had opened the gate; they just walked through it. If anyone is to blame (as if assigning blame is either necessary or helpful) it is most definitely me. I am the asshole. I entered into the agreement of friendship in exchange for industry. I no longer have any desire for that sort of bought and paid for relationship. Thus multiple burnt bridges to multiple transactional friendships.

I am, gratefully, beginning to recognize those relationships based on mutual interest, common enthusiasms, and equal transactions. I'm beginning to see the joys of friendships without strings attached, without a contract.

✶

With the economy having taken a hit and employment moving further and further online, it concerns me that so much of our communication to one another has become strictly transactional. GoFundMe, Patreon, Buy Me a Coffee, OnlyFans. As our relationships grow exponentially from in-person to online, the mixed message of being a "friend" (the definition changing before our very eyes and meaning everything from 'friend' to 'subscriber' to 'follower') and a transactional partner is murkier.

I mean, Christ, I just started to see the difference in my own life and I'm over half a century old. I wonder if my niece is able to see the difference now that so many of her relationships are primarily digital. I wonder about kids who've spent the past year in lockdown and who's only relationships are within the social media platforms.

From this position I'm in, having realized the emptiness of transactional friendships, I offer a caution. Take a moment or two and reflect upon your relationships. The ones that are predicated on transaction are doomed.

[ask-crimson-cardinal]

Equestria isn’t what it seems. Ask anything. And you will get the entire truth. No questions asked!!

To read a bit more of my backstory, keep reading. 

Hoofington is a seemingly pleasant little town. Located on a pristine beach, just a little ways north from the shining star of Los Pegasus. On the outside, a sweet and simple villa for scholars and aspiring writers, and escapees from the hecticness of the outside world. However, its isolation did not spare it from the influences of the Equestrian aristocracy, albeit that seemed harmless enough, if not more secure. Of course, the reality was much, much darker.

Equestria was a rickety house of cards that managed to rebuild itself pretty quickly when knocked over, but it was a house of flimsy cards, no less. A world of chaos almost completely governed by four goddesses and their families, not to mention the various other atrocities that controlled the world beyond, in addition to the very elusive racial divide between the the four equestrian races and the two other sovereign species, gryphons and dragons. What a mess. But who was to acknowledge it? Meet Crimson Cardinal. A skinny, tall red pegasus with a long and flowing purple mane and tail, a journalist of ill-temperament and an extreme lover of conspiracy, cider, and revolution. A proletariat of cynicism and pride with an extreme hatred for dark magic, corruption and aristocracy. And finally, not much a flyer, but a strong adherent of pegasus pride and a shameless destroyer of alicorn supremacy. Though seemingly sour, Crimson greatly enjoyed his little town and the ponies who inhabit it. His full-time job (journalism being more of a freelance job and anti-fascism being more of a hobby) was a bartender at everyone’s favorite salon downtown, “The Bubbly Mare,” owned by an equally gleeful little stallion, Bubbling Cider. Crimson―a lover of conspiracy and writing is also a great, great lover of alcohol, almost more than pen and paper. In truth, his best rhetoric was born from the bottle. But the townsfolk flocked to his side drunk or sober. The political views of Hoofington were slightly varied, but there was one thing in common―The town was mostly Earth ponies and Pegasi. Farms on the borders of town were hard workin’ folk who prided themselves in tending the soil with their own hooves, criticizing the unicorns for laziness. The pegasi, whose job was to beat clouds into submission and maintain the weather likewise berated the unicorns for using their powers to whip up a storm or chaos anytime they pleased. On the flip side―those small-town earth ponies and pegasi were shunned by the elitist unicorns of the big city, and it was remarkably difficult for a non unicorn to have a profession other than a farmer or cloud-kicker. And it wasn’t just Hoofington that held this belief. This distrust of magic wasn’t seen by those who visited the shining capitals and paragons of Equestria. Canterlot, Ponyville, the Crystal Empire and other big cities that portrayed the unity and magic that the country prided itself on and preached had shiny, posterless walls. But elsewhere, every alleyway in almost every small town, hidden from dignitaries and diplomats, was marked with cynical graffiti alongside the tyrannical Celestia’s infamous “Obey” posters. Now, Crimson himself wasn’t a hater of unicorns per se, or at least that’s what he contended. His roommate and ‘special friend,’ Regal Pen, was one and a rather magically inclined one at that. But did he appeal to the collective distrust of magic in the town? Oh yes he did. …

The day was searing hot, the sun was beating down on the coast and the streets were fairly empty. The dark alleyways, however, were flooding with quietly chattering ponies, but they weren’t there for the shade. They crowded around a soapbox, placed in front of a fresh, untouched, massive propaganda poster, Celestia’s image glaring down at the crowd in ominous shades of dark blue, tan and red, below the stark blue OBEY. There was a hanging uneasiness and tension within the crowd, starting at the poster which they had been specifically instructed not to brutally desecrate by no other than Crimson himself. However, they also knew that the crafty pegasus would not leave it untouched for long. The dark red pony in question stepped over to the soapbox, sitting on his haunches with his chest puffed out. His eyes were dark and sunken as ever, but there was a glimmer of pride and deviance within them too. He opened a prepared sheet of paper and cleared his throat, grasping the ecstatic attention of his listeners. “I would like to start off by thanking everypony for attending this meeting, especially under such short notice, but I declare this a matter of emergency. As you may have noticed, military presence has increased within our borders in the past few months, which is obviously a reason for concern―But it wouldn’t be so problematic if it wasn’t for the plague that they bring with them―Nationalism!!” Crimson gave a quick gesture to the poster behind him, riling murmurs and cries of affirmation from the crowd. “What you see here is the tyranny of the equestrian aristocracy! To many, it is no more than a frail piece of paper. But we, as the enlightened and intelligent ponies we are, know that it is so much more. My moral is that the pen is mightier than the sword, and this extends to a picture that speaks a thousand words. Be it a thousand and one words of celestial corruption and militant authority!” Crimson violently stomped his hoof against the podium, initiating more whinnies and shouts. He waited patiently for the crowd to cease, preparing for an obligatory remark. “Now, my animosity towards Celestia does not necessarily extend to the other princesses, her devout subjects, nor the blindly following, and I obviously harbor no contempt towards those who are simply unaware. However, I can say that the first three are the willing pawns of Celestia’s every bidding! However, I would be remiss if I did not clarify that I revere Princess Luna, and I do not believe she is a pawn nor an ecstatic aide to her sister’s reign. She only does not resist because she is trapped in the guilt that her sister has has bestowed upon her. I also don’t deny Twilight Sparkle as a heroine, a luminary and the paragon of unity and friendship. And Cadence…well, I don’t believe I need to state my opinion on that airheaded sparkling celebrity…On the other hoof, the honorary ‘Princesses’ Twilight and Cadence, and their extended aristocratic families combined represent all that is reprehensible with Celestia’s reign, including her sloth, her gluttony and her incompetence! They are the perfect plastic pawns in Celestia’s games. They are shining public icons, used to preach the alleged solidarity and morality of Equestria! What’s worse, the great and powerful Celestia sends them to solve her problems! What deity would allow the gods of chaos, the dreaded changelings, and abominations from Tartarus itself to wreak havoc on our country, and send her neurotic, monumentally less powerful slave to fix her own faults? And what if these were manifestations of her own magic, as a means of oppression?” The crowd was riled up, shouting and waving their hooves aggressively. And there was still one last note. Crimson took a breath. “In conclusion, I have a little treat for all of you. I’ve instructed you not to desecrate this lovely, lovely poster, but I’m sure you all knew that I would never leave such a thing standing proudly on the walls of our town for very long.” Crimson turned around and tore the poster clean off the wall and held it up. The crowd was practically snapping at it, as if Crimson was holding a slab of meat over a pit of manticores. He hushed the crowd and puffed his chest out. “DISOBEY.” He threw it into the mud. Every pony in the crowd went at it like a feral animal, grabbing each corner and ripping it at the seams, stomping on Celestia’s ominous muzzle into the disgusting brown mud, saturating it and making the frail poster just that much easier to tear apart. Crimson’s usually cold maw curled into a smirk. He shouted with an undertone of malcontented laughter―DISOBEY!! CRUSH IT!! DESTROY IT!! The desecration persisted for several minutes. Crimson caught his breath and stepped off the stand, looking back at the very happy crowd with a sense of pride. The horde eventually dispersed with adrenaline to fuel a day of proletariat’s labor. The poster laid in the mud in literal shreds, but left just barely recognizable to proudly display the desecration of Celestia’s image. Crimson’s younger sister, Emerald Paint was waiting at the end of the alleyway. A bouncy green pegasus who didn’t quite understand Crimson’s near-obsessive immersion in political discord. She was a painter instead of a writer―A painter who secretly wished to paint the revolution with strokes of blood instead of the written word. “Shit, when did you become so inspirational?” “Shut the hell up. It took me two fucking hours to write.” Crimson opened his satchel and grabbed a flask, taking a quick swill of the sweet nectar that fueled his anger and creativity. “Does it look like I give a shit? Anyways, it’s insane how you made destroying that poster seem so important. I mean, it looked like fun…” “Symbolism. One of the greatest literary strategies. It’s kind of like burning an effigy or some books, although it doesn’t quite have the same effect as tearing the thing itself to shreds and leaving it to rot in the mud.” “The fuck you talking about? Why wouldn’t you just destroy the real thing?” Crimson shot a sarcastic glance at his internally violent sister. “I don’t think that’s a very…realistic…solution, Emerald. Besides, I’d much rather have Celestia rot in Tartarus for eternity next to the monsters she created.” “Do you really think this is gonna end peacefully?” Emerald cocked her head. Crimson sighed and averted his eyes. “Well, not exactly…Regardless of how it ends, Celestia and her pawns can’t condemn us for rebelling when she has been slaughtering, imprisoning, and banishing for centuries, if not millennia?” Emerald shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t feel like it’s worth it. Talking doesn’t get anything done, plus you can’t just beat Celestia!” Crimson huffed and narrowed his eyes, taking another aggressive swill of vodka. “How could you say that?! Haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘The pen is mightier than the sword?” “I don’t fucking know. I’m going home, going to work to make MONEY, unlike you.” Emerald said snarkily, flipping her hair and trotted away. “Journalism is a noble and well-paying profession!! And bartending is just to pay the bills!” Crimson growled and flipped his sister off with his wing. He was glad that the rest of the town didn’t share the same ironically bourgeois sentiment. He would show her. … Crimson sat as his desk, continuing on his endeavour to create the perfect combinations of letters that would convince the most stubborn sheep to awaken from their comatose states under the shades of fascism. “That is a great fucking sentence.” Crimson mumbled. Thank Celes- Thank god sheep were too stupid to read and too weak to be of any use to the revolution (He thought with gratuitous disregard of his own hypocrisy). Stamping the last word with his typewriter, Crimson fell back in his seat. The town was on his side, and with the beautiful ink on paper, many others would trot alongside him. But where to go next? Los Pegasus was close, but going into a such a big city with Hoofington’s small population was, well, a really bad idea. Revolutions don’t start overnight. It must be slow, methodical, covert… But it would happen. That was for certain.