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thekydsarealright · 26 days

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I wonder if Edward loved Vivian so much because she reminded him of himself… in his youth… before he went to school. Before he left what life was like and was going to be like for him, for what life could be for him. Commitment. Discipline. Survival, but for him versus her lifestyle, belonging to a standard that is considered “more sophisticated”. Meanwhile, on the streets, she, Vivian, is thriving on her own, of course with “friends”, only to survive. She reminds him of himself when he was younger. More innocent. She has an innocence to herself, a swagger, perfectly unadulterated in her adultery. Refined as opposed to his undefined culture. When he was still figuring out things. She’s a prostitute and she’s a success story in her own right. Vivian grew up in a dysfunctional family. “She doesn’t know why, but her father never seemed to like her much, except when he was drunk. Her mother wasn’t much better. She would lock Vivian in the attic when she misbehaved, which was pretty often.” Vivian is her own boss, is independent, has no pimp, she is the pimp, lives moment-to-moment and last minute. And she’s pretty damn good at it, too. Imagine how more unstoppable she can evolve to. She sells. Edward gives about… old dude. Edward was born to a wealthy but disconnected family, but in reading, his father divorced his mother to marry another woman, and took all the family’s money with him. Edward never saw a dime of that money. Except for all of the things he sold off. For instance, selling who his father (studying his idling but mild body language in the movie when Edward is asked about his father, I draw the conclusion: probably not at all the father he wanted) was in association. However, perhaps I might suggest he has abandonment issues stemming from all of this. His familial background. So he practices detachment. This causes him to adopt a non-destructive nature. But inevitably, he does do hurtful things. So Edward, goes to public school and then college on a scholarship. And uses up all of his youth… in order to become serious and get his life together. He becomes detached from life itself. Dissociative. He comes a workaholic. So he doesn’t end up on the streets. Rich kid at first comes from a rich family becomes poor kid, dedicates his life to school, becomes a leverage buyout executive. He sells. He learns to flip assets and then breaks them up to sell separately - usually for a big profit. His father was chairman of the board and of the third company he ever went after to buy. He acquired that company and sold off the pieces. One of the pieces being his father. But in turn, all of this hard work… and time, deals in his youth. Also for years of education early on. We could say didn’t have the chance to just be like other kids. I’m beginning to paraphrase, by the way. I’m rewarding my research by rewatching the film this morning and shit. Vivian is the beloved main character in all her glory. She already deserves everything, and she “doesn’t joke about money”. Edward takes to her savviness and intelligence. She’s smart, she’s spirited, she’s safe, she’s confident in herself, she’s kind, she’s honest, she’s beautiful. Doesn’t do drugs; he finds her in the bathroom flossing her gums instead of rubbing them. She takes no bullshit. She can bargain. Perfect in his field. She’s actually a pretty interesting character with fire character development. She just makes you proud when you just as so much as look at her. She is his precipice. What he would’ve become had he not gone down his boring, opportunistic, academic, unpragmatic, organized lifestyle. He looks at her with satisfaction and Gomez-like admiration in his eyes for when she laughs at old shows. He falls in love with her for her freedom. For how red and wild her curly hair is. He knows before her that she could be so much more. More than the old shows she watches. He tells her in bed that she’s extremely bright.

Her depth. Her intensity. Her ability. Her authenticity. Her language. He falls in love with her for her soul. She makes him feel like a kid again. She causes him to think about life and in turn that cause makes him appreciate things more. While she still takes him serious. He takes her, her occupation, and her security extremely serious from the get-go. They’re both brilliant at business. But what makes them different from the typical sphere is that they’re both passionate. Curious. This contributes to their relationship with each other. “Well, the company I’m buying this week, I’m getting for the bargain price of about one billion.” “A BILLION dollars? Wow! You must be really smart, huh? I only got through the eleventh grade. How far in school did you go?”

“I went all the way.” Edward has never met anyone quite like Vivian. She makes him laugh, and she’s warm, she’s witty, she’s trustworthy, she’s a personable person (he definitely likes her for that as well), she’s down-to-earth, steadily approaching a, ’no sky’s the limit mentality.’ In the movie, he mentions they have something in common, too: “You and I are such similar creatures, Vivian. We both screw people for money.”

They have actually a LOT of things in common in contrast, more than the common eye would have with the screen.

#thoughts about pretty woman #spilled thoughts #my take #ionno bro this movie has lots of layers #this shit just used to be a cute lil chick flick to me bruh lmfao

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fredalan · 5 months

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Michael Cuscuna by Jimmy Katz

Michael Cuscuna R.I.P. 1948-2024

Our fantastic friend, then client, Michael Cuscuna, record producer/historian extraordinaire and co-founder of Mosaic Records, passed away on April 19, 2024. Both of us –Alan and Fred– wrote remembrances that we’re reposting here.

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Michael Cuscuna by Thomas Staudter

I knew the voice of Michael Cuscuna before I ever met the man. Growing up in an area of New Jersey where we could pull in both New York and Philadelphia stations, I would listen to him DJ at WMMR out of Philly. He had a quintessential FM DJ voice — soft-spoken, intimate, gravelly, authoritative. He didn’t yammer on, but I remember he was clever and his sense of humor was dry as a bone. He played a mix of progressive rock and some things that clung to the precipice of musical genres.

Years later our paths merged. I started seeing his name on the backs of albums I’d play on my college jazz radio show — now I was the DJ, and he had become a prolific producer, supervising dates for a diverse list of artists, including many dedicated to the avant garde. He also produced for Bonnie Raitt and other groundbreaking musicians. I am searching my memory in vain to recall how we became connected, but he was also creating a monthly promo disk sent to radio stations by Crawdaddy Magazine and I became his producer, using the free facilities of the college station to record and edit. He would collect the interview tapes from the magazine’s feature writers, I would edit them into a coherent radio show, then he would come in and record his host segments. Out of that association, I started writing reviews for Crawdaddy of new jazz releases. He was as wickedly funny in person as I remembered him on the radio. I was a little in awe of his extraordinary knowledge of music — an artist’s historical significance, how a musician’s style linked that person to the artists that came before and after, and why certain artists deserved more recognition than they had received by the public. He turned me onto a lot of music. I think we did the show for a couple of years.

More time passed, and Michael came into my life again through my partner at our media advertising agency, Fred/Alan. By now, Michael had established himself as an important compiler of jazz reissues that went above and beyond what was typical at the time. Starting with Blue Note Records, but ultimately including the libraries of other labels, he’d go into the vaults and unearth the unreleased sides and alternate takes and place them alongside the more well-known songs. His two-fer series for Blue Note was particularly noteworthy. On the back of that success, he and a former Blue Note executive named Charlie Lourie created Mosaic Records. Their concept was to do numbered, limited editions in luxurious box sets aimed at the collector market. Initially vinyl only, they switched to CDs when that was the prevailing release format. The boxes were gorgeous, each with a booklet filled with photos, an essay by a prominent jazz historian, and absolutely accurate discographical information. They specialized in “complete” collections depending on the frame they decided was relevant. That frame might have been the three-day recording binge from 1957 by organist Jimmy Smith that resulted in enough material for three CDs, the unreleased complete recordings of Charlie Parker’s live solos recorded by Dean Benedetti, or the complete Capitol recordings of the Nat King Cole trio, a box that weighed-in at 18 CDs. They were sold only through the mail, direct to consumers. But they weren’t reaching the market and needed help. In an earlier era, my partner Fred Seibert had attached himself to Michael to learn as much as he could about producing records. Knowing the two of us, Michael asked if we could come up with a direct marketing campaign. In our typically arrogant belief that we knew how to do almost anything or could figure it out, we said yes.

We began producing a catalog that was mailed out to jazz enthusiasts, slowing building a list of devoted listeners and buyers. My job was to write that catalog. We dissolved the advertising agency in 1992, and mailed catalogs gave way to internet promotion, but I continued writing the sales copy for each release, save one or two that I didn’t do for reasons lost to time. I just wrote one last month for an upcoming set featuring vibraphonist Bobby Hutcherson.

I developed a format for my essays. I started with some thesis about why that artist deserved more recognition, or why the music from that era was crucially important — in other words, why you absolutely had to own that collection. I segued into a couple paragraphs of biography, followed by a few paragraphs where I singled-out important tracks or tried to convey in words the feeling, the sound, the artistry of the musician. I wrapped it up with more “don’t delay” language. In all those years, each and every time I approached a new assignment I had two thoughts crowding my mind — will Michael agree with my thesis? Will Michael take issue with the way I chose to describe the music? Each package gave me an opportunity to do a deep dive into the music, but I knew I didn’t have Michael’s personal connection to many of the artists, or his historian’s perspective on the music. And by the way, he was himself a damn good writer. It never stopped thrilling me when he’d send back an email merely correcting a calendar date, or the number of unreleased tracks, with a message that he thought it was otherwise perfect. More than anything I wanted to impress and satisfy Michael. I was alway so happy that I could.

I think they had done four releases when we got involved in 1984. The company is closing in on 200 box sets. I can’t believe it’s been a 40-year association.

We lost Charlie more than 20 years ago. This weekend, Michael passed after a long illness. I will miss his husky laugh, his personal stories about the musicians we both obsessed over, and the gratitude he expressed each time I turned in an assignment.

To many, his name was a name on the back of an album jacket. To those of us who knew him, we know him as someone who single-handedly rescued the Blue Note archive and other treasures from oblivion, who introduced us to overlooked artists such as saxophonist Tina Brooks, and who demanded we take a second look at music that was significant and mind-blowing. As a colleague, as a client, but mostly as a music lover, I am forever in his debt. My sympathies to the family of this enormously important figure in music. RIP Michael Cuscuna.

–Alan Goodman (repost from Facebook)

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Michael Cuscuna, photograph by Jimmy Katz

Michael Cuscuna

Michael Cuscuna, one of my great inspirations and sometime collaborator, passed away this weekend (April 19, 2024) from cancer. Being a cancer survivor last year myself, when someone I’ve known and worked with for over 50 years it hit particularly hard.

Blue Cuscuna: 1999 promotional sampler from Toshiba-EMI [Japan]

Michael has been the most consequential jazz record producer of the past half century, a man who had not only a passion, but the relentlessness necessary to will the entire history of the music into being. Don’t believe it? Check out the more than 2600 (!) of his credits on Discogs. Substantial and meaningful he might have been, but to me, he was a slightly older friend who was always there with a helping hand. Hopefully, I was able to hand something back on occasion.

As I said when he answered “7 Questions” eight years ago: “I first encountered Michael as a college listener to his “freeform,” major station, radio show in New York, and was fanboy’d out when a mutual friend introduced us at [an] open rehearsal for [Carla Bley’s and Michael Mantler’s] Jazz Composer’s Orchestra at The Public Theater (MC has a photographic memory: “It was Roswell [Rudd]’s piece or Grachan [Moncur III]’s. You were darting nervously around the chairs with your uniform of the time – denim jean jacket, forgettable shirt and jeans.”) By 1972 or 73, he’d joined Atlantic Records as a producer, and since that was my career aspiration, I’d give him a call every once in awhile. He’d patiently always make time for my rambling and inane questions, and I never forgot his kindness to a drifting, unfocused, fellow traveler.

“...patiently always make time for my rambling and inane questions...” says a lot about Michael. His raspy voice could sometimes seem brusque, but ask anyone and they will tell you that he always made time to talk. Especially about jazz.

I desperately wanted to be a record producer and Michael was one of the first professionals I encountered. He had already produced my favorite Bonnie Raitt LP when somehow or other I bullied my way into his Atlantic Records office, where he was a mentee of the legendary Joel Dorn. Over the next few years, Michael was often amused at some of the creative decisions I made, but he was always supportive and even would sometimes ask me to make a gig when he couldn’t. When I spent a year living in LA, he invited me over to the studio while he was mining the history of Blue Note Records that would define his life for the next half century. I completely failed to understand what the great service to American culture he was about to unleash. Along with Blue Note executive Charlie Lourie, Michael’s research resulted in a series of double albums (”two-fers” in 70s speak), but little did the world know what was on Michael’s and Charlie’s minds.

The Cuscuna/Lourie Blue Note “Two-Fers” that ignited Mosaic Records

“I don’t think it’s generally understood just how imperiled the musical and visual archives of Blue Note Records were at one point, and just how heroically Michael stepped in to make sure this unparalleled American music survived for future generations. If you like jazz, you owe the man.” –Evan Haga

(Joe Maita does a great interview about Michael's career here.)

Fast forward a few years. The air went out of my record producing tires, I became the first creative director of MTV, I quit MTV and along with my partner Alan Goodman started the world’s first media “branding” agency. Leafing through DownBeat one day I saw an ad that started a new relationship with Michael that would last, on one level or another, for the rest of his life: the “mail order” jazz reissue label Mosaic Records.

Charlie Lourie & Michael Cuscuna at Mt. Fuji Jazz Festival, Japan 1987. Photograph by Gary Vercelli / CapRadio Music

Long story short, in 1982 Michael returned my check for the first two Mosaic releases with a note asking for some help. Initially, Mosaic wasn’t the sure fire, instant success Michael and Charlie had hoped for, did I have any ideas? I did, but no time to do anything other than make suggestions, we were busy trying to get our own shop off the ground. This cycle repeated itself for another couple of years when this time when Michael called he said Mosaic was on death’s door. Fred/Alan was in better shape, so Alan and I, on our summer vacation, came up with the first Mosaic “brochure,” convinced the guys we knew what we were doing (I’d read a few paragraphs in a direct mail book in a bookstore) and, with nothing to lose, Charlie and Michael took the plunge with us. Success! 42 years later, the former Fred/Alan and Frederator CFO at the helm, Alan and I always answer any call from Mosaic.

The first Mosaic Record box set 1983

There aren’t many people in the world like Michael Cuscuna. The world’s culture will miss him. I will miss him. Most of all, of course, his wife and children will miss him.

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#Michael Cuscuna #Mosaic Records #RIP #Alan Goodman #Fred Seibert #Charlie Lourie

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sepublic · 4 years

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Eda the Beast

Well, a horrible thought just came into my head- But imagine Eda transforming into an Owl Beast the first few times, the first few years into her curse. And in addition to all of the horrible stuff she must’ve gone through… Imagine her turning into an Owl Beast and getting out into public; Being mistaken for just a regular beast, and having Animal Control called on her! Imagine Animal Control abusing and mistreating Eda not as an actual person but as a creature, throwing her into a cage, locking her up… Imagine Eda reverting back inside a cage, scared and traumatized... Terrified by the other animals, especially if she’s put into the same room as some! And then they get harsh towards her, and Eda retains injuries from her time as an Owl Beast, having no idea what happened or what’s going on with her…

Imagine Eda having to deal with almost being put down, or captured and sold to some zoo, or Lilith having to rescue her! Imagine Eda recognizing her situation, dimly, and desperately trying to convey that she is a PERSON, not a pet, not a wild animal to be euthanized or experimented on… Imagine some bullies at school, snidely telling Eda that her sleeves should be orange like her hair; Because an animal like her would surely recognize other creatures and be a wonderful Beastkeeper! And any time she does well with beastkeeping magic, this kind of snide remark of, “Of COURSE the Monster Girl knows beasts well!” is made, discouraging Eda and making her feel self-conscious about her skill there, until she just straight-up forgoes beastkeeping magic, with it ruined for her… And don’t consider bullies sneering and suggesting that Eda could be ‘tamed’ with beastkeeping magic, as the animal she really is! Maybe a few bullies from the beastkeeping track try to pull a cruel prank- And of course Eda still wrecks them, but still.

It’d be so humiliating, dehumanizing, and really reinforce Eda’s insistence on being free and not beholden to anyone, least of all Belos…! Maybe it’d give new background to Eda being King’s friend, because she actually sort of gets and understands that feeling of being treated like a mindless animal to own or do away with, and not as a legitimate person. King wouldn’t know how Eda understands, he wasn’t aware of the curse until rather recently- So then it just leads to him wondering why this random Owl Lady is so considerate, what could she POSSIBLY know about his situation?! Perhaps Eda ends up feeling sympathy for some animals and creatures who are abused, because like it or not, they were right to an extent- Being cursed DID give her some perspective on what it’s like for beasts, and grant some very involuntary and dehumanizing solidarity with them.

Maybe people compare Eda to the Greater Basilisk or whatever, as a monster pretending to be a witch, rather than a witch who sometimes turns into an Owl Beast… And how Eda might get mistreated; The apprehension and distrust towards Demon Hunters, of being killed and maybe even chopped up and eaten by them… Objectified and treated like some exotic piece of meat, or some rare pet to own?! The idea makes me sick. Especially since we’ve seen basically what I’ve described almost happen in Escape of the Palisman… And then King taking advantage of Eda’s cursed state in that episode could’ve come across as a real betrayal to her. But on the other hand, King still tried to treat her with some respect, and you can argue that he tends to command and boss around actual people too, so the treatment may not be all that different; Still, it was NOT a good thing, but at least King apologized and legit changed his behavior.

I can see a lot of people who captured Eda realizing their mistake, but then blaming Eda for ‘tricking’ them or whatever! That kind of victim-blaming and gaslighting would really force Eda to affirm her self-confidence, while recognizing her dignity and where she’s been unjustly insulted and hurt, and to step up for herself- Especially after her and Lilith grew more distant, she really had to learn to handle the curse on her own, and probably with Hooty and Owlbert’s help. Thankfully, I can see Hooty being VERY adept at handling Owl Beast Eda… Then again, she DOES attack and disable him in The Intruder; So maybe not.

Maybe he was just caught by surprise, maybe Owl Beast Eda still attacked Hooty, because he’s just THAT aggravating, y’know? Maybe his voice is really irritating to OBE, so while he has the force to handle Eda, he doesn’t have enough of that sisterly, soothing reassurance that Lilith did. Also, Hooty may have been made a while into Eda’s curse, when she’d already figured out how to handle it with elixirs and not transform as often, whereas Lilith would’ve been alongside her for most of the trial-and-error. Regardless, Hooty is recognized, but he hasn’t done much to earn Owl Beast Eda’s love and affection, either…

Still- Let’s not imagine Owl Beast Eda having to go through the dehumanizing fear of being hunted at night, shall we? Let’s not think of some crowd or vigilantes trying to track down Owl Beast Eda into the woods, or worse- Some people try to lynch her! Of course Eda as a witch could protect herself and even kill in self-defense, but as an Owl Beast, not so much… A lot of bias and prejudice could lead to people doubting if Eda was acting in self-defense, or if she was just giving in to her ‘primal urges’ as a violent, savage beast. Don’t imagine Eda having to be REALLY mindful of how she acts or fights, until eventually she goes screw it, I’m rightfully defending myself and I’m a recluse criminal anyway… And really, I can see this kind of prejudice contributing to her being a recluse, alas. Possibly to get away from the torment, and also to protect herself- And maybe OTHERS, in Eda’s mind…

And it just leads to this idea in her head of separating from others to protect them, which culminates in the Season Finale when Eda tells Luz to abandon her to her petrification- Until Luz very much teaches Eda that she helps and heals and doesn’t hurt, by fighting on, while Lilith’s change of heart no doubt means a lot to Eda and impacts her- As does the crowd’s protest for her freedom. I imagine some people in the crowd recognized that there was a divide between Eda and her Owl Beast form- Or at the very least, this wasn’t something she could control and not something she should be killed for, especially if she can handle it with elixirs. A lot of people likely recognized that Owl Beast Eda’s threat to them was being greatly exaggerated, both by local rumors and the Emperor’s Coven. And that teaches Eda that people aren’t scared of her- Or at least, not enough to let her be executed, which means a lot because it shows that others also recognize the worth and rights of others, even if they don’t like that person.

Did Eda feel self-conscious, about people being afraid of her? And how she handled this in trying to sell things to people; How they eventually realized over the years that despite being a criminal, she hadn’t really hurt anyone who didn’t have it coming? Amidst enjoyment of her wares, Morton appreciating her business… Still, after that brief scene in Grom, I can see some kids regarding Eda with fear as the accursed Owl Beast, and it ends up REALLY getting to her, because the opinions of children tend to feel way more substantial than that of adults. Maybe Eda was a little hurt on the inside when Luz ran away from her in fear, because Eda didn’t immediately recognize that Luz was just a human and everyone in the Boiling Isles is scary to her- So it means a lot when Luz calms down and recognizes Eda as not a monster…

And even when Eda DOES turn into a monster, Luz still acts to incapacitate Eda, not kill or escape her; And Luz doesn’t even bat an eye at Eda when she wakes up. Obviously she was also focused on her first spell, but still! Her medical encouragement and tips towards Eda show that this is something that Luz has normalized, thanks to her open mind and influence from Camila; So it no doubt helps Eda REALLY feel like a person, and feel like normal in the proper way… Not in that conforming manner, but in the “Yes you deserve to live you are not an abomination nor a freak, you are VALID” manner. I’m just imagining Eda having once worried about looking scary to people, questioning her own appearance… And that leads to her learning to REALLY appreciate how she looks, and love her body, reclaim it on her own terms and not let others define it for Eda!

Maybe she had a phase where she tried to look more approachable, or changed herself up so people wouldn’t recognize her as the Owl Beast, before Eda just went screw it and fully embraced the Owl Lady aesthetic! Eda wouldn’t let anyone ruin anything for her, so after a period of avoiding beastkeeping magic, for fear that she’s validating and proving the insults that others say- As the feral Owl Lady, she embraces those kinds of spells as well! And I can see her even playing into that fear and apprehension by others, turning it against them- With Eda seeing a bully make a cruel remark about her being an animal or an infectious werewolf, before she bares her teeth and suggests that she really IS; Scaring off her bullies as Eda plays her own messed-up pranks that relate to her status as the Owl Lady.

#the owl house #owl house #the owl house eda #edalyn clawthorne #the owl house king #the owl house luz #luz noceda #angst #meta

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path-of-my-childhood · 5 years

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Taylor Swift Bent the Music Industry to Her Will

By: Lindsay Zoladz for Vulture Date: December 30th 2019

In the 2010s, she became its savviest power player.

n late November 2019, Taylor Swift gave a career-spanning performance at the American Music Awards before accepting the statue for Artist of the Decade. (Swift was perhaps the perfect cross between the award’s two previous recipients, Britney Spears and Garth Brooks.) Clad in a cascading rose-colored cape and holding court among the younger female artists in attendance - 17-year-old Billie Eilish, 22-year-old Camila Cabello, 25-year-old Halsey - Swift had the queenly air of an elder stateswoman. After picking up five additional awards, including Artist of the Year, she became the show’s most decorated artist in history. “This is such a great year in music. The new artists are insane,” she declared in her acceptance speech, with big-sister gravitas. That night, she finally outgrew that “Who, me?” face of perpetual awards-show surprise; she accepted the honors she won like an artist who believed she had worked hard enough to deserve them.

Swift cut an imposing adult figure up there, because somewhere along the line she’d become one. The 2010s have coincided almost exactly with Swift’s 20s, with the subtle image changes and maturations across her last five album cycles coming to look like an Animorphs cover of a savvy and talented young woman gradually growing into her power. And so to reflect on the Decade in Taylor Swift is to assess not just her sonic evolutions but her many industry chess moves: She took Spotify to task in a Wall Street Journal op-ed and got Apple to reverse its policy of not paying artists royalties during a three-month free trial of its music-streaming service. She sued a former radio DJ for allegedly groping her during a photo op and demanded just a symbolic victory of $1, as if to say the money wasn’t the point. Critics wondered whether she was leaning too heavily on her co-writers, so she wrote her entire 2010 album, Speak Now, herself, without any collaborators. In 2018, she severed ties with her longtime label, Big Machine Records, and negotiated a new contract with Universal Music Group that gave her ownership of her masters and assurance that she (and any other artist on the label) would be paid out if UMG ever sold its Spotify shares. Yes, she stoked the flames of her celebrity feuds with Kanye West, Kim Kardashian West, and Katy Perry plenty over the past ten years, but she’s also focused some of her combative energy on tackling systemic problems and fashioning herself into something like the music industry’s most high-profile vigilante. Few artists have made royalty payments and the minutiae of entertainment-law front-page news as often as Swift has.

Within the industry, Swift has always had the reputation of being something of a songwriting savant (in 2007, when “Our Song” was released, then-17-year-old Swift became the youngest person ever to write and perform a No. 1 song on the Billboard Country chart), but she has long desired to be considered an industry power player, too. A 2011 New Yorker profile of Swift circa her blockbuster Speak Now World Tour noted that she initially intended to follow her parents’ footsteps and pursue a career in business, quoting her saying, “I didn’t know what a stockbroker was when I was 8, but I would just tell everybody that’s what I was going to be.” In an even earlier interview, she fondly recalled the times in elementary school when she stayed up late with her mother, practicing for school presentations. “I’m sick of women not being able to say that they have strategic business minds - because male artists are allowed to,” she said this year in an unusually candid Rolling Stone interview. “And I’m so sick and tired of having to pretend like I don’t mastermind my own business.” Of course, she still spent plenty of time sitting at her piano or strumming her guitar, but in that conversation she painted herself as someone who is also “sit[ting] in a conference room several times a week,” coming up with ideas about how best to market her music and her career.

And so over the past decade, Swift’s face has appeared not just on magazine covers and television screens, but on UPS trucks and Amazon packages. Her songs have been featured in Target commercials and NFL spots, to name just two of her many lucrative partnerships. That New Yorker profile also found her to be uncommonly enthused about the fact that her CDs were being sold in Starbucks: “I was so stoked about it, because it’s been one of my goals - I always go into Starbucks, and I wished that they would sell my album.”

“Taylor Swift is something like the Sheryl Sandberg of pop music,” Hazel Cills wrote recently in Jezebel. “She has propelled her career from tiny country artist into pop machine over the past few years with little shame when it comes to corporate collaborators.” Such brazen femme-capitalism will always be a turnoff to some people (“the Sheryl Sandberg of pop music” is even less of a compliment in 2019 than it was when Lean In was first published), but it’s undeniable that it has helped Swift maintain and leverage her status as a commercial juggernaut more consistently than any other pop star over the past ten years.

In the 2010s, with the clockwork certainty of a midterm election, there was a Taylor Swift album every other autumn. (Yes, there was a three-year gap between 1989 and Reputation, but she all but made up for it with the quick timing of August’s Lover.) The kinds of pop superstars considered her peers did not stick to such rigid schedules: Adele released two studio albums this decade, Beyoncé released three, and even Rihanna - who for the first three years of the decade was averaging an album a year - eventually slowed her roll and will have released just four when the 2010s are all said and done. The only A-plus-list musician who saturated the market as steadily as Swift did this decade was Drake.

Still, Drake’s commercial dominance was more of a newfangled phenomenon, capitalizing on the industry’s sudden reliance on streaming and his massive popularity on platforms like Spotify and Apple Music. Drake might be the artist who rode the streaming wave most successfully this decade, but - with her strategic withholding of her albums from certain platforms until they better compensated artists - Swift was often the one bending it to her will. And she could do that because she didn’t need to rely on it solely: Somehow, against all odds, Taylor Swift still sold records. Like, gazillions of them. When Swift’s 2017 record, Reputation (some critics thought it was a critical misstep, but it certainly wasn’t a commercial one), moved 1.216 million units in its first seven days, Swift became the only artist in history to achieve four different million-selling weeks. And, of course, all four of these weeks came during a decade when traditional album sales were on a precipitous decline. At least for those mere mortals who were not an all-powerful being named Taylor Alison Swift.

“Female empowerment” has been such an ambient, unquestioned virtue of the pop culture of this decade that we have too often failed to take a step back and ask ourselves what sort of power is being advocated for, and if its attainment should always be a cause for celebration. Is “female empowerment” any different from the hollow, materialistic promises of the late ’90s “girl power”? Is “female power” inherently different or more benevolent than its default male counterpart? Maybe this feels like such a distinctly American hang-up because we have not yet experienced that mythic, oft-imagined figure of the First Female President, and have thus not had to contend with the cold reality that, whoever she is, she will, like all of us, be inevitably flawed, imperfect, and at least occasionally disappointing.

As she’s grown into her own brand of 21st-century American pop feminism - sometimes elegantly, sometimes gawkily - Swift seems to have come to a firm conviction that female power is essentially more virtuous than the male variety. This was a side of herself she celebrated in her AMA performance. Swift opened her medley with a few fiery bars of “The Man,” her own personalized daydream of what gender equality would look like: “I’m so sick of running as fast as I can,” she sings, “wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man.” She wore an oversize white button-down onto which the titles of her old albums were stamped in a correctional-facility font: SPEAK NOW, RED, 1989, REPUTATION. Plenty of the millions of people who scrutinize Swift’s every move interpreted her choice of outfit and song as not-so-subtle jabs at Big Machine’s Scott Borchetta and the manager-to-the-stars Scooter Braun, with whom Swift is still in a messy, uncommonly public battle over the fate of her master recordings. (The only album title missing from her outfit was “LOVER,” which happens to be the only one of which she has full ownership.) She has framed the terms of her battle with Borchetta and Braun in strikingly gendered language: “These are two very rich, very powerful men, using $300 million of other people’s money to purchase, like, the most feminine body of work,” she told Rolling Stone. “And then they’re standing in a wood-panel bar doing a tacky photo shoot, raising a glass of Scotch to themselves.” Though she is herself a very rich, very powerful woman, she reads their message to be unquestionably condescending: Be a good little girl and shut up.

It is true that many record contracts are designed to take advantage of young artists, and that young women and people of color are probably perceived by music executives to be the marks most vulnerable to exploitation. But it is also true that Swift signed a legally binding contract, the kind that a businesswoman like herself would have to respect if it were signed by somebody else. Braun, who has been asking to have these negotiations in private rather than on Twitter, claims to have received death threats from her fans.

Even as she’s grown into one of the most dominant pop-culture figures in the world, Swift sometimes still seems to be clinging to her old underdog identity, to the extent that she can fail to grasp the magnitude of her own power or account for the blind spots of her privilege. “Someday I’ll be big enough so you can’t hit me,” she sang on Speak Now’s Grammy-winning 2010 single “Mean,” seemingly oblivious to the fact that, compared to 99.99 percent of the population, she already was. The mid-decade backlash to Swift’s thin-white-celebrity-and-model-studded “girl squad” - none of which was more incisive than Lara Marie Schoenhals’s hilarious parody video - took her by surprise. “I never would have imagined that people would have thought, This is a clique that wouldn’t have accepted me if I wanted to be in it... I thought it was going to be we can still stick together, just like men are allowed to.”

“Female power” is not automatically faultless, and can of course be tainted by all other sorts of biases and assumptions about class, race, and sexual orientation, to name just a few more common pitfalls. Swift’s face-palm-inducing 2015 misunderstanding with Nicki Minaj revealed this, of course, and plenty of people felt that her sudden embrace of the LGBTQ community in the “You Need to Calm Down” was a clumsy overcorrection for her past silence. Maybe she would have gotten where she was quicker if she were a man. But it would take a more complicated, and perhaps less catchy, song to acknowledge she might not have gotten there at all had she not also enjoyed other privileges.

Art has its own kind of power - sneakier and harder to measure than the economic kind. The reason Taylor Swift has been worth talking about incessantly for an entire decade is that she continues to wield this kind, too. “I don’t think her commercial responsibilities detract from her genuine passion for her craft,” a then-17-year-old Tavi Gevinson wrote in a memorable 2013 essay for The Believer. “Have you ever watched her in interviews when she gets asked about her actual songwriting? She becomes that kid who’s really into the science fair.”

After so much industry drama, much of the lived-in, self-reflective Lover is a simple reminder that Swift was and still is a singular songwriter. Yes, this was the decade of such loud, flashy missteps as “Look What You Made Me Do,” “Welcome to New York,” and “Me!,” but it was also a decade of so many quieter triumphs: the pulsing synesthesia of “Red,” the nervous heart flutter of “Delicate,” the sleek sophistication of “Style,” the concise lyricism of “Mean,” the cathartic fun of “22,” the slow-dance swoon of “Lover.” But like so many of her fans, and even Swift herself, I still find the most enduringly powerful song she’s ever written to be “All Too Well,” the smoldering breakup scrapbook released on her great 2012 album Red. “Wind in my hair, I was there, I remember it all too well,” she sings, an innocent enough lyric that, by the end of the song, comes to glint like a switchblade. In a decade of DGAF, ghosting, and performative chill, remembering it all too well might be Swift’s stealthiest superpower. She felt it deeply, can still access that feeling whenever she needs to, and that means she can size you up in a line as concisely cutting as “so casually cruel in the name of being honest.” Forget Jake Gyllenhaal or John Mayer. That’s the sort of observation that would bring Goliath to his knees.

“It is still the case that when listeners hear a female voice, they do not hear a voice that connotes authority,” the historian Mary Beard writes in her manifesto Women & Power, “or rather they have not learned how to hear authority in it.” At least in the realm of pop music, Swift has spent the better part of her decade chipping away at that double standard, and teaching people how to think about cultural power a little bit differently. She sprinkled artful emblems of teen-girl-speak through her smash hits (“Uhhh he calls me and he’s like, ‘I still love you,’ and I’m like, ‘This is exhausting, we are never getting back together, like, ever”) and did not abandon her effusive love of kittens and butterflies in order to be taken seriously. As an artist and a businesswoman, she made the power of teen girls - and the women who used to be them - that much more perilous to ignore. Because they’ve been there all along, and they remember all too well.

#taylor swift #vulture #article #about taylor #2010s #TAS business #music industry #songwriting #all the eras

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ts1989fanatic · 5 years

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Taylor Swift Bent the Music Industry to Her Will

In the 2010s, she became its savviest power player.

In late November 2019, Taylor Swift gave a career-spanning performance at the American Music Awards before accepting the statue for Artist of the Decade. (Swift was perhaps the perfect cross between the award’s two previous recipients, Britney Spears and Garth Brooks.) Clad in a cascading rose-colored cape and holding court among the younger female artists in attendance — 17-year-old Billie Eilish, 22-year-old Camila Cabello, 25-year-old Halsey — Swift had the queenly air of an elder stateswoman. After picking up five additional awards, including Artist of the Year, she became the show’s most decorated artist in history. “This is such a great year in music. The new artists are insane,” she declared in her acceptance speech, with big-sister gravitas. That night, she finally outgrew that “Who, me?” face of perpetual awards-show surprise; she accepted the honors she won like an artist who believed she had worked hard enough to deserve them.

Within the industry, Swift has always had the reputation of being something of a songwriting savant (in 2007, when “Our Song” was released, then-17-year-old Swift became the youngest person ever to write and perform a No. 1 song on the Billboard Country chart), but she has long desired to be considered an industry power player, too. A 2011 New Yorker profile of Swift circa her blockbuster Speak Now World Tour noted that she initially intended to follow her parents’ footsteps and pursue a career in business, quoting her saying, “I didn’t know what a stockbroker was when I was 8, but I would just tell everybody that’s what I was going to be.” In an even earlier interview, she fondly recalled the times in elementary school when she stayed up late with her mother, practicing for school presentations. “I’m sick of women not being able to say that they have strategic business minds — because male artists are allowed to,” she said this year in an unusually candid Rolling Stone interview. “And I’m so sick and tired of having to pretend like I don’t mastermind my own business.” Of course, she still spent plenty of time sitting at her piano or strumming her guitar, but in that conversation she painted herself as someone who is also “sit[ting] in a conference room several times a week,” coming up with ideas about how best to market her music and her career.

And so over the past decade, Swift’s face has appeared not just on magazine covers and television screens, but on UPS trucks and Amazon packages. Her songs have been featured in Target commercials and NFL spots, to name just two of her many lucrative partnerships. That New Yorker profile also found her to be uncommonly enthused about the fact that her CDs were being sold in Starbucks: “I was so stoked about it, because it’s been one of my goals — I always go into Starbucks, and I wished that they would sell my album.”

In the 2010s, with the clockwork certainty of a midterm election, there was a Taylor Swift album every other autumn. (Yes, there was a three-year gap between 1989 and Reputation, but she all but made up for it with the quick timing of August’s Lover.) The kinds of pop superstars considered her peers did not stick to such rigid schedules: Adele released two studio albums this decade, Beyoncé released three, and even Rihanna — who for the first three years of the decade was averaging an album a year — eventually slowed her roll and will have released just four when the 2010s are all said and done. The only A-plus-list musician who saturated the market as steadily as Swift did this decade was Drake.

Still, Drake’s commercial dominance was more of a newfangled phenomenon, capitalizing on the industry’s sudden reliance on streaming and his massive popularity on platforms like Spotify and Apple Music. Drake might be the artist who rode the streaming wave most successfully this decade, but — with her strategic withholding of her albums from certain platforms until they better compensated artists — Swift was often the one bending it to her will. And she could do that because she didn’t need to rely on it solely: Somehow, against all odds, Taylor Swift still sold records. Like, gazillions of them. When Swift’s 2017 record, Reputation (some critics thought it was a critical misstep, but it certainly wasn’t a commercial one), moved 1.216 million units in its first seven days, Swift became the only artist in history to achieve four different million-selling weeks. And, of course, all four of these weeks came during a decade when traditional album sales were on a precipitous decline. At least for those mere mortals who were not an all-powerful being named Taylor Alison Swift.

As she’s grown into her own brand of 21st-century American pop feminism — sometimes elegantly, sometimes gawkily — Swift seems to have come to a firm conviction that female power is essentially more virtuous than the male variety. This was a side of herself she celebrated in her AMA performance. Swift opened her medley with a few fiery bars of “The Man,” her own personalized daydream of what gender equality would look like: “I’m so sick of running as fast as I can,” she sings, “wondering if I’d get there quicker if I was a man.” She wore an oversize white button-down onto which the titles of her old albums were stamped in a correctional-facility font: SPEAK NOW, RED, 1989, REPUTATION. Plenty of the millions of people who scrutinize Swift’s every move interpreted her choice of outfit and song as not-so-subtle jabs at Big Machine’s Scott Borchetta and the manager-to-the-stars Scooter Braun, with whom Swift is still in a messy, uncommonly public battle over the fate of her master recordings. (The only album title missing from her outfit was “LOVER,” which happens to be the only one of which she has full ownership.) She has framed the terms of her battle with Borchetta and Braun in strikingly gendered language: “These are two very rich, very powerful men, using $300 million of other people’s money to purchase, like, the most feminine body of work,” she told Rolling Stone. “And then they’re standing in a wood-panel bar doing a tacky photo shoot, raising a glass of Scotch to themselves.” Though she is herself a very rich, very powerful woman, she reads their message to be unquestionably condescending: Be a good little girl and shut up.

Even as she’s grown into one of the most dominant pop-culture figures in the world, Swift sometimes still seems to be clinging to her old underdog identity, to the extent that she can fail to grasp the magnitude of her own power or account for the blind spots of her privilege. “Someday I’ll be big enough so you can’t hit me,” she sang on Speak Now’s Grammy-winning 2010 single “Mean,” seemingly oblivious to the fact that, compared to 99.99 percent of the population, she already was. The mid-decade backlash to Swift’s thin-white-celebrity-and-model-studded “girl squad” — none of which was more incisive than Lara Marie Schoenhals’s hilarious parody video — took her by surprise. “I never would have imagined that people would have thought, This is a clique that wouldn’t have accepted me if I wanted to be in it … I thought it was going to be we can still stick together, just like men are allowed to.”

Art has its own kind of power — sneakier and harder to measure than the economic kind. The reason Taylor Swift has been worth talking about incessantly for an entire decade is that she continues to wield this kind, too. “I don’t think her commercial responsibilities detract from her genuine passion for her craft,” a then-17-year-old Tavi Gevinson wrote in a memorable 2013 essay for The Believer. “Have you ever watched her in interviews when she gets asked about her actual songwriting? She becomes that kid who’s really into the science fair.”

“It is still the case that when listeners hear a female voice, they do not hear a voice that connotes authority,” the historian Mary Beard writes in her manifesto Women & Power, “or rather they have not learned how to hear authority in it.” At least in the realm of pop music, Swift has spent the better part of her decade chipping away at that double standard, and teaching people how to think about cultural power a little bit differently. She sprinkled artful emblems of teen-girl-speak through her smash hits (“Uhhh he calls me and he’s like, ‘I still love you,’ and I’m like, ‘This is exhausting, we are never getting back together, like, ever”) and did not abandon her effusive love of kittens and butterflies in order to be taken seriously. As an artist and a businesswoman, she made the power of teen girls — and the women who used to be them — that much more perilous to ignore. Because they’ve been there all along, and they remember all too well.

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quarantineessayseries · 4 years

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Issue #2: To Catch a Predator

In accordance with Executive Order 20-91 I approve the following as additions to the list of “essential services” for the purposes of that Executive Order… Employees at a professional sports and media production with a national audience… only if the location is closed to the general public.

- Florida governor Ron Desantis, from a memo allowing the WWE to continue its live televised productions, 4/9/20

The new pro wrestling events filmed without a studio audience are a novelty. They make sense- for Vince McMahon, the only way to keep making money off of his roster of beefcakes is to make them fight in big empty rooms- but I can’t imagine any casual fans watching more than one of them.

That memo, issued one week after the general Florida shelter-in-place order, specifically named athletes and entertainers at productions like the WWE as essential workers. Pro wrestlers fall into both categories, because the WWE is, at its core, a production. It’s a play. True fans and haters alike have been aware of this all along, but it’s suddenly become very hard to think about anything else. Color commentators work overtime to sell impacts without the gasping crowd to back them up. Monologues, ordinarily broken up and stretched out by screams and applause, now feature awkward stretches of silent glaring and heavy breathing. It’s enough to make even the best writing and the most charismatic performers look very, very silly.

The worst part is the entrances. Entrances are the showiest part of the show. Every wrestler and team has their own music, costumes, choreography, props, pyrotechnics, entourage, et cetera- but a lot of the magic of a good entrance is dependent on the crowd. The Undertaker’s entrance at WrestleMania 30 was over seven minutes long, because the WWE writers know that from the second the lights go out and the first bell tolls, the audience will be screaming and pointing their shaking camera phones at the giant man slowly plodding towards the ring. They will do it for seven minutes and they’ll probably do it for more, and it won’t get boring because their anticipation is electric. Now they’re at home. Pro wrestling is ruined.

Fortunately, pro wrestling was never my fix. There’s another TV world with a similar blend of scripted dialogue, real-life danger, iconic entrances, and a devoted fanbase that holds it all together: To Catch a Predator.

TCAP refers to the whole Chris Hansen family of predator-related products, including the original To Catch a Predator, Predator Raw, and Hansen vs. Predator. Channels like Saul and Joey’s TCAP Channel are the heart of the TCAP community, with their own backstories, editing styles, and tricks for getting around copyright claims. The heart of TCAP itself is Chris Hansen, and like all of my favorite characters from TV and film, everybody loves him.

His entrances are just as iconic as the Undertaker’s, but carry a much greater sense of urgency. Instead of mugging and trudging his way to his mark, he moves confidently into position across the bar or island. Instead of smoke and music, he uses assertive body language and polite commands to intimidate his prey. And instead of being shaggy, wet, and fuming, he sports short blond hair and a sleek black turtleneck.

In case anyone is unfamiliar with the TCAP formula, here’s how it works.

1. Chris introduces the audience to a new piece of human scum by their chatroom username. A picture is shown, and actors read snippets of their sexual correspondences with someone they believe to be underage.

2. The would-be predator enters the house, and is given a further chance to incriminate themselves to another actor playing the would-be victim.

3. Enter Hansen, alone. He moves with the confidence of someone who has a documentary crew waiting in the wings, and a SWAT team waiting in the garage. He allows the predator to make the standard series of excuses as their life flashes before their eyes.

4. The reveal. Sometimes the predator recognizes him right away, or admits under questioning that they’ve watched his show, but Hansen does his reveal anyway because he loves it. He delivers his line- “I’m Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC, and we’re doing a story on computer predators who try to meet underage kids for sex”- and he delivers it clean.

5. Negotiations conclude, the predator exits the sting house, and is instantly tackled by law enforcement.

The predators’ unique attempts to explain themselves are what keep the show fresh, but the routine is what makes it so addicting. Hansen’s shows present conflicts, but the viewer always knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, who the bad guy is, that he will lose.

The Undertaker was proven to be a mere mortal in 2014. Shortly after that famous, seven-minute entrance, the Original Deadman failed to escape from a Brock Lesnar leg lock and suffered his first-ever loss. Chris Hansen was revealed to be mortal one year later, when the Kickstarter for an independent Hansen vs. Predator show failed completely. The rights to the show were sold to Crime Watch Daily and Hansen was arrested for buying promotional items with a bad $13,000 check. But the segment that finally aired on Crime Watch Daily was a hit, and new monsters like Jeff Sokol were welcome additions to TCAP lore. Comment sections are filled with references to other stings, famous quotes from predators past, and iconic Hansen go-tos like “that’s not up to me” and “you see how this looks?”

It’s better than wrestling. As quarantine stretches on, and I feel myself growing ever more apathetic and vindictive, the more I just want to watch a real person get their life ruined and know, for once, that they deserve it.

Next up on the Quarantine Essay Series: The Marble League

#quarantine #predator #wwe

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disappearinginq · 5 years

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Toxic Relationships in Media

So rewatching bits and pieces of Magnum and MacGyver reboots, it’s...concerning, seeing what is being labelled and justified as affection or love. Like, I get that there are people out there who put high value on biological relations, and ‘they’re still your family’ even when the person is a colossal douche bag (and that’s being polite about it). But...given my own biological family situation, or my friends who foster children, I can’t believe there isn’t some point that is a limit of your tolerance.

Maybe this is why I have such a problem with the reboot of Magnum to the point I feel the need to write an alternative...not season, but reasoning? behind Hannah’s motivation.

So, canonically, she sells out her fiance and his three best friends to the Taliban to find the location of Iraqi gold so she can go back, steal it, buy back her dad who has been missing and held captive for an unspecified amount of years because he, too, was a disavowed CIA operative who is being held by bad guys, and then use the extra funds from said stolen gold to buy back Thomas, Rick, Nuzo, and TC from the Taliban. Her reasoning? To spare them from going to the brig if they helped her. Yep. That’s right. Because being brutally tortured for x amount of years (which she didn’t know how long it was gonna be at the time) and risking the very real danger of being executed or traded for more bad guys that are currently in places like Gitmo, is totally a better option than prison. Yeah, solid reasoning there. I’ve met people who were in the brig - they enjoyed it more than they did their sea service. Still got an honorable discharge. Like, it takes serious effort nowadays to get a dishonorable discharge. Like being a serial killer, inciting a war between two or more countries, or actively joining a terrorist cell. But somehow, all this - and the show sort of glosses over it, but you know they got issues - doesn’t make Thomas dislike her. Or distrust her. No, this was for love so that makes it okay, and as soon as she promises an explanation for why she betrayed them if he agrees not to call the cops and throw her in prison for treason (which is actually a capital punishment, so she would likely be executed), he throws all in with her. And I’m more than a little pissed that they even have Higgins weighing in on the issue, because she has no business being involved. And worse - she sides with Hannah and the justification that she sold out military troops to the enemy to get a lead on (not actually in exchange for anything concrete, just a location) gold that she would then have to steal later because she ‘had no other option’. Like...she couldn’t have sold out someone else? Literally anyone else? And why the hell is she even trying to buy her dad back from baddies anyway? She’s already shown perfectly willing to shoot, maim, and sell out someone she supposedly loves for money, so why not just go and blatantly murder the bad guys to get her dad back? Is she that shitty an operative? These people have contacted her, she’s already going rogue, and we’ve seen in Lenkov shows they’re perfectly willing to bend reality when it comes to information found on a computer (if she was trying to find Taliban in cave in the Hindu Kush, fine, there’s not a lot of computer activity there, but these are ex-CIA operatives gone bad - they have plenty of digital trail for someone to follow). She couldn’t have found where they were, and gotten her dad back on her own? And why are they giving her years to come up with the ransom? Plot holes aside, how does anyone justify resigning someone to torture, imprisonment, kidnapping, and shooting them off a moving vehicle at 60+mph as love? I mean, why are they even having the supposed other romantic interest for him to be trying to justify the actions of someone she’s never met before except right before Hannah shoots Thomas to get him off a truck in the middle of a highway?

I don’t want Hannah back alive, I just want the story line brought back so they can discover that Hannah is in fact lying through her teeth, that wasn’t her father she was trying to save, it was an asset she needed, and the reason why she sold out the guys was because they were edging in on the fact that she was allied with the Taliban (which is totally a thing that real life CIA does) to pit them against other warlords/terrorist organizations and had gone rogue (which also happens in real life).

Why is this shitty ass human being allowed a reason to be a psychopath and we’re calling it love? Hannibal Lector showed more concern for Will Graham than Hannah shows Magnum.

And then in MacGyver - in the pilot, his girlfriend Nikki shoots him in the chest (kind of exactly where Hannah shoots Magnum), leaves him for dead, and is kind of an arch villain for the first season (details escape me because I don’t own it like I own Magnum), and her reasoning for doing it? Because she’s not a double agent like they thought, but a triple agent, working on dismantling a shadowy organization from the inside.

Mac has been abandoned by pretty much everyone his whole life. His mother dies, his father disappears, his grandfather raises him and dies before the series ever begins, his mentor in the army dies in his place, the first girl he really likes - Zoe - dies in front of him on screen having sacrificed herself to save others, and now his best friend and pseudo father figure Jack got written off (separate real life matters involved in that)...kid’s got issues.

However, the relationship with his father is the one I question, because we find out that his dad apparently just couldn’t handle the loss of his wife, and tries to say that he left Mac for Mac’s own good and for his safety, and Mac has a brilliant response - no, it wasn’t. It was for his dad’s own selfish reasons, because Mac lost his mom and then his dad vanishes - doesn’t die, just ups and vanishes without a trace for years. Is he dead? Is he captured? Is he just avoiding Mac? Who knows? Not some ten year old kid who just lost his mom. And Mac pushes further - if his dad really wanted him ‘safe’, he wouldn’t have steered him to the military, to being an EOD tech, to being an agent for Phoenix and DXS before that where his dad is the one choosing the missions for him, aka, putting him in harm’s way at every turn. And Mac walks out on him. GOOD FOR YOU, MAC.

Buuuut...then we have season 3. Season 3, where apparently after a 3 minute heart to heart with Riley (who has her own daddy issues) about giving second chances to parents, Mac is suddenly onboard with trying to reconcile with his dad. Maybe it’s because other viewers didn’t want to watch another show where no one gets along with their parents, but really - there were better ways to handle it than Mac just accepting his dad back with relative ease. Admittedly, the third season also leaves off with Mac and Mac Senior on the outs again, but still.

So as a public service announcement: just because you are related to someone doesn’t mean you owe them fuck all if they’re an emotionally or physically abusive twat waffle. Just because you once loved someone doesn’t mean they deserved it. No matter how good they think their reasons are, if you love someone, you could never hurt them like that.

Now, accidentally hurting them because you didn’t see them standing there when you opened the door and whack them in the face....welll....gray area.

#magnum pi #macgyver 2016 #magnum pi 2018

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starryknight09 · 5 years

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Whatever It Takes Ch. 17/18

Summary: Peter’s struggling to cope after the loss of Mr. Stark. Everyone keeps telling him it’ll get better and that he needs to move on, but Peter doesn’t want to. He can’t envision a life without his mentor. So when an idea comes to him, he doesn’t hesitate, no matter how crazy it is. He’s going to get Mr. Stark back.

“What exactly are we going to do?” Ned asked.

“Whatever it takes.” Peter answered.

Read on AO3.

________________________________________________________

“And we have amazing news this morning, although you might’ve already heard it since it’s all anyone has been talking about ever since Pepper Potts—”

“Pepper Stark.” Tony mumbled the correction to himself as he sat on the couch, coffee in hand, watching the network newsperson speak.

“—CEO of Stark Industries, revealed in a press conference last night that Tony Stark is in fact alive. It bears repeating, so let me repeat it. Tony Stark, Ironman, the hero who orchestrated the return of all those who had been dusted, myself included, and subsequently prevented the world’s destruction—”

“The universe’s.” Tony corrected again. They really needed to check their facts.

“—is miraculously alive today after the world has spent the last seven months believing he was dead. As revealed at the press conference last night, Tony Stark had in fact been in a coma in Wakanda, thought unlikely to recover, until those assumptions were proven incorrect last week. Mr. Stark has in fact awoken and is currently at home recovering here in New York. No word yet on if or when he will be addressing the public. But I’m sure I speak for all of us here in New York and around the globe when I say, thank you Mr. Stark from the bottom of our hearts.”

Tony’s lip twisted in a part smile, part grimace. He always hated being thanked for things, especially when it was something he actually deserved to be thanked for. And he knew he should be thinking about when he was going to return to the public eye and give his own press conference, because he’d have to eventually, but right now all he could think about, could worry about, was his kid.

Peter had been making progress in therapy, at least according to his therapist. The kid himself remained completely mum when it came to the subject. He never talked to Tony about what they discussed in therapy even when Tony tried to gently prod. And even though he thought it might help the kid to share with him, he respected Peter’s wishes and his privacy. Well, Tony respected his privacy as much as he could, given that the therapist shared information with him and then he, in turn, shared it with May. He wasn’t quite sure if Peter knew that part or if he thought May and Tony were completely out of the loop, but he didn’t want to risk the possibility of rocking the boat to find out.

Tony sighed and checked his watch. It was almost ten in the morning. He glanced over his shoulder down the empty hallway. No sign of Peter. Tony was surprised he was still asleep. Pepper and Morgan had left hours ago, although they didn’t have to leave as early as they used to when they’d been commuting from the lake house. That was one thing Morgan loved about their new penthouse apartment. No long car rides. But it was one of only a few things. Leaving the solitude of the countryside had been a rougher adjustment for her than he and Pepper had anticipated, but they were making progress. Tony, for one, loved the new digs. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed living in the city until he was back.

And they had found the perfect place. The location was ideal and the layout was nearly a mirror image of their old penthouse at the top of Stark Tower except homier and sans bar. Peter had spent his first fifteen minutes in the apartment staring out the floor to ceiling windows at the city. Tony had almost forgotten that Peter had never been to the Tower before it’d been sold, and even though the compound had a nice view of nature, it was nothing compared to this.

The change in location had done nothing to stop Peter’s nightmares though. Whether at the lake house last week or here in the penthouse this week, Tony had spent every night in Peter’s room, comforting him from nightmares. He liked to think maybe they were getting less severe, but he was probably deluding himself. Still, Peter had to be doing somewhat better since his therapist had given him the ok to re-start school on Monday. Which meant Tony had five more full days with his kid. And he planned to take advantage of them. If his kid would ever wake up…

“Hey Tony.” Peter’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. Speak of the devil.

“Hey kid.” He said back, craning his head around so he could see him. Peter still had his pajamas on and his hair was sleep mussed, but he looked well rested for once. Good.

“You hungry?” Tony asked as he turned off the TV and stood, planning to make his kid breakfast or lunch or whatever he wanted.

“Yeah but I just want some cereal.” Peter flashed him a smile.

“You sure? I can whip something up or we can order something. Whatever sounds good.”

“Cereal sounds good.” Peter said as he grabbed a box of Lucky Charms out of the pantry.

“You know there’s more sugar than nutrition in that, right?” Tony pointed to the box as he sat back down on the couch.

“Tastes better than the old man cereal you eat.” Peter said, pouring half the box into a mixing bowl.

“Hey who are you calling old? And oatmeal squares are not old man cereal.”

“Next thing you know you’ll be eating Grape Nuts.”

“What’s wrong with Grapes Nuts?”

“Oh god! You’re hopeless.” Peter said dramatically with a grin as he finished pouring milk over his cereal.

“Hmm, maybe, but keep it up and I’m going to buy only Grape Nuts from now on.” Tony teased.

“I have four words for you.” Peter glared. “Cruel and unusual punishment.”

“I prefer to call it creative.” Tony smirked.

Peter rolled his eyes as he crossed the distance between them and plopped down on the couch at Tony’s side.

“What were you watching?” Peter asked around a mouth full of cereal, nodding toward the now black TV screen.

“News drivel.”

“Anything good?”

“They’re celebrating the fact that reports of my demise were greatly exaggerated.”

Peter huffed out a laugh. “That’s right. Pepper told everyone you’re alive last night.”

“She did.” Tony nodded and watched with a smirk as Peter continued to eat his cereal from the ridiculously oversized bowl in his lap.

“So…” Peter frowned and paused to finish chewing. “What’s the cover story again?”

“Um something about being in a coma in Wakanda that I somehow miraculously woke up from. Or whatever. I don’t know.” Tony waved a hand.

“Shouldn’t you probably know the details?” Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

“I will when I have to. I’m sure I’ll have to do a press conference at some point, but since I’m still recovering,” Tony sank back further into the couch, “I get a temporary stay of execution. No public appearances for me in the near future.”

“I think it’ll probably be sooner than you think if Pepper has any say.” Peter joked.

“Maybe.” Tony scrunched his nose. “She did say something this morning about needing to get me out of the house because I was starting to get underfoot. But in my defense, this place is a little more cramped than the lake house.”

Peter snorted.

“Hopefully she’ll be happier now that I finally got all the wiring done for the downstairs workshop last night.” Tony smiled. They not only had the entire top floor, they had the floor below it as well for Tony to use as his personal workshop, or as Pepper liked to call it, his tinker space.

“Awesome.” Peter said, smiling around a mouth full of Lucky Charms.

“Yep, so what do you say we head down there when you’re done with breakfast.”

“Sounds good.” Peter nodded and finished munching on the rest of his cereal in silence while Tony looked over a couple e-mails on his phone.

“Um actually there was something I wanted to run by you.” Peter said with a slight furrow of his brow once he swallowed his last bite.

“Ok. Hit me.” Tony said. He slid his phone back in his pocket and then frowned when Peter got up and started walking away toward the kitchen.

Tony automatically stood and followed. He waited, leaning against the kitchen countertop as Peter rinsed off the spoon and bowl before putting them in the dishwasher.

Peter turned and held his hands up, keeping the kitchen island between them as he said, “Ok so hear me out.”

“I’m already sensing I’m not going to like this.” He said, raising his eyebrows.

“Tony.” Peter gave him a frustrated look that was so uncannily similar to the ones Pepper gave him that he almost laughed. He and Pepper definitely hadn’t donated any genetic material to Peter like they had for Morgan, but they’d been parenting him all the same, and he’d been hanging around with them so much lately that it was starting to show. He was starting to pick up some of their nuances and mannerisms. It was freaking adorable.

“Ok I’m listening.” He said, crossing his arms but unable to hold back a smile at the love swelling in his chest at the adorableness that was Peter Parker, thinking nothing could put a hinderance on his good mood.

“I want to go out as Spiderman tonight.” Peter said in a rush.

Ok. So almost nothing.

“No.” The denial passed his lips without a thought. It was instant and automatic.

“Tony—” Peter started, borderline whining.

“No Peter.” He repeated, more firmly this time since it seemed like his kid actually had the audacity to argue about this.

“But—”

“You’re not allowed to go to school right now, why in the world would you think I’d let you go out as Spiderman?” Tony interrupted again, frowning.

“But Spiderman’s different than school.” Peter argued.

“It is. It’s more dangerous.”

“I can handle it. I just-I need the distraction. I think it would help with…everything.”

“Like it helped last time?” He asked. Didn’t Peter get what he was asking?

“That’s not fair.”

Tony could say a lot of things in response to that like how it also wasn’t fair to have to watch your kid almost become a pancake on the ground, but he knew that was the wrong thing to say, so he held back. He was angry, but he didn’t want to hurt Peter.

So instead, he took a deep breath and tried a different approach. “Why do you want to go out as Spiderman?”

He tried to ignore the hopeful expression on Peter’s face as he answered, “It helps me get out of my head. It helps me process things. And I feel…more alive I guess, more like myself when I’m Spiderman. And I-I just want to feel like myself again Tony. Please.”

“The answer’s still no.” He said, shaking his head. “Sorry.”

Anger darkened Peter’s countenance. “Why’d you even ask if you weren’t going to change your mind?”

“Because I wanted to know.” Tony answered and the bluntness seemed to piss Peter off more.

Peter opened his mouth, probably to yell at him or spew some other deluded rationalization, but Tony held a hand up to stop him before he could.

“Listen kid.” Tony said, keeping his tone even, not letting any of his own frustration bleed in. “I get what you’re saying. I do. But listen. Rule numero uno of superheroing is you don’t go out and risk your life unless you have all your ducks in a row. That means you’re completely physically and emotionallywell.”

Peter frowned “But—”

Tony could guess what he was going to say. Tony and every member of the Avengers had personally broken that rule numerous times, so he cut him off before he could. He held up a finger. “Let me finish.”

Peter stopped but with a frustrated huff.

“The only time you can break that rule is if it’s truly life or death or if there’s a real possibility of the world ending. Do get what I’m saying?”

“But people in Queens are dying all the time.” Peter argued. “They need Spiderman.”

“It’s not the same.” Tony shook his head.

“How is it not?” Peter asked, and Tony could tell he genuinely wanted to know, he wasn’t just trying to be difficult.

“The theoretical possibility of maybe saving one person’s life is not worth yours.” Tony explained.

Peter frowned but seemed to be thinking about Tony’s words.

“If Thanos,” Tony paused to wince, “appeared right now. I’d say, fine. You’re in. Because that’s an all hands on deck kind of situation. Going out on a routine patrol as Spiderman is not the same as that.”

Peter’s face twisted, but he didn’t argue. Tony skirted around the island and grasped Peter’s shoulders as he looked into his stormy eyes.

“Listen, there are responsibilities we take on as heroes. One of them is accepting that there are going to be things we need to risk our lives for. Sometimes there are things bigger than us worth dying for. That’s part of the gig.” It hurt Tony to say it because he never wanted to envision his own kid in that type of situation. “And…some things are worth that sacrifice.”

Peter paled. No doubt he was thinking of Tony’s own sacrifice.

“But most things are not. Patrolling as Spiderman is not.” Tony continued, not keeping the harshness out of the words. “Risking your life when you’re not completely ok isn’t brave. It’s stupid. Do you understand?”

Peter nodded reluctantly.

“Good.” Tony nodded.

“When you’re not on your A game you’re not focusing as well.” Tony said, wanting to hammer the point home.

“And all it takes is one second of distraction and just like that,” He snapped his fingers, “a knife or a bullet slips through and suddenly you’re bleeding out on the ground.”

Peter’s eyes went wide and he jerked backwards, out of Tony’s grasp.

“Pete?” Tony blinked. He didn’t think his description had been that gruesome, not enough to garner that type of reaction.

He watched as his kid took a few staggering steps back before his feet caught together and he crashed to the ground.

“Pete!” Tony crossed the distance and knelt down beside him in an instant. He went to grab his shoulder but his kid kept flailing his legs out to propel himself backward and out of reach, as if trying to escape some terrifying threat.

Tony didn’t think he was trying to escape him but the fear was still unsettling to witness. Peter ran out of space a few seconds later. His back slammed against the bottom of the kitchen cabinets, and then his head cracked against them when he tried to throw himself further away even though there was nowhere to go. Tony winced at the sound of it.

“Jesus.” Tony mumbled and moved to Peter’s side. He put a hand up between his kid’s skull and the cabinets in case he tried to do it again.

“Hey Pete. Peter. Look at me.” He ordered, and palmed Peter’s cheek, trying to direct his gaze toward him. It didn’t work. Peter kept staring straight ahead, eyes wide with terror as his breaths came out in short, rapid pants.

“Oh shit.” Tony swore as he finally realized what was going on. Some type of flashback or panic attack. Maybe both. He couldn’t believe it’d taken him so long to recognize it given his own experience with them. He hated the thought of Peter suffering like he had, but he put that emotion on the backburner for now and focused on trying to help his kid.

When Peter didn’t seem to be at risk of cracking his head open anymore, Tony shifted so he was kneeling directly in front of him, face at eye level. He cradled his kid’s face in his hands and spoke, keeping his tone soft and soothing, “Hey kiddo. You’re safe. You’re here with me. You’re not there. You’re in New York in this awesome penthouse Pepper found us. And I’m here with you. Do you hear me Pete? Peter?”

The glazed over look in Peter’s eyes slowly started to fade, and after another handful of seconds, he blinked and refocused on Tony’s face in front of him.

“Tony?” He whispered, sounding scared but hopeful at the same time.

“Yeah.” Tony gave him a wan smile. “Are you with me?”

Peter glanced around in confusion, taking in his place on the kitchen floor, before meeting Tony’s eyes again. “I think so?”

He looked a little more with it but his breath was still coming out in pants.

“Ok.” Tony dropped one of his hands from Peter’s cheek to grab his kid’s hand and bring to his chest. “You’re still breathing a little fast there buddy. Can you feel my breathing and try to match it to yours?”

Peter nodded and Tony brushed his hair back with his other hand and then left it planted at the base of his neck.

“Ok. In…and out. Good. Deep breath in…and out. You got it kiddo. Good job. In. Out. In. Out.” Tony coached him, ignoring the pain in his knees from the position.

“There.” Tony said once Peter’s breathing had finally gotten back to normal. “Better?”

Peter nodded. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Tony said seriously before asking, “Do you know what happened?”

“Yeah. I-I kind of freaked out.”

Tony hummed.

“This time was a lot worse than last time.”

“Last time? What do you mean last time? When was there a last time?” Tony frowned, unable to keep the alarm out of the questions.

“Remember that time I texted you from the bathroom at school?”

“You mean the time you said you were fine. That was after something like this happened?”

“Um…yeah?”

“Jesus.” Tony pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you mad?” Peter asked anxiously.

“No. I’m not—” He paused to take a deep breath himself. “I’m not mad. I’m just…this is the kind of thing you need to tell me about.”

“I texted you.”

Tony shook his head in disbelief.

“And like I said, it wasn’t this bad.” Peter added.

“I told you I’d pick you up.”

“I didn’t need you too.”

“Peter,” Tony said with exasperation, “you had a panic attack and you stayed in school. That’s the sort of thing you take the rest of the day off for.”

Peter’s face pinched with skepticism, which almost would’ve been cute if the topic hadn’t been so serious. “A panic attack?”

“Yeah.” Tony nodded and brushed a hand through Peter’s hair again. “That’s what that was kid.”

Peter blinked and looked at him with wide eyes. “How do you know?”

“Used to get them myself.”

“Really? You did?”

“Yeah. After New York.” He didn’t bother specifying since he knew Peter would understand what he meant. “And then again later…after Thanos. After losing you.”

Peter sucked in a breath of air. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Tony gave him a tight smile and held out a hand. “But what do you say we get off the floor?”

“Ok.” Peter took his hand.

Tony grasped it and stood, pulling Peter up with him and wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

“Let’s sit down and talk.” Tony said, guiding them back toward the couch.

“But the workshop.” Peter protested half-heartedly.

“The workshop can wait. This is more important.”

They sat down and Tony kept an arm draped around his kid. Peter leaned into his hold. They’d gone from arguing to practically cuddling in the span of under ten minutes. It was enough to give Tony emotional whiplash.

“How many of these have you had?” Tony asked quietly.

“Just the two.” Peter snorted, unamused. “Isn’t that enough?”

Tony hummed in response, and after a few seconds of silence he asked, “Does Ruth know about the other one?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I didn’t think of it.” Peter shrugged. “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

Tony took another calming breath. He didn’t know how his kid could have a panic attack and then label it in his mind as not a big deal even if he hadn’t known what it was at the time.

“Do you want to tell Ruth about it or should I?” Tony asked. Peter’s therapist was coming over later that afternoon.

“Um…can you do it?”

“Sure kid. Do you know what set it off?” He asked. He knew Ruth would want to know and he wanted to know himself.

Peter nodded against his shoulder. “Yeah, um, it was the same thing both times.”

Tony frowned as he tried to figure out what he could’ve said or done to trigger that kind of reaction.

Before he could ask him, Peter asked hesitantly, “Can you maybe try not to snap your fingers around me anymore? At least for a little while?”

Tony’s breath caught in his throat and he stiffened. Peter sensed it and turned wide eyes on him.

“Um is that ok?” He asked anxiously.

“Yeah. Of course it’s ok.” Tony answered quickly and then shook his head in frustration at himself. “Shit kid. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Peter mumbled.

But it wasn’t. Tony should’ve thought of that, but it hadn’t even been on his radar. Probably because even though he’d watched the video playback, he hadn’t actually been the one to do it. Other Tony had, or his later past self, or whatever. Regardless, the last time Peter had seen him snap his fingers, he’d ended up subsequently dying from it.

“That’s what happened at school too? Someone snapped their fingers?”

Peter nodded. “My teacher. And I know it’s stupid. I know it shouldn’t bother me so much, and it’s completely irrational, but when it happens it’s like everything disappears and all I can see is you. Snapping. And…dying.”

Tony could tell just talking about it was getting Peter worked up again, so he shushed him and ran a hand down the back of his head. “It’s not stupid.”

“Sure feels like it.” Peter mumbled.

“Well it’s not. Shit kid, after the alien thing in New York, if someone just said the word space or wormhole around me, I’d freak out.”

“Really?”

“Yep.” Tony kept running fingers through Peter’s hair.

“How’d you get better?”

“Time. Therapy. Lots of therapy.”

Peter snorted.

“But it gets better kid. I promise. Hey, I ended up in space with you, and I completely held it together, remember?”

“I don’t know if I’d go so far as to say that.” Peter teased, obviously feeling better.

“Well no panic attacks at least.” At least none that the kid had seen. There’d been a couple close calls and one definite breakdown when he’d been stuck on that ship with Nebula on their way back to Earth.

“Yeah.” Peter sighed and Tony could hear the desolation in it.

“Hey.” Tony tapped Peter’s chin with his finger. “Chin up Underoos. It’ll get better. Just give it some time.”

“Seems like it’s taking forever.”

“It’s only been a couple weeks Pete.”

“Yeah weeks.” Peter complained.

Tony smiled. “Give it a few months and then see where you’re at. I bet how you feel now compared to how you’ll feel then will be a lot different.”

“I hope so.”

“I know so.”

Peter sighed again but instead of continuing the conversation, he changed the subject and asked, “Can we go down to the workshop now?”

“You sure you’re feeling up to it?”

Peter nodded.

“All right. Whatever you want kid.” Tony said as he stood.

That got a small smile out of Peter as he followed a step behind him while they walked to the elevator doors.

“I’m going to ask one more thing and then we don’t have to talk about it anymore, ok?” Tony said once they stepped into the elevator.

“Ok.” Peter agreed begrudgingly.

“Do you understand why I don’t think you’re ready to go out as Spiderman yet?” He asked, reaching over to squeeze Peter shoulder so it wouldn’t feel like he was asking to be mean spirited.

“Yeah.” Peter mumbled, staring down at the elevator floor as the doors closed behind them.

Peter mouth twisted. “I guess it’d be pretty embarrassing if Spiderman died because he was too busy having a meltdown from some bad guy snapping his fingers to defend himself from getting shot.”

Tony’s chest clenched in fear at the visual of that exact situation before he had the wherewithal to chastise Peter. “Hey. Don’t talk about yourself that way.”

“Sorry.” Peter said, not sounding sorry at all.

Tony squeezed his shoulder again. “Remember what I said. It’ll get better. Give it time. You’ll be out swinging again in no time.”

“Yeah.” Peter didn’t seem so sure.

“You will. I promise.” Tony said and patted Peter between the shoulder blades as the elevator doors opened to the workshop. “Now come on. You can help me with some suit upgrades I’ve been thinking about.”

“Really?” Peter asked with hopeful eyes. He and Peter had worked together in the workshop all the time before Thanos but he’d rarely let him help with the Ironman suit.

“Yeah.” Tony said as they walked out of the elevator.

“Ok.” Peter grinned, eager excitement lighting up his face.

In that moment, he looked exactly like the old Peter that Tony remembered. Tony smiled back. Yeah. His kid was going to get better. He just needed a little more time and some TLC. And Tony had plenty of both to give now.

#my fic

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werosy87posts · 5 years

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why gucci and dior want to re Most

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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 years

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#1yrago My RSS feeds from a decade ago, a snapshot of gadget blogging when that was a thing

Rob Beschizza:

I chanced upon an ancient backup of my RSS feed subscriptions, a cold hard stone of data from my time at Wired in the mid-2000s. The last-modified date on the file is December 2007. I wiped my feeds upon coming to Boing Boing thenabouts: a fresh start and a new perspective.

What I found, over 212 mostly-defunct sites, is a time capsule of web culture from a bygone age—albeit one tailored to the professional purpose of cranking out blog posts about consumer electronics a decade ago. It's not a picture of a wonderful time before all the horrors of Facebook and Twitter set in. This place is not a place of honor. No highly-esteemed deed is commemorated here. But perhaps some of you might like a quick tour, all the same.

The "Main" folder, which contains 30 feeds, was the stuff I actually wanted (or needed) to read. This set would morph over time. I reckon it's easy to spot 2007's passing obsessions from the enduring interests.

↬ Arts and Letters Daily: a minimalist blog of links about smartypants subjects, a Drudge for those days when I sensed a third digit dimly glowing in my IQ. But for the death of founder Denis Dutton, it's exactly the same as it was in 2007! New items daily, but the RSS feed's dead.

↬ Boing Boing. Still around, I hear.

↬ Brass Goggles. A dead feed for a defunct steampunk blog (the last post was in 2013) though the forums seem well-stocked with new postings.

↬ The Consumerist. Dead feed, dead site. Founded in 2005 by Joel Johnson at Gawker, it was sold to Consumer Reports a few years later, lost its edge there, and was finally shuttered (or summarily executed) just a few weeks ago.

↬ Bibliodyssey. Quiescent. Updated until 2015 with wonderful public-domain book art scans and commentary. A twitter account and tumblr rolled on until just last year. There is a book to remember it by should the bits rot.

↬ jwz. Jamie Zawinski's startling and often hilariously bleak reflections on culture, the internet and working at Netscape during the dotcom boom. This was probably the first blog that led me to visit twice, to see if there was more. And there still is, almost daily.

↬ Proceedings of the Athanasius Kircher Society. Curios and weirdness emerging from the dust and foul fog of old books, forbidden history and the more speculative reaches of science. So dead the domain is squatted. Creator Josh Foer moved on to Atlas Obscura.

↬ The Tweney Review. Personal blog of my last supervisor at Wired, Dylan Tweney, now a communications executive. It's still going strong!

↬ Strange Maps. Dead feed, dead site, though it's still going as a category at Big Think. Similar projects proliferate now on social media; this was the wonderful original. There was a book.

↬ BLDGBLOG. Architecture blog, posting since 2004 with recent if rarer updates. A fine example of tasteful web brutalism, but I'm no longer a big fan of cement boxes and minimalism with a price tag.

↬ Dethroner. A men's self-care and fashion blog, founded by Joel Johnson, of the tweedy kind that became wildly and effortlessly successful not long after he gave up on it.

↬ MocoLoco. This long-running design blog morphed visually into a magazine in 2015. I have no idea why I liked it then, but indie photoblogs' golden age ended long ago and it's good to see some are thriving.

↬ SciFi Scanner. Long-dead AMC channel blog, very likely the work of one or two editors and likely lost to tidal corporate forces rather than any specific failure or event.

↬ Cult of Mac. Apple news site from another Wired News colleague of mine, Leander Kahney, and surely one of the longest-running at this point. Charlie Sorrel, who I hired at Wired to help me write the Gadget blog, still pens articles there.

↬ Ectoplasmosis. After Wired canned its bizarre, brilliant and unacceptably weird Table of Malcontents blog, its editor John Brownlee (who later joined Joel and I in editing Boing Boing Gadgets) and contributor Eliza Gauger founded Ectoplasmosis: the same thing but with no hysterical calls from Conde Nast wondering what the fuck is going on. It was glorious, too: a high-point of baroque indie blogging in the age before Facebook (and I made the original site design). Both editors later moved onto other projects (Magenta, Problem Glyphs); Gauger maintains the site's archives at tumblr. It was last updated in 2014.

↬ Penny Arcade. Then a webcomic; now a webcomic and a media and events empire.

↬ Paul Boutin. While working at Wired News, I'd heard a rumor that he was my supervisor. But I never spoke to him and only ever received a couple of odd emails, so I just got on with the job until Tweney was hired. His site and its feed are long-dead.

↬ Yanko Design. Classic blockquote chum for gadget bloggers.

↬ City Home News. A offbeat Pittburgh News blog, still online but lying fallow since 2009.

↬ Watchismo. Once a key site for wristwatch fans, Watchismo was folded into watches.com a few years ago. A couple of things were posted to the feed in 2017, but its time has obviously passed.

↬ Gizmodo. Much has changed, but it's still one of the best tech blogs.

↬ Engadget. Much has changed, but it's still one of the best tech blogs.

↬ Boing Boing Gadgets. Site's dead, though the feed is technically live as it redirects to our "gadgets" tag. Thousands of URLs there succumbed to bit-rot at some point, but we have plans to merge its database into Boing Boing's and revive them.

↬ Gear Factor. This was the gadget review column at Wired Magazine, separate from the gadget blog I edited because of the longtime corporate divorce between Wired's print and online divisions. This separation had just been resolved at the time I began working there, and the two "sides" -- literally facing offices in the same building -- were slowly being integrated. The feed's dead, but with an obvious successor, Gear.

↬ The Secret Diary of Steve Jobs. Required reading at the time, and very much a thing of its time. Now vaguely repulsive.

↬ i09. This brilliant sci-fi and culture blog deserved more than to end up a tag at Gizmodo.

↬ Science Daily: bland but exhaustive torrent of research news, still cranking along.

The "Essentials" Folder was material I wanted to stay on top of, but with work clearly in mind: the background material for systematically belching out content at a particular point in 2007.

↬ Still alive are The Register, Slashdot, Ars Technica, UMPC Portal (the tiny laptop beat!), PC Watch, Techblog, TechCrunch, UberGizmo, Coolest Gadgets, EFF Breaking News, Retro Thing, CNET Reviews, New Scientist, CNET Crave, and MAKE Magazine.

↬ Dead or quiescent: GigaOm (at least for news), Digg/Apple, Akihabara News, Tokyomango, Inside Comcast, Linux Devices (Update: reincarnated at linuxgizmos.com), and Uneasy Silence.

Of the 23 feeds in the "press releases" folder, 17 are dead. Most of the RSS no-shows are for companies like AMD and Intel, however, who surely still offer feeds at new addresses. Feeds for Palm, Nokia and pre-Dell Alienware are genuine dodos. These were interesting enough companies, 10 years ago.

PR Newswire functions as a veneering service so anyone can pretend to have a big PR department, but it is (was?) also legitimately used by the big players as a platform so I monitored the feeds there. They're still populated, but duplicate one another, and it's all complete garbage now. (It was mostly garbage then.)

My "Gadgets and Tech" folder contained the army of late-2000s blogs capitalizing on the success of Gizmodo, Boing Boing, TechCrunch, et al. Back in the day, these were mostly one (or two) young white men furiously extruding commentary on (or snarky rewrites of) press releases, with lots of duplication and an inchoate but seriously-honored unspoken language of mutual respect and first-mover credit. Those sites that survived oftentimes moved to listicles and such: notionally superior and more original content and certainly more sharable on Facebook, but unreadably boring. However, a few old-timey gadget bloggers are still cranking 'em out' in web 1.5 style. And a few were so specialized they actually had readers who loved them.

Still alive: DailyTech, technabob, CdrInfo.com, EverythingUSB, Extremetech, GearFuse, Gizmag, Gizmodiva, Hacked Gadgets, How to Spot A Psychopath/Dans' Data, MobileBurn, NewLaunches, OhGizmo!, ShinyShiny, Stuff.tv, TechDigest, TechDirt, Boy Genius Report, The Red Ferret Journal, Trusted Reviews, Xataca, DigiTimes, MedGadget, Geekologie, Tom's Hardware, Trendhunter, Japan Today, Digital Trends, All About Symbian (Yes, Symbian!), textually, cellular-news, TreeHugger, dezeen.

Dead: jkkmobile.com, Business Week Online, About PC (why), Afrigadget (unique blog about inventors in Africa, still active on FaceBook), DefenseTech, FosFor (died 2013), Gearlog, Mobile-Review.com (but apparently reborn as a Russian language tech blog!), Robot's Dreams, The Gadgets Weblog, Wireless Watch Japan, Accelerating Future, Techopolis, Mobile Magazine, eHome Upgrade, camcorderinfo.com (Update: it became http://Reviewed.com), Digital Home Thoughts (farewell), WiFi Network News (farewell), Salon: Machinist, Near Future Lab, BotJunkie (twitter), and CNN Gizmos.

I followed 18 categories at Free Patents Online, and the site's still alive, though the RSS feeds haven't had any new items since 2016.

In the "news" folder, my picks were fairly standard stuff: BBC, CNET, digg/technology, PC World, Reuters, International Herald Tribune, and a bunch of Yahoo News feeds. The Digg feed's dead; they died and were reborn.

The "Wired" feed folder comprised all the Wired News blogs of the mid-2000s. All are dead. 27B Stroke 6, Autopia, Danger Room, Epicenter, Gadget Lab, Game|Life, Geekdad, Listening Post, Monkey Bites, Table of Malcontents, Underwire, Wired Science.

These were each basically one writer or two and were generally folded into the established mazagine-side arrangements as the Age of Everyone Emulating Gawker came to an end. The feed for former EIC Chris Anderson's personal blog survives, but hasn't been updated since his era. Still going strong is Bruce Sterling's Beyond the Beyond, albeit rigged as a CMS tag rather than a bona fide site of its own.

Still alive from my 2007 "Science" folder are Bad Astronomy (Phil Plait), Bad Science (Ben Goldacre), Pharyngula (PZ Myers) New Urban Legends, NASA Breaking News, and The Panda's Thumb.

Finally, there's a dedicated "iPhone" folder. This was not just the hottest toy of 2007. It was all that was holy in consumer electronics for half a decade. Gadget blogging never really had a golden age, but the iPhone ended any pretense that there were numerous horses in a race of equal potential. Apple won.

Still alive are 9 to 5 Mac, MacRumors, MacSlash, AppleInsider and Daring Fireball. Dead are TUAW, iPhoneCentral, and the iPhone Dev Wiki.

Of all the sites listed here, I couldn't now be paid but to read a few. So long, 2007.

https://boingboing.net/2017/12/29/my-rss-feeds-from-a-decade-ago.html

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angeltriestoblog · 5 years

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Second sem (and freshman year) recap

It’s pretty hard to believe, but another chapter of my college journey is finally over and done with. Since I had ended the first half of the school year in such high spirits, I didn’t really believe upperclassmen when they warned that things were only going to get harder from there. In fact, I even thought I’d be the one to prove them wrong! I mean, with a class schedule that looked like this, how would I run out of time for all the things I both needed and wanted to do? My Tuesdays and Thursdays were practically free, save for that one Math class I had to attend in the morning that I surprisingly never cut.

For the most part of the semester, I was in a chill state compared to everyone else. I claimed that I had successfully adjusted to the demands of higher education to the point where I found what once was an unreasonable workload to be manageable. I was able to make time for my home org’s activities and devote enough attention to the only project I was deployed to, which I touched on a bit in my first recap blog post (linked here in case you want to jog your memory). As previously mentioned, I was assigned as one of the Documentations Heads under the Information Management department of the Career Building Program, a three-phase event that gives its participants a glimpse into the corporate world. We kicked things off with a resume writing workshop that I was lucky enough to join. The facilitator assigned to me gave useful insights that I was able to apply in the creation of my own curriculum vitae, which I am keen on using when it’s my turn to apply for internships and jobs in the future. I obviously don’t have much on it yet, seeing as I’m just a freshman, but the idea of filling it up with more experiences over the years is exciting me in ways I cannot explain.

Our group was even given the opportunity to explore the studio of the country’s biggest network, where we were briefed by executives in communications and IT and toured around the sets of our favorite shows. We even ran into Luis Manzano while he was filming Minute to Win It! Unfortunately, I wasn’t scouted by any representative from Star Magic and spontaneously put in a love team with Donny Pangilinan, but I guess that’s alright.

I also went to Talent Night with some friends (not in pictures: Gela's boyfriend and ICA barkada), which is shocking since I’m honestly not the type to attend parties like this. I’ve always been the girl who stayed home and binge watched YouTube videos on a Friday night. But, I guess the drunk confidence of those I was with rubbed off on me and I managed to pull through! It was also a plus that Timmy Albert was one of the performers: I do pass him by along the corridors quite frequently, but it’s just different seeing him sing and play an instrument in front of a crowd, especially since I’ve loved Roses and Sunflowers even before I got into Ateneo.

One surprise that I definitely did not see coming was participating in Daloy, our annual program that revolves around corporate social responsibility. This year, we decided to shed a light on how this could be seen in the Philippine clothing industry, so it seemed fitting to hold some talks featuring prominent figures in this field, as well as a fashion show to exhibit the collections of local brands that advocated sustainability. I was really interested in the concept when I first heard of it, and initially wanted to go as a mere audience member - little did I know that I would be tapped by the committee to model! To this day, I don’t know how or why I was chosen: from what I know, there were even screenings held a week prior to the event to determine who would get to walk the runway. But, I was messaged three days before and in that short span of time, I had to fit clothes, find pieces in my closet to match them and perfect my walk (which took several tries on my part, given the fact that when shy, I’m stiff as a board).

Agreeing to join was a huge step out of my comfort zone - the closest I’ve ever come to strutting on a catwalk was back when family members would ask me to “walk like a fashion model” as a kid during reunions. So, the fact that it had all paid off in the end, and that I was even complimented for the way I looked and performed beyond what was probably expected, was definitely a huge confidence boost for me. I couldn’t have done it without Nelly, Daloy’s project head who patiently guided me through the entire process before the show.

Shoutout as well to the other ACTM upperclassmen who were so friendly to me this school year. We may not have any pictures together, but you deserve a spot on this post nevertheless: Gella, my "boss" (hehe) who was always so patient when I asked questions and even went out of her way to say such kind words about my writing; Sam Que who made me feel like we had already known each other for so long even if we had just talked for the first time, and Ysagab who constantly reassured me that I was doing a good job even if I was looking like such a rookie.

My presence in events wasn’t limited to those of ACTM, though. I also went to the Loyola Film Circle’s Under the Stars, where I was able to see the live performances of OPM acts and watch one of my favorite chick flicks beneath the beautiful night sky. Since it took place the day after Valentine’s, I was surrounded by Ateneans and their significant others (who didn’t hold back at all when it came to publicly displaying their affection), but I didn’t even mind since I was content in the company of both my college constants and high school friends.

I dropped by Sulyap as well, which was the culminating activity of the Ateneo Heights Writers Workshop and the launch of the chapbook of their fellows. It was one of the busiest Fridays of the school year, but I still made it a point to go, because I wasn’t about to pass up the opportunity to be a part of something organized by my dream org, Ateneo’s premier literary publication. As much as I love my course and the people in it, I have to admit that I haven’t been able to exercise much of my creative side. So being in a room full of like-minded individuals and hearing them speak lengthily about their works and the process that brought them to life was a refreshing experience, a much-needed break from the usual routine. My personal favorite was Unica Hijas by Mikaela Regis, which revolved around a lesbian couple trying to make their relationship work despite the fact that they study in a conservative, all-girls high school - a setting which is all too familliar to me.

It’s also worth noting that I was sorta able to tick a particular item off my freshman year bucket list. And I say sorta, because… well, you’ll see. It’s been a dream of mine ever since to watch a UAAP basketball game live, show up to the arena in a bright blue shirt, cheer as loud as I can when a player makes a point and raise my fist in the air while Song for Mary plays in the background. But, even if I’m consistently in school by 6am, I was never able to get tickets - I couldn’t match the efforts of some fans, who would camp overnight just to get their hands on them. But, just when I thought there was no more chance for me to show my school pride at a match, my friend Mika offered me a free ticket to the Ateneo Lady Eagles’ volleyball match against FEU at the Filoil Arena one Wednesday. We weren’t really on speaking terms before because we were from different cliques, but after bonding over K-Pop, I saw how nice and chill of a person she actually is. So, I didn’t want to turn her down even if I was hesitant to go at first. You see, I was never a fan - in fact, I didn’t know how the game went despite the PE lessons I had back in Grade 5. (Ms. Abella, if you see this, I’m sorry.) But, it didn’t take a lot of convincing for me to agree and I ended up enjoying way more than I thought I would. Fortunately, I was able to catch on when it came to the rules of the sport: the energy of the crowd was contagious as well, and the performance of the players was way too good it was impossible not to shout either out of triumph or frustration. Once we made it to the finals against UST, I even found myself waiting for announcements on where to buy tickets. I didn’t get any though, because they were either sold out due to the ever-increasing demand (ALE fans don’t play around) or there was a conflict in schedule (hi, Enlit play).

Despite this, I streamed the last game and screamed like I was actually in the venue myself. Apologies to all our neighbors, who probably thought someone was getting killed in the house beside theirs. I was so proud when they brought home the championship after three years, I even bought a Team Ateneo shirt (it’s not that hard to guess whose name is on the back) and went to the bonfire with my friends Gwen, Julia and Lou. I had hoped to meet and take a picture with the players, but they were already far too wasted when I arrived. Like, seriously. I saw Maddie Madayag chug a whole bottle of Mule right before my eyes.

So, you could say that it was all fun and games (quite literally) for me until hell weeks eventually rolled in. Plural form intended. I found out that all my professors were just holding back every major requirement until the very last stretch of the semester. Suddenly, my schedule was chock full of presentations and final papers, comprehensive exams and extra classes that put my time management and endurance to the test. I spent many days in Matteo Down just like before, but also started going to the floor above it in case I wanted to suffer in the company of more people. The studying would only continue once I got home: I’d pull all-nighters despite my brain’s and skin’s desperate cries for help, as manifested in my worsening acne. I don’t think I’ve ever felt that stressed in my life, and it’s scary to think that that’s only the tip of the iceberg in the Ateneo.

Coping mechanisms I’ve picked up to help me deal with these unavoidable circumstances would be trying every restaurant along the Katipunan area whenever I had free time (which I will elaborate on more extensively in another blog post, so do watch out for that!) and eventually discovering Pancake House’s corned beef hash, which I love so much I once had it thrice in the span of a week. Another one would be the addition of yet another emotional support K-Pop boy to my collection. After watching My ID is Gangnam Beauty over Holy Week break, I fell in love with Cha Eunwoo and his god-tier visuals, mild demeanor, impressive English skills and heartfelt determination. This led me to binge watching reality show episodes and furiously putting the entire discography of Astro on loop. If you look at my Last.fm, you could see how Crazy Sexy Cool easily climbed to the top of my most played songs, sitting prettily at the #1 spot with over 300 plays in just a little over two months.

Although I constantly had to bear the pressure and stress on my shoulders over the past academic year, I am eternally grateful to Ateneo for equipping me with lessons both within and beyond the realm of academics that have helped me grow into someone I never imagined, but am happy to have turned into anyway. When my naive and starry-eyed self first entered college, I had such high hopes for what my experience would be and proceeded to map out the next four years of my life in accordance with the vision I had in my head. Having just broken free from the metaphorical chains of my previous school, I found it to be the perfect time to transform into a student who excelled academically, had a long and winding list of extracurricular activities and easily built a vast network of connections thanks to her pleasing and magnetic personality. If I got lucky, maybe I’d have one of those so-called “college blooms” and even get myself an actual boyfriend!

This isn’t something unique to me, I bet a lot of people entered this new stage of their lives with the same mindset so I wasn’t the only one in shock upon realizing that it doesn’t always play out that way in real life. Because of these ridiculous expectations we have implanted in our heads, that basically state that we have to be successful in everything we do and fast, we subconsciously keep ourselves from enjoying the process. In our desire to aim high and aspire for perfection in all that we do, we could end up failing to acknowledge the small yet equally important wins we gain along the way: the friend we make outside of our block despite the sheer discomfort we experience in meeting new people, or the answer we gave in class that impressed our most intimidating professor could appear minuscule when placed beside our goal of being straight-A student who’s active in seven orgs. In addition, we deprive ourselves of the allowance to make mistakes, stray from taking the detours and breaks we need to remain functional human beings and often drive ourselves to the point of fatigue and burnout. And when we are still not flourishing and thriving as planned, we fall prey to toxic comparison: we pit ourselves against others who don’t have the same background or circumstances as we do and question why our progress doesn’t match with theirs.

This is obviously such a toxic way to go about things. Talk about sucking the fun out of what’s supposed to be the four most enjoyable years of our lives. Thankfully, over time, I did some growing up, if you will, and channeled the power of acceptance - both of what I am and what I am not, and the will of God (or whichever supreme being you've placed your faith in) who meticulously planned out what’s ahead of me before I was even old enough to know what school was. I now work to the best of my ability, confident that all I have to do is put in my share of the hard work and see where it takes me, and am also more gentle with myself when I make mistakes.

On a somewhat lighter note, I’ve also been able to form my own opinions about very controversial issues on campus: an example of which would be what I think is the best CR - the answer is definitely Arete. You can’t go wrong with its triple killer combo of aircon, bidet and strong WiFi connection. The only possible downside could be the fact that there are usually a lot of people, so it’s not the best option if you’re planning on being loud and… um, smelly. The secluded and fragrant Leong Hall and ever-reliable New Lib restrooms come in second and third place respectively, while honorable mentions include the 2F Kostka CR (but only from 6:00-7:00am, when no one else is around) and this one specific stall in the Socsci building that's spacious enough that I can bring all my belongings inside with me.

Another point for discussion would be the superior place to eat on school grounds: this might cause an uproar, I’m aware, but I still believe it’s JSEC, despite the stark price difference compared to other cafeterias on campus. I was set on trying something from every stall before the school year ended, but I was too fixated on my top picks: I don’t have any regrets though. In fact, I wish I had more of the beef salpicao with calamares on the side from Casa Paella, the Superbowl from Blendabowls and The Coop fries with garlic aioli served on the side. Besides the fact that the food served is satisfying beyond measure, I enjoy the chit-chats I have with the ates and kuyas manning the stalls, who never fail to ask me how I am and tell me about the cute chinito boys they see on campus that they think I might like.

Although I can’t completely rule out Gonzaga, because of this particular stall with quality liempo and a kuya who always gives me a five peso discount. (I’ve been told he does this with girls he finds cute, but I have yet to confirm that). Also, it’s the only place on campus that I know of that sells fresh fruits by the kilo - perfect for those days when I try to convince myself to go on a diet before I relapse and binge eat at Pancake House.

A lot of people do say that ISO sisig is worth the cross-campus walk it’ll take to get there (e-jeep rides are more recommended! An experience in itself! Especially if you’re seated in the back, where there’s a constant feeling of being sucked in a vacuum! But, I digress) - it might just be a matter of preference, but I think it’s overrated. A destination that deserves more attention is the Cervini Hall cafeteria just by the university dormitories. I’ve only been there a grand total of two times so I don’t exactly have any specific favorites on the menu that I recommend, but I’d definitely still go for the homey ambience.

As for superior study places, Matteo Down has been tried and tested several times: I do prefer getting a place opposite to the entrance though, because it does get distracting having to see people enter and go out the door so often. What was supposed to be a study session often ends up becoming a game to see how many people are wearing a striped shirt today. I usually spend time on the fourth floor of the Rizal Library, and get the couch as often as I can because of the comfort (and charger) it provides.

Of course, I wouldn’t have been able to power through this year without the help of my closest friends: Sevi, Gwen, Raya and Christine. I always had this nagging fear in the back of my head that I wouldn’t be able to find a tight-knit group once I got to college, but thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for letting me be my true self, for entertaining even my most random thoughts and for accepting all the kalat that comes with being my friend. I sincerely hope that we stay together and have more Gino’s dates in the future along with Chloe!

To Gela, Jill, Shar (and Dom, but we don’t have any pictures together except for the last one HAHAHA) - I didn’t expect at all that I’d be writing about you guys. I was so intimidated by all of you at first, because I felt like we were so different in terms of our upbringing and environment. But after getting to know you, I came to realize that you are seriously some of the most down-to-earth, chill people ever. Thank you for always providing quality chismis, volunteering to find me chinito boys to date and giving me apps to make my IG stories look cuter.

To the rest of X1, we weren’t exactly the most united and we knew that - it’s just that we were probably the most diverse out of all the groups in our batch, and with that comes clashing personalities and differing opinions and interests. But, nevertheless, I am content with the time we managed to spend together, where I was able to get to know all of you!

To the friends that I made outside of my block (and even my course), thank you for laughing at my jokes and telling me that I'm fun to talk to. Hopefully, we get to hang out more and maybe even have common classes in the future hehe

To my Enlit section, we barely spoke to one another during the first semester so I fell under the impression that you were all stoic and no fun to be with. But, I was proven wrong eventually. I wish I was able to talk to more people in LL, but to the classmates I was closest to (Dootie, Cyrah, Czarina, She and Jessa), I will never forget our side comments and mini-rant sessions. I heard we’re having another English subject come sophomore year, and I really hope I end up with you guys again.

All in all, there is no other word that could sum up the experience that was my freshman year in college better than “adventure”. It was every single emotion on the spectrum All At Once, but I wouldn’t trade it for the world - in fact, during the first half of the semester, I admit that I’d entertain thoughts of alternate universes where I’d be an Iska/Lasallista/Tomasino out of sheer curiosity, but now I just can’t imagine myself anywhere else. Anyway, enough with all that drama. I’m going back to school in three weeks to start my summer term, which we fondly (lmao) refer to as intersession. So, there’s technically nothing to miss.

Hope the rest of you enjoy the summer break that I unfortunately will not be able to experience until I graduate from college! Wishing you nothing but love and light, always.

Angel

#life update #angeltriestoblog #life dump #angel crawled her way thru freshman year!!!!#COULD U BELIEVE #angel is now a sophomore #that's disgusting

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brownstonearmy · 3 years

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2021-03-20: Court Ordered Appearances (Part 2)

Tuesday Aug 25 (early afternoon, breezy)

After a short rest and some government-provided healing, Disco and Spleenifer are reunited with Lucky and Norm. A "delay in jurisdictional clarification" resulted in Norm arriving after the dirty job had been completed. It seems more like the law was showing favoritism to one of its officers, but who are we to judge the way the wheels of justice move?

Lucky looks quite a bit different today, as the court's summoning magic backfired and sent her into a plane where time runs differently. It's been two years since she last saw her companions, and her hair is now much longer and dyed blueberry blue with exposed roots. The courts gave the pair an emergency travel stipend of 1,000 GP each (with a little extra coin for Lucky on the side, on the condition that she not speak publicly about the government stranding her in another plane of reality for two years.

But before anyone can get too comfortable, court is called into session with the Honorable Drummond Lackman presiding over the case. The party is ushered to the Defense's bench where a Dwarven public defender is writing in a book, seemingly unaware that court has started. The Prosecution takes the floor to make opening statements, and that's when the party notices the Prosecution is not actually a man, but a Satyr named Ander Reedfellow.

The stakes are now apparent. In Swanmark, the penalty for murder is murder in turn. If there is no verdict by the time the bells toll 5, the verdict is death by default.

Ander calls his first witness to the stand: a sheep farmer named Melvil Ulmok. Melvil's testimony concerns a recent transaction involving Anaxilas. Apparently Mr. Ulmok sold a few sheep to Anaxilas, who didn't care what kind of sheep he bought. When Anaxilas was asked his intentions regarding the sheep, his answers to Mr. Ulmok were evasive. Melvil ends his testimony on an explosive accusation: "I say he's a ram-fucker."

The party persuades the public defender, Warden Alebrewer, to call Anaxilas's romantic partner, Norbert Haversham, to the stand to rebut the allegations. Norbert was not scheduled to be a witness in the testimony, but was in the audience watching the proceedings. Judge Lackman allows it, and Norbert reluctantly takes the stand. However, the line of questioning immediately turns to matters of the bedroom and Norbert refuses to answer those questions in public. Not because it's shameful or anything, but because it's generally not anyone else's business.

Ander Reedfellow calls another witness: Gimgen Brawnanvil. Astute readers may recall that Gimgen was a minor NPC who showed up way back in the early days of the campaign. He tried (and failed) to eat The Hole Thing. Ander asks Gimgen if he knows the some of the people defending the Anaxilas.

Gimgen identifies Disco and Lucky as being behind The Hole Thing eating contest. Although Gimgen was not forced to eat, the foul concoction forced him to un-eat (if you catch my drift) and also lose his prized Dwarven accent. If these are the kind of people trying to defend Anaxilas and the dragon, what does that say about Anaxilas's character if he's associating with these people? Clearly Bargulena was justified in eating him as a matter of civic service!

Lucky interrupts the proceedings by shouting "We have never intentionally hurt anyone, except for those who deserved it or for whom it would be funny."

Judge Lackman threatens Lucky with contempt of court and calls for order, while Warden requests a break to strategize their defense with the party since the prosecution is running roughshod over the defense.

In the defense's chambers, Warden explains that he's a public defender who gets a lot of cases and doesn't usually even get his case files until a few minutes before court. The defense packet for the This isn't ideal, but since the party happens to know Anaxilas, maybe they would be willing to take the lead on the defense?

Norm investigates the last known image of Anaxilas recorded on an adventure stone. It features a dragon yawning really wide while Anaxilas is standing at full height with his sword drawn. The image in question was taken by Anaxilas superfan, Gigi Hardcastle. When the party casts Locate Person on Anaxilas, it seems to ping the belt recovered from Bargulena's stomach.

With his experience as a police investigator, Norm is immediately suspicious that Gigi doesn't have a picture of the dragon closing its mouth. Disco has their own suspicions, because Norbert isn't nearly as broken up about the death of Anaxilas they would think.

Gigi and Norbert are requested for additional interrogation by the party, and the bailiff retrieves them. When Disco questions Norbert about his lack of sadness about losing a romantic partner, he divulges that he received a letter from Anaxilas that was dated AFTER his disappearance. The note reads:

"Norbert, my beloved, see you soon."

The conversation with Gigi is not as immediately helpful. She demands the dragon be called as a witness so the dragon can confess and be put to death. Gigi also cryptically mentions that there are things at play here that she cannot divulge and she only knows a piece of the puzzle. But her role is to see Bargulena executed and get near the dragon when it happens.

Once court is back in session, the dragon Bargulena is called as a witness. As the time draws closer to the evening, a floating black shroud of an executioner has appeared in the courtroom. Bargulena takes the stand, or at least her head and neck do, since she doesn't quite fit in the court.

Bargulena is clearly under some powerful sedatives and speaks with a slurred voice that oscillates between belligerence and mirthful honesty. Ander Reedfellow begins the cross-examination. "Did you eat Anaxilas, the celebrity adventurer?"

"Yes," Bargulena answers. "He tasted like cologne and sweat."

Norm asks Bargulena to open her mouth wide. Bargulena's teeth match the teeth featured in Gigi's picture.

Disco begins interrogating Bargulena, still trying to prove the dragon's innocence. Bargulena, however, is not having it. She professes her guilt over and over. Eventually it is decided that the best way to prove the innocence of a dragon who doesn't want to be proven innocent is to forcibly discharge Bargulena's bowels.

Cornelius von Tinkelwasser happens to be present at the court as an expert witness who gave testimony earlier in the case while the party was investigating Bargulena's guts. Spleenifer asks if Cornelius has his portable enema kit (of course he does, duh!), and so Spleenifer and Cornelius work together to pressurize Bargulena's bowels.

Moments later, a flood of magical dragon poop is unleashed. Cornelius is right in the middle of what sanitation professionals call "the splash zone," and he gets covered in partially digested dragon dinners.

Also escaping from the poopy prison are the drow who had been living in Bargulena's stomach as well as Monsignor Gryllz. During the commotion, Cornelius emerges from the splash zone transformed into a Werecorn. It's like a werewolf, but you know... an angry corn monster. Thankfully, Cornelius doesn't appear to be hostile, but there's yet another wrinkle in this courtroom chaos!

Several drow ladies led by a drow named Jenneleth materialize in the courtroom. Jenneleth has been trying to find her brother for the last 200 years, and she intends to make him pay for his insolence and willingness to associate with lesser races. She casts a spell to summon shadowy tentacles, but Lucky counterspells it and triggers a wild magic surge. Lightning appears on the ceiling and a pleasant breeze wafts through the courtroom.

Meanwhile, Disco is arguing against Jenneleth's abhorrent racial perspectives: "Having hooked up with many races, there is no lesser race."

Disco breaks out their lute and gets the party's energy pumping, as well as pumping out a seductive song for Jenneleth in an attempt to get her to consider the "other side." Although a string breaks on Disco's lute, the song is still at least a little bit appreciated by Jenneleth.

Jenneleth briefly considers "debasing herself with an inferior race," but ultimately opts to just keep on trying to destroy the whole courthouse in an attempt to capture or kill her brother.

Lucky notices a suspicious bucket that appears to be poison for the execution. She cast Thunder Step to blink over to the bucket and tosses it into the portable hole in an attempt to control access to it in case someone tries to execute Bargulena. Jenneleth tries to firebolt Gigi, but Gigi manages to get close to Bargulena and Lucky tosses the poison to her, because the party's not going to be the one killing a dragon.

As Gigi administers the poison, the large gem in her spider chair begins to glow as Bargulena's soul flows into it. Monsignor Gryllz also begins glow, but that's because he's absorbing part of the Bargulena's soul. Once he's powered up a bit, Monsignor Gryllz cackles and flies away.

Disco grabs Norbert and demands to know what they're supposed to do next, but right now the most prudent course of action is going to be to get out of this deadly courtroom brawl. Lucky administers some of that good old fashioned magical invisibility on Disco as a swarm of tabloid clerics descend from the spectator area to try to cast speak with dead on the dragon's corpse. The spells of the tabloid clerics are ultimately unsuccessful.

Gigi still needs to escape the pandemonium, and that's when Norm decides to create a diversion for her. He pulls out his folding boat and OH MY GOSH WHAT IS THAT as a big boat appears in the middle of the courtroom. Six seconds of stunned silence follow as Gigi makes her way to the exit.

Once Norm retrieves his folding boat and the rest of the party is free of the courtroom that is rapidly crumbling to the ground from the cacophony of spells being fired within, Gigi gets questioned about what the next step is.

She pats the glowing gemstone in her chair. "The dragon knows where Anaxilas is."

Stay tuned next time for more!

#dragon #Dungeons and Dragons #drow #court #execution #adventure log #shits and giggles

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thetasteoffire · 6 years

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I think the hill I’m finally ready to die on is that the ‘woke’ brand of progressivism really contains the seeds of its own destruction in the unevenness of its rhetorical standards - that is, that the intellectual dishonesty of the kind of movement where the same person will tweet fervently about how disgusting it is that women are just regarded as sexual objects in a broader culture and then respond to all pictures of pretty/buff/both women with an allcaps “I’M SO GAY” is just...damning. Beyond off-putting; it’s self-destructive, in the sense that ‘an intellectual/cultural movement built on uncertain and inarticulable standards of conduct - any breach of which means a social media public stoning - is probably doomed’ seems self-evident to anyone willing to conceptualize it in those terms.

I read the new piece by the guy who was purported as wanting to hang women who’ve had abortions and while it’s obviously not exactly life-changing (crypieces by intellectuals who think they’re too smart to cry rarely are), there’s a few real out-of-body experiences: the “who gets sponsorships from Google and Pepsi” one is a solid soundbite, the overall breast-beating “I have been wronged” narrative is given new spin (if not new life), but the one that really hit me upside the head is that this very motherfucker had the Leftie Neighborhood Watch called to break down his door over the infamous quote which he insists was decontextualized - and then just paragraphs later pulled The Same Bullshit(TM), being sarcastic about something someone said that they claimed was taken out of context. The mob did it to him, and now he’s doing it to the mob.

Surely, the issue is becoming apparent, yes?

And I know, I know, half of the stuff that’s one here that rails against men/cis people/straight people/etc probably isn’t meant seriously or something and my point isn’t that those are the real oppressed people anyway, just that the praxis around being progressive in public and especially on social media fucking sucks. Why bother being a male ally when you see tungle.hell’s filthy internet hallways littered with posts captioned “men are weak af tbh.” Obviously with such cutting insights the patriarchy is only days from falling anyway! Sarcasm aside, the underlying question I always have when seeing that stuff is why? - since it really is a fairly intense deterrent, and the possibilities are...not inspiring: monastic-inspired denial of entry to ensure the willingness of the participant, complicated hazing ritual, earnest desire to actually not have male allies while claiming that you do to appear inclusive, earnest desire to not have male allies in your movement and continue feeling/appearing victimized because men refuse to help, just straight-up venting...probably all those and more have been the rationale since, despite the appearance of a hivemind, there really are individuals at work at the end of the day. But the key is: none of those reasons are good, none of them strengthen anything but esprit de corp for already enfranchised members, which, anyone can tell you, is really fucking bad for a movement interested in expanding its cultural cachet and really good for hardlining opposition.

Straight women with mugs labelled “male tears” are just a symptom though. The real problem is still lurking in the second paragraph.

Which is, not to put too fine a point on it, sloppiness. The wave 2.9/Sex-in-the-City “feminism” that’s really just a cargo-cult style belief that emulating the worst elements of the patriarchy will give you the same freedom as the sexually caustic men who truly benefit from it is another good one. The conviction, true and to the bones, that when you tweeted “straight men are honestly garbage” that your ingroup, the straight men that you like and approve of (if any exist, who knows?), knew that you definitely didn’t mean them, that you were making a broader rhetorical point about those elements of straight masculinity that are often held up as the pinnacle of masculinity are so often self-destructive and harmful and can cause so much societal damage that men themselves, as a group, without reservations or exceptions because those are the confusing things needed denunciation (you were, of course, jut making that point - right? Right?) - but that some conservative motherfucker from Texas said that women who had had abortions needed to hang, and without reading the context first, you decided that he was full-bore 100% serious, and it was time to dogpile him - there’s another.

I mean, he probably deserved it (?!). Even with context, it’s pretty spurious and a particularly bitter sort of sardonic that relies on reader knowledge of his position on capital punishment. Still...

I’m picking on ‘woke’ stuff mostly because there are enormous iniquities, and most of the problems that are talked about have a basis in reality that needs addressing, and progressive thought/politics are a good starting point. (Most. Not all problems.) It’s not really a surprise that irony has taken hold as the primary mode of ‘woke’ leftie discourse; when you mean only half of the shit you say literally anyway, irony is reflex. But again, you have to ask why it’s the continued mode when it has mostly ceased to serve; the field is choked with alarmist weeds, barrier-to-entry cowpies, and occasionally, the bodies of the ritually sacrificed dead lost in the tall grass when irony is abandoned, so poor is our grasp on earnestness. It could be what no one wants to acknowledge - that all of these methods, all these foibles, all these dope-as-hell roasts on twitter are just mimicking the suffering people endured at the hands of others, and gladly turn those tools on anyone “in power” at the first opportunity. Pause to meditate on the nearly Orwellian doublethink that is (rightly) wanting to change a society which degrades women whose appearance deviates from beauty norms, but having your opening mockery salvos toward shitty men be about how they’re balding, or unfavorable speculations on the size of their dick. Irony is virtually necessary as a paring mechanism; just hanging around some of these spaces is enough to see uncomfortable parallels of methodology between two ostensibly opposing sides - some sins are permitted by the ingroups, others are not, and the rules are arcane.

It’s to the point that reading twitter can feel less like human interaction, and more like a visit to a faerie court. There’s no left and right in the politics of the internet mob - just Seelie and Unseelie.

I mean, it’s no real skin off my back (until The Discourse comes for me, anyway). And even then, who knows? There’s dozens of posts/tweets/pieces of content/whatever written about how the left needs to unbunch its panties somewhat and let people grow - fine and good. I’m not necessarily hopeful that it’ll happen, since people love a show and a public execution tends to be a well-attended one, so far as shows go - doubly so when it’s just the death of public image (not coincidentally because you can kill those more than once and huzzah for that). But beyond its love for devouring its own young (and old), the conceptualization of progressivism as this delicate thing that will wilt at first touch of unworthy hand is nothing but pernicious. It’s already sold out, which is a good sign for a growing, healthy baby! Maybe, like, just maybe, if it were even a percentage as interested in recruiting as the DSA or say, the alt-right is, it could grow out of its tacit self-conceptualization as an institution which must be smol and pure, too good for this world. Or whatever it is that leads to the left getting so bored with itself it does stupid, navel-gazing shit in the face of literal fascism.

#the discourse TM #long post #i feel like there's more but can't really get to it #it's already been a long walk to say 'i agree with a lot of the principles of people who acting like shitlords'#'and it's wigging me out'

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