#i feel like an old grandma what the fuck you can make him pixelated too

[anthosfan]

[dayna-scully]

ncis/tiva s8 lb

season 3  |  season 4   |  season 5  |  season 6  |  season 7  |  season 9  |  season 10  |  etc

8x01

mountain mama

I can assure you, I do not have any tan lines

things that would probably get you arrested

sharks circling again

this would have been better as the s7 finale

8x02

I am a younger model

I can hear ya McGee, I got ears

8x03

seriously dinozzo

is this also necessary

husbands

8x04

why is he trying to break into ziva’s computer

you’ve been flirting with the Miami heat

a walking Israeli love machine

handle with care, contents priceless

he loooves her

8x05

dinozzo? turning down a girl in a bikini? the world must be ending

ooooor he’s in love

tony has every iteration of ziva memorized

Compared to the ziva I shared a bed with five years ago

You were just putting on a show…you were putting on a show, right?

they always put ziva in these father & daughter situations

here again

I can tell/that’s just my knee

her daddy taught her to play catch 😖

“my father taught me”

gibbs’ nod is everything

8x06

special Ethel

you’re dating within your age range

why are they always sitting behind each other!! Never at their own desks!!!

if only that shirt fit a little better, tony

it might be slightly less horrifying

are you supposed to be fat Elvis?

8x07

aww ziva’s American passport

wow, you’re in a great mood

ziva is worried

ziver

I’m a federal agent, dad

I very much doubt that senior does anything but lie by default

oh dad, shut up

oh toe-knee

ziva is a grandma name

ugh all these assholes

she sees her dad all the time, Abby, his name is gibbs and he works upstairs

oh ziva

McGee needs to change his pants

I wish they had spent less time on Eli and more on ziva’s mother

we are calm, you’re yelling

tony can tell when she’s getting squirrelly

8x09

I don’t really care about Leon’s flashbacks…

8x10

looks like tony, doesn’t sound like tony

oh gosh, I’m sorry, are you and he-?

the lady doth protest too much

she’s got the eyes of a killer

you feeling okay, dinozzo?

enough! we’re just friends, there’s nothing different about him

oh really ziva

ziva: ????

you are not crazy

and that is why we love you

oh, we?

this coming from the girl who said she barely had a professional relationship with tony yesterday 🤔

but you love him

yeah, sure, “we”

ziva’s gonna shoot the confetti

that was always so hilarious

8x11

duck, call

abbses

that is why it is called a bat nap

May be code for something/yeah, hedonism

men are trash

8x12

McGee noticing tony staring at ziva’s empty desk

tony definitely hasn’t been thinking about her all weekend

I need my inhaler/I want ziva back

I promise you, Ray is a good man

why do you have to reassure tony about him hmm??

8x13

ziva feels bad but not bad enough to get involved

a pool dolphin

late nineties?? That makes you sound so…

ziva was barely a teenie bopper in the late 90s

you know, Tony, you do not wear jealousy well

oh so we’re acknowledging the fact that he is jealous of the guy you might be dating mmhmm okay

I know a bickering couple when I hear one

this reminds Gibbs too much of Shannon and jelly

ziva is endlessly amused by tony

this is all about mcgee but she’s only looking at tony

I like Tony’s maturity around the service people they encounter (usually)

for someone without rank over them, he sure seems to pull it

I’m not sure I wanna open up those wounds, duck

well is she talking about saleem or about Eli

you’re too young to act so old

8x14

I do not want to hear about your threesomes

whyyyyyy do they always have to go back to Kate

which writer was obsessed with her

when confronted with a psychologist, ziva looks to tony

hmm worried about something?

I want something permanent, something that can’t be taken away - is that too much to ask?

oh z bb

I liked Kate but I don’t understand the preoccupation the show has with her

it really rubs me the wrong way, like ziva wasn’t enough even to the writers, she was always just the puppy to kick when they needed drama

8x15

“this new app” it’s the same program you guys have had since season 3 but okay

close your mouth, tony

I miss my blackberry

ziva’s being the nice big sister and Tony’s being a dick

I could never be that energetic

oh mcgoo

the hydrant didn’t deserve such an undignified death

ziver, get the phone

8x16

sometimes the brains sneak out of the hole

tony and ziva stuck together for hours 👀👀👀👀👀

8x17

I cannot smell you from there

oh the sass

ziva is going to eat ej

very territorial

mmhmm thank you thank you

why all the touching ziva

no this one’s problem is definitely her bite

ugh

8x18

tony looks kind of ashamed that ziva is noticing he’s talking to ej

8x19

ziva wants gibbs at her wedding he’s her dad

I should stop this

bickering

8x20

oh yes all the flirtatious looks at tony

I don’t have a special anything and it’s none of your business

the last time ziva has a boyfriend in town, you killed him, tony

I suppose this candlelight dinner may have seemed sweet but it just seems cheesy and try-hard

uh ooooh

if you were fine you wouldn’t be here

oh my god tony said thank you to someone

what about you and ej?

oh christ ouch

the implication being that he…never understood ziva

that is the fakest fucking eyeball I’ve ever seen in my life

8x21

ziva is going to murder ej

dinozzo got some ass and now he thinks he’s hot shit

why don’t you tell him how many sides it has, Tim

I’m pretty sure you don’t like her, z

this stakeout scene is adorable

the writers make very strange choices

why is Tim jealous of the other guy when it’s been three thousand years since he and Abby slept together

like either commit to mcabby or let it go!!!!!

why does ziva look so sad

YOU CANT DO THAT

you can’t make pixels where there are none!!!

stop doin that!!!!

brunch date ft. shared croissant

same

the cia you say

8x22

why don’t you just investigate

and again, ziva is always watching tony

Tony’s hair was never that dark but ok

you can’t outrun me, I’m wearin tube socks!

you’re not just any partner, McGee

you’re her little brother

I don’t think that would count as reading him his rights, tony

8x23

most bottom feeding mudsuckers

franks looks more like a corpse than when he’s actually a corpse

tony and ej is unsettling everyone, not just ziva

that wasn’t even that deep???

poor ziva

there is always another monster

how does tony reconcile this kind of intimacy with his insistence that they have a totally platonic professional relationship

like that is undeniably incredibly intimate

he initiates the hug, and that’s a totally different hug from Abby and McGee

anyways

8x24

gibbs is gonna murder secnav when he finds out

if he wasn’t, I am

Tony’s really wound tight

ej’s patronizing is gonna drive me up the wall

it’s just different for some of us

oh???? Different how, Anthony?????

cause you can’t live without her?????

I hope tony knows ziva’s actually alive post season-whenever

I need to find ziva

supporting each other

no thank you please don’t come back, ej

ziva needs steady, ciray is not steady

[mikenips]

You Can Never Go Home Again

“Artur?”  Pop a different tape in the player.  I can’t even watch that tape yet.  And I didn’t even know the guy personally.  Just one of those figures you see walking around town.  The type of character you wanna ask all the questions to.  But also afraid to approach.  Our inspirations will always hurt us more than the people we know.

“Yes.”  The smashed beak of a nose gets you first.  He’s a quirky looking man.  Wears those big, goofy glasses nerds wear in your 1950s nostalgia.  “You say your making movie on Bart?”

“Yeah.”  My camera shakes as I get outta the car.  Nearly dropped the fuckin’ thing.  Quick shot of the puddle it would’ve sunk in.  Brown.  With a faded can of Miller High Life pacing back and forth with the breeze.  You can tell someone shotgunned it.  Wonder if it’s a remnant of Pharm House.  The rusted whip-its in the street aren’t.  See more of them on the streets of Hamtown than ants or rats.  “It’s for a class project at Wayne State.”

“Good school.”  He nods.  Pats the head of the dog in the backseat of his Jeep.  Crack swooping down the front driver’s side windshield.  “Come.  I show you house.”

The house is set far back on the yard.  Red siding giving it that farm look.  Probably was a house for farm animals or something.  Smaller than the rest of the homes on the block.  But also stands taller.  Gets higher than the rest of the block.  No matter how much weed Bart shared with the neighbors as they watched from the safety of the porch.  Staring at the graffiti covered tree.  “Bart was good kid.  Good tenant.  Always remind me to pick up rent.  You know.  I forget those things sometimes.  Spent many nights drinking with him.  He was always out and about.  Caught him buying coke from a bartender one time.  Tell him he shouldn’t do that.  He laughed.  Said he knew.  So I laugh.

“Shame when I tell him I had to evict him.  But he’s real smart.  He knew he was in the wrong.  Admitted it.  Left like he was supposed to.  Can even tell he tried fixing the damages.  I give him security deposit back.  For the effort.  Plus now I have this artifact.  I see kids, just like you, checking it out all the time.  I don’t know how they find it.  But they come to the house.

“See!”  He points to a dip in the lawn.  Patchy grass attempting to cover the dirt there before it.  “I talk to Bart after he leave.  Ask for stories.  Why these kids come to my house?  Just to look!  He give me tour.  Now I do the same for you.

“In Summer.  He throw a big barbeque.  Neighbors sit on their front porch and watch too.  They all spoke highly of him after he left.  It was for the homeless.  And the bands play right out here!  Crazy right?”

The banister of the porch is cracked.  My head plays the video from Shithole’s Facebook page.  Dooley attempting to hurtle the three foot tall plank of wood.  Catching his Croc on it.  Yanks it all down before landing on the rusty screws and splintering bark where the dip in the lawn would be.  Brad running up and stealing his sunglasses.  The pit swirls to the fuzzed out guitar still ripping through the chaos.  Dooley coming to his feet and hurling the bass at Brad.  Ripping the jack from the body.

And the whole time.  Barf stands quietly behind the mess.  That smile cuts through the grainy video from somebody who clearly owns an Android.  No shirt.  Fringe vest.  Jeans torn to shreds.  Camera around his neck.  Sipping on a bottle of champagne.  Standing next to his grandma.  Claps triumphantly over the crowd.  “Kids.  The bands play.  They run around.  Hit each other.  I see it sometimes at the shows here.  So interesting.  Not for me.  But fun to watch.”

“Yeah.”  I laugh a bit.  “We call that a mosh pit.  Let’s out all that aggression people tell you it’s not ok to let out.”

“Mosh pit…”  He stares at the patchy lawn.  “It did make pit alright.  But Bart always cut grass himself.  Sometimes I drive past and see him doing it.  No shirt.  Drinking Stroh’s.  Make me laugh everytime.”

Get on the porch.  As he unlocks the door my camera takes in the front window.  Backstage seats.  See an occasional face in the footage of the show.  Bits of shower curtain still stuck to the red siding from front lawn movie nights.  “It crazy.  Still feels weird coming in.  I always give Bart his privacy.  I don’t want to intrude on him.  But when I see house after.  Maybe I should have.  Damages everywhere.  Look here at steps.”

His arm sweeps in the direction of the stares.  But the camera continues to film the rest of the walls.  A mattress in the middle of the living room.  Chipped paint and random bits of tape still clinging by an inch to the drywall.  Wooden chairs around the feet imprints of a coffee table.  Instantly I can scrap book various images and videos to fill the rest of the now empty home.  Some characters in black and white.  Others pixelated and grainy.  In off hue colors.

Zoom in on the wooden landing below the staircase.  Slivers of empty space dart across the square panel.  Trying to find an escape from the pressure dropping on it.  “Not many know this story.  Very old story from Bart’s twenty first birthday.  He said he didn’t know many people then.  And nobody knows what the future will find worthy of keeping.  So not so many videos of that party.

“Bart says a friend of his.  Record producer that joined the Navy did it.  Bart says he looks around living room.  Everybody pointing and gasping at the stairs.  Bart standing just inches from landing.  Doesn’t see him jump.  Flies from second story to landing on Bart’s skateboard.  And he break the floor.  Looks at Bart laughing and says ‘at least the skateboard is in tact.’

“Back of house or upstairs first?”  Camera fixed on the floor’s POV of the second story.  You can tell he never swept his stairs.

“Well.  The upstairs was the main stage for shows.  Let’s get shots of the rest of the house first.  Capture the essence of the party before goin’ to the main attraction.”

“Sounds good.  I like that.  I went to house party one time.  A friend of Bart’s.  Bart always invite me over here.  But I can’t impose on him.  I don’t know if I would want to know what he was doing.  Ignorance is bliss.”

The hallway splits into three rooms.  Pan camera left.  Once I start editing gotta superimpose the Instagram photos of that sink filled with two empty thirty racks.  One of the few photos from the twenty first birthday party.  The cigarette butt that blew up the gas station.

Spin one eighty to the second bedroom.  Which was really more of a glorified closet.  The yellow page of a legal pad still taped to the doorway.  Bart’s handwriting all over it.  “See.  He catch me.  I never wrote in lease that he can’t smoke inside.  But at least he kept it in the spare bedroom.”

We walk through the door.  Blue carpet singed and stained with spray paint.  “I still remember seeing videos as a teenager.  Can barely make out all those artists and musicians sitting in this room through the smoke.  I can hear Dooley, while looking dead at the camera, ‘nicotine hot box!’  Yelling at someone to keep the window closed.”

Tilt from the carpet to the window.  “Very funny story.  I assume this Dooley did.  Bart said he walks in the room.  Can’t breathe.  Can’t see.  Claustrophobic.  Tries to open window.  And somebody slams it from his hand.  Tears the blinds off.  Everybody laughs.  Now.  Blinds don’t close.  That’s still the sheet Bart hangs up over the blinds to block window.  Always wonder why he didn’t buy new blinds instead.”

The peacock couch is long gone.  A thirty five dollar purchase Bart made while on acid thrifting in high school.  Great clip of Cole Sanders from the Turds sitting on the couch.  Paisley shirt and leather jacket.  Looks like he’s trying to sell molly to teenagers.  Smoking Spirits.  Talking about listening to new wave.  While Echo and the Bunnymen play in the background.  The seam of his pants splitting wide open.

Tucked in the closet are various paintings.  “Do you know where these are from Artur?”

“No.  I find them hanging throughout the house after Bart leave.  Just lost artworks.  Some collage.  Some photography.  Some paintings and drawings.  All different people I assume.”

Flip through them.  Some standard CCS bullshit.  Some pop art homages.  Recognize the outsider doodle.  An original Cole Sanders.  Got a few hanging up in the apartment.  Then I see it.  Propped by itself on the opposite corner of the wall.  A surrealist portrait.  Oil on canvas.  A puke puddle of tie dye morphing to the doorways and walls of a house.  The colors give way to textures of fur and skin.  Even a slight haze of smoke.  The blobs lava lamp in the familiar image of Bart.  Camera zooms in on the interpretation of the image shared on Facebook this morning.

I recognize the style from the walls of Jenkem.  The holy grail in the mythos of Barf’s scene.  The piece Tara painted of him.  Something along the lines of paying him back after a bender that whole group went on.  She offered to paint him a portrait.  But the piece was lost after Pharm House got busted.  You can see it in a handful of videos all the way back on some people’s Instagram highlights.  If you know whose account to stalk.  “Can I take this?”

“Go ahead.  They just sit anyways.  Come see the bathroom.”

The white tile wall is stained orange.  Strands of hair stuck to it.  Stuck to the tub.  Stuck to the floor.  Stuck to the wall behind the door.  How the fuck do you even get hair stuck there?  A nice gradient of the off white tub fades from two circles to pitch black.  Two feet protecting some bit of fake porcelain from the dirt that would pool up.  “You know.  When I get house back.  The drains are all plugged in the bathtub.  So I cut into wall.  Take out pipes.  Pumpkin seeds!  There are pumpkin seeds in the drain.  Causing it to clog.  How do pumpkin seeds get in the bathtub?  I never ask Bart that.”

“There was one show here.  A band performing smashed a pumpkin upstairs.  Must’ve just gotten stuck to his foot or something.  Just trying to wash it all away.  Flush everything down the drain.”

Zoom in down the moldy drain.  Cutting off the rust colored stain on the bathroom floor.  Don’t even need to explain what that’s from.  I don’t know.  It seemed artsy at the time.  Now it just seems so pretentious.  The whole fuckin’ tour of the house seems pretentious.  Who does shit like this?  Maybe that’s Barf’s biggest illusion.  Getting people to create their own illusion of a home.  When nothing at all ever actually happened there.  Just a guy living life.  Never cleaning the bathtub because “the bathtub cleans me.”

“So this is my favorite part.”  Artur’s teeth crack the seal of his lips.  With the smile of a proud father.

Turn the corner at the top of the stairs.  A quick shot out the window at the top.  A toilet when Barf was too spun to figure out how to use stairs to go back down.  The master bedroom takes up the whole second floor.  The main stage.  Most people said they didn’t even know Bart actually slept up there.  Thought the mattresses were just decorative soundproofing.  Maybe the whole house was just a decoration.  “What’s that gash in the wall?”

“Cymbal.  Bart says hi-hat.  From Navy man’s going away party.  He says they cover ‘Blew My Mind.’  I forget the singer.  Chaos ensues.  How the hi-hat got behind the drummer?  Beats me!”

The famous send off show for the king.  Shitholes’s drummer.  Devil’s Night.  Dooley tryin’ to do coke off the amp during the set.  But the room had too many bodies.  Too humid.  Dooley yellin’ “it’s not working!  Fuck!”

“But this my favorite.  Look up!”  Tilt the camera to the angled ceiling.  A purple splatter that runs the length of the wall.  “Bart tell me he stand in back watching band.  Guitar gets stuck in chandelier.  Again.  Beats me how Bart never broke the chandelier.  Somebody as you said ‘moshes’ and falls into Bart.  His forehead hit bottle and it spills everywhere.  Even on ceiling!”

“So why’s that your favorite part?”

Focus back on Artur; with the same proud father smile.  “It’s jezy!  Good Polish boy drinking Leroux.  He always stay true to heritage.  Even that bar he buys.  Classic bar here from his grandparents’s time.  He buy it and revamp it for new kids to come to Hamtown and celebrate history.”

“That’s perfect Artur.”  The camera drops to my side.  But always keep it rolling.  Even when you think you got enough.  You never know what you’ll pick up on.  A random splice of life.  An absurd image that you never thought would mean something to you.  Like a still shot of a clump of hair in the corner next to beer a splattered and blown bass amp.  Probably Dooley.  He was famous for that shit.  “If you don’t mind I’m gonna get a few shots of the house from the outside.  But you can lock up and go if you want.”

“Of course.  Film!  Film!  Capture every moment.  That is why I don’t fix house.  This is history.  Other people need to see what happened here.”

As Art’s car takes off a neighbor’s voice calls from the porch next door.  The POV spins rapidly to the old black man.  “Are you another one of those punks here to do something crazy?  I’ll have you know this is more than some party house.  This is our neighborhood.  Bart never would’ve let stuff like this happen here.”

“No sir.  I’m actually working on a student film about Bart.  What do you mean he wouldn’t let stuff like this happen?”

“Well.  Bart threw parties.  And a lotta times they got outta hand.  But that’s what your twenties should be about.  Having a good time with your friends while you can.  But as the parties got bigger, they turned into free for alls.  Bart was trying to showcase new artists.  And it spiraled into this mess from giving everybody a platform to letting anybody do shit.  And now all these young kids show up and try to recreate those moments without really understanding what was going on.  How old are you kid?”

“Twenty one.”

“Exactly.  You were too young when Bart lived here to see what he was actually doing.  Things got outta hand.  But he always picked up the empty cans.  And he always made sure we felt welcome and comfortable.  He would move cars so we could park in front of our own houses.  He would pass the joint.  Bring us food he made.  He was providing a neighborhood for everybody to join.  Not just throwing parties.”

“So you think he was doing something good for the city?”

“He gave young people a place to celebrate themselves.  He just got carried away with it all.  And I don’t think it was him.  I think it was you kids that just looked at it as all fun and games that ended up with him being hurt.”