#i want to imagine the second tier is the whole group I’m rocking up to the chilis with

[swinging-through-the-stars]

Yakuza 0 tier list but it's how I would feel about taking each character to Chili's (not all are an exact 1-to-1 of how much I like them -- more a mix of how much I like them and what kind of character they are)

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Read into Me Chapter 8: Betty Cornell’s Teen-aged Popularity Guide

Steve Harrington x Reader

CATCH UP ON THE SERIES HERE

Words: 3,424

Warnings: ~~Anxiety~~, capitalism©

Author’s Note: Does this chapter actually have Steve in it? No. But is it one of my favourite chapters? Yes! Do with that what you will, dear reader.

Tag List: @divinity-deos @thecaptainsgingersnap​ @wolfish-willow​ @scoopsohboi​ @herre-gud-nej​ @clockworkballerina @maddie1504​ @i-am-trash-so-much-its-scary @buckysarge​ @wildcvltre​ @stanleyyelnatsiii​ @n3wtscaseofniffler5​ @peterparxour @linkispink1995​ @used-avocado​ @mochminnie​ @sledgy14​ @the-creative-lie​ @yall-wildin-like-siriusly​ @ggclarissa​ @boredoomfm​ @voidnarnia​ @anonymousonion53 @the-passionate-freak​ @a-big-ball-of-idk

As it turns out, distant, unaware mothers were good for one thing. Prom dresses. Without having told her, she had sent you a design from a photo shoot she’d done in Milan, a creamy aqua blue silk with a white lace overlay and a bit of matching lace along the neckline, the skirt cut to tea length. It wasn’t exactly your style but it shockingly fit, a rarity from the gifts she sent you from abroad. She usually couldn’t even remember your birthday, much less your dress size. You chalked it up to luck and put the dress aside. Your grandmother had brought the over sized white dress box upstairs with a note while you were at school. You found it on your bed when you had returned, a strange sight to say the least. In your grandmother’s even cursive, the note explained:

‘Y/N, your mother called. She also sent this. She wouldn’t tell me what she wanted when I spoke to her, only that she needed you to call her back as soon as possible. The number she left is +33 1-155-1816. She said that if you didn’t call her back, she’d call again. I would call her.’

You called her back, but the call only confirmed what you already knew. The conversation left a heavy pit in your stomach when Samantha picked you up the next day.

Samantha was beyond excited. She’d decided to invite Robin with your ticket after all. The catch was that she was going to spend the whole night with the rest of the soccer team to push the gay vibes onto a whole group rather than just her and Robin. She made it very, very clear that her having a date did not mean that the pair of you weren’t going to hang out and that you were more than welcome to join her and her friends whenever you liked, which you already knew but was nice to hear. Of course, it was obvious that you could go and hang out with them whenever you wanted during the night if your anxiety became too much to bear, but you weren’t exactly friends with her teammates. It would be like trading one nerve wracking situation for a different, more experienced nerve wracking situation.

Of course, to get to have any fun, you had to force Samantha into a dress shop, her mother’s credit card in tow. “I just don’t see why I need a fancy dress. Nobody’s going to care what I wear.” She whined. You pushed open the glass door of  Hawkins’ only fancy dress shop, Melinda’s Closet, a generation’s old family owned shop that didn’t even have Melinda at the head anymore. You half-wished you could just give Samantha a dress and call it a day, but you weren’t the same size as it was and the only fancy dress you owned other than your prom dress was your funeral dress, something you weren’t really willing to look at again, much less let someone else wear it.

“Your mom cares, she wants nice photos of you dressed up. Besides, when else are you going to wear a stupid expensive dress like this again?” you replied with a shrug, turning your attention to the racks of dresses in front of you. Your very sweet consultant took Samantha away to take her measurements, as she wasn’t certain of her dress size, and you took to finding something black for her to wear. Samantha wasn’t going to wear anything pink or dainty, that wasn’t who she was and you knew that no matter what Samantha told that salesgirl, she’d still pull something that would technically look good on your friend but make her hate the way she looked and the girl who chose it.

The process began of finding the one dress that Samantha would tolerate. For most girls in Hawkins, dressing like a punk rocker would be out of their comfort zone, hell most of those girls skipped rock music videos on MTV, but for Samantha being anything else was out of her comfort zone. She wouldn’t leave the house without eye liner and hair gel. It was too far out of her safety circle. Samantha hid in her punk rock façade; it kept people out and protected her from people who would judge her. Her look hadn’t scared you when she started it up at age twelve, and it didn’t scare you now. What it did was scare away townie boys who preferred their girls pink and fluffy, in cable knit sweaters and light wash jeans. That was a blessing, but it also meant that she, just like you, wasn’t exactly the most social person.

You brought a large handful of hangers, black material hanging off in various lengths and amount of detail to the dressing room. The salesgirls took them suspiciously, and added a few muted coloured numbers to the options. Samantha scoffed at them the second she saw them, pulling the first dress from your pile and shutting the dressing room curtain. “So, are you excited to be going with King Harrington?” she called from the dressing room, grunting in annoyance, the dress clearly not co-operating.

“I mean, as excited as I can be?” you replied. You weren’t really sure how to feel about the whole event. It was exciting to have plans with Steve, but only as exciting as any other plans you’d usually make with him. In truth, you were nervous. Nervous to be watched and viewed by your peers at a social event for the first time since middle school.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she pulled open the curtain, revealing a knee length black and teal dress. You chose it as a silent compromise with her mother, a bit of colour on a black dress with its bright, swirling flowers all over the bodice. “This is terrible.” She added with a scowl, heading back into the dressing room, having not bothered to look at it for more than a moment.

“Try the halter back one.” You replied “And that means that I don’t really know what I’m supposed to feel.”

Samantha revealed the black halter dress. It was plain black velour with a sweetheart neckline and a bit of gold holding the strap onto the bodice. She stepped fully out of the dressing room, looking at herself in the full length mirror. “I mean are you happy to be going? Excited? Apathetic?” she asked, doing a half turn to look at the back of her dress “This would look so cool with some ripped tights and my docs.”

“Oh yeah that’s a no, your mother would kill me try again.” You waved her away, much to her dismay. “As for feelings, I’m feeling…nervous.”

“Why? What’s happening in that head of yours?” Samantha asked.

You sighed “I just feel like everyone’s going to laugh at me.”

“Okay, calm down Carrie White, there aren’t any pig farms near us.” Samantha replied. Another black dress, this one deemed too short and its skirt too puffy, thrown out of the running barely a moment into the race.

“Why don’t you try one of the blue ones? It’s more your colour!” the salesgirl chimed in, standing by the curtain Samantha stood behind.

Samantha poked her head out of the curtains, holding them closed tightly around her neck. “I’d rather die than wear navy in public.” She said deadpan. That was enough to send their salesgirl packing, supposedly leaving to find something perfect for her in the back.  Samantha shut the curtain with a smirk, turning back to her shopping. “What were you saying?”

“You were judging me for having feelings, nothing out of the ordinary.”

“Right, Carrie White, why do you feel like everyone’s going to laugh at you?” Samantha asked.

“You say that like they haven’t before.” You chuckled darkly. Samantha forcefully pulled open the curtain, stepping out in your favourite of the dresses. Plain black taffeta that hit her just above the knee in a tiered ruffled skirt. The strapless bodice had a little sequined and beaded butterfly on the sweetheart neckline and she’d left the black sash around its waist untied.

You stood quickly, grabbing the ties as Samantha admired the dress, rubbing the material of the skirt between her fingertips. You tied them in a bow, emphasizing her waist in a pretty way. “Oh Sam…you look so pretty…” you said softly. You imagined this was what her mother had wanted for her and she looked both like herself and someone you didn’t really know, a more grown up version of your friend.

“Oh shut up, don’t change the subject.” She scoffed. It was obvious that she liked the dress, but she didn’t want to admit it. Still, she didn’t take it off and she didn’t leave the mirror.

“I just…I don’t know how it’s going to go and that’s freaking me out.” You admitted, scuffing your shoes on the white linoleum, leaving behind black skids.

“Okay, you want an image for this thing, picture this.” She wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you back to look at yourself in the mirror. “You’re going to get all dressed up to hang out with Steve in our high school gym, which smells like sweat socks and BO, and everyone who goes is going to stand around until someone puts on Footloose and then Carol and Tina will start dancing terribly and that’ll get everyone to dance. And you and Steve will have a fine time. Tina will win prom queen and Carol and Vicki will cry and Steve might win prom king. And if he does you’ll watch him dance awkwardly with Tina and then you’ll leave. And that’ll be it. Just like the snow ball, but this time with a date.”

You nodded. That speech was almost reassuring. You could remember the snow ball from middle school. You went once. It was a mixed experience. Michael Gardner asked you out as a joke early in and his friends all laughed at you, but then Samantha pantsed him in front of Linda Carson and everyone turned their laughter to him. It wasn’t particularly fun, but it wasn’t something you looked back on only remembering your own embarrassment.

“You should get that dress.” You said. Samantha looked at you carefully, then nodded when she was sure you seemed less anxious.

“I don’t know, I mean maybe I should try on something in colour. You know, for my mom.” You both knew that she was floundering over the price. You checked the tag. The dress was on sale, only $53, a steal in comparison to some of the other dresses you’d pulled.

“You’re not gonna find another dress that you tolerate.” You replied smartly, crossing your arms over your chest. “Besides, I’m not going to sit here and watch you try on a bunch more dresses that all pretty much look the same just for you to buy this one. So let’s just cut all that and buy this one now.”

As if on cue, the salesgirl popped out of nowhere, a silver sequined belt in hand. “Oh my goodness, that is fabulous on you!” she exclaimed “Let me go get someone from alterations to look it over.”

“Oh, um actually, if we can we’d just like to buy it as is.” You replied quickly. You didn’t like speaking out for yourself, but you knew that Samantha knew nothing about dress shopping and that the salesgirl had been trained to get clients to have their alterations done with them and pay twice as much for it. Besides, the dress was perfect as it was! There was nothing that could be done to make it fit better.

The salesgirl looked Samantha over sceptically before admitting with a sigh “I can’t really see anything that needs fixing. You should be fine to just take it as is.” She said. Within fifteen minutes, you were out of the shop with a black dress bag in hand and Samantha wondering how she was going to explain buying a fifty dollar dress to her mother. Samantha had been granted car privileges for the afternoon and she laid the bag out in the backseat before starting up the engine as you settled into the passenger seat.

“Okay, can I see your dress? Please? You got to watch me try on more dresses then I’ve worn in my whole adolescent life.” Samantha asked.

You nodded “Sure, I guess, there isn’t much to see.” You shrugged. Samantha took the fast route to your house. She was more excited about all of this then you had expected her to be. When you bought the tickets back in March she wasn’t exactly enthused by the concept of going to a school dance. You assumed that had changed due to a combination of catching the graduation fever being spread by your fellow classmates and the fact that she had a date with a girl. You believed the latter was more exciting than the former. Usually, the most Samantha got from girls was clandestine kisses hidden in the crowds of basement rock concerts. You couldn’t keep up with the ever changing list of girls she was seeing at any given moment. But Robin was the first girl in awhile who Samantha seemed honestly excited about. Most girls who she hooked up with weren’t out of the closet anywhere except the bathrooms of parties and while Robin was nowhere near out and proud, she was the only girl Samantha had met who could actually admit that she was a lesbian. That was admittedly exciting.

Both of your grandparents had gone to the community centre when you returned, their old yellow Volkswagen gone from the driveway. You led Samantha into your room, flicking on the overhead light and turning your attention to your closet. The dress was still in the wide, white box it had come in, its pink tissue paper crumpled under the dress. You pulled it out, lifting it to your body. “Here it is!” you said “Ta da…”

“Well, go and try it on! I wanna see it!” Samantha flopped into your desk chair. With a sigh, you left for the bathroom. You felt silly in the dress, especially after seeing Samantha’s, it felt twee and young. But you pulled its spaghetti straps up on your shoulders and smoothed the skirt, heading back into your room.

“Here ya go…” you mutter, doing a small spin to show how the skirt moved. Samantha stood, walking around you in a small circle with a quizzical eye. Even having known her your whole life, you didn’t much enjoy being scrutinized silently by Samantha.

She stopped in front of you again. “Your mom picked this out?” she asked.

“Sent it from Milan. No tags, so I assume it’s either from a photo shoot or some random store.” You replied with a soft shrug.

“It’s not your style.” Samantha nodded. You lowered your gaze to the floor. She wasn’t wrong. “It’s nice though. You look nice.”

“It’s pretty silly…” you muttered, rubbing your arms awkwardly. They were cold, despite the warm May day pouring through your open window. A small chill ran up your spine. “But I mean, it’s a dress. That’s all the dress code asked for.” You chuckled awkwardly.

“You look great!” Samantha repeated, reaching out to squeeze your hand tightly in hers. “Harrington is going to cream his pants when he sees you.”

You pushed her shoulder hard, making Samantha laugh loudly. “Don’t be gross!” you exclaimed, turning beet red.

“What? It’s true! You’re a total fox! He’s not gonna know what to do with himself!” she replied with a laugh. You weren’t sure that what she said was true. Steve had been with some of the prettiest girls in Hawkins, you could mark the pages in your collection of profiles and cross reference them to every girl you were certain he’d dated. His whole dating history was public knowledge, even if you didn’t want to know, someone would tell you. It made you a bit nervous to be added to that list, even when he’d told you that it didn’t have to be a date. You did want it to be a date. You didn’t know if Steve knew that, but you were excited to be with him in that way for an evening. You’d had plenty of almost dates with Steve, he even showed up to your door once with flowers. They were for your grandmother and they were potted marigolds, but it was the thought that counted. It was clear that your grandmother was surprised by it too. Both of your grandparents thought that you were dating. You couldn’t convince them that you two were just friends. Samantha was getting a little bit too curious about your relationship as well. She seriously seemed to think that you were lying when you said that you and Steve didn’t have anything going on behind closed doors. You were certain that whatever she was imagining was much more exciting and illicit than what actually happened, unless she got off on sitting with someone and talking. The sexiest thing you’d ever done with the boy was hold hands briefly. That wasn’t exactly spine tingling.

Well, it did raise your heart rate, but that was another story, mostly about your lack of intimacy with other people in general.

“Oh come on!” Samantha cried, smacking your arm harder than necessary “Do you seriously think that he isn’t into you?”

“I mean…it’s not that simple.” You sighed. It wasn’t that simple. Relationships aren’t built on dramatic declarations or big Hollywood moments. People had to be in it from the start, it didn’t just show up randomly for both sides of a friendship. You did like him, much more than you should, but you were certain that he didn’t reciprocate. He could do so much better. He deserved someone great. And you were sure he thought you were cool, but he deserved someone amazing. Someone who could make him happy. Someone who wasn’t afraid to exist. In short, someone who wasn’t you.

You shrunk like a violet in your aqua gown, shying away from your friend. “I’m going to go and change.” You said.

Samantha looked you over again. She knew you well enough to know that you were uncomfortable. She let out a heavy breath through her nose. “Okay, we’ll go and get food after this. Let’s get fat enough to not fit in our dresses anymore.” She said, flopping onto your mattress. You nodded, heading into the bathroom again.

You locked yourself in, pulling yourself out of the taffeta material. You stared at yourself in the mirror, trying to keep yourself from crying. You had worked yourself into a fuss in your mind, tearing yourself down until the very idea that this all wasn’t some big joke felt impossible. You weren’t naïve to the world. You knew that people, girls specifically, would whisper about you once it was revealed who Steve’s mystery date was. You knew what they’d say. That you weren’t good enough. That Steve was doing charity work taking you. They’d make up rumours that you paid him, that you were dying and this was your Make a Wish, that he was only dating you to pass English. And usually, you could handle rumours and whispers about you when you weren’t in control of them. But you were in control of whether or not you go to prom.

You wiped angrily at your eyes, dragging away the tears. You wouldn’t cry in front of Samantha. She wouldn’t know how to help. She’d think that you’re crazy. You splashed cold water on your face, trying to take the redness out of your eyes and cheeks. You pulled back on your street clothes and carefully picked up your dress from the floor. You slowly zipped up the zipper on the back, giving yourself more time to calm down. You let the dress hang off your arm, heaving out a heavy breath before heading out again.

Samantha stood up from your bed when you walked back in. “You ready?” she asked.

You weren’t looking at her, your mind on one single mission. You pulled open your closet, lifted the large white lid of the dress box and carefully lay the dress back into the pink tissue. “Yeah, let’s go.” You replied. You told yourself that you could leave the problem in that box for awhile. Let it haunt you when you return home.

[randomvarious]

Gladys Knight & The Pips - “Take Me In Your Arms And Love Me” Soul Decade: The Sixties Song released in 1967. Compilation released in 1990. Soul

From Gladys Knight & The Pips’ 1996 Rock & Roll Hall of Fame induction essay, written by Dave Marsh:

Although they are best known for their great recordings at Motown in the late 1960s and the ballad hits they scored in the early ‘70s, Gladys Knight and the Pips, in fact, have had a career that encompasses the majority of rock history. Indeed, Knight is one of the few Hall of Famers who have continued to make hits from the ‘60s until the present day. 

The key to this success is Gladys Knight’s voice, one of the more remarkable instruments of the rock, soul and R&B eras. A perfect blend of grace and grit has allowed her to record such masterpieces of balladry as “Neither One of Us (Wants to Be the First to Say Goodbye),” “If I Were Your Woman,“ “Midnight Train to Georgia” and “Every Beat of My Heart” while also making such funky dance numbers as the original “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” “The Nitty Gritty,” "Friendship Train,” “I’ve Got to Use My Imagination” and “Love Overboard.”

Missing from that list of masterpieces, however, is a criminally slept-on classic, “Take Me In Your Arms And Love Me,” recorded in the earlier days of the group’s tenure at Motown. “Take Me In Your Arms” originally appeared in 1967 on Gladys Knight & The Pips’ Motown debut LP, Everybody Needs Love, and while the single did rather well in the UK, peaking at #13, it fell surprisingly flat in the US, managing to only grace the upper reaches of Billboard’s Hot 100 chart. 

So, why did that happen? Well, there appear to be a few reasons: one, Berry Gordy really ran the Motown label in a tiered structure. While some artists that Motown spent less of their attention and money on were able to squeeze out a gigantic hit here and there (Martha and the Vandellas and The Marvelettes, for example), most of the label’s resources (session musicians, promotion, and their best songs) were devoted to the acts at the top of their pyramid, like The Supremes, Marvin Gaye, and The Temptations. And Gladys Knight & The Pips simply were not ever in Motown’s top tier, even though they certainly deserved to be. Case in point, before Marvin Gaye wound up selling four million copies with his own rendition of “I Heard It Through the Grapevine,” Gladys Knight & The Pips’ original version, released subsequently after “Take Me In Your Arms And Love Me,” managed to sell two and a half million copies, becoming Motown’s bestselling single at the time. And still, despite that awesome accomplishment, Knight & The Pips continued to play second fiddle at Motown.

And the reason for all that shunning might actually lay at the feet of Diana Ross’ own politicking. Gladys Knight claims in her autobiography that Ross, out of fear for her act being possibly upstaged, actually ordered Knight & The Pips kicked off of a Supremes tour in 1968, simply because their performances were just too good. It’s possible that Berry Gordy didn’t want to upset one of his cash cows by giving more attention to Knight & The Pips, who could’ve ultimately ended up usurping Diana Ross & The Supremes’ status as Motown’s top female-led group (and the same could hold true for all of Motown’s other numerous girl groups, too). Knight also claims in her book that it was actually she who suggested Berry Gordy sign The Jackson Five, but in transcribed Motown lore, Diana Ross is the one who is usually credited with discovering them. Needless to say, regardless of whether it was mutually felt or not, there was clearly bad blood between Knight and Ross, and after Knight & The Pips’ contract expired with Motown, they jetted on over to the Buddah label, a move that enabled them to really spread their wings and have their talent properly nurtured

Another reason why “Take Me In Your Arms And Love Me” might have failed to succeed stateside is the song’s lyrical content. The words in this one may have been just a tad too sexually suggestive in 1967 for radio DJs to take a chance on. I mean, just look at some of these lines:

This feeling is too strong to hold Any second now I'll explode Now's the time, now's the time Take all of this love of mine

If you knew that playing this sexy song about sex on the radio could possibly land you in hot water and cost you your job, would you still spin it? Probably not, right? 

And although I was personally unable to find any trace of the following allegation, a censored version of this song apparently originally appeared on the Everybody Needs Love LP, and ended up really messing with the song’s overall flow, both musically and lyrically, reducing it down to a forgettable tune whose obvious and sloppy editing was worthy of an incredulous eyeroll. But it appears that the original unedited version has been restored on issues of the album for years now because I’m unable to locate a deliberately censored version of this song on YouTube. 

There’s also the fact that Berry Gordy was someone who sought to sell his records to as broad an audience as possible (read: white), and a black woman freely expressing her sexuality so transparently in 1967 might’ve ended up ruffling some feathers and causing some unwanted blowback for Motown, which is something they probably had no intention of inviting for a second-tier act on their roster. But if that’s the case, one has to wonder why the song was recorded with those lyrics intact in the first place. Although a watering down of the lyrics would’ve caused the song to partially lose its intended impact, they still could’ve just tried to sell it that way instead of taking an axe to its entire structure for the  album cut, no? The sound of the song would’ve been just as good, but its lyrics would’ve been compromised. And that’s clearly better than changing both the flow of the music and the lyrics, right? Something just doesn’t add up with this whole line of thinking to me.

Either way, the song somehow managed to slip past the censorious ears of the UK’s pop culture gatekeepers and went on to rightfully succeed there instead. And that’s why this track is included on UK soul retrospectives, like Soul Decade: The Sixties, and not US ones, despite the fact that it’s clearly such a good tune.

“Take Me In Your Arms And Love Me” is really just a piece of late 60s Motown soul perfection that more than deserved to be a top hit in America. It was produced by Norman Whitfield and he would then go on to become a frequent collaborator with Gladys Knight & The Pips at Motown, including with the group’s following single, “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.” And Whitfield’s production on this particular song is really nothing short of sensational. 

“Take Me In Your Arms And Love Me” comes with wonderfully slow and carefully crafted build-ups, and is chock full of different instruments, including a harpsichord, an acoustic guitar, horns, snare drums that guide the music’s overall intensity by alternating between a calm heartbeat and a bouncy thump, and high-pitched strings that creep from the background to the foreground to match Knight’s own vocal melody at the end. And speaking of Knight, she is of course an indispensable piece of this song, too. Her vocal “blend of grace and grit” that Dave Marsh alludes to in one of the paragraphs quoted above is on full display here as she shows her ability to go from a soft, irresistibly inviting tenderness to a loud, exhilarated passion in a split-second’s time. Knight is singing as if she is in the midst of an extended, ecstasy-inducing sexual experience and that’s what she, Whitfield, and The Pips were going for all along.

Really, just one of the most underrated songs in the history of Motown. It’s a total shame that it didn’t perform better in the U.S., but that appears to have been for a confluence of reasons that were ultimately out of Gladys Knight & The Pips’ control.

[dreamss-of-boston]

The Art of Seduction ch3

Summary:  Reader finds out Levi is a virgin and decides to attempt the impossible: seduction. *NOTE: set in the manga when Levi and his troops are watching Zeke in the forest-- DO NOT READ if you have not at least read up to chapter 107.*

Warnings: mentions of violence and blood, mention of character death, some major kissing and also top-tier comedy imo

read on AO3!

hello! ahahahahahaha i could give you a million and a half excuses for my absence, BUT! nobody cares hehe so have this long and lovingly written chapter as an apology for my hiatus. i'm back babey!! please enjoy!! <3

Chapter 3: ugh-- i like you

A soft, gentle breeze caressed your battered figure atop the walls-- you swayed slowly with it, though your gaze never faltered from what was beneath you.

You had crawled to safety atop the walls before Bertholdt’s blast; but you weren’t able to escape the flying bits of debris, and had since been knocked unconscious by something unknown hitting you upside the head. When you came to, you were met with the putrid scent of death wafting up even as high as the walls, accompanied with the unmistakable smell of burnt wood. Giant corpses from titans freshly slain by the Captain, and even more corpses of your comrades, smashed to bits by the countless barrages of rocks launched by the Beast Titan were what greeted you when you woke.

Looking behind you, the town on the other side of the wall was all but demolished-- and you could make out figures on the roof of one of the houses below you. Who else could they be but your comrades?

You felt a lurch in your gut as you quickly descended to the roof, stumbling to land beside Connie, who was carrying a very injured Sasha on his back. You dared not speak, but you could deduce what was happening: a choice between Armin and Commander Erwin was underway, in less than ideal circumstances. You’d never forget how hard Eren and Mikasa had fought to keep their friend alive-- you’d never forget the look on Levi’s face as he made his decision, either.

As you all vacated the area, you thought to yourself how gruesome a battle this was; how it had tested the very fabric of your own humanity. The choices made that day were ones you could barely stomach, and your heart ached at the fact that Levi was the one who had to make the hardest decision of all-- as if his life wasn’t already difficult enough.

You were surprised as much as anyone that he chose Armin-- you were sort of glad, because that kid held a soft spot in your heart.

Once everyone reconvened on top of the walls, a pitiful headcount ensued. It seemed as though this group were the only survivors of this battle-- but you refused to believe that were true.

It was your idea to use that time to search for survivors. Perhaps it was because you felt an enormous amount of guilt for having been essentially useless in the time it really counted. Still, you found a way to be helpful as you and Levi carried Erwin Smith’s body into one of the less-destroyed houses. The two of you gently laid him down in someone else’s bed (someone probably long since dead), careful not to disturb the crude wrappings on his body-- he deserved the utmost respect, after all-- even if he died after becoming the devil himself.

You and Levi found yourselves searching for survivors together. It happened naturally-- you wandered outside with him, and subconsciously began trailing behind him. Why, you wondered. Perhaps it was because it simply felt right-- and safe. You wandered the abandoned, destroyed streets in silence, occasionally calling out to make your presence known to whoever might still be alive.

No one answered, though.

After about an hour and a half of searching, you both decided to take a small break in a neighborhood that looked just like all the others. Crumpled houses, singed wood, miniature forests made out of grass and wildflowers invading the once human territory. With a sigh, you made your way over to a water pump and tested to see if it was working. After a few rigorous pumps with your good arm, water splurted out of the spickett and you smiled despite the circumstances. You cupped your hand under the running water and brought the little pool in your palm up to your dry lips. That water was the best thing you’d ever tasted, you were sure of it.

“Captain?” You asked, turning to him to see if he wanted any. He was sat on a stray boulder, hunched over. When he heard your call, he only glanced up and shrugged in response. You furrowed your brow in pity; he just lost his best friend and Commander, and you could only imagine how tired he must’ve been after the most gruelling battle he’d likely ever seen.

With the tiniest glimmer of hope, you entered the house behind him and re-emerged soon after with a remarkably unbroken clay bowl. You pumped some water into it to wash it out, then filled it to the brim and brought it over to him. He only looked at it; he knew he needed to drink, but he couldn’t really bring himself to stomach even water at the moment.

You frowned, and sympathy pulled you to crouch in front of him, careful not to display your emotions too obviously on your face, because you knew he’d be irritated.

It didn’t work; as soon as you came into his line of vision, he saw that familiar look of yours with a furrowed brow and wide eyes. Those same eyes he’d always make contact with in passing or in the dining hall, time and time again, he would always find your gaze without meaning to. He didn’t have the energy to be irritated with your childish sympathy-- he only gazed back at you tiredly.

“You need to drink, sir.” You encouraged, gently pushing the bowl closer towards him. With a sigh, he accepted the offer, his hands brushing yours as the exchange was made. He brought the cool liquid up to his lips, and drank with a hunger he didn’t know he had. The bowl was empty in a matter of seconds, and he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand as he gave it back to you. Wordlessly, you filled it again only to return it to his dry, dirtied palms once more; you just wanted to make the world softer for him, if you could.

As he drank-- slower this time, more like his normal self-- you wetted a rag you’d also stolen from the abandoned house. It looked to be the cleanest you could find, but you weren’t too picky at the moment. It felt as if all of your exposed skin and hair was covered in dirt, sweat, and possibly blood. You paused before wiping your face off, though, as you wondered if Levi would want to use the rag first before you dirtied it up. You yourself weren’t as concerned with ~germs~, but you knew how Levi was. So, you turned back to him, holding up the rag in question.

“Wanna clean yourself up a bit?”

Levi also paused, confused as to why you’d offer something so benign as an opportunity to clean himself. He knew most people weren’t as concerned with cleanliness as he-- in fact, he knew that it irritated and confused most people, but you seemed to be very much taking his value of it into account. That was… nice.

He wasn’t sure if he should accept-- was there some ulterior motive going on here? He was too tired to perform any favors at the moment, too impatient to listen to any demands--

His thoughts were interrupted when you crouched in front of him again, this time with a humorous smile. How you could manage to still look so damn pretty-- er, pleasant after what had just happened was beyond him.

“Not to be rude, but you really need this.” You said, and placed the damp towel in his palm. He pulled his lips into a frown, and mechanically wiped his face and hands. The towel, not surprisingly, was soon stained in a brownish, reddish color from whatever filth had been clinging to him since that strenuous battle.

Levi glanced up at you, who was splashing water on your face as best as you could with your one good hand. Eventually, you just shoved your whole head under the spickett and let the water run through your scalp and trickle down the soft contours of your face, down your jawline and neck to disappear into the collar of your shirt. Levi found himself following the trails of the droplets, and you caught him before he could look away.

You caught yourself smiling-- you quickly wiped it away, placed yourself back in your reality, among burned houses and a world that had just lost a significant amount of soldiers-- your friends. Still, the fact that Levi was looking at you with a sort of a soft focus…

You shoved away any sort of warmth that threatened to spread from your chest, and wiped at the remaining droplets on your forehead. “Should we keep going?”

Levi only sighed, and chose to focus on the rag instead. You were both coming to the conclusion that this was pointless-- just like everything in the Corps. “How in the hell can you smile like that?”

You swallowed thickly, gazing at the ground in shame. What an idiot, you thought of yourself. “Sorry.” You mumbled. “I know you must be hurting.”

“It’s not just now,” Levi huffed, “but, all the damn time. Expedition after expedition, you still manage to have a damn smile on your face.” His jaw tightened. “I don’t get it.” He mumbled.

You glanced up at him-- he was taking his anger, his grief, unprocessed emotions-- out on you, it seemed. With a sigh, you sat next to him, and didn’t say much; you figured he needed to let something out. This wasn’t personal-- and this wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this after an expedition, either. You remembered for a moment his first squad, and the night that followed their death: two cold teacups resting on his office desk, and the two of you sitting on his sofa in front of the warm fireplace, both aching to be touched by the other and adamantly refusing to admit it.

Levi’s head fell, hanging loosely while his gaze was blank and trained towards the grass beneath him. He stayed like that for a while, elbows resting on his thighs, and you stayed with him, right by his side like you always were, while the sun moved slowly in the sky and shadows began to creep ever closer towards your feet. You couldn’t feel much of a breeze between all of the crushed buildings and rocks, but every once in a while, one would pass by just to remind you that you were there-- just like the grass, and the trees, and the corpses.

After a while, Levi finally stood, and you looked up at him, meeting his gray gaze without any resentment or anger. That, once again, confused him. You never looked at him with fear or anger-- you only ever looked at him with--

He sighed, and glanced away, suddenly guilty for ever laying eyes on you. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand had found its way to your head, giving you two gentle pats before returning to his side.

“Let’s keep going.” He said quietly, beginning to walk in a different direction than the one you’d come from.

You rose to your feet, following behind him faithfully, looking in this window and that. Finally, you gave him your honest answer.

“I think it’s braver-- to smile.”

He didn’t look back at you, but he was listening-- trying to understand.

“After everything… isn’t that the hardest thing to do?”

[-]

“I mean… He must know that he’s hurting me, saying stuff like that!” Kara sniffled into your shoulder, but when you opened your mouth to speak, another sob ripped through her body and she clung to you even tighter.

You only sighed, and gave her head a few sympathetic pats. Oh, Kara… she was a sweet girl, but she was causing you to be involved with way more drama than was necessary at the moment. Already, the group of soldiers on this mission had divided themselves into cliques, talking shit on whoever was causing the most recent problems-- and of course, Kara’s and Borris’ relationship was one of the hottest topics circulating the camp at the moment. You weren’t entirely sure what Kara was crying about this time, because she hadn’t really explained; she just burst into your tent about thirty minutes ago, threw herself on your cot, and began bawling her eyes out about Borris and how he said something… mean? Was he spreading rumors about their sex life or something?

While you were gearing up to go fight that little turd, a knocking on one of the sticks holding up your tent disrupted both yours and Kara’s thoughts.

While you started to say, “Who is it?”, Kara had already launched a particularly mud-caked boot of hers through the flaps with the intention to kill.

“Borris, I don’t wanna talkrightnow!!!” She screeched as the boot sailed through the air, face red and eyes wild. You gulped, though to your relief, you didn’t hear the boot make contact with anybody outside, so for now, crisis averted.

There was a brief pause, and then a tent fold was wrenched aside to reveal a very irritated Captain Levi. Even though he looked royally pissed, you were beyond happy to see him.

“Captain, hey!” You smiled, not even bothering to hide your cheer at his presence. You hadn’t seen him all day, with maintaining the camp, assisting in laundry day and the cooking of dinner for that evening. Plus, with Kara sobbing into your shirt, you figured you wouldn’t get a chance to sit with him by the fire tonight, either. However, his sudden presence in your tent gave you the mood lift you needed after this turbulent day; and Levi would be lying if he wasn’t surprised to see you smile at his presence, rather than cower in fear or admiration like the other cadets in this god forsaken camp.

You wore your every emotion on your sleeve; Levi did not. He kept his unimpressed, albeit now irritated, expression on his gorgeous features as his gaze shifted from you to Kara.

“Just what, exactly, was that about?” He asked, very quietly.

Kara gulped. “Erm… Sorry, sir, I thought you were--”

“You will be the sole caretaker of the horses for exactly eight days. Throwing shoes at supposed ex-boyfriends is… fuckin’ childish.” He wrinkled his nose, but his expression soon turned horrified when Kara began sobbing all over again. She threw her face down into your pillow, and with a sigh, you looked at Levi with a pained expression.

“Borris said some things…” You explained hesitantly,

and Kara’s head shot up from your pillow, “some awful things!” She wailed.

“...and now we’re dealing with that.” You shook your head, still completely unsure of what exactly the situation was. “A tragedy, really.”

“Honestly!” Kara’s muffled voice came from your now very moist pillow.

Levi pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes now closed in sheer agony, you were sure. To ease this pain, you decided to keep your chipper attitude up.

“So, Captain, what brings you to my tent on this fine evening?”

“I was wondering where you were.” Came his bored response.

“Huh?”

“You didn’t show up. I came to see if you were alright.” Levi gestured outside. “Clearly, you’re fine, so let’s go.”

“Oh-- you mean to the fire?” You were, uh-- dumbfounded.

Levi’s jaw tightened visibly-- it was kind of hot. “You want me to spell it out for you? Yes, the fire.”

“Oh-- okay!” You tried very hard to tame the elation in your chest at the thought of Levi wanting you by his side, of him seeking you out if only for you to sit by him in silence. You were so very glad that he valued your time together as much as you did, that he was bothered at the fact that you weren’t with him tonight.

Sketchbook in hand, you left a quieter, sleepier Kara behind (she was probably exhausted from all that crying), and joined Levi’s side as you both made your way to the flickering fire.

“I hate being alone with that monkey.” Levi justified-- you only hummed in response. A particularly nasty root hidden on your path caused you both to stumble a bit in your stride, and so your arms pressed into each other in order to maintain balance. You only laughed it off, continuing your walk in peace, and so didn’t see the faintest blush that blossomed from your Captain’s cheeks.

’Damn that stupid root…’ He thought bitterly, suddenly overcome with the urge to rip it up from the ground so as to never embarrass himself like that in front of you ever again. Levi paused in his tracks-- why did he give a damn what you thought?

“Well, if it isn’t the prettiest and simultaneously rudest soldier in all of Paradis!” Came Zeke’s cheeky voice from the fire upon your arrival. Great, he was feeling talkative tonight… Levi became irritated all over again. Now he’d have to deal with Zeke bothering you and stealing your attention--

’Whatthefuckiswrongwithyou??’ He thought bitterly. It doesn’t matter. At least he’ll be bothering you and not him.

Levi plopped himself down on his log while you sat next to him-- were you aware of how close you were? He gulped and tried to ignore it. He must’ve been getting warmer from the fire-- nobody could ever become hot from simply being near another person. He poked at the fire, still irrationally irritated and very much on edge. Whatever conversation you and Zeke were having, he wasn’t interested. It made him very uneasy that you were talking so much with that stupid, ugly, bearded man. He wasn’t even that interesting. What could he possibly be talking about? Beards? Glasses? Who cares.

“Levi?” Your voice cut through his thoughts, and he glanced at you, startled.

“What?” He snapped.

You only raised an eyebrow. “You seemed like you were spacing out.”

“I was just tuning out the ape.” Levi muttered, refusing to look into your eyes.

“Such a pity, too, I was sharing some actual culture with you.” Zeke sighed sadly. “You know, in Marley, it’s almost unheard of for women to wear slacks--”

“Ny-it’s awmost unyeard uv two wear slaaacks!” You childishly imitated Zeke, sticking out your tongue and waving your palms beside your head. Levi glanced at you a second too long with a furrowed brow-- did you actually just do that? “Do you know how annoying you sound? Seriously, every time you open your mouth it’s just ‘blah blah, Marley, blah blah culture.’” You rolled your eyes.

“Well, at least I can speak with some intelligence.” Zeke huffed.

“You speak with pretension!” You fired back.

“Ooh, that’s a fancy word-- did you learn it today by listening to the adults?” Zeke jeered.

“Muuh, I’m Zeke, look at me, I’ve got a beard!!” You crossed your arms and sat up a little too straight, nose in the air as you ramped up your capacity for annoyance.

Zeke just so happened to cross his arms, unintentionally mirroring you. “Do you actually think--”

“What’s that?” You rubbed your pinky in your ear, leaning forward. “I can’t seem to hear you through all this fur in my ear! ‘Cause I’m the great Beast Titan, I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I also have a thing for rocks--”

“Children,” Levi sighed, and rubbed his forehead. “Quit dicking around-- you’re giving me a headache.”

You bit your tongue to hold back any further remarks, (even though you thought you were being rather hysterical) and instead opened your sketchbook so that you could calm down and ignore Zeke and enjoy Levi’s presence.

But you heard Zeke mutter something under his breath as he brought his coffee cup to his lips, and you were obviously in a feisty mood tonight, so you leapt to your feet with your fists clenched.

“What’d you say, monkey?” You used your most intimidating voice-- which was not intimidating at all. In fact, you sort of sounded like a 12 year old bully but you’d never realize it yourself.

“Hm? Oh, nothing, I doubt you’d be able to comprehend what I said anyway.” Zeke said nonchalantly, and you felt like your blood was about to boil.

Man, fuck that monkey. And fuck Marley! And, you know what? Fuck Eren for kidnapping this motherfucker and dumping him in your lap!

Before you knew it, you were rolling up your sleeves and making a move to circle the fire in order to beat some monkey ass, but Levi was quicker and had his strong grip on your forearm in an instant, effectively stopping you.

“Borris.” He called up tiredly, and the young boy zipped down in a second, standing at attention.

“Sir!”

“Keep the monkey company while I escort this delinquent to bed.” Levi yanked you with him as he made his way back to the tents, much to your disappointment.

“Have a good evening, darling!” Zeke called after you, much to your irritation. But Levi was already dragging you back, his own irritation quite evident on his stupidly handsome features.

“Wait, Captain, I’m sorry--” You started, a blush heating your cheeks from embarrassment. You really could act like such a child sometimes.

“Technically, you’re a senior officer.” Levi sighed, finally relinquishing his grip on you. He crossed his arms and turned to face you, unimpressed as ever. “I shouldn’t have to fuckin’ babysit you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek.

“I’ve told you once before.” Levi huffed, and looked away, to the side (obviously uncomfortable, but for some reason he couldn’t seem to stop what he was saying??). “Sitting with you is-- ugh, one of the nicer parts of my time out here-- mngh, it’s-- nice-- to have-- someone I’m-- familiar with-- ugh…”

You were biting your tongue so hard it hurt to keep yourself from laughing in his face. He was trying to express his feelings? For you? Aw, shucks. It was no secret how much you liked him-- and he seemed like he was about to whip out a knife and slit his own throat from mortification if he continued any longer.

“Levi.” You held up your hands in surrender, and finally he reached your gaze. God, the pain and embarrassment in his gray eyes made you wanna leap on him and cover him in kisses and say it’s okay!! I want to hear what you have to say because I like you, too!!! “It’s okay-- you can express how you’re feeling without talking, cause… erm, no offense, but you suck at it.”

Levi narrowed his eyes, but he knew you were right and the tiniest littlest part of him felt some kind of happiness at your understanding, even though he had just sounded like a toddler trying to explain the economy.

“How?” He asked quietly, and you raised your eyebrow.

“How, what?”

“How can I…” He gestured helplessly, suddenly extremely aware of every move you and he made. “... erm, express... how I-- feelaboutyou?”

Levi was mumbling so much, he looked so unsure, you almost couldn’t believe this was the same man who had slain dozens of titans, killed vicious murderers like it was child’s play, fought past the point of exhaustion--

But then you remembered you were also looking at the same man who had brought you coffee in the mornings after he’d made a trip into town-- because he knew you preferred coffee over tea. This was the same man who’d pat your head when he knew you were sad and you wouldn’t admit it-- he’d pat your head because he didn’t know what else to do. But you liked that. Your heart swelled. This same man you’d admired and stuck with for so long was the same man before you, painfully inexperienced in caring for anybody, and he was standing close to you, asking for help so that he could understand you-- because you had come to so easily understand him, and you had cared for him, and he wanted to show you that he felt the same in a way you could grasp.

But he was giving you the lead this time, letting down his walls-- for you.

You reached forward, and stepped towards him just the littlest bit-- and you brushed your pinky with his, and you heard him inhale even though he tried to hide it. You bit your bottom lip when he looked into your eyes, and suddenly he felt very nervous and very comforted all at once. He chided himself for feeling like this; he could come face to face with a titan, but being this close to you made his heart hammer so hard he wondered if you could hear it.

You lowered your gaze to his lips-- lips you’d honestly fantasized about kissing for quite a while now. You brushed the tip of your nose with his, but he didn’t flinch back-- he leaned into the movement, like he’d done this a million times before, and you felt your chest tighten, and you carefully pressed your lips to his--

And he couldn’t believe anything for a moment, couldn’t really think of anything. Time sort of stopped, as dumb as it is to say. You moved your lips so gingerly against his, and was caught off guard when his arm clumsily-- earnestly-- wrapped around your waist. You took it in stride, and wrapped your arms around his neck to rest comfortably on his shoulders, and couldn’t help but smile when he tilted his head-- you experimentally parted your lips just a bit to dart your tongue over his bottom lip, and he stiffened and pulled away with a confused expression.

(When you looked at his face again, you just wanted to kiss him more and more.)

“What was that?” He asked-- no judgment, just curiosity.

“Uh-- my tongue.” You said obviously.

“I know that.” Levi rolled his eyes. “Why’d you do that?”

“Cause I wanted to.” You smiled, and his eyes darted to you lips. “Try it, tough guy-- I think--”

You were cut off when his mouth was once again on yours, experimentally running his tongue along your bottom lip, and you opened your mouth graciously to him. He took the hint and dove his tongue inside your mouth, lapping at the roof of it while you snaked your fingers into his hair to give a light tug.

He gave a sigh, and pushed you back into the trunk of a tree you didn’t know was there. You let out a little noise of surprise, and his grip tightened around you as he kept sucking at your mouth, almost hungrily-- you shamelessly felt the beginnings of an all too familiar warmth beginning to spread in your gut, and then further down.

If Levi thought kissing your lips was good-- hohoho, you couldn’t wait to show him the many other possibilities of where to kiss a person. You broke away from his lips, much to his displeasure, but soon eased his mood by pressing your lips to where his jaw met his ear, and then trailed your mouth further down, getting a bit filthier the more you went.

You bit down on his pulse, and felt him tense around you, crushing you even further into the tree to your delight, and you quickly licked the mark to soothe it. Levi’s hand suddenly tangled into your hair at the base of your neck, and pulled your head back to expose your collarbone and neck to him, which he quickly seized with his mouth, taking your lessons and running with them.

You let out a contented sigh as he licked and sucked at your neck, occasionally biting down to illicit unintentional sighs and suppressed moans from you. You felt him smile against your skin whenever you made a sound, but you wouldn’t give him that satisfaction so easily-- he had to work to get that gratification, and it was such a fun game to play to push his limits, and plus people might hear you and you knew that Levi would kill you and then himself were anyone to find out that he had feelings for someone.

Before you knew it, he was kissing you again-- with less fervor, most likely to calm himself down and hold himself back (but you didn’t give a shit; in fact you would be fine with him fucking you into this tree, you didn’t give a shit about splinters cause he looked so damn fine and you were finally getting what you wanted but it’s fine you wouldn’t push his limits).

He was panting a little, his eyes hooded and gaze aflame with a desire you didn’t think could ever be directed at you, much less from his eyes.

You swallowed thickly, licking your lips, which he glanced at again with a renewed hunger. Whoa, boy.

You tenderly placed your palm on his chest to gently push him back, since you both knew that you needed to take a break before you went completely berserk. This was a delicate situation.

“Goodnight, Levi.” You whispered, and he tensely nodded back to you-- he pressed his forehead to yours for a moment, eyes closed, and squeezed his hand into the small of your back for just another moment before breaking away, rolling his shoulders to regain his composure as he walked back to the fire.

You, meanwhile, leaned against the tree, tucked your hair behind your ear as you tried to sear the memory of the feeling of his lips into your brain so that you could remember it forever-- but you suspected that this wouldn’t be the last time you and Levi would be kissing in the dark; or, you hoped it wouldn’t be.

[dreamscapeadvent]

Intrepid Party pt. .6

This is, for the most part, the beginning of a RWBY fanfic. Canon-continuation, diverging into a universe of my own. I'll eventually put what comes just before - an edited version of what I posted months ago - and the rest as it develops.

As I said before, I hope I do the characters justice.

It's mostly first-draft. Lay on the lit crit.

---

The rock in Vergo's boot was slowing him down, if the hike through End's after-path wasn't bad enough. He wanted to stop, sit down, yank off the boot and dump its contents, wiggle his toes in the air. He would watch End's bright, silvery vortex wander away, and he would go find a rift that didn't deliver monsters to their doorstep. Vergo stopped and put his hands on his knees, looking accusingly at the white tornado his diver party was following. They'd only just dropped into its direct trough minutes ago, so the rest of the men were excited enough to give Vergo a headache.

“Pull your weight, scav!” said the tall, sonic-pike wielding diver in front of him, having looked back as though expecting - correctly - to find their caboose slacking. Vergo only groaned and trudged forward, knowing better than to complain.

The leaders of their party, the tall, beastly brothers Taiko and Timpa who “brought glory and riches to End” - far enough to be out of earshot - were following close enough to the rift that Vergo thought there was a chance it'd TAKE something, for once. He imagined the two being plopped on an alien world bloodied and confused, with otherworldly divers stabbing them in the chest before they could get their bearings.

Of course, not many others believed that was how the rifts worked. And only the most monstrous of the rift's deliveries survived the apparent trip. Vergo coughed on End's metallic air and decided to remain being mad at it anyway for being so selective.

“VEEEEERGO!” came a taunt and a wiry, gangly diver with another sonic pike bounded back from the middle of the group with his two typical lackeys. Vergo kept his head down and tried not to limp on his rock.

“Come on, buddy!” It was that seething kindness that made his hackles rise. Shouldn't this asshole be digging through the dirt? “You can't find anything for the town if you're always trying to catch up!” A few divers cackled as the gangly one craned down to look up at Vergo's lowered face. “Need HELP, buddy?”

Vergo merely plodded onward, trying his best to seem preoccupied with the dive, his heart beating fast. He was a small man, awkwardly shaped, so he'd been used to this kind of treatment since he was little. He wanted to retort - say he was fine - send these idiots back to their hike, maybe ask them why they weren't paying attention to the dive - but he knew it'd only be ammunition. So he stayed silent, kept on while the carrion feeders circled.  

The tall one - Vergo struggled to remember his name- stopped directly in front of him, halting the rear procession. “Looks like you could use a hand,” he said with a barely-veiled sneer. Vergo tried to look around him at the receding backside of the one who had first told him to keep up, actually concerned about being left behind - but the stage was set for the gangly bully and his audience. “This looks like a good spot,” he said, and used his weapon to whip some dirt up at the small man, who barely had time to shield his eyes. Among the sound of falling dirt and pebbles, the silence was deafening as the troup watched.

Vergo stood frozen for a second before kneeling down to feign investment in the new little furrow. He scrunched his brow, rubbing some of the unearthed dirt between his fingers.

“No such luck,” he said quietly - but before he could finish the last word a boot kicked more dirt in his face, getting in his mouth and eyes. He cried out and sputtered, rubbing at his eyes, which burned and screamed for the intrusion. Didn't they know this soil was rogue? The gods only knew what End put in it! But Vergo heard only laughter as he fell back, both spitting and trying not to scratch his eyes. Yeah, a tiny piece of metal with the dirt in his mouth. He fumbled for his canteen and uncorked it over his squinted eyes.

“Vergo's wasting water!” he heard another say.

“He's not even trying to use the help we offered,” said the first voice. Vergo's heart picked up again, seeing the man kneel through blurry, watering eyes. He instinctively fell back on his ass and scrambled back. “Just wasting everything, eh, Verg’?” Tall and gangly picked up something Vergo had dropped, turned it over slowly in his hands, shaking his head. His shock baton. “Can't even kill the stragglers with this thing you made.”

“Catro!” came a call from toward the middle of the group. Vergo rubbed his eyes, seeing a little better. His abuser had stood up at the call looking to the messenger with a relaxed smirk. His followers looked like animals after thunder.

“Yeah?” he called back. He dropped Vergo's shock baton, who barely caught it before it landed on his crotch. Vergo wheezed, grasping, and rolled over, his weapon trapped between his legs.

“Taiko's callin’ for the stray,” the voice called back with a hint of distaste. “Get him up there and form up the rear.”

“Can do!” Catro shouted, then pulled up a still doubled over Vergo. The small man struggled to right himself, gingerly pulling his weapon from where it stuck locked between his knees. Catro smiled with predator teeth. “Go be useful, knot-tier.”

Without a word, Vergo set up the path eyes-down, fighting nausea, passing other divers examining the fresh rift soil. Oh, he thought. They must be close to the rift itself for the black soil of its prowling grounds to look this undisturbed. He had to fight two urges as he delicately made his way past the other divers, all at least a head taller and several grades rougher than him. The first urge was to stop, kneel, and run his fingers through the fine, mostly pristine soil.

The second was to turn and run away as quickly as possible. Diving behind this monstrosity was inSANE.

As though feeling left out of his thoughts, End itself bloomed into his vision as he topped a rise in its wake-path. Vergo froze, wide-eyed, before what his brain called an apex predator: a thick, blue-white finger of god stretching from the ground to an angry vortex of dust in the sky - End looked like a tornado without spin, a slightly tapered column of angry light surrounded by perpetually shattering mirrors. It was the biggest rift Vergo had ever seen, and he'd never been this close to it before.

What made him want to turn around and run in that exact moment was that End wasn't moving.

“-can outrun it if it turns around,” Vergo suddenly heard just below the rise in front of him. Two large men in faceted leather armor stood with their backs to him, regarding the frozen rift.

“Yeah, that's not the problem,” said the other. Taiko, and his brother. Two separate survival instincts started to have a staring contest in Vergo's head. “When was the last time you saw 'er stop still like that?”

Timpa turned his head, grimaced through his beard at his twin. “Wasn't that…”

“When that thing took out bunch of Jimba's guys, yeah.” Taiko barked a surprising laugh at his twin. “Dear cousin was pulling ahead of us, Timpa. End gave us an edge.”

“Yeah,” Timpa said, “but what's it giving us, now?”  

Vergo stood frozen on the rise, his leaders below him, his fingers unconsciously tightening around his shock baton. For the twins’ part, their hands only moved to check their armor as the three of them looked on at the uncomfortably stationary rift, which shuddered for a moment before going still again. Taiko’s hand found a loose knot under a plate on his armor, and he seemed to remember something he was waiting on - he turned and saw Vergo, who jumped at his name.

“Vergo!” Taiko said, turning on a massive heel. “Get over here! Where've you been?” Vergo tried to don his most apologetic face as he slid down the rift soil, nearly tumbling forward. Taiko gestured with both hands impatiently. “I’m gonna lose this plate!”

Trying and failing not to look over Taiko’s shoulder at the rift, Vergo felt a huge, gloved hand clap him on the shoulder as he reached the leader with the weak knot. “You look at that thing too long,” Timpa said, “and you can be the first that tries to kill what comes out of it!” Timpa threw back his head with loud laughter, earning a few well-needed chuckles from the advance divers surrounding the leaders’ stopping point. He leaned forward, grabbing and releasing Vergo’s arm with a little shake. “You fix my brother’s armor, knot-man.”

Honestly, Vergo preferred Taiko and Timpa to the divers like Catro who seemed to have a lot to prove.

Taiko turned his torso to look back at the rift, forcing Vergo to strafe around him as he undid dependent knots before fixing the armor.

“What’dya think we’ll get?” he asked Timpa quietly, seeming to pay the little knot-tyer little mind. “Never seen it pause this long.” Timpa’s response was a thoughtful, guttural growl accompanied by a meaningful stabbing of the butt of his pike into the dirt.

“Something dead,” he said after a moment, loud enough for everyone to hear. “One way or another.” More than a few surrounding divers made sounds of affirmation.

Vergo’s eyebrows furrowed as he began re-tying knots, pulling plates back into place around Taiko’s torso. Why were these men so eager to kill? His whole family had been divers where he came from - they’d been wary of junk that came through their rift that was slightly radioactive, or even sharp. There were sometimes tiny, dead alien animals - but they were usually barely recognizable pieces of meat or char, and Vergo’s family had burned them. The idea of living monsters coming through End still boggled his mind. He eyed a long scar on Taiko’s underarm. He supposed… maybe just a bit… that these men had reason to fear their rift’s treasures.

“Maybe,” he muttered, “it’ll give you a lifeless thing that you can use or sell.” Vergo barely realized he’d spoken aloud until he recognized the deeper-than-normal silence between the two brothers towering over him. His fingers froze. Then he heard quiet laughter bubbling up in Timpa’s chest, slowly building like rolling thunder, before it erupted out of him, making him toss his head back in genuine mirth.

“That’d be the day,” Taiko said, looking down at the little man with an unreadable expression. Vergo immediately got his fingers moving again, noticing the lack of comment on his prior silence. The surrounding divers shared looks of annoyance.

“Where’d be the fun in that?” Timpa said between gasps of laughter. “The achievement?” Vergo tried to pretend he hadn’t said anything, hastening his work on Taiko’s armor, but the other leader wouldn’t let him go that easily.

“Is that what you want, boy?” Taiko said, raising his arm to let Vergo finish, who grimaced. He was half again Taiko’s senior, probably. When Vergo tried to stay silent, Taiko raised his voice. “Speak up!”

“Y-yes,” he said. “Yes.”

“And why is that?” said Taiko. The advance divers around them had fallen silent, listening. “Don’t you want to earn your keep?”

“I want to feed my family,” muttered Vergo. “If I have to kill something…” he considered his words. “... I want it to end up on the dinner table.” Surrounding spits of laughter.

“Boy,” Taiko said, leaning forward. “If what crawls out of End - with what you’re gonna sell to feed your family - doesn’t eat you, you sure as hell don’t want to eat it after it’s dead.”

“Last week,” Timpa said, making a wide gesture with his arms, palms inward, “big toothed worm, HUGE. Didn’t want to burn after we finally put it down. Pried a tooth out, brought it back to town, and it couldn’t even be shaped into a pendant.” He clapped Vergo on the shoulder again. “Good sport, though.”

“The machinery in the building that it came though in, though, paid its weight,” Taiko said. “Not the goddamned monster. You about done?” he added, gesturing at the rift. Vergo looked and felt his heart palpitate. It was difficult to tell by looking at its column, but the ground beneath it was crawling away - End was on the move.

“LEZGOHHH,” shouted Timpa. Vergo nearly fell over. “Get ‘er shit while it’s fresh!” Divers were stirring, scuttling, stowing food and checking weapons. The group started to move forward, led by a trudging Timpa, like predators following the herd. Recovering, Vergo finished his work and Taiko loped off behind his brother with an impatient grunt.

Before he could gather his things, Vergo felt an impact and bolt of nervous pain from the back of his knee, knocking him down - he knew it was Catro, and swallowed his cry of distress - no fuel for the fire, he growled at himself, eyes shut tight.

“Get up, Vergo!” the man shouted, jogging ahead. “Go and get your bread!” Vergo wanted to hate him, but - as he tended to do - pushed his thoughts towards supporting his family.

“Bread,” he muttered, getting to his feet, shambling after the group. But then, he didn’t have far to go.

They’d stopped cold.

He could see the brothers’ heads at the front of the crowd of divers, frozen solid, looking at something in End’s fresh wake. There was nervous, confused muttering, and the sound of shifting feet and packs being laid down, blades powering on. It didn’t sound like a group of hunters seeing prey, Vergo thought.

Unable to see what’d stopped the group, Vergo scrambled up the side of the rift’s wake-trough and squinted over their heads at what had quieted them. His first thought: yellow.

His second thought: this was hell, and hell was confusing.

The monster, a short jog ahead of the group, was a tallish young woman with wild blonde hair, wearing some kind of leather riding outfit complete with boots and jacket. She was staggering, trying to lift her hands from her knees to stand upright. She doubled over, instead, and vomited square in the middle of End’s fresh rift soil.

There was no doubt she’d come from the rift, being nearly otherworldly, disoriented like he’d heard monsters always were after exiting, and directly in the middle, right in front of them. But… she was standing.

What came through a rift and just stood?

The woman straightened, seemed to just then see the group of rough, armed men before her, and wiped her chin on her sleeve. She staggered one more time, trying to find her balance, before calling out, seemingly without a care in the world.

“Yo!” she shouted. It struck the group like a wave. “Any of you seen a girl with cute little kitty ears?”

[watusichris]

“Desolation Center“: Joy at Sea

Tonight I’ll be attending a cast and crew screening of “Desolation Center,” Stuart Swezey’s new documentary about the unusual alfresco punk shows he promoted in the early ‘80s. I am a talking head in the picture. Lo and behold, while doing a little poking around on the web, I discovered that 34 years ago to the day today, I attended the event I talk about in the film, aboard a whale-watching boat in San Pedro Harbor. Here’s what I wrote about for the event in the Los Angeles Reader. **********

         The biggest problem with rock ‘n’ roll performances is the wall socket. The music runs on electricity; hence it must be played in basements, garages, dives, and concert halls in which juice can readily be run. Over the years, the rock ‘n’ roll imagination has become hamstrung by a familiar proscenium-arch setting. It’s a thing of the stage and, no matter how much a band gussies things up with flash pots, fog machines, backdrops, and other theatrical gimcracks, we still know that we’ve been looking at a stage at the end of a forty-five minute set.

           Not everybody in the world is happy with this set-up. Take the folks at the Desolation Center. For the last couple of years, mastermind Bruce Licher (the guiding light of Savage Republic and the most artful of local record packagers) and his cohorts have schlepped people out into the middle of the desert by the busload to witness rock ‘n’ roll in its most radical state, played in its most radical environment. Although I never made the Death Valley trek (must have something to do with having seen Erich von Stroheim’s Greed at an early age), I’ve always admired the idea of a rock ‘n’ roll outing – it limbers up the brain by providing a new imaginative context for the performance.

           Last week, the Desolation Center hit on another original idea for taking rock ‘n’ roll out of the nightclub and into the real world: “Joy at Sea,” a three-hour “sea-going musical expedition” held on board a cruise vessel meandering in a circle from San Pedro to Long Beach through the Port of Los Angeles harbor. Since drowning has always been a more appealing way of dying than expiring of thirst as far as I am concerned, I signed on for the tour.

           I approached the journey with some trepidation. Hell, I thought, this could be some kind of punk Pequod. I envisioned myself floating around San Pedro Harbor on the back of a coffin, as my capsized ship was sucked into a whirlpool and Robert Lloyd*, strapped by harpoon lines to the back of a great white whale, screamed, “Springsteen! Springsteen!” as he was carried to his watery doom. Call me Maurice.

           This fantasy proved to be a case of too much Melville. The boat, the S.S. Cormorant, proved to be a sturdy-looking two-tiered cruise vessel; at the stern of the upper deck, a small stage had been erected. Lights and a PA system had been lashed to the sides of the stage. The good-sized boat sat comfortably in the dark, serene water. At the neighboring dock, a group of teenagers sang a loud, drunken rendition of “Happy Birthday” from the back of a small pleasure boat. My nerves calmed, I boarded merrily, washing down two Dramamine with a tap beer, and waited for us to cast off.

           Shortly after 9:30 p.m., the Cormorant glided away from the dock. After a brief interval that allowed the 200-odd passengers to get their sea legs, the South Bay quartet Lawndale started cranking up below decks. They attracted a small group, since most of the assembled crew was jammed together up top, waiting for the Meat Puppets to begin their set. A pity, for Lawndale (in yachting caps and deck shoes) proved to be a completely entertaining neo-surf combo, who tore into their all-instrumental set with a vigor evidently born of the ocean-going setting.

           After Lawndale wound up their brief but refreshing set, I moved upstairs and wedged my way next to the stage. The Meat Puppets were experiencing some technical difficulties, so I had a chance to take in the harbor as we coasted by. The notion of the cruise was plainly anti-romantic: The Port of Los Angeles is the home of heavy industry. One experienced a new sense of scale as the Cormorant sailed past docked oil tankers some three city blocks long; the petroleum refineries glowed an angry yellow in the distance.

          After much fussing and fiddling with their equipment, the Puppets finally got under way again. The set progressed in fits and starts as the overamped trio repeatedly blew out the circuit breakers on the overtaxed vessel, but it proved to be an impressive showing, heightened by the shifting open-air backdrop of the harbor.

           The Meat Puppets are a trio from Arizona fronted by two long-haired, somewhat retarded-looking siblings, guitarist/vocalist Curt Kirkwood and bassist Cris Kirkwood. With drummer Derrick Bostrom, the brothers stir up a fantastic amount of noise; Curt pushed his old gold Les Paul into overdrive. The Puppets have a rep as an on-and-off band, but last Friday they turned in a performance as sharp and bracing as the ocean air.

          The group played a set that alternated between their own microcephalic country material (such as “Split Myself in Two” and the strange Grateful Dead-style instrumental “I’m a Mindless Idiot”) to some bizarre cover tunes. In a wobbly voice that sounded like a cross between a laugh and a sob, Curt Kirkwood essayed Elvis Presley’s “Trouble” and “Good Rockin’ Tonight,” Tony Joe White’s “Polk Salad Annie,” and the Foghat arrangement of “I Just Want to Make Love to You.”

           The musical and visual high point of the evening occurred in the middle of the Puppets’ set. The band launched into a ferocious jam announced as “Enchanted Fortress.” As the music reached its peak, with Bostrom slamming his kit and Curt Kirkwood drawing gnarled, agonized lines from his Gibson, the Cormorant passed under the enormous bridge that links the two sides of the harbor. The structure is so high that the cars crossing it looked like planes flying low over the water. The force of the music and the feeling of motion and immense scale all fused to produce a unique sensation – a moment of joy, just as advertised.

           Somebody on the top deck whooped and set off a signal flare in celebration.

          After the Meat Puppets’ set came to a loud and triumphant close, some of the partiers ventured downstairs to score another beer and check out the “psychoactive sound/visuals” of Points of Friction, which proved to be a minimally interesting low-rent light show projected on a sheet/screen. If it had been a normal concert, this would have been the time to hit the lobby for a cigarette; instead, you could head for the outside areas fore and aft, to gaze at the darkened yachts or yell drunkenly at the diners aboard the sea-going restaurant the Princess Louise. The ennui that is so often a given at a rock concert disappeared, blown away in the mild harbor wind.

          By the time the evening’s headliners, the Minutemen, were ready to play, the top deck resembled a seaworthy version of the Cathay de Grande’s basement, with the audience members shoehorned together in a tight, motionless pack. The little stage looked too small and the lighting buttresses too fragile for the peripatetic Minutemen; I wondered to myself if Dennes Boon, the leaping, bounding mountain who plays guitar for the group, wouldn’t send the whole kaboodle over the side with his elephantine dancing.

           My fears again proved boundless; although bassist Mike Watt stood (somewhat nervously, I thought) behind one of the PA columns to give Boon more room, the gargantuan guitarist didn’t jar the stage loose with his galloping. San Pedro’s greatest contribution to Western Civilization played their customarily brilliant set, featuring crowd-pleasing oldies (including the appropriately nautical “The Anchor”), a devilish 20-second cover of Van Halen’s “Ain’t Talkin’ ‘Bout Love,” a moving slow version of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Don’t Look Now, It Ain’t You Or Me,” and a generous helping of the new, forty-five song two-record set Double Nickels On the Dime.

          Another grand visual moment came late in the evening. As the Minutemen surged through their lightning-like songs, the Cormorant reached the point where the harbor joined the ocean; as the boat made a wide turn to head back into port, a vast expanse of the Pacific loomed up behind the trio as they steamed through a clipped, thrashing tune. The almost-full moon made the water dance into infinity. For a landlocked rock ‘n’ roller, it was a sight and sound to behold.

           The Cormorant nudged up against the dock while the Minutemen were still playing. The show broke up quickly and I weaved down the gangplank, more than a little drunk and thoroughly exhilarated. It had been a surprisingly perfect evening – no fights, no hassles, no boredom. No seasickness. The combination of the fine music and the shifting seascapes had opened a new window in my head by taking rock ‘n’ roll out of dry-dock and into fresh performance terrain.

           Sign me up for the Desolation Center’s 1990 moon shot. It should be worth the long haul.

*Lloyd, now a TV critic at the Los Angeles Times, was the Springsteen-loving music editor of the LA Weekly. (photos: Ann Summa)

[junker-town]

How sports is Seven Worlds, One Planet: Episode 5?

Alfred Trunk/McPhoto/ullstein bild via Getty Images

David Attenborough’s new show is epic ... and sports.

We continue our extremely important mission to conduct a scene-by-scene review of the BBC’s new nature documentary, Seven Worlds, One Planet, in order to see how sports it is. We determined that Episode 1, which focused on Antarctica, was reasonably sports. Asia was very sports, as was South America. Australia was more drinking than sports, but that’s OK. Now it’s time for ...

Episode 5 Europe

Let’s start with a prologue: there are really only six continents, and Europe’s not one of them. I’m sorry, it just isn’t. Every other continent is separated from its neighbour by something sensible — an isthmus, perhaps, or a whole-ass ocean in the case of Australia. Europe is just a chunk of Eurasia that thinks it’s cool. You’re never going to convince me that the Ural Mountains are a sensible continental boundary. Europe’s a big, smug, densely-populated peninsula and that is all.

There is still some cool stuff going on there though.

Scene 1: Attempted Urfanticide

Europe used to be dominated by an enormous forest. Almost all of it is gone. Such progress! But some remains and in Finland there’s enough to support a small (1,500) population of brown bears. Some members of that population are adorable:

This scene isn’t all frolicking baby bears, however. Where there are bear cubs, there are also bear mothers, and where there are bear mothers there are hopeful bear-fathers in pursuit. Bear, as you may know, share an unfortunate habit with many large carnivores: if they can, big males will kill infants which they haven’t fathered.

So when a big male shows up, the cubs play it safe and scamper up a tree, while the mother responds to his catcalls by telling him to leave her family the hell alone. (I don’t speak bear, but the context makes things clear.)

The cubs then proceed to play it somewhat less than safe, coming down while the male is still in sight. They’re in mortal danger, so the mother goes full on Bear Mama and runs the male off into the woods. Good parenting. Bad childrening.

Aesthetics 9/10

I just want to squeeze their little bear cub cheeks, although, since their mother could tear me in half without trying, I would probably have to be quite drunk to actually attempt this.

Difficulty 8/10

Bear cubs are surprisingly good climbers. Conifers have straight, overly-disciplined trunks, and are therefore much harder to climb than most large deciduous trees, which are more sprawling and inviting. And yet the little dudes zip straight up them.

Competitiveness 10/10

Male brown bears average almost 500 pounds. Female brown bears are closer to 350. That’s one brave charge.

Overall 27/30

Most parenting is not a sport. Bear parenting is a sport.

Scene 2: The Hair-Cows

When my three-year-old saw this scene, he decided he was watching “hair-cows”, which is at least as good a name as “musk ox”. (He also claimed he wanted to eat “hair-cow nuggets” for dinner, a worryingly predatory request.) Hair-cows are, true to their name, very hairy cows that live up in the tundra.

The tundra is not a very nice place to live. It’s cold, there’s basically no vegetation to break up the wind, and although it’s majestic in a desolate sort of way, I don’t think I’d be able to appreciate it on account of not being able to feel my legs. The hair-cows’ shaggy coats help them stay warm in this barren environment. Their huge horns help with ... other stuff.

Hair-cow herds are run by a bull, who controls mating rights for the whole group. A bull who doesn’t run a herd essentially has to go off and live on his own, which makes them pretty enthusiastic to upgrade their living situation. And that’s where the horns come in.

When a lone male meets a herd whose leader he thinks he can handle, this happens:

Still not as bad as the hangover from last week #SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/IIwSbmrU4I

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

Let’s review the numbers. Quoting from Wikipedia, hair-cows:

can reach speeds of up to 60 km/h (37 mph).

on average, weigh 285 kilograms (630 pounds) and range from 180 to 410 kilograms (400 to 900 pounds).

Big bulls at the top of their game will therefore weigh close to 900 pounds and charge at each other significantly faster than, say, Usian Bolt. They also have four-inch think skulls to protect each other from a battering. Well-matched males can end up charging and gouging for some time, and if the fight goes on long enough we start to get head-to-flank goring action. Which just seems unpleasant, really.

Anyway, this is a long and drawn-out hair-cow fight. Good stuff.

Aesthetics 6/10

Hair-cows aren’t the world’s most attractive creatures, but at least they have style. Demerits on account of male hair-cows smelling like they’ve coated themselves in urine, because that is in fact what they have done: “The odor of dominant rutting males is ‘strong’ and ‘rank’. It derives from the preputial gland and is distributed over the fur of the abdomen via urine.”

Cool.

Difficulty 10/10

Taking a single head-on hit from a hair-cow would send your corporeal self into next week and probably eliminate your soul altogether.

Competitiveness 10/10

This is a great fight. It’s long, hard-fought, and there are enough twists and turns to keep things interesting. Well done, hair-cows.

Overall 26/30

Definitely a sport.

Scene 3: Wolves

You don’t really expect to find wolves roaming around Europe. Well, that’s not exactly true: I played last year’s Assassin’s Creed, so I expect to find a pack of wolves roughly every four yards, including in major cities. But in real life, finding a pack of wolves on the edge of an Italian village would come as something of a surprise.

Not that you’re likely to find these wolves. They’re so elusive that the Seven Worlds team had to film them all through thermal cameras, which gives this whole scene an ethereal look:

Sirius Black? Is that you? #SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/DZvtQTW8Xg

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

It’s mid-winter and the wolves are hungry, so they’re attempting to ambush a herd of red deer in the darkness. Their first attempt fails thanks to a combination of being too noisy and having their hunt disrupted by a passing car. Humans!

Their second is better planned out, and they manage to isolate one of the deer and herd it down the mountain. As it tries to escape, it slips on an icy road (humans!) and the hungry pack manage to bring it down.

Unfortunately, the hunt has been watched by the village sheepdogs, who flood out to chase off the wolves and claim the kill as their own. Poor wolves.

Aesthetics 7/10

The night vision gives this an air of fantasy, which is nice because one gets the feeling that these wolves would be somewhat bedraggled had they been caught on normal cameras.

Difficulty 8/10

Hunting down deer in what amounts to pitch blackness sounds very difficult indeed.

Competitiveness 8/10

The deer give the wolves a seriously hard time, and the emergence of a third party right at the end is a clever twist.

Overall 25/30

Extended hunts are almost always sports.

Scene 4: Monkeys

The presence of Barbary macaques in Gibraltar is a reminder of the planet’s habit of undergoing massive changes over relatively short timescales. There are no monkeys in Europe except these ones, and they’re here because around five million years ago, the Strait of Gibraltar was closed, and north African animals had free rein to wander over to the Iberian peninsula.

Then came the Zanclean Deluge. With the Straits closed, the Mediterranean had no access to the Atlantic and slowly evaporated. And when they re-opened, the Mediterranean re-filled in about two years, powered by what was probably the biggest waterfall the planet has ever seen. This has very little to do with the monkeys. I just think it’s interesting.

Gibraltar, right on the southern tip of the continent, is home to Europe’s only monkeys. #SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/GMnBIod7Eq

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

Anyway, Barbary macaques spread across southern Europe, but eventually (I assume because of the Ice Age, etc.) they collapsed back into a small population at the Rock of Gibraltar. Around 300 monkeys still live there. Some of those monkeys, incidentally, have a thing for kidnapping.

A low-status female monkey (these macaques live in tiered social groups) has just had a baby, and a higher-ranking female is jealous of her. So she steals the baby and runs away. The mother is so low-ranking that she can’t approach the other monkey for fear of the rest of the troop ganging up on her.

High monkey drama ensues as the kidnapper — who clearly has no idea what she’s doing with a baby — makes her escape, climbing a cable car tower with a tiny little monkey dangling off her. Eventually the mother catches up with the baby-thief, but the gang is more than 100 feet above the ground, and any wrong move might lead to a fall and certain death ...

... so naturally, the situation is resolved by grooming. Mama monkey finds a random monkey to groom within sight of the kidnapper, who gets so jealous that she gives the baby back in exchange for a change to get in on the action.

Most of this was some action movie stuff, but the end might be difficult to translate. I’m trying to imagine Liam Neeson rasping into his phone about his “particular set of skills,” only for them to turn out to be removing parasites from the other person’s hair with his teeth.

It’d be weird, but you’d watch it.

Aesthetics 7/10

Monkeys just aren’t that cute, even baby monkeys. The tension, fortunately, is accentuated by the impressive cinematography.

Difficulty 10/10

As a parent I have found it is more or less impossible to do anything with a baby, so climbing a cable car tower while fleeing the scene of a crime, baby in tow, is impressive work. Not morally impressive, mind.

Competitiveness 10/10

The ending doesn’t take anything away from the stakes.

Overall 27/30

Kidnapping monkey babies is sports. But please do not attempt this particular sport, at home or anywhere else.

Scene 5: Grave-Robbing Hamster Battle

This is it. This is what we’ve all been waiting for. The culmination of Sir David Attenborough’s long and storied career lies here, in a Viennese graveyard, where hamsters lie in wait to feast upon the offerings left for the dead ...

... it turns out that European hamsters love flowers. LOVE them. And, as graveyards have plenty of fresh flowers for them to munch through, that makes them prime hamster territory. Prime territory, of course, does not go uncontested. And while hamsters are cute and adorable, they’re also ferocious little balls of anger when roused. Observe:

Thug life. #SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/ePaxjj8Ybd

— BBC One (@BBCOne) November 24, 2019

Thwarted by the martial skills of the home hamster, the challenger has to sneak in while they’re distracted. And here, they’re more successful, creeping merrily over a tombstone and then munching happily on a bouquet before being enticed by a nice, uh, candle.

Attenborough claims that candles are full of oil and high in calories and therefore excellent hamster food, so I’ll take his word for it. The hamster certainly agrees, stuffing their face with as much wax as they can fit into their squishy little cheeks, which turns out to be a lot of wax: European hamsters can apparently fit about a quarter of their body-weight in their cheek pouches.

And now I should mention that this candle is in a jar with a slightly-tapered mouth and ... oh no.

Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again #SevenWorldsOnePlanet #wevealldoneit #chonkyboi pic.twitter.com/TDhY1YEpBd

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

My only regret is that Edgar Allen Poe never found out about this.

Aesthetics 30/10

COME TO ME, MY GRAVE-ROBBING HAMSTER FRIENDS. TOGETHER WE SHALL RULE THIS DISMAL PLANET.

Difficulty 10/10

WE SHALL RULE IT IN THE NAME OF PEACE.

Competitiveness 10/10

AND JUSTICE. AND COMPASSION.

Overall 50/30

AND DELICIOUS, DELICIOUS CANDLES. IT WILL BE A BETTER PLACE. ONE FULL OF HAMSTERS, WHICH ARE SPORTS.

Scene 6: Mayflies

In June, the largest of all mayflies emerge from a Hungarian river. They’ve spent three years as larvae preparing for just a few hours of adult life. The males come first, flapping to the banks to get one last molt in, and then fly back to the river to catch the females, emerging later.

There’s a terrifying amount of competition to fertilise female mayflies, accentuated by the fact the male mayflies are literally dying as they scramble to find a mate. The females have timed their emergence to within a few minutes of the males’ death, and as their corpses float past they then fly up-river, 10 million-strong. Then they die too, releasing their eggs upon impact.

Houston, that’s a lot of bugs. #SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/zp5GddXM2B

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

Within hours of the mayflies emergence into the European summer, they’re all dead. This is the most metaphorical metaphor that has ever metaphored.

Aesthetics 3/10

After three years of feeding and growing on the riverbed, the male mayflies appear first.#SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/V3bOFAv3R1

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

No.

Difficulty 8/10

It must be hard to try to be at the top of your game when you’re literally on the verge of death, especially in the middle of a mayfly melee.

Competitiveness 10/10

An entire generation of male mayflies fighting it out at the same time? Yeah, this is getting high marks.

Overall 21/30

Probably a sport.

Scene 7: Asshole Pelicans

Great white pelicans breed on the delta of the Danube river, one of the richest in the world. There are two things you should know about great white pelicans. The first is that they are huge. And I mean really, really huge: their wingspan can get to well over 10 feet and they can weigh as much as 30 pounds. The second thing you should know is that they’re assholes.

Flying above the delta, the pelican flock scans for food, using other birds for help

Cormorants: Come over. Pelicans: Can’t. Busy. Cormorants: We are eating delicious fish. Pelicans:

The real question here...are you a pelican? Or a pelican’t?#SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/YRaphn3WUY

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

Do the pelicans go fishing once the cormorants have done the hard work of finding their prey? No. That’s not assholish enough for a great white pelican, and is also far too much work. Instead, they wait for the cormorants to do the fishing and then do whatever the hell this is:

K...O#SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/48F9A4UDOM

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

The bullied cormorants quite naturally give up their spoils upon being engulfed by these horrible huge pirates. Imagine what it must be like having your head wrapped up in a penguin pouch. It’d like someone jamming your face into a yellow latex glove, and I’d rather get actually mugged.

Aesthetics 10/10

This scene is beautifully shot. All non-raptorial birds look better in large numbers, and the coordinated flight of the pelicans is gorgeous.

Difficulty 7/10

All these pelicans have to do is find and harass the people doing the real work, then enjoy their rewards. They’d do very well in the modern office. The cormorants, on the other hand, have to go fishing while being mugged by assholes, which sounds pretty difficult to me.

Competitiveness 5/10

Pick on someone your own size, pelicans.

Overall 22/30

Fishing is a sport. Piracy ... is also a sport?

Scene 8: The Offspring of the Cave Dragon

The face of Europe has been scoured by humans, turned from forests to homes and farms and roads and etc.. Under the skin, however, is a different story. Mankind’s reach doesn’t extend very effectually into caves, and nor does the sun’s, which leads to some very weird critters.

Olms, so far as I can tell, are the European equivalent of the American axolotl: blind albino cave salamanders which stay in larval form their whole lives. Unlike the axolotl, which is sort of cute, olms are very not:

Olms have feathery gills which enable them to breathe underwater, as well as on land.#SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/W75pHQ8gpS

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

Here be dragons Well...baby ones at least.#SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/MjdCQcDmxM

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

What they lack in cuteness they make up for in looking-like-an-eel-ness? Their weird looks and hermetic life led locals to believe that they were somehow related to more mythical beasts: 17th-century naturalist Johann Weikhard von Valvasor, upon handling an olm body, claimed that they were “baby dragons” which “resembled lizards.”

Fair enough, Johann.

Aesthetics 4/10

Weird-looking critters. Even the bonus point for being mistaken for baby dragons doesn’t net the olm very much.

Difficulty 10/10

Olms live in pitch blackness and only get a meal about once every 10 years. Even ignoring hunger, that environment would quickly reduce even the most hardened human into a gibbering wreck.

Competitiveness 0/10

Nothing happens.

Overall 14/30

Sorry, Johann, but olms aren’t sports.

Scene 9: Lynx

10/10 on the graceful fence leap, extra points for epicness.#SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/rkwRWiDxZN

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

It is hard to be an Iberian lynx. Nearly extinct, and hemmed in on all sides by human development, their population was at one point reduced to double-figures. Their final fastness is in southern Spain, where conservation efforts are going reasonably well. We are introduced to a lynx patriarch, who has helped preserve his species by fathering ... wait ARE WE GOING TO GET KITTENS?

And the award for cutest cat family goes to…#SevenWorldsOnePlanet pic.twitter.com/cfqvVJl0Qf

— BBC Earth (@BBCEarth) November 24, 2019

KITTENS! Anyway Iberian lynxes are doing better these days, but still not well at all. Europe has been so over-developed that there’s no room for wild animals to co-exist along with humans, and so, like the lynx, large animals everywhere are under threat. Unless people make a concentrated effort to be much better neighbours, the lynx, and many other critters, won’t last long.

Aesthetics 10/10

KITTENS!

Difficulty 7/10

Imagine living your days in existential dread, suspecting that you might be close to the end of the line for your whole species. Couldn’t relate.

Good jump though.

Competition 0/10

Nothing happens.

Overall 17/30

Probably not sports, although I could be tempted to change my mind for reasons entirely related to KITTENS!

[beardyallen]

Days 4 thru part-of-Day-6-because-this-takes-forever-and-I-have-to-go-teach-soon

Yikes. Turns out keeping up with this is going to take some serious time-management voodoo on my part. I’ll figure that out eventually, I guess.

Alright, so where did I leave off? *scrolling thru Day 3...* *still scrolling...* *still scrolling........* Ah! There we go. The bank.

There wasn’t a whole lot that happened on Day 4, other than my first meal in one of the main cafeterias. From what I recall, their standard chicken wing (which looked like something you would get from KFC) had a breading that probably puts it somewhere in the top 30% of the spicier wings at Buffalo Wild Wings. Not too spicy, but for sure spicier than I expected from just a lone piece of chicken in a buffet-style dining hall with no labels. I also grabbed semi-gelatinous purple thing that turned out to be lotus and honey. Not really my favorite consistency, but it was pretty yummy nonetheless. But the cucumber. Man, let me tell you about the cucumber!!!!

It tasted like a normal cucumber but with a nice vinaigrette. Nothing crazy special, but it was still my favorite part of the meal. *shrug*

If memory serves, which it might not, I think I spent the rest of the night reading Dan Brown’s Origin. The handbook for the Guest House (where I live) only has one line in it about alcohol consumption in the apartments. It is strictly forbidden to engage in alcohol abuse. That’s pretty much it. Not real specific. So I texted ML if it was okay to have beer in the apartments, she assured me that it was totally fine, and I breathed a sigh of relief as I took another sip from my second beer.

Day 5 (Friday, if you’re keeping track) was slightly more interesting. ML, her boyfriend (S), R (now NR) and I were going on an adventure the next day, so ML, S, and I had to go shopping to get snacks for the trip. Turns out one of the banks (one that doesn’t allow people staying for less than 6 months to open an account) pretty much monopolized relations with Chase. We stopped there to get some cash to deposit into our Chinese bank accounts at our actual bank, then went to our ATMs. I was first in line in our group, dropped some cash into the slot/box that counts your money, and I was only then informed that I can only deposit 100 yuan notes at the ATM. It spit out my 20′s and 50′s, and I added an extra 100 when prompted. Then things went downhill.

Unbeknownst to us, this machine was malfunctioning that day, and I had just tried to do something that it didn’t like as I deposited around $60 into my account. I checked my receipt, it didn’t indicate that any money had been deposited, so we hailed an assistant. Fortunately, S has a much better grasp on the language than ML and myself, so he communicated the issue, and (30 minutes later) we were face-to-face with a banker. ML, as she hadn’t deposited any money yet, had a seamless transaction with him. *phew*

Me, on the other hand...well, I would have to come back on Monday to see if the money made it into my account. I didn’t have a good understand of what transpired during the conversation. It may be the case that the machine worked it out, or maybe the employees had to do some stuff on their end, but as it stood, I just had to wait. *shrug* Oh well. C’est la vie.

We still went shopping, and we set up plans to get sushi that night (to see if it’s what we wanted for lunch the next day as well!), and then our plans changed abruptly. ML was invited over to a colleague’s house for drinks that night, and I was welcome to join. So naturally, I brought a bottle of wine and tried to pretend like I could socialize well with strangers.

All in all, we had a good time. I kept my mouth shut for the most part as the conversations tended to be about things necessitating multiple years of residency in China. Or any country other than the US, really. Eventually the conversation drifted over to topics about which I felt I could contribute (education, books, television shows), and I finally opened my mouth. I’m fairly certain I didn’t embarrass myself. I was, actually, invited to join their book club! (Which mostly just involves getting together to drink wine/beer and eat cheese while we haphazardly dissect the book.)

Day 6 required that I wake up at 6am, which actually had been my routine already. So it wasn’t too bad. While I was out getting the wine the previous night, I had managed to scrounge up enough food and drink to get me through what I was imagining would be a long day. The idea is that we would take a train to a bus stop, then busses to the entrance of some underground cave that has a river in it. After walking for about a mile underground, we would then climb a mountain, and then visit an ancient village that still has some residents who get by as subsistence farmers.

Now an official veteran of the subway station and bus routes, I was completely at ease. Or I would have been, if any of the three of us would have had the foresight to look up exactly where we were meeting the rest of the group! Fortunately, plans had changed with the group, which put them a bit behind schedule as well! We somehow ended up at the bus stop with 5 minutes to spare, met our guide(s), and a couple of other tourists.

I kind of had to cram myself into my seat on the bus, but eventually got comfortable and pulled out my book. I would finish on the bus ride. For Dan Brown, it was alright. I sort of predicted most of it well in advance, but I have to admit I didn’t see the twist with the Spanish King and the Bishop coming! That made me happy.

Anyway, the bus stopped once before the cave to pick up the rest of the crew (which included two more tourists I didn’t know, another tour guide, and last but certainly not least, NR). 

The bus ride was almost completely uneventful, although the other passengers might say that his driving left much to be desired. In fact, at one point, the second tour guide, while drinking some water, may have tossed her cookies... Fortunately, we were only 5 minutes from the cave, though none of us knew that except the bus driver.

Once off the bus, we were in what looked like an open square or pavilion sort of thing in small, mostly vacant village. In the distance, you could just make out what sounded like a radio. From where we stood, the mountains on our left were a stone’s throw away, and the ones on our right were not much further. Centuries ago, the sides of the mountains on our right were carved in tiers to make room for ample farmland. This was quite common in this region, apparently.

As for the cave, we had to wait 30 minutes before it opened. I distracted myself by wandering over to what looked like a series of 12 (turns out there were 12 more on the other side!) images depicting life long ago. One of them had a tiger mauling an older gentleman. Curious, I asked NR for help translating as the top right corner held three characters, two of which I knew said “24.” These were, to the best of our understanding, 24 ways to be respectful. The one with the tiger was apparently supposed to represent protecting your elders from wild animal attacks. Seemed a bit specific, but...*shrug*

I stuck pretty close to NR’s side for the rest of the day as ML and S were enjoying each others’ company, and everyone else in our group seemed to be in some sort of non-platonic pairing. This worked out as I could ask her question after question about the characters we saw, about the language, and I got to find out that, while I likened the long trek into the cave and our merry band of travelers to the 7 Dwarves heading off to work, she had apparently immediately thought of Indiana Jones.

The cave itself was fascinating, although no description I give will really convey much that you can’t glean from an American cave. Turns out rocks over here are pretty similar to rocks in the States. Who’da thought? *insert sarcastic look here* What was so interesting to me was how prominent the influence of their culture was on how they named the formations. They would describe something as looking like a dragon or a Buddha, but those were the furthest from my mind when I looked at them. I’ll post the pictures we got from the cave here later, so stay tuned for those!

As I mentioned before, there was a freshwater river in the cave, and we got to take a boat ride down and back! None of us could really articulate how strange this experience was better than, “I can’t believe I’m in a boat on a river about 1 km below the surface! How neat!” There are just some things that words fail to express.

And now that you’re away of just how far below the surface we were, you may be able to appreciate how arduous the walk back was! On the way in, we had the anticipation of impending coolness to keep us occupied around every turn. On the way out, it was more a drudge. And stairs. So many stairs. Just when you think you’re done with the stairs, you go through a doorway and there’s just as many more staring you in the face. *wordplay partially intended* After what felt roughly like the same amount of time I spent waiting patiently in the bank on Day 3, we were finally back on the surface and could enjoy our dried crab(?), crackers, dried plums, and cookies.

And there were dogs. Dogs with no collars. Dogs that just begged and begged for food. (Don’t worry, Mom, I didn’t pet them. At least not after the first one bit me...) I’m not really sure what breed they were, but I’ve definitely never seen any quite like these. They seem rather common up in the mountain villages, though. *shrug*

After our snack, we started our hike. Which had more stairs. Because of course it did! Why wouldn’t there be more stairs? A sloped path would have been one thing, but actual stairs?! The audacity!!

In actuality, it was quite nice. The fresh air was...refreshing. We didn’t have a weird sense of being slightly damp and mildly cold but also warm anymore as we were hiking in the sun. And judging by the small huts (I would learn later that they are called, or at least one is, a Phoenix Nest), we would have several opportunities for breaks!

I was somewhat mistaken. When we got the first one, everyone grabbed a spot on the benches, conversation picked up, and we munched on our snacks again. By this point, it couldn’t have been more than 30 minutes since we had last been relaxing. The view itself was outstanding, and I think everyone in the group really learned to appreciate what was almost certainly not a radio after all, but a local singing karaoke into a loudspeaker. And she only seemed to know one song. But she sang it nonstop for the entirety of the hike...

But I mentioned that I was mistaken. We could see more of the Phoenix Nests on higher and higher peaks around us, and the valley was nicely sprawled out below us. After 5 minutes of sitting there, I began to suspect that things were not what they seemed. Nobody seemed anxious to keep going. At all. In fact, everyone got rather comfortable. We probably sat up there for another 30 minutes chatting about whatever came up before the guide finally called us back to our feet. (Yes, one of the Europeans asked who I voted for in 2016; he approved of my response, and a long conversation about modern politics ensued amongst the 8 travelers, representing at least 6 different nations. It was quite fascinating. And I was the resident expert on America! Go figure!!)

Anyway, once we got our feet beneath us again, we made our way back to the trail.........and started going back down the mountain. That was it! That was the entire hike! But that was quite alright; I didn’t bring very good shoes for long walks or hikes, and I’d already been on my feet for 3+ hours.

After the uneventful descent, we got back in the van and made our way (uneventfully) to the ancient village. This village looked...very much like the one we came from. It was here that we had lunch (way more food breaks than I expected on this trip!), and we entertained ourselves with more conversation and bigger dogs. I’m guessing the tour guide wasn’t sure how to graciously convey to us that we should probably get going, because after sitting for waaaaaay too long with some of our food still unpacked, one of us had the bright idea to put it away, as a means to convey that we were maybe ready to see the village. Within seconds, our guide had us back on our feet and moving along.

The ancient village itself was something to behold. Very few of the buildings were still occupied, but there was a small restaurant in one of them with stone tablets of Chinese writing laid about. Probably 15 or 20 of them, each one giving me the impression of a Chinese-10-Commandments-Tablet.

The last stop in the village was the old farmlands, with the tiered bits of land making their way up the mountainside. We were primarily relegated into just one of these, but S managed to climb around, up onto the next one above us without the tour guide noticing. I felt his route was a bit too circuitous, so I just pulled myself straight up the wall, bracing myself with the lone tree in the area. I’m pretty sure ML and NR were concerned that I would get hurt. #lol

Eventually the guide called us to come back, to not venture too far, so S and I skulked back to the edge with our tails between our legs. Before the girls knew what I intended to do, I had already jumped the 10-or-so feet back down. S wasn’t quick enough, and he was preemptively admonished for considering it. Classic. I told him he needed to be quicker about it, and that there was a reason I jumped down when they weren’t looking.

After meandering about for a little while longer, we made our way back to the vans and began the long drive back to Beijing.

I alluded to this above, but it’s getting to be about that time that I have to go teach, and this is a somewhat-natural-stopping-point for the story. When I get back to this tomorrow morning (because I’m grabbing beers with colleagues after I teach), I’ll upload pictures into this post and finish the story!

Sláinte,

BeardyAllen

[swimintothesound]

Gateway Indie

On May 20th of 2008, my musical taste changed forever. We (or at least I) tend to discover things in waves. Specifically waves of increasingly-tiered obsession that escalate until I can focus on one thing and one thing only. I’ll find a song I really like, devour the album that it came from, read everything on the band’s Wikipedia page, explore their discography, listen to side projects, see them live, spend exorbitant amounts of money on limited edition vinyl, then (apparently) write about my experience years later.

One of the most important steps in my particular brand of hyper-obsessive fandom is delving deeper into the genre of the band who I’ve recently discovered. Whether it’s simply to contextualize their sound, see if I recognize any of their contemporaries, or just to get a better understanding of the world’s musical history. When one artist’s discography isn’t enough, sometimes the next logical step is to start absorbing everything in their immediate vicinity. It’s a beautiful notion that one album can open the door to a whole new world of music that was previously hidden. It’s how you diversify as a music listener and as a person.

Up until high school, I’d really only explored the genres of classic rock, grunge, and some metal. All pretty standard stuff, especially for a white suburban teen, but it was all music that came out before I was born. In 2008 I discovered a group of albums that opened my eyes to the ever-cool world of indie and, more importantly, paved the way for my interest in both the genre and the contemporary music scene as a whole. As each of these albums near their 10th anniversary I realized that not only have many of them achieved “classic” status within the genre, they were also part of a larger movement for my generation.

Universality

Now that the internet has paved the way for services like iTunes, Spotify, Soundcloud, and Bandcamp, music has become more insular than ever. In 2017 there are entire sects of fans who can be hyper-devoted to one artist or scene that may never intersect with anyone else. Additionally, with the rise of social platforms like forums, Twitter, and reddit fans can live in a bubble… and while it’s great to connect with other fans, it also means the vocal obsessives are more walled-off.

We have fewer “universals” than ever before. Ed Sheeran is one of the best-selling artists in the world right now, but I don’t think I’ve heard a single song of his. Drake is breaking records every week, but if you don’t care about hip-hop, he’s pretty easy to avoid listening to. It’s a byproduct of the ever-splintering media landscape that we’re living in.

So there are positives and negatives, but this splintering is relevant because those “universals” will become fewer and far between as we move forward. Looking beyond music, you have shows like Game of Thrones which is one of the most technically popular and most-talked about shows currently on TV. It consistently shatters its own self-set viewership records, numbers which are worth screaming about in 2017, yet would have gotten a show canceled even 20 years ago. There’s just more to watch, more to do, and more to care about in 2017, so if you don’t want to watch Game of Thrones, you truly don’t have to. This isn’t the 20’s where everyone gathers around the radio for the day’s episode of Little Orphan Annie. I feel like I’m getting off track, but music is this phenomenon multiplied by thousands. Not only are there dozens of alternatives mediums vying for your attention, practically anyone can create music in 2017. There are more alternatives (and therefore fewer commonalities) than ever before.

I feel like we will reach (or perhaps have already hit) a point where there are simply no more universal artists. There’s never going to be another Beatles. Obviously. But looking purely at The Beatles on a scale purely based on audience and cultural impact, there will never be another musical group in the history of the world that reaches the omniscient presence that the Beatles achieved. There were fewer artists to listen to then, fewer ways to create music, and even fewer avenues to discover new music.

As technology has improved, we’ve seen a direct impact on the music industry as an entity. At the same time, we’ve also seen artists effectively harness this power. Groups like Odd Future were pervasive and forward-thinking enough that I (a high school-aged non-hip-hop listener) knew who they were and knew at least a few of their songs. While everyone’s musical journey is a unique story filled with personal discoveries that have influenced their taste, this is really a story about the first universal that I was a part of as it was happening.

I Miss the Old iTunes

Back when iTunes was still relatively new, it was my only source of current music. I would almost instantaneously drain any gift card I was given, using it to cross several songs off my carefully-curated iTunes wish list. I was also fortunate enough to have my Dad’s massive collection of nearly one thousand CD’s at my disposal, but as you could imagine, most of those albums were a decade old at least. That’s why I was a rock fan first: ease of access.

But I always found ways to satiate my hunger for new music. From VH1 to renting CDs one by one from the local library, there were only so many ways to hear new music, even in the mid-2000’s. One of the most unexpected avenues that I took advantage of was the (now sadly-defunct) iTunes Single of the Week Program, which offered exposure to countless contemporary acts one song at a time. It may not have been much, but this program turned me onto dozens of artists and sounds that I wouldn’t have heard otherwise. Through this mishmash of mid-2000’s media, I was able to satiate my budding hunger for new music as a penniless 14-year-old.

That brings us back to the first sentence of this post.

Unbeknownst to me, indie folk was blowing up In 2008. Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago was gaining serious traction a year after its release thanks to the album’s breakout hit “Skinny Love” and in May “Skinny Love” was put up as iTunes’ free song. As with most songs in the program, I’d never heard of the artist, nor had any experience with the genre, but I downloaded it anyway because that’s how hungry I was for new music.

I downloaded the track (no doubt on my family’s bulky oversized 2005 laptop) and synced it onto my iPod immediately. I was floored. I’d never heard anything so delicate. It was catchy (especially for a folk song) but it also had a soft warmth and reserved delivery that was a revelation to me at the time. “Skinny Love” evoked a feeling that was unlike any other music I’d ever heard. I had to have more.

Part of the beauty of the Single of the Week program was how random it was. One week it’d be an electropop song, the next it would be something folky like Bon Iver, and then it would be a latin song. I didn’t necessarily like it all (quite the opposite, in fact) but I listened to it all for the sake of discovery. The fact that these songs were free was just the icing on top of the cake. I had nothing to lose.

I had no idea at the time, but indie folk saw a massive explosion in popularity in 2008 with the rise of acts like Bon Iver and Fleet Foxes, who both released stunning debuts around this time. I didn’t realize that this era of indie had been such a widespread phenomenon until I saw people discussing Bon Iver’s For Emma, Forever Ago on its tenth anniversary calling it their “Gateway Indie” album. I liked that phrase, but I didn’t think much of it until I heard the ineffable deep_cuts youtube channel cite both For Emma and Fleet Foxes as “dominating adolescent MP3 players the world over” at this time. Maybe it was just his worldly UK accent, but something clicked for me. I realized this was not only a formative album, era, and sound for myself, but for everyone my age.

Beyond Folk

Later that year I met some of the coolest people in my high school. And by that I don’t mean cool in the traditional sense, they were dork-ass nerds like me, but they were dork-ass nerds with impeccable musical taste. At this point, the edgiest thing I had ever listened to was Nine Inch Nails, but these guys opened my mind to the larger world of indie music. Genres I didn’t even know existed. Sounds I could barely conceive of. This was 10th grade and the albums they showed me would go on to become some of my favorite and most formative of all time.

The first song I remember them playing for me was the opening track to Portugal. The Man’s first album Waiter: "You Vultures!" which was titled “How the Leopard Got Its Spots.” I’m going to stop there for a second just to point out this band/album/song combo was (before hearing the first note) already more experimental and out-there than anything else I’d ever heard up to that point.

“How the Leopard Got Its Spots” is a pokey unpredictable song that almost borders on prog. While Portugal. The Man changes up their sound every album, their debut is easily the most experimental of their discography, still retaining many characteristics of the band’s post-hard predecessor Anatomy of a Ghost. But I didn’t know any of that at the time. I just listened to the song, enraptured by the track’s grungy guitars that paired perfectly with Gourley’s shrill high-pitched singing. The lyrics were obtuse in a Relationship of Command-type way and the final glitched-out chorus haunted me for days after the fact, becoming an immovable earworm. I remember at the time Grand Theft Auto IV had just been released (God, take me back) and I’d spend hours tooling around the game’s gray city listening to this song on repeat for hours.

Sometime later, Eric (the one of the group who I was closest to) and I found ourselves sitting next to each other during a weirdly-placed mid-day homeroom period. I asked him what he was listening to and he said “I’ll show you” he handed me his headphones and hit play on his 3rd generation iPod Nano. What I heard were the first shimmering notes of Minus The Bear’s “Pachuca Sunrise.” The song’s carefully-times guitar taps and intensely-technical drumming provide the crunchy background for Jake Snyder’s laid-back sensual lyrics and Cory Murchy’s smooth flowing bassline. It gelled into a transformative experience that made my body feel warm with sunlight and love. There’s a reason it’s still one of the band’s most-played live songs even a decade later. It turns out “Pachuca Sunrise” was many people’s first Minus The Bear song and led countless fans to the group’s second album Menos El Oso.

At this point, I already had enough “material” to go off on my own and endlessly devour these two records from these two very different bands. And I did, but I was also hungry for more. I came back to this group of guys in our shared AV class and begged for more in the coolest way I could without discounting my own cred.

From there Eric, Oliver, and Max threw me into the deep end. They showed me “Death Rides a Horse” by instrumental band Russian Circles. I dug it. Ratcheting up the intensity, they moved onto “Laser Life” by the post-hardcore band Blood Brothers. I dug it. They then threw the hyperchaotic cybergrind “Chapels” by Genghis Tron at me. I didn’t dig it, but I warmed up to it pretty quickly.

While there were dozens of other acts and songs that these guys turned me onto over the course of the next year, this crop stands out in my mind both for its breadth and what they’ve gone on to represent for me personally.

Portugal. The Man would go onto become one of my favorite bands. I’ve often proselytized online that they have one of the best discographies in indie rock. I would also go on to expose this band to my two younger brothers, and for one of them, Portugal. The Man has become their favorite band of all time. They currently sit at my 8th most played band on Last.fm with just over 3,000 plays.

Minus the Bear was my favorite band for years. At 6 concerts they’re also far-and-away the band I’ve seen live the most, and two years ago I saw them play Menos El Oso in full for the album’s 10th-anniversary tour. The album’s closing track “This Ain't a Surfin’ Movie” has been my favorite song of all time since I first heard it. The band is currently my 6th most-listened band on Last.fm, and three of the band's albums are have made it onto my list of all-time favorites.

Russian Circles would eventually lead me to the world of post-rock and instrumental metal. Bands like Explosions in the Sky, Mogwai, and Earth, all of whom have served as my reading and studying music throughout high school and college. Russian Circles also have a nearly-perfect discography, and they currently sit at #15 on my Last.fm.

Meanwhile, Fleet Foxes were always a bit boring to me… until this year. Maybe I have more patience at 24 than I did at 15, but I’ve had their discography on repeat for this entire summer and I’ve been loving it.

Most importantly, Bon Iver served as my gateway to all of this. It’s weird that a slow quiet folk album could pave the way for something as discordant and brutal as Genghis Tron, but I guess it’s a snowball effect type of thing. For Emma, Forever Ago also became somewhat of a soundtrack for my first real relationship, and despite that relationship’s rocky conclusion a year later, I can still listen to the album today and enjoy it as much as I did the first time hearing it.

I can’t thank these three dudes (and the creators of these albums) enough. I can safely say that my life would be unequivocally and vastly different without having gone through this period of exploration when I did. I would be a different person with different tastes and interests entirely. Full stop. So for that, I can only say “thank you” and hope that I returned the favor with someone else somewhere down the line. Sometimes discoveries come from the most unexpected places. Sometimes a random song can lead you down a path you never could have blazed yourself. Sometimes a single song can change everything.

[theworstbob]

yellin’ at songs: 1997, part two

the songs which debuted on the billboard hot 100 between 3.15.1997 and 5.10.1997. 2/3 of the way there! i’ma try to get weeks 19-27 done by monday so we can cover weeks 28 and 29 of all three of 97/07/17 on wednesday, then resume posting as usual from there. i’m excited!

3.15.1997

9) "For You I Will," by Monica

this was ok, i guess. it's a stirring pitch to the boy, but i can also understand why the boy would still give brandy consideration after hearing this. the boy probably thinks monica doth insist too much. like, she promises to be the sun. she can't do that! monica's a star, but not a REAL star, just a famous person! the boy has reason to be dubious of monica's claims. no reason to be dubious of the key change, tho. hey remember key changes? remember when we used to like songs that were dynamic and didn't just bleep and bloop for three minutes? good times.

22) "Step by Step," by Whitney Houston

The YouTube recommendation bar just pulled up a bunch of Whitney Houston songs, and I'm not gonna lie, I'd much rather dip into that than find out what Zhane is. This is probably a second-tier Whitney song, insofar as I have any grasp of the ins-and-outs of the Whitney catalogue, but second-tier Whitney is still amazing. Like, you know how "Lose My Breath" is definitely one of the five-best songs from the expanded Beyonce universe, even though no one ever thinks about it? This is Whitney's "Lose My Breath" for me. I just wanna put this and "Return of the Mack" on repeat for a thousand years and die happy.

35) "Head Over Heels," by Allure ft./Nas

It's weird to hear Nas on a pop song. Like, Nas operated in the same space where someone like Vince Staples or Killer Mike currently operates, I always thought; clearly elite, but elite in a way not friendly with the mainstream. Illmatic didn't sound like something that'd get a dude on a pop song. Not that I'm angry Nas got that paper, it's just weird, like it'd be weird if Killer Mike suddenly collaborated with Calvin Harris. Also, girl group hype. This is a song that was playing while I was thinking about other things and I think I would've enjoyed it if I wasn't ignoring it, but at the same time, I don't believe in second impressions.

51) "Request Line," by Zhane

...Zhane, that was unfair, that thing I said about you two paragraphs ago. I am so glad to have found out about you. This song only has a peak of 39. I am comfortable declaring this the forgotten classic of 1997 so far. It references calling people over a phone line, which is so delightfuly antiquated, it references a 555 number which is a classic, and it implies that at one point you had to call a radio station to request a song rather than being able to access every song all at once on demand. All wonderful 1997 things, backed with a solid groove. This song is dope. I'm going to call into my local radio station RIGHT NOW and request that they play this!

76) "Too Late, Too Soon," by Jon Secada

imagine turning the radio on in 1997 and hearing this and keeping this song on because trying to tune the dial to a new station just to avoid this song wouldn't be worth the effort. i thought i wouldn't get michael bolton? i thought his whole thing was just an early-'90s thing, something akward between the grunge and the rap? i feel cheated, honestly. i shouldn't have had to listen to clay aiken in 1997.

79) "I Belong to You (Every Time I See Your Face)," by Rome

This dude's ad-libs are basically Young Thug mouthnoises. I'm into it. It's generic, but dude goes hard trying to sell this song, and I respect that hustle.

81) "Hip-Hopera," by Bounty Killa ft./The Fugees

LAURYN HILL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I don't even care that the rest of this song is just Bounty Killa saying things with a heavy accent that never actually justifies being called "Hip-Hopera" aside from some falsetto in the hook. Like, you wanna be a hip-hopera? Bring the drama. Can't just have the fat lady sing, you need to emote like your life depended on it, PROJECT, make something more over the top than this, but legit Lauryn Hill on the mic for even half a minute is a good thing, and this song at least had the good sense to put her at the top of this song so that, if you want to hear her verse again, you don't have to sift through a bunch of nothing.

91) "Weekend Thang," by Alfonzo Hunter

This is the second R&B slow jam about infidelity this week, and while it's superior, I wonder if people got as tired of dudes singing R&B in 1997 as I am of bro country in 2017? Like, the thing R&B dudes have over country dudes is, I can easily distinct Alfonzo Hunter from Rome. Rome was making all sorts of noises in his song, and Alfonzo Hunter is smoother, more confident. I can't tell you any meaningful difference between Chase Pickens and Ricky Graves, and you probably didn't realize those were fake names, because country dudes are interchangable. Listen, 1997 has been wonderfully bereft of country dudes, but the only thing I know how to do is complain about country dudes, SO I HAD TO SHOEHORN THIS IN SOMEWHERE, point is, R&B slow jamz all at least have some variety, and I'm not tired of them yet.

3.22.1997

22) "Ghetto Love," by Da Brat ft./T-Boz

"You laid pipe unlike any other plumber/Took me shoppin' all day and at night you kept me cummin'/Made dinner, collard greens, candied yams, and steak/Taught me how to measure grams, cook rocks, and chop weights" This song is incredible. Like, I grew up in a family adjacent to white trash; if anyone in the family smokes meth, it might not be surprising?, but it would definitely be news to me. So I don't know what it's like to settle in for a nice steak dinner, then sit down with my lover and learn how to manufacture and distribute crack cocaine. My girl and I would just play Mario Kart. This is a love unlike anything I could ever know, and I am glad to have heard tell of it. Also, "you laid pipe unlike any other plumber." That is a lyric!

34) "I Shot the Sheriff," by Warren G

...I want to applaud the social commentary? But at the same time, no, don't touch this song. This song was already very good, it didn't need you trying to muck it all up with your signature, just let it be. You can allude to this song in a better song about fighting back against the police, but don't just like do the song, it's not pleasant to listen to this song when it's not this song.

71) "Silent All These Years," by Tori Amos

One of the auto-complete results when I searched "silent all" was "silent all these years karaoke" and I want to meet the absolute fucking maniac who would ruin a karaoke night with this song and give them a stern lecture about the utility of fun. This is not a karaoke song. Even if this WERE a karaoke song, there's no way you have the verses memorized. There's too many words. You are going to stumble all over the verses and it’s going to suck for everyone in the bar to hear. You’re going to ruin five minutes of everyone’s lives, be responsible with your fucking choices. Like karaoke is not about communicating the deep inner pain with which Tori Amos helped you get in touch, what kind of horrible narcissist is singing Tori Amos songs at karaoke. I DID NOT FORCE MYSELF TO LOG OFF TUMBLR, PUT ON PANTS, AND TAKE A BUS TO THE BAR JUST TO HEAR TUMBLR: THE MUSICAL. ...Tori Amos is a quality songwriter and this song is incredibly sad and I am scared of feeling things which is why those other sentences exist.

84) "If Tomorrow Never Comes," by Joose

I found this R&B slow jam lacking because it tried to have A Moment, took some time to try to be a sweeping, epic slow jam, and while I applaud the ambition, it kinda just sounded like a worse version of the pop version of "A Whole New World."

97) "Under the Water," by Merril Bainbridge

this song is just heckin' beautiful. look at that, i'm even usin' "heck" instead of bad words because i don't want to profane this space right now. it's so soft and gentle and i don't want to do anything to ruin this moment i'm having. this i -- OH. OH, HELLO,  MAN. alright well fuck all this then where the fuck did this dude come from? this was a pleasant, lovely song, and then goddamn the dude from crash test dummies or w/e shows up and goes "UNDER THE WATER" and it's so jarring. i can't even enjoy this harmonica solo, i feel so betrayed! ...okay, i'm enjoying the harmonica a little bit. the harmonica was as nice a surprise as the dude was a rude one.

3.29.1997

7) "All by Myself," by Celine Dion

These charts are based off single sales and radio plays. It's so weird to consider that people would go out of their way to listen to a Celine Dion ballad in a pre-"My Heart Will Go On" world. Like, "Let it Go" was a top 20(?) hit if I recall correctly, but that was the signature song of a movie loved by teens. What is this. This is just a diva singing dramatically over a piano. People went to stores and either specifically bought this single or said, "Oh! My favorite recording artist, Salon Dijon! I need this like I need these other staples of every day life I have come to Target to purchase!" 1997 has had two Broadway-ish songs on the chart, 2007 had one Broadway-ish song, and 2017 has had zero, if anyone needed quantifiable proof the world was getting worse. (Shout out to Pete Holmes.)

13) "Everyday Is a Winding Road," by Sheryl Crow

Because my first exposure to Sheryl Crow was "Soak Up the Sun," an over-the-top cheery song about beaches that triggers an allergic reaction in my horrible soul, I never really fucked with Sheryl Crow. This is a jam, though. There's more of an edge here than there is in her later stuff. The key is "I get a little bit closer to feeling fine." This isn't a song about someone who is happy and taking life as it comes, this is about someone who's going through shit and hopes to be happy one day. It's like a prototype of "Hard Times," '90s alt-rock chick instead of '80s throwback. This is dope.

33) "One More Time," by Real McCoy

House music! It's been a while. Oh, good, you're rapping. I was hoping to hear someone rap in their second language. God damn you. YouTube Comments Under Shitty Dance Music, Vol. II "I might have one of the largest collections of Real McCoy CD's in the world. :-)" Real McCoy released four albums. Congratulations on having bought four items. That's not a collection, unless Real McCoy has been making other horrible music over the last 20 years.

42) "Your Woman," by White Town

/someone in 1997 hears this song /they franticaly scramble to their kitchen and dial numbers on a corded phone /someone answers Twenty-One! Twenty-One, it's your cousin Marvin! Marvin Pilots! You know that incomprehensible fake-hip-hop sound you've been looking for? WELL, LISTEN TO THIS! /Marvin Pilots holds the phone as near to his bedroom as he can No but seriously this is a goddamned Twenty-One Pilots song, this is amazing, this must be what it felt like when anthropologists or whatever discovered that da Vinci invented airplanes. Like, look! This always existed! This song is more interesting than this dumb joke, but it's also important to point out the similarities. Also: this dude released an album called Don't Mention the War. I like this dude. He seems like good people.

52) "You Don't Have to Hurt No More," by Mint Condition

"This house is not a home." This song is the most unbelievable thing I've heard so far because it is set in a world where single people own houses.

56) "I Don't Want To," by Toni Braxton

Look, you probably already knew this about me, but I find it hard to believe any dramatic tension that gets built by dangling a preposition. Like, I know you're gonna finish that sentence, it would be rude to just leave that "to" hanging in the middle. Clickbait titles could be so simplistic in 1997, though, because we hadn't been inured to all the tricks. We may think we know better than this song title, but back in 1997, people were screaming at the album cover, "don't want to what? DON'T WANT TO WHAT?" People who didn't have access to the single held weekly meetings to share their fan theories about what Toni Braxton didn't want to, one of the earliest online fan forums was built by people wringing their hands over what Toni Braxton didn't want to. People need to work to rook us in 2017, but in 1997, all it took was a sentence left unfinished. (The official YAS verdict on this song is that it is boring and I was bored by it.)

65) "Sho Nuff," by Tela ft./Eightball & MJG

This strip club anthem has maybe the most evocative storytelling any strip club anthem has ever had. It's about a young man who comes back to his hometown after spending time wherever it was he spent time, and discovering girls he used to know became strippers. "I remember this ho, she used to do nails for Rochelle's" is such a delightful detail, the way he specifies not just what she used to do but where she did it being something straight out of a country song. Is it followed by "You heard me! Push these thirty dicks inside your clit?" Well, not immediately, but yes, those words do occupy the same space, but when it isn't exceedingly gross, there's a lot of homey charm in this song.

80) "For You," by Kenny Lattimore

The description for this song claims this is "the only song you should get married to." The first line of this song is "For you, I'd give a lifetime of stability." Oh, yeah, baby girl, if you're looking for a man who'll settle for an office job if this music thing doesn't work out, I'm that guy. When you're ready to accept Wednesday nights spent bickering over what to watch on Netflix while we wait for the Chinese food to get here, you have my number. I'm that man who can drive a Camry and won't talk about his fantasy football team... because he knows it bores you. I'm waiting for you to decide to want this. "For you, I'd make a promise of fidelity." It worries me you waited until your wedding day to make this promise, Ken. That should have just gone without saying! Why would you bring that up now?

92) "Bill," by Peggy Scott-Adams

OH MY FUCKING GOODNESS. I. I was expecting a lot from 1997. I don't think I could have ever expected this song to exist in the way it exists. It's a dynamo vocal performance of a deeply silly and probably slightly offensive song. I don't want to say too much because this is a song which could legitimately be spoiled, but like listen to it. You probably won't be disappointed.

94) "Insomnia," by Faithless

this song is at once the class of 1997's dark dance music, and it also features a vocal performance that's way too low-energy to be rap but is too high energy to be spoken word so i guess i have to call it rapping? but like if you're rapping, and i can reasonably state that Egoraptor is a better rapper than you, are you really rapping? anyway heck europe.

4.5.1997

67) "Precious Declaration," by Collective Soul

Sometimes in 2017, Imagine Dragons will break through the trap and release a song that charts, and I'll react to it with baffled indifference; I don't care, but at the same time, I don't get why people who ostensibly enjoy rock music would listen to Imagine Dragons. I get the same sense listening to this Collective Soul song. Like, it didn't ruin my day, but is this really the best you could do? If you like alternative rock, why on earth are you listening to Collective Soul? The Verve Pipe has other songs! They're not as good as "The Freshmen" but better than this!

81) "A Little Bit of Ecstacy," by Jocelyn Enriquez

"Tee hee! The casual observer will think I am singing about feeling happy, when I actually am singing about doing drugs and having sex! What a trickster I am!" Dance music is bad and everyone who listened to it has the wrong idea about everything. We're not even out of the third month. There is more to come, and I already blew the “this entire genre is garbage” shot. Oh, dear.

94) "One Night at a Time," by George Strait

Our first country dude of 1997! And it's not just some random country dude, it's The Possum, singing an OK song about how nice being in love is and how much effort maintaining a healthy relationship requires! Nothing special, but pleasant, especially since it's not surrounded by fifty other songs by dudes in the same hat with the same voice. This constitutes a break from the onslaught of R&B dudes, is not part of its own separate slog. I appreciate the commitment to diversity, 1997. (Diversity in genre if not in gender, I guess. Not as bad as 2017, I don't think, but, hey, we all could be doing better.)

95) "Step Into a World (Rapture's Delight)," by KRS-One

"I'm not saying I'm number one -- I'm sorry, I lied/I'm number one, two, three, four, and five" That's fucking incredible. Like, one'd be hard-pressed to disagree with KRS-One on that claim after hearing this song. KRS-One occupies the same space as The Roots did from part one, where I understood they were important but hadn't actually made the effort to check them out, and now I see I've been missing out. This dude's incredible. "I'm not run of the mill, 'cuz for the mill I don't run." This is like if Chance the Rapper was good.

98) "That's Right," by DJ Taz ft./Raheem the Dream

remember when the atl wasn't the epicenter of homogeneity and the city housed artists that sounded great without sounding like anything else. what happened. i mean, this song probably isn't the one we want to point to when complaining about the current state of atlanta, not when we got outkast comin' in a couple of songs, but like something this light and breezy and fun isn't the sort of thing atlanta traffics in anymore, and the world is worse for losing this spirt.

4.12.1997

17) "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?" by Paula Cole

One of the best tweets of all time theorizes that "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?" and "The Boys Are Back in Town" are two different perspectives on the same event, and this Paula Cole fan theory will be a part of me until the world burns down. It's a good song, but also it's absolutely ruined for me.

59) "Jazzy Belle," by OutKast

ATLiens is the best OutKast album and the first five tracks ("Two Dope Boys," "ATLiens," "Wheelz of Steel," "Elevators," "Jazzy Belle") might be the best five-track stretch in the whole of hip-hop history and even if I'm not into the remix they released to radio I'm so incredibly into the original that I'm fine with a Xerox. I'm fanboying, and you didn't come here for that, but gosh I do love this song.

75) "Come On," by Billy Lawrence ft./MC Lyte

This song was acceptable. You ever hit a point where you've been listening to songs for two hours and trying to think about them and then you come across two songs you already know your thoughts on so you go "Oh, cool, I can do other things while still listening to these songs so I can say I listened to them" and then you get to a song you're not familiar with but you're still in "doing other things while listening to music" mode? That's what happened. This is a feeling which I am sure is incredibly relatable, as all of us have series where we listen to every pop song ever and post our thoughts about them. I'm sure this song is better than I treated it, and I could just listen to it again but oh no what happened my fingers just typed the next song into the bar and now the music is gone from youtube forever it doesn't exist anymore i can't go back oh no oh nooooooooo

4.19.1997

24) "My Baby Daddy," by B-Rock & The Bizz

...I came into this refreshed. I watched some other videos -- this is the least embarrassing Punk Goes Pop compilation yet! -- took a shower, had some breakfast, I was ready to accept this song into my life. I mean, "My Baby's Mama" had a ridiculous title, but that was more or less acceptable, and I thought this was a response song. That's a lost art, the response song. I don't think we've had a true response song since Frankie's unforgettable classic "Fuck You Right Back," though I haven't listened to "Bodak Yellow" yet. This was... Certainly, an experience I won't forget, but not for lack of trying.

73) "Until I Find You Again," by Richard Marx

In a position where I can see the future, I see "Hypnotize" and "Bitch" dropping next week, and I can kind of understand that 1997 is in the calm before the storm. It's disappointing to endure, for sure, no one ever intends on listening to soft rock, but I'm ten minutes away from thinking about "Hypnotize." I appreciate 1997 for giving me this time to clear my mind and accept "Hypnotize" into my life.

87) "Sweet Sexy Thing," by Nu Flavor ft./Roger Troutman

It wasn't that long ago that we were letting dudes feature on boy band songs despite the fact they were calling themselves Roger Troutman. We can quibble about how good a rap name KYLE is, but at least it's not a pirate fish monster.

93) "Just the Way You Like It," by Tasha Holiday ft/Mase

This is Tasha Holiday's only song that charted on the Hot 100, and it appeared to have only spent one week on the chart, as it never got higher than 93. That has to be weird for an artist. You make a song that's popular enough that it can make the chart and people will upload it to YouTube 20 years later, but at the same time, your song wasn't popular at all and your song has significantly fewer views than "My Babby Dad," which is a song no one put effort into making. You had two celebrated songwriters on the track, and they made a song that someone who listened to an average amount of Top 40 radio might have heard once on "New Tunes Tuesday." Per Wikipedia, she was last seen doing feature spots on Soundcloud tracks, so it's at least good to hear she didn't stop believing.

97) "Don't Keep Wasting My Time," by Teddy Pendergrass

i am not going to argue against teddy pendergrass. i understand that, of all the '90s r&b slow jamz specialists, he's the one that got a shout out on "slow jamz," so i'm digging this song while assuming this is not his most iconic work. this is dope, and it's nice to hear a voice with rasp. '90s r&b isn't very husky, y'know? great voices without a lot of depth. this dude knows how to use his voice to most effectively communicate his pain, and it's dope as hell. this is the worst positive thing anyone's ever written about teddy pendergrass, like y'all know he's great and i'm late to the party.

4.26.1997

2) "Hypnotize," by The Notorious B.I.G.

i wonder if the people who made "rise" knew that they would be playing an integral role in one of the greatest songs of all time, if they knew that the song they were making wasn't the song they would be remembered for. that intro, those three guitar blasts (music term) and biggie going "oh," is this miracle, and i wonder if anyone who made "rise" knew their song was going to be used to bring a miracle into this world. "we got so close!" the bassist might have cried upon hearing biggie's tone over the track he laid down. "if we had replaced the trumpet with talking..."

30) "Staring at the Sun," by U2

Like, even if it weren't one of the last songs Biggie ever released, we'd still remember "Hypnotize" as fondly as we do, because it's just this incredible perfect thing. Biggie just has this phenomenal, laid-back flow. You're not blown away by any lyrical twist or vocal trick, Biggie just lumbers along in time, and it's just fun to hear someone rap like that, and this track is the perfect complement to his voice, this groovy thing he can really sink into and flow with. P. Diddy isn't the greatest musician, but he has a great ear for what other people can do. He and Biggie could have made more songs like this. That song, man.

57) "Bitch," by Meredith Brooks

It remains to be seen if the music of 1997 is better than the music of 2007 or 2017 -- even in a week with "Hypnotize" and "Bitch," 1997 is going to lose the weekly competition because "Umbrella" is as good as "Hypnotize" and "Thnks fr th Mmrs" is better than "Bitch" and 1997 won't have anything better than "The Story" -- but we can definitively state that "Blank Space" was better in 1997. I was struck by how similar this song was to "Blank Space," mostly because I forgot "Bitch" had verses. The thematic concepts in "Bitch" and "Blank Space" are similar, both songs stating "You should have known I was complicated, and now I am presenting these complications and you will not enjoy it," but while Tay Tay's is rooted in the personal mythos of Tay Tay, one needing to understand Tay Tay's relationship with her #brand to fully understand the song, Meredith Brooks' is accessible to all, more generalized and less personal, not needing to make some grand statement about who Meredith Brooks is as a person and what being in a relationship with her is like. There's less baggage to "Bitch," so to answer the question HOT ON EVERYONE'S MIND, "Bitch" is a better version of "Blank Space" than "Blank Space."

88) "Full of Smoke," by Christion

This song has the singular misfortune of being the R&B slow jamz to follow Teddy Pendergrass. It is the victim of higher expectations and will not benefit from the expectational adjustment being performed as a result of hearing a dude sing exclusively in falsetto. I'm sure, out of the context of this deeply silly project, this would be a much more fun song to hear, but like no thank you. Now that I know what else slow jamz can do, I need more than overdramatic sings and this dude squeaking.

89) "Stop the Gunfight," by Trapp ft./2pac & Notorious B.I.G.

Fun fact! If you listen to this song, you will have done significantly more to prevent gun violence in the United States than every Senator COMBINED! Congratulations on doing more than nothing! Thoughts and prayers for EVERYONE!

5.3.1997

16) "MMMBop," by Hanson

Hanson makes legitimately wonderful music. Even when they were children with hair like the kid from Room, they were making songs that were exceptionally well-crafted, even if they were about some nonsense. You can kind of tell, on this song, that Hanson was trying to make a point about aging and losing touch with people and friendship that they couldn't make because they were legitimately 14, not music 14 where they're 14 and singing songs written by 40-year-olds but actual immature 14. The song is honestly far better than it has any right to be, and every day I remember Hanson weathered the storm and became normal people who make insanely good pop music is a good day.

45) "Don't Wanna Be a Player," by Joe

...JOE?! Hold up. So many R&B slow jammers didn't make it all the way to 2007. Hell, significantly fewer artists made it from 1997 to 2007 than made it from 2007 to 2017, and one of them was this random dude named Joe, this dude with one of the five most generic names as a stage name who has no defining personality traits. This dude? This dude's who y'all took with ya? I'm not even going to pretend to try to get this. Like all he's swearing to a girl is that he won't cheat on her. He's not pledging eternal love, he's not swearing he will climb a mountain, he will not defend her against the armies of every nation, he's just saying, "I will finally stop fucking other people." That's a really shitty promise. Like, way to spend four minutes promising a girl the bare minimum.

85) "Feelin' It," by Jay-Z

hey. hey, guys. jay-z? this jay-z cat? he's pretty amazing at rapping. be sure to give him a follow and show him some love in the comments.

94) "6 Underground," by Sneaker Pimps

this song sounds like the episode of buffy where seth green goes through an entire season of plot in one episode and then leaves the show forever. what i am trying to say is, this song sounds like two werewolves feeling a deep desire for one another but one of the werewolves a sweet lesbian witch girlfriend he doesn't want to abandon but he can't stop himself from abandoning her when he's in werewolf form so he runs to the mountains. that's what this song reminds me of, is that feeling when that. i'm that. i don't know what i came into this paragraph to do but i know i have the "wild at heart" wikipedia page open and Marti Noxon says of the episode "The whole issue of sexuality between men and women is kind of fraught because of the beast" and boy that is just a quote right there, innit. this song's over! huzzah. electronic music is still mostly bad, turns out.

96) "Can U Feel It," by 3rd Party

YouTube Comments Under Shitty Dance Music, Vol. III "ive been listening to this since i was a kid and since release lol. i had this on a cassette tape when there was no CD's" Buddy, what the heck kind of dystopia were you living in that didn't have CDs in 1997? OK but real quick I don't understand the nostalgia for cassette tapes. Cassette tapes sounded like garbage and sucked to carry around. I get owning one as a fun novelty, "Haha this band I like was selling them at a concert and I had to, and I mean it's nice to support the things I love!" But if you're defending the audio quality of cassette tapes, you have taken irony too far and are no longer a hipster, and you need to have a serious talk with yourself about what you hope to achieve in this life.

5.10.1997 28) "G.H.E.T.T.O.U.T.," by Changing Faces

The chorus of the song features the two women harmonizing over the words, "I can do bad all by myself," and 1997 just keeps on surprising us, this time revealing the origins of a Tyler Perry movie title. I did some research. The only other results for "I can do bad all by myself" are all related to the Tyler Perry film. That kind of speaks to the quality of the lyric, y'know? Like, if a director of some repute (haven't seen any of his movies, they are not for me but assuredly competently helmed) carried this lyric with him long enough to name his movie-musical after it, surely, there's some value. Great work, Changing Faces. I hope more people than just me figured out the title was a reference to something.

42) "Blood on the Dance Floor," by Michael Jackson

Shortly before the voting results for the starting line-ups of the MLB All-Stars were announced, certain among the baseball internet argued that, as they were future Hall of Famers, players like Miguel Cabrera should be given extra consideration for a spot, since you aren't going to remember Justin Smoak in thirty years, but you might tell your grandchildren about Miguel Cabrera. And there is merit; Miguel Cabrera is more deserving of the All-Star designation than a Justin Smoak, since Miguel Cabrera is an actual star baseball player and Justin Smoak happened to hit 20 of his ~100? career home runs in three well-timed months. But if you're such a profoundly boring grandparent that you would tell your grandchildren about baseball players you watched on TV, and you tell them about Miguel Cabrera, are you going to tell them about the time he hit a grounder to second in the second inning of the 2017 MLB All-Star Game? Your grandchildren will ask you why you weren't watching a cooler sport. This song is okay, but if you introduced your grandchildren to Michael Jackson with this song, and your grandchildren discovered Michael Jackson years later, your grandchildren would emancipate themselves from their parents just to not be related to you anymore. Also, it would be worth noting to your grandchildren that Michael Jackson was probably a pedophile.

44) "Thinking of You," by Tony! Toni! Tone!

A more appropriate name for this band would have been Tony. Toni. Tone. (I'm sorry, Tone, but if I'm not gonna remember how to make the accented e for Beyonce, you are just incredibly out of luck.) This is chill. Maybe you can justify one exclamation point, but determining who gets the exclmation point probably would have caused intra-group strife, and I think it would've been more appropriate if the band's name reflected how chill they were. When Panic! At the Disco were going through their Beatles phase, they switched to Panic at the Disco. You should have been looking ahead through time and taking notes from them.

76) "I Wanna Be There," by Blessid Union of Souls

This song sounds like the song that kicks off the slow dances at the junior high school dance. It'll stop the kids from getting so rowdy that they start grinding, but isn't so romantic that they'll start making out on the dance floor. A safe ballad to keep the hands above the waist and prevent glances from being too meaningful. It simultaneously sets and kills the mood. It's a hard trick to pull off, but my stars, it does it!

83) "ESPN Presents: The Jock Jam," by Various Artists

/slow clap The YouTube description states, "FOR ENTERTAINMENT USE ONLY," and I want to meet the person who intended on using this for educational purposes.

90) "Call Me," by Too $hort ft./Lil' Kim

Imagine the thinkpieces if any of today's female rappers put the line "I slip myself a mickey, now that's the proper set off" in their song. Boy, this song sure exists! I don't think I've ever heard a song end with the two credited artists fucking. That's kind of amazing. What a song this is. This is off the soundtrack for the film Booty Call, and however much the music supervisor paid to have Too $hort and Lil' Kim make a song for their movie, they got their money's worth and more. Unless Booty Call is actually porn, there is no way it lives up to this song.

92) "The Old Apartment," by Barenaked Ladies

This seems like as good a point as any to stop the post, as I am not in the business of critiquing BNL. BARENAKED LADIES ARE TRIPLE PLATINUM. ARE YOU?!

The Top 20 for 1997 so far! 20) "MMMBop," by Hanson (5.3) 19) "Everyday Is a Winding Road," by Sheryl Crow (3.29) 18) "It's All About U," by SWV (1.18) 17) "In My Bed," by Dru Hill (1.11) 16) "Talk to Me," by Wild Orchid (3.1) 15) "Please Don't Go," by No Mercy (2.8) 14) "Don't Keep Wasting My Time," by Teddy Pendergrass (4.19) 13) "Feelin' It," by Jay-Z (5.3) 12) "Step by Step," by Whitney Houston (3.15) 11) "On and On," by Erykah Badu (1.25) 10) "I Want You," by Savage Garden (3.1) 9) "Silent All These Years," by Tori Amos (3.22) 8) "What They Do," by The Roots (1.11) 7) "Step Into a World (Rapture's Delight)," by KRS-One (4.5) 6) "I'm Not Feeling You," by Yvette Michele (2.22) 5) "Bill," by Peggy Scott-Adams (3.29) 4) "I'll Be," by Foxy Brown ft./Jay-Z (2.15) 3) "Bitch," by Meredith Brooks (4.26) 2) "Return of the Mack," by Mark Morrison (3.1) 1) "Hypnotize," by The Notorious B.I.G. (4.26) What a solid list. And it’s only gonna get more solid, what with the Third Eye Blind and Backstreet Boys and Robyn coming our way. It’s not gonna be as strong as this section was, I don’t think, but it at least has the capacity to surprise. Tune in Monday, I hope!

[roconnor-uschinastrong-blog]

Two Stories...

((Student Ambassador Submission))

By the time I turned 17, I spent six weeks of my life in the People’s Republic of China over two trips. The first was with the Global Young Leader’s conference (not language or culture based, but we did plenty of cultural excursions and a main point of the conference was about cross cultural communication and successful collaboration and cooperation), and I traveled from Beijing to Hangzhou, then to Shanghai, to Xi’an, and then back to Beijing. My second trip was spent exclusively in Beijing, however, and was focused on cultural immersion and improvement of Mandarin skills. I could go on and on describing every little “funny thing” I noticed in China, from menu and sign translations to comments made that would be “out of place” for a westerner to make but was normalized in Chinese culture. I could talk about squat toilets for several minutes straight. But I want to share two stories about my time in China. One is light hearted and even funny looking back, but the other is actually a little heart-wrenching.

So on my first trip with the GYLC, I was one of 77 students from all over the world. I befriended a Mongolian girl from Ulaanbaatar, I’ll call her H. So everyone was at the Forbidden City, and we were told to meet at the North Gate at 4:00. It is important to note that we were in the middle of the Forbidden City, not near the north side of it where we can exit. So we were given our free time to wander and H and I walked around and talked for a bit. When it got close to 4 we decided to head to the North Gate. We weren’t sure where it was, because we weren’t provided with a map or any directions to the North Gate beyond our tour guide saying “over there” and pointing vaguely. Now H doesn’t speak a lick of Mandarin, and at this point I had two years of formal study under my belt. I go up to a guard and ask “北门在哪儿?” (where is the north gate), and he gives me a basic direction. H and I move through the Forbidden City, to the rock garden near the true North Gate, and I ask another person “北门在哪儿?” And he points me in the same direction.

We get to the North Gate, the exit for the Forbidden City, and we notice that our group is not their. H and I conclude that they might be outside the Forbidden City, due to crowding or whatever, so we decided to go out of the palace in search of everyone else. We see nobody. We try to go back in but a guard extends his arm indicating we are not allowed to. I begin calling the numbers they gave us for emergencies on the name tag. H doesn't have an international plan on her phone, but I did so my phone which was dying slowly is our hope at communication. I call the Beijing Friendship Hotel where we were staying, and they said no GYLC was staying there (imagine my excitement to hear this). I call the program leaders with no avail. Many numbers, with and without country codes being dialed, would give me the dial-tone or I would hear an automated woman say “对不起，” (Sorry) to which I knew the call failed. I felt really bad because I dialed the number for one of the program leaders and each time somebody real would pick up and answer in Mandarin. So I would say “Hi it’s Rhiannon and H we are outside the palace by the North gate where are you?” to which I heard an aggravated man just go “什

么” (What?) and “这是谁?” (Who is this?) over and over. I called him about six times. Poor guy.

So we walk up to the police tent were we see near a bunch of tour buses. I try talking to the police, who are looking at each other the whole time trying to make sense of my broken Mandarin, while lighting their cigarettes and looking to H. When we came to a dead end in that conversation, H and I walked away and tried another round of calling numbers. I even called the

company that issued my visa in an act of desperation. Unfortunately, the woman who picked up said that she couldn’t help me unless she knew the name of the person who signed off on my invitation letter for my visa, which I did not know. After an apologetic goodbye, H and I were back at square one. We go back to the North Gate and talk to the guards and they say they can’t help us. We go back to the policemen and they go on the phone with the aforementioned guy who I unintentionally harassed thinking it was the program leader.

H and I feel defeated. My phone was on 10% at this point. It was roughly 4:40 PM, and H and I are sitting on the bluestone lining a police/guard shack type thing outside the gate. I look up and say, “It is time to call my mother.” Despite the twelve hour difference, I knew my mother was a night owl like myself and thank goodness she was. She picked up, and my first words were, “Mom, I’m okay, but..” and I proceeded to tell her the story. I figured she’d be able to make a call or two (it turned out to be closer to five) to help H and I out. A few minutes later, with my phone on 4%, the program leader who I tried calling so many times rang my phone. Turns out, they were at the North Gate for the section of the palace we were in and not THE North Gate. In our defense, they never specified which North Gate.

The wisdom I bestow onto anyone who may come across this is always make sure you have access to a phone in whatever country you’re in (be smart about data plans of course), have a reliable connection in your home country in case your go-to(s) on your trip cannot be accessed, and most importantly: know a handful of key phrases to use in case of any issues, especially in emergencies or separation scenarios, in the language of the country you’re visiting. In the instance my mother didn’t pick up her phone, we would have had to work more with the police and guards with a pretty intense language barrier. If it weren’t for my few years of learning Mandarin, that situation would have gone from a large inconvenience on the GYLC to an outright emergency.

My second story is a lot more serious but at the same time bittersweet. On that same trip, I went to Xi’an. One of our excursions was to the Sun Village for the Children of Incarcerated Parents outside the city. The Village was set up in the late 90s by a woman who used to work in law enforcement for children who have a parent (or both parents) incarcerated. Children who have parents in prison often are homeless, beggars, get involved in crime themselves, and are put in poor situations. Xi’an is a second-tier city, so it still holds a lot of economic importance in China but does not yield nearly as many tourists as Beijing, Shanghai, Shenzhen, etc., and poverty is more apparent (though this is very true if you venture outside of a city center or any rural area in China). On our way to The Village we would look out the window and see poor farmers selling watermelons and other fruits on the side of the road in the late July sun. We get off the bus and we are shown a little film about the Sun Village, its origins, and how it helps the children.

The Village guarantees an education for these students through middle school, but there are oftentimes instances of kids going to high school, vocational and tech schools, and sometimes even pursuing post secondary education. It relies on donations and its garden, which produces fruits and vegetables for sale, and it doesn’t receive funding from the government. In effect, the children who were shunned by society for the actions of their parents are taught self sufficiency and discipline. The Sun Village sets up visits and phone calls to the parents so a relationship is not lost, and every now and again a parent is released and the child(ren) can return

home. A shred of opportunity that is much needed in China (and many other places in the world) has been running for about twenty years now and helped many children who would have been lost in the slums of Chinese society.

We got to tour around the Village, see the dorms, classrooms, washrooms, and the garden. It is an impressive facility however it is obvious that it isn’t receiving copious donations. The facility is running fine to my understanding, however lack of temperature control and other things that schools and boarding schools take for granted in the West were not too noticeable or in abundance. We got to meet some of the children and anybody who knows me knows I’m not quick to run to babies, toddlers, or young children, but these kids completely warmed my heart. Being one of two students from GYLC who spoke some Chinese that was also in Xi’an, I was able to talk to them and play with them on a more connected level than many of my peers. When I got home, I felt so inspired to help out. Just because it’s China, it doesn’t mean that everyone born into a certain way of life has to confine to it to the degree some people may thing, and it doesn’t mean that the need for organizations such as the Sun Village are any less needed. In fact, to sponsor a child for a year, it is only about 5000 RMB (or 730 USD). For the same amenities outside of a city like New York, it would be way more costly.

I got to see the gentrified China, the historically preserved China, and a glimpse into more of a ‘real’ China on my first trip to the PRC. I proudly boast my experiences as some of the best of my life, and it’s important to reflect and realize what really may be behind what I was seeing. H and I in the Forbidden City was a funny and annoying experience, as we took something too literally and screwed up some scheduling for the day, but had it not been for the resources at hand (my ability to at least communicate a little bit in Mandarin, having a cell phone with an international plan), the story would have ended a lot differently. The Sun Village is a shred of hope, however it brings to light a very concerning problem not often thought of by westerners when they think of issues with China. While the world is becoming networked and connected, we cannot forget our neighbors over the Pacific who are struggling.

[junker-town]

The 5 players in the NL Central who matter the most

It takes 25 players to win a championship, but not all players are created equal. Here are the most important players of the NL Central.

Welcome back to our spin around the divisions of baseball, looking for each team’s most interesting/important/crucial player. These are the linchpins. These are the players whose individual performances will give you a pretty good idea of how their teams are doing.

These are the players who will serve as the canary to their team’s coal mine.

Some of them are easy choices. Some of them are picked blindly from a group of seven or eight deserving candidates. These are the most compelling players for each team in the National League Central:

Chicago Cubs - Jake Arrieta

Have you heard about how the Cubs are good now? Yes, yes, and not only that, but you might be surprised to know that a lot of their best players are young and should be good for years. Seems like a lot of people just aren’t talking about either of these facts.

So, yes, you’re tired of hearing about how the Cubs will rule the next 10 years, too. They’re almost the perfect team in the perfect situation. Almost nothing can spoil their fun.

[echo] spoil their fun

[echo] spoil their fun

Not to get all doom-’n’-gloom on Cubs fans, but take a quick step back and ask yourself a simple question: What would happen to the Cubs this year if they went through the same injuries the Dodgers had in their rotation last year? Fifteen Dodgers had to make a start last year, and just three of them made more than 20. Their best pitcher, the world’s best pitcher, made just 21.

How would the Cubs respond to that kind of last-second mess? They’ve famously curated so much position player depth that they’re not sure where to start Javier Baez, and there are several more deserving hitters in the minors. It’s here that Jake Arrieta becomes their most interesting player, because the Cubs’ answer to theoretical injuries in the rotation is probably something like, “HOW ABOUT WE JUST DON’T FIND OUT?”

Look, FanGraphs has an article about Arrieta!

What on Earth Happened With Jake Arrieta?

Oh, boy.

On TV, Arrieta looked effective. In the box score, Arrieta looks effective. But what was the deal with his fastball? This is an open question. I don’t have an answer. I just have evidence that makes me think thoughts.

Velocity readings for one game are about as meaningful as the average age of the announcers, but that doesn’t mean you can’t squint a little bit. Because without their superior pitching, the Cubs aren’t much different than the Astros. And the Astros missed the postseason last year.

St. Louis Cardinals - Aledmys Diaz

On paper, the Cardinals’ lineup looks surprisingly weak. Jhonny Peralta had a lousy year last season, and he’s hitting cleanup. Stephen Piscotty was solid, but not much more. Randal Grichuk’s OBP was below .300 last year, and Kolten Wong was a mess. Yadier Molina is still a marvel, but he’s also a 34-year-old catcher.

Matt Carpenter is the rock of the lineup, but the Cardinals need one more. In theory, that would be Diaz, who made the All-Star Game a season after underperforming in Triple-A. He showed everything: power, average, versatility. The only blemish on his season is that he got hurt.

He was unspectacular in his September return, though, and it’s worth noting that even after 404 at-bats in the majors, we still don’t know a ton about Diaz. Is he a perennial All-Star, the type of player who can hit .300 with 15 to 20 homers for the next dozen years? Or did he set expectations too high, and the modest, versatile talent he was for Memphis the year before is the player the Cardinals should expect in the future?

I’m bullish, and I’ll guess that he does help form a lineup foundation with Carpenter and Molina, along with whatever random homegrown hitter the team creates with their computer, Weird Science-style. But if you look up in July, and Diaz is just a regular ol’ middle infielder, don’t be shocked if that’s accompanied by a Cardinals team that’s sinking in the Central, wondering where their runs are going to come from.

Pittsburgh Pirates - Jameson Taillon

Imagine for a brief moment if the Pirates had acquired Jake Arrieta in the offseason. Suspend your disbelief about them playing in the same division as the Cubs, or how the Cubs wouldn’t actually part with him. In this alternate timeline, the Cubs are bad again, and the Pirates just made a whopper of a dandy of a deal, and now they have Arrieta to put behind Gerrit Cole. What would you have thought about their chances in the Central then?

Maybe Jameson Taillon is Jake Arrieta this year.

Unlikely! Optimistic to a fault! Not something we can count on! But it’s not like Taillon lacks the talent to be a top-tier talent. He matched up with Chris Sale on Wednesday night, and he looked every bit as ace-y. The stuff is there. The control is advanced.

Andrew McCutchen would be another good choice here, except the Pirates also have Austin Meadows in a glass case. With Taillon, they’re pinning their postseason hopes on a second-year player, and there isn’t really a good alternative. Their confidence in him explains a great deal of their offseason inactivity, and they will rise or fall with their unproven understudy ace.

No pressure, kid. If there’s any consolation, it’s that Tyler Glasnow will share at least some of this burden, but there might not be an unproven pitcher in baseball who’s more important to his team’s plans.

Milwaukee Brewers - Eric Thames

This one gets a little abstract, so I appreciate your patience. Eric Thames is not directly tied to the fate of the Brewers. They gave him money, and that’s all they’ll lose. The player and situation might be risky, but the move isn’t as risky, if that makes sense. If they realize they gave millions to a poor man’s Brandon Moss, they’ll shrug and say, “Worth a shot!” You should agree with them at that point.

What Thames really is, though, is a referendum on the Brewers’ scouting and analytics team. They believed in their evaluation of him more than the other 29 teams, and they pounced quicker and more forcefully on a player they thought could help.

This is important because the Brewers, as much as any team in baseball, will need that scouting and analytics team to be among the best in baseball. There’s a fine line between the Indians and Rays, with smart people on all sides, but the Indians have had just that much more of an edge over the last few years, and it took them to the World Series.

If the Brewers want to be relevant in a division that’s stacked against them, they’ll need brains. BRAAAAAAINS. And if Eric Thames has a fantastic season that makes the rest of the teams kick themselves, it should do a lot more for the confidence of the fan base than any other individual player. The Brewers are probably going to lose 90 games this year, but this is the best way to feel confident in their direction for the next decade.

Oswaldo Arcia hitting .330 and stealing 60 bases would help, too.

Cincinnati Reds - Amir Garrett

The Reds are not the Phillies. They don’t have a gaggle of talented players who are just coming into their own, with a mostly set pitching staff, who might be the kind of team worth adding to in a win-now capacity over the next couple years.

The Reds are not the Twins. They don’t have a couple of monster young players who were recently among the top prospects in baseball, who should anchor the team for the next decade if everything goes right.

The Reds are the Reds. They have some quality young players, but they��ll probably have to be traded before the next contending team is created. They’ll have to trade these players to create the next contending team. That means Billy Hamilton thriving would be important, but more in a what-can-the-Reds-get-for-him kind of way. Same goes for Anthony DeSclafani. Their window of on-field usefulness to the Reds isn’t closed, but it’s a lot easier to seem them helping the Reds more by playing for another team within the next two years.

That means the new core had better not screw this up. With Garrett, the Reds have a basketball player of a pitcher, a long, lanky lefty with ace potential, and they can let him grow at his own pace for a couple years along with the rest of the team. By the time the Reds are good again, DeSclafani might be making $9 million with two years left on his contract. They’ll need pitchers like Garrett to thrive and make those future decisions a whole lot easier.