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taketheringtolohac · 3 years

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i’ve been working on the most self indulgent au for about a week now and I thought i’d share my thoughts. now presenting... my ace attorney blaseball au! including teams, positions, modifications and more about all the ace attorney characters i could think of and how they would play blaseball. you can also find it on ao3 here, but ive included all the information i have below the cut!

Blase Attorney (Blaseball Ace Attorney AU)

Phoenix-

Team: Yellowstone Magic

Position: Batter

Modifications: Seeker

Details: one of the first replacements in the game, he was originally just a blaseball fan who was following around miles edgeworth his childhood friend to his games (disguised as him going to see Larry play) and sort of wished that he could play so he could get closer to miles and is at a magic/steaks game that miles is pitching when someone gets incinerated and suddenly he’s on the field in a jersey with a glove and that really messes him up, he's a pretty good player not a star player but definitely a solid one, gets the seeker mod in the season 19 tarot reading

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: REALLY high martyrdom

Maya

Team: Yellowstone Magic

Position: Batter

Modifications: Haunted

Details: she replaced Mia when she was incinerated and isn’t a season 1 player but has been here so long that it FEELS like she is, isn’t great at the game and has like really bad forbidden knowledge stats but she occasionally hits a surprise dinger and the fans love her so they infuse her and she becomes a serviceable batter, is constantly filled with guilt and emotions about being the person who replaced her sister she gets the haunted mod in an election

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: high base thirst, really good divinity that only gets better after her infuse

Edgeworth-

Team: Dallas Steaks

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: None

Details: season one player who didn’t really want to join blaseball but he took it in stride and he wasn’t very good at first but he got a blessing that MADE him good and he’s miraculously been on the team the whole time, originally placed in good league because Fran was in Evil and von Karma wanted them to dominate the game and become the best in their respective leagues, still one of the best players in the game, his dad still dies somehow, refuses to “buy into” the dad bit from the steaks and insists that he was just placed here

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: EXCEPTIONAL ruthlessness (one of the highest in the game), good other stats as well, just a really solid PITCHING statline, his other stuff isn’t good

Franziska-

Team: Hades Tigers

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: Friend of Crows

Details: season one player who fans LOVE even though she hates everything about the game and the circumstances in which she’s here, she’s a naturally good player but she lets up a lot of home runs, she receives the friend of crows modifier in season 10 much to her dismay, ALMOST pitched a perfect season and then absolutely RUINED it in the last game and it crushed her

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: higher highs than miles but also lower lows, in particular her overpowerment isn’t very good, she is also a more well rounded player and would also be a fine batter (solid thwack)

Gumshoe-

Team: Originally on the LA Unlimited Tacos, then feedbacked to the San Fransisco Lovers

Position: Batter

Modifications: Siphon, Attractor

Details: season one player that is beloved by the fans and he’s decent at the game but he always tries to steal bases but he is so bad at it, he’s the teams siphon but he NEVER drinks blood except to draw a walk, he ends up getting redacted because of consumer attacks and is probably one of the first to do so despite him having QUITE a bit of soul, he becomes Wyatt Gumshoe in the Wyatt Masoning

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: GREAT thwackability, bad everything else which makes for a really interesting player to say the least

Athena-

Team: Miami Dale

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: None

Details: POWERFUL ARMS also she is a replacement player she probably becomes a replacement after Simon does and she got into blaseball because of that cute flowers pitcher and now she’s here but she LOVES Miami and she LOVES being bad at the game, she leans really hard into the neon aesthetic

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: good unthwackability and ok ruthlessness, shakespeareanism is her highest stat, would also be a great batter and has really good thwackability and divinity, GREAT vibes

Apollo-

Team: Mexico City Wild Wings

Position: Batter

Modifications: None

Details: founding member of the wings legal team who’s another replacement player that FEELS like he’s a season 1 player, he isn’t very good in general but REALLY good for the wings and is probably the mvp at some point but like he’s a really inconsistent hitter but when he DOES hit its POWERFUL and he gets a lot of RBI’s

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: SHOCKINGLY good musclitude and ground friction, GOD awful moxie

Larry-

Team: Dallas Steaks

Position: Batter

Modifications: None

Details: season one player who is like the teams designated player we beat up on because they’re awful but we love them, gets shadowed in the expansion era because he just wasn’t good anymore and he REFUSED to leave, he is the definition of “YOU CANT KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH THIS,” would always party but his forbidden knowledge is TRASH so it was never worth anything because he’s top ten in the league for career strikeouts

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: REALLY HIGH PATHETICISM HOLY SHIT but good ground friction and like, ok musclitude

Ema-

Team: Kansas City Breath Mints

Position: Batter

Modifications: Fire Eater

Details: replaced the first player incinerated on the team so she has a lot of fans because she’s been here a while but like also her career is forever impacted by the fact that people mourned so deeply before really appreciating her and a lot of fans can never really love her in the same way, but she has fire eater now and WILL cut a bitch down to size, she’s also definitely been attacked by consumers though, she also parties a LOT

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: good defender, high omniscience and tenaciousness

Lang-

Team: Houston Spies

Position: Batter

Modifications: Maximalist, Siphon

Details: replaced a SUPER popular player who was REALLY good at the game and struggled with a lot of the implications of their legacy but he ALSO became really good and a really iconic player to the team and eventually became a fan favorite, LITERALLY cannot stop freaking drinking blood hes so fucking massive now holy shit but like only his baserunning

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: PHENOMENAL baserunning just in general but his base thirst is low so he doesn’t actually steal that much, SUPER high moxie and musclitude

Kristoph-

Team: Baltimore Crabs

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: Returned, Debt

Details: season 1 player who was a really aggressively middling player who had deceptively high stars and they could never get rid of him until he finally got incinerated in late season 6/early season 7 but he gets necromancy-d on accident and no one wanted this now he just haunts the league, he joined blaseball to get notoriety and some level of fame and convinced Klavier to join him

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: high coldness and ok ruthlessness, unthwackability is fine, shakespeareanism is also good

Klavier-

Team: Originally on the Crabs, but feedbacked to the Seattle Garages

Position: Batter

Modifications: Spicy

Details: he signed up when Kristoph did. because he said that this would be something good to do as brothers and they even signed to the same team, carcinization really freaked him out but he was a season 1 crab and no one knew what would happen, he Feedbacked in like season 6 and kris got incinerated really shortly after he feedbacked which messed him up, he loves the garages vibes WAY more than he liked the crabs

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: high moxie and indulgence

Kay-

Team: Charleston Shoe Thieves

Position: Batter

Modifications: Flippers

Details: shoe thieves, batter, she was originally a shadows player and just sat there doing great thief things until she got called up for having very sneaky good stats (rod.net style) where she singles a lot and then just steals her way to third/home, voted to trust her in season 11 and now she has cool flippers

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: really high basethirst and laserlikeness, also very high anticapitalism, good thwack subpar musclitude

Sebastian-

Team: New York Millennials, possible feedback to the Thieves?

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: None

Details: his dad was a famous blaseball player before the ILB so he signed him up to play and didn’t get on the roster until maybe like season 9, really dramatic arc where he starts out really bad but slowly through incremental stat increases becomes pretty ok but then has a devastating allergic reaction and ends up having to be shadowed because he’s just unsaveable at this point, but still a big fan fave and people still talk about them, he would’ve been a pretty ok batter with really high defense but peanut destroyed that too

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: high highs and low lows and vibes are just… there

Juniper-

Team: Boston Flowers

Position: Originally a batter, but reverbs into Pitching

Modifications: None

Details: season 1 player who is really popular amongst the fans but isn’t well known outside of the fanbase she joined blaseball because she didn’t really have a choice and she was just working at the garden, she wasn’t a great batter but she’s a shockingly good pitcher, she had partied so much that she is now just undeniably good solely because she has partied THAT much

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: SHOCKINGLY good ruthlessness, its her only good stat though until parties make her good

Simon-

Team: Chicago Firefighters

Position: Batter

Modifications: Ego+

Details: another late season replacement that was made to be a edgelord with really good stat set up and he’s a super consistent batter who just also gets walked a lot and has a LOT of thirsty fans, REALLY good at dunking, one of the best idols for solo seeds but ONLY for a SINGLE season because he just underperforms his stars for NO reason and its infuriating, joined because he didn’t want athena to get recruited but she followed him anyways to find out what the hell happened to him and why he just vanished

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: HIGH musc/thwack/martyr with really low patheticism, absolutely ATROCIOUS vibes

Godot-

Team: Hellmouth Sunbeams, roams to the Tokyo Lift and then to the Canada Moist Talkers

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: Roamin’

Details: a season 1 player who would be a MUCH better batter but REFUSES to leave the rotation with deceptively high stars and one of the first players to get roamin’ and actually becomes good because of it infuriating LITERALLY everyone

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: have you seen bright zim? Yeah its just that. He has sixteen fingers for no reason

Trucy-

Team: Originally a Philadelphia Pies player, but feedbacks to the Yellowstone Magic

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: None

Details: Phoenix becomes her dad after she feedbacks, later season replacement probably surrounding the s7 instabilities and beanings and she got REALLY popular REALLY fast with the pies fans and over siesta but then she gets traded like the Monday after and it breaks the fans hearts, she’s not very good but she gets alternated into BEING good

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: moxie queen! Also chasiness and continuation, as well as good musclitude and vibes

Nahyuta-

Team: Originally on the Beams, but feedbacks to the Hawai’i Fridays

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: Attractor

Details: expansion era player who replaced an absolutely GARBAGE player so the fans are DELIGHTED by him, lets up a lot of walks but has shockingly pitched a no hitter despite only being here since season 13, was infused because of his good forbidden knowledge stats, still gets faxed out of the game because he has games where he just lets up a RIDICULOUS amount of runs, actually fit in really well with the Fridays, was observed (by Kristoph?) and then got redacted

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: uncle plasma… 2! Also REALLY big vibes range

Justine Courtney-

Team: New York Millennials, traded to the Breckenridge Jazz Hands

Position: Pitcher

Modifications: None

Details: joined the team before Sebastian probably around season 5, was pretty average at pitching but ate a peanut and had a yummy reaction which made her slightly above average but subpar ruthlessness made her still not great, traded away to the Jazz Hands after Sebastian was shadowed, really polarizing for fans there was a lot of fighting about whether or not to trade her from fans

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: ok ruthlessness

Mia-

Team: Yellowstone Magic

Position: Batter

Modifications: None

Details: was the season 1 stand out batter for the magic, she was a REALLY good season 1 player that fans STILL talk about even though she’s been dead since season 3, she was the person who was standing next to Phoenix when he appeared on the field and caught the ball that was flying towards him before it hit him in the face and she took it upon himself to get him acclimated to the game, she thought of him as a kid brother, she tried to keep Maya away from blaseball but couldn’t stop her from watching on TV, she originally joined to get away from the Fey clan and to try and do something with her life and also possibly find out what happened to her mother and she was promised social power and unlimited access to information

Notable Forbidden Knowledge: really solid statline for someone who never saw any improvements

Phoenix and Miles get together around season 6, right before the Jaylen stuff, then break up because they were both having a lot of emotions about the whole necromancy business and Miles was always on the idol board and there was a lot of uncertainty in their lives. I think a necromancy of Kristoph probably happens in the Expansion Era and he tries to get revenge on Phoenix for god knows what, and Miles ends up getting close with him again after a whole Grand Siesta of just being really emotionally charged friends and finally get together AGAIN in season 13 after a consumer attacks Phoenix, but this time they STAY together and probably get married because they're just so scared of losing each other.

Kay gets to fight god in season 9, no this probably wouldn't have been possible if she was a shadows player originally but uwu <3

Kay and Miles get to know each other because she tried to steal Miles shoes, but he caught her. He offered to make her dinner and they just had a good time, Kay hadn’t really been shown that kind of kindness in a WHILE and she... missed that sort of father figure in her life... so she just keeps trying to steal things from Miles and getting caught until he finally tells her that she can just... come over through the front door. He will never say that she is his daughter out loud, but the collective dadconcious Knows, and tells him that they are proud of him.

Maya and Franziska are rivals. They hate each other. When Maya gets 0 no it only makes it worse because it "ruins" Franziska's perfection as a pitcher and forces her to throw balls. They get to know each other over these pitch offs and start to realize that they actually aren't that different. Gay rights. They kiss. They have a great time over the Grand Siesta and make fun of their brothers, but they both have emergency bags in case the other one dies.

Dahlia Hawthrone would never get involved in Blaseball and everything she does is outside of the game but if she was she'd be on the Boston Flowers and she would be her team's Pudge. A god awful player who on occasion actually does something good and half the fans love her because of her character and half the fans hate her for the same reason and also she sucks at the game.

Most of them also still have their law degrees and also keep some semblance of what they do in the actual ace attorney games, except Ema who has of course factually failed the bar exam by nature of being on The Breath Mints.

#WOW ok this was super long but uwu *forces you all to see this*#anyways PLEASE ASK ME ABT THE ACE ATTORNEY BLASEBALL AU. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE #ace attorney #blaseball #roxy talks

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female-buckets · 2 years

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Okay I've considered it and I would take Chelsea in a heart beat. Sloots great but Chelsea? God I love her. Also shes younger, has experience working with sues system, stewie and jewell in the nt - might make for an easier transition. And also I think id trust her decision making and leadership skills over many many others. If they're chatting to sloot though even without much intent behind it it does say something as to their possible faith in jordin Canada though.

Okay let me ponder my point guard orb for a minute...

2023/2024 Western Hell Conference:

Sloot goes home to Seattle.

Chelsea goes home to Oakland.

Kelsey Plum becomes the Aces' starting PG because Becky has a soft spot for zippy scoring PGs.

Kristi Toliver continues to rough it out in LA with Derek Fisher's IG model roster.

Dallas fixes its identity crisis and Arike and Moriah figure out who's supposed to do what.

Skylar Diggins Smith finally hits a play-off buzzer beater for Phoenix and breaks her clutch curse.

Cheryl Reeve's well-timed rebuild pays off and Minnesota wins the 2024 Paige Bueckers lottery. Cheryl made some crossroads demon pact to summon a hometown hero PG as soon as the last one retired.

2023/2024 Eastern Developmental Conference:

Sabrina has an edge in the Eastern Developmental Conference and New York does pretty good with Brondello. But every road-trip out west, Sabrina has to play every elite PG in the league back to back to back.

Tampa gets a WNBA team and makes Courtney Williams the new mayor.

Curt Russell keeps Briann January because he just thinks she's neat. And she's a ninja. There's no downside. Plus, he doesn't want to break up his team. Connecticut will have to fire him if they want a rebuild.

The Mystics have the best draft odds for 2024 but they end up with the fourth pick. Washington DC's Washington state veteran Leilani Mitchell retires so they replace her with Washington state rookie Hailey Van Lith.

Atlanta picks Destanni Henderson in the 2022 draft because you can never have too many short guards in Atlanta apparently. After working out their artistic differences, Henny and Chenny get Atlanta back to the playoffs in 2023.

Atlanta realizes they have too many short guards so they waive Aari Mcdonald but Indiana rescues her. Aari Mcdonald and Kelsey Mitchell figure out some backcourt situation.

Chicago does a panicky rebuild after Candace retires and they flush everyone but Copper. She carries the team in 2023 with crazy stats that get her a UMMC contract. Copper gets Russian copper money to play in a copper jersey. The Sky wants good 2024 draft odds for Paige Bueckers but they end up with Caitlin Clark instead.

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imaginesandinserts · 4 years

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Irreverent Pt. 35 - The Fifth

Title: Irreverent Pt. 35 - The Fifth Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Reader Rating: M Words: 5130

Irreverent Series Masterlist

It's the middle of the night after a long case away involving a family annihilator, after which you and Aaron had picked up Jack and more or less collapsed into bed from sheer exhaustion. You're woken up suddenly and for a second you're not sure why until you feel Aaron shift erratically behind you. You turn slowly towards him to see his face contorted and a thin layer of sweat covering his brow. He's having a nightmare, and knowing everything he's been through, you can only imagine what it's about.

Reaching out slowly, so as to not startle him, you softly shake him. "Aaron, honey, wake up." It takes a bit more shaking to really get him out of his sleep. He wakes with a start and a shout and you worry he'll wake Jack. "Shh, it's okay, you're okay." Your hands are running over his chest and face, trying to help him calm down.

Aaron had been having the Foyet dream again. The dream where he's driving and driving and he hears Haley and he hears Jack, except now it's not just them, it's also you. He's driving and the car isn't moving fast enough and he hears that first gunshot that hits Haley. He hears yours voice - your voice asking him why he didn't make the deal, your voice telling him to hurry - and then a second gunshot.

He's shaking as he realizes that he's in bed, that you're there, and reasonably he knows that Jack is in his room down the hall. You're saying something and he's nodding but not sure what he's saying yes to. He feels cold and clammy and your hands are softly brushing back his hair as his breathing starts to become normal again. From the nightstand, you'd grabbed the glass of water and are handing it to him, your hand cupping his as he brings it up to his mouth.

"You're okay, you're alright. Everything's okay. Jack's alright. It's okay."

He nods, hearing you this time, and allows you to help him lay down, his head against your chest and your hands running over his arms and through his hair. It's helping. Reminding him. Grounding him. This is the first time he's had someone around for this nightmare. He's used to waking up alone and then getting up to check on Jack - just in case. But he has your voice in his ear, assuring him that Jack is alright.

He closes his eyes and focuses on the steady beat of your heart.

You're there.

*------------*

It had been a short case and it had ended relatively well all things considered - the Unsub was apprehended before he got his hands on his next victim. Sometimes you just take the wins you're handed, and so the team had flown out of Phoenix in good spirits, looking forward to a long weekend off. Rossi had already planned a barbeque at his place on Sunday and you and Aaron had plans to take Jack to the new Dinosaur exhibit at the Smithsonian on Saturday. Monday - if you all made it that far without a case - would be dedicated to introducing Jack to the Toy Story series. You'd ordered him a little Woody outfit and toy as a surprise and just received the notification that it was delivered, so it was perfect timing really.

"I'm just saying, he wasn't too far off the mark," you hear Spencer's voice as you're sitting sideways on the couch, your legs in his lap.

The latest Unsub had formed unhealthy attachments with women who he helped provide tech support to, so the conversation had turned to that again, as far as you could tell. JJ thought it was creepy how the guy had essentially used his access to the customer log to stalk his victims that fit his fantasy and the two of them had been talking it over as she was typing out her report. Her and Will had plans for tomorrow and you knew she wanted to get home early tonight so was doing her best to wrap up her work before you even landed.

You debated starting yours too as you saw that Hotch was working on some paper work as well. Emily and Derek however were sitting and chatting about something or the other and Rossi was reading a newspaper. Who did that anymore? You really needed to introduce him to a kindle or something. Maybe for Christmas. Then again he's a published author. He might take offense at having the feel of a real book be replaced with technology.

You decided to join JJ and Spencer's conversation - maybe you'd learn something to add to your report that you would type soon and not wait to do until after you landed. Of course not.

"What're you guys talking about, Spence?"

"I'm just trying to explain to JJ, that while the Unsub might have gone about it in an unorthodox manner," you hear JJ scoff at Spencer's description of the murders, "he wasn't wrong about the initial premise."

"Which is?" you prompted, trying to take mental notes at the least.

"That many people find love through work - be it a customer, client, or coworker. We spend at minimum, 40% of our waking hours at work. Add in the fact that many people tie their work to a facet of their identity, it makes sense that relationships formed in workplace settings have a high degree of success."

You nod along, taking a drink from the bottle of sparkling water you'd grabbed earlier.

"I mean, just look at you and Hotch - you two seem to be making it work."

You felt yourself choke on the water and cough, enough to get everyone's attention. No. You'd misheard. He hadn't said that. Why was it so quiet on the plane all of a sudden? They're all looking at you. You and Hotch. Emily and Derek had entirely stopped talking. Rossi had put down his paper. No one was saying anything really, as if they were waiting.

You meet Aaron's eyes and see the same question reflected there. Do they know?

You're about to contradict it, really, you are. You're going to ask Spencer what he's talking about. Because you and Hotch are not together - no sir. He must be mistaken. He must have you confused with someone else.

That option is taken from you, however, when Aaron straightens, putting down his pen, and asks Spencer, "How long have you known?"

It's JJ who answers however. "We didn't actually. Not for sure at least. Thanks for the confirmation." There's a smirk on her face and a knowing glint in her eye. You look around and see that they're all wearing pretty much identical smirks.

You can feel the incredulity building in your head. You'd been had. Actually no. You had not. Aaron had. You were all set to deny deny deny. He had to open his big mouth and ask a self-incriminating question. I should pull up the Virginia Bar records and check if he's still licensed because he's really losing his touch.

Aaron had the good grace to look a little ashamed at having been tricked so easily.

You're supposed to say something, but this isn't how you'd planned on telling everyone that you were sleeping with the boss. Well not just sleeping with, but still! There had been a plan. A carefully orchestrated plan involving dinner and copious amounts of expensive alcohol so that no one could be upset at having been lied to. It was very hard for people to be upset with you after you've fed them. Especially if you made your tiramisu. The tiramisu had been part of the plan!

You can feel your face heating up the longer the silence goes on. Realistically it's only a few seconds at most while both you and Aaron process that everyone knows now. But it feels like a very long stretch of quiet in which they're all just looking at you as if they expect you to start making out with one another any minute now.

"How'd you figure it out?" you finally ask, hoping that question would urge Spencer to talk and distract everyone from staring at you. You sneak a peak at Emily. She doesn't look mad or upset really. That's good.

"Well, I've suspected since Hotch got shot," Spencer explains. "I was pretty sure you made a large donation to the surgery department to get Dr. Kepner instead of Dr. Wilson, which didn't really make sense as something someone would do for a friend or a coworker. Though sometimes I do tend to misread those types of situations so I asked JJ and she agreed with my interpretation that it was unlikely you'd make a large donation for just anyone like that."

You look at Aaron and see him color just slightly. The two of you had had a bit of an argument about you throwing your money around to get your way, but you'd reminded him that his bullet wound had healed remarkably and there was barely a scar at all. Plus, it was your money and you could use it however you wanted and then you'd said something about how scared you'd been and how you didn't know how else to help and could he please just not be mad at you for doing something that was good for him. You weren't sure if it was what you said or the fact that you were sat in his lap pouting and upset when you'd done it, that had made him finally relent.

You still refused to tell him exactly how much you'd donated.

"We won't hold that against you, though," JJ says kindly. You can see the humor dancing in her eyes.

If the jet were to suddenly rip a hole and pull you clean through, you wouldn't be all too upset about it.

"You also said no to a date with Charlie," Derek adds. Detective Charles Bass was a friend of Derek's from the Chicago PD whom you'd met on the case prior. "You and I both know he's your type, princess." Derek has a teasing smile on his face that helps you calm down a little bit.

You rolled your eyes but didn't refute his claim. He wasn't wrong. Detective Bass was incredibly good looking and charming and exactly your type if you weren't already completely head over heels for a certain unit chief. Aaron had laughed when you told him and then proceeded to remind you exactly why you said no to dates with other men. You two were lucky no one had heard you with how thin hotel room walls could be. Though now you have to wonder if they had indeed heard you but were adding it to the pile of evidence they'd been collecting.

"And then," Emily decides to finally contribute, prompting you to really look at her, "when I was taking the lunch order, and Hotch was busy, you knew his sandwich order exactly. When I handed it to him he asked how I knew that he didn't like mayonnaise on his roast beef sandwiches. I didn't know that. But you sure did." Emily has a smug look on her face and there's a promise in her eyes that the two of you will be discussing this later. In detail.

You're just sitting there now, shaking your head. It was embarrassing to have your profiler coworkers point out things that you really should've known to be more careful about. You're sure Aaron feels similarly awkward because he's just silently looking at each person as they speak, a flush coloring his face and neck.

Rossi looks like the cat that ate the canary, however he is conspicuously quiet. You have to wonder how long he's known that the others suspect you and Hotch were together. However none of them seem upset really or even surprised so that has to be of some solace to Aaron. He'd had the ridiculous notion that Derek and Emily would think he was taking advantage of you or some nonsense. As if anyone could possibly think that of him.

"And finally, there was the case in LA a few weeks back when we got called in late and both you and Hotch arrived around the same time. Which in and of itself wouldn't be too odd, but you were wearing an emerald green cocktail dress with off the shoulder sleeves and Hotch was also dressed up and wearing a tie that matched your dress exactly. Hotch doesn't have green ties." Spencer relays all of this as though it's all oh so obvious and you really want to call him a weirdo for knowing what ties Hotch does and doesn't have - but he's right. You'd bought him that green tie because it was your favorite color and he'd matched your dress when the two of you had gone out to dinner on a rare night off. "Plus, the two of you often tend to match. Is that on purpose or subconscious - I've been wanting to ask."

You look down at your red blouse and then across to Aaron's red tie. Well, if any of them hadn't believed it before, they sure did now.

You might as well have been caught red-handed.

*------------*

Sunday was a nice and sunny day. You and Aaron had arrived at Rossi's together with Jack. In the same car. That was a definite perk of everyone knowing - the two of you had been growing tired of always bringing two cars to and from places and trying your best to arrive a few minutes after the other.

Jack had immediately found Henry and the two of them were playing in the shallow end of the pool with Aaron and Will keeping watch nearby, while Rossi and Reid manned the grill. Well Rossi was doing the grilling. Spencer was spouting facts about the origins of barbeque which Aaron had long since tuned out from.

He looks over as you lay in a deck chair near the girls and Derek. Prentiss, JJ, and Garcia had all opted for bikinis and were working on their tans. You'd taken off your coverup and were wearing a wine colored one piece swimsuit underneath, your hair tied up in a high ponytail reminiscent of some pop star whose name he could never remember. Last week, he had come home to you and Jack singing along to her teeny bopper tunes and when he'd complained you'd told him that music didn't stop with the Beatles and it was good to have balance. He'd had the song stuck in his head for days.

All in all the team had taken the two of you dating relatively well. They'd all said they were happy for the two of you and no one seemed too upset at having been kept in the dark about it. He supposed he was grateful given the group's history with secrets. He was also pretty sure he'd seen some money exchange hands afterwards, however had decided to not bring that up with you - he had a feeling you wouldn't be thrilled to know your coworkers were betting on your personal life.

On the other side of the pool, you were getting settled in and enjoying the warmth of the sun on your skin. Emily's lying next to you on her stomach after you'd finished lathering her back with sunscreen.

"Derek, where's Savannah?" JJ asks, taking a sip from the giant margarita glass that Rossi had handed each of you as you entered. She's sitting up in her chair, sunglasses perched on her head and an eye on Henry the entire time.

"She's on call, but she says hello," Derek answers. You know it's been rough on them trying to see each other despite both of their busy schedules. That's one thing you're grateful for with you and Aaron working on the same team - you get to see him at home and at work. Though, you suppose you might as well enjoy it while it lasts. McKinney has been hinting at getting you working - part time at least - with some local task force groups to increase your exposure. You'd end up splitting your time between that and the BAU.

"Alright, let's talk about what we all really want to know more about!" Penelope turns to you, her face a mixture of curiosity and childlike glee. Heat and alcohol were not a good mix. "Y/N, tell us more about you and Hotch!"

You'd been dreading this. You'd told Aaron as much when the two of you were getting ready that morning and at this moment you resented him for being on the other side of the pool with Will. Will who wasn't nosey and minded his own business.

Sighing, you prop yourself up to take a sip of your own drink. "What do you guys want to know?"

"How long have you been together? Officially."

"A few months - since the career day conversation."

"That long?!" JJ's eyes widen in surprise.

"Didn't you hide Will from us for almost half a year?" Derek raises an eyebrow at her hypocrisy however she doesn't seem perturbed.

"Yes, but that was different. Hotch and Y/N are both around us practically 24/7. I'm surprised they managed to hide it that long."

You laugh. "Well we obviously weren't that good at the hiding if you guys figured it out."

"Don't sell yourself short, princess. If pretty boy hadn't told us all about the hospital thing we wouldn't have given it too much thought."

"He's right," Emily agrees. "You and Hotch being together isn't like a surprise, but it is also."

"What do you mean?" You're intrigued by that because that's something that's bothered you since you declared your relationship to Strauss. She hadn't been surprised and she'd said no one else would be either. You hadn't really taken her word for it.

"I mean, you guys were basically a couple already - all the stuff you did with Jack, always partnering up together, not to mention the fact that Hotch has been in love with you forever."

You roll your eyes. Everyone's said that - Emily, Rossi, even Aaron when he told you that he'd loved you for years. You couldn't help but be a bit skeptical. Years? Really? Deep down you knew the reason why you're bothered - it's because you can imagine how painful that must've been for him if it was true - you'd flirted with other men, you'd dated, and then there had been the time when you two were barely speaking. While that had been awful for you as well, you couldn't imagine how much worse it was for him knowing he was in love with you and you two were barely talking.

"But also it was a small surprise," JJ continues, drawing your attention back. "Like, none of us thought Hotch was your type - at least based on the other guys we've seen you date. We honestly thought about setting him up a few times just to help him get over it and move on."

That was news to you. No one had ever mentioned wanting to set Hotch up with anyone to you. "Why didn't you?"

You see JJ and Emily exchange a look. Emily's the one who answers, though she seems hesitant. "Well, we did. Once. We set him up on a blind date with my friend Sarah. Apparently all he did was talk about the team and Jack…and you."

You raised your eyebrows at that and looked over at Aaron, throwing Jack into the water. "He talked about me?"

"According to Sarah, it seemed like he was hung up on some girl named Y/N," JJ teases, "and she was pretty upset that we wasted her time."

You can't help the pleased smile or the slight color that comes to your face. You wanted to ask why none of them had told you, but you knew the answer. They wouldn't betray Aaron like that.

"So," and you can tell this is Emily's way of changing the subject back to what she really wants to talk about. "How's the sex?" Her mouth is twisted into a smirk, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Derek takes that as his cue to excuse himself from the girl talk and walks over to join Rossi at the grill. As if you'd talk about that with him there anyways.

You shake your head. "Emily he's your boss."

"He's your boss too, and you're sleeping with him. I just wanna know what it's like."

JJ and Penelope are also looking at you expectantly. You bite your lip, and with a sigh you admit, "It's the best sex of my life."

Their loud ooohs and teasing squeals catch the guys' attention and you meet Aaron's gaze as he's walking over.

Aaron can sense the girls' eyes on him as he walks over to you to grab the keys to the car. Jack wanted to grab the waterguns to play with.

"Hey, the keys still in your bag?"

You nod as he grabs the bag from the other side of your chair and looks for the car keys. You'd all become far too quiet the second he'd approached. Emily was stifling a dirty smirk very very poorly and both JJ and Penelope were still giggling behind their drinks.

"Were you talking about me?" he asks, a small smirk on his face as he fishes out the keys.

"Yes," Emily replies, flipping her sunglasses up to meet his eyes. "Now go away so we can continue."

Aaron chuckles and shakes his head. He's about to walk away, but as he passes the back of your chair, you suddenly feel a light tug at your ponytail, and before you can react he's pulled your head back and captured your lips in a sweet kiss that takes your breath away. Letting go, he throws a wink at your shocked face before strolling away.

You take a second before you look back at the girls and you're met with three identical faces of outright surprise.

Emily recovers first, fanning herself with her hand. "Has Hotch always been this hot?"

The four of you can't help but laugh again.

Yes he has.

*------------*

You'd changed out of your swimsuit and into a dress after playing waterguns with Jack and Henry in the afternoon. The food and drinks had flowed throughout the day, and everyone had moved into Rossi's large living room as the sun set. It was pretty much assumed that no one was in a state to drive back home that night.

Jack had eventually tuckered himself out and fallen asleep in your lap before Aaron picked him up and took him to the guest bedroom to lay him down next to Henry. You were feeling a little sleepy yourself, tucked into Emily's side on the large couch, lazily holding a glass of wine, and trying to follow the conversation.

"So, he just said you weren't good? Like, straight up?" JJ looks appalled that anyone could be so rude to someone's face.

"Yeah, can you believe it? I had an off day and still went down on him and he comes at me with that," Emily replies, the rage clear on her face. Her latest paramour had been less than appreciative of her skills and she had been filling you all in on the aftermath.

"You did dump him, didn't you sugar?" Penelope was equally worked up, her nostrils flaring.

"Of course," Emily assures her, "And then," she continues a bit hesitantly, "I did something…else."

That definitely caught your attention. "Oh God…what'd you do Em?"

"Well, I may have gone through my contacts and obtained more personal feedback." She's not looking at you and instead speaking into her wine glass. You're pretty sure it's her third and that was after margaritas all afternoon.

You blink as you process what she had said. However, Penelope beats you to it. "You called up your exes and ASKED?!"

"How else am I supposed to know? I was feeling insecure and I needed to know if he was right. There isn't exactly a Yelp to rate blowjob skills."

You groaned. Of course she had.

"Emily, you can't just call people and ask them that." You couldn't believe she'd done that. You could not even fathom.

"Why not? I feel better and I know he was wrong."

You just shook your head, smiling in spite of yourself. Suppose you do have to admire the confidence.

"Maybe I should do that," Penelope says, twirling her phone in her hands.

"Alright, you're cut off." You grabbed her glass from her hand and moved it to the table. "We can't all just go around asking men to rate us." This was an entirely alcohol fueled conversation at this point.

JJ agreed with you, making a grab for Emily's glass as well, which she dodged. Damn those undercover agent reflexes.

"I don't know Y/N," Emily teased, "you always like being the best. Wouldn't it be nice to know for sure."

You narrowed your eyes at her.

Before you could say anything else, however, she'd already called out. "Hotch!"

You watch Aaron turn from his conversation with Reid, beer bottle in hand. He looked a little flushed from the day drinking, his hair flopping adorably to his forehead. "Yes?"

"Does Y/N give good head?"

You feel your jaw drop and your eyes widen in horror. You're already shaking your head at Aaron. You're waiting for him to say that it wasn't appropriate. Waiting for him to ignore it and roll his eyes and turn away. Instead he looks at you and the look in his eyes tells you exactly what he's thinking about. You can feel yourself heat up under his gaze.

Aaron, in his defense, was a few beers in and his guard had been down. He'd spent the entire day watching you in your bathing suit and when Prentiss - blatantly - asked him if you gave good head, his mind went immediately to a few weeks back.

A few weeks back when you'd woken up before him - which you rarely did. He had woken to the feeling of little kitten licks on the tip of his cock and the sight of you knelt between his legs. He'd shifted, alerting you to the fact that he was awake, and you'd looked up at him with the cutest smile.

"Good morning." He'd raised an eyebrow, at your position.

You'd hummed in response, taking him into your mouth, tongue swirling around the head, and released him with a kiss on the tip.

His eyes darkened as he shifted to sit against the headboard and watched you move with him.

"What do I owe this wakeup call to?"

You'd appraised him, still knelt between his legs, as if debating exactly what to say. He knew you weren't incredibly experienced in this particular area and he'd been more than happy to forego it altogether in your time together thus far. You bit your lip, and spoke slowly. "You know that I haven't done this much."

He nods, watching you fidget with your hands.

"Will you teach me?"

He felt a jolt of need that went straight to his cock. He was about to imprint this image of you to his mind forever - kneeling between his legs, doe eyes looking up at him from under your lashes, mouth pouty and lips glossy from his precome coating them. This would be the image that he would forever bring to the forefront anytime he was unfortunate enough to spend a night without you.

He lets out a shaky breath before nodding yes.

You were an incredibly fast learner.

You watch as Aaron tips the head of the beer bottle to his mouth and takes another drag, before lowering it. He looks right at you when he finally speaks, deliberately slow. "I have no complaints."

You let out a breath of disbelief and the girls started laughing around you as he turned back around to his conversation amongst jostling from Derek and Rossi. Cocky little…

When you walked to the kitchen to grab some water, you could feel his eyes on you and you're not surprised when he joins you a moment later, arms circling your waist from behind.

"Hi." His breath is warm against your neck and you can tell he's just this side of drunk because he's very loosely holding himself to you.

You simply hummed as he pressed his lips to your neck. He had been very touchy today and to be honest, you hadn't expected this level of PDA from Aaron. You'd expected him to be much more reserved, though that's likely exactly what would happen once everyone was back at work.

"Was that the right answer?" He mumbles into your skin, leaving open mouth kisses along your neck.

You smile, rolling your eyes. "The right answer was I plead the fifth. I thought you were a lawyer."

His chest rumbles with laughter behind you and you can hear the teasing smile in his voice. "Well, your honor, I think I'm a few beers in and allowed to appreciate my girlfriend's skills. Any chance I could talk you into another demonstration?" Oh he was really pushing his luck.

You bite your lip to prevent the grin that's threatening to break out. "I thought you were drunk."

You try to turn to face him but he pushes you into the counter, grinding against you. "Not that drunk."

He moves his hand to cup your jaw, turning your face towards him, and capturing your lips in a wet, dirty kiss that leaves you moaning and grinding back into him.

You're grateful the kitchen is hidden from view of the living room and no one has walked in on you both yet.

"Aaron, we can't have sex in Rossi's house," you whisper urgently when he gives you a moment to breathe.

"You're kidding, right? He told me where the condoms are."

You scoff. As if the two of you even used condoms.

But he's looking at you earnestly and you chance another look in the direction of the living room. It sounded like everyone was talking and distracted. They probably wouldn't miss you.

He can see the wheels turning in your head, and he smiles triumphantly as he sees the acceptance in your eyes.

"You're a bad influence Agent Hotchner," you say as his lips meet yours again and the two of you start making your way down the hallway to the back of the house.

#Criminal Minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds reader insert #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #hotch #hotch x reader #hotch x you #hotch x y/n #irreverentseries

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xhxhxhx · 4 years

Text

Rick Perlstein, Reaganland (Simon & Schuster, 2020):

AT THE SAME TIME, HOWEVER, a separate anti-liberal backlash was taking root. It was spurred by summer after summer of race riots, and its political base was not business but middle-class homeowners, who blamed civil rights and the War on Poverty for a civilization-threatening breakdown in law and order. Business was largely on the liberal side of this issue—like the author of a 1966 article in the Harvard Business Review predicting “riots and arson and spreading slums” if “the businessman does not accept his rightful role as leader in the push for the goals of the ‘Great Society’ (or whatever tag he wants to give it).”

No, business’s backlash, its emergence as a [class for itself], came a little bit later, in response to a new, and different, sort of liberalism—one whose buzzwords were “environmentalism” and “consumerism,” and which, unlike Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty, placed corporate power squarely in its sights.

Date its origin to the summer of 1967. Around the same time Congress was responding to middle-class constituent anger over black riots by voting down a modest bill funding rodent control in the slums, a remarkable hearing was held by the Senate Committee on Commerce, Science, and Transportation, chaired by Senator Warren Magnuson of Washington State. Magnuson had been approached by a Seattle physician who described a “chronic, unrelenting procession of burned and scarred children” in his work at Seattle Children’s Hospital, caused by the sort of flammable fabrics that had supposedly been outlawed by the Flammable Fabrics Act of 1953. That law, however, had been written by industry lobbyists. Back then, Commerce Committee members were classed by what industry they served: “textile senators,” “trucking senators,” “railroad senators,” “tobacco senators” (the leading tobacco senator was the former president of the Tobacco Institute). They sponsored protectionist laws written by their benefactors—like the Wool Products Labeling Act, which banned manufacturers from selling a product as wool if it contained a single strand of recycled or synthetic fiber; or bills fixing prices for legacy companies. The process was so corrupt that when Chairman Magnuson hired a young lawyer in 1964 named Michael Pertschuk to run the committee’s portfolio of consumer products legislation, the fellow he replaced congratulated him on all the price-fixed products, from audio equipment to toasters, that he soon would be getting for free.

This all would soon be a thing of the past.

Magnuson had been a fisheries senator and an aviation senator. After almost losing his seat in 1962, however, he reinvented himself aggressively as a new kind of liberal legislative entrepreneur: a consumerist senator. He put Pertschuk to work toughening up the limp Flammable Fabrics Act. A textile industry lobbyist replied “blood would run in the halls of Congress” before his industry let it pass. But the hearings Pertschuk staged in July of 1967 were a masterpiece of legislative melodrama. The Seattle doctor testified: “In all honesty, I must say I do not consider it a triumph when the life of a severely burned child is saved.… Death may be more merciful.” A beloved CBS News commentator told the story of his eleven-year-old daughter, burned nearly to death when a cotton blouse that met federal safety standards combusted when a match was dropped on it. A representative of the Cotton Textile Council boasted of the “admirable” results produced by its standards committee. The square-jawed and stentorian Magnuson replied:

“How often does your standards committee meet?”

“Regularly, Senator.”

How often, Magnuson followed up, before they’d received his recent letter warning them of impending congressional action?

“Ten years,” the lobbyist admitted.

The amendments passed the committee unanimously, then both houses, virtually unchanged. President Johnson signed the bill with Magnuson by his side. The following day he signed the first update to meat inspection law since the 1906 Pure Food and Drug Act, with Upton Sinclair, the novelist whose 1905 exposé The Jungle had inspired it, standing next to him. A landmark “truth in lending” bill went to conference six weeks later. The former senator Paul Douglas, a New Deal economist who had lost his seat in 1966 largely because white Chicago factory workers turned their back on him because of his advocacy for a failed bill outlawing housing discrimination, had been pressing for it since the 1950s, but was defeated in the Finance Committee session after session. Now, however, it passed the committee unanimously.

The floodgates opened: to laws fighting deceptive practices by door-to-door salesmen and moving companies, outlawing hazardous radiation from electronics equipment, closing gaps in poultry and fish inspection, demanding accuracy in product warranties, regulating cigarettes. “Consumer Interests: Legislative Derby Has Begun,” one Midwestern newspaper reported early in 1968. That headline appeared just as Congress voted to outlaw housing discrimination in a desperate response to the riots following the April 4, 1968, assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. The version that passed, however, weaker than one killed in 1966, added near-police-state provisions limiting militant blacks’ freedom to travel. Riots had burned down Lyndon Johnson’s War on Poverty. “Consumerism” sprung forth phoenix-like from the ashes.

Politicians discovered that scourging industry greed was the smart political play. It certainly was for Magnuson, who glided to reelection in 1970 with ads that bragged, “There’s a law that forced Detroit to make cars safer—Senator Magnuson’s law. There’s a law that keeps the gas pipelines under your house from blowing up—Senator Magnuson’s law. There’s a law that makes food labels tell the truth—Senator Magnuson’s law. Keep the big boys honest; let’s keep Maggie in the Senate.”

It heralded a remarkable shift in public opinion. In 1966, 55 percent of Americans had a “great deal of confidence in the leaders of major companies.” Five years later, the percentage was 27 percent. Between 1968 and 1970, the portion believing “business tries to strike a fair balance between profits and the interest of the public” fell from 70 percent to 33 percent. Wrote pollster Lou Harris, “People have come to be skeptical about American ‘know-how,’ worried that it might pollute, contaminate, poison, or even kill them.”

[...]

IDEALISTIC YOUNG LAWYERS FLOCKED TO the organizations [Ralph] Nader began forming [in the late 1960s]. The first product of these “Nader’s Raiders” was a 185-page report on the Federal Trade Commission, a notoriously toothless regulatory body that took, on average, four years to investigate every complaint, punishing the guilty with unenforceable orders to cease and desist. The monograph was couriered to 150 key journalists out of the back of a Raider’s Volkswagen. It called the FTC a “self-parody of bureaucracy, fat with cronyism, torpid through inbreeding unusual even for Washington, manipulated by the agents of commercial predators, impervious to government or citizen monitoring,” ridden with “alcoholism, spectacular lassitude, and office absenteeism.”

By then the president was Richard Nixon, who had to accede to the new anti-corporate mood just to maintain political credibility. He ordered up his own FTC investigation. It arrived at similar conclusions. So Nixon replaced the FTC director with the shrewdest bureaucrat in his administration, Caspar “Cap the Knife” Weinberger, who roared out of the starting gate with actions against dubious advertising claims of such blue-chip products as Hi-C, Listerine, Wonder Bread, and McDonald’s.

Nixon then signed a landmark mine safety law and the National Environmental Policy Act, establishing the first new independent federal regulatory agency since 1938, then added another with a law authorizing the Occupational Safety and Health Administration. That project was inherited from the Johnson administration, and at first, Nixon’s version was so mild that the U.S. Chamber of Commerce endorsed it. But the “creature that ultimately stomped out of Congress,” a historian recounted, was a “Frankenstein of Chamber members’ nightmares.” Federal agents had never had the authority to inspect individual businesses for health and safety violations. OSHA gave them the power to do it without warrants, then levy hefty fines with no avenue for appeal. Richard Nixon didn’t dare veto it.

Nor did he veto tough amendments to the Clean Air Act of 1963 that included something nearly unprecedented in previous environmental legislation: specific deadlines for compliance. It also enjoined the new EPA from considering costs in establishing ambient air standards—inspiring Robert Griffin, a Republican automotive senator from Michigan, to snarl that the 1975 deadline for limiting auto exhaust pollutants “holds a gun to the head of the American automobile industry in a very dangerous game of roulette.” The technology to implement the standards, he complained, did not exist. Democrat Edmund Muskie of Maine, the leader of senate environmentalists, responded, “This deadline is based not, I repeat, not, on economic and technological feasibility, but on considerations of public health.… Detroit has told the nation that Americans cannot live without the automobile. This legislation would tell Detroit that if this is the case, then they must make an automobile with which the American people can live.” The version that passed the Senate 73–2 was stronger than what had been debated in any hearing. A cowed GM lobbyist told the National Journal that “the atmosphere was such that offering amendments seemed pointless,” and that “I wouldn’t think of asking anybody to vote against the bill.”

The Senate Commerce Committee, that former redoubt of trucking senators, railroad senators, textile senators, and tobacco senators, became a regulator’s paradise. At confirmation hearings for a new FTC head, Frank Moss congratulated the agency for having “stretched its powers to provide a credible countervailing public force to the enormous economic and political power of huge corporate conglomerates which today dominate American enterprise. That is as it should be.” Then one of Moss’s conservative colleagues, Senator Ted Stevens, Republican of Alaska, asked the nominee to “become a real zealot in terms of consumer affairs,” tough enough that “these big businesspeople will complain.”

In 1971, Webster’s added the word consumerism to its Third New International Dictionary. A book called America, Inc.: Who Owns and Operates the United States? coauthored by the Washington Post’s consumer reporter and original Nader champion Morton Mintz rode the bestseller list for months. Children begged at bedtime to hear Dr. Seuss’s new book The Lorax, in which a pitiless capitalist “biggers” his business by harvesting every last Truffula tree, crying triumphantly, “Business is business and business must grow!” and leaving behind a barren hellscape. Gore Vidal published a cover article in Esquire touting Nader for president, and 78 percent of columnist Mike Royko’s readers who sent back a questionnaire he published said they wanted him as the Democrats’ presidential nominee. Another new independent regulatory agency, the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration, was born. Congress passed bills requiring childproof packaging for poisonous substances, killing federal subsidies for a supersonic transport plane, restricting lead in house paint, and establishing safety standards for recreational boats. Nixon signed them—not because he was a closet liberal, but because, as his aide Bryce Harlow, a former lobbyist for Procter & Gamble, delicately explained to the American Advertising Federation, though “President Nixon profoundly respects the critical contribution made by industry to the vitality and strength of the American economy, if this respect were to over-influence his actions, I am certain that the fall of 1972 would bring a new and hostile team to the White House.”

Nader had by then established a permanent presence in the capital, based in a decrepit mansion which had been slated for demolition in the down-market Dupont Circle neighborhood, where, amid a shambles of borrowed third-hand furniture and wooden fruit crates stuffed with books and files, staggeringly devoted young Ivy League–trained Nader’s Raiders institutionalized their hero’s agenda. The neighborhood was pocked with similar offices. Common Cause, Friends of the Earth, the Natural Resources Defense Council, Nader’s own Public Citizen, Environmental Action, the Center for Law and Social Policy, and the Consumer Federation of America were all established in 1969 or 1970. Nader started six new organizations in 1971 alone, including Public Citizen, a membership group that raised more than $1 million from sixty-two thousand donors in its first year.

That was another new pattern. Throughout the seventies, pundits cast their eye on declining election turnout and agonized over voter apathy. But apathy at the polls did not extend to joining consumer and environmental organizations, whose memberships exploded, thanks in part to the same computer-based direct mail technology that Richard Viguerie employed. Nearly one hundred thousand households contributed at least $70 to not one, not two, but three progressive membership groups. Major foundations pitched in, too. Thanks to the shower of cash—and because most new consumer and environmental laws awarded attorneys’ fees to plaintiffs who sued to enforce them—lawsuits against corporations increased exponentially.

George McGovern considered Nader as his running mate. (He replied, “I’m an advocate for justice and that doesn’t mix with the needs of politics.”) Nixon vetoed the 1972 Clean Water Act, for its “staggering, budget-wrecking” $24 billion cost—but his veto was overridden with considerable Republican votes. In October, he signed a law establishing the Consumer Product Safety Commission, the third new regulatory agency in three years.

Then, however, following his landslide reelection, he proposed a radical right-wing budget that Newsweek described as “one of the most significant American political documents since the dawning of the New Deal,” intended to “pull the government back from the proliferating social concerns of the years from Franklin Roosevelt to Lyndon Johnson.” Thanks to Watergate, he never got the chance. Senator Sam Ervin’s televised hearings had reverberated with accounts of briefcases full of corporate cash laundered through the Mexican subsidiaries of blue-chip firms like American Airlines, Goodyear, and 3M. In the midst of it came the first energy crisis, which a majority of Americans—and some senators—believed the big energy companies had cooked up to line their pockets. Pollster Daniel Yankelovich found that 70 percent of Americans believed big business controlled government through illegal bribes. And that was before spectacular revelations, following Nixon’s resignation, that the same slush funds companies maintained to bribe Nixon were also used to pay off foreign officials. The Securities and Exchange Commission’s chief of enforcement was gobsmacked. “Until two or three years ago,” he said, “I genuinely thought the conduct of business… was generally rising. But what can you say about the revelations of the last couple or three years?”

Under President Ford, government checks on corporate power expanded yet further. One of the first laws he signed was the Employment Retirement Income Security Act, or ERISA, which strictly enforced the pension promises companies made to their employees, placing thousands of company’s books under federal scrutiny for the first time. In 1975 he signed the Energy Policy and Conservation Act, a landmark law demanding that every American car manufacturer achieve a “Corporate Average Fuel Economy,” or CAFE, of eighteen miles per gallon by the 1978 model year. That meant every manufacturer had to redesign every car on the drawing boards. An automotive think tank estimated that it would cost manufacturers $60 billion to $80 billion, virtually their entire store of capital assets, and made the companies fear for their very survival. A group of automotive lobbyists approached the chief of staff of Edmund Muskie’s environmental subcommittee, Leon Billings, with a memo suggesting some ideas on the bill. Billings fashioned a paper airplane out of the document and sailed it straight over their heads.

This passage made me change my mind about Richard Nixon.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years

Text

Eccentricity [Chapter 6: You Know You Got Me In The Palm Of Your Hand]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: Mean It by Lauv.

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex and violence, slavery in American history.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Tagging: @queen-turtle-boiii @bramblesforbreakfast @writerxinthedark @maggieroseevans @culturefiendtrashqueen @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @escabell @im-an-adult-ish @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @deacyblues @tensecondvacation @brianssixpence @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @some-major-ishues @haileymorelikestupid @loveandbeloved29

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 💜

What The Fuck, Washington Animals Are Weird

I woke up in a bedroom drenched in a rainbow of darkness, shades of grey vacillating from charcoal to the wings of a mourning dove; indolent dawn rain pattered against the window. There were no glaring veins of sunlight spilling in through gaps in the curtains, no promise of dry invigorating heat, no whistle of vicious parched wind. Toto, we’re not in Phoenix anymore.

“Ugh,” I complained to the empty room, unraveling from a tangle of blankets patterned with cacti and pure white clouds and rust-orange suns.

I clicked off my iPhone alarm—I’d beaten it by two minutes; my circadian rhythm was finally conceding that this whole Pacific Time thing was permanent—and read my nine new texts from Joe.

3:12 a.m.: Hey it’s an emergency what’s the plural of octopus

3:13 a.m.: Rami is insisting that it is octopuses

3:14 a.m.: But it’s octopi, right? Right?? I just announced in front of everyone that it’s octopi

3:15 a.m.: Scarlett is verbally abusing me

3:18 a.m.: Oh you are probably asleep

3:21 a.m.: Update, according to the internet Rami is right and now I have to assume a new identity and move to Antarctica

3:25 a.m.: We can discuss logistics of the Antarctica relocation tomorrow

3:26 a.m.: Hope you like penguins

3:30 a.m.: Okay goodnight!! Don’t let the mythical creatures bite!!

“That man,” I murmured to myself, smiling.

I typed out: It’s definitely octopuses, you clown. Then I deleted ‘clown’ and replaced it with its Italian equivalent: pagliaccio. Text sent.

Joe responded almost instantly. I had to ask Lucy what pagliaccio meant and now she’s verbally abusing me too. Send help. See you at lunch. xx

Wait, two Xs? What did Xs mean?? Kisses???

Did Joseph Francis Mazzello, sexy undead Italian man, just send me multiple text kisses?

“You’re gonna give me an aneurism, Chicago boy,” I muttered at my phone as I slid it into the pocket of my flannel pajama pants. And then I glanced out the bedroom window into a tussle of rain and thick, caliginous fog.

Just a few feet beyond the misted glass, its leathery talons hooked around a branch of Charlie’s decades-old red alder tree, was an owl. But not just any owl. A hulking, spotlessly white owl.

“Oh, hey, you,” I whispered, leaning closer, pressing my palms against the cold window. My hands left transparent imprints in the condensation. “Hey, buddy. Aren’t you supposed to be sleeping? I sure wish I was. Did something wake you up? Did your idiot vampire boyfriend disturb you with a series of ridiculous texts?”

The owl just contemplated me with unnervingly vast, slick, engrossed eyes. And there was something else, too: those eyes were blood red.

“So you’re an albino owl, huh big guy? Good for you. You know, usually albino animals don’t last all that long in the wild. Because they’re really easy for predators and prey to spot. Or they get skin cancer. So congratulations on living to become the voluptuous, tremendously creepy creature that you are today. Job well done.”

The owl stared back at me unflinchingly, blinked, then resumed staring. Rainwater gathered in swelling beads like blood drops on its ivory-colored beak and talons.

“Well,” I noted, turning away and grabbing my shower towel off the back of the desk chair. “You don’t get that in Arizona.”

Thirty minutes later, I was bounding down the stairs two at a time to meet Charlie in the kitchen. He was browsing through his daily newspaper at the table, drinking coffee and nibbling messily on burnt triangles of toast. Crumbs littered his moustache.

“You didn’t tell me that living here came with the added benefit of freaky albino animal friends.”

Charlie crinkled his forehead at me. “Huh?”

“How was bowling with the dads last night?”

“Oh, awesome!” he exclaimed, folding up his newspaper and slapping it down on the table. “We bowled against the team from Mora and it came right down to the wire, but we caught them. Dr. Lee got a strike on his very last turn. He always seems to do that...he’ll be bowling hit or miss all night and then when it really matters he manages to pull a strike out of nowhere. He’s a beast.”

“He’s a pretty remarkable guy,” I agreed, rummaging through the cabinets for Pop-Tarts.

“He mentioned that you and his son were really hitting it off,” Charlie said, grinning. “Not the ragey blond one. The spindly annoying one. What’s his name again? Josh? Jimmy?”

“Joe.” I conjured up my best poker face of lofty indifference. It crumbled like a sandcastle beneath reckless, rushing footsteps.

“Ohhhh, I saw that!” Charlie said, pointing, delighted. “Check out that smile. My gorgeous, brilliant progeny has a crush. I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be single for long up here. Alright, I’m ready. Bring on the grandchildren.”

“Shut up,” I pleaded good-naturedly.

“Relax, I have great news. According to Gwil, that Joe kid is pretty wild about you too.”

“Oh, is that what you old guys do between bowling turns? Betray your children’s deepest confidences? Matchmake them over nachos and chili cheese dogs?” Still, my curiosity was piqued. “What else did Dr. Lee say about Joe?”

“I think the exact word he used was...” Charlie reminisced, sipping his coffee, curls of steam pouring over the rim of the mug. “Smitten.”

Supernatural Pictionary

I turned the notebook to Joe so he could see; everyone else momentarily covered their eyes or looked away. Then Lucy started the timer on her iPhone. Thirty seconds.

“Go!” Lucy announced.

“I think it’s a boat,” Rami said, hesitantly, haltingly, squinting at Joe with great concentration.

“Do you?” Joe teased.

“Yeah. But I’m also getting something about a fish.”

“Maybe I’m trying to make you think it’s a fish because it’s actually a boat,” Joe replied flippantly.

Rami muttered: “Or you want me to think it’s a boat because it’s actually a fish.”

“Interesting.”

“Now you’re mentally singing Never Gonna Give You Up just to fuck with me.”

Joe gasped, pressing a palm to his chest. “That doesn’t sound like something I would do!”

Scarlett snickered, dunking her chicken tender in honey mustard, slurping Coke through a straw clenched between crimson-painted lips. “That sounds exactly like something you would do.”

“Fifteen seconds,” Lucy warned.

“Fish or boat, boat or fish...” Rami chanted, peering fixedly at Joe.

“Make a decision,” I taunted, hugging the notebook to my chest.

“I’m going with boat,” Rami decided.

“Final answer?” Lucy asked, then stopped the timer when Rami nodded.

“Loser!” Joe cackled victoriously, leaping out of his chair, waving his L-shaped fingers in the air. Calawah University students at nearby tables glanced over with wide, startled eyes, their beloved chicken tenders briefly forgotten. “How’s it feel to not win every round of a game, huh?! Loser!”

I flipped my notebook so Rami could see the extremely unskilled pencil sketch I’d drawn there: a smiling fish. “My condolences.”

“Damn.” Rami pulled a ten-dollar bill out of his wallet and slid it across the table to Joe. Joe snatched it up, tucked it into the waistline of his jeans like a stripper collecting money in her G-string, and slung his arm around my shoulders.

“We are the champions. Bask in our glory.”

Scarlett turned on her iPhone flashlight and waved it in slow arcs over her head. “Youuuuu are the champions, my friendssssss...”

From my usual lunch table, Jessica gazed at my esteemed place among the Lees with palpable envy, resting her chin in her hands. I had worked out a schedule that seemed fairly obvious given my extensive experience as a child of divorce: lunch with Jessica et al. one day, lunch with the Lees the next. I took a bite of the Chipotle veggie bowl that Joe had insisted on ordering for me and tossed Jessica a sympathetic wave. Get Ben’s Snapchat for me! she mouthed back. I harbored serious doubts that Benjamin August Hardy, former professional assassin, born in 1893, had a Snapchat.

Joe’s words from last week rolled around in my head; I could see him all over again, nodding to the enormous painting hung in Gwil’s upstairs office, telling me about those startling, ethereal figures who had initiated Ben into life as a vampire. They call themselves the Draghi. They collect dues from covens, offer protection, keep order, protect our secrets. But they also demand loyalty. They force people they want into service. They might try to make it seem like you have a choice, but you don’t. They destroy anyone who tries to resist them. And they feed on humans.

“This is so awesome,” Lucy sighed, elated. “We could never play Pictionary before, drawing something is way too much of a mental process, Rami always figured it out right away...”

But now they had a built-in blindfold, someone who could draw without Rami getting a peek into their thoughts, a fighting chance at hiding the truth from him...for thirty seconds, at least.

“Okay Benny Boy, you’re up.” Joe darted over to Ben’s side of the table and massaged his tense, muscular shoulders as Ben grimaced. “You got this. I believe in you. Baby Swan is gonna pitch you a home run.”

“I’ll pass,” Ben said.

“You can’t!” Lucy cried. “Ben, please? Rami got Scarlett’s, and then he didn’t get Joe’s...and I know he’s going to see though me immediately. You’re our only chance to tie things up and maybe beat him!”

“Traitor,” Rami told Lucy affectionately.

“Uhh...” Ben hesitated, glimpsing longingly at the doors that led outside to the grove of bigleaf maple trees. He was fidgeting restlessly with his vape pen.

“Come on, Benny!” Joe begged. “I’ll owe you. I’ll do anything.”

Ben perked up a little bit. “You’ll do my Calc 2 homework for a month?”

Joe groaned theatrically, but nodded. He was wearing a grey U Chicago hoodie today. “Fine. Okay. But you’re gonna have to learn that shit eventually, I can’t take the MCAT for you.”

“Deal.” Ben bumped his knuckles against Joe’s.

“Batter up,” Joe heralded in his best mock-umpire voice, grinning at me expectantly, drumming the table with his palms. “Go Baby Swan, go! What will she choose? Will she continue with the nautical theme? Will she change it up, maybe switch to beloved Chicago landmarks? Baseball or food? Will she invent a variety of pizza even more despicable than pineapple?”

“Hm.” I flipped to a fresh notebook page, scratched my temple with the eraser end of the pencil, then quickly sketched a picture for Ben. “Okay, I’m ready.” I showed the drawing to Ben while everyone else covered their eyes.

Ben shook his head, scowling. “You’ll have to try again. I have no idea what that is.”

“Really?!” I checked the picture again. Okay, it definitely didn’t belong in the Louvre or anything, but it was lifelike enough to be decipherable. “You don’t recognize it? At all?”

“No,” Ben replied flatly.

From behind his shielded eyes, Rami scanned through the images in Ben’s mind. He dropped his hands onto the table. “SpongeBob?!”

“Who...?” Ben ventured.

Everyone else looked too. “Oh yeah, that’s definitely SpongeBob,” Joe said, then chuckled. “Aww, Baby Swan, you even remembered his little necktie!”

“It’s so cute!” Lucy trilled.

Ben just stared at the picture, blinking, completely lost, increasingly morose. And now there was a new guest at the table; or maybe not a new one, maybe just a quiet one, something that perched on the ledge of every conversation and field of vision just waiting to tap its claws against the wall and make its presence known: that interminable reminder of Ben’s unconventional past life, of how incomparable his vampiric upbringing was to those of the rest of the Lee kids.

“Benny Boy, you’ve never seen SpongeBob?” Joe inquired gently. “No problem. We’ll have a marathon tonight. I have the entire series on DVD. Also several Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy action figures.”

Scarlett snorted. “This is why you’ve been single since Hoover was president.”

“I wasn’t single the whole time,” Joe corrected.

“Oh, really?” Not that I’m interested, my voice suggested. I was a total liar. I was super interested. Thank the great deity that Rami and Ben couldn’t read me like a restaurant menu. Today’s specials are Being In Love With Someone Wildly Inappropriate for $15.99, and also Lamenting My Own Lack Of Sexual Experience for $11.99. Oh, and clam chowder.

“He had a couple of...what would you call them?” Scarlett combed her elegant fingers through her voluminous blonde hair. “What’s the modern vernacular? Fuck buddies? Booty calls? Netflix and chill partners?”

My stomach lurched; I nonchalantly buried my fork in a mountain of guacamole and left it there. I kept my lips turned up into a smile like a mask. Of course he’s loved other people. Duh. He’s hot and immortal. Get over it. But that didn’t calm my pounding heartbeat at all, didn’t soothe that sudden and irrational melancholy.

“Whoa whoa whoa, okay, you’re making it sound way worse than it was,” Joe protested, glancing at me nervously.

Scarlett continued: “It wasn’t serious, whatever it was. None of them would have cared about your action figure collection or obsession with a city you haven’t lived in for fifty years. It wasn’t your personality they wanted. Thank god.”

Oh this is bad, I thought helplessly. How am I ever going to be able to compete with the memory of countless gorgeous vampire girlfriends?

“Uh, ScarJo, you’re single too.” And Joe’s nickname for her was strangely apt; Scarlett could pass for Scarlett Johansson’s younger, blonder, much hotter sister. And Scarlett Johansson, in case you’re somehow unaware, is already pretty fucking hot.

Scarlett flashed a grin. “Entirely by choice.”

“And much to Mercy’s eternal and profound concern,” Lucy told me. “She stages an intervention at least twice a month. Did I overhear one last week, Scarlett?”

“Oh jesus, yeah. I was like, ‘Mom, what the hell do I need a husband for? I have my own money. I can fix household appliances. I have a vibrator. I’m good to go.’”

Joe rocked back in his chair, howling. “You did not tell Mom that!”

“I did. She was so distraught. She just kind of pinched her eyes shut and shuddered and then went out back to feed the alpacas.”

“Scarlett, babe,” Rami managed between gales of laughter. “A vibrator isn’t going to keep you company for all of eternity. It’s not a suitable substitute for a life partner.”

“You’re right. It’s even better. It’ll never abandon or disappoint me. Assuming I keep the batteries fresh, of course.”

“Oh my god,” Lucy giggled into her hands.

“She’s not wrong,” I said, shrugging, sipping my Diet Coke.

And Joe peered over at me, surprised, intrigued, slowly raising his thin dark eyebrows. I winked back. Yeah, okay, I’ve never slept with someone. But that doesn’t mean I’ve never had an orgasm.

“Ah, loud thoughts! Loud thoughts! Joe, please!” Rami moaned, pressing his balled fists to his forehead.

Ben smirked. “There’s a color I’ve never seen from you before, Joe.”

“This family is the worst!” Joe exploded.

“I like that girl,” Scarlett decided, signaling to me with glossy maroon fingernails. “She can stay.”

Joe sighed, flustered, then shook it off as he turned to me. “You coming over tonight?”

“I can’t spend every night at your house petting alpacas, mob guy.”

“Yeah?” he asked, smiling, draping his arm around the back of my chair. “Why not?”

“Well, my tonight-specific reason is that I’m visiting a friend.”

“Cool. Your friends are my friends. Can I visit too?”

“You’re aware that you’re a legit stalker, right?” But actually, Archer was dying to meet Joe: the loud Lee, the approachable Lee, the Lee who I definitely liked more than a Tinder swipe could ever convey. This could work. “Offer to buy dinner and you can come.”

“I’m a walking Visa, baby.”

Ben stood, hauled on his backpack, gathered up his trash to throw away. “I need a smoke break before Chem. See you guys later.”

“Don’t forget!” Joe called after him. “SpongeBob marathon starts at 8! I’ll bring the Milk Duds!”

And when Ben disappeared through the doors, a solemn hush descended over the table.

“Poor guy,” Lucy said softly. The other Lees nodded.

And again, I recalled what Joe had told me in Gwil’s office, what he had said when I asked how Ben came to join the Lee family. He was assigned to us, to be the liaison to our coven. And Gwil saw something in him. Potential, suffering, unrealized decency, I don’t know. But Gwil worked on him for years, trying to convince Ben to leave the Draghi when his contract was up and come live with us. To give a peaceful life a try. And to be honest, Ben never seemed interested. But something must have resonated with him, because we opened the front door on October 15th, 2016 and he was sitting on the steps of our porch with a single suitcase, puffing on that fucking vape pen and watching the storm clouds roll in off the Pacific Ocean.

But why would they just let him leave? I had asked, tracing my fingertips over the uncanny and magnificent faces in that painting. Why would they let him live?

Because they know how valuable he is. And because they think they can get him back.

“I think he’s a good person,” I said, breaking the silence. “You know. Underneath the whole being raised to be a killing machine thing.”

“Yeah,” Rami replied, frowning thoughtfully. “Just try not to spend too much time alone with him.”

Car Jacks And Sneak Attacks

“Joe, this is Archer James Foxchild, my first-ever best friend.”

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you!” Joe said, shaking Archer’s oil-stained hand. “I understand you are really good at making mud pies and poking dead animals with sticks.”

Archer chuckled. “It’s true. We found a shark tooth down at La Push one time and I convinced Baby Swan here that it was from a sea monster. She had nightmares for months. Charlie called my dad over it and I got my Game Boy taken away.”

“No!” Joe gasped in horror. “Were you a Pokémon guy?”

“For sure.”

“Ruby or Sapphire?”

“Emerald.”

Joe grinned. “This dude knows what’s up.”

“And to think, my grandpa tried to tell me that you guys were freaks,” Archer replied.

“Well,” Joe conceded. “Not all of us.”

“Maybe you two should start dating,” I said. “Don’t mind me. I’ll just sit in my Honda and eat my Taco Bell cheese quesadillas and Cinnamon Twists and try not to interrupt all the sex.”

“Yes, you brought Taco Bell,” Archer sighed euphorically. “Give me five minutes, I just gotta finish rotating these tires real quick.” He jogged to the other end of the garage, knelt beside a Ford Mustang that was propped up on a jack, and starting twisting off lug nuts with a tire iron.

“You have a nice place here,” Joe observed, strolling around the small garage with his hands in the front pocket of his U Chicago hoodie, eyeing the fractures in the concrete floor and the spidering cracks in the windows. “You have any investors?”

“Are you kidding?!” Archer replied from the Mustang. “No, man, it’s just me. I rent for now, but at some point I’ll buy my own shop. Once I’ve saved up enough. A great big one with shiny new equipment and no mice squeaking behind the walls.”

“What’s your cash flow like?”

“I’m netting around three grand a month after taxes.”

“Not bad!” Joe noted admiringly.

“Yeah. It’s a hustle, but I love it.”

“Hey, I don’t know if you’d be interested—and absolutely no pressure if you’re not, really—but I do a lot of work with start-ups and I’d love to help you get into your own shop. By this Christmas, preferably. If we can work out a deal.”

“Really?!” Archer peeked incredulously over the hood of the Mustang.

“Absolutely.”

Archer beamed at me. “This guy is willing to drop serious cash to look good in front of you. You should probably marry him. No prenup though.”

I held my pinky out towards Joe, grinning. “No more sad prenups.”

He laughed and hooked my pinky with his. “Bankrupt me, bitch.”

I heard the metallic clang of a lug nut hitting the concrete floor and rolling under the Mustang. “Come back here, you bastard,” Archer muttered, then dropped to his stomach and crawled beneath the car.

“Hey, kid, be careful,” I fretted, crossing my arms across my chest and taking a step closer.

“Relax, Baby Swan, I am a professional, changing a tire for me is like feeding a fish for you, so just chill and keep fantasizing about those Cinnamon Twists—”

There was a squeal of metal as the car jack collapsed and the Mustang came crashing down. In a fraction of a second—faster than I could see him moving, faster than I could loose a scream—Joe had soared across the garage, yanked Archer out from beneath the falling Mustang, and dragged him to the center of the room.

“Oh fuck,” Archer wheezed, his dark eyes huge and fascinated and horrified. “Grandpa was right.”

I’d Do Anything For Love (But I Won’t Do That)

We rolled up to the Lee house in my 1999 Honda Accord just as I polished off the last of my Cinnamon Twists and Archer chewed, tentatively and dazedly, on a Cheesy Gordita Crunch. The sun was beginning to set in a clouded sky that perpetually threatened rain.

He asked Joe for the fifth time from the back seat: “But wait, seriously, no one is going to eat me, right? Because I’m too young to die. I haven’t taken enough vacations yet. I can’t die without seeing Hawaii. I want to swim with the sea turtles.”

“No, none of us have ever eaten people. Well, almost none of us. Maybe stay away from Ben.”

“I would like a little more exposition,” Archer replied, blanching.

“Hey, if you stay until 8, you guys can join us for the SpongeBob marathon!”

Gwil and Mercy were waiting on the front porch, thanks to Joe’s ‘hey I accidentally exposed myself as a paranormal being and now we have a new friend, plz don’t be mad okay love you see you soon!1!!’ text.

“Welcome, sweetheart!” Mercy fussed, enfolding Archer into her arms as soon as he stepped out of the Honda. “Would you like some hummingbird cake? I just baked it this morning. And maybe some sweet tea too. And some peanut butter cookies. And banana pudding.”

“Sure,” he responded, bewildered. This lady does not seem like a bloodsucking demon, that voice said. And he was absolutely right.

“I’ll fix you up a tray,” Mercy promised, and hurried into the house.

“We’re so very happy to have you, Mr. Foxchild.” Gwil shook Archer’s hand firmly. “We don’t get many visitors around here. I’m sure you understand why.”

“My grandpa always insisted that there was something off about you guys. Especially you, Dr. Lee. Said you shouldn’t still be around.”

“Yes, I imagine that would have been disconcerting for him. He must have remembered us from the 1940s...that’s the last time we settled down in Forks. It’s not often that someone recognizes us after so long, but it happens. It was just Mercy and me and Rami and Joe back then. And look how far we’ve come.” Gwil beamed warmly, then turned to Joe. “But really, son, you’re going to have to stop telling humans about us.”

“Hold up, I was not responsible for her!” Joe exclaimed, waving at me. “Take it up with Ben!”

The garage door rumbled open and Scarlett sauntered out, wiping her filthy hands with a rag. She halted abruptly, stood there in her high-waisted vintage jeans and black crop top and bare feet with maroon-colored toenails, tilted her head and pondered Archer with an innocent sort of curiosity that I hadn’t seen from her before.

“Wait,” Archer said, gaping. “Is that...is that an Aston Martin Vantage in there?!”

“You bet,” Scarlett replied. “You want to learn how to work on it?”

“Uh, hell to the yeah!” He trotted over and they vanished into the garage together.

“Huh,” Joe muttered, watching them. “She was nice to him. Very weird.” He whirled back to me. “Anyway, come on. I promised you an education in classic rock music. And I shall deliver.”

Joe’s bedroom was a chaotic jumble of economics textbooks and Chicago Cubs paraphernalia and U Chicago apparel and action figures and comic books and classic rock posters. There was a massive Italian flag tacked to the wall above his bed. But what caught my attention immediately was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Ben lurking in the corner by a bookshelf full of cassette tapes.

“How is there any possible logical explanation for that?” I asked, pointing.

“Oh, that! That was a joke. When Ben first showed up, he pretty much lived in his room and never came out. Gwil was worried. Mercy was heartbroken. So I made a cardboard cutout of him and would bring it to family activities and do this really deep and seductive Ben voice when I pretended to have conversations with him. It gave the whole situation some levity...and I think Ben secretly liked that we missed him enough to make an artificial version to fill the void.”

“So this bitchy, brooding, blood-craving Ben I met is actually a drastic improvement?”

“Oh, Baby Swan,” Joe confided, almost sadly. “You have no idea what he was like four years ago.”

“I’m glad he has you. All of you. That he has a chance to get better.”

“I think you might be good for him too. Seeing a human as a real person instead of a walking, talking Hi-C juice box. And you care about him, don’t you? Despite everything.”

“Of course. It’s not his fault they taught him to be a monster.”

Joe just looked at me for a while, and then he cradled my face with one hand and grazed a thumb across my cheek “You’re never going to stop saying things that knock me into next week, are you?”

“Joe...” I hesitated, laying my hand over his. His skin was smooth and yielding yet strong, cool yet not unnaturally so. Refreshing. Safe. Fan-fucking-tastic. Oh noooooo. “Are we a thing?”

“Why? Do you want to be a thing?”

“Oh, uh, no, I was just wondering if we were.”

He stepped away, teasing me with a crooked smirk. “...So you don’t want to be a thing?”

“What would that entail?”

“Well...we’d be an official thing, you and me.” He shot finger guns at me, and then towards himself. “Which means you can’t be a thing with anyone else. And neither can I.”

“Ahhh, I see. So this thing is an exclusive thing.”

“Will you shut up and just admit that you’d totally be thrilled to be a thing with me?”

“Fine. Whatever. We’re a thing.”

“Nice.” He high-fived me.

“This is the most romantic moment of my life.”

“But wait, there’s more.” He went to the bookshelf, browsed through his cassette tape collection, found the one he wanted and popped it into a boombox that was probably older than I was. The frantic opening piano notes of I’d Do Anything For Love poured out.

“Meat Loaf,” I said in disbelief. “Really. This is the product of your superior taste in music. This is the culmination of over a century of musical experience. Meat Loaf.”

“The man is a genius!”

“This is all an elaborate joke about my vegetarianism, isn’t it?”

“No,” Joe mused. “But now that you mention it, I have yet another reason to force you to appreciate this song.” He took my hand in his, spun me around like a ballerina in a slow and careful circle, sang along—with extreme and dramatic enthusiasm—to the music.

“And I would do anything for love

I'd run right into hell and back

I would do anything for love

I'd never lie to you and that's a fact...”

“I don’t dance,” I cautioned him, laying a palm against his chest to catch my balance. That brisk, comforting scent of pine and snow and peppermint was everywhere. It feels like I can’t stand to be away from him. Like I’ll never get close enough. “I am terribly uncoordinated. I will step all over your feet. And I’m really not sure if I can trust you. You didn’t even know the plural form of octopus until like eighteen hours ago. You’re kind of a disaster. A, you know, uh, unexpectedly charming, unconventionally super cute, kind of bizarrely enchanting disaster.”

“Yeah,” Joe whispered, smiling, tilting up my chin, leaning in to kiss me. “I like you too.”

Cato

He came out of the oak trees like a ghost, pushing aside massive chandeliers of Spanish moss that blotted out the dusk sun, his expensive shoes sloshing in the marshy water that flooded the rice field. He was wearing a full suit, but no top hat; his hair was black and chin-length and wild around his face. And at first I thought he was a hallucination, a dream conjured by heat sickness or those first dreaded signs of malaria. He was unnervingly, uncommonly beautiful; beautiful like a hurricane, beautiful like lightning or an eclipse. But he was real. I straightened up as I watched him approach, my back aching in protest, a basket full of seedlings slung over my shoulder.

“Mr. Cato.”

His voice, clear and beckoning and twisted by an accent I’d never heard before, rang in my skull like church bells. He called me mister. This white man called me mister.

“Yes sir?” And I almost added: You want to be careful there, sir. The water moccasins like to hide among the tree roots, especially when the sun starts going down. But I had an inexplicable feeling that this man wasn’t afraid of things like snakes. Maybe the snakes should be afraid of him.

“Mr. Cato,” he said again, this time to himself, very quietly, tasting it.

I kept trying to look away, to disentangle my gaze from him like a hook out of a sturgeon’s mouth, because staring piercingly and astonished at a white man like that in the rice swamps of South Carolina in 1851 could get me beaten or the lash, could get my teeth pried right out of my jaw. But it didn’t seem to bother him. He grinned, hugely, all-knowingly, under prehistoric golden eyes like an alligator’s. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. And he was proud.

“Do you want to be free?” he asked, almost hissed, still grinning from the tree line.

What kind of question was that? Did a sandpiper want to fly? Did a coyote want dirt under its paws and flesh disappearing down its throat? But that wasn’t something you ever confessed aloud, not if you wanted your feet on the ground instead of swinging ten inches above it. But this man wasn’t a master, wasn’t an overseer. He wasn’t from the South. He didn’t carry a whip or a club to remind you of the rules of the world. He stood there tall and radiant in the shadows of the fading daylight like he was the one who wrote the rules to begin with; which meant that maybe he could change them. “Yes sir.”

“I can only take you,” the man warned. “No others. No family. No friends.”

“No trouble, sir,” I told him. “They sold my family. They hanged my friends.”

The man’s grin stretched wider under glinting eyes. His canine teeth were sharp, I realized: like a coyote’s, like a snake’s fangs. He held out his hand. “We are going to get along very well, you and I.”

I let the basket fall from my shoulder. I slogged through the mud and rows of wispy verdant rice plants to meet him in the shade of the oak trees. And there, for the first time in forever, a man with skin the color of bones looked me dead in the eye and shook my scarred hand.

“Welcome, Cato,” he whispered; and I was home.

He took my face in his cool palms, gingerly, reverently, like a lover. He touched his teeth to my throat. And every nerve ending in my body flooded with wildfire as he dragged me, screaming, into the depths of the forest.

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genius11rare · 3 years

Text

Chit Chat 72821 AH 13 year anniversary

Chit Chat 13 year anniversary stream 72821 with Jack Michael Jeremy and voices of Geoff , lindsay , sudden matt and Ky

Jack: welcome to our birthday stream , sponsored by expressvpn if you don't have a vpn why don't yo- and i already lost all my frames…. Its our 13th bday we are no long preteens we are teens (someone , i assume michael uses airhorn sfx) Jack: hang on i got one (sarah no sfx x7) , we also got voices of geoff , alfredo is here , weve got Ky Deafened (jeremy wheezzes) and lindsay possibly and see trevor too… ok lindblad im switchin to firefox this is broken. Geoff: earlier we had our company wide All Hands meeting talking about whats going on… i don't expect you guys to go (jeremy uh oh) but i go cuz i care , trevor gave a speech about AH history and it was great , better than i couldve done so thanks trevor. Michael: wish i had boos and Hisses on my soundboard but i don't. Jack: todays also my wifes birthday so… im actually not supposed to be here today so *laughs* thanks to everyone whos supported over the last 13 years… Ky qwasnt even born yet (Michael: and she already made that joke) i know i said that in hope to get her to respond but shes deafeand. Michael: but that's how Deafen works… Jeremy: no shes like a jedi she would feel the joke. GeoffL di you get your internet fixed this week which then broke it 2 more times (jack: no , sounds like you tho) oh i guess that's just me then. Jack: geoff you hit record? Geoff: you know i didn't! *showing lucky 13 merch , at a poker table* Jack: so now that were 13 we can gamble. Geoff: 13 is legal gambling age in some counties of west virginia and mississippi Jeremy: and we should ALL model ourselves after those 2 states. Jack: the beacons of america. Michael: if you can see over the poker table you can play Jeremy: well guess im out Geoff: hes 5’4! Lindsay: are we sure about that? GeoffL some of us are , some of us have never not been sure . *moves onto Camp Betrayal* Geoff: out of curiosity who were your fave non AH on that shoot Alfrdo: ooohh calen (i think?) was a lot of fun but Noel surprised me the most. Michael: Kayla was fun cuz it was 3 overnite shoots so we actually somewhat hiung out… also charlotte (jack jeremy and lindsay: yeah charlotte was cool) Jeremy: is this a camp betrayal thing or a face jam thing , everytime i see someone post a pic of Eric everyone in the comments tell him to eat dirt. Michael: its camp betrayal Geoff: speaking of eating dirt were you ever the kids that ate worms for like a trick or to be brave (jack michael and jeremy: no) i wasn't either but… i feel like Matt Bragg probably did Matt: hey you're wrong *lindblad switches to a zoomed in photo of matt from the earlier lucky 13 merch drop shoot , starts shaking camera as he talks a bit* Jeremy: nice lindblad Matt: -et fucked geoff ! “are AH crew fans of cake or pie for bday?” Jack: who eats birthday PIE?!?! Ky: im just gonna step in , what about Ice cream cake (paraphrasing)... Geoff: …. I had cotton candy for dinner last night… whole kerfuffle getting it at HEB , grabbed it and the whole display fell on my head “Whose standup in austin have you seen and whos fave?” Jack: i havent seen stand up in a long time… last time i saw a routine of some kind was Penn n Teller in vegas 4 or 5 years ago. GeoffL i just saw Tom Seguarra (idk how to spell) in vegas a bit ago , and he moved to austin recently… *moves on to Season Pass* Geoff: talked about how i lost millie at that park once… tune in to find out if i found her. Michael: oh replaced her like Avril Lavigne? Geoff: yeah an almos identical millie… doesnt sound the same when she sings but its close….. Michael: and that's the one question… “Phoenix Edit: what has been proudest moment at AH?” JAck: doing any live show like selling out chicago… Michael: just hanging on i mean… Ky ill jump in (jack: whats your proudest moment at AH) you mean for the last month you mean? (Michael: yeah you have it alot easier) id say representing AH in last laugh season 2 Jack: you got knocked out like immediately though Geoff: can i give a sappy geoff answer? Its the day i invited you guys to my GFs house and we went swimming (michael: oh that was cool - i wasn't there) it was basically a perfect day , everybody - well almost everybody that mattered was there (michael laughs) and THAT day was when i told Jack and Trevor i was leaving AH . those conversations were really hard to have .. and i ws so comforted by how.... Oh idk *sigh* i just - i - i just how good a hands i felt it was in and you guys seemed so ready, and i knew it was going to continue and grow without me… sorry im getting so emotional in my old age, i yelled to much when i was younger. Michael: its weird to geoff cuz i couldnt make it and you went “oh no big deal, nothings going on anyway” and then trevor told me after wards geoffs leaving , and trevor kept saying “ive been waiting for this day ive ben waiting for this day” Geoff: he hi5 me before i even got it out of my mouth….. He fist bumped himself it was weird… Trevor: yeah did that and said “God took ya long enough” *cue airhorns and sarah nos* Jeremy:… alright let's play golf Jack: thanks for showing support from our live shows to our.. Our… idk the shows weve done *laughs* Geoff: GET IT OUT CMON! (Lindsay: GDI *jeremy and matt laughing* ) Jesus Christ! Jack: i had weird place , hardcore minigolf i got all them stuck in my head and couldnt get out the door

#chit chat #notes #text #ah #achievement hunter #anniversary #13 anniversary #july 2021 #idk what else to tag #for later #geoff ramsey #livestream #my notes #gen notes

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popculturebuffet · 4 years

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Jake Reviewcaps Stuff: X-Men Evolution: The X-Impulse

Two of the series most popular characters, and one of its’ more popular ships: Jean and Xavier try to lead kitty away from charming asshole Avalanche whose trying to use her for crimes, but have trouble due to having taken stupid pills before this episode. Meanwhile Kurt and Scotty follow Logan as he confronts Sabertooth for the first time and gets cars thrown at him. No really. Abusive Romance, Flying Cars, and probable Gilmore Girls refrences under the cut.

So yeah i’m doing another one already. This pace MIGHT slow eventually, as I want to get through the show faster.. but this episode gave me a ton of material to work with so I wanted to strike while the iron was hot. So as I mentioned last time the show started with slowly shoveling characters in one at a time, giving each time for focus and to breathe a bit. So with Nightcrawler and Toad out of the way it’s time for Shadowcat and Avalanche.. who happen to be one of the biggest ships for this show.. and also one some don’t like. Me, i’ll form an opinon as I go as I don’t remmeber much of them together other than him trying to join the x-men in one episode, so we’ll see. For now it’s time for some X-Impulse. Wait isn’t impulse dc? Is there a marvel character named that too?

Yup there is! Two in fact, but somehow one is x-men related. This is impulse a member of the Shiar imperial guard I entirely forgot about because there’s like 40 or 50 diffrent members and he’s not one of hte more promeinet ones. For those who’ve never heard of these guys there the elite superpowered muscle for the Shiar Empire, an intergalactic empire whose former empress Charles Xavier dated for a while after dethroning her brother and who serve either as allies to our heroes or people for them to beat up depending on if someone sane is in charge that day or not, and who often have members killed to show off some new baddy, hence why there’s been three impulses apparently.

Their based on the less military, more heroic and more fleshed out if still hugely sized, legion of superheros from dc, which Guard co-creator David Cockrum was one of the most famous artists for and originally actually CREATED Nightcrawler as a legionnaire, but he was rejected for being too demonic and thankfully recycled into the rougish religious elf we know today. The Guard were as far as I can tell made as a wink and a nod toward that and a gentle jab at the competition and is far from the first or last time either side would make characters based on the other side. I also bring up the Shiar because despite being a sizeable part of the X-Men mythos in the comics.. they’ve BARELY been used outside them. Cartoon wise only the 90′s series used them, though to be fair....

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Given Evolution had both hinted at exterterstials apparently, and was planning on doing the Phoenix Saga in season 5, so they MIGHT have used them eventually, but I somehow doubt it and WOlverine and the X-Men didn’t live long enoguh to even consider it. As for the movies they were considered too ungrounded for them and thus were basically exiled from appearing on film for 20 years. Now the Shi’ar aren’t perfect characters, the fact before he took the throne himself Gladiator would just obey whatever assshole took the reigns due to some misguided loyalty didn’t help, but they could be used intrestingly and the guard are at least intresting in a fight, so it is a shame they couldn’t be used till recently and hopefully with the fox merger the mcu will put them to use at some point. Also for those curious if they showed up in any other cartoons.. nope. According to wikipedia, their mentioned in Avengers; Earth’s Mighteist Heroes (Which will also be covered here some day) and Legion (probably too though also probably not episode by episode if I do), and show up in two of the video games, with Ultimate Alliance being the biggest role outside of the 90′s cartoon from the looks of it, having the well, alliance, head to shiar space to get the mkrann crystal and battle with the guard and deathbird. Anyway, i’ve spent enough time on this weird sidebar, let’s get on with the actual episode! We open with a pretty good scene. We meet Kitty Pryde, your average teen whose having a weird flying nightmare.. emphasis on weird as it is a bit wonky, but the idea is fine enough.. as is the result where she finds herself having fallen to the basement and FELT it, her panicked parents coming down and Kitty only being able to sob about having fell, her mom putting it off to sleepwalking.. until her dad notices her pillow and blanket fused into the celing above, which only makes the poor girl more upset. It’s a good, tense scene and a reminder that wether your mutant powers are benign or not.. having them awaken can still be traumatic as hell, and uses this world NOT having them be a public concern well: Kitty has NO IDEA what’s happening to her, no one to turn to and is understandabily terrified. For all she knows her body is breaking down and she might not be tangible again, not an unresonable fear given her comics counterpart once ended up in that very situation due to taking some heavy damage in battle from an energy charged harpoon.. from a guy named harpoon because even Claremont had an off day with names sometimes. My point is it’s a very good scene. Naturally Charles notices from cerebro.. and with a weird computer thing that somehow fully researchs who she is because tha’ts not creepy, but It is somewhat understandable. Cue the credits. We then get a REALLY pointless throwaway scene with Kurt, now having’ been at school for long enough to be late several times apparently, late again and running into Mystique, in her guise as principal before Scott thankfully rescues him. Why Mystique is confronting her son like this I dunno, but what I really don’t is why this scene is here at all. It could’ve easily been replaced with a throaway line about Charles only wanting to have one student miss midterms or not wanting to arouse too much suspcion with the facultiy by taking too many of the kids out of school. Instead we just get this scene to establish their home. And yes they could’ve just needed to fill out the episode.. but there’s plenty of ways, that i’ll mention later, this minute of screentime could’ve been used better and we really didn’t need a whole scene of them to set up that they’d be home for their subplot this episode. Back in scene’s that actually matter, Kitty is trying to sneak off to school but her mom stops her, with her family apparently having agreed to keep her home but Kitty just wants some normalcy and her family won’t even talk about it, so her mom relucntantly agrees. I can’t blame Kitty: even if it’s a terrible idea to go to school while she has no idea what’s happening to her and can’t control it as far as she knows.. she’s also a scared kid whose body is changing in ways she can’t fully grasp, and unlike puberty, which mutation is a mild metaphor for, there’s no deep years of study on it or how it changes a body: she has no idea what’s going on and just wants to grasp onto SOMETHING normal while she’s clearly not. It’s some well done character stuff. Meanwhile Jean and Chuck are on their way to what i’m assuming is that same old place, sweet home Chicago since that’s where Kitty is from in the comics and they had to fly there anyway. Jean questions why her.. out of the three junior x-men so far she’s the least intresting. Charles explains he thinks she can reach Kitty which.. makes some sense. Jean is uber popular at school, easy to get along with and endlessly nice, so she’s a good choice. Another likely part of it, and why not scott, is scott’s powers: it’s a lot easier to sell her parents on powers doing good with someone who can lift objects versus someone whose constantly cursed to never open his eyes, and this way kurt has his buddy back home so he dosen’t feel lonely his first time without his new dad. Now granted I question why STORM didn’t come with them, as she seems like a good choice and it’d be a nice nod to her bond with kitty in the comics, but I suspect it was simply easier to just have two x-men to focus on. Maybe she was busy getting Evan for two episodes down the line...

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So then we get.. Charles being really, REALLY dumb.. like out of character dumb. See in the comics when the X-Men came to recurit kitty, they all came in civlian clothes, though ironically Jean wasn’t with them for the initial meeting because even more ironically she, Scott and Kurt were split off into their own group to try and recruit Dazzler, and Charles was nice and polite about it and promoted the school as well. a school. Granted Kitty’s parents didn’t know about her phasing here and Emma Frost was also trying to recurit kitty for HER school for gifted youngsters.. but still, there’s NO reason for Charles not to use that sort of pitch to get into the door, especially since as we learn in the scene after this Kitty’s a straight A student, retaining her deep intelgence from the comics, so there’s an easy foot in the door before he drops the mutant part in. Instead he just casually mentions he tracked her that he’s diffrent and comes off really fucking creepy and naturally they say fuck no to that. LIke.. how do they know he’s not with the goverment or forming a teen militia or just a pedophile who happens to be a mutant.. they do not and their already scared. So chuck gets a well earned door to the face. And thus I get to introduce a new running gag: The Chuck, you Blockhead, Count,. Now granted the obvious name may be the xavier is a jerk count, which i’ll probably also do but that’s more for being an asshole, like he often is due to poor writing or currently pragmatisim in the comic. No no this is for when Chuck is just out an out an idiot. Plus I love a good Charlie Brown refence so Chuck, You Blockhead Count: 2 It’s at 2 since we also have last episode where Toad showed up with his own uniform, and attacked kurt.. and Charles did nothing and questioned nothing about that. And now I mentioned that other count Xavier is Jerk Count: 1 The Scott thing is more in character but for having his test be.. have a grown woman chase a teenager with Lightning. Storm was involved too but I doubt she’ll be an asshole as much so she’s safe for now. So having throughly botched it Xavier decides to have them split up, gang: Xavier will go to social services to find out more about lance since he’s an orphan, while Jean will infiltrate the school. Now while watching this I questioned why no one in school at all questioned a random teenager they never met roaming the halls.. but odds are jean just used her telepathy to either make anyone who saw her think she belonged there or masked her self from them seeing her, the latter being a signiture move of both jean and her teen self brought to the present because complicated bollocks, so fair enough. I also thought charles was just fucking off but accoridng to the wiki he was at social services, so he avoids another count and was doing something useful, checking on lance before he tries to offer him a spot: both to make sure he’s a good fit after last week’s debacle and figure out the best course to legaly take the boy in if so, and if not knowing charles still find the kid a home anyway because even if he’s not x-man yet, he’s still a child in need asshole or not and Charles is a good man. Such a good man he had to be told 9 timelines ended in utter disaster and ruin for mutantkind for him to even humor breaking from his dream according to recent comics, and according to Moira’s notes STILL took a good 15 years in universe of attempted genoicdes , 1 actual genocide and his people being reduced to a nub to finally cave and even THEN he admits he still loves humanity and wants them to be better. While I did put up an xavier is a jerk count just now at his best Charles Xavier is a good if flawed man who, while prone to ocasionally making utterly terrible decisions, loves both humans and mutants and just wants peace in our time and only created the x-men to foster it. Meanwhile back at the ranch her mansion, Logan.. senses sabertooth.. I mean even with Logan’s adept sense of smell, I question how he could smell him over the exaust of Sabertooth’s goofy metalic penis, aka his own motorcycle, but it IS part of his mutant powers. Either that or they just have a magic force bond like Rey and Kylo Ren in the sequel trilogy.. minus the sexual tension and forced face turn for the latter.. maybe just minus the forced face turn. So Logan prepares to go fight his rival, and suits up for the first time. and while it’s in a black void for.. some reason it looks REALLY badass and really gives gravatas to seeing wolverine in costume for the first time. And since he’s one of ONLY two looks to look at this episode, since Kitty and Lance don’t get their uniforms this episode, let’s talk about it.

I fucking love it. Like Kurt’s it’s basically his comic’s costume but slightly modified.. but unlike Kurt it’s a diffrent costume than last time, going with his cool brown look that he wore for quite some time in the comics, though made a bit more orange. However it honestly STILL looks fantastic and I get wanting to go with a color that’s a bit more eyepopping in the more muted tones of Evolution. It just looks fantastic and i’ts nice to see a cartoon use an alternate costume for a character as their main look. Logan passes a returning from school Scott and Kurt, who decide to follow him and after debating which car, Scott gestures them to his.. which is scott’s sports car from bot the previous series and the comics. Why a 17 year old has this, I can only assume because Chuck is a really good dad, really rich.. and likely knows having a bunch of teenagers around means if one of them DOSEN’T have hteir own car they’ll be borrowing his rolls royce all the time and this way he can have his nights after training free to smoke a blunt with logan while they watch the next generation and eat a pile of cheeseburgers the children dropped off while crusing around out of his lack of hair, you know why you give your teenager a car in the first place.

Anyways while Kurt and Scott buddy up and go on an excellent adventure, with Kurt even bamfing inside and god I love this dynamic. So fucking adorable. But anyways while that’s going on, Kitty is at school being mocked by two alpha bitches for being sad despite her grades then is shoved in a locker. When then meet Lance, soon to be known as avalanche and the other mutant at school who decides to graffito tag the place.. in the laziest but somehow still coolest way possible by just taking his spray can and spraing one long streak along the lockers. Not as neat as doing an actual tag but it does more petty dumbfuckery faster so fair play to him. Kitty begs him to let her out.. before her powers trigger again. She tries denying it when he comments on them being cool.. before he shows off his own, making the earth move under his feet, though not the sky tumbling down a tumbling down.. that’s Storm’s job. It shakes the lockers and Kitty rather than be impressed, runs like hell. But yeah, I get the feeling, even with him having evil plans for her right after.. that he does feel some attraction to her here. And as I made clear i’ts not shipping goggles.. the way he acts.. he’s elated to meet someone else with powers, to after likely being pinballed around foster care and treated like shit by his piers over it and then finding out he has a special power but is still seen as a weirdo even by his minons.. he’s elated. It’s what draws him to her: that for once he’s NOT alone, and there’s someone else to revel in the sheer power and joy he feels using his powers and even though she runs he vows he’s gonan rock her world. Since we’re where a commerical break would be, I figure now’s a good time to talk about Lance. In the comics he had a diffrent name entirely, and avalanche was more of a one note villian who later became a retired bar owner. Here he takes bits, the long metal hair and love of his powers, from Rictor, a more heroic mutant in the comics who only started out doing crimes because he was forced to and quickly joined the original x-men’s class of mutants the x-terminators before joining the new mutants and later x-force. He’s also , as you probably know, one fo the x-men’s most prominent gay mutants, but while hinted at in comics made before this series was fully canonized years after, and like iceman who came out even later, there was no way of knowing that at the time, so it made since to use him as partial template here. It also makes sense not to use the rictor name as while it makes more sense given the earthquake motif, Avalanche is an actual villian.. and you know the obvious fact that Lance is white and Julio Richter.. is not. Granted they COULD’VE made him latino, and used sunspot for spike to ballnce it out representation wise, but this was the early 2000′s and they cared about as much for repesentation as Jeph Loeb does. Hopefully Rictor gets an adpatation at some point outside of Logan, but I get why not here.

On with the show. Kitty shows up late for track due to thing one and thing two, and has to run first and trips, while on the nearbye rooftops Lance and his two goons try to break into the administration building to get test answers. They don’t as Lance notices an alarm, and while one of his goons asks why he dosen’t just quake a hole in, Lance points out the obvious: If there’s obvious tampering they’ll just change the test answers.. and since he knows about kitty now, he has a better way and when questioned rather than explain her powers, he just shakes rattles and rolls. He also makes one of Kitty’s bullies trip but it only scares her further. I”m getting. serious heathers vibes here jesus.. I mean Lance isn’t nearly as bad as Jason Dean but still jesus. I need to listen to more of that musical good stuff.

Kitty retreats from her admierer/stalker to teh autitorim, where Jean finds her.. given Jean again slipped in here without no o ne noticing and no one came after kitty , i’m thinking she use her telepathy to mask anyone from seeing Kitty come in and seeing Jean at all so she could talk in private. Granted Lance shows up right after, but odds are Jean didn’t notice him and thus didn’t think to shield him and probably isn’t up to Charles level where he can create a psychic blindspot in an entire crowd. Anyways Jean tries to comfort kitty who’s still angsting about her powers and again hard to blame her when the only other mutant she’s met is a budding psychopath whose idea of a romantic gesture is injuring one of her enmiies for her. Jean does try to calm her down, first showing she’s a mutant and admitting she was freaked out too when she got her powers.. and given most depcitions of jean getting her powers are far from plesant that tracks. She does however make the mistake of telling Kitty, already figuring this is some sort of trick and jean will throw a puppy across the room to also try and get in her pants or something, that she’s a telepath and Kitty screams at her to get out of her head. Jean truly is taking after her mentor in thef ucking up department. Lance then shows up as I mentioned earlier, and tells Jean to backoff and that’ she’s mine and you get it. Oh and as a side note Jean DOES admit to having read Kitty’s mind so she CAN read minds, and likely has gotten a surface level look of duncan’s thoughts which I feel go a little something like this mnus the actual context of when the song’s going on.

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Lance then finds kitty, whose changed into her regular outift and promises not to use his powers this time, admitting he too felt lost and scared, and wants to help her take control and help her.. and while it is partly for his own petty scheme.. I do genuinely think he means part of that, that he does genuinely wnat her and want someone like him by his side.. it’s just in his warped head doing crime and whatever he wants is the right thing to do, that control means using this power to knock down whoever’s in your way and TAKE what you deserve.

Jean instead phones xavier and both agree that if lance fully gets his hooks in her they might never reach her and Xavier tells him to stay on her and that she can overcome lance as an obstacle.. and then bemoans that some obastacles are more annoying than others as the social services building has a large stone staircas,e a nice quip and they beat the ulitmate universe to that joke by a few years.

Meanwhile our two best buds track Wolvie to a car park because fuck if I know why he decided to make his stand there. Probably because the writers had a cool action scene in mind as we’ll see, but it still comes off dumb though given how every other x-man has been acting this episode it tracks. Anyway Sabertooth strolls up on his demonic wang-shang-a-lang,

Seriously I mocked it before but it bears repeating. While Wolvie has a normal looking, if still badass, bike Sabertooth’s.. looks like something Skeltor would ride after he man. It Looks like warlock is horribly stucki n the form of a motorcycle. It looks like the kind of bike on some random asshole the bikers from sons of anarchy would beat up forposing. It looks like he stole it from the biker mice from mars. It looks like the polution from it’s exaust alone is the reason big bird die. it looks like Creed just brought it off the joker and remonded it. It looks like something the battletoads bought and regretted. It looks like ghost rider’s first trike. it looks like Tooth lost his dick in a horrible acciden tand is compensating with theree metalic ones. It looks like something the BAND creed sold to victor creed here. It looks.. bad is what i’m saying. As for his actual outfit.. it’s okay,b asically his movie outfit with osme of the skin missing. That look isn’t my faviorite of his but it works to sell him as a savage monster and fits good with the more tactical less comic booky looks of this shows costumes.

Creed, the man not the band though he does look like the lead singer of creed, charges at Logan who simply pops his wheel while tooth falls off the roof.. and then the most rediculous and awesome part of the episode starts.... right after Scott’s car gets hit with the bike because what else did he think was going to happen when the fighting started. Sabertooth , who apparently has really good super strength in this universe, starts CHUCKING CARS UP THROUGH THE ROOF OF THE CAR PARK UP AT LOGAN. Points to the team while the setting for this fight is nonseical, it is WORTH IT for this, with great action as Logan dodges the cars bursting through the roof. it’s rediclous, over the top.. and UTTERLY spectacular and not just in a so bad it’s good way. Logan eventually slips through a car hole, a sentence i’d never thought i’d say mostly becasue that’s the moe syslack approved term for garages but it works well here too, and into the garage before sabertooth RAMS him with a car, ranting about it’s their “destiny” only one is left. Which seems like some weird “applying highlander logic to former goverment weapon mutants’ bollocks, but instead is foreshadowing for the end of the season. Nice touch. Scott and Kurt arrive, in uniform since even if he’s a bit more personably here, Scott still is no dummy, and they sucessfully save Logan, whose pissy about it because it was his buisness and all, but Kurt thinks he secretly loves them and Scott sarcastically agrees. Not a bad subplot and it makes up for a weird choice of battleground on logan’s cart iwth utter insanity. Fun stuff. Back at not so fun stuff, Kitty finds lance outside the office and takes him up on his offer, and he admits they ARE outsiders, there is something wrong with them.. but instead of moping about it, they can do something about it and revel in it. It really ties into Lance as a character: He’s probably felt, due to being an oprhan and not having a stable home life likely buffeted around foster care and acting out as a result, that he really is an outsider and his powers not only proved it.. but finally gave him POWER over all the people that cast him out. The power to take what he wanted and return what he got. The power to move you. He finally had power and he was going to make them pay for making him feel like he had none and wants Kitty to join him. And for a moment it works, kitty joyfully breaking in with him and actually enjoying her powers for the first time. Meanwhile kitty’s parents showed up, Jean having called them and somehow got them to listen.. and this is what I meant by that one minute earlier. We COULD have built up Kitty’s parents guilt and fear by having Charles approach them again.. and with them panicked over her not returning from school, have him explain what happened and help her father see how wrong he’d been to hide from it or had her argue with her dad then storm out. Instead they just show up here for the first time in almost 20 minutes so we could get a filler scene of kurt being late.

Anyways inside Lance steals the answers and Kitty is horrified to find out that “Gasp” the juvinele delinquent who hurt someone to impress her is doing BAD THINGS. Lance tries to change her grades but she refuses.. and then Jean and the Prydes show up, with Kitty’s dad admitting he was wrong, he shouldn’t of hid fro her power and shoudl’ve been a better parent.. better than her comics dad who got in bed with gangsters i’ll give him that. But Lance not wanting to loose his new sorta girlfriend knocks a bookcase on kitty and abusively tries to drag her with him.. while jean says if you go with him now, her powers will be a curse like she thought earlier... even though Kitty’s pretty terrified of lance right now and dosen’t actually want to go with him. it comes off like this bit from final space played entirely seriously

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So yeah apparently I need this too...: God Dammit Jean Count: 3 The other two are for the telepath thing earlier and the duncan thing last episode. And given the duncan thing is going to be going on till season 3 yeah i’ll need this. I’ll probably also need a WHAT DOES SHE SEE HIM HIM COUNT, but i’m playing that one by ear. But yeah kitty does the obvious and breaks it off and phases out and Lance takes it well.. by trying to destory the entire school.. my god this really is heathers! Did .. did lance kill some popular kids before this? I have questions. Jean struggles to hold things up and worries about kitty, who falls under some ruble but charles assures her to focus: She can do this.. and as we seen Chuck likely sensed kitty who phases out and reuintes with her parents before rescuing them all. Kitty realizes her powers are a gift after all and says the x-men have her best intrest and heart and Charles finally decides to have an actual discussion with the prydes which had he had one might’ve helped this episode go faster. We then end on Lance, angry and hurt starring into the distance, when Mistque approaches in her principal disguise, saying there may be an opening for her and transforms ending with a great line “I have much to teach you, my avalanche”. Which ihs a better code name than Rictor when put like that credit where it’s do. And we’re out. Final Thoughts: This one was a bit of a step down as you could tell: The main core of Lance and Kitty IS really strong, being a good way to breifly touch on toxic relationships. If this gets better in season 2 I have no idea but it’s a compelling dynamic here, with Kitty being terrified of her power while Lance loves his and both are what prop this episode up alongside the fun car park fight and great dynamic with Kurt and Scott. HOwever what drags the episode down is EVERYONE but Kitty and Lance, who act in character, and Scott and Kurt, who had no idea logan was going into combat and were just curious what their cool teacher was up to acts like a fucking moron: Logan, rather than pick a fighting ground where he has an advantage chooses one where sabertooth can easily use stealth and gives him an opening too as well as a garage full of weapons that nearly ends him, Xavier decides just randomly revealing he knows where they live wiill impress scared parents, Jean decides telling someone she’s in their head is a great idea, Kitty’s parents think not talking about the thing tht just happened will make it disappear, which is at least realistic if nothing else, and Sabertooth thought that was a valid choice for a motorcycle. The climax is good but feels unearned and overall this episode could've neen fantstic but is bogged down by bits of stupid, but is still enjoyable thanks to it’s emotional core. Next time, whenever that is, another popular charcter arrives as we go Rogue. Until then, follow for more reviews, like this if you enjoyed it, send asks iwth suggestions for more shows and episodes to cover and until then, stay safe and stay mutant and proud.

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dear-indies · 3 years

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hey cat and mouse! I was wondering if you had any fcs that'd be a good replacement for ch*rlie hunnam's role in the gentlemen? race doesn’t matter, just sb with a beard + glasses? thank you guys so much!

Russell Hodgkinson (1959)

Bradley Whitford (1959)

David Cross (1964) Ashkenazi Jewish.

Ben Desombre (1965) - has worn them in commercials!

Jeffrey Wright (1965) African-American - wears them sometimes outside of roles but wears them in Westworld and The Hunger Games.

Álvaro Morte (1975) - Money Heist.

Todd Grinnell (1976)

Lou Taylor Pucci (1985) - Evil Dead.

Cooper Andrews (1985) Samoan / Hungarian Jewish.

Kofi Siriboe (1994) Ghanaian.

Not beards but have got facial hair and glasses!

Tom Selleck (1945)

Keanu Reeves (1964) Native Hawaiian, Portuguese, English, Scottish, at least 1/16th Chinese, remote Dutch / English - Always Be My Maybe.

Simon Baker (1969) - wears them sometimes outside of roles but wears them in I Give it a Year.

Richard Armitage (1971) - The Stranger.

Hu Bing (1971) Chinese - Love Designer.

Arjun Rampal (1972) Indian - Inkaar.

Eric Sheffer Stevens (1972) - has facial hair and glasses in a gif pack (/tagged/Eric Sheffer Stevens) but not sure the role!

Joaquin Phoenix (1974) English, with some Scottish, Scots-Irish/Northern Irish, German, Irish, Welsh, and French Huguenot / Ashkenazi Jewish - Her.

Sendhil Ramamurthy (1974) Kannadiga / Tamil - Heroes.

Pedro Pascal (1974) Chilean [Spanish, Basque, possibly other], 1/16th Peruvian - We Can Be Heroes.

Hugh Dancy (1975) - Hannibal.

Sterling K. Brown (1976) African-American - This is Us.

Matthew Goode (1978) - wears them sometimes outside of roles but wears them in The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society.

Tom Ellis (1978)

Josh Dallas (1978) - Manifest.

Nathan Followill (1979)

Adam Brody (1978) Ashkenazi Jewish - Billy & Billie.

Daniel Brühl (1978) - The Fifth Estate.

Ben Whishaw (1980) - Spectre - gay.

Robert Buckley (1981) - The Christmas Contract.

Elyas M'Barek (1982) Austrian / Tunisian - Fack ju Göhte.

Daniel Levy (1983) Sephardi Jewish, Ashkenazi Jewish / English, Irish.

Alfonso Herrera (1983) - Sense8.

Matthew Shear (1984) Ashkenazi Jewish.

Charles Michael Davis (1984) African-American / Filipino - Chicago P.D.

Rahul Kohli (1985) Indian - The Haunting of Bly Manor.

François Arnaud (1985) - Jean of the Joneses - bisexual.

Nathan Stewart-Jarrett (1985) Afro-Barbadian.

James Lafferty (1985) Mexican / Irish, English, German, Scots-Irish/Northern Irish - Lost On Purpose.

Ryan O'Connell (1986) - has cerebral palsy - gay.

Tony Thornburg (1987) Japanese / Swedish - has worn them in commercials!

Andrew Koji (1987) Japanese / English - American Gods.

Dev Patel (1990) Indian - Modern Love.

Michael B. Jordan (1987) African-American - Black Panther.

Harvey Guillen (1990) Mexican - queer - wears them sometimes outside of roles but wears them in What We Do in the Shadows.

Moses Sumney (1990) Ghanaian - aromatic.

Chance Perdomo (1996) Afro- Dominican, Guatemalan.

James Yaegashi (?) Japanese / Unspecified American - Runaways.

#fc help #rph #rpc #Anonymous

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olderthannetfic · 4 years

Photo

37 Days Till Escapade!

There’s still time to make it to this year’s con. It’s going to be a good one!

Due South was a staple of late 90s slash fandom and predictably popular at Escapade. It was a fun buddy cop show about a mountie and two different Chicago cops named “Ray”, Ray K and Ray V, or as I like to think of them:

The Cute One and The One Who Can Act

>:D

I kid! I kid!

The series started out by teaming Fraser up with Ray Vecchio, salt of the earth local Chicago cop with the stereotypical big Italian family and a sadly prescient surname. After two seasons, the show got canceled. Fans went nuts trying to get it renewed. For once, their beloved show actually came back!

But as often happens in these situations, some of the actors had already moved on. Ray V’s actor left the show and was replaced by “Ray” K for reasons too stupid to need exploring at this or any other juncture.

(Okay, look, he’s undercover as Ray V so Ray V can go undercover with the mob. They look nothing alike. Ray V’s family has to play along with this. Like I said, it’s absurd.)

Incidentally, if you see fans using some version of “For reasons that do not need exploring at this juncture”, that’s a Due South reference.

Fraser/Ray V already had a following amongst slash fans of the later zine era, but Ray K hit just at the right time. It was 1997: the public was getting online, and fandom was expanding rapidly. Free mailing lists and online fic archives were possible on a scale they never had been before. And Callum Keith Rennie is awfully pretty, isn’t he?

I think you can guess what happened next.

Overnight, the new juggernaut with The Pretty One dwarfed the old ship. The show changed tones somewhat, and later viewers who were pimped in through the new ship didn’t always even bother to watch the first two seasons. Remarks were made about the shipability of the balding one. Fans who felt like their efforts to save the show were what eventually got it renewed felt betrayed both by canon and by fandom.

Massive butthurt ensued.

So virulent were The Ray Wars that there are places on LJ/DW where to this day you cannot talk about Due South without instantly restarting the fight. If there was one silver lining it was the many snarky Livejournal icons proclaiming: “I swing both Rays”.

I’m bi and I like terrible dad jokes. I am required to love that.

Sample lulz from isis, though made by lozenger8. I know like 50 of you had these damn icons, but it’s probably been 15 years since I actually saw one used.

Escapade Due South panels include:

1996: Perfectly happy couple, or the world's most dysfunctional relationship? And where does the wolf fit in?

1998: Is 3rd Season an AU? (Get that strange man's hand off my Mountie! Is Due South like M*A*S*H* - strong and secure enough to survive the loss of a major character? Or will Fraser wake up and find Ray Vecchio in the shower, and the third season just a dream?)

1999: Can this Fandom Survive with Two Rays? (No matter what you say, they're both good for Benny. And bad for him. Is there room in Benny's universe for two loves? Maybe neither of them is right for him. Turnbull, anyone? )

2000: Season 3/4 (Fraser/Kolwalski: who's really in charge here? Who's needier?)

2002: Swingin' both Rays (Fraser cares for both of them, so why can't we? Is it possible to accept all seasons as canon? Is it necessary, or desirable, to go beyond OTP in order to embrace all the wonderful characters Due South offers?)

2003: Small Fandom or Monster in the Closet by Alice in Stonyland, Sharon Marais (This panel will discuss both viewpoints; audience is encouraged to share their stories and opinions.)

2014: Due South Retrospective (Let's stage a dramatic historical reenactment of the Ray Wars for the benefit of those who missed it the first time around! Or we could skip that part and just talk about how awesome Benton Fraser is.)

2017: due South: For Reasons That Continue To Need Exploring At This Juncture (Whether long-time fen or new to this fandom, an opportunity to give and get fanworks recs, share links to social media due South community sites, display show-and-tell due South memorabilia, squee about canon and about fanon. May also include topics that are Canadian Six Degrees (AKA Six Degrees of due South).)

2018: Do Slash (Rey Fraser/RayV? Fraser/RayK? Ray/Ray? Fraser/Ray/Ray? Red ships, green ships, other dS ships? Let's show the love for any of them! Share fanworks recs! Reminisce about how we first found dS slash! Discuss dS slash zines (plus some announcements about NEW dS slash zines).)

Personally, I’ve seen exactly three episodes of Due South: The first one, the first one with Ray K that’s a huge callback to that, and the one where Fraser fakes his death. (What? A girl has needs, okay?)

As pretty much a bystander, I gotta say... wow, the potential between the Rays is so interesting.

Here’s Ray V off on this deep cover mission for ages and ages while Ray K is pretending to be him and hanging out with his family and his old partner. Imagine the loneliness and insecurity of knowing you’ve been replaced at home. Imagine the mindfuck of stepping into some other guy’s life and feeling like a fraud. Ray K ends the series riding off into the sunset with Fraser... while Ray V marries Ray K’s ex wife. Whut?

It is no surprise then that my very favorite Due South vid--and it has a lot of competition because this fandom is known for vidding--is Phoenix by Scribe. It’s a constructed reality of Vecchio’s time undercover. (Helpful of that actor to have been in like 800 mafia canons!) I saw this at Bitchin’ Party a number of years ago and was blown away.

Phoenix on AO3

Due South has tons of great fic, making it another great older fandom to check out. The big archive was the Due South Archive, but like so many other great slash archives of ages past, it now resides conveniently on AO3.

I suppose Due South must have had a het arm of the fandom at some point, but if so, I sure don’t know where it hung out. Fanfiction.net has like 800 stories, as compared to AO3′s 12,580.

Due South on Fanlore

Due South on AO3

Countdown to Ray Wars 3.0:

10...

9...

8...

#fandom history #due south #escapade 2020 #escapade con

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sophiechoir · 4 years

Text

Thoughts from Mass 5/31/20: Pentecost & Reconciliation

@ Klasztor Ojców Dominikanów w Łodzi (Monastery of Dominican Fathers in Łódź)

[very long entry today]

Listened to some Latin hymns before watching Mass proper - first one was Veni Creator Spiritus, then O Ignis Spiritus <3

I suppose the comfort of Latin is that it feels mysterious and unknown and so elevated, more divine, but at the same time, since this is a Catholic hymn and ultimately human, we know that the translation is something good and Catholic and human and not entirely alien or unloving. It’s the unknowable without fear. Without understanding, we understand. It’s an abstraction of faith - a work of art. [side note - something is human when human-made]

A proper shrine, which does not reach above the trees (like a Shinto temple) [excepting the spire and its cross]

Zen feels in a Catholic music video - the return to nature to communicate peace and divinity is universal

Mass

Today’s Theme (among many lol): The many vs the one

The alien faces of icons

Tend to worship the unknowable - fear and worship really are closely tied, aren’t they? Just a thin line, yet all-important - perhaps that line is love - perhaps love is what distinguishes true worship from pagan servitude (...no offense)

Conflicting accounts of the relationship between understanding and God/religion, of course!

I wonder about the ratio of priests/monks to nuns - surely there are more of the former?

It filled the house - it filled each person in the house - community & individual

Rewrite the Bible in modern-day context

The world burns & is renewed, wings of flames, wings and tongues, flying sparks, sparking wires, cut or snapped, snapping together, snapping in the wind, the exhalation, the death of many, yet nevertheless life, always life, always the return to life, all in the same house, same body, resurrection without replacement, the phoenix in agony

Many acts, one God

Body of Christ = Church is incredibly anti-individualist

Floating world this week [Edo Period]

“Peace be with you,” He said, showing them the violence wrought upon Him, “Peace be with you.” God, please

Homily

Two Triptychs: [the priest talked rather quickly, so might be incorrect, but this is a fascinating format/argument nonetheless]

Holy Spirit Triptych

Creation of the world

After Flood - the dove?

Christ Incarnate, I think?

~Badness~ Triptych (lol idk what he called it)

Adam and Eve: The matrimony of sin & shame

Cain and Abel: The brotherhood of resentment

Babel: The community of pride & hubris

Healing the harm of the second triptych through the Pentecost: Apostles proclaiming Gospel globally, in all languages, as both a sign of the brotherhood of humanity in faith (#2) and servitude to God and learning and understanding one another (#3/1 I guess). This healing is how we reach happiness and fulfillment - we are fulfilled through the collective faith of the church and by fulfilling each others’ happiness (communist ‘tude, m’dude!).

Focused very much on the Church: through the Holy Spirit, we know God is with us in the Church

Nowhere else does Christ refer to the apostles as his brothers

No sin or weakness of ours can stop or deter God’s will (hm)

The Church is the Chosen One (not any one of us, I suppose is the logic here - oh, logic)

The fallen face of Cain

God gives through others, through the Church - so perhaps prayer is also a method of raising awareness, not just to God but to others - a method of advocacy among the people - what inner room? lol

The *apostles* as guilty for Christ’s death (hm)

God-given strength to forgive

Post-Mass Thoughts: Reconciliation & Politics

Went to confession today for the first time since around Christmas. Our Polish church just now opened in a very limited capacity - only 10 or less people in the building at a time, per government regulations - my mom, my sister, and I had to sign up for a time slot in the evening. Completely bizarre experience, of course. Signs in English with bright red fonts were up everywhere - half-peeling arrows had been taped onto the floor, as if we were robots following a track or dancers tapping out a routine onstage - a hefty bottle of hand sanitizer sat at the entrance (the new baptismal font! lol) - the main hall was blockaded with wooden kneelers, and, peering in, I saw the silhouette of a camera still perched on its stand in front of the altar - and of course everyone wore masks.

But those masks were frequently half-off or incorrectly worn. The two priests and two volunteers were cheery and casual as they greeted us. We were a bit early. The confession itself felt rushed and anticlimactic - there was no wait in line, no buildup, no feeling of relief afterwards. Even face to face with the priest in the small side chapel, I didn’t experience any significant anxiety or guilt or shame. But perhaps that was partly due to the sins I was confessing as well as the immediate context. Lack of regret for many of them - yikes-!

The drive home was far more eventful, to be honest. I sat in the backseat of the car and listened carefully as my mom and sister spun into a heated discussion of the riots and unrest around the country, in our own Chicago. I mediated a bit at the end, tried to point out commonalities, broaden the perspective, yada yada, but my mom and sister decided themselves that they would end the discussion reconciled and light a candle before bed for the victims of all this violence. Now that part made my heart swell - what an elevating gesture, what perfect sincerity and love-! Now that’s religion’s role in politics. That’s what practicing in a community of faith can do when debate and ideology fail. Light a candle and hold hands as we bow our heads in the dark.

God, it’s gotten really dark.

#thoughts from mass #thoughts #prose #confession #not surprised at what's happening with the protests tbh but gosh does it make me nauseous to think about it #sorry for the gross politics ewwwww #lol #...#im tired man

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dustedmagazine · 4 years

Text

Dust Volume 6, Number 5

Courtney Marie Andrews

The lockdown continues, and live music has disappeared, replaced by a somewhat antiseptic and unsatisfying spate of live streamed shows mostly one person with a guitar on the couch in their living room. We salute the courage and the effort but miss bands and audiences and even the chatter drifting in from the bar area. In the meantime, at least for now, there are still lots of new records vying for our attention. We present this Dust to catch up with some of them. It’s an ecletic survey of contemporary classical, vengeful hip hop, psyche, jazz, folk and metal artists, all continuing to try to navigate a very difficult period. Our writers this time include many of the usual suspects, Bill Meyer, Ray Garraty, Jonathan Shaw, Andrew Forell, Tim Clarke, Jennifer Kelly, Tobias Carroll and Patrick Masterson.

a•pe•ri•od•ic—For (New Focus Recordings)

for a•pe•ri•od•ic by a•pe•ri•od•ic

Silence is a rhythm, too, and a•pe•ri•od•ic dances to it repeatedly throughout their second recording. The Chicago-based ensemble has traversed the new music continuum, performing music by composers from Peter Ablinger to Christian Wolff. Sometimes that silence isn’t quite what you want to hear — the COVID-19 pandemic cut short its tenth anniversary spring season one concert too soon — but it proves to be rich loam from which to grow music on this CD. All four of its pieces were composed specifically for the group by individuals who recognize the merit of non-imposing sounds. That knowledge derives in part from the fact that three of the composers also perform with the group, but also from their long-standing engagement with post-Cage-ian and Wandelweiser material. Director and pianist Nomi Epstein’s descriptively entitled “Combine, Juxtapose, Delayed Overlap” feels like a ceremony intermittently perceived through an opening and closing door. Billie Howard’s “Roll” tucks the composer’s whispering violin behind muted French horn and voice, wringing intensity from the effort one must apply to following its retreating sonorities. Vocalist Kenn Klumpf’s “Triadic Expansions (2)” moves in the other direction, sprouting ivy-like from the slenderest branches of sound. By comparison, Michael Pisaro’s stately “festhalten/loslassen” is a veritable riot of unwinding tonal colors. As the decade ticks towards year eleven, rest assured that a•pe•ri•od•ic is searching for the next promising idea.

Bill Meyer

Agallah — Fuck You The Album (Propain Campain)

Fuck You The Album by Agallah

This is a personal vendetta album. After more than 25 years in the game, Agallah has got to settle the score against the whole world. To say he just has a chip on his shoulder would an understatement. Thirteen songs of pure hate with the title quite properly reflecting its content. In his fight, the rapper strips down all the artistry, including the production. Known for making beats for other hip hop acts, Agallah here not only uses barely serviceable beats, he doesn’t even makes pretense he needs beats. Almost all the tracks work as a capellas. His gruffy voice and arrogant flow don’t need sonic support. And what support can you expect from the world full of phonies, liars, actors, pretenders, cowards and fair weather friends? “Stop pretending, my career is not ending,” he almost screams on “Telling Lies To Me.” If this CD feels like a dinosaur in 2020, then it says that it is not something wrong with this album but with the world.

Ray Garraty

Courtney Marie Andrews — “Burlap String” single (Fat Possum)

Old Flowers by Courtney Marie Andrews

As the eponymous song of 2018’s May Your Kindness Remain amply demonstrated, Courtney Marie Andrews’ pipes are not to be fucked with. But while that was perhaps the most vivid depiction yet of her abilities, the Phoenix native’s delivery can be just as powerful on a muzzle. Such has been her approach thus far with what we’ve heard from Old Flowers, originally slated for an early June release but since pushed back to July (or beyond, who knows). The post-breakup lyrical territory was initially revealed with first single “If I Told,” but it’s the gently loping “Burlap String” I’ve had on repeat for much of the past month. Ever ended a relationship with someone and regretted it? Lush piano and a sighing slide guitar tell you Courtney has without her ever having to utter a word, and much of the song is an illustration of the internal conflict that lingers long after you’ve made the call. I’m inclined to write out the whole second verse here, but it’s the end of the third that lingers as Andrews evokes barely holding back tears: There’s no replacing someone like you. That ensuing pause runs bone-deep, its implication clear — no amount of Mary Oliver can save you from yourself.

Patrick Masterson

Dennis Callaci — The Dead of the Day (Shrimper Records)

youtube

Some albums could be said to hum. In the case of the latest from Dennis Callaci, that’s meant literally: many of the songs on his new album The Dead of the Day feature warm clouds of feedback or droning organ notes. It’s a companion piece to his recent book 100 Cassettes, which features thoughts on musical icons throughout the year. This album’s focus is more insular: some of the songs have a drifting, improvised feel to them. But Callaci also taps into some terrifically subdued songwriting veins here — “Broadway Blues Pt. II” recalls the haunted dub-folk of Souled American, and Franklin Bruno’s piano lends a propulsive dimension to the ruminative title track. And on “Scoreless,” Callaci teams with his Refrigerator bandmate (and brother) Allen Callaci for a song that slowly builds from acoustic foundations to something modestly grandiose. Contrary to what its title might suggest, this album feels very much like a document of one man’s life.

Tobias Carroll

Cameron / Carter / Håker Flaten — Tau Ceti (Astral Spirits)

Tau Ceti by Cameron / Carter / Håker Flaten

Tau Ceti is a planet that is hypothesized to be similar enough to Earth that it could potentially support similar life forms. The three musicians that recorded this tape may come not come from the same system, but they fall into a harmonious orbit around a common circumstance — they were all in the same swanky studio, Halversonics, on a particular winter day in early 2019. One supposes that whatever they were rotating, they move towards the source of heat, since Tau Ceti builds slowly from chill acoustic exploration to a fuzzed-out solar flare. As they progress, abstraction burns away and velocity increases. It’s a gas to hear Ingebrigt Håker Flaten and Lisa Cameron lock in behind Tom Carter’s increasingly gritty sound-bursts.

Bill Meyer

Tim Daisy — Sereno (Relay)

Tim Daisy - Sereno :: music for marimba, turntables and percussion (relay 028) by Tim Daisy

Sometimes the timing of even the most tuned-in drummer is foiled by external circumstances. Sereno was supposed to signal the end of an intense phase of solo practice by Tim Daisy. His intentions for 2020 included making an album of duets and writing music for two ensembles. But at press time he, like everyone else, is hunkered down with his family, and everything he had planned is on hold.

Daisy’s stint as a primarily solo artist coincided with a reconsideration of identity; he wasn’t just a drummer, but a multi-instrumentalist and an orchestrator of electro-acoustic sound. Sereno is split between three elegiac marimba solos that showcase Daisy’s instinct for deliberate melodic development and five much denser constructions for imprecisely tuned radios, playing and skipping records, and Daisy’s strategically reflective drumming. If this record is the only new music that Daisy puts out this year, it leaves us with plenty to think about.

Bill Meyer

Kaja Draksler & Terrie Ex — The Swim (Terp)

On the surface, this looks like quite the odd couple. Terrie Ex Is a Dutch electric guitarist in his mid-60s who still goes by his punk rock name. He’s a ferocious improviser whose scrabbling instrumental attack incurs intensity from any ensemble that doesn’t want to get bowled over, and he knows more Ethiopian tunes by heart than anyone on your block. Kaja Draksler is a Slovenian pianist exactly half his age whose recent projects include a fast-paced, idiosyncratically balanced trio with Petter Eldh and Christian Lillinger, and an octet for which she sets Robert Frost poems to a combination of chanson, Baroque chamber music, and thorny free improvisation. But neither got where they are by letting fear deter them from a musical challenge, and both of them have a fine awareness that one way of understanding their respective instruments is that they are pieces of wood with wires attached. Given that common understanding of music as a combination of coexisting textures and assertive actions, they work together quite well on this CD, which documents a performance that took place at London’s Café Oto in 2018. Scrape meets sigh, jagged fish-hook pluck meets sparse wire-damped drizzle, instinct meets intuition, and when the disc is done, it’ll seem quite sensible to dive back in and swim the whole length in reverse.

Bill Meyer

Errant — S/T EP (Manatee Rampage Recordings)

errant by errant

Errant is the one-woman project of Rae Amitay. Some listeners of metal music may be familiar with Amitay’s work, as vocalist for death-grind-hybridists Immortal Bird and as drummer for the folk-metal act Thrawsunblat. For Errant, Amitay has created songs and sounds that have little in common with those other bands’ aesthetic extremities. “The Amorphic Burden” may prompt you to recall the melodic black metal that Ludicra was making toward the end of that band’s storied run, or the sludgy drama of Agrimonia’s most recent record. In any case, Errant’s sound skews toward more luminescent atmospheres. Production values are largely pristine; Amitay wants you to hear clearly every string and cymbal strike. It makes sense. She plays a bunch of instruments well, and that’s part of the point: that one woman is producing all the sounds, and all the affect. She ends the EP with a cover of Failure’s “Saturday Savior,” and it’s the least interesting thing on the record. But even there, she presents the listener with something worth hearing. Her clean vocals are lovely, disarmingly so. What may be most impressive about this early iteration of Errant is the extent of Amitay’s talents, and how those talents allow her to encroach on the hyper-masculine territory of the “one-man” act.

Jonathan Shaw

Field Works — Ultrasonic (Temporary Residence)

Ultrasonic by Field Works

Stuart Hyatt’s latest compilation in the Field Works series is an absolute beauty — and timely given it’s being released during a pandemic whose origins may be linked to bats. The field recordings that the contributors used to create the music on Ultrasonic come from the echolocation of bats, and the approaches tend towards rhythmic or atmospheric. At the rhythmic end of the spectrum we have Eluvium’s majestic opener “Dusk Tempi,” akin to his work on Talk Amongst the Trees. Mary Lattimore’s glimmering harp patterns are fitting accompaniment to the chittering bat sounds on “Silver Secrets.” And Kelly Moran’s prepared piano on “Sodalis” sends the listener down a hall of mirrors, chased by gorgeous bass tones. At the more abstract, atmospheric end of the spectrum we have Jefre Cantu-Ledesma’s radiant “Night Swimming.” Christina Vantzou blurs the line between the sounds of modular synthesis and bat sonar on “Music for a Room with Vaulted Ceiling.” And on Sarah Davachi’s “Marion,” the listener is immersed in a luminous halo of nocturnal overtones. Wherever the artists venture, this is a varied yet consistently evocative collection.

Tim Clarke

FMB DZ — The Gift 3 (Fast Money Boyz / EMPIRE)

youtube

The Gift 3 was initially set to be released in December 2019 but was postponed until now. DZ’s “Merry Christmas, pussies!” on one of the tracks doesn’t sound so odd, though, because the whole world has plunged into a constant holiday. The new album continues two trends. It carries on the “ape” theme from the previous album Ape Season. “Ape Activities,” “Keep It on Me” and “No Features” are the grittiest tracks from a disc where the prevalent mood is a sick worry. DZ made it out of the hood but had to be on the lookout as the enemies are out to get him. The other trend is that The Gift 3 continues the ideas of The Gift series. The songs have a usual verse-hook structure, are poppier and more relaxed than on Ape Season. DZ, thankfully, doesn’t try to sing anymore but hires some singers on choruses. The hardest track here is “High Speed” with Rio Da Yung Og where Detroit/Flint duo spit vicious lines.

Ray Garraty

Hala — Red Herring (Cinematic)

youtube

Detroit multi-instrumentalist Ian Ruhala wears his heart dripping from his sleeve on “Red Herring” his latest record as Hala. Skipping from the yacht rock of “Making Me Nervous” to the country blues of “True Colors” via power pop, The Kinks and Tom Petty, Ruhala manages to create a thread with deceptively simple melodies and the sincerity of his delivery. There’s more than a touch of Kevin Barnes in the voice and the delight in throwing genres at the wall to see what sticks and, like Barnes, some of it fails to adhere. The pleasure here is in the sense of eavesdropping on the process and reveling in unexpected flourishes that refuse to be ignored.

Ruhala writes a smooth love song and isn’t afraid to turn up the guitar or address politics on standout “Lies” - “I’m eating breakfast with the fascists/Oh man they stand about ten feet tall/My mouth is bleeding at their proceedings/They get their courage through a plastic straw” It may not be Guthrie but he makes it work through a leavening wit and a mid-tempo vamp straight from the solar plexus. “Red Herring” suffers somewhat from its stylistic roaming but a fundamental big heartedness and willingness to reach makes it an enjoyable trip.

Andrew Forell

Las Kellies — Suck This Tangerine (Fire)

youtube

Suck This Tangerine opens with a loose groove and a grime smeared highlife guitar line, the voice enters with ironic invitations over choppy Gang of Four chords. In the new one from Las Kellies, Argentinian duo Cecilia Kelly and Silvina Costa sling taut bass lines and slash guitars over mutant disco rhythms for 12 tracks of slinky indie dance. Drawing on elements from Leeds, London and the Bronx, Kelly and Costa add dubby space and South American humidity to their sound, to elevate the album beyond the sum of its influences.

Kelly handles guitar and bass, wielding the former like a cross between Andy Gill and Viv Albertine and unfurling loose funky serpents with the latter. Costa swings between ESG and The Bush Tetras and incorporates an array of hand drums that deepen and enliven the rhythmic pulse. There is a palpable and joyful chemistry between the two evidenced by their easy interplay and enhanced by the production that gives clarity and elbowroom to each instrument. If the lyrics can tend toward the perfunctory, they are delivered with a winking insouciance on put downs like “Close Talker” and “Rid Of You”. Suck This Tangerine is a worthy addition to the growing collection of feminist post-punk inspired albums we’ve been dancing to of late.

Andrew Forell

Mint Mile — Ambertron (Comedy Minus One)

Ambertron by Mint Mile

Silkworm, the band, may have ended in 2005 with the death of drummer Michael Dahlquist, but its legacy of slow, gut-socking heaviness, mordant wit and muscular guitar lives on, first in Bottomless Pit and now in Tim Midyett’s new band Ambertron. Midyett’s voice and clangorous baritone guitar is instantly recognizable, of course, to anyone who loved Silkworm, but the band diverges somewhat with the pedal steel played by Justin Brown of Palliard, weaving eerily though the slow buzz and moan of “Likelihood.” Jeff Panall, from Songs:Ohio, plays the hard, heavy drums that undergird these songs, giving them structure and forward motion. Other players include Matthew Barnhart from Tre Orsi and Horward Draper from Shearwater. Greg Normal of Bitter Tears contributes a mournful bit of trumpet to “Fallen Rock,” and Chicago alt-country mainstay Kelly Hogan takes the lead in “Sang.” The music is raw and morose; even dense strings can’t quite lift the gloom in “Christmas Comes and Goes,” a song as raw as late November in Chicago. And yet there’s a sort of resilience in it, a strength that comes through persistence. “If we could only find a way to bank the time we had together,” sings Midyett in “Giving Love,” his hoarse voice full of ragged loss, his guitar raging against it all and not quite beaten down even now.

Jennifer Kelly

Gard Nilssen’s Supersonic Orchestra — If You Listen Carefully the Music Is Yours (Odin)

If You Listen Carefully The Music Is Yours by Gard Nilssen´s Supersonic Orchestra

Perched atop his drum stool, Gard Nilssen sits where styles converge. He’s supplied the controlled boil that drives the free-bop combo Cortex, laid down some heavier beats with Bushman’s Revenge and exemplified long-form lucidity with his own trio, Acoustic Unity. In 2019, the Molde Jazz Festival recognized his versatility and forward perspective by anointing him the artist in residence. Besides showcasing his ongoing projects and accompanying heavy guests from abroad, most notably Bill Frisell, he got to put together a dream project. This 16-piece big band, which includes members of Cortex, Acoustic Unity, and the Trondheim Jazz Orchestra, is it. With the assistance of co-arranger André Roligheten, Nilssen has taken some of his trio’s sturdy melodies and turned them into frameworks for boisterous but subtly colored performances. With three basses and three drummers, this could have been either a mess or an uptight game of “you first,” “no sir after you.” But the rhythm crew shifts easily between swinging unisons and refractory elaborations. Roligheten often plays two saxophones at once in smaller settings, and one suspects that he has a lot to do with the rich colors that the horns paint around the featured soloists.

Bill Meyer

Matthew J. Rolin — Ohio (Garden Portal)

Ohio by Matthew J. Rolin

The ghoulish image on the j-card belies the sounds encoded upon this tape. Matthew J. Rolin is a relative newcomer to the practice of acoustic guitar performance; the earliest release on his Bandcamp page was recorded in late 2017. But he’s catching on fast. Switching between six and twelve-string guitars, he serves up equal measures of ingratiating lyricism and immersive surrender to pure sound. Opener “Red Brick” slots into the former category, with a heart-tugging melody that keeps doling out turns that’ll keep you wondering where it’s going and backtracks that’ll ensure that you never feel lost. “Brooklyn Centre,” on the other hand, grows filaments of string sound out of a pool of prayer bowl resonance centering enough to make you cancel your mindfulness app subscription due to perceived lack of need. Rolin develops ideas situated between these poles over the rest of this brief set, which runs just shy of 28 minutes and definitely leaves one wanting a bit more.

Bill Meyer

Nick Storring — My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell (Orange Milk)

My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell by Nick Storring

What Jim O’Rourke did for the music of Van Dyke Parks and John Fahey on Bad Timing, Nick Storring does for Roberta Flack’s on My Magic Dreams Have Lost Their Spell. The Canadian composer may not have O’Rourke’s name recognition or past membership in a very famous rock band going for him, but consider these parallels. He’s a handy with quite a few instruments, he’s an inveterate assistant to other artists across disciplinary lines, and he functions with equal commitment and fluency in a variety of genres. For this record, his first to be pressed on vinyl (albeit in miniscule numbers), Storring uses the lush string sound of Flack’s 1970s hits as a launching point for deep sonic immersions that are considerably more emotionally oblique than their inspirations’ articulations of loneliness and surrender. When he goes melodic, the cello-led tunes seem to reach for something that they never touch, and when he goes for slow-motion density, the music imparts an experience akin to watching the sort of cinematic experience where you can’t tell if you’re seeing a really slow take or the film has frozen at a single frame.

Bill Meyer

Sunn Trio — Electric Esoterica (Twenty One Eight Two Recording Company)

Electric Esoterica by Sunn Trio

Sunn Trio, from Arizona, makes sprawling, multi-ethnic psychedelia that juxtaposes the scree and groan of heavy improvisational rock with the otherly chords and rhythms of the Middle East. Opener “Alhiruiyn” slicks a trebly sheen over its surging, rampaging improvisations, more in the vein of Black Sun Ensemble than Cem Karaca. But “Majoun” layers antic percussion and tone-shifting bent notes in a limber evocation of the souk. “Roktabija The Promulgator” blasts a strident, swaggering surf riff, about as Arabic as “Miserlou” (which is, in fact, Arabic). “Khons at Karnak” buzzes with hard rock aggression, but shimmies with belly dancing syncopation. Because of the name, the preoccupation with non-Western cultures and the Phoenix mailing address, you might think that Sunn Trio is aligned somehow with Sun City Girls, but no. All kinds of weirdness lurks in the desert out there, lucky for us.

Jennifer Kelly

Turbo, Gunna & Young Thug — “Quarantine Clean” single (Playmakers)

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Despite the subject matter’s potential (ahem) virality, “Quarantine Clean” slipped out almost unnoticed in early April and is the kind of muted performance Young Thug doesn’t get enough credit for (while, curiously, his followers often get too much derision for). For all of Thugger’s hyperfluorescent hijinx over the years that have produced earworms like, say, “That’s All” and “Wyclef Jean,” there’s another side that shows up in stuff like “The Blanguage” and “Freaky” where he lets the words do the work; that’s the subterranean sonic world we’re living in here as he opines on God’s role in the pandemic and why he’s lost so much money but still has to pay for his parents’ penthouse (which: welcome to the revolution, pal). Thug’s acolyte in slime Gunna, meanwhile, does most of the song’s heavy lifting with duties on the first verse and chorus, but it’s pretty hard to tell the two apart, such is the slippery restraint both opt to exercise here. The real star, then, is beatmaker Turbo, whose buoyant anchor melody is complemented by what sounds like a lilting flute. It’s a light touch from all parties, a mellow mood well suited to our time of collective party-eschewing shelter. Run that back in prudence.

Patrick Masterson

Various Artists—Ten Years Gone (A Tribute to Jack Rose) (Tompkins Square)

Ten Years Gone : A Tribute to Jack Rose by Various Artists

A decade on from the too early passing of the great American Primitive/blues/raga player Jack Rose, Arborea’s Buck Curran gathers friends, collaborators and younger artists inspired by Rose for a gorgeous tribute to the master. Mike Gangloff, who played with Rose in Pelt and Black Twig Pickers, leads off with a plaintive, sepia-toned fiddle lament (“The Other Side of Catawbwa”), while next generation experimental droner Prana Crafter closes with an expansive, space folk reverie (“High Country Dynamo”). In between, old friends like Sir Richard Bishop evoke Rose’s full-blown orchestral guitar playing (“By Any Other Name”) while young pickers like Matt Sowell take up the trail forged by Dr. Ragtime. Isasa from Spain and Paulo Laboule Novellino from Italy attest to Rose’s global appeal. It’s mostly guitar, but not entirely; Helena Espvall from Espers contributes a brooding, reverberant “Alcantara” on cello. Curran’s own “Greenfields of America (Spiritual for Jack Rose)” is slow and thoughtful, letting long bent notes ring out with liquid clarity; it’s a hymn and a prayer and a testimony to the wide influence of an artist gone too soon.

Jennifer Kelly

Emily Jane White — Immanent Fire (Talitres)

Immanent Fire by Emily Jane White

Emily Jane White gets tagged as a folk singer, but on this, her sixth full-length, the Oakland songwriter brings a fair amount of goth-tinged drama. Taut string arrangements and big booming drums lift “Infernal” well out of the woman-with-guitar category, and White sounds more like PJ Harvey or even Chelsea Wolfe than a sweet voiced strummer. Immanent Fire sticks, topically, to environmental concerns with track titles like “Washed Away,” “Drowned” and “Metamorphosis.” A foreboding creeps through the songs, pretty as they are, even piano lit “Dew” asks “Does poison drop like the dew?” Arrangements, by Anton Patzner, the composer, arranger and violinist of Foxtails Brigade and Judgment Day, give these cuts weight and heft, punctuating eerie melodies with thick swathes of strings, rumbling percussion and keyboards. The disc culminates in “Light” which begins in a whisper and climaxes in drum-shocked, orchestral swoon. Soothing background music it is not.

Jennifer Kelly

Z-Ro — Quarantine: Social Distancing (1 Deep Entertainment / EMPIRE)

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An unexpected seven-track EP bears an expected title from a Dirty South legend. Z-Ro’s usual topics — trust and loneliness — gain a new meaning in the time of social distancing. To keep away women who only want his money is a necessary precaution now. To be at the corner at the party is a rule for survival. Z-Ro is on his ground counting his dough alone in the house. Earlier he did it so no ‘shife’ (the title of one of the tracks) friends could rob him, now it’s just to obey quarantine rules. The first half of this EP is a bit muddled by unnecessary intros and reggae tunes but the second one hits hard. As always with Z-Ro, the hardest content takes the gentlest form (“Niggas is Hoes” especially is almost a pop song). On the final track “Life of the Party” Boosie Badazz drops by, giving his verdict on the pandemic: “Fuck Corona!”

Ray Garraty

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ajaxthelesser · 4 years

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Hello! Are you a Washington Capitals fan who is worried about cap space/Holtby's contract or just interested in some of the more business side of things? Well this is the rant for you! (because my friends are tired of hearing about it)

I am in no way a professional so I apologize if I got anything wrong and some things are just my opinion. These things are what the caps can do with Holtby (in my opinon, and feel free to share your own if you want!)

Firstly, the caps have a cap space of about 10.3$ after signing Backstrom and resigning Holtby takes up over half of that money, which means less wiggle room for RFA's, UFA's and any trades/signings.

Who are these UFAS/RFAS you ask? Well at the end of the season our RFA's are Djoos (left defence, 1.25$), Boyd (center, right wing, 800,000$), Liepsic (left wing, 700,000$) and Siegenthalar (right defence, 714,166$) and our UFAs are Holtby (6.1$) and Gudas (right defence, 2.34$). BUT we also have to think about next year where Vrana (left wing, 3.35$) and Samsonov (925,000$) are both RFA's and Ovechkin (9.34$) is a UFA. So keep this in mind that whatever MacLellan does also affects all of these decisions.

The caps keep Holtby (yay) Holtby is still a really good goalie and younger than goalies such as Price, Lundqvist and Fleury so as long as the caps aren't signing him to anything more than a maybe 3-5 year deal around his cap hit.

It also gives Samsonov a chance to develop more before being the full starter. Having two good, trusted goalies is better than one goalie who only has one year under his belt and a risk of one of our prospects or signing/trading for a goalie. We don't need a Toronto Maple Leafs situation.

But as mentioned earlier, it takes up a lot of cap space to resign players this year and next so some more trades like the Stephenson for a 5th round pick will happen.

The caps don't resign Holtby but also don't trade/sign a new goalie

This means that either Phoenix Copley or Vitek Vaneck would come up and play back up for Samsonov, who would become the starter.

Phoenix Copley was the back up last year with 29 NHL games under his belt going 16-8-3, a GAA of 2.98 and a SV% of .901. This season so far he has played 20 games (10-6-4) with the Hersheys with a GAA of 2.45 and a SV% of .907. He has a cap hit of 1.10$ until the end of the 21-22 season.

Vitek Vaneck hasn't played an NHL game or at least a full one or all the sites are being dumb beacuse they're telling me he hasn't. With the hershey's this year he has played 21 games (12-7-1) with a GAA of 2.44 and a SV% of .911. He has a cap hit of 716,000$ also until the end of the 21-22 season.

Now the stats are not bad but there is a huge jump between the NHl and the AHL that don't make the AHL stats transfer over to compare to NHL goalies. So while this is an option, I don't think this is the best option as it will be Samsonov's second year and him getting burnt out without having a really proven back up just doesn't seem right to me. But it will save on cap space, allowing them to resign and sign new players that could later be traded for a back up.

The caps don't resign Holtby and they sign a new goalie/get one in a trade.

So I've looked through the list of goalies who contracts are up at the end of this year just to see the general cap hit, so here are just of the few I found intereseting/have been mentioned to me Crawford, Lehner and Smith both have similar cap hits to Holtby so none of those fit because then you might as well resign Holtby. Also Crawford wants a starter position, something he wouldn't get in Washington. Lehner is also probably resigning with Chicago. Smith is only really interesting because the "exclusive trade, breaking news!" people have mentioned Edmonton as a place for Holtby to go, there for replacing Smith. Though I have my serious doubts on that.

Another place mentioned by them was Calgary because Cam Talbot's contract is also up, a cap hit of 1.45$. Markstrom has also been mentioned but he's for sure resigning with the Canucks. The only one that I find interesting is Khudobin with a cap hit of 2.5$. He's been doing very well this year in the back up goalie position so the chances of Samsonov burning out are lower. I have also searched around and no one has really been talking about if he'll resign with the stars or not.

I'm talking out of my ass and none of what I said happens.

In conclusion, I think Holtby will resign and they'll do more cap space dumping like they did with Stephenson earlier in the season and by the time his contract is up, Copley or Vaneck will be ready to be a back up for Samsonov. Thanks for reading and giving my friends a break from hearing me rant about contracts lmaoo

#I've literally been working on this for a few days now #I have no life outside of work at the moment lmao #washington capitals #braden holtby #ilya samsonov

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toddlazarski · 4 years

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The Best Bites of 2019

Shepherd Express

2019. The year before, hopefully. The prologue to 2020’s change, maybe. God or Kali or whomever you wish to charge with these sorts of responsibilities, willing. The end of the beginning of the end of discord, the endless fire, the storms and dread, the corruption of soul we’ve all learned to live with over the past few years that feel like a lifetime.

In Milwaukee, 2019 was the year we were rewarded the Democratic National Convention, and the year we immediately tried to grapple with how we would handle hosting the Democratic National Convention. It was the year, as if we were Austin, as if we were Portland, as if we were ourselves a plucky place of progressivism and forward-thinking, our very own food truck park opened. And, at the same time, it was the year it became impossible to log onto any social media without being inundated by hems and haws and shouting-at-cloud mewls that the city suddenly had legal electric scooters on the street. It was the year Syrian civil war refugees opened a Mitchell Street gem of kefta and baba ghanoush and good nature at the most destination-worthy restaurant in town. And it was the year a racially-charged acid attack occurred against a Latino man entering a southside taqueria. It was the year Sherman Phoenix rose, literally, out of the ashes of the 2016 Sherman Park riots. An opening that barely preceded Milwaukee becoming the first city to name racism a public health crisis.

For me, calorically, it was also a calendar stretch of one step up and one back. It was a time of too many fancy burgers, of swearing off fancy burgers, and then reading about The Diplomat’s Diplomac, and then the Birch & Butcher happy hour special, and then the other one with the ampersand (Glass & Griddle). It was the time of swearing off meat entirely, tempering that to limiting meat, trying to go “Impossible” meat, then realizing my daughter had never been to Sobelman’s. A frigid Monday, empty dining room, impossibly cheery waitress and a jalapeno and three cheese-smashed double patty was all that it took to fall back off the wagon. Or is it on the wagon? Either way, it was also the summer that felt like I spent half of, at least, inside a car with intermittently functioning AC, pit-sweating, contemplating which tiny to-go plastic container of bright green or dark red or burnt orange sauce to douse on yet another pastor taco. I ate at every taco truck in the city in ‘19, or tried, or got close, maybe. Out of curiosity. Out of assignment. But as much so out of moral obligation, as some kind of personal corrector to the current tenor of division, of strife, of unease. And as a reminder of comfort, of the spicy, dangerous, gaseous whiff of hope.

Here are some of the other ways I’ll remember ‘19.

13. Italian Beef - Rosati’s

I grew up in the hyper-regionally-specific sandwich heaven of Buffalo, NY. There a “beef on weck” order from near any corner bar or grocer or butcher will yield a horseradish-spiked roast beef stack piled within a crusty German baker concoction known as a kimmelweck—a roll topped with caraway seeds and coarse salt grains of the likes you might use on your sidewalk in February. Whether it’s a little bit drippy or dry, it will likely singe sinuses, bloviate with beefiness, finish with unnecessary and addictively enjoyable sodium-ness. Everywhere that isn’t there, you can find Western New York ex-pats gathered in some corner of some bar, Bills hatted, commiserating, whispering of favorites from places with foreign-sounding names like Schwabl’s, bemoaning the wonder of why it’s so hard. But there’s a difference between hard and unknown.

Here, Chicago’s Italian beef is another simple, but under-served regional sandwich delicacy. Offering even an apt representation of the au-jus-dripping bombs that can be found on every other corner in our big city neighbor to the south would be itself somehow singular. Rosati’s is a Chicago chain that serves just such a purpose.

Of course, aesthetically or on paper, there’s not much list-worthy about a soaked Italian hoagie roll, barely holding it’s earthy contents, leaking greasy debris all over wax paper like it was an old Saab who’s main attribute was character. But then you get closer: it’s a living sandwich form of a closeup on an Arby’s commercial, with infinite folds of beef wedged like an overfull linen closet, so bursting with folded towels you’re afraid to open the door. The thin rug of plasticky, half-melted mozz is optional. Though the glossy, shimmering hot giardiniera should be mandatory, with its oil-slickening and bright, peppy pickled punch.

But this is still a package of lizard brain enjoyment, of Ditka-esque machismo, with an essence and soul that is all two-fisted, garclicky pigout. It’s the perfect brown meal when you’ve had too many, when it’s too cold, when football is on, when it is followed by a slice of either thin or deep dish—both also apt Chicago representations here. Enjoy life and don’t be ashamed. You can love an Italian beef and still, later, after you swallow, sing along to “the Bears still suck.”

12. Sloppy Johnny - Boo Boo’s

A 6-buck price tag and a name that harkens cafeteria appetites and Adam Sandler jams doesn’t really inspire notions of much other than a nostalgic budget lunch.

But then you see one on the table in front of you, alongside the inspired rotating roster of obscure hot sauce bottles, and ideally next to a steaming bowl of creamy onion-cheddar soup. The sandwich, which derives from a New York City bodega specialty known as a chopped cheese, comes in a fresh-baked, beautiful baguette—crusty outside, pillowy inside—which houses barely visible meat, all the scrags seductively tucked under blankety rivulets of piping white cheddar and pickled peppers and rumors of mushrooms. While I used to come to this address for whiz-spattered ribeye, the Johnny is a bit perplexing in its polish. It is fat guy food all cleaned up, as button-down and put-together a presentation of chopped beef indulgence as might exist in town.

Giving the flat-topped package a second to cool off is the only challenge. Along with the lack of alcohol to wash it down, or assuage said wait. But there seems to be no other shortcomings to the lunch, or anything about the quirky, aggressively friendly spot that replaced and immediately made us all forget the Walker’s Point Philly Way. The sister biz of nextdoor Soup Brothers, Boo Boo’s shows the Milwaukee Soup Nazi’s comfort food flavor rigor and peculiar touch extends neatly to the realm of sandwiches.

11. Carbonara - Zarletti

It’s hard to balance summer in Milwaukee. There’s an at-once need to makeup for six months of living in a place where it hurts your lungs to breath natural air with an overwhelming roster of stuff to do. Of stuff to do outside. One solution might be doing something of calendar noteworthiness with a level of relaxed removal. For me I’ve found an annual tradition of attending Bastille Days’ nighttime 5K. Yet instead of stretching and putting on too-short shorts, I park myself at a table on Milwaukee Street, sip a Negroni, spoon roasted lamb and perperonata onto charry bread, and await a big, hearty pasta while watching the more ambitious sweatily charge toward a finish line and away from their true appetites.

Zarletti’s sidewalk cafe on a summer night can feel very European, very sophisticated, well-heeled. But the carbonara is at it’s core quite basic. Yes, it is the embodiment of those aspects of Roman food anyone recently back from the Old Country will annoy listeners with: simplicity, freshness. Egg, Pecorino Romano, garlic, onion. Here too there is a vomitorium-like abundance of sauteed pancetta. And a reminder of how that perfect deep bowl of al dente can somehow hit all the comfort points of all the different life epochs: childhood mac n’ cheesiness, first apartment spaghetti nights, that trip to Italy. And now, in the night’s growing darkness and fanfare, it’s a special new tradition to feel apart from the race, and part of a different one—finishing every last salty morsel of piggy meat before my stomach says to stop.

10. Tacos de carbon, desebrada, chorizo, pescado - El Tsunami

I’m not entirely sure the silky, sour creamy, Serrano-based light green emulsified salsa found about so many southside taquerias is homemade—such is the ubiquity. And, at this point in our relationship, I’ve gone too far to ask. So, I will continue to happily, ignorantly, scoop and spurt over every possible meatstuff served between National and the Airport, from 35th to the Lake.

Of these, the fare at El Tsunami holds a special sort of siren song sway, pulling me past La Canoa, away from my beloved Chicken Palace. In fact, of the two locations of Tsunami, this is the one without alcohol. And the fact it is still somehow preferred should be all the endorsement necessary. The petite counter-focused diner always feels like a happier, spicier Edward Hopper vision, especially with snow falling and cozy smoke plumes billowing about from the flattop that seems to be always full of approaching-happy meat.

In taco form, an order of carbon yields smoky, charcoal-forward, tiny-diced and juice-spurting nodules. The desebrada is a chocolatey, shreddy deep-stewed beef, with the depth and earthiness of the kind of thing grandma might cook when it’s cold out, when she hasn’t seen you in a while, when she got up real early, even by her standards, to start. The chorizo balances salty, greasy, satisfying pork bombast with foodie subtlety—what is that? Cinnamon? The pescado makes fish fries seem benign, lacking abundantly in tortillas and salsa.

There are other routes—the diablo sauce, a color only seen in dangerously fast and tiny sports cars, is a special coat for any fish dish. But it is the tacos, cilantro-y and satisfying, that remain the supreme vessel for green salsa dousing. And, either way, I’m leaving with some to go: a few containers of verde, just enough to carry a little Tsunami with me back home, to the fridge, enough to pull me through the far too many non-taqueria meals of life.

9. Any pizza - San Giorgio

Maybe it’s because I’m not a car guy, and get no thrill from “peeking under the hood,” and not enough of a cook to have much interest in “seeing how the sausage is made,” but I’ve never cared a great deal about the concept of “open kitchen.” They wear aprons, can handle industrial-grade pans, are comfortable working close to a flame—I get it.

But then I found myself for the first time at San Giorgio’s “pizza bar,” contemplating how beautiful a concept, how perfect a term, when I heard one pizzaiolo, upset about peel placement or arugula quantity or something or another say to the other, “I’ll kill you.” Huh, I thought. They really care.

While few inside the scene seem to put any stock in the VPN certification (the official delegation delineating true Neopolitan style pizza, regulating everything from oven type, to temp, to how much your dough balls must weigh—yes, it’s a bit ridiculous, and, yes, it’s a cost), all aspects of the pizza pedigree of San Giorgio show just such immense, aggressive, sure, threatening, pursuit of craft. In the Sopranos sense of the word, all ingredients, all dishes, seem to be worthy of respect.

Try the Quattro Formaggi, a delightfully oily meld of mozz, provola, fontina, and gorgonzola. Or the San Giorgio, bright with arugula and fennel, salty with crispy pancetta, topped, almost unnecessarily, somehow cohesively, with a sunny side egg. Pay plenty of appropriate focus on anything featuring San Marzano tomato carnage. As a gravy it goes well with anything from basil to spicy soppersata. As Instagrammable goopage, it is bright and popping, with no need of a filter, reminiscent of all things you picture of Italy in your mind.

It all still ties back to the beating heart. And by that, I mean the 900 degree Stefano Ferraro oven, hand-crafted, of course, in Italy. It is a muscular, room-dominating hulk, a ravishing blue-tiled beauty, fire-kissing, turning doughiness halfway to toast, letting the Maillard Effect do its enzyme action work, warming, blackening, making a messy marriage of tomato and cheese. Airy corpuscles form around the crust edge, yielding heartening bites of carb char. It is quick cooking, piping hot delivery for all satisfaction points. What pizza was for us as children, pizza can be for us again, here, downtown on a classy wine-soaked date night or pre-Giannis show.

On subsequent visits I’ve found myself, while pulling away the first slice, lifting the edge and checking the undercarriage to admire the cooking and note the sweet char. Each pizza pattern is unique from the last, like the spots on a Jaguar. So, maybe I am into looking under the hood afterall.

8. Burger - Foxfire

The last thing anyone needs from the internet is another burger list. Or even a list with burgers on them, ranked, in some kind of personal application of rules and regulations that strives toward objectivity, scientific method, a justification of juiciness pontificating.

Yet, in 2019 arriving on a listicle is the only validation. And the burger at Foxfire, served Thursday’s out of the back of Hawthorne Coffee, deserves to make listicles that aren’t even covering burgers. So, while Palomino griddles the best sit-down double-digit-dollar burger in town, and Kopp’s remains the heavyweight of gluttonous eat-in-your-car, American Graffitti old-school comfort and mouthfeel joy, Foxfire strikes the perfect balance between craft and simple. The double patty package is reasonably affordable, is cooked basically to temp, is coated with unfussy American cheese. But the availability is limited, enticingly so. It is topped with only pickle and onion. But the counter is suggestively stacked with esoteric hot sauces. It is what to have for workday lunch, generally, in a coffee shop. But the meat crust and luscious give are worthy of foodie discourse, elevated terms like elevated. The duality in a microcosm: the fries here are reminiscent of the stringy, crispy spuds found at McDonald’s; but they can be topped with little-seen Aleppo pepper.

My grandfather used to say that it is impossible to declare a “best,” that such distinction has to be qualified. He lived in the innocent era before internet lists. And, unfortunately, before being able to try the burger at Foxfire.

7. Chicken 65 and Garlic Naan - Cafe India

My wife often jokes that I only want to eat food in taco form. And they say all good jokes are based in truth. So it came in handy that my natural instinct for bread-as-vessel kicked in when, aggressively, irresponsibly, I ordered my Chicken 65 “extra hot” at the Bay View Cafe India. Within two fork bites it became clear something, anything, more than water, was needed to extinguish, to buffer, to assuage boiling buds. Garlic naan was handy, was originally used like a starchy tongue sponge, and then, somehow inspired, I packaged all subsequent chicken bites within the cozy, garlicky, craggy confines of the bendable bread. Thus my version of Indian tacos was born. Built out of necessity, maintained out of deliciousness.

The Chicken 65 has long been my Indian deep-menu go-to. Huge-bite, deep-fried chunks of tender boneless chicken, bathing in fiery, oily, red-orange stew chocked with hunks of pepper and onion and curry leaf. With its shimmering finish and intense afterburn, it’s a dish that often feels like a turmeric-laced Southern Indian version of Nashville chicken.

Apparently nobody really knows where the dish name came from—some claim the number just refers to the birth year. Others, to either the number of chile peppers or the number of pieces of chicken. It doesn’t matter, historians likely have just had too difficult a time stopping eating, or slurping water, or fanning the mouth. But now at least we all have documentation of the dawn of the Chicken 65 taco.

6. Chicken Shawarma, Kufta Kabob Sandwich - Pita Palace

Sometimes go-to’s are made by convenience, sometime laziness, maybe it's economics, every now and then it just comes from plain exceptional, ceaseless taste, of the kind you never tire of, week after week, appetite after appetite. When I became Iucky enough to stumble into a house purchase a pita toss from this sprawling Layton Ave chateau of Mediterranean comfort food, the “go-to” calculus began to spin endlessly, like a slowly turning vertical rotisserie.

From hummus to arayes to lentil soup, all of the counter service spot’s dishes ring true. But it’s the sandwich section that brings me back, never wears out, with cheap, voluminous meat torpedos nestled inside tender, stretchy shrak bread. They are made of tight, but ambitious construction, braced by pickle buttons, onion and tomato wedges. The chicken yields variable cubes and scrags of spitted meat, some crisp, some soft, velvety garlic sauce making the bundle swim, sing. Or there is the kufta kabob, two skewers-worth of beefy, grainy-textured links, slicked with creamy tahini, the whole deal rife with mint, parsley, sumac, and the kind of otherworldliness that you watch Bourdain for a taste of. Kick either up with a side of the piercing, pungent Thai chile garlic sauce, a sauce with a confrontationally acidic spice profile, a flavor reminiscent of little else at all, just this side of a manageable amount of mother-in-law spleen.

It’s the kind of place you spot from the air on approaches back to General Mitchell, a giant red neon glow of ‘Welcome Home;’ the kind of place your realtor might not mention, but you find it and know your property values will sustain, that it will also salve rote Mondays of yawns and kitchen ennui for years to come. It’s the kind of place you are endlessly happy to live near by, for when you don’t know what to cook, or, really, even when you do.

5. Xiao Long Bao Dumplings - Momo Mee

“Eat with care” the menu warns, an enticing challenge, like something you might find on a waiver from a restaurant you learned of from “Man vs. Food.” To me it reminds of an internet-learning wormhole of food blogs and Youtubes on where to find the Shanghai delicacy in a back alley shop in Chicago’s Chinatown. And then, more challengingly, more importantly, how to actually eat a dumpling filled with soup. As an experienced Xiao Long Bao taster—twice—I can state the process is mostly so: Put a drop of soy sauce in your soup spoon, lift the dumpling from the top, place in the spoon, nibble a tiny hole in the top as a steam valve, slurp some broth out, and then, when the temp feels right, shoot it like an oyster. Then you sit back and feel worldly, self-satisfied, sated.

But as long as you don’t puncture and spurt, or, really, as long as you “eat with care,” you are bound to end up happy, letting umami zest and warm salty pork wedges in hand-crafted dough baste the tongue. The disparity of eating this, here, in the base level of a building seemingly still warm from the factory, hits with the arrival of the steaming bamboo basket. Or, really, with the Schezuan wontons, or the Cantonese claypots—anything you can order amidst the plasticizing Walker’s Point condo sprawl. As the neighborhood loses its soul, it’s character, one more hastily constructed Millennial molehill at a time, Momo Mee more than holds the line.

4. Alambre - La Flamita

Certainly one of the buzziest events in town this winter would have to be a recent Ash Kitchen takeover, featuring James Beard-nominated Minnesota chef Jorge Guzman. The spot, an open hearth concept from Dan Jacobs and Dan Van Rite, is the new restaurant of the Iron Horse Hotel. The event spotlighted Mexican street food. Yes, at one of the priciest hotels in town. Black beans were $6; rice, a cool $5. And while probably delicious, probably well-intentioned, it sounds a bit like paying Fiserv prices to see a really great high school team: gimmicky at best, condescending at worst, and to any that spend time contemplating what and how we eat, a bit puzzling. If you want taco truck fare, why don’t you go to an actual taco truck?

That very same Sunday night anyone with the hankering could have taken a short cruise west, on National, and subjected their appetites to La Flamita’s weekly special of one-buck pastor tacos. Cut by a big man with a large knife, direct from the trompo—one of the few of the Lebanese-rooted vertical spits in town—greasy, salty, piggy turns of earthiness are spiked by pineapple hunks, upped by arbol salsa that pokes through each bite like it has something to prove. Or, even better, it being Sunday and a day of fun after all, you could have an alambre. Mix your pastor with asada and with chorizo and with gooping, melting queso, the whole thing congealing into a warm, grandmotherly embrace of a taco mix mash, everything punctuated by peppers and onions. Plopped on top is a steaming baked potato, because they want you to be happy, full.

It is the ideal meal for someone who can’t decide, yes, but also who wants it all, who won’t settle, who wants to soar, like Costanza on the wings of Pastrami, to an Epicurean taste fete of grease and meat sweat pleasure. But you can also stay comfortably on the street, barely 12 bucks in the hole, with leftovers certainly, alone in the car, beyond judging eyes or the formalities of waiters, to ponder life and appetite decisions, and wonder how many more you have room for.

3. Tlayuda - La Costena

If you have little kids you probably go to the Domes 300 times or so per year, or so it seems; and because it’s there, you probably go to Honeydip Donuts across the street maybe just a few times less. Heading south then, passing La Costena and it’s beckoning redness, the HGTV optics of an A-frame mini house-cum-taco truck is refreshing, promising in its cutesiness, alluring if only for the hope of something different.

And different it is. Start with a pastor, my personal barometer of a taqueria’s worth. So often simple scraps of salted pink pork do the trick, but here it is decidedly less piggy, moister, deeper, somehow more seasoned and cheffy. Or try the asada, a 100-level taco order, but here redolent of butcher freshness, liberal salt, flattop love. Really you can tell from “hola,” by the friendliness, by the slowness, by the perfectly-quoted wait times from the counter man: Costena may well be the premier taco truck in town.

Then, working your way through the menu, you get here, to a Mexican pizza, a NYC-slice-consistency, corn-shelled ship of salty flavor. The tlayuda is basically begging for you to take a picture, posturing with the bright allure of the flag of our neighbors to the south, popping with the reds of tomato and chipotle salsa, the greens of lettuce, avocado, the whites of queso, svelty sour cream, it all kept grounded by a swab of creamy refrieds, topped by a generous smattering of your carne of choice. Objectively, that choice should be chorizo, the grease-running ground sausage bits so rife with garlic, so equally charry and wet, that it makes any other kind of meat cover seem a bit tepid, a bit too-healthy.

And sometimes this is how traditions are born, out of a need to get a little person out of the house, out of a desire to let them sleep off dreams of cacti and sausage fruit trees from Namibia in the backseat while dad sates creeping hunger and insoluble curiosity. Such is the joy of family, when you realize even proximity to Sobelman’s, to Oscar’s, can be beat, by this, a whole new world of car-meal, of pizza-esque joy, of something different. Long live the Domes.

2. Brisket Burger, Hot Chicken Sandwich, Pimento Cheese, Cheese Curds - Palomino

It’s hard to keep track: Where are we all now on Palomino? Are we still mad they raised prices? Disappointed that it’s less bar and more restaurant? Stuck in a provincial mode that makes us yearn for cheap frozen tots and Bingo? Are we upset that they took a look in the mirror, didn’t coast, made an effort, and made their food much, much, much better? Or have we all just kind of forgotten it?

Maybe I shouldn’t question. Just appreciate the fact I can walk in on a Friday night at 8, find whatever table I want, or a spot at the bar, and order any one or combo of my favorite things to eat in Milwaukee.

There’s no better way to ruin an appetite and a doctor’s wishes than starting a feast with the curds. Elongated oblong bricks of a battered, sheeny shell, barely housing liquefying magma ooze, seem to get almost transported from fryer to wherever I’m sitting and leaning forward. Such is the temperature, the still oil-shimmering, post-bath promise. Stretchy and rich, airy and crispy, endlessly goopy, it’s a snack only matched in Southern-leaning decadence by the pimento cheese. This is piquant-popped velvetiness, the dream of what grown-up grilled cheese can embody, when plopped atop the accompanying charred toast.

It takes will, recklessness, irresponsibility to keep going at this point. The hot chicken thigh, barely saddled inside a buttery brioche, is helped by two things: greasy slicks of mayo and house hot sauce aid gullet passage; also the heft is constructed so that if you put it down, it might fall apart. One must push forth, in delicious punishment. Then there is the brisket burger. No other burger in town is so good at avoiding overtopping, overhyping, overpricing, a balance of kitchen art and pleasure. Like it is no big deal: fresh ground meat, American cheese, onion, pickle, silky mayo-y special sauce. Here is what it would feel like if you could sit down at a Bay View bar and eat a Kopp’s masterpiece sided by an IPA on a chill Friday night, where you can also remember your growth-spurt 16-year-old appetite, even while pushing 40.

If there were ever a case to be made for it being OK to find a rut, to never stray or explore, to find your caloric Cheers and never think about going anywhere else, Palomino would lead my argument.

1. Bahn Mi - Pho Hai Tuyet

There’s rarely a person that borrows my phone that doesn’t make the comment, the note: “You have a Pho Hai Tuyet app?” It’s there, near the front, proudly prominent, a bit out of place near Lyft and Instagram because it’s a by-the-airport dive in a converted fast food shack with endless out-of-commission fish tanks, and, for some reason, a stage. It is also known, has garnered a bit of a cult following for a fat guy sandwich of near-perfection. Or, it was, actually.

Pho hai shuttered quietly, but inevitably, to anyone who’s been recently, sometime between this past spring and the future of our discontent. Still there was shock to those of us who thought the sandwich would always be there: the big French baguette bed, crispy, succulent pork scrags, garlicky mayo, heaps of cilantro, crispy jalapeno punches.

To write about it hurts, like a eulogy, where you need to remember the bad and mix it with the strange to paint a picture. As it happens I have a friend who informed me that, once, while eating inside, he could hear something audibly scampering in the ceiling panels. Out of loyalty, out of sandwich-love, I practiced willful ignorance. I have another friend, a writer sort, who sports a Pho Hai polo shirt in his author bio pic. It seems like some sort of hipster ironicism, unless you know how much he loves—loved—the sandwich. And, really, what are we but not physical manifestations of our past meals and meal memories? A collection of those calories and reminisces.

Even as we look ahead, to more eating, to big city, big event pedigree, to maybe ending the national embarrassment, to 2020, to a promise of new vision, as we yearn for responsibility and reason, to, well, to... who knows? Whatever happens, whatever is next, I will never delete my Pho Hai Tuyet app.

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bountyofbeads · 5 years

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I Felt Safe in America. Until El Paso. https://www.nytimes.com/2019/08/10/opinion/sunday/el-paso-shooting-immigrants.html

Below are two editorial pieces written by Hispanic AMERICANS and their thoughts on America after the El Paso shooting. We CANNOT LET HATE WIN. WE MUST STAND WITH OUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS.

I Felt Safe in America. Until El Paso.

It is because of people like me and my daughter that a gunman did what he did.

By Fernanda Santos, Ms. Santos, a former national correspondent for The Times, teaches journalism at Arizona State University. | Published Aug. 10, 2019 | New York Times | Posted August 10, 2019 |

PHOENIX — A good friend who is moving to Chicago had a going-away party at a downtown brewery recently and I stopped by to say goodbye. He is an artist from Iraq who escaped to the United States in 2013 to save his life. In Iraq, Mahdi Army loyalists had chased, beaten and threatened him because he had dared to sketch nude pictures — practice for his entrance exam at Baghdad University’s College of Fine Arts. Here, he is free.

I wasn’t running from anyone when I settled in the United States 21 years ago, but I understand the idea of being free in America: For me, it has meant being free from the senseless violence of everyday life in Rio de Janeiro, from where I came. Since moving to the United States, I’ve married a white man, given birth to our daughter and moved to Arizona, where I’ve written about immigrants and the border and gotten to know both well.

I blend in seamlessly in Arizona, where about one in three residents is Latino. As a naturalized citizen, I felt safe here even when a campaign against illegal immigrants led by the infamous former sheriff, Joe Arpaio, targeted Latinos. One day after Donald Trump’s election, a man approached me while I spoke Spanish on the phone outside a coffee shop and screamed, “Speak English.” The experience rattled me, but still I felt safe. I did, however, start carrying my passport card in my wallet, just in case.

That sense of safety changed when a young white man opened fire in a Walmart in El Paso last Saturday, making targets out of brown-skinned people. I read the suspect’s manifesto Sunday morning and, for the first time, I did not feel just like an immigrant. I felt like a target. I looked at my 10-year-old daughter eating the chocolate-chip pancakes I’d made and realized that she could be a target too. Citizenship, it turns out, is an illusory shield. In the eyes of that gunman, I am not American but an invader, an instigator. It is because of people like me that he did what he did.

Segregation was codified in this country in the days after Emancipation, when Southern states enacted laws that clamped down on African-Americans’ newly found freedom to vote, own property or attend public schools. But Jim Crow extended beyond the South: It took the Supreme Court to force Arizona to stop requiring voters to take English literacy tests, and that was years after the Voting Rights Act had already banned such tests.

But if legal segregation has largely fallen before court rulings, anti-minority and anti-immigrant attitudes have not. Last month, at a Republican event in Phoenix, State Senator Sylvia Allen, who is white, said, “We’re going to look like South American countries very quickly.” Ms. Allen, who later apologized, blamed it on the fact that white women are not reproducing fast enough and on the immigrants who are “flooding us and flooding us and flooding us and overwhelming us so we don’t have time to teach them the principles of our country.”

Last week, a fund-raising email by the Arizona Republican Party called the arrival of Central Americans at the border to assert their legal right for asylum “an invasion,” echoing language commonly employed by President Trump.

This is the language of white supremacy today: that we must stop immigration because Latinos will distort American culture and replace “real Americans.” But by “American culture” they really mean white culture, a definition that, to them, doesn’t apply to people like me. Or to black people, Muslims, Asian-Americans and many others, including mixed-race Americans like my daughter.

In his manifesto, the El Paso suspect employs this narrow definition to justify the unjustifiable. He says much more in that screed, most of it vile. Some, though, reminded me, in a good way, of the young undocumented immigrants I’ve met in Arizona. “Inaction is not a choice,” he wrote, reminding me that before elections, many young immigrants, including so-called Dreamers, knock on doors and share their stories, hoping to persuade their neighbors to do what they cannot, which is to vote. For those Dreamers, inaction is indeed not a choice.

There are Walmart stores all along the southern border. If you visit one of them on a weekend, you’ll see a parking lot full of cars with Mexican license plates. In Douglas, Ariz., a city whose mayor was born in the Dominican Republic, Mexicans who cross into the United States on foot to buy discounted clothing and housewares leave their Walmart shopping carts at the border crossing.

While I was at a Walmart in Phoenix shopping for school supplies the other day, I could see the kinds of people who make up this state. There were mothers speaking Spanish to children who spoke to one another in English, Muslim refugees from Africa in brightly colored hijabs, black families and white families too.

When school starts later this month in Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, one school will be missing its principal, Elsa Mendoza Marquez. She was among the 22 people killed in the El Paso Walmart, just across the Rio Grande from Juarez. A dual Mexican-American citizen, she too was shopping and was gunned down while her husband waited for her outside, in the parking lot.

What the El Paso gunman failed to realize is that the immigrants he so hates are, like him, struggling to make sense of a changing country and claim their rightful place in it. He chose a rifle to claim his place. My Iraqi friend, who is off to pursue a master’s degree in art in Chicago, chose a brush.

The Dreamers I’ve met have chosen the power of civic engagement to fight their fight. And that, to me, makes them better citizens than plenty of the people who call themselves “real Americans” these days.

El Paso Was a Massacre Foretold

Those who are set on killing minorities are aided by the fact that they can easily obtain assault weapons in this country.

By Jorge Ramos, Mr. Ramos is a contributing Opinion writer. | Published Aug. 10, 2019 | New York Times | Posted August 10, 2019 |

Leer en español

EL PASO — “I don’t know why he took my boy’s life,” Dora Lizarde said. Her grandson Javier, 15, was the youngest victim of last weekend’s massacre, killed by a bullet to the head. “Fifteen years old; he still had so much time to live,” Ms. Lizarde told me in an interview this week. “I don’t know why he took him away, I don’t understand. He is young, too.”

Patrick Crusius is young, too.

Police have charged Mr. Crusius, 21, in the mass shooting that killed 22 people at a crowded Walmart here on Aug. 3. Nineteen of the victims had Spanish surnames, making this the worst attack on Latinos in modern American history. The Mexican government has labeled the killings a terrorist act, given that eight Mexican citizens were among the dead. And, yes, it is a hate crime.

The massacre of Latinos in El Paso is the latest and most brutal reaction by a young, white American against a future that might be dominated by minorities. The fact that this attack happened is unsurprising: What else can we expect when racism and hatred of others is promoted from the top down in a country where there are more guns than people?

Authorities have said that Mr. Crusius posted a 2,300-word manifesto online minutes before the attack. In it, he said the attack was in response to a “Hispanic invasion of Texas.” “It makes no sense to keep letting millions of illegal or legal immigrants flood into the United States,” Mr. Crusius supposedly wrote, “and to keep the tens of millions that are already here.” Those words startled me — not only because they were so hateful, but because they could seamlessly fit into speeches given by President Trump, by some members of his cabinet and by many right-wing politicians.

While Mr. Trump insists that he does not have “a racist bone” in his body, his history of making racist remarks says otherwise. After years of suggesting that President Barack Obama had not been born in the United States, Mr. Trump launched his presidential campaign in 2015 by likening Mexican immigrants to criminals and rapists. He recently said that four congresswomen of color should “go back” to the countries from which they came. The list goes on. When the most powerful man in the world uses such toxic rhetoric, we should not be surprised when others mimic him.

Beto O’Rourke, the former congressman from El Paso and a Democratic presidential candidate, recently told me that he is convinced Mr. Trump influenced the attack. Mr. O’Rourke — who along with Senator Elizabeth Warren, another Democratic candidate for the presidency, has said in recent days that Mr. Trump is a “white supremacist” — responded to a tweet from the president by writing: “22 people in my hometown are dead after an act of terror inspired by your racism.” Other leaders and politicians, including Representative Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, have also lost their patience with Mr. Trump. “I don’t want to hear the question ‘Is this president racist?’ anymore. He is,” Ms. Ocasio-Cortez said recently.

The president’s xenophobia, and that of many of his supporters and enablers, is rooted in a dread that the day is soon coming when they will be a minority in their country. While non-Hispanic whites remain a majority of the population in the United States, in less than 30 years that may no longer be the case, according to projections. This sort of demographic revolution is putting Americans’ tolerance to the test. Most of us welcome an increasingly diverse country, but many, like Mr. Trump, resist the country’s multiethnic, multicultural future. Some react by walking into a store and murdering innocent people.

The most racist Americans who are set on killing minorities are aided by the fact that they can easily obtain assault weapons in this country. I’ve lost count of all the massacres I’ve covered as a journalist. After each shooting — Columbine, Sandy Hook, Las Vegas, Parkland — I thought we might have reached the limit of Americans’ tolerance for such horror. But it wasn’t so. I fear that the killings in El Paso won’t change anything, and that I soon will be back on another flight headed to cover the next massacre. And then another. And another after that.

I have lost hope that the United States will ever pass laws that limit access to firearms. Like many parents around the country, I’ve had difficult conversations with my children in case they find themselves in a situation where someone is shooting at them. “Try to escape, hide or fight,” I tell them. “But don’t stay still. Gunmen have a lot of bullets, but not patience.”

Still, even if we could somehow solve our gun problem in America, our racism problem would be far more difficult to eradicate. Hate-group activity is on the rise, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center. And anti-immigrant rhetoric has already appeared in slogans shouted during the 2020 presidential campaign.

I crossed the border from El Paso to Ciudad Juárez, Mexico, one morning this week. For many years, Juárez was considered one of the most dangerous cities in Mexico because of the presence of drug cartels. Yet on this visit some people I spoke with told me that they didn’t dare cross into El Paso with their families. When I asked why, some said that they feared being hunted for being Mexican, and all said that racism was a factor.

Nobody should live in fear because they are Mexican nationals in the United States or members of the Latino community. But that’s where we are now in this United States of Trump. The abundance of weapons of war on the streets and Mr. Trump’s unending racist rhetoric are indisputably connected to the massacre in El Paso. What happened in this city was a massacre foretold. Words matter. When they are filled with hate, they cause great damage.

Mr. Ramos is an anchor for the Univision network and the author of “Stranger: The Challenge of a Latino Immigrant in the Trump Era.”

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