#my sister and I were hillbillies in the big city

[bobfloydsbabe]

I did it to myself, but driving to Copenhagen and back (~3h each way) in one day is criminal. My poor lil butt is exhausted. I’m so glad I took tomorrow off work.

[liquidink21]

If I were doing the Avatar Remake

Just a list of things changes and tweaks to the original I would make to Avatar if I was in charge of this netflix remake, given that we’ve all lost hope in it and now I’m just speculating to make myself feel better. I’ve already made a list of things it really needs, and this list includes them, but I’m just going to go hog wild with my imagination and opinions on Avatar. In a rough order of when I think and them and what episode it becomes relevant.

How long are these new episodes going to be? I’d like to extend them for more story content, though am wary of overdoing it. How does thirty minutes sound? Enough for some more depth to some episodes.

I think it should be pointed out earlier on that there are more villages across the South Pole. This is canon, and would make the Southern Water Tribe feel more alive.

Aang’s friends from the past: in addition to Kuzon and Bumi, give him a Northern Water Tribe pal. He’s never been to the South Pole, and was deliberately coming to make new friends somewhere the Monks wouldn’t think to look for him. We can reference this friend again when we reach the North Pole.

Somebody, probably Iroh, mentions Zuko’s name in front of Aang. It’s always infuriated me that the Gaang know’s Zuko’s name suddenly in Warriors of Kyoshi without anyone telling them what it is. I don’t think it needs its own episode, just somebody says it while he’s captured.

The terms of Zuko’s banishment don’t restrict him from the colonies in the Earth Kingdom, so they don’t consider those colonies to be proper Fire Nation territory. I feel they should have their own name, just to make the politics of the show feel deeper. “The Eastern Protectorate” is a nice reference to the Chinese “Protectorate of the Western Territories.” Zhao can namedrop it when they go to his port.

The fact that Kyoshi Island has such a different culture from the main Earth Kingdom should be brought up. The answer is a mix between isolation and cultural exchange with the Southern Water Tribe. Katara and Sokka probably have a passing knowledge of the island. “Oh, that’s where we are.” Also, if Aang knew to come here for the Koi fish, how didn’t he know about there being Kyoshi revering settlements there?

There should be an adult Kyoshi Warrior training the others. She approves of Suki training Sokka, and comments on the rarity of outsiders and men being Kyoshi Warriors. I feel Sokka is the first outsider, but there was another man. Adult warrior gives the explanation that when she was a young trainee, a man working on the docks was teased for “fighting like a girl” so warriors taught him exactly like a girl.

There should be an Earthbending Kyoshi Warrior. I mean Kyoshi herself was a bender, the art can’t be exclusively a non-bending form.

Maybe point out that there are multiple villages on the island. This is in fact canon.

Haru’s mother and village could use some actual names.

We never see any non-bending Earth Kingdom soldiers. I loved how the Fire Nation has different uniforms for its bending and non-bending warriors, and I’d like to see the same for the Earth Kingdom troops.

I want to know more about those pirates? The captain is ethnically a Fire Nation citizen. Is there a story behind that? A navy deserter? Like an opposite of Jeong Jeong, deserting not for ethics but because he didn’t like duty getting in the way of fortune? I’m probably just overthinking it.

The names of the Freedom Fighters are obviously pseudonyms, and Jet probably urges the Gaang to adopt some themselves.

While I don’t actually feel that Aang lying to the two groups in The Great Divide is an unforgivable wrong, I feel the lie itself was a little demeaning and could have been a little more sophisticated.

I have seen that post saying there needs to be more Indians in Avatar than just Guru Pathik, given how many Indian concepts are in the show. Many people also share the opinion that there should be Indian airbenders, so yes they should appear in the flashbacks in The Storm (and The Southern Air Temple as well). Also some Earth Kingdom villages should be Indian based as well. I think the market from The Waterbending Scroll could be a good place to start, maybe the port from The Storm as well, though probably somewhere that isn’t just a background place as well. Maybe the nuns in Bato of the Water Tribe too.

Iroh could be less creepy with June.

Ah, The Northern Air Temple. Honestly I feel that while the ultimate message of Aang being okay with the Mechanist and his people settling in the Air Temple is okay, I feel it needs to end with a greater emphasis on the Mechanist’s people being more respectful to the site. Ramming pipes through historical mosaics and demolishing statues is really not on. Also, while Sokka being cool with industrialisation is in character, I do think he’d disapprove the desecration.

I feel the fact that a lot of the Fire Nation’s technological might (not all of it, though) is riding off the back of a blackmailed Earth Kingdom citizen is something that could be brought up more often.

Yue’s story with the Moon Spirit needs to be explained almost immediately, so that it’s not kind of an arse-pull when the plot needs it.

Legend of Korra makes a big deal about the South gaining independence from the North, but they’re already treated as separate nations? I think it should be mentioned somewhere, probably from Hahn, that the South is technically subservient to the North, though operates with a great deal of autonomy that comes with not being able to contact each other.

The North is pretty sure it’s the original Water Tribe, but can’t say for sure. Hahn thinks of the South as nothing but a colony, though Arnook is more progressively minded and notes there are no records of who came first and treats the South as a sister tribe.

I think there’s another character worth adding, a captain of the Northern warriors. He can appear several more times throughout the series, which I’ll elaborate on.

Zhao comments “there’s a reason they’ve survived a hundred years of war” whereas other comments suggest the Northern Water Tribe has been sitting out of the war. Apparently the North did take uniforms from soldiers 85 years ago, so I think the idea should be that they received one big siege back then, and since then they’ve been experiencing raids since then culling their villages and forcing them into that single fortified city-state. Since then, their ability to send ships out has been impeded by Fire Nation ships patrolling those water but not engaging the city itself until Zhao’s siege.

Yue, when mentioning the waterbenders learning from the Moon, should reference humanity receiving bending from the Lion Turtles, just to introduce the concept that bending could be given and therefore by implication taken away.

There’s a historical character I want to introduce: an Earth Kingdom general that was nearly able to push the Fire Nation out of the Earth Kingdom around half-way through the 100 Year War, but was taken down by internal Earth Kingdom politics. The Fire Nation had to do its conquests all over again because of him. It would help fill out a century of history that is poorly explained. I think he could be introduced by Sokka asking General Fong how they still have an outpost on the west coast when most of that region has been occupied by the Fire Nation.

Azula’s blue fire should be depicted like blue flames are in real life: very straight jets rather than the flickering things you see in the animation. Since it’s basically just powerful fire, I think it should be seen with a couple of other firebenders, though Azula is the only one that exclusively uses it. Jeong Jeong and Iroh would be good people to use it.

I saw a post once by a Korean rightfully upset that the only Korean characters in the show (Song and her village) are lumbered in with the essentially Chinese Earth Kingdom as if they’re the same culture despite Korea obviously being separate and having a poor history of China attempting to enforce hegemony over it. I think maybe something could be made of Song and her people being a distinct culture that has had a generally poor relationship with the Earth Kingdom at large. Maybe the previously mentioned Earth Kingdom general was screwed over for being of this culture.

I’m not sure how to depict the Swampbenders. They'll no longer be caricatures of the guys in the next studio, so they’ll be more respectfully treated and not hillbillies. I’m not sure if they should be Vietnamese (given the original characters have Vietnamese names) or southern Native Americans (given they’re waterbenders, and the other waterbenders are Inuits).

After failing to get Bumi as Aang’s earthbending teacher, they throw around suggestions. Since Aang is learning waterbending from Katara they consider a similarly aged Earthbender. Katara suggests they go find Haru, while Sokka suggests the earthbending Kyoshi Warrior I mentioned before.

I saw a post once suggesting that the Beifongs were collaborators, and while I think this is somewhat extreme, I would like to explore the interplay between their wealth and their position in the war. Also, the fact that Toph had been sheltered from the war and has far less of an emotional stake in it needs to be explored in more detail.

In the Zuko Alone flashbacks Azula really needs to be made out as a normal child with a bad influence (her father) instead of an inherently bad child. My sister points to this episode and claims Iroh or Ursa should have just drowned her and that’s something incredibly fucked up to say about a ten(?) year old.

In that vein, Iroh’s “no she’s crazy and needs to go down” line really needs to be changed to something more compassionate. Most Avatar meta states that Iroh doesn’t actually hate Azula; he’s just prioritising Zuko’s safety, and his line here needs to reflect that.

Aang should recognise the Lion-Turtle, and know that they gave humanity their bending powers. Just to keep that concept in mind, so that when it comes to the energybending climax it’s less of an arse-pull.

Wan Shi Tong’s morale compass and lumping a bunch of kids attempting to avoid genocide in with conquerors needs to be called out more, and I feel Katara should be the one to do it.

Suki gets to stay on for one extra episode and help fight the Drill. It also makes for a better explanation of how she got back. Right now it’s implied she went back across the Serpent’s Pass; in my own she’d explicitly head along the wall and go back with the ferries.

I want more discussion of Ba Sing Se’s social stratification. Was Jin able to visit the Jasmine Dragon? Or was she blocked from entering higher rings?

Toph’s lie detecting thing made into a spiritual or chi related thing. The whole heartbeat thing is pseudoscience.

The Northern Water Captain I mentioned earlier reappears, having met and joined his men with Hakoda’s. Hakoda praises his son with helping bridge the gap between the two water tribes.

Ty Lee gets more appearances in Book 3, even if just in the background. She got some nice development in The Beach and I want to see more of it as Azula’s brought her out of that circus and back into the Fire Nation nobility.

Sparky Sparky Boom Man’s tattoo has a different design that is not a villainised appropriation of a Hindu symbol. Something nice and geometric, maybe sun based.

Hawky at some point returns to Team Avatar. I want them legitimised as a member of the Gaang! Equal status to Momo and Appa! Also I suppose bringing a letter back from the Beifongs could have significance to Toph. But let Hawky return!

Hama has a more compassionate ending. I feel after she’s led away, Sokka figures it’s pretty fucked up that they’re handing one of their own over to the Fire Nation so they go and rescue her. They give her a choice between joining them to fight during the eclipse or returning to the South Pole to help rebuild the Southern Water Tribe (given that there’s Notherners helping rebuild she could help make sure they rebuild it in the style of the south and not a facsimile of the north). She chooses the latter.

No weird Guru Pathik during Aang’s hallucinations please.

While discussing the allies that Hakoda picked up, he mentions some people he couldn’t get: they couldn’t find the Kyoshi Warriors, the Sandbenders didn’t want to come, the Omashi Resistance wanted to use the eclipse to retake their city, and General Fong’s outpost had been overrun. Just flesh out things a little.

Sokka and the other Water Tribe warriors should be wearing that facepaint for the Invasion.

I want more interaction with The Duke, Haru, and Teo with the Gaang.

Chit Sang’s girlfriend and friend join with the second escape instead of being strangely absent. Also, who is he? Sokka probably looks him up to make sure they’re not bringing a serial killer into their midst. Preferably not, I like to think they were thrown in there for opposing the war.

I’d like Suki to learn from Hakoda that the other Kyoshi warriors are alive, if imprisoned.

Suki doesn’t like wearing prison clothes and attempts a facsimile of Kyoshi islander clothes by stealing Katara and Haru’s clothes.

Some more emotions between Sokka and Suki relating to her imprisonment please. There’s a lot of pent up trauma there and I’d like them to work through it.

People like to play up Katara’s “you obviously didn’t love her as much as I did” line into an insight to a horrible character rather than just something stupid said in the heat of the moment, though I do think Katara should apologise, if only to show the haters that this isn’t her personality.

Training with Aang, Zuko finds out he has the peace of mind to do lightning. He wouldn’t use it against Azula, but it would be a nice demonstration that his inner turmoil is more or less resolved.

The adult Kyoshi Warrior I mentioned at the very beginning of this reappears as a White Lotus member. She, for whatever reason, has a replacement warrior uniform for Suki, because I feel Suki shouldn’t have to go through the climax in a Fire Nation disguise. Also maybe Sokka should be wearing his warpaint too? I mean it’s culturally significant to him.

You want lightning? No I don’t. Azula’s growing inner turmoil denies her the use of lightning, mirroring Zuko’s original inability to use it when he was lost and confused. So when it comes to sneakily zapping Katara it’s just her fire, but a flame more concentrated (and by implication, rage-fueled) than we’ve ever seen from her. A veritable beam that Zuko has to put his all into deflecting, opening him up to an attack. A non-lethal attack; Azula still has that line about “the family physician”. She doesn’t want Zuko dead and leaves him be when he’s down. Despite going off the deep end there is a spark of compassion in her that stops her from doing that.

As I’ve stated previously, Aang needs to do something slightly more significant and spiritual in order to access the Avatar State again rather than that stupid rock. Some sort of spiritual lesson.

As I’ve said a few times now, the Lion-Turtles should be known to the audience by now, along with their ability to give bending to humans, so that the ability to take bending has been implied.

The weird orange-vs-blue lightshow with the energy bending was kind of melodramatic, though the corruption-vs-purity thing could still be visually represented by Ozai trying to physically overpower Aang and failing.

Possibly to be continued.

[prorevenge]

Girl I had a crush on in middle school bullied and mocked me for SIX YEARS. A decade later, VENGEANCE.

TL;DR at the end!

When I was in seventh grade, I moved to a new town. My father was killed in a military accident, and my mom wanted to start fresh in a new place. We came from a small town and our new apartment was in a huge city. My mom grieved my dad for over two years, but after that got back into dating and eventually married my now-stepdad, with whom she is still happily married. He's always treated us well, and I love and respect him. They have their own daughter together, my half-sister.

I didn't adjust very well. I was active and happy in my old town, but in my new town I was depressed and a loner. I entered school in the middle of the year when all the friend groups were already formed. I missed my dad a lot so just stayed home and ate and played video games.

I got fat.

Never obese, but I was chunky and out of shape compared to how I used to be.

I liked this one girl who was in a few of my classes. I'll call her "Lindsay." Lindsay was pretty and popular and she was the first girl I really had a crush on. Being shy, I never tried to talk to her.

As time went on, I made what I thought were friends with these two boys, who I will call Allan and Joey. All of us, including Lindsay, were in the seventh grade. I didn't hang out with Allan and Joey outside of school, but they'd let me hang out with them on campus. At least I didn't have to sit alone anymore.

Allan and Joey were talking about which girls were cute, and who they had a crush on. I eventually admitted that I liked Lindsay, but told them not to tell her.

Later that day, in math class which I shared with Lindsay, a note was passed to me.

It was from Lindsay!

My heart leapt, although I was nervous: did Allan and Joey tell her I liked her?

When I opened the note, my heart fell to my feet.

I get red when I'm nervous or sad.

I was never more red than that day.

Inside the note, Lindsay had written in block capital letters:

I DON'T LIKE YOU, OP

There was a little bit of giggling in the room.

I was so embarrassed I asked the teacher if I could go to the nurse.

There was loud laughter as I left.

The nurse let me stay in her office until the end of the day, which was good since my mom couldn't leave work unless I was dying, and I wasn't allowed at that point to walk home the three quarters mile to our apartment, due to a recent spate of kidnapping stories in the news. I took the school bus home as usual.

Kids laughed at me on the bus, too.

Not two days later I get called into the principal's office and get lectured by the principal how a student complained that I was stalking her.

I of course had no idea what happened but eventually I figured out that Allan and Joey told Lindsay, and Lindsay decided to make a big production about getting me into trouble.

Soon everyone on campus started to call me the creepy stalker, the hillbilly, the White trash redneck, things like that. Lindsay got all sorts of positive attention for being brave enough to tell adults about kids who harassed her.

Thing was, I was never officially reprimanded and my mom was never actually called in to talk to any adults about what I supposedly did. The principal just told me that stalking was bad and to leave Lindsay alone. I didn't really know what more I could do to leave her alone. I never even said one thing to her or tried to send any notes to her or stare at her. All I did was tell someone I thought was a friend that I liked her, and please don't tell her.

I didn't tell my mom about it.

But after Allan and Joey's betrayal, it was back to sitting by myself.

In eighth grade I still went to the same school and it was more of the same. I was still known as the uneducated redneck creeper. Lindsay was still really popular and went out with the cool guys from our class. Allan and Joey were never in the cool kid group and I suspect that they both liked Lindsay too, and were trying to suck up to her.

On Valentine's Day, I got one of those candygrams that students send to one another that they buy from student leadership at their school during holidays. Like, two dollars will get you a card and a candy bar, and a student aide will deliver it to the intended recipient, along with a sealed message.

I at least got a candy bar out of it.

The message wasn't so nice. It said,

STOP STALKING ME, FREAK

Thanks, Lindsay.

By high school, I really hit my growth spurt and eventually grew to be 6'5." I eventually got quite skinny so I began pumping a lot of iron starting in tenth grade. I became really ripped.

Allan grew up to be a b*tchy little runt and he never messed with me again. Especially after Allan, the one who asked me who I had a crush on in seventh grade, was whispering something to someone in a class we had together in eleventh grade, and looking at me and laughing.

I said really loud, "Yo, Allan you little ****, you have something to say you say it to my face like a man, don't go whispering like a little ****."

Everyone laughed and even the teacher didn't call me out or send me to the office. I think she was sick of the little punk, too.

I didn't really care to date in high school because, even though I was big and strong now, I was still awkward around girls.

Joey actually came around, though.

In eleventh grade he approached me and apologized for how he treated me in middle school. He said that Allan was the one who told Lindsay that I liked her. He told me that Allan had a crush on Lindsay, too, and was trying to score points with her. I thanked him, and although we were never really friends after that in school, I wasn't mean to him, and he wasn't mean to me.

We were "fist bump" acquaintances.

Lindsay was still really popular in high school. Not quite as popular as in middle school, because in high school there was more "hot girl" competition. But she still held her own.

I didn't lack for attention from other girls, but more often than not the girl would tell me that Lindsay told them I was a stalker, and harassed her in middle school.

Lots of girl accused me of that in high school, especially the ones I rejected.

Eventually, since I was rejecting a lot of girls, some of whom were in the popular group (and Lindsay was still in the cool kid group at this time) people spread rumors saying I was homosexual.

I don't happen to be gay.

Nothing wrong with being gay, but the way these people were throwing it around, it was as if being gay was an insult. Really disappointing, considering this was a huge, progressive city. I might have thought such attitudes were common in my old home town, but it was surprising, here.

I'd sometimes find notes in my locker calling me [homophobic expletive]. Of course, no one, especially any guys would own up to it, because by this time I was huge, not just in height but I was also really jacked. Side note about that. I asked the custodian, a really chill dude especially if you slip him a twenty, if I could look at the surveillance videos of the halls that he had on his office computer. It actually pinpointed who was putting notes in my locker.

It wasn't Allan.

I would have loved if it was Allan because I would cave his face in.

It was actually this wannabe gangbanger who walked around in sunglasses and baggy pants and flannel shirts buttoned to the top. Looked like a total toolbag.

So I caught him in the parking lot one day with his girlfriend and said he forgot something.

Then I showed him six or seven notes that he had put in my locker.

He tried to act like he didn't know what I was talking about but I slapped him in front of his girlfriend and said next time I find a note in my locker I'm going to make you look like a weak **** in front of the whole school, not just your ****.

I never got a note from him after that.

But before he drove off like a deflated White cholo balloon, he admitted that Lindsay and her crew were behind it.

Nowadays, and especially if my kid were the victim, I'd want him or her to tell an adult, but back then I had this "snitches get stiches" mentality, and decided to just suck it up.

Right around this time, social media was really starting to take off, especially that website where you had your own personal space, and could have a "top five friend" row, could use HTLM to switch out music, and have personalized wallpaper. Looking back, I think I preferred this space of mine to that boring book of faces.

Most of my online friends were older than me and from all over the place. I liked having online friends because at least you could delete them, just like that, if you decided they suck.

Unlike high school, where people you've mentally cancelled were still on campus every day.

Joey was my online friend (still is) and he pointed me to a page he found on that website.

It was a bogus one, that had stolen pictures from my real account, and was using my whole name.

It was full of hateful, homophobic slurs and accusing me of being a stalker.

By tracing this fake profile's "friends," I could tell it had originated from the Lindsay group.

I flagged the account and it was soon taken down.

To this day, I don't get why Lindsay found it so necessary to hate me so much that she had to try to ruin my middle and high school years, just because I happened to like her a little bit in seventh grade.

Anyway, in high school, I wasn't a loner anymore. I was on the basketball team and track team and swim team, so I had friends, but I was never in the very top-tier popularity group. Lindsay was in that top group, though she was mostly one of the hangers-on of the most popular girls in school. Like, she was in that group, but was never Beyonce.

And though I had my share of fun with girls in high school (never dated, just hooked up), I could never shake the reputation that I had "stalked" Lindsay.

Well, I graduated and moved on.

I went to college for accounting, and eventually became a CPA. I still work out every day, and so I stayed in really good shape. I also continued to play sports in college, though I never had the desire (or talent, really) to make it my profession. With the help of my awesome stepdad, who's an accountant, too, we opened our own small financial service with a dozen employees.

We're doing alright!

Eventually, a man comes in, looking for a job as an accountant.

Lo and behold, it's Joey!

Haven't seen him in years. Still looks the same, maybe a little balder but otherwise pretty good. We catch up, and since he's gone to school for accounting himself and has a good resume, we hire him.

He does fine for a couple of years, and we've actually become good friends. We've put the past behind us. I went to his wedding. He went to mine. I went to his son's baptism, and he went to my daughter's.

We're friends on social media, and neither of us keep in touch with people from middle and high school.

Bygones are bygones.

And time passes.

One day Joey asks me if I got a letter in the mail inviting us to our ten year high school reunion. I tell him no, and remember that the school doesn't have any of my updated addresses, since my mom and stepdad moved a couple of times since I graduated, and anyway I don't live with them anymore. Joey is taking care of his sick mother, so his wife and child moved in with his mom in his childhood home.

He shows me the letter. Typical stuff, except hey now! Lindsay is on the reunion committee.

It has her email address and everything.

I haven't thought about her in years.

Since I'm in front of my computer, I look up her email address on Face-libro, and it leads right to her since her privacy settings are minimal.

Her current photos don't do her any favors.

She's aged badly.

It looks like she had a couple of kids and was married once, but is now a single mom, and sharing custody with her ex husband.

She gained a lot of weight and doesn't look like she used to.

Really, I wonder if it's even her. But the name matches up, and the school history matches up.

I was thinking how LOL it would be if her ex husband was Allan, but it wasn't.

Allan WAS on her friends list, though.

Clicking on him, it doesn't look like he amounted to anything. Never attended college, but that's okay if he does other productive things. But he doesn't. It seems he washed out of the army, and has worked a series of menial jobs and now lives in another state far away. Seems like he's obsessed with just smoking weed and trying to date teenagers these days.

Per Lindsay, from her updates it looks like she is big on the dating scene, but hasn't found Mr. Right, and it's frustrating her because she has "so much to offer."

Like her crushing student debt that she complains about in one post, for her super cool and useful almost-degree in fashion design, that she never quite earned because she "fell in love" and got married with some loser from high school.

Or how her children don't respect her in another post.

Or how she has several go-gimme-funds just to raise the rent on her crap studio apartment.

Or her amazing, exciting career as a junior shift supervisor at that popular coffee shop, Galacticbucks.

Holy cow.

I think life got my revenge on her, for me.

But I think this b*tch needs a little nudge.

I tell Joey no, I'm not going to the reunion, are you?

He says he will, because he wants to see if any of his favorite teachers are still around.

And he tells me, "don't you want to show off to people how successful you are now?"

LoL. We're boring accountants, not Navy SEALS or hedgefunders over here.

So, I tell him no, but if you're going, say hi to people for me.

Will do!

The reunion is still a couple of months away.

For what I'm going to do, I need my wife's permission.

After I explain how Lindsay treated me in middle and high school, about all the stalker and anti-gay stuff, my wife tells me, mid breast-feed, to destroy, with prejudice, and in detail.

Thanks, dear.

I look completely different in the face compared to high school.

Still, I don't want to use my own photos.

So, instead, I gather lots of stock photos of a particular male model.

Sorry dude, I hope you don't mind! Anyway I'm sure lots of catfish use you as their hook, Mr. Inoffensive, Conventionally Handsome Buff German Guy.

And then I make a profile on that awesome dating site, AcceptableCupid, after I learn on the Libro de Face that Lindsay is on there.

The idiot actually doxes her own username, she's that thirsty for attention.

Right when I launch my profile I get a few spam emails and desperate cat calls from lonely women.

I ignore those and go right for the kill.

I send a message to Lindsay telling her how amazing and interesting she is.

Since she's such an unattractive person in every way, I don't think there's a long line of suitors vying for her attention, and I'm right.

Within minutes, I get her reply.

We begin a message-exchange on the site, and I gradually gain her confidence, mostly by flattering her.

She doesn't tell me she's a mom, even after several days of messaging, which is odd. She implies strongly that she's a career person and artist. Haha okay, relax there, Lindsay.

Eventually I share a pic with her, and she fawns over how gorgeous I am (thanks, innocent German model!)

I am glad she can't hear me laughing when I type that she is beautiful.

As days pass, she begs me to give her permission to share my photos to her book of the face, where she is bragging about me.

I tell her that there is a time for that. Soon she can share my pic and I will share hers.

I lull her into thinking I'm respectful and want to take time in figuring out "us."

Throughout this whole time, I keep giving her opportunities to tell me she's a mom.

I get her to say that "for the right guy, I'll make my existence only about him and me. Everything else is second place."

I also get her to say that she "can't stand" kids.

This is already a long story, so I'll try to at least shorten it a little here.

Eventually, she invites me to her high school reunion.

I tell her how much I'd love to go, but that I live in another state and can't get time off from my highly paid executive job (LOL) until a date a few days after. But I promise her that we will have a date at a VERY expensive restaurant.

She's bragging all over her social media that she has a new hot guy online, and has a date with him. Of course her friends are begging her to share his pics, but she doesn't, to her credit.

She does brag about how this will teach her ex a lesson, that she can still pull the hottest dudes.

Everyone online in her friend group (I was not shocked to see that most of her friends were other losers from school, and how she never seemed to grow up) was cheerleading her, telling her how much she deserved this.

You sure do, Lindsay!

I don't tell Joey what I'm doing a few desks away from him at work. Every spare moment I have from my job, I devote to messing with Lindsay. Sending her messages about how beautiful she is, how I will take her on trips. Eventually I learn her phone number.

I hit the convenience store, let's call it "seven hundred and eleven," and buy a cheap cellphone with minutes-card. I begin texting Lindsay about how I think she's so amazing, refreshing, so real.

Just to see if she's still a hateful B-word, I tell her about how during my online dating, sometimes guys will try to chat with me. She immediately laments how [homophobic expletives] need to stay away from straights.

Okay, Lindsay, you're trash.

I text her back that I don't mind when guys message me because I have my acceptable cupid account set for "friends" in addition to romantic partners.

She immediately backpedals when she sees that gay guys don't offend me.

Whatever, Lindsay, I know what you are.

Anyway Joey goes to the reunion with his wife. His mother is ill, but well enough to watch his son for a few hours.

The high school is about twenty miles from our place of business.

Joey tells me that all the expected people were there.

He was sad to learn that one of the popular teachers had passed away, but most of the others were still working there.

He saw a lot of the former popular kids.

He texted me some of their selfies together.

Too bad Allan didn't make it. Probably still chasing a statutory charge in his new home state.

With few exceptions, most of our former classmates looked like they peaked in high school.

Sad, considering we're all still under thirty.

I didn't ask him about her or try to coach him on anything to say, but Joey told me that Lindsay, one of the officers in charge of the reunion committee, was bragging to everyone about this hot guy she was messaging online, and how she had a date with him.

According to Joey, people were marveling about how unbelievably handsome the guy was, "like a model!"

I'm glad that Lindsay was never the sharpest tool in the shed, otherwise a simple reverse image search would reveal that the photos were of a very famous European model.

Joey told me that Lindsay was bragging about how the guy online was in love with her, and how they had a date next week, and how he was a rich CEO of some mysterious, never named company.

Joey told me that a lot of the girls were encouraging Lindsay to "marry him and his money!"

Although I appreciated Joey's updates, they weren't actually necessary since Lindsay flooded her book of the face with tons of photos from that night, as did her crappy friends.

Eventually I spoke to Lindsay on the phone.

Amazing.

In middle school and high school, I never once really talked to her.

I only told one d*ckbag in seventh grade that I liked Lindsay, and after that, it was all just gossip and rumors that she started.

This was the first time I really heard her voice, and I wasn't even me, I was "Herr Deutsche Model."

She told me how "sexy" my voice was.

Really, Lindsay? Because I was pinching my nose and trying to sound different, not that she knew what I sounded like for real anyway.

I told her I couldn't wait for our date, and told her which restaurant it would be. I also told her I was staying at a certain five star hotel. I said that we could go there after dinner, which is of course polite talk for "we will f*ck on date number one."

I made sure this particular exchange was on the acceptable cupid site.

I could tell she was falling hard for me, especially the way she plastered her social media with updates on her dreamboat.

Hey, Lindsay, you've got two kids and you never post ANYTHING about them on social media.

Are you ashamed of your children?

Meanwhile she's telling the world she's going to f*ck some stranger she's never met.

Lindsay, Lindsay, Lindsay...

A truly trash human.

Over the following few days she never did own up to having kids, but she did admit she worked at Spacebucks Coffee as a "side thing," for fun in addition to all of the art she said she did, and having her own business. I assume she's talking about her online store at 3tsy that she brags about on the book of mugshots where she sells really crappy beaded jewelry that only drunk ravers might find appealing.

By this time she's given me her full name and I've given her my made up name.

She says that her job at LunarBucks is a total joke, her coworkers are idiots, her manager is mentally deficient, and that she often takes home pastries at the end of the night, supposedly to give to the poor (nah, Lindsay. I've seen your pics. You clearly be eating them scones personally). According to Lindsay, she's supposed to "mark out" expired pastries and dispose of them for various city code reasons.

But she goes all SJW with me and tells me that "why should all that perfectly good food go to waste? It's truly an evil company."

Yeah, whatever Lindsay, you racist, elitist homophobe.

Anyway, fast forward to our date.

The restaurant is only a couple of miles from my business, and I scheduled our date for shortly after we closed for the evening.

I scheduled everything in such a way that I wouldn't miss my wife's famous lasagna later for dinner.

I parked not far from the window, in a parking lot adjacent from the restaurant. I couldn't park at the restaurant itself, as it was an extremely expensive place that had valet parking only.

As scheduled, I see Lindsay waddle into the front door, coming out of her rideshare. I had instructed her to give her name to the host, and be seated at a specific table.

I happen to know, because she said so on the libro of the face, that she was ashamed of her beat up 2001 Chevy Cavalier.

I assume she expected her hot date to drive her home after an amazing night of what I can only assume is--with her--vomit-inducing, and malodorous love-making. I told her I would be arriving in a Maserati.

I see her sit at the table I arranged earlier. I see her playing with her phone. Probably bragging about our date to whoever.

After twenty minutes of stringing her along, I see my courrier arrive on a red Vespa, just as he told me he would. The courrier I scheduled to arrive at a certain time, twenty minutes after Lindsay's arrival. He wouldn't bring the item unless I texted the go-ahead, which I did. He texted me, "here!"

And I saw him take the bear out of his backpack.

His task was to ride to a certain gift store I never really frequented, and pick up a small, stuffed bear whose arms could surround anything from a bouquet of roses to a box of candy to an envelope with a million dollar check in it. The courrier was then supposed to bring the bear to the restaurant host. The host would then of course bring the bear to Lindsay.

The courrier handed the bear to the host. I didn't see the handoff because that part of the restaurant was out of my vision, but I did see the courrier ride away after I received a text saying "done!"

I DID see the host give the bear to Lindsay, which was the important part.

I was parked close enough to see her face as she read the note I had typed and placed inside the envelope I had the bear holding, next to a fancy chocolate bar.

I DON'T LIKE YOU, LINDSAY

Her face.

HER FACE!

OMG.

She looked like she was going to die, right there.

I received a WTF? Text from her.

I started driving home.

Text after confused text.

Twenty or more.

She never knows when to drop it.

Finally, I pull into my driveway.

Wife and daughter at home.

I hear their laughter.

The good kind.

I smell the lasagna, and my wife kisses me.

She asks me if I had a good day.

I tell her yes, most definitely!

And then, before I take the phone's battery out and break the cellphone into a hundred pieces before throwing it in the garbage, I send Lindsay one more text:

STOP STALKING ME, FREAK

The next day, I couldn't help it.

I looked at Lindsay's social media.

Set to private!

I'm wondering if her narcissistic ass knew that it was ME that played her. Especially since the mascot for our middle and high schools was a bear, that didn't look too different from the stuffed one I had given her.

I don't really care.

All I know, is that now I have closure.

Especially after I sent the screen captures of our alrighty-cupid messages (my own user name and fake photo blocked out) to CPS, where Lindsay bragged about hating kids and told me what she thought about being a mom. And said she was going to be screwing a strange man on the first day meeting him.

Maybe ex-hubby will get full custody, and give those children the attention they deserve.

Her boss at Galaxybucks was certainly interested in my recording of her calling him "a retard" and that she stole pastries that she was supposed to mark out at the end of the night and that her company was an evil corporation and that they were a "joke."

Random call to her store a few weeks later.

"Is Lindsay there?"

"Oh, she no longer works here."

Damn right she doesn't, LMAO!

​

​

Go to Hell, Lindsay.

Hey, at least you got a candy bar out of it.

Thanks for reading!

PS: A few days ago, my wife asked me whatever happened to that revenge I had planned on that mean girl from middle school. I told her I've moved on, that it was too long ago, and that I needn't be petty. She told me how much she admired me for my restraint. "If it were me, I would have cut a b*tch."

One day, I think I'll confess. Maybe one of those deathbed things. About how I kicked a loser when she was already down and laughed while doing so. Oh well.

TL;DR: Girl wrongfully accused me of stalking when we were in middle school, and bullied me in middle and high school. Years later, fat, alone, and defeated by life, time had given me revenge. Still, I felt like beating a dead horse.

(source) story by (/u/OpenFaceClubSammich)

[omophagias]

bookposting #22

tender is the night, f. scott fitzgerald: 3.5 stars, i’d say. i really do like his prose style. it…there’s some l-word, i forget which—languid, that’s it. it felt very languid. i was less a fan of the flashback parts, partially because i didn’t like being in dick’s head as much as i liked being in rosemary’s. it also sometimes felt like fitzgerald was kind of wobbling around on the border between “no, obviously dick isn’t meant to be a sympathetic character, he’s a self-destructive asshole” and the, like, not being really sure whether he was extending that “you shouldn’t like him!” to the part where he marries his teenage psychiatric patient. (fortunately the autobiographical resemblance didn’t get that far…?) really what i was mostly thinking by the end was, damn, fscott and zelda, i really wish you’d lived in a time when it was easier to get divorced. but, you know, on the list of books about people just really fucking themselves over, this is one of the better ones. i think i got it because i can’t / couldn’t stop thinking about “patient is the night” from over the garden wall.

the fire next time, james baldwin: 5 stars easy. i really wish i’d read it sooner; i ended up reading it because i bought my roommate a copy for his birthday and wanted to be able to write him a decent further-reading list to go with it. i just was completely awed by the facility with which he was able to touch on so many different things and draw them back together into a whole, and he was such a writer. i don’t know that i can really talk about "down at the cross” right now without just quoting massive passages because it just speaks so completely for itself. read it.

trouble the saints, alaya dawn johnson: three stars? this is kind of hard to talk about because i theoretically like a lot about it. alternate-universe 1930s-1940s where at the age of 10 some people of color gain a power called “the hands” along with occasional semi-prophetic dreams, “the hands” basically give you one superpower like “can see a person’s worst deed by touching them” or “can sense threat to oneself”, protagonist’s power is unfailingly perfect aim, which she uses to kill for the mob. i think maybe it was a marketing issue, because from the blurbs and so forth it seemed to be being sold as much more of a straight up and down fantasy noir, which is absolutely not what you’re getting. it’s extremely character-driven and thematically very concerned with passing, liminality, justice, ancestral trauma. i will say i didn’t care as much for the middle third, i thought dev’s narrative voice was not interesting, especially compared to phyllis or tamara. it’s…i don’t know, i think it’s interesting and it’s definitely something i’d enthusiastically recommend to other people but i just didn’t really click with it. maybe a prose issue, idk, it got kind of dense sometimes in a way that didn’t really work with the plot, imo.

the story of silence, alex myers: rating…i don’t know, i feel like it might be a book that’d improve on rereading, provisional three because i felt a bit disappointed. retelling of the roman de silence, a 13th century french poem about a lord who, due to inheritance law, raises his afab child silence as a boy and which i haven’t yet read (which might be one of the reasons it didn’t click, i couldn’t tell if/where myers was deviating from the story beyond the obvious change to the ending—in the poem, silence ends up married to the king; in the book, silence escapes that fate and the fate of being forcibly externally gendered in general). i think that probably its best strength is as a prose adaptation of the poem, because it definitely has the feel of, like, the better prose adaptations of arthurian poems (which this is, merlin is in it). but on its own i’m less sure; there’s not really a lot of character exploration. i’m gonna donate my copy because it’s a 400-page hardback and i don’t want to pay to send it home, i can get a paperback in the states.

wakenhyrst, michelle paver: two stars. oy. a very boring gothic horror with not enough horror and far too many diary entries from the main character’s terrible father. remarkably unsympathetic treatment of the housemaid who is being, frankly, sexually exploited by said father. also i felt like there were digs being taken at margery kempe, which is less serious but still annoyed me. paver really, really likes doing epistolary/diary-based horror—she did it in dark matter, which i did like—but these ones are just not well-done, the shift back and forth between them and the main character’s perspective doesn’t do much, and the horror—which as far as i can tell is the maybe-real ghost of the father’s sister who he let drown in the fen when they were kids coming back into the house—is just not given enough room to get really settled and also not really successfully integrated with the big spooky 15th century painting that’s also part of the whole thing somehow.

one-way street and other writings, walter benjamin, trans. j.a. underwood: three stars again? i don’t know; i think that a lot of it was very well-written / translated but i was missing the referents to actually engage with it. also i was really, really tired when i read the first two essays. i did like “one-way street,” it felt kind of like invisible cities in a way, and “hashish in marseille” was funny because like dude we’ve all been there, we’ve all been high and unable to stop staring at people’s faces. i think overall the things that i understood i liked but i didn’t understand as much as i wanted to.

the dunwich horror and other stories, h.p. lovecraft: three and a half, four, something in that neighborhood, graded to the lovecraft curve (a curve somehow squamous and rugose!). overall the stories were pretty well-selected—the dunwich horror is definitely one of his best, the thing on the doorstep is very interesting as a story, like, thematically; the dreams in the witch house didn’t work as well for me because it is kind of about a guy double-majoring in math and folklore too hard (and what the fuck is “non-euclidean calculus” anyway, howie), accidentally discovering teleportation, and then getting chased by a witch and and her half gef the mongoose / half vladislav cat familiar in the form of evil shapes, the lurking fear really dropped the ball at the end and is basically a dry run for the rats in the walls; i had no idea what was going on in hypnos, and the outsider is a decent sort of twilight zone-y tomato in the mirror couple of pages. i think really what i found most interesting about this collection is that it made it very clear to me that lovecraft was deeply, deeply obsessive about eugenics. which, i mean, i’d already known he had the ingredients for it (seething, all-consuming racism; classism of the “augh the inbred hillbillies!” type that was very foundational for american eugenics; his personal concern with / fear of hereditary mental illness; interest in what was in the 1920s cutting edge science) but i hadn’t quite put them together until looking at the dunwich horror and the lurking fear and their presentation of rural new englanders, combined with the, you know, his stuff about innsmouth (as always i say: THE FISH PEOPLE DID NOTHING WRONG) and the racist implications therein, which crops up in dunwich and in thing on the doorstep, the way all three are very, very concerned with genealogy / heredity… shouldn’t have taken me that long to figure it out. one thing i did like about the lurking fear was the moment when the narrator, atop the hill where the abandoned house of the ill-fortuned and vanished martense family stands, looks out over the plain and suddenly realizes that the weird earth mounds in the area are all radially emanating from that hill. it’s an actually effective spooky moment! i thought it was gonna be giant mole people! it isn’t, it’s the martense family having somehow managed in 100 years, through some really committed inbreeding, to devolve into weird voiceless subterranean cannibalistic hominids. boo.

[goswagcollectorfire]

CARL’S BLOG: MAMIE, AN OZARK MOUNTAIN GIRL OF COURAGE

Author’s Note:  Thanks so much for your support in reading my blogs on, “MAMIE, AN OZARK MOUNTAIN GIRL OF COURAGE.”  I have enjoyed bringing the story of my mother to you.  I thought since we have ended the book of Mamie that you might enjoy knowing what has happened to my brothers and sisters who were mentioned several times in the book.  My book on “Mamie” and my five other books can be purchased from Amazon.Com and from me.  You can contact me at cjbarger67@att.net should you be interested in a sign copy. Stay tune to my next novel, “ARKANSAS HILLBILLY.”  I will be starting my blogging soon.  Carl J. Barger

 11-14-20, Carl J. Barger’s Tribute to his parents, Edward and Mamie Totten Barger, and Brothers and Sisters.

A Tribute to MAMIE ANN TOTTEN BARGER AND EDWARD BARGER

Mamie Ann Totten Barger was a woman for all seasons, a woman of courage, strength, and faith.  She valued family above everything else. Before she died, she had said to Carl, “Carl, promise me, you will continue our family reunions.  Do all you can to keep our family together!” “I promise you,” he said.  Of his mother, Carl said, “She was more than just a mother and housewife.  She was my best friend.  A thousand pictures are stored in my mind.  Fond memories have been made and those memories will last forever. Someday there will be a great and grand family reunion.  I will someday join my mother in God’s Heavenly Kingdom where we will sing together, “It Is Well with My Soul.”

Mamie was born in the Settlement Community near Shirley, Arkansas on February 11, 1908 to the late Elias Samuel Totten and Nancy Bradford.   She died at her home in the Pearson Community, Quitman, Arkansas on July 10, 1988.  She is buried in the Shiloh Crossroads Cemetery, Greers Ferry, Arkansas.

A Tribute to EDWARD BARGER

My father, Edward Barger was a nice person.  He was born in Orrick, Ray County, Missouri on March 29, 1897. He died in the Heber Springs Hospital on September 6, 1968.  He is buried in the Shiloh Crossroads Cemetery, Greers Ferry, Arkansas.  He moved to Higden, Arkansas, from Bates City, Lafayette County, Missouri when he was eighteen years old.  He spent most of his life farming.  For the last part of his life he owned two country grocery stories where he sold food, gas, and produce.  He and Mamie were good managers of their money.  They raised big gardens to help feed their large family.    

The Twelve Children of Edward and Mamie Ann Totten Barger:

1.                      Harvey Eugene Barger:  Born on August 21, 1923 in Fairfield Bay, Van Buren County, Arkansas.  He died on October 1, 2011 in the Forte Roots Veterans Hospital in North Little Rock, Arkansas.  He is buried along with his wife Darlene Gee Barger in the Palestine Baptist Cemetery, Quitman, Arkansas.  Harvey and Darlene had four children, Sheryl, Gayla, Kent, and Terry Barger.  All four are still living.

2.                      Chester Barger: Chester Barger was born on August 19, 1925 in Fairfield Bay, Van Buren County, Arkansas.  He died on December 6, 2016 in Heber Springs, Arkansas. He married Letha Smith which is currently living at Southridge Nursing Home in Heber Springs.  Chester and Letha had two children, Johnnie Sue Barger, and Ronnie Dewayne Barger.  Both are still living.

3.                      Louella Imogene Barger Davis was born in Fairfield Bay, Van Buren County, Arkansas on March 25, 1928.  She is currently living at Heritage Place in Conway, Arkansas. She is now 92 years old.  Still doing well.  She and her late husband, Monroe Davis had three children, Joy Ann, Linda, and Tommy.  All three are still living.

4.                      Betty Lou Barger Stark, Gentry was born in Higden, Cleburne County, Arkansas on July 23, 1930.  She died on March 17, 1996 and is buried in the Davis Special Cemetery, Fairfield Bay, Van Buren County, Arkansas.  Betty and her first husband J. D. Stark had one child, Dianne Christina Stark Barnum.  Dianne is deceased.  After her first husband’s death. Betty married Elvin Gentry.  She and her late Husband, Elvin Gentry had four girls, Reva Neil, Evelyn, Tammy, and Ebbie.  All are still living.  Betty and Elvin had one son, Johnnie Gentry.  He is deceased.  

5.                      Flossie Loudean Barger Schoolcraft was born in Higden, Cleburne County, Arkansas on January 5, 1933.  She died on April 9, 2020 at her home place in the Pearson Community, Quitman, Arkansas.  She is buried in the Shiloh Crossroads Cemetery, Greers Ferry, Arkansas. Loudeen and her husband, Lloyd had two children, Peggy Lou Schoolcraft, and David Schoolcraft.  Both are still living.

6.                      Willie Gene Barger was born on September 30, 1935 in Higden, Cleburne County, Arkansas.  He died on July 13, 2016 at his home in the Pearson Community, Quitman, Arkansas.  He married Norma Cooper of Marshall, Arkansas and they have three surviving children: Lucretia Lynn, Gary Gene, and Jennifer Lea.  

7.                      Jimmy Levon Barger was born on January 20, 1939 in Higden, Cleburne County, Arkansas.  He and his wife Guiva Sue Hazelwood have three children: Cynthia, James, and Joshua.  All are still living.  Both Jimmy and Guiva Sue are still living.

8.                      Roy Edward Barger was born on February 16, 1941 in Higden, Cleburne County, Arkansas.  Roy married Margaret Arnhart.  They have three children, Samuel Edward, Roger, and Michelle.  All are still living.

9.                      Carl Junior Barger was born on August 17, 1943 in Higden, Cleburne County, Arkansas.  Carl married Lena Dollar.  They have three children, Carla Lynn, Jeffrey Christopher, and Jonathan Curtis Barger.  All are still living.

10.            Ella Mae Barger Francis was born on February 14, 1946 in Higden, Cleburne County, Arkansas.  Ella Mae died on October 21, 2020 in West Plains, Missouri. She and her first husband had three children: Sheila, Beverly, and Ricky Flowers.

11.            Marie Ann Barger was born in September 1949 in the Heber Springs Hospital, and died in September 1949. She is buried along side of her parents Edward and Mamie Barger in the Shiloh Crossroads Cemetery, Greers Ferry, Arkansas.

12.            Leona Faye Barger was born on November 5, 1951, Heber Springs, Cleburne County, Arkansas.  She is married to Bobby Bittle.  She and Bob have two children: Carey and Brent.  All are still living

[heymondoitaliano]

So we packed up our bags and we moved to Lecce-eee

Get the car - collect sister-in-law - drive to Lecce. That’s the diary entry for the 28th December. Step one - walk to station with number big son to arrange the car. Slight delay while the Europcar girl was running late and accidentally served a couple not waiting in the queue with their number 1 ticket! Step two - walk to Europcar car park down the road from the station to collect the car. The Alfa we ordered ended up being the “or equivalent”, an Opel Astra - quite nice but hardly the Alfa I’d imagined myself in.

Step three - drive back to the apartment to collect Pip and the bags. A fine plan with two fatal flaws. The first flaw being that the host who was coming to check us out thought we said 11:30am (easy to confuse with 8:30am, I guess) and needed to be hurried along. Second flaw - no place to park within range of the apartment. So I began to orbit our address while number big son ferried the bags out of the house, down the tiny elevator and into a loading zone to wait for my next pass. Two more passes - about 20 minutes apart - and we were ready to head off to collect the next passenger.

There was a third flaw - luggage. Our car was too small in the boot for all our luggage and needed bags on laps and on the back seat between the rear seated passengers and under the feet of the front seated passenger - a bit like the Beverley Hillbillies when they moved to Beverley (Hills that is). Not an ideal way for the passengers to ride 7 hours to Lecce, but hey, I was OK in the driver’s seat.

We zipped through Rome with the ease and elan of a gazelle crossing the plain. Well, if the gazelle had had a leg chewed off by an alligator or something... But anyway, we managed to make the autostrada and hightail it across to Pescara, reducing our speed only when confronted by sleet, snow and heavy rain around L’Aquila. We also reduced our speed a number of times for comfort stops and panini along the highway. Each stop required careful unpacking of the luggage bearers and re-stowing afterwards. There was 32 euros in tolls to pay as slipped of the autostrada at Bari and kept on south to Lecce, arriving at about 5:30pm in the pitch black. Our host, Giuseppe (imagine a beat poet) met us on the street and guided us to our Casa Florean , just inside the old city. A beautiful flat with resin floors and benches and a difficult regime of recycling and rubbish bins.

Bags down and bodies stretched, we headed out for a walk and then to Bar Moro (a place Pip and I had enjoyed last January) about 10 minutes away for dinner. We arrived at the bar at 9pm, but alas they were full, so we made a booking for 10pm and re-headed back out into the town again for some more strolling till 10pm. The bar was swinging and the food was fine and we stumbled home to a well earned first night in Lecce. 25 more to go.

[emotionalcello-makefanfics]

WARNING : Graphic description of Blood and Violence. Gore.

And Not Beta Read. Sorry if there’s a mistake.

Click link to read on AO3. Click Keep Reading to read on tumblr~~

Chapter 1 2 4

Chapter 3

Word Count : 4k

The night is as dark as always in Bludhaven, the familiar crime and poverty earned her the nickname ‘Gotham’s sister City’. A man in a suit and long khaki trench coat steps down the stairs to the subway where only a few people are waiting for the train. Despite walking in the poorly lit halls at night, the man wears a vintage sunglasses with metal frames. The man is odd, not because of his fashion sense, but the man is chewing a match on his front teeth like a hillbilly with hay. Yet, even so, the citizen of Bludhaven doesn’t bat an eye.

He enters the employees only room, an old woman announcer is sitting there lethargically, with a uniform too tight for her plump body. Her veined eyeballs looking at the screen of train maps and schedule before she tore her empty gaze away towards the man with a knowing look. The man slides an envelope and waits for the announcer to look at what’s inside. When the lady smiles in satisfaction, she nods to the employee’s only exit.

The man goes through there, and it leads to the path beside the train tracks. It’s not really a path, more like a small gap between the tunnel wall and the train track. The man’s shoulder barely fit in that gap. The tunnel is void of any light the further he walks, and the man lits up the match from his mouth to light the rest of the way. The train will pass in about a minute, that’s the window for the man to find an opening along his side of the wall of this tunnel. But he relies on Bludhaven’s tendency to delay trains for more window.

He walks and walks, lit many matches, he should’ve brought a flashlight. Thirty minutes in, he finally hears a faint voice of engine and pistons running growing closer. When the train’s light from far away is finally visible, the man sprints and slips inside the opening he’s been looking for. The fire on the match on his hand is blown off by the gush of wind the train brought as it passes through.

The man walks deeper into the crack in the wall, it smells of rodents dropping, musty with mold and eerily damp. There’s no light in that path, but the man somehow never trips.

Finally, there’s a light at the end of the path. A body in a red uniform and tattered black cape laying in the middle of the room. The only light source there is a strong beam of spotlight forming a circle surrounding what it seems to be Red Robin’s body.

The man paused after recognizing the body, mortified at the body’s condition laid on top a pool of red and runs towards the open room. He manages to step twice into the room before a hard hit lands on the back of his head. His feet manage to land, but not enough balance to root to the ground. In addition, his vision is spinning from the hit and he falls to the concrete ground in a loud echoing thud.

A loud shrill laugh breaks the eerie silence of the room. The laugh that had terrorized all men of the world in fear. Came into view to the man’s blurry vision, even with his now cracked black tinted sunglasses, the man can see a pair of green loafers drenched in blood steps in front of him. Beside those shoes, is a crowbar also drenched in blood, some red and some had dried to brown.

The man looks up, knowing it must’ve what he wants, and see a man with pale skin void of life that it’s completely porcelain white, and a big smear of red on his lips painted like a smile all the way to his cheeks. His synthetic green hair matches his small pupils. His purple suit with a yellow shirt underneath is drenched in sweat and splattered with blood, but it’s still tidy as if it’s his last effort to be presentable. It’s a clown that everybody knew, and his famous trademark smile spread disturbingly wide.

“I hear from my little mice, that your pretty little bird with sky blue eyes and raven black hair had been asking around about me~” the clown sings, walking around the man while dragging the wet crowbar that creates a thin red line.

“You naughty naughty bat, I prepared a game for you, a little treasure hunt. There were surprises for you to find on each clue you find, I worked hard for it you know? You’re not being fair!” The clown screams angrily, he’s frowning lips look disturbing on top of his permanent smile.

“I’M NOT EVEN DONE WITH YOUR PRESENT YET HOW DARE YOU.”

He slams the end of the crowbar to the man’s right leg, hitting it repeatedly until there’s a crack under the flesh. The man still stubbornly holds back and deeply growls between his clenched teeth.

“WHAT? Too proud to scream? Well...you sure know how to make me feel all tingly inside hehehe...” The clown pants hard until saliva drools from his mouth, “I never hear you scream, always so composed...” Another strong merciless smash landed on the man’s right leg, his teeth dug into his lips.

Then Joker misses his leg and bends the crowbar.

“Aw shucks! I gotta amp things up then! I know just the perfect thing!” The clown runs into the dark and quickly returns with a steel spiked club.

“SCREAM BATSY!” The clown screeched and pounds his right leg with the club.

Each hit sends the man an excruciating pain, the sound of metal against his flesh and bone makes the man sick. The Joker never looks away from his face, as if looking forward to his arrays of expression while his own is twisted into a depraved smile and laugh, panting almost like in lust. Blood from his leg spurts everywhere and formed an arch whenever he lifts the club.

The man bites into his palm to hold back his voice. The Joker doesn’t stop until the sound of a loud and distinct crack. When the man looks down he sees a bone sticking out in the middle of his calf.

The Joker pants happily and gave one last and hard swing until the man’s calf completely bends. The clown fixed his purple suit and comb back the strayed green strands of his hair.

The man reduced into a shaking mess, his hands are twitching from the pulsing pain in his leg.

“Well, color me impressed, you’re one stubborn bastard aren’t cha? I’ll let it pass cuz I love ya batsy~ And I bet yer beautiful blue bird is on the way here now, but not to worry!” The clown cheered. “My good little pumpkin pie’s gonna take care of ‘em good, but still! We got a schedule to get on,” the clown growls excitedly, and screech another shrill laugh.

“I hated that outfit though, I never liked those fake mustache... I wish for my darling Batman, not Matches Malone!” The Joker rambles and huffed like a little child.

The man finally gains his senses and has his eyes are on Red Robin. The teen vigilante barely moves, and only now the man sees the pool of blood surrounding him. The suit is tattered and ripped. His black hair hides his face and the parts where the face shows in swollen and blue.

“Oh... don’t worry about your red bird, as I said, I wasn’t done yet,” The joker shrugged, then smirks wickedly. “Wait, this is actually better, I know the perfect thing for our little bonding time. You, me, and the kid, like a beautiful family.” Joker sings endearingly, sending the man’s goosebumps on his spine.

“Time for a second round of... You scream You lose!”

Joker stands beside the limp and tattered body of Red Robin, stepping into the pool of blood that grows wider.

“What are you waiting for Brucie?” The clown raises the crowbar and swings it towards the body on the floor.

Before Joker can manage to hit Red Robin’s body, he’s pushed back by the force of two bullets hitting him on each thigh. Laying on the floor, the clown is stunned at the hi wound.

“That’s... that’s real bullets.”

There’s a pregnant pause between them, until the clown screams, not in pain, but laugh in excitement.

“AAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHA YES! FINALLY! Oh, dear Batsy... You finally snap!!” the Joker moans disturbingly, saliva running down his smiling lips, leaving a red trail down his pale neck.

The man lies frozen in the dark, away from the spotlight where the Joker lies bleeding beside Red Robin. His hand on the gun was and still shaking, but somehow still hit the mark.

The Joker extends his hand to the man, Matches Malone, and gesture him to come into the light.

“Come! Come into the light... I want to see your face when you kill me...” The Joker giggles, “Come, please! For me Batsy... let me see your cold-blooded face before you kill me... COME ON!” The Jokers screams in impatience, still smiling ecstatically.

“Show me your shaking faith, I want to see you break,” Joker moaned.

Matches Malone, with fire in his heart, grunts lowly as his left shaking hand perch onto the concrete ground in the light. As much as he can, while only counting on friction between his palm and the ground, drags himself into the spotlight.

Finally, the man lets out his voice, “I’m not Batsy.”

The smile on the clown’s face twisted into disgusted confusion. Eyes open wide in anger, showing the veined red eyeballs. The Joker tried to move his legs, but he can’t.

“Wait--”

Is the last word of the clown before two bullets lands between those toxic green pupils.

++++++++++

Everyone in the poor side of Gotham knows Matches Malone, but there’s an unwritten rule for the bottom feeders to not speak of the name to just anyone. The man remains a myth. It was told that the man is a gang member, but he helps the people around him in obscure gestures for reason unknown. Handing a hundred dollar bills to beggars, blankets, food, even doctor appointments under a made-up name. People in crime alley hides those good deeds of him from other gang members, afraid they would kill Malone that provides for them. The people kept him alive for selfish reasons.

Jason was one of those people at one point in his life.

He remembers his characteristic. His height, hair, sense of fashion, and the match between his lips that made him earn the name Matches Malone.

And from Tim’s stories, he also knew that Matches Malone is Bruce Wayne.

Jason asked around, hiding his face, but not too much. He heard how Richard Grayson speaks from many interviews he’s done on TV, as Dick Grayson the son of Wayne, the cop, and Nightwing.  The same black hair and blue eyes is a good little luck that eases Jason’s effort.

Jason knows how to differentiate the real civilians, the ones that pretend, and the ones that are both, that knowledge is for basic survival for Jason who grew up behind the dirty backstage of Gotham’s bright stage.

Talk to the right person with the right words and let it travels to the right man. Not all of them though, too much info then it’ll be known that the one chasing the captors doesn’t have a supercomputer. That’s where anesthesia and garbage bins play their part.

Not only his dark hair and blue eyes, but his frame also came in handy. In the past years, his body had bulked up in weight and shoots up in height. He dressed in rental suits and coats, slick his hair back and chewed a match between his front teeth. When he looks in the mirror, it’s like looking at the past when that man gave him a burger to eat and to go.

After asking around, Jason hears about a ‘meeting’ by Bludhaven’s hidden warehouse. He’s been told about ‘someone’ having a business deal with ‘Cal Corcoran’. Jason already knew it was the Joker, only he can make the people he speaks with trembles in fear and utmost secrecy, the ones that are not his men at least.

Jason almost snaps when he sees Tim on the spotlight of the room at the end of the pathway. His heart hammers against his ribs hard enough to feel like it’s bruising. But he knows there’s a reason why Tim is presented that way, and why no one else is visible in that room but Tim. Jason can’t see anyone in that room, not even a silhouette. Means that if there’s someone there, it’s gotta be right beside the opening of that path.

Jason runs anyway, and anticipate the hit on the back of his head. He knocks his head to the front a little to reduce the force coming onto the back of his head.

He wants to reach out for Tim. His Red Robin suit is in tatters, so many cuts on his lean body, and he only got a peek on his face between his damp black hair covering it. There’s so much blue on his face. He wants to move, wants to wrap that body close and feel his breathing, or warmth, to relieve himself after knowing Tim is alive.

When lying on the floor with a clown beating up his leg. It was then, Jason truly feels fear. Not because of death, but just seeing the Joker close and getting a feel of how twisted of a man he is. It sends chills on his back to know this kind of man is real and alive.

Jason sees red when the Joker shows his blood-covered spiked club, and drags it around. Then that clown raises that club in the air to swing it towards Tim, that’s when Jason snaps. His hand is shaking from the torturous pain on his leg, but his adrenaline from seeing it about to hit Tim beats the shaking fear and pain.

And before the Joker gets to land another blow, Jason pulls out his gun from the inside of his suit in one swift move and pulls the trigger twice. Both landed satisfyingly on both of the clown’s thighs, leaving two growing wet patches on his purple trousers.

But then the clown laughs cheerfully like he’s won.

The Joker called him Batman. The Joker called him Bruce.

The Joker begs to see ‘the loser’s’ deteriorated face as he begged to be killed by Batman.

Jason hesitates, he had a syringe of strong anesthesia shot on the pocket of his coat. He knows Tim and the rest of the vigilantes is against killing no matter how vile the villain. No matter how much body count the villain made.

Jason looks at the Joker’s ecstatic face, then to Tim’s near-death body.

Then Jason makes an indubitable decision.

Even with his broken leg, he stubbornly drags himself into the light.

Everyone knew the Joker’s fixation towards the bat, and Jason can’t risk to let out his screams when the clown beats his leg into a pulp.

When he speaks, his prediction was correct, the Joker knows instantly that he’s not Batman by voice. He sees the Joker’s mortified expression in a flash, to think a clown can frown like that.

He doesn’t give the genocidal clown the time to finish his sentence and put two bullets in his head. His brain splatters on the ground, and he dies with a mortified face.

Only after seeing the clown dead that Jason finally breathes, shaking in fear, cry, letting go of his nerves. He did okay for pretending to be brave and calm but he can’t believe what just happen.

He looks down to his leg, and see his right calf is bending forward. The tip of his foot almost touch his knees, and a bone is sticking out at the back of his calf.

It’s horrifying to see his own flesh and bones out in the open, and most of all, it fucking hurts, but Jason doesn’t let shock or pain cloud his mind too long.

He crawls over to Tim’s left side of the body right away. The blood that surrounds him ripples at Jason’s interruption and made him slip trying to crawl across. He carefully grabs Tim’s shoulder to lay him on his back and comb his hair away from his face.

His heart ached and his fingers twitch away immediately when he sees Tim’s face swollen in red, purple and yellow. Red cuts peppered here and there, and one is curve-shaped like the curve of the crowbar. Half his face is red with blood that pours from the wound in his head.

Not only that, Tim’s body does bulk up, but with the gashes here and there, the open flesh between the ripped suit, Tim looks delicate and frail. His sleeves, legs, and back is torn, he was shielding himself, because the scars are concentrated there, there might be bones broken underneath the blueing wound.

Then Jason spots a deep and bleeding gashed flesh on the side of Tim’s abdomen. Whether it’s from a stab or that fucking crowbar, it must’ve been deep to be still bleeding. Jason grabbed his suit, pressed it on the open wound, and tighten it with his belt, hoping it’s enough to stop the bleeding.

Jason pressed a finger on the back of Tim’s jaw and another under the nose.

Tim’s not breathing.

Jason’s heart stopped, and in an instant, his hand trembles.

“No... No, Timmy, stay with me.”

Jason hurriedly calls 911, but not to call the operator though.

“911 what’s-”

“Oracle! I know you can hear me send help, hurry he’s badly hurt!” and Jason hangs up before the operator can say another word.

Jason uses his knife to rip the suit down in the middle to get ready to perform CPR and he sees a few more curved shaped gashes there. Jason shivers at the sight, but he pulls himself together. He takes off his disguises, mustache, sunglasses, trench coat, suit, and tie so he can move better.

Jason tips Tim’s head back and stacks his palms above Tim’s bruised chest. He needs to be on his knees to be higher and stretch his arms, which means leaning on his broken leg. He breathes rapidly to prepare himself for the pain and quickly stood up on his knees.

His screams roar and echoed through the room. He’s breathing rapidly from the shocking pain of his broken leg, almost hyperventilating. He straightens his hands, that only then he realized are violently shaking and feeling frustratingly feeble. But he held his hands tight, putting all his strength to stiff his arms and starts to pump Tim’s chest. Pushing hard with the help of his body weight, and blowing air into his mouth every few pumps.

A chill runs down Jason’s neck, his hand starting to feel numb. He’s starting to lose his strength.

He does it a few more times. So, many more times, he lost track of time. But Tim doesn’t open his eyes, he couldn’t feel a heartbeat no matter how many times he checks between pushing.

Then his arms give up, and Jason’s torso fall on top of Tim’s, but he holds himself up with his legs, and he screamed at the stabbing pain in his leg.

Jason breathes, in and out, remembering Mrs. Knope’s pace.

“Urgh... Come on come one Jason pull yourself together,” Jason slaps himself across the face, hard.

With another scream, he raises up again and stars to pump harder, he cringed when he hears another bone broken under the pressure of his hands, but Jason kept trying.

“No... No, Timmy, you can do this.” Jason blows into his mouth.

Jason puts all his remaining strength on his arms, clenching his teeth every time his legs tortures him on every slight movement. He presses his shaking fingers under Tim’s jaw and still finds nothing.

He gets back up and is about to pump again, but a sudden sharp pain strikes his broken leg. Jason is starting to lose the feel of his hands, and they’re twitching violently now. Still, even with the excruciating pain, he stood up on his knees and put his hands together.

This time, when he pushed, his arms gave up and he fell on top of Tim. His elbows landed on the ground first and manage to hold him from landing his full weight on Tim.

His forearms sink into Tim’s pool of blood. Jason is terrified to see how much Tim is losing blood. He wants to get up but he doesn’t have enough strength to straighten his arms anymore, not enough to even push himself up.

“AAAAAAAAAH!” Jason roars in frustration, his throat hurts when he did. Using the last of his energy, he pulls his back and sits up.

Stubbornly, he tried to move his legs to stand again. He tried, with distressed screams, again and again, and always falls. He can’t even punch the ground in frustration.

“NO!” He cries out, screaming on top of his lung, then his sobs come out instead.

“No...” Jason put his left arm around Tim’s shoulder, his right on his waist, and pull him with the last drop of his energy.

He cradles Tim's shoulder and laying his limp head on his arms.

“Tim, wake up, please... Tim,” Jason sobbed desperately, but the battered face shows no sign of reaction.

“Tim! WAKE UP DAMMIT!” Jason screamed, shaking the shoulder in his arms lightly.

He cradles Tim’s face with his right hand, rubbing Tim’s cheeks with his thumb, careful not to touch the bruises and the cuts as if Tim can still feel the pain.

The spotlight above them hits Tim’s body. It accentuates everything Jason doesn’t want to see. The size of his swollen eyes. The stark red flesh inside his open wound doesn’t even bleed anymore. His eyelids are persistently closed. The lack of movement on his chest. His hair damps with his own blood. His pale busted lips. His pale face. And no matter how well Jason can see Tim under the lights, he can’t see any slight movement from the body in his arms.

A drop of tear landed on Tim’s face. Jason buries his face on the crook of Tim’s cold neck, and he let himself break there.

Jason cries harder, streams of tears running down his face as he cradles Tim’s neck. His other hand still on Tim’s shoulder and holds it tightly and close, desperate to find warmth from Tim’s body.

There’s none.

“This isn’t real... You have to get up Tim... You have to. I know you’re strong... You’re so strong, you can get back from this... You can get back up from anything... I’ve seen you.”

Jason lifts his head to see Tim’s face again, hoping something changed, something move, incase Tim hears him. Still nothing.

“Tim... Tim! Open your eyes... breathe Tim... Please, you’re safe now, get up... get up Tim.”

No matter how desperate and loud Jason begs and cries, no matter how tightly Jason hugs him, there’s nothing.

Jason feels a large chunk is being ripped away from his chest. What’s left is a terrifyingly deep hole with no end, and it keeps on ripping himself apart the longer he holds on to Tim’s body that lay motionless in his arms.

He lay his temple on top of Tim’s, feeling how cold the skin is against his and his tears pour harder. He takes in a deep shuddering breath at the chill of Tim’s skin. He picks up the smell Tim’s scent of sweat and that hint of baby powder mixed with mold and iron.

With his weak hands, he holds Tim as tightly as his strength allowed him. It’s the first time he had ever hold him this way.

His throat hurt from screaming, he felt like he can’t speak anymore, but the agony in his heart begs him to. Jason felt an overwhelming feeling of pain, and regret, enough to push him.

“Timmy... I love you,” he whimpered between his trembling lips with a painful strain in his voice. He presses his face against Tim’s that’s soberingly cold and sobs even harder.

The pain in his chest stabs even deeper, it left him breathless, but he still has so many things to say. Things that are too late to say.

“I’ll still love you even though you’ll go far far away for your mission, even though you won’t come back for a long time after that. I’ll still love you even though ramble about animes and mangas I don’t get,” Jason chuckled bitterly.

Jason shuts his eyes close, wincing at the feeling like there’s something twisting to dig into his heart.

It chokes him, pulverizing his heart and it ached more than his leg. The pain punches even more pathetic sobs out of his mouth instead of the things he’s too late to say.

Jason breathes through his clenched teeth, and he cried out with trembling voice.

“I’ll still love you even though you’re not mine to love, Tim, and... and I’ll still love you even though we’ll drift apart someday... Just don’t leave Tim... don’t leave me... don’t leave me here... don’t go... ” his voice cracks as the pain digs even further.

His arms around Tim’s body tighten, face buried on top of Tim’s head, and lips tightly pressed against the roots of Tim’s hair.

Jason breathes shakily, wailing desperate sobs against Tim’s cold skin. He rocks him gently back and forth, cradling the body dearly and close, sending light ripples on the pool of blood surrounding them.

His snapped leg is bleeding out too, and now he’s at the point that his vision blurs and tinted black inconsistently. But he tried to stay conscious, for Tim, in case help is coming.

Jason mutters Tim’s name under his weakened breath, begging him to open his eyes, begging Tim to not leave him, telling Tim how much he loves him.

All fall on deaf ears.

[hillaryalbert-blog]

Chevy Bel-Airs, Acuña, Mexico, and the Columbia Record Club

As this is my first conducted interview, a bit of background information is in order:

My interview subject is my Papa, Ron Rhodes, who was born in 1943 in Mulberry, Kansas, a small town near Pittsburgh. All his life he’s lived in rural towns, whether in Kansas, Missouri, or a short stint in Utah when he was a toddler. Most of his childhood was spent in Appleton City, Missouri, near Butler. He has three siblings, an older brother and younger brother and sister. He graduated from the University of Central Missouri (back then called Central Missouri State University) with a degree in history (and subsequently earned a master’s degree) where he met his wife, my Nana, getting married in 1964. They raised a family of three girls, my mom and her sisters, in Windsor, Missouri (where he lives to this day), a town of about 3,000 people equidistant between Clinton, Warrensburg, and Sedalia. Both Nana and Papa were teachers and coaches at the local high school, English/Debate and History/Football respectively.

Photo © Arianne Rhodes Fortune. Used with permission. (My Papa and Nana with me and my younger cousin circa 2002)

Like most American families at the time, his family owned a tabletop radio set that everyone in the home utilized. They would listen to variety shows, notably Jack Benny and Bob Hope. Music-wise, they would also listen to what was popular at the time, swing, big bands, and orchestral music.

He recalls his dad always owning Chevrolets, most memorably Bel-Air models, most of which had built-in radios. The radios in those cars were strictly FM radios, with no other options for other media. His dad pretty much bought a new model every other year on the odds, besides one occurrence Papa remembered…

“My older brother was driving by then, and he managed to run it through a ditch on prom night, so that year he bought a ’58.”

https://www.autabuy.com/details/?vid=57094538

At this point I ask if he and his siblings ever took advantage of clear AM signals at night to listen to international stations. He pauses, takes a long nip off his vape (much to my aunt’s chagrin), and recalls a station out of Del Rio, Texas.

“Now, if you know your geography, you’ll know that Del Rio is on the Rio Grande… because of FCC regulations that limited the amount of power that they could transmit with, the station was in Del Rio, Texas, but the tower was across the river in Acuña, Mexico… so they could crank it up, and they would advertise the 100,000 watt power. What was the FCC gonna do, invade Mexico? Well, Trump might…”

He also recalls a station out of Shreveport, Louisiana that they could often pick up in that Bel-Air, but it was all “hillbilly music” so they didn’t often tune in to that one unless they had no other options. Their 1949 Phillips shortwave radio in the home was able to pick up transatlantic transmissions.

https://picclick.com/Crank-Brothers-Multi-5-Tool-Gold-184000697297.html

Building a collection of records came pretty easy to the Rhodes family thanks to the Columbia Record Club, a subscription service that mailed 33 1/3 RPM vinyls directly to your house every month for an absolute dirt-cheap price. The first month they would send you 13 records for $1, then every month after they would either send you a random record they were trying to promote, or you could pick your own for a small premium.

https://www.retrospace.org/2011/04/retro-fail-24-columbia-record-and-tape.html

His older brother, Buddy, was the family manager for the record club. He cultivated records by Elvis, The Beatles, the various members of the Rat Pack, Rosemary Clooney, Perry Como, Gene Autrey, and others. Their mother joined the record club herself as well so she could pick the records she wanted that the kids weren’t very interested in. His parents kept control over the nice record player in the living room while the kids used a small, portable, cardboard record player that could be easily replaced when it inevitably broke. His parents didn’t really have any restrictions on what the kids could listen to, so overall they just listened to whoever was popular and topping the charts.

His favorite record they received from that record club was, oddly enough, a Steel Drum band out of Kingston, Jamaica, that played not only calypso music, but classical and contemporary pieces in a calypso style as well. He maintains to this day that one of his all-time favorite pieces of music is a rendition of Toselli’s Serenade by the Royal Steel Band.

https://open.spotify.com/album/0D0lntNcCn5GZNEfxfQzhu

While talking about that old time rock n roll, Papa revealed to me that he had a little rock and roll band in high school and that he was the drummer, which was brand new and exciting information to me!

“We called it ‘rock n roll’ but basically we were playing what you might call ‘rockabilly’. It was pretty awful, I’m sure, but we’d do that.”

Over time as technology improved, the transistors in the cars got better, FM was added to the car radios, and then cassette players, CD players, and now aux cords and Bluetooth capabilities. Papa doesn’t own a smart phone, so he doesn’t have much familiarity with streaming music or radio, though he is familiar with CDs and cassettes. His current car is pretty much limited to playing radio, because when he traded in his old car he forgot to take out all the CDs in the disc changer, so he doesn’t have many CDs anymore. Luckily his current car’s radio system downloads CD tracks and stores them in a computer, so he doesn’t have to worry about losing those CDs in the future.

He’s a big fan nowadays of those channels on TV that are just 24/7 streams of specific music genres and artists. He particularly likes the Jimmy Buffet, Grateful dead, Classic Rock, and Elvis stations.

“I love Jimmy Buffet, he just makes up words that rhyme.”

https://www.margaritaville.com/kaaboo-form

He uses the radio nowadays for news a bit more than he did in the past. Local stations for local news, of course, but national news is strictly an NPR job for him. He doesn’t mind CBS’ news radio, but his lack of access to internet make it and unreliable resource, so he sticks with NPR.

“I listen to local radio to find out what’s happening around here, you know, who got killed in a car wreck out here on B Highway, stuff like that.”

[tickle-me-kylo]

Wrong Turn (Clyde Logan x Reader)

6,854 words. NSFW under the line. Also available here on Ao3.  Please leave kudos or comments if you’d like me to continue this plot line. 

Hey, @Clydeloganlogan, I wrote a little story about that time we met, baby!

You were so out of your element.

“Turn right onto Old Farm Road” your GPS instructed. You made the turn and were promptly met with a spray of red clay dirt and loose gravel under your tires. You slowed the car, confused. A dirt road? That couldn’t be right, could it? You quickly swung your rental car around and the GPS tried to recalculate, but... signal lost.

Just great. Lost in the backwoods of West Virginia. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a familiar banjo tune began to play. You flipped on your high beams and managed to find your way back to the main road you had turned off of. But... where were you supposed to go now?

You saw the glow of colored neon in the distance as you rounded a curve. As you got closer, you realized it was a restaurant, or a bar, maybe?

Duck Tape?

What kind of name for a bar was that? You parked your car and grabbed your phone, praying someone in this hillbilly oasis would speak coherently enough to give you directions to the motel. You walked through the door and your senses were immediately overcome by the smell of stale beer, tobacco in several forms, and a hint of cheap cologne.

The moment you stepped inside, every head in the bar turned to look at you. It got noticeably quieter as twenty or so pairs of eyes carefully looked you over, determined you were definitely not from around there, then went back to their conversations.

Wow. Must have been because you missed the memo about it being “dirty overalls and cowboy boots Friday”.

You opted to avoid the tables and booths and decided to tuck yourself into a corner at the bar instead, attempting to be as invisible as possible. Maybe the bartender would be able to...

‘Damn. They grow ‘em big in West Virginia!’ you thought to yourself as you and the extra-large bartender locked eyes with each other for what seemed like an awkward eternity.

He was handsome, with dark hair that was a little too long (but it looked good on him), and facial hair (something else you didn’t normally care for, but on him, it was perfection). He had on an old 70s band T-shirt with a flannel shirt over it, and jeans that were just tight enough to make you notice.

It was his eyes that confounded you. Big and brown, those eyes peered at you now like a scared little kitten. Why in the hell was this Sasquatch of a man afraid of 5’2” you?

“Hi!” You said to break the ice, and you thought you saw him jump a little at the sound of your voice. “Uh... I just drove in from Chicago.I think I’m a little lost? I was trying to find Hwy 5? My GPS crapped out on me up the road from here.”

The bartender just stared. You could have sworn this man’s fight or flight response was attempting to engage.

“Yeah, so...” you continued. “If you could point me in the right direction? Also, I’m starving. Do you guys serve food?”

“Yep.” He replied, and then proceeded to turn and walk away.  You sat for a moment, utterly perplexed, when you heard a chuckle to your right. You turned to the man sitting there, dressed in a grease-stained work shirt and baseball cap.

“Don’t worry about him.” The man said. “That just means he likes you. He’ll be back in a second with the menu.” He stuck out his hand. “Jimmy Logan.” He said. You took his hand and shook it. “The not so jolly giant over there is my little brother Clyde.”

“Little brother?” You said with a laugh. “What does your big brother look like?”

Jimmy pointed at you and slapped the bar as he laughed.

“I like you! You’re funny!” He said, taking a sip of his beer. At that moment, Clyde came back over, menu in hand. He looked at you, then at Jimmy, and back at you, frowned as he slid the menu in front of you, and walked away.

You looked over the menu and settled on some BBQ chicken nachos. Clyde took your order and tapped it into the point of sale computer. That’s when you saw it. Clyde had been holding his left hand behind him slightly since he’d walked over to you earlier, almost as if he had been hiding something. Now you saw why. In place of his left forearm and hand was a high-tech mechanical prosthetic. Jimmy must have seen you staring (although you hadn’t meant to).

“He’s sensitive about it.” Jimmy said. “The hand.” He tipped the neck of his beer bottle towards his brother, as if he needed to clarify who he was talking about.

“That’s understandable.” You replied. “I can’t imagine how difficult it must be. He looks like a sweet guy too. Quiet. Does he ever talk?” You asked.

“Lord, yes.” Jimmy retorted with a chuckle, and took another sip of his beer. “There are nights when I wish I could shut ‘im the hell up!”

“Good looking guy, too.” You said under your breath, but Jimmy must have had excellent hearing because he raised his eyebrows at you and grinned. You blushed when you realized you’d been heard.

“Welp, gotta make a trip to the office, then I’m heading home.” Jimmy said suddenly as he got up from his bar stool. He drained the rest of his beer in one sip when he stood, then nodded towards you. “Been nice talkin’ to you, city girl! Be safe out there.”

You smiled at Jimmy and said goodbye. He was halfway to the back of the bar when you realized you still didn’t know where the hell you were!

“Wait, Jimmy!” You called. “Can you give me directions to Hwy 5?” Jimmy turned and smiled and shrugged.

“Clyde’s yer man for directions. Have a good night, doll.”

Clyde was looking at his brother like a deer in the headlights from the other end of the bar. Jimmy just winked at him and tilted his head back in your direction. You smirked. What had that little interaction been about?

In a few minutes, Clyde brought your food.

“So, it’s Clyde, right?” You asked before he could slip away again. He nodded shyly.

“Yep.” He said. “What else did my brother tell ya’?” His drawl was slow and very West Virginian, but every syllable was enunciated as if he had carefully considered each word before speaking it.

“Nothing really,” you replied “other than you’re a nice guy, and you can give me directions to the highway.”

“Well, yeah. I reckon I can.” Clyde said. You popped a nacho in your mouth as he continued. “Where on five are ya’ headed?”

“Comfort Inn motel.” You replied.

“You in town for long?” Clyde asked, and he stumbled on a couple of the words, as if asking that question made him very nervous. You grinned.

“For a week.” You replied. “Visiting my aunt on her farm. I didn’t want to roll in on her so late at night though, so I decided to get a room.” You flushed slightly, feeling like you were oversharing. There was something about Clyde, though. You wanted to get him talking for some reason.

You chatted for a while about the town, and your aunt’s farm. You soon discovered that, just like his brother said, getting Clyde to talk wasn’t that difficult once you had him engaged in a subject he was familiar with. He would chat with you for a while, then go take care of patrons, but as soon as he was done he would quickly make his way back to you.

You noticed the more comfortable Clyde got, the closer he would get to you as you conversed. Soon, he was leaning on his forearms on the bar right in front of you so that the two of you were at eye level. It was then that you realized just how incredibly gorgeous this walking plaid-covered brick wall of a man really was.

As the night became late-night, the bar gradually emptied until it was only you and two or three locals who required little attendance. As you were reminiscing about the tire swing your aunt had put in the big oak tree at her farm (you wondered if it was still there), Clyde came around the bar and took the seat next to you.

“What made you decide to become a bartender?” You asked Clyde. You were playing with the straw from your glass of soda, twisting it in your fingers. You were nervous. No, not nervous. You were... flustered? What was this guy doing to you?

“It was a necessity more’n anything, I reckon’.” Clyde replied. “When I opened this place, it did not occur to me that findin’ a qualified bartender would be s’hard. My sister Mellie makes a dern good cocktail, but her passions lie with hairdressin’, not bartendin’. Not to mention Jimmy near ‘bout killed a guy that popped her on the rear the one night she did work here. So I did the responsible thing as a business owner, and learned to do it my own self.”

“Wait.” You said, an element of surprise in your voice. “You OWN this place? Wow, Clyde, that’s impressive!” You leaned over without even thinking and brushed your elbow against his. The metal of his prosthetic was smooth and cool against your skin. You felt him retract his touch from you slightly, although you could tell it was more of a reflex than a reaction.

“You know what I do?” You asked him. “For a living, I mean.” You glanced at him. He turned his eyes towards you in anticipation.

“I’m a physical therapist.” You continued. “Just finished school last year, but I’ve been working with the VA in Chicago for six months already. I guess you could call it an internship, but I think I’m going to take a permanent position.”

“The VA?” Clyde repeated. “You work with veterans?”

“Every day.” You nodded and smiled. “Where were you stationed?” You were making an assumption, but you wouldn’t have made a bet that you were right.

“Lejeune, in North Carolina.” Clyde confirmed your educated guess. “‘Til I was deployed to Iraq.”

“Semper Fi.” you said in reply, and the look he gave you made something deep inside you quiver. “And at the risk of sounding cliche, thank you for your service.”

“Not at all.” He responded, and his voice was soft. “Knowin’ someone sweet as you appreciates it makes it a little bit easier.” You blushed at his words, although you didn’t know why. What was it with this guy? You decided to steer the topic away from an obviously difficult subject.

"So, um…. I know I'm only in town for a week, but..." you couldn't believe you were about to say what you were about to say to a guy you'd known for only a couple of hours. "Would you go to dinner with me one night? I've enjoyed talking to you, Clyde. I'd really like to get to know you better." "Darlin', I'd go to supper with you every night and twice on Sunday." Clyde replied in earnest, and when you looked up at him, the grin on his face made your cheeks go an even darker shade of crimson. "Got your phone on you?" you asked, and he fished it out of his shirt pocket. It was an ancient model iphone with a crack that ran across the top corner. "I don't have much need for one of them fancy smarty-phones." he said sheepishly when he saw your reaction. "I don't do a whole lotta' callin' or text-messagin'." "Well then," you replied with a gleam in your eye. "Let's see if we can change that."  You opened up his contact app and added your name and number, and then saved it. You leaned over so the two of you could look at the tiny screen together. You noticed that this time, when your arm pressed against his, he didn't draw back. You showed him how to open the contacts, and where you name was, and how to click the icon to call you. "Now watch this." you said.  You showed him how to open the messages app. "Send me a text." He looked at you like you'd just asked him to do the impossible. "Don't you have to have two thumbs to do that?" he asked, and you almost giggled when you suddenly realized he was serious. You smiled at him and shook your head.

"Not at all. Here, let me show you.” You took his phone and put it in his right hand. "You can hold the phone and text with your thumb at the same time." You put your own phone in your right hand and demonstrated, although your tiny hands made it look awkward, and you nearly dropped your phone twice. "Well, you get the idea.  And your hand is..." you stared at his hand and cleared your throat a bit when you realized you were taking a little too long to continue your thought. "bigger...I mean… big.. enough... so that you shouldn't have the same problem as I do.  Give it a try!" "What should I say to ya'?" he asked, and this time you did giggle. "Anything you want! And when you're done, press that little icon right there to send it." He balanced the phone in his hand and used his thumb to type. Damn, he caught on quick. You watched as he worked the tiny phone with skill, and your mind could not help but wonder what else those fingers could do. Your phone suddenly dinged, startling you from your daydream. You read the text he sent. 'tuesday night at 7? it is italian night at the elks club and martha edwards makes a mean lasagna.' You smiled like a smitten school girl and typed your reply. 'Tuesday night with you and Martha's lasagna sounds like the perfect date.' Once you hit send, you heard his phone vibrate. He clicked and read it, and smiled like a smitten school boy. "I suppose I could get used to that." he said. "I get kind of nervous when I have to talk on the phone. Writin’ is easier. I can think about what I wanna say before I have t'say it." He was still sitting close, right up against you, and his scent - the smells of the bar mixed with his own woodsy musk - was frankly intoxicating.  You felt that sensation deep inside you again. "If you think that's cool, check this out!" You turned and made a silly face and took a selfie with your phone, then sent it to him in a text. "Oh, darlin', you need ta’ stop." he said with a chuckle when he saw the texted photo. "I don't know if I can take much more. Bad enough I have to think about you 'til Tuesday night. If you send me pretty pictures..." "Who says we have to wait until Tuesday?" you said, and you could only imagine what look you had in your eyes, because when he turned to you and saw it, he froze. "I, uh..." he stammered, and you quickly realized your mistake.  This wasn't some slick Chicago city fuck-boy. Clyde was a man of honor who obviously respected the women in his life, and probably hadn't had a whole lot of one night stands, if any. "I'm so sorry." you said to rescue him from the awkwardness. "I don't know where that came from. I just... I guess I'm kind of taken by you, Clyde. That was uncalled for, though. I apologize." "No, no. Don't apologize. I… I’m flattered, darlin’. I wish I was as brave as you!" he replied. His face had started to redden. "Did the Marine war veteran just say he wishes he was as brave as me?" you laughed, and he chuckled along with you. "I don't think that was bravery, Clyde.  More along the lines of brazen stupidity on my part. You know what?  I should get going. I'm supposed to be at the farm for breakfast tomorrow. My aunt’s pancakes are something you never want to be late for!”

“Let me walk you to your car.” he said. “Gets real dark out in that parkin’ lot.” You smiled warmly at his chivalry. When you hopped off your bar stool and turned, you were struck with the realization of just how much bigger than you he was. He towered over you by at least a foot, maybe even a little more.  And dear God, he was broad in ALL the right places. The two of you walked side-by-side out to your car, and when you beeped the key fob on the rental, Clyde immediately grabbed the door handle before you could do it yourself, and opened your door. You climbed inside, and he leaned over to give you directions.

“Now when you leave the parkin’ lot, you’re gonna turn left, then take the second left, alright?” he waited until you had nodded in agreement to continue. “Take that road until you get to tha’ red light. That’s Highway 5. Take another left, and the motel is gonna be down about a mile. If you see the dairy farm, ya’ went too far.”

He gently shut the door of the car, and you promptly rolled the window down. He leaned over and rested his forearm against the door so that he was eye-level with you. “Now if you get lost, don’t try t’find yer way back here. Just gimme a call, alright?” You nodded up at him with a smile. Before he could stand, you quickly leaned over and snuck a kiss on his cheek. You thought he might burst, he looked so surprised.

“What was that fer?” he asked, but his voice was soft.

“For being a gentleman, Clyde Logan.” you said, and started the engine of the rental. “I’ll text you when I get to the motel, ok?  Don’t want you to worry about me.”

“Well, I’m prob’ly gonna do that anyway, just so ya’ know.” He stood then, and stepped back from the car. “Be careful, darlin’. Watch fer’ deer! They’ll jump right out in front of ya’”

You waved out of the open window as you pulled out of the parking lot.

The Comfort Inn wasn’t quite as comfortable as you would have liked. It looked more like the Bates Motel that had had a quick slap of paint and some new bed linens applied, but what could you expect this far out in the middle of nowhere? Once the attendant had given you the key, you parked your car in front of the door to your room and grabbed your bag and went inside. Thank goodness your room was on the front side of the building, where there was some light from the big bright sign by the side of the road.

Once inside, you took a quick shower, slipped on your favorite t-shirt and a pair of boy shorts, and slid into bed. At least the mattress was fairly comfortable, and the sheets were soft. No wifi (big shock) but you had just enough of a signal right off the highway that you would be able to text Clyde. That thought sent a little quiver to a place it probably shouldn’t have.

‘Made it to the motel!’ you sent. Before your phone screen could even dim, you saw he was typing a reply.

‘I’m glad your safe. everything there alright?’

‘Yep! Right as rain.’ you wrote back ‘Took a shower and I’m already in bed. No wifi here so no Netflix tonight.’

‘Netflix. that is the movie place on the internet right?’

You smirked. God, he was adorable. ‘Yes, it is indeed that movie place on the internet. I’ll have to show you how to Netflix and chill sometime.’ you typed, knowing full well it would go straight over his head.

‘that sounds real nice sweetheart’’

Mission accomplished. Now to seal the deal. You took a selfie in the low light of the room, the tattered neck of your sleep shirt showing a hint of your cleavage, and just enough of your bare hip in the pic to get the point across without being tacky or distasteful. You attached it to the text with the words ‘Sweet dreams’.

You thought for sure you had overstepped when he didn’t answer for what seemed like forever, or maybe that he’d fainted and hit his head on the bar when he’d seen the pic. You were into your second round of solitaire on your phone when it finally dinged.

‘Darlin your prettier than the first peach of the summer.’ he typed. You assumed that was a compliment and replied as such.

‘Why thank you, kind sir. You’re not so bad yourself, you know.’

‘Oh I don’t know about all that.’ he replied and you could nearly feel his embarrassment through your phone screen.

‘Trust me, Clyde. You are a very good looking man. You know what? Scratch that. Baby, you are HOT!’ you typed back, and even added the little flame emoji at the end.  Fuck it, you were going to put all your chips on the table.

Again, a long pause that made you nervous. Finally, his reply.

‘Well I’m not one to argue with a lady, so I will take your word for it.’

Damn, that hadn’t gone over exactly like you had wanted it to. Why was this guy so nice? You decided to dial it back a notch and maybe appeal to his heroic side.

‘It’s so dark out here.’ you told him in your next text. ‘Chilly tonight too. Glad you’re there to text with me or I might be scared.’

The little dots animated to show he was typing, and they seemed to go on forever. Either he was writing you a novel, or he was having trouble getting out what he wanted to say. You were betting on the latter.

‘You ok?’ you asked, ‘You can tell me anything, Clyde. I certainly haven’t had much of a filter tonight, but I can’t help how much I like you. I know it sounds silly, especially since we just met, but I was attracted to you the minute I saw you. I wish we’d had more time together tonight.’

The little dots stopped as he read your message. There was a pause, and then they started again. This time, it didn’t take long for his message to appear.

‘Me too.’ it said simply. But then, ‘Do me a favor?”

‘Of course’ you replied, silently hoping he was going to ask for another, possibly more risqué selfie (although you sincerely doubted he would).

‘Take a look out the window.’ You furrowed your brow as you read the message.  What the...? You slid out of bed and pulled back the curtain of the single window just enough to glance outside. There, on the other side of the parking lot was Clyde, standing against an old beat up pickup truck, phone in hand. You snapped the curtain closed and pressed your back against the wall, unable to suppress a giggle.  Holy shit!  You quickly typed a response.

‘Well what the hell are you doing standing out there in the cold? Come in here where I’m warm.’

Barely ten seconds passed before there was a tapping on the door. You opened it, making sure to stand back so no one would see you in your underwear. The room was dark, save for the little light over the sink in the bathroom which cast a warm orange glow out into the room. Once he was inside, you opened your mouth to say something cute and sassy to him, but before the words could come out, Clyde had you in his arms (both of them, you happily noticed). He lifted you up so that you were nearly face to face with him, sandwiching you between him and the door and god, he felt so good.

You wrapped your arms around his neck as he devoured your mouth with his. He kissed you like he was starving, tugging at your lips, dipping in with his velvet tongue, wet and deep and delicious. For a moment, you forgot to breathe, and when you did, it came as a gasp. He took that as a sign that you were enjoying what he was giving you (yes, you most certainly were) and he continued without abandon.

You moved your hands down to venture underneath his t-shirt as he kissed you, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin. When your fingers found flesh, you felt him shiver, and goosebumps raised beneath your fingertips. You moaned against his mouth as you felt his huge right hand squeeze the flesh of your thigh, and then move up to grip your scantily clad ass. You bucked against him slightly and felt him react beneath you, the bulge in his jeans becoming even more pronounced. You backed away from his mouth long enough to get two words out.

“Bed. Now.” you said, your voice raspy with need, and being the gentleman he was, Clyde immediately complied.  He placed you gingerly on the mattress, took a moment to drink you in, and then began to undress himself. When he began to remove his flannel shirt, he looked down at his prosthetic. You spoke before he had the chance to get nervous about it.

“Whatever you’re more comfortable with is fine with me.” you said, and he nodded. He undid the straps and removed the prosthetic hand and laid it on the chair near the bed, then tossed his flannel shirt on top of it.  His t-shirt was next and my god, he was beautiful. You thought about helping him undo his pants (it was the physical therapist in you), but he had that down to an art form and had unbuttoned, unzipped, and shimmied out of his jeans before you could as much as reach forward to help.

You realized you were behind in the game a bit, and pulled your t-shirt over your head.  Your tits bounced free and you swore you heard him squeak under his breath, but he smoothly covered it by clearing his throat. You grinned and watched him continue to undress like it was the best show you’d ever seen.  And honestly, it did rank very high on the list.

He hitched his thumb into the waist of his boxers and slid them down, and it was your turn to squeak. However beautiful you thought Clyde Logan was, his cock was ten times as magnificent. If you’d had any question about whether the size of his more outwardly viewable body parts were in proportion to the less accessible ones, that answer was a resounding YES.

Just when you thought you couldn’t stand not touching him anymore, he was on the bed, his huge, warm body hovering above you. You ran your fingertips up his chest and around his neck, and when he leaned in to kiss you, your fingers found purchase in his long, dark locks. God, his hair was so soft. His lips were so soft. But there was one thing that was most definitely not soft, and when you reached down and took it in your hand, you felt his entire body react. Your fingers couldn’t even close around his cock he was so thick, and you silently wondered how it would fit inside of you. That was a challenge you were most definitely willing to accept, the thought of which sent a chill up your spine.

He balanced his weight on his left elbow above your head, his right hand exploring your body as you lightly stroked his cock with your hand. His touch was simultaneously rough and soft, and he soon had you writhing with need beneath him. Your tits, the size of which you had always been proud of, completely disappeared underneath his massive hand, and when he pinched a nipple between thumb and forefinger, you cried out in pleasure.

“I’m sorry, darlin’” he said as he raised himself up off of you a bit, thinking he had hurt you.

“No, no.” you cooed, wrapping your free hand around his waist and pulling him back to you. “That was a happy sound.” You peppered his shoulder and neck with kisses and sighed against his skin when his fingers returned to your nipple. This time, he did not stop when he coaxed out your little cries.

His hand moved down and you wondered if it was possible to actually die of anticipation as he slowly slid his fingers beneath the top of your panties. When his fingers found your slit, you moaned into his shoulder, and you heard him draw in a breath between his teeth.

“God, darlin’, you’re so wet.” he whispered in your ear, and you hummed in response.

“Mmmmm… That would be your fault.” You replied with a grin, but then he slid two massive fingers inside you and you bucked beneath him. “God, Clyde!” you exclaimed, your fingers digging into his upper arms as he explored you, his thumb gently grazing your clit in maddeningly slow circles. He worked you into a near frenzy, your breath coming in little heated gasps. And the entire time, he kissed you gently here and there, every third or fourth kiss returning to your lips.

“Do you mind if I…” Clyde said suddenly, but then paused, unsure of himself. “I mean, would it be ok if I…”

“What do you want, baby?” you asked, your lips hot against his neck as you kissed and nipped at the flesh there.

“I’m just dyin’ to taste you, sweetheart.” he replied, and his voice was deep and filled with need. The mere thought of that man’s mouth on your pussy was enough to make you whimper so there was no way in hell you were passing up his offer. You thought about the logistics for a second, given your size and his (and the size of the small double bed) and came up with a solution.

“Lie down.” You instructed as you pushed him back with your hands. He did as you instructed, and when he was flat on his back, you slid your panties off and climbed on top of him, straddling his broad chest. “You want to taste me, baby?” You asked. He nodded. You almost felt guilty for teasing him, but on the other hand, you knew it was going to be worth it. You slid your fingers down into your slick folds and flicked your clit with your middle finger, whimpering softly. When your fingers were thoroughly wet with your juices, you removed them and held them over Clyde’s mouth.

“Open.” You instructed and his mouth popped open as if you had flipped a switch. You stuck your fingers in his mouth and moaned as he sucked your essence from them. You jerked your fingers out of his mouth and he made a disappointed sound which made you smirk. “More?” You asked, and he nodded his head, eager as a kid in a candy shop.

“Scoot down a little.” you instructed and again he complied immediately and without question (damn, his obedience was really starting to turn you on!) You raised up on your knees and positioned yourself over his face. Before you even had a chance to say a word, he had grabbed your hip with that massive right hand and thrust you down onto his mouth. You gasped loudly as he worked you with his lips and tongue and he grasped you so tightly against him, you wondered how in the hell he could breathe.

The noises he was making while he ate you out were utterly filthy. Wet, sloppy sounds accompanied his grunts of pleasure, and holy shit, they were driving you mad. You slammed one hand flat against the wall behind the bed to steady yourself as you reached down to grab a handful of that ample black hair. How was he so good at this? He knew just when to flick, and just when to suck, and just when you thought it couldn’t get any better, he slid those thick fingers back inside you. You came undone — immediately and with little warning. Your knees weakened and you barely had a chance to utter the first letter of his name before you were pulled into one of the most intense orgasms you had ever had.

Clyde reveled in every second of your orgasm, and when you were done, he gently moved out from under you and took you in his arms (again, both of them) and laid you back down on the mattress. He reached over and grabbed his t-shirt from the chair beside the bed and wiped his face before laying on his side beside you, his left arm behind your head. You melted against him, his big arms engulfing you as you laid your head on his chest and breathed him in.

“I just need a sec.” you whispered. Your voice sounded dreamy and far away.

“You take all the time you need, sweetheart.” He replied softly. The fingers of his right hand were stroking little patterns on your hip, his breath hot against your hair as he laid patiently beside you, allowing you time to recover. You silently wondered how such a generous lover could still be single. Hell, was he even single?  How would you know?  You just met him that night, and had already climbed into bed with him. You sighed deeply against his chest. You had come to the country to escape, but you evidently had not been able to escape your own bad habits.

“You ok?” Clyde asked softly. He had heard your sigh.

“Mmm hmmm.” you hummed against his skin. What did it matter anyway? You’d be gone from this place in a week, and all of this, including Clyde Logan, would just be a memory.

Even though you were still floating from your orgasm, you couldn’t stand to make him wait any longer, and besides, his massive cock pressing against your stomach was making you horny all over again. You pushed him onto his back, still amused at how he had no trouble letting a girl half his size do whatever you wanted with him. You kissed him, and the fact that he still smelled and tasted like your pussy drove you a little crazy, causing your kisses to become deep and heated. You grasped his cock in your hand and he moaned into your mouth as you stroked him.  You flicked a bead of precum from the head of his dick and then broke your kiss with him so you could lick the sticky substance from the pad of your thumb. From the look on his face, you thought he might cum then and there.

“Mmmmmm.” you cooed, your thumb slowly caressing your bottom lip, then moving down between your breasts, down your stomach, and back to his cock, which twitched with anticipation of your touch. “I think I want more of that.”

You slid your body down his and when you reached your destination, you ran your tongue up the length of his ample shaft.

“Oh god, please, darlin’!” he exclaimed, and in response, you took his cock in your mouth. His breath hitched in his throat as you ran your tongue slowly around the perimeter of the head. When you released him from the warmth of your mouth, you weren’t surprised to hear him beg.

“Please. Please don’t stop.” he whimpered, which sounded utterly delicious to you in that deep, rich voice of his.

“Hold my hair.” you instructed, and scooped your hair back so he could take it in his hand. You returned to his cock, taking it slowly into your mouth as deeply as you could, but fuck, he was so thick. It wasn’t long before your jaws ached from the size of him, but you persevered, sucking him off while you stroked the base of his cock with your hand. It wasn’t long before you were both a mess, his cock and your lips slick with your saliva and his precum. His hand was grasping tighter at your hair, his hips jutting upwards with your downward strokes, his breath fast and shallow.  He was so close. You were anticipating feeling the hot stream of his cum hit the back of your throat when he released your hair and gripped your shoulder.

“Alright, darlin’.” he said, and then to your surprise. “Stop now.” you released him from your mouth and gave him a confused look.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, wondering if you’d done something that he didn’t like.

“Nothin’s wrong.” he explained. “I just didn’t want to… you know... do that in your mouth. Doesn’t seem respectful.”

You blinked at him, remembering the thought you’d had about him in the bar earlier. Respectful of the women in his life.  Boy had you called it. He patted the bed beside him.

“Com’ere, baby doll.” he said, and you felt a little tingle at his choice of new pet name. “I’ve got somethin’ better for ya’ than that anyway.” The desire in his deep voice rolled through you like thunder, and this time, you complied. You crawled up next to him, but he turned to fish for his jeans on the floor. When he found them, he reached in one of the pockets and pulled out a condom. Respectful and responsible, you thought to yourself. This guy really did have it all. You watched as he rolled it on, your breath quickening as you anticipated what was next.

He was so big -- not only his cock, but just huge in general, that it was incredibly intimidating to be beneath him, especially since you were so much smaller than him. He seemed to understand that, however, and knew how to defuse it. He began a campaign of sweet kisses that trailed against your hairline, down your cheek and to your neck, where he nuzzled for a moment, making you giggle as he tickled you with the hair on his chin. He chuckled at your response and leaned in against your ear.

“If I hurt you, just tell me to stop, alright?” he whispered and you nodded in reply. He dipped his fingers into your folds, as if he were testing to see if you were ready for him. You were. You spread your legs wide so that he could move between them, and wrapped your arms around his neck as he reached down to grip his cock and...

Oh! Oh my god. You felt your walls involuntarily convulse when he pushed inside you, unused to being so full and so stretched. He began his thrusts slow and shallow and you were thankful. It was a lot to take, but his patience allowed you time to adjust, and before long, you had both legs wrapped around his hips, and were meeting each of his thrusts with your own.

You had never been fucked so thoroughly in your life.  Every nerve in your body was screaming with pleasure as he drove you mad with his long strokes. The head of his cock consistently found that elusive spot deep inside of you, and each time it did, you would cry out, which would only cause him to fuck you harder. You were soon panting as he growled and grunted like a wild animal atop you, and as you neared your release, you dug your nails into his skin and held on for dear life.

“Clyde! God, baby, yes” you screamed, repeating his name as a mantra over and over as stars filled your vision as you came. The second he felt your pussy tighten around his cock he threw his head back and you felt it deep inside you as he found his release.

He collapsed beside you, a heaving, sweaty, gorgeous mess. Once he had caught his breath, he rose up on his elbow and planted a kiss on your lips, then rose from the bed. Ah. So that was it then. The door to the bathroom clicked shut and you leaned over the side of the bed, searching for your panties and t-shirt. You had just laid hands on them when Clyde exited the bathroom. You were trying to convince yourself that you preferred this — a clean break without any complications, when Clyde was suddenly on the bed again and wrapped around you like a warm blanket, his head resting on your belly. Ok. Well, complications also made things interesting. Right?

You ran your hands back through his dark hair, occasionally twisting a strand around your finger as his breathing deepened. He fell asleep, a big warm puppy wrapped in your arms. But you lay awake, desperately wondering what you’d gotten yourself into.

All of this over one little wrong turn.

[silasbug]

dream log Nr. 006.2

04/08/2022

Type: - | Flow: cuts back and forth, scrambled | Amount: 4

.

these dreams all precede the lucid dream in log Nr. 006.1. i briefly woke up at 5:30 a.m. from #3 with a headache. #4 started at around 6 a.m.

i’ve had some reoccuring characters in my dreams lately (namely sans and flowey, ha) that seem to always fill a certain role or represent hopelessness or comfort/friendship in the face of it.

.

#1. the land war barren and dark. it seemed like a huge landfill, almost. i was standing in a large heap of trash with (i think) my mother and sister, when some men came around. they asked us, confrontationally, what we were doing there. that this was their territory. we apologized and explained that we had just moved there, or were making our home there (in a landfill, ha).

eventually we are in an old, run down, decrepit house that we were sharing with a large “hillbilly” family. the father (an old man with rotten teeth, greasy silver hair) kept demanding that i do things. clean this, put away that, etc. i complied to keep the peace and because he scared me a little. eventually, he hands me a scale (i have the same one in my kitchen, this one was just a little bigger). it looked clean enough, but he pointed to a few spots that he said nobody could clean off, so i said i could and took it to the sink.

.

#2. in the same world, i found myself in an off-road vehicle with my sister and my BIL. he was driving along a road next to a cliff. it looked very grand-canyon-y from the style of the surrounding landscape. the road was very small, crumbly, and eventually there was a sharp turn left. he didn’t make the turn, and the front of the vehicle hung over the edge. it was no big deal and we all got out as the car fell down over the ledge. to out left, where the turn was, was another ledge, about as tall as me, that we had to climb up to keep going. i climbed up last & as i did, BIL grabbed my arms to hold me securely in case i slipped (which is something he does). once i climbed up, i lied on the floor, we laughed.

.

#3. i was in an apartment with a woman and a man. she lived near the northern part of the campus in my city. the man and i served as her experiments, of sorts. i was more of a guinea pig? i had originally come to her house to get an experimental corona vaccination that she was working on, which could be taken orally (why is beyond me, i am already vaccinated). one of the rooms in this house was like a mini-lab. i found two tiny vials which she told me would have to be consumed, so i emptied one into my mouth. she told me they had to be mixed first, but it was too late at that point and she said that it would probably be fine if i swallowed both of them together. so i emptied the other one into my mouth as well, swished, and swallowed. the liquids felt warm going down my throat. it was really quite pleasant.

she had a microscope there as well and i thought about how cool it would be to look at plant cells through it one of these days. 

once i had taken my dose, she brought the man and i to a table in her kitchen. we drew dress-designs on paper as a past-time. the man was odd. skinny, tired, sickly-looking. he wasn’t entirely there, he barely spoke, he behaved like an empty husk. he wore a brown sweater with the parts of it around his hands coated in thick, coagulated blood (which wasn’t his).

apparently the experiment was about creating a video-game protagonist in real life (by making him corporeal, so bringing him from the game into the real world). he was popular  and always won. he was brutal and ruthless, hence the blood that covered him. he was able to escape the video game because of this (??? this is just in my notes i’m not sure what it means). the lady told me that i was too passive for the same experiment to work with me, we were polar opposites. 

one day, flowey appeared. we became friends and he told me that he likes me more than the man because he was weird & covered in blood. 

we weren’t allowed to leave.

.

#4. i was at home with my SO. i had published a story online that some people seemed to like & i was getting notifications. it was mostly a scene of some characters going to a japanese New Years festival. it was making me uncomfortable as some people drew scenes from it or similar, it was really odd. i showed it to SO whilst sitting on the couch as they were getting ready for work. this leads directly into dream log Nr. 006.1.

[jdmainman123]

#Report over 10 years yacht fish sunrise call to change all the same names we have moved into Fort Worth and MCI kansas? Second time been kidnapped by both of these pieces of s*** dead daughter cities to have me walk around and drink soda and smoke cigarettes and point at the satellite and say get your daughter out here to call this piece of s*** out your son can't because the satellite is speaking for him #p**** hashtag no wonder why you can't please your f****** sister

AND IT SEEMS LIKE THE ONLY THING YOU GUYS HAVE HERE IN COMMON IS PROTECTING THE NAMES OF THE BOYS AND NOT BRINGING UP ANY OTHER GIRLS NAMES WHICH WE FIND VERY F****** WEIRD CONSIDERING AS A BLACK SKIN MAN AND A WHITE SKIN MAN PROTECTING ANOTHER WHITE SKIN MAN AND ANOTHER CITY #SAMMY SAID SOMETHING ABOUT YOUR CITY WHICH HAPPENS TO BE TRUTH AND YOU WANT TO SEND ALL THE KIDS OVER THERE TO CONFRONT IT AND SAY IT'S AN ACCIDENT WHAT YOU SAID

And again the first letter j of jason? And I find I found James with his eyes removed and his balls cut off? Remember Oregon James AND WE WERE FORCED TO RENAME FABIO.. KEVIN#shoutsout to Kevin Gates PUERTO RICAN JOHNNY THAT'S HIM I WAS BORN WITH THE BODY

And once again Jennifer had the intervene because gold sun and black son kept following yacht fish for socialism word? And it couldn't explain why they were following me with the letter j and today when they picked up James and started defending John WE AUTOMATICALLY ASSOCIATED MAYBE YOUR WHITE SKIN MAN YOUR SATELLITE MAKER ISN'T AS GOOD AS THE OTHERS

#Promise

SEEMS LIKE WE GOT THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE EVERYBODY WHO SURVIVED ON YACHT FISH WAS KILLED HERE IN THE CITY FOR THEIR NAMES I WOULDN'T WISH IT UPON MY WORST ENEMY FOR A BOY TO BE HELD ACCOUNTABLE FOR HIS LITTLE TINY NAME WHETHER IT BE JOHN OR MIKE? IT MUST BE A NIGHTMARE LIVING WITH A BLACK SKIN FAMILY AND A WHITE SKIN FAILED FATHER? AND BOTH OF THEM HOLDING THEM INTEGRATION AND ANTI-SEEDING ACCOUNTABLE TO THEIR NAMES? OR WE CAN GO WITH ALL THE SAINTS THAT WERE KILLED ON MY SITE LIVED HERE BECAUSE THIS PIECE OF S***? NEEDED MONEY

And the funniest thing is besides the white skin boys hate another white skin boys and won't attack one girl on an airplane because of her immunity? I f*** the game up for her to become grandma? And 40 years later yet yelled at yacht fish come to the city and assist the boys outside with gross smells of almost black skin men? Or that little black skin girl who screams to get her p**** sucked? Grandma adds an extra odor I don't know if that's part of the assist? But with her bad breath behind me screaming those f****** baby killer words

What the f*** is wrong with you people letting the black skin man promise your white skin man in this city free hashtag free I CALLED IT MYSELF THERE'S NO GREATER DAY SHAME THE FIAT FISH TO FIND OUT IT WASN'T A LIE IT WAS TRUTH A BLACK SKIN MAN OFFERING FROM THE BEACH TO THIS PIECE OF S*** MCI KANSAS? FREE STUFF TO WHITE SKIN MEN got fishes a corner report has changed to embarrassment and shame

And the worst part is since LAX 3/4 is connected to you guys they knew as soon as they got there I got there yacht fish they were pronounced dead by another city a bigger city that I haven't been to yet? And it's the worst feeling dealing with a bunch of suicidal men who have no hope but no one thing? They called yacht fish out forever or his sex life out forever? And I don't appreciate you guys building these sites 1800 years ago before I was created? And having me end up in the worst hillbilly son site if it wasn't for these hills? We could ignore the small buildings? But for you to have bills and sites to hunt grown white skin boys big cocks full of money in their pockets? To come here? And be reduced? To your satellite maker can't raise full grown white skin men to hunt in front of these girls? Because the boys science is almost perfect if you take off the dead daughter underwear? And offer him one cup of water

SO TO HOLD THIS SITE AS THE HUNT LITTLE WHITE SKIN BABY BOYS? AND TO HAVE YOUR REGIME THINK THIS IS OKAY TO BUILD A SITE TO DO AS YOU WANT TO SHARE A NEIGHBORHOOD WITH BLACK SKIN MEN AND WHITE SKIN MEN TO HUNT ONLY ONE WHITE SKIN BOYS? AND YOU THINK SCIENCE THINK THIS IS OKAY? FISH MADE WAR PLANES BECAUSE OF THIS REASON? JUST IN CASE THE HOMELESS SATELLITE MAKER BUILT THE CITY WITH ONE INTENTIONS MAKING HIMSELF RIGHT AT HOME IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WORLD TO HUNT ONLY WHITE SKIN BOYS SO YOU CAN STICK A DEAD N***** DAUGHTER FAMILY INTO HIS NEIGHBORHOOD

And it's a copycat the copycat all the f****** words 14 words you're spitting at me we we define them as wrong words wrong sounds but you're f****** narrating satellite maker wants to narrate every time I f****** scratch my ass every time I'm walking through the streets for this dead f****** daughter and dead son to listen to the wrong words FOUND IT

Kiss my ass

[uomo-accattivante]

On 21 August 2017, the Great American Eclipse caused a diagonal swathe of darkness to fall across the United States from Charleston, South Carolina on the East Coast to Lincoln City, Oregon on the West. In Manhattan, which was several hundred miles outside the path of totality, a gentle gloom fell over the city. Yet still office workers emptied out onto the pavements, wearing special paper glasses if they had been organised; holding up their phones and blinking nervously if they hadn’t. Despite promises that it was to be lit up for the occasion, there was no discernible twinkle from the Empire State Building; on Fifth Avenue, the darkened glass façade of Trump Tower grew a little dimmer. In Central Park Zoo, where children and tourists brandished pinhole cameras made from cereal boxes, Betty, a grizzly bear, seized the opportunity to take an unscrutinised dip.

Across the East River in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, Oscar Isaac, a 38-year-old Guatemalan-American actor and one of the profession’s most talented, dynamic and versatile recent prospects, was, like Betty, feeling too much in the sun. It was his day off from playing Hamlet in an acclaimed production at the Public Theater in Manhattan and he was at home on vocal rest. He kept a vague eye on the sky from the balcony of the one-bedroom apartment he shares — until their imminent move to a leafier part of Brooklyn — with his wife, the Danish documentary film-maker Elvira Lind, their Boston Terrier French Bulldog-cross Moby (also called a “Frenchton”, though not by him), and more recently, and to Moby’s initial consternation, their four-month-old son, Eugene.

Plus, he’s seen this kind of thing before. “I was in Guatemala in 1992 when there was a full solar eclipse,” he says the next day, sitting at a table in the restaurant of a fashionably austere hotel near his Williamsburg apartment, dressed in dark T-shirt and jeans and looking — amazingly, given his current theatrical and parental commitments — decidedly fresh. “The animals went crazy; across the whole city you could hear the dogs howling.” Isaac happened to be in Central America, he’ll mention later, because Hurricane Andrew had ripped the roof off the family home in Miami, Florida, while he and his mother, uncle, siblings and cousins huddled inside under couches and cushions. So yes, within the spectrum of Oscar Isaac’s experiences, the Great American Eclipse is no biggie.

Yet there is another upcoming celestial event that will have a reasonably significant impact on Isaac’s life. On 15 December, Star Wars: The Last Jedi will be released in cinemas, which, if you bought a ticket to Star Wars: The Force Awakens — and helped it gross more than $2bn worldwide — you’ll know is a pretty big deal. You’ll also know that Isaac plays Poe Dameron, a hunky, wise-cracking X-wing fighter pilot for the Resistance who became one of the most popular characters of writer-director JJ Abram’s reboot of the franchise thanks to Isaac’s charismatic performance and deadpan delivery (see his “Who talks first?” exchange with Vader-lite baddie Kylo Ren: one of the film’s only comedic beats).

And if you did see Star Wars: The Force Awakens you’ll know that, due to some major father-son conflict, there’s now an opening for a loveable, rogueish, leather-jacket-wearing hero… “Heeeeeh!” says Isaac, Fonzie-style, when I say as much. “Well, there could be, but I think what [The Last Jedi director] Rian [Johnson] did was make it less about filling a slot and more about what the story needs. The fact is now that the Resistance has been whittled to just a handful of people, they’re running for their lives, and Leia is grooming me — him — to be a leader of the Resistance, as opposed to a dashing, rogue hero.”

While he says he has “not that much more, but a little more to do” in this film, he can at least be assured he survives it; he starts filming Episode IX early next year.

If Poe seems like one of the new Star Wars firmament now — alongside John Boyega’s Finn, Daisy Ridley’s Rey and Poe’s spherical robot sidekick BB-8 — it’s only because Isaac willed it. Abrams had originally planned to kill Poe off, but when he met Isaac to discuss him taking the part, Isaac expressed some reservations. “I said that I wasn’t sure because I had already done that role in other movies where you kind of set it up for the main people and then you die spectacularly,” he remembers. “What’s funny is that [producer] Kathleen Kennedy was in the room and she was like, ‘Yeah, you did that for us in Bourne!’” (Sure enough, in 2012’s Bourne Legacy, Jeremy Renner’s character, Aaron Cross, steps out of an Alaskan log cabin while Isaac’s character, Outcome Agent 3, stays inside; a few seconds later the cabin is obliterated by a missile fired from a passing drone.)

This ability to back himself — judiciously and, one can imagine after meeting him, with no small amount of steely charm — seems to have served Isaac well so far. It’s what also saw him through the casting process for his breakthrough role in Joel and Ethan Coen’s 2014 film Inside Llewyn Davis, about a struggling folk singer in Sixties New York, partly based on the memoir of nearly-was musician Dave Van Ronk. Isaac, an accomplished musician himself, got wind that the Coens were casting and pestered his agent and manager to send over a tape, eventually landing himself an audition.

“I knew it was based on Dave Van Ronk and I looked nothing like him,” says Isaac. “He was a 6ft 5in, 300lb Swede and I was coming in there like… ‘Oh man.’” But then he noticed that the casting execs had with them a picture of the singer-songwriter Ray LaMontagne. “Suddenly, I got some confidence because he’s small and dark so I said to the casting director, ‘Oh cool, is that a reference?’ And they were like, 'No, he just came in here and he killed it.’” Isaac throws his head back and laughs. “They literally said, 'He killed it.’ It was so good!”

In the end it was Isaac who killed it in Inside Llewyn Davis, with a performance that was funny, sad, cantankerous and moving. The film was nominated for two Oscars and three Golden Globes, one of them for Isaac in the category of: “Best Performance by an Actor in a Motion Picture — comedy or musical” (he lost to Leonardo DiCaprio for The Wolf of Wall Street). No cigar that time, but in 2016 he won a Golden Globe for his turn as a doomed mayor in David Simon’s HBO drama, Show Me a Hero. This year, and with peculiar hillbilly affectation, Vanity Fair proclaimed Isaac “the best dang actor of his generation”. It is not much of a stretch to imagine that, some day very soon, Isaac may become the first Oscar since Hammerstein to win the award whose name he shares. Certainly, the stars seem ready to align.

Of course, life stories do not run as neatly as all that and Isaac’s could have gone quite differently. He was born Óscar Isaac Hernández Estrada in Guatemala City, to which his father, Óscar, now a pulmonologist, had moved from Washington DC in order to attend medical school (having escaped to the States from Cuba just before the revolution) and where he met Isaac’s mother, Eugenia. Five months after Isaac was born, the family — also including an older sister, Nicole, and later joined by a younger brother, Michael — moved to America in order for Óscar Senior to complete his residencies: first to Baltimore, then New Orleans, eventually settling in Miami when Isaac was six.

Miami didn’t sit entirely right with him. “The Latin culture is so strong which was really nice,” he says, “but you had to drive everywhere, and it’s also strangely quite conservative. Money is valued, and nice cars and clothes, and what you look like, and that can get sort of tedious.” Still it was there, aged 11, that he took to the stage for the first time. The Christian middle school he attended put on performances in which the kids would mime to songs telling loosely biblical stories, including one in which Jesus and the Devil take part in a boxing match in heaven (note the word “loosely”). For that one, Isaac played the Devil. In another, he played Jesus calling Lazarus from the grave. “So yeah,” he laughs, “I’ve got the full range!’

He enjoyed the mixture of the attention and the “extreme nature of putting yourself out there in front of a bunch of people”, plus it gave him some release from stresses at home: his parents were separating and his mother became ill. His school failed to see these as sufficiently mitigating factors for Isaac’s subsequent wayward behaviour and, following an incident with a fire extinguisher, he was expelled. “It wasn’t that bad. They wanted me out of there. I was very happy to go.”

Following his parents’ divorce, he moved with his mother to Palm Beach, Florida, where he enrolled at a public high school. “It was glorious, I loved it,” says Isaac. “I loved it so much. I could walk to the beach every day, and go to this wild school where I became friends with so many different kinds of people. I met these guys who lived in the trailer parks in Boynton Beach and started a band, and my mom and my little brother would come and spy on me to see if I was doing drugs or anything, and I never was.”

Never?

“No, because I didn’t drink till I was, like, 24. Even though I stopped being religious, I liked the individuality of being the guy who didn’t do that stuff. Maybe it was the observer part of me… I liked being a little bit detached, and I wasn’t interested in doing something that was going to make me lose control.”

When he was 14, Isaac and his band-mates played at a talent show. They chose to perform 'Rape Me’ by Nirvana. “I remember singing to the parents, 'Rape meeee!’” Isaac laughs so hard he gives a little snort. “Yeah,” he says, composing himself again, “we didn’t win.” But something stuck and Isaac ended up being in a series of ska-punk outfits, first Paperface, then The Worms and later The Blinking Underdogs who, legend has it, would go on to support Green Day. “Supported… Ha! It was a festival…” says Isaac. “But hey, we played the same day, at the same festival, within a few hours of each other.” (On YouTube you can find a clip from 2001 of The Blinking Underdogs performing in a battle of the bands contest at somewhere called Spanky’s. Isaac is wearing a 'New York City’ T-shirt and brandishing a wine-coloured Flying V electric guitar.)

Still, Isaac’s path was uncertain. At one point he thought about joining the Marines. “The sax player in my band had grown up in a military family so we were like, 'Hey, let’s work out and get all ripped and be badasses!’” he says. “I was like, 'Yeah, I’ll do combat photography!’ My dad was really against it. He said, 'Clinton’s just going to make up a war for you guys to go to,’ so I had to have the recruiters come all the way down to Miami where my dad was living and they convinced him to let me join. I did the exam, I took the oath, but then we had gotten the money together to record an album with The Worms. I decided I’d join the Reserves instead. I said I wanted to do combat photography. They said, 'We don’t do that in the Reserves, but we can give you anti-tank?’ Ha! I was like, 'it’s a liiiiiittle different to what I was thinking…’”

Even when he started doing a few professional theatre gigs in Miami he was still toying with the idea of a music career, until one day, while in New York playing a young Fidel Castro in an off-Broadway production of Rogelio Martinez’s play, When it’s Cocktail Time in Cuba, he happened to pass by renowned performing arts school Juilliard. On a whim, he asked for an audition. He was told the deadline had passed. He insisted. They gave him a form. He filled it in and brought it back the next day. They post-dated it. He got in. And the rest is history. Only it wasn’t.

“In the second year they would do cuts,” Isaac says. “If you don’t do better they kick you out. All the acting teachers wanted me on probation, because they didn’t think I was trying hard enough.” Not for the first or last time, he held his ground. “It was just to spur me to do better I think, but I definitely argued.”

He stayed for the full course at Juilliard, though it was a challenge, not only because he’d relaxed his own non-drinking rule but also because he was maintaining a long-distance relationship with a girlfriend back in Florida. “For me, the twenties were the more difficult part of life. Four years is just… masochistic. We were a particularly close group but still, it’s really intense.” (Among his fellow students at the time were the actress Jessica Chastain, with whom he starred in the 2014 mob drama A Most Violent Year, and Sam Gold, his director in Hamlet.) He says he broadly kept it together: “I was never a mess, I just had a lot of confusion.” He got himself an agent in the graduation scrum, and soon started picking up work: a Law & Order here, a Shakespeare in the Park there; even, in 2006, a biblical story to rival his early efforts, playing Joseph in The Nativity Story (the first film to hold its premiere at the Vatican, no less).

By the time he enrolled at Juilliard he had already dropped “Hernández” and started going by Oscar Isaac, his two first given names. And for good reason. “When I was in Miami, there were a couple of other Oscar Hernándezes I would see at auditions. All [casting directors] would see me for was 'the gangster’ or whatever, so I was like, 'Well, let me see if this helps.’ I remember there was a casting director down there because [Men in Black director] Barry Sonnenfeld was doing a movie; she said, 'Let’s bring in this Oscar Isaac,’ and he was like, 'No no no! I just want Cubans!’ I saw Barry Sonnenfeld a couple of years ago and I told him that story — 'I don’t want a Jew, I want a Cuban!’”

Perhaps it’s a sad indictment of the entertainment industry that a Latino actor can’t expect a fair run at parts without erasing some of the ethnic signifiers in his own name, but on a personal basis at least, Isaac’s diverse role roster speaks to the canniness of his decision. He has played an English king in Ridley Scott’s Robin Hood(2010), a Russian security guard in Madonna’s Edward-and-Mrs-Simpson drama W.E. (2011), an Armenian medical student in Terry George’s The Promise (2017) and — yes, Barry — a small, dark American Jew channelling a large blond Swede.

But then, of course, there are roles he’s played where ethnicity was all but irrelevant and talent was everything. Carey Mulligan’s ex-con husband Standard in Nicolas Winding Refn’s Drive in 2011 (another contender for his “spectacular deaths” series); mysterious technocrat Nathan Bateman in the beautifully poised sci-fi Ex Machina (2014) written and directed by Alex Garland (with whom he has also shot Annihilation — dashing between different sound stages at Pinewood while shooting The Last Jedi — which is due out next year). Or this month’s Suburbicon, a neat black comedy directed by George Clooney from an ancient Coen brothers script, in which Isaac cameos as a claims investigator looking into some dodgy paperwork filed by Julianne Moore and Matt Damon, and lights up every one of his brief scenes.

Isaac is a very modern kind of actor: one who shows range and versatility without being bland; who is handsome with his dark, intense eyes, heavy brows and thick curls, but not so freakishly handsome that it is distracting; who shows a casual disregard for the significance of celebrity and keeps his family, including his father, who remarried and had another son and daughter, close. It’s a testament to his skill that when he takes on a character, be it English royal or Greenwich Village pauper, it feels like — with the possible exception of Ray LaMontagne — it could never have been anyone else.

Today, though, he’s a Danish prince. To say that Isaac’s turn in Hamlet has caused a frenzy in New York would be something of an understatement. Certainly, it’s a sell-out. The Sunday before we meet, Al Pacino had been in. So scarce are tickets that Isaac’s own publicist says she’s unlikely to be able to get me one, and as soon as our interview is over I hightail it to the Public Theater to queue up to be put on the waiting list for returns for tonight’s performance. (I am seventh in line, and in my shameless desperation I tell the woman in front of me that I’ve flown over from London just to interview Isaac in the hope that she might let me jump the queue. She ponders it for a nanosecond, before another woman behind me starts talking about how her day job involves painting pictures of chimpanzees, and I lose the crowd.)

Clearly, Hamlet is occupying a great deal of Isaac’s available brain space right now, and not just the fact that he’s had to memorise approximately 1,500 lines. “Even tonight it’s different, what the play means to me,” he says. “It’s almost like a religious text, because it has the ambiguity of the Bible where you can look at one line and it can mean so many different things depending on how you meditate on it. Even when I have a night where I feel not particularly connected emotionally, it can still teach me. I’ll say a line and I’ll say, 'Ah, that’s good advice, Shakespeare, thank you.’”

Hamlet resonates with Isaac for reasons that he would never have foreseen or have wished for. While playing a young man mourning the untimely death of his father, Isaac was himself a young man mourning the untimely death of his mother, who died in February after an illness. Doing the play became a way to process his loss.

“It’s almost like this is the only framework where you can give expression to such intense emotions. Otherwise anywhere else is pretty inappropriate, unless you’re just in a room screaming to yourself,” he says. “This play is a beautiful morality tale about how to get through grief; to experience it every night for the last four months has definitely been cathartic but also educational; it has given structure to something that felt so overwhelming.”

In March, a month after Eugenia died, Isaac and Lind married, and then in April Eugene, named in remembrance of his late grandmother, was born. I ask Isaac about the shift in perspective that happens when you become a parent; whether he felt his own focus switch from being a son to being a father.

“It happened in a very dramatic way,” he says. “In a matter of three months my mother passed and my son was born, so that transition was very alive, to the point where I was telling my mom, 'I think you’re going to see him on the way out, tell him to listen to me as much as he can…’” He gives another laugh, but flat this time. “It was really tough because for me she was the only true example of unconditional love. It’s painful to know that that won’t exist for me anymore, other than me giving it to him. So now this isn’t happening” — he raises his arms towards the ceiling, gesturing a flow coming down towards him — “but now it goes this way” — he brings his arms down, making the same gesture, but flowing from him to the floor.

Does performing Hamlet, however pertinent its themes, ever feel like a way of refracting his own experiences, rather than feeling them in their rawest form?

“Yeah it is,” he says, “I’m sure when it’s over I don’t know how those things will live.” He pauses. “I’m a little bit… I don’t know if 'concerned’ is the right word, but as there’s only two weeks left of doing it, I’m curious to see what’s on the other end, when there’s no place to put it all.”

It’s a thoughtful, honest answer; one that doesn’t shy away from the emotional complexities of what he’s experiencing and is still to face, but admits to his own ignorance of what comes next. Because, although Isaac is clearly dedicated to his current lot, he has also suffered enough slings and arrows to know where self-determination has its limits.

What he does know is happening on the other end of Hamlet is “disconnection”, also known as a holiday, and he plans to travel with Lind to Maine where her documentary, Bobbi Jene, is screening at a film festival. Then he will fly to Buenos Aires for a couple of months filming Operation Finale, a drama about the 1960 Israeli capture of Adolf Eichmann which Isaac is producing and in which he also stars as Mossad agent Peter Malkin, with Eichmann played by Sir Ben Kingsley. At some point after that he will get sucked into the vortex of promotion for Star Wars: The Last Jedi, of which today’s interview is an early glimmer.

But before that, he will unlock the immaculate black bicycle that he had chained up outside the hotel and disappear back into Brooklyn. Later, he will take the subway to Manhattan an hour-and-a-half or so before curtain. To get himself ready, and if the mood takes him, he will listen to Venezuelan musician Arca’s self-titled album or Sufjan Stevens’ Carrie and Lowell, light a candle, and look at a picture of his mother that he keeps in his dressing room.

Then, just before seven o'clock, he will make his way to the stage where, for the next four hours, he will make the packed house believe he is thinking Hamlet’s thoughts for the very first time, and strut around in his underpants feigning madness, and — for reasons that make a lot more sense if you’re there which, thanks to a last-minute phone-call from the office of someone whose name I never did catch, I was — stab a lasagna. And then at the end of Act V, when Hamlet lies dead, and as lightning staggers across the night sky outside the theatre, finally bringing the promised drama to the Manhattan skyline, the audience, as one, will rise.

Fashion by Allan Kennedy. Star Wars: The Last Jedi is out on 15 December. The December issue of Esquire is out now.

###

[techcrunchappcom]

New Post has been published on https://techcrunchapp.com/30-coins-another-host-without-consecration-by-alex-de-la-iglesia/

'30 coins', another host without consecration by Álex de la Iglesia

VOD news brings you the best premieres of the week on Netflix, HBO, Amazon Prime Video … And for the third week in a row, we have a ‘Spanish’ on the cover, but not just any one and in no case derogatory: 30 coins, the latest from Álex of the Church in serial format. Otherwise, just a couple of outstanding content and, yes, the most interesting catalogs.

If it has been eight weeks since HBO that did not rise to the top of the section, and did so with the Spanish series Patria, it is doing it again now with another expected production of the country, worth the redundancy and the adjective, if you reside in these parts. We are talking about 30 coins, a series that you still cannot see … But be careful, because it is not the only thing that HBO brings for this week.

In fact, HBO arrives this week with the most powerful material of the big three of VOD… and it was about time. Of all, the highlight is undoubtedly 30 coins, the new series by Álex de la Iglesia, whose premiere is scheduled for tomorrow, so you’ll have to hold on a bit if you’re wanting to see the new of a director capable of combining the terms ‘Spanish’ – I repeat, without any derogatory connotation that is worth it- and ‘original’ in almost everything he touches, although the last qualifier goes back to his particular style. 30 coins is made up of a choral cast of which you will hear most of the faces and the story, of which I can tell you little about the obvious, it is inevitable that it does not recall a little of the magnificent The Day of the Beast due to the themes it touches . And honestly, as long as it is half as good as that one, we are going to really enjoy these 30 coins. For more information, the trailer.

Another striking HBO premiere for this week is The Flight Attendant, a series halfway between suspense and black humor that brings back Kaley Cuoco (The Big Bang Theory) in a title role. It tells the story of a flight attendant who gets froggy one night of passion… But what actually happened? Criticism is receiving it well.

And one more from HBO, this in movie format: Superintelligence, a comedy that revolves around an artificial ‘superintelligence’ crazier than usual.

More exclusive content:

Black money (Tuff Money)(T1). “Two operatives joke about manipulating traffic to dock a bank’s armored van and they end up forced to do so. All the institutions they ask for help want to carry out the theft and take a part of it. ”

New chapters:

A Teacher (T1) Murder on Middle Beach (T1) How to with John Wilson (T1) Industry (T1) Dark Matter (T2) Romulus (T1) The Spanish Princess (T2) The Undoing (T1) Valley of Tears (T1 ) Warrior (T2)

Enter catalog:

Aquaman The exchange Lego DC Super Heroes: Justice League: Gotham City Breakout The Mercenaries 3 The Penguins of Madagascar Tomorrow begins all ThunderCats Roar! (T1)

Netflix follows his and releases numerous exclusive or original content, which are not always the same, but as usual there is a lot of straw or little grain, if not none.

Of everything that premieres on Netflix this week, maybe Christmas Chronicles 2 be the highlight for being the sequel to a movie that had its success a couple of years ago. The story, the typical Christmas with Santa Claus in the middle, this time with Chris Columbus at the helm, but with Kurt Russell again at the beard. A light entertainment for all audiences, especially the youngest.

More exclusive content:

Dolly Parton: Christmas in the Square. «A ruthless woman puts an end to the Christmas spirit when she tries to sell the lands of the city where she was born. Can music, magic and memories stop her? ” Tomy’s notebook. «A woman with terminal cancer writes an extraordinary notebook on life, death and love for her son to remember. Based on a true story.” The phone. «Connected by a telephone, but separated by time. A serial killer endangers the past and the life of another woman to change her own destiny. ” Hillbilly, a rural elegy. “An urgent call takes a Yale law student to his hometown of Ohio, where he reflects on three generations of family history and his own future.” The beast. “A lone Special Forces veteran unleashes his inner beast as he pursues his daughter’s kidnappers … and becomes a suspect.” Mosul. “After being rescued by an Iraqi squad, a young policeman joins his rescuers to fight the Islamic State in a devastated Mosul.” Shawn Mendes: In Wonder. “In this documentary shot during a world tour, Shawn Mendes opens up about his success, his relationships and his musical future.” Shawn Mendes: Live in Concert. “In his hometown Toronto, Shawn Mendes indulges his ardent fans at a concert in a packed stadium.” Dance Dreams: The Chocolate Nutcracker. “This documentary focuses on Debbie Allen’s career and shows her dancers preparing for the annual ‘The Chocolate Nutcracker’ performance.” Tut Tut Cory Cars: Christmas. A stranger with a familiar face appears at Cory’s house. As he does not remember anything, the little one helps him remember the magic of Christmas, and together they save the holidays. ” A place to dream (T2). “A nurse wants to start from scratch and leaves Los Angeles to move to a remote town in Northern California, where many surprises await.” Christmas visit. “Bastian, a musician who has nowhere to fall dead and sees everything black, returns home for Christmas … where surprises that are not at all festive await him.”

Enter catalog:

Aquaman Contraband Eternally committed King Kong The shadow of power The Boleyn Sisters New Years Eve at the Magnolia One more of the Voices family

Continue with Amazon Prime Video, whose most outstanding releases for this week are in what goes into the catalog, including Aquaman (reaches all platforms) or Bohemian Rhapsody, in addition to many classics.

More exclusive content:

Everyone’s game. “These players want to be pioneers in opening the doors of this sport and making rugby” Everyone’s game. ” My uncle frank. “In 1973, when Frank Bledsoe and his 18-year-old niece Beth set out on a road trip from Manhattan to Creekville, South Carolina, to attend the funeral of the family patriarch, they were unexpectedly joined by Walid, Frank’s lover.”

New chapters:

Ladies of the (H) AMPA (T1)

Enter catalog:

Alexander the Great Alice Cooper – Live At Montreux 2005 All about the money Threatened online Aquaman Just like you are Bee movie Bohemian Rhapsody Boomerang, the prince of women Clueless Cool World Congo Special mail Things we lost in the fire Damsel Deep Purple – Machine Head (Classic Album) Dracula 3D Educating Bobby The neighborhood against me The double murder of Morgue Street The son of Saul The empire of terror The Paradine process The crazy professor The secret of Santa Vittoria Scammers of Wall Street Force of Impact Frankenstein and the monster of hell Infected (Carriers) The submerged city The island of lost souls The Other Couple (All Over the Guy) The mermaid and the dolphin The tribe of the Brady Lobster Light as Feathers The 50 are the new 30 The satanic rites of Dracula Stronger than pride Thieves market Midway Mystery at Amman Mommy We don’t like Captain Black pudding! Opening Night Red Scorpion, scheduled to destroy Redcon-1 – Zombie Apocalypse Bloody Valentine Seven Sisters No Truce The Square Lava storm An American werewolf in Paris A monster comes to see me I travel alone

And we end with Disney +, which arrives with little, but adjusted to what is expected of it … with the exception of the new season of The Simpsons, which is the owner of Fox for that.

More exclusive content:

Black beauty. “In this timeless remake of Anna Sewell’s classic novel, we will delve into the life of Black Beauty, a wild mare who was born in the wild in the western United States.” Folklore: The Long Pond Studio Sessions. “Taylor Swift performs all the songs on her hit album ‘Folklore’ in an intimate concert, shot at the historic Long Pond Studio, a setting that evokes the nostalgic and dreamy nature of the record.”

New chapters:

One Day at Disney (T1) The Mandalorian (T2)

Enter catalog:

Far From Home The Simpsons (S31) Noelle Runaways

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[ozarkianhillcrofters-blog]

Mark Kumming, Collector of Ozarkiana

By Curtis Copeland, The Society of Ozarkian Hillcrofters 

 In the world of the Internet and social media, Mark Kumming is becoming well known for his knowledge of Ozarks history, memorabilia, and almost all things Ozarkiana.  From posting photos of his personal Ozarks book collection, to images of Silver Dollar City and Branson area tourism memorabilia, to answering questions from followers about people and places of the Ozarks, Mark is actively becoming a guru of Ozarks regional culture.  

  A follower and fan of Mark myself, I felt fortunate to interview him and ask several questions, for his collection and knowledge is fascinating to me as well.  Although Mark spent his earliest years in the suburbs of St. Louis, Missouri, he eventually moved to Branson in his early teens.  Like many people, Mark Kumming’s interest in regional and local history was influenced at an early age by his parents.  “My dad would carry my brother and I, later our sister, all around St. Louis in the family van in the late 1960s and early 1970s. He took us to all kinds of museums and historic sites, primarily to keep us occupied on a day off from school or during summer vacation from school,” Mark said, when asked about how he became interested in history.

  His father had some interesting occupations.  These occupations, along with his father’s devoted interest in spending time with his children, led to some interesting experiences for Mark. “Dad was a licensed embalmer and funeral home director when I was very small, and so he had an interest in old cemeteries, too. I have been to all kinds of odd, strange, and unusual places around St. Louis that few life time residents even knew about. I thought it was fascinating to go to the Old Courthouse and stand in the room where the Dred Scott Decision was made or see all the stuff in the St. Louis Art Museum, the McDonnell Planetarium, and other such places.”

  Mark’s father later went to work for McDonnell-Douglas, an aerospace firm in St. Louis that had a US Government contract during the Apollo and Skylab Eras with NASA. He met many of the astronauts when they came to St. Louis for training prior to their space flights. He personally knew Gus Grissom and Neal Armstrong. Mark recalled one special experience, “Once, on a day off from school, my dad took me in the family car to a warehouse in the St. Louis area, so he could pick up some parts for Skylab and take them to another location to deliver them. When he came out a few minutes later he had a little Ziploc bag with some electronic circuits in it...part of Skylab! I got to hold that bag in my hands and take a good look at it...something that soon would go up into space! That was a big deal for a little kid, and I remember it well.”

   In 1973, Mark’s father felt that after spending time in the suburban areas of St. Louis, that he wanted his children to experience life in the country. The family moved to Perryville, MO, to a small farm on an Ozarks ridge just above the Mississippi River bottom lands.  Relocating to this region of the Southeast Missouri Ozarks reinforced his interest in the Ozarks, it’s culture and history. “I was about 11 years old. That summer, a local publisher printed THE PERRYVILLE ADVERTISTER, a little magazine with a bunch of ads in it. The publication featured several articles about local history and folklore, lost treasure legends, historic spots, church history, settlement history, and so on. It was something I ate up! I loved the legends and local history stories. It was the first piece of regional material that I kept. I still have it today.”   But it was not only the history of the local museums and history sites of the area that influenced Mark.  He began to have an appreciation for the natural features that make the Ozarks region so special. “My brother and I explored the Ozarks woods around our farm. We had a natural spring that bubbled up in our pasture, and we followed it through the woods down to a much larger creek that eventually dumped into the Mississippi. Along that stream there were caves, limestone water falls, and all sorts of cool things for little early teenaged boys to explore. That left a big impression on me, too.”

 During this time of the mid 1970’s Marks parents divorced. Although this was an unfortunate event, the silver lining was that his mother and stepfather worked for a large healthcare company, which had transferred them to Branson, Missouri. His family back in 1968 or 1969, had visited Branson for the first time on vacation right after the Beverly Hillbillies episodes aired on TV. They spent several days in Branson then, doing Silver Dollar City, Baldknobbers Jamboree, and other sights, which had made a great impression on young Mark.  In 1978, after his mother and stepfather had been transferred, Mark found himself in Branson once again, but as a resident, and thrilled to be living in the town that brought him so much joy as a young boy. “We lived for the first two weeks in the Branson Inn, while mom and stepdad looked for a house. Then, I got a job at the age of 15 at SDC in the Foods Department, working at the Vineyard (now the Wagon Works Restaurant.) We were enrolled in Branson schools in the fall. Life was good! Of course, now with the SDC "pass exchange program" a benefit which let employees of the park into Branson attractions at no charge, I had the ability to go to all the music shows, attractions, just about everywhere in town for free! It was fantastic!”, said Mark of his moving to Branson.

  This is the time when Mark began his collection of Branson, Silver Dollar City, and Ozarks memorabilia.  Many people are now thankful that Mark saved every pamphlet, small trinket, and many things people of the late 1970’s and early 1980’s considered unimportant, or even trash. “I slowly accumulated Ozarks related material beginning in this period. I kept everything my employers gave me at SDC. ...I am proud of saving from the SDC dumpsters several small pieces salvaged from the float trip and diving bell attractions when they were torn out and updated with the American Plunge and the Lost River.”  These early Silver Dollar City and Branson places of employment during his high school years gave Mark the opportunity to be surrounded by and participate in the “Ozarks-themed” tourist industry which he loved.  He also made a lot of friends in this “golden age” of early Silver Dollar City and Shepherd of the Hills attractions, that would become well-known locally, and influential to the community even today.  “I got a job as the concessions manager at Hee Haw Theater in 1981, it was a showcase for the Hee Haw TV stars. I transferred to the Attractions Department at SDC in 1979, and worked at Jim Owens Float Trip Ride, Rube Dugan's Diving Bell, Flooded Mine, Fire in the Hole, Grandfather's Mansion, Tree Top House (Huck Finn's Hideaway) the One Mule Swing, and did ad-lib street entertainment and was involved in one of the street feud skits regularly in the 1980 season. In 1981 I was second lead man at the diving bell. During this period, I graduated from Branson High School in 1980 and attended College of the Ozarks.” Mark stated about his early employment.

  Mark’s experience and knowledge was not only increasing in the areas of Silver Dollar City and Branson tourism, but also the Ozarks region and its history and culture. “My collecting continued, primarily buying Ozarks books at the SDC book store. I worked with many people from the old days of Branson tourism at SDC, so I heard many old stories of what it was like in the area from decades past. Also, I went to high school with Jack Herschend's son, Bruce Herschend (who now runs Talking Rocks and Butterfly Palace) and Kelly Trimble, Mark Trimble's son, who had Shepherd of the Hills at the time. I went to high school and college with Jace Land, whose grandpa was Townsend Godsey, noted photo journalist of the Ozarks, and a contemporary and friend of Vance Randolph, Otto Ernest Rayburn, Harry Truman, and Thomas Hart Benton. Jace taught me some photography basics, too.”

  In 1984, Mark’s educational and career path took him away from his friends and favorite places of Branson.  He went to Southeast Missouri State University in Cape Girardeau to study mass communications and business. During this time at SEMO University he was classmate with a man that went on to a big career in TV and film, Cedric the Entertainer. They had mass communications classes together and were friends at the time.

 Later in 1984, Mark began a 20-year career as a radio broadcaster, working as a disc jockey, announcer, news reporter and news director at radio stations in Cape Girardeau, Dexter, and Kennett, MO. All these towns are in the bootheel area of Missouri. In 1990 Mark moved to Forrest City, AR to continue radio there, and met and married his wife, Janette. He became an instant husband and stepfather. In less than three years their oldest daughter had her first child, and he was a grandpa for the first time. Mark and his wife now have two daughters and ten grandkids.

  Mark had a very successful career during his twenty years in radio.  He received several awards and met many celebrities, politicians and influential people. He received the Distinguished Service Award from the Journalism Department at the University of Arkansas at Little Rock in 2000. He was a stringer for the ARKANSAS GAZETTE newspaper in Little Rock, and THE COMMERCIAL APPEAL newspaper in Memphis, TN.  Mark contributed news on a regular basis to the Arkansas Associated Press Broadcasters Association, the Arkansas Radio Network, the Brownfield Ag Network, and the Learfield Data News Service. As a news reporter he covered events attended by President Reagan, Vice President George Herbert Walker Bush, and met and interviewed such people as Barbara Bush, Bill Clinton, Academy Award winning actress Mary Steenburgen. Mark also went to press events featuring Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood. He interviewed Ricky Phelps of the Kentucky Headhunters. Mark also had the opportunity to interview Jesse Jackson, was part of a press pool that covered a press conference featuring author John Grisham, and met and interviewed three Missouri governors, and five Arkansas governors and was on a first name basis with Mike Huckabee when he was Arkansas governor.

  During that 20-year timespan of being in his radio career and raising a family, Mark’s collecting of Ozarkiana and memorabilia had come to a standstill.   They had vacationed in Branson a couple of times over the years, but that was about all. “I still was interested in local and regional history, and as a news reporter did many stories on local and regional history topics, festivals, and so on. All that stuff was Mississippi Delta Region material, not Ozarks material.”

  Then in 2003, Mark’s wife, Janette, had an opportunity to move to northwest Arkansas and double her salary. She had a great career working in medical offices doing billing, Medicare, Medicaid, insurance contracts, etc., so they moved to Rogers, Arkansas. Unfortunately, Mark’s radio career had ended, and he went into construction work for a while, then was a clerk in an emergency room at a hospital in Springdale, Arkansas for nine years. “My, how my eyes were opened! This was much different work than entertaining in Branson or being a radio broadcaster.”

   When that job ended, Mark became a clerk in a government contractors firm in Rogers for four years. When that job ended in 2017, he became a substitute teacher in the Pea Ridge School District. Mark and his Janette moved to Pea Ridge in 2007. In January of 2018, the Pea Ridge Community Library made Mark their children's storyteller.  He also has done freelance writing on Ozarks topics since 2010. “No money in it, but I have had about 150 articles published in regional magazines and newspapers. I am regular contributing writer for THE MISSOURI CHIGGER magazine published at Lowry City, MO.”

   After moving to Rogers, Mark was once again able to turn his sights towards his Ozarks collection. “I went at it full throttle when we moved to Rogers. My wife and I began going to yard sales, and I started picking up material like old out of print books on Ozarks topics. Then I discovered several fine used book stores and "friends of the library" type book stores, where material was sold cheap. I built a library of Ozarks material over the last 15 years. At times, I ran out of space, or found myself in an economic bind, and sold huge chunks of the library for cash at yard sales we held or traded material for better stuff with the secondhand book stores. I have two double book shelves full of Ozarks material. I have a closet packed full of other material I have found in flea markets and antique stores.”

  Mark’s collection began to make its online appearance in 2010, when he joined the www.sdcfans.com web site, a web page for the fans of Silver Dollar City.  “I posted over 2000 posts on that site [www.sdcfans.com] and began a Flickr account to post SDC and Hee Haw Theater photos. I found that all that stuff I had saved for over 30 years from my youth at SDC and Hee Haw was now interesting to someone other than myself! A younger generation who had only heard about this stuff was amazed when I started posting scans of my collection on line, and they marveled at the stories of old time Branson and SDC of the 1970s and early 1980s.”  In 2013, Janette bought him a computer tablet, and his son in law signed him up for a Facebook account. “Over time I discovered the Facebook group pages I now contribute to. Now I administer the Hee Haw Theater Facebook page in honor of the people who worked at the theater with me. SDCFans.com began a Facebook page, and the administrator asked me to be a co-administrator with him, so I do some work there. I am very pleased to be able to share my knowledge about Ozarks topics with folks on those group sites.” Mark also stated that he is pleased to be an active member of the Society of Ozarkian Hillcrofters and enjoys sharing his collection with that group as well.

  Mark’s sharing of his collection is not just in cyberspace. He was amazed when Josh Heston invited him to the State of the Ozarks Festival in 2017 at Hollister, where he had a booth with items from his collection. He felt honored to be a part of the festival and could visit with people directly about his collection of Ozarks memorabilia.

 I asked Mark some specifics about his collection. “Regarding the rarest piece I have, it is a copy of M.E. Oliver's "STRANGE SCENES IN THE OZARKS," a handmade book limited to a printing of 400 copies. I’m very pleased to have that. I have tons of brochures, postcards, and many other pieces of paper goods that promoted or told of aspects of Ozarks.”  Mark has some advice for those interested in being collectors themselves. “If I could give anyone a tip on what to collect I would say to seek out the many, many small cheaply made booklets that Ozarks natives made and peddled to tourists in the 1950s through the 1980s. These little books contain many gems of Ozarks history, little tidbits that the bigger books by the university presses don't discuss. Some of those books include one by Silver Dollar City's first Marshal, one by a miller at Sullivan's Mill at SDC. Also, books written by the eccentric "Coin" Harvey at Rogers, AR who founded the Monte Ne Resort in the 1920’s, and books by a Bentonville, AR man, J. Dickson Black, who did several books on northwest Arkansas history.”

   Mark met several interesting people, some of them old timers, along the way during his collecting. He had the opportunity to get acquainted with Walker Powell from Silver Dollar City, he met Ozarks author Phillip Steele a couple of times, during his time freelance writing.  Mark had encounters with Jack and Pete Herschend, and helped train Branson area entertainment legend, Terry Wayne Sanders at Silver Dollar City. “I was a coworker with many good, good people who worked at SDC, the Branson music shows, Shepherd of the Hills play...gosh, I worked or was friends with many good folks from Shepherd. There are many stories I could tell if time permitted.”

  Not only is Mark a collector, but he is also an accomplished author.  He has had some 150 freelance stories published in regional periodicals.  He also used the CreateSpace platform on the Internet to publish his first collection of poetry. It is a small chapbook of poetry and photos titled “REFLECTIONS ON THE BATTLE OF PEA RIDGE IN POETRY AND PHOTOGRAPHS”. It is currently available on amazon.com. “I have seen the printed proof of the little book, and I'm proud of it, although I do not expect a little book of Ozarks poetry to sell more than a handful of copies.” He stated with a chuckle.  

  Mark intends to continue his writing efforts. “I do have plans on publishing some of the Ozarks articles that have appeared in print in magazines and newspapers in the months and years ahead. There is a lot of material that I have in my filing cabinet. I do have plans on issuing a history and memoir of my diving bell days and my time at Hee Haw Theater when time permits.”

  Mark is also continuing his new career in education as well. Although he is currently substitute teaching in Pea Ridge Schools, he hopes to be able this summer to begin to study and obtain a teacher’s license, and teach full time in Pea Ridge Schools, hopefully beginning in fall. “It will be a long, hard process for me, but I hope at this time to accomplish this. It hopefully will be a career until I am eligible to retire at age 68.”

   Mark Kumming’s lifelong interest in the Ozarks, and his collection of Ozarks memorabilia has become something much more than the hobby of an individual.  It has become an important historic record of the region and a source of education for this and future generations.  The excitement that Mark has had for Ozarks history and culture, and his willingness to share the collection, has created an interest in the Ozarks that is essential for the preservation of the unique culture of the region.  □

[goswagcollectorfire]

CARL’S BLOG: ARKANSAS HILLBILLY

12-19-20, Moving and Improving

 Moving and Improving

 In the summer of 1960, we moved into our new house in Pearson,

a small community located eight miles from Quitman

and eight miles from Heber Springs. The way the school districts

were drawn up, our residence was in the Quitman school

district.

The location of our new home was on a forty-acre farm that

was about one and half miles south of Highway 25, which ran

through Quitman and on to Heber Springs.

The only thing I did not like about the location of our new home

was the walk to the bus stop. Every morning, come rain, snow, or

sunshine, my sisters, Ella Mae, and Faye, and I walked to the bus

stop, which was about a half mile from our house. We lived on a

narrow dirt road that did not have a place large enough for a bus to

turn around, so we had to walk the half mile to catch the bus.

Our new house was the third—and the best—house Ma and

Pa had built. They were both excellent carpenters. My mother

learned a lot of her carpentry skills from her father, an excellent

carpenter, who had built several houses for people in the

neighborhood.

Pa purchased an old two-story house in the Shiloh

community, not far from where we lived in Stark. The house

had a lot of good lumber, and its foundation was made of big

square timbers like railroad ties, but larger. All houses in

the city of Shiloh had to be moved because of the coming Greers

Ferry Lake. In fact, all of what was Shiloh is now under water.

The lumber that came from the old house supplied most of

the lumber needed to build our new house in Pearson. The only

other materials we needed were some new rafters and tin for

the roof. The new house had four bedrooms, a kitchen, a living

room, and a new indoor bathroom. We also had electricity.

I was excited also because this was the first time I would

have my own bedroom. I no longer had to sleep with my

brothers, unless we had company, of course.

I was also happy about the new indoor bathroom. Never

again, would I have to go outside to use the toilet. I hated going

out in the cold, rain, and snow, especially at night when one

needed a flashlight to see the path to walk to the toilet. Perhaps

the best thing I liked about the new indoor bathroom was that I

did not have to use Sears catalog pages for wipes.

My brother Willie was responsible for our having indoor

plumbing. He had moved to the big city of St. Louis, Missouri,

to work. While he was there, he became citified, so to speak.

He wanted my folks to enjoy the luxury of indoor plumbing. He

bought Ma a new gas cook stove, the first one she had cooked

on. This made her a happy lady. I too was happy because I

no longer had to cut kindling for her wood cook stove.

Willie arranged for the installation of a water pump in the

well so she could have running water and a sink in her kitchen.

All the new conveniences cut my chores in half. However, I

still had to milk two cows every night. My brother Roy did the

milking in the morning since I was still attending high school.

The move to Pearson and enrolling in the Quitman Public

School System was the best thing for me at that stage of my life.

When I attended West Side Public Schools, I developed

a bad attitude. The number of whippings I received from Mr.

Elmer Gathright, our superintendent and chief disciplinarian,

were largely responsible for my stinking attitude. I went around

school with a big chip on my shoulder. I developed a I do not care

attitude toward my teachers. I became paranoid thinking

they did not like me and did not care whether I passed or failed.

I did not understand it at that time, but later I realized that

I had brought all this on myself. It was not their fault; it was

mine. They just had gotten fed up with dealing with me and my

attitude on a day-to-day basis.

All I wanted to do was play basketball and make good

enough grades to stay eligible.

The only two teachers who offered encouragement during

my ninth-grade year were my basketball coach, Charles Brady,

and my civics teacher, Mrs. Ann Mullins. Both seemed to see

potential in me and motivated me to do better.

When I was in the tenth grade, I begin to see some change

in my attitude. Mrs. Flossie Woods joined Coach Brady and

Mrs. Mullins in motivating me. Mrs. Woods taught English.

Before Mrs. Wood became my teacher, I was butchering the

English language. I started making Cs and some Bs on

my grammar tests. Every time I improved on a test, Mrs. Woods

complimented me. I loved being complimented. That was new

thing for me!

I loved Mrs. Mullins’s civics class. I loved studying

government and had developed an interest in politics. Politics

still intrigues me today. After developing an interest in civics,

I decided I wanted to beat Lena Dollar, who had not made

anything but A’s her entire life.

By the tenth grade, I had developed an interest in her,

but she did not know it. Her beautiful brown eyes, black hair,

sweet smile, and dark complexion fascinated me. I admired her

because she came from a poor family just like me, but she did not

let that stand in her way.

Her father, Leonard Dollar, died when she was nine years

old leaving his wife, Milbra Mae Dollar, and four daughters.

Lena was the oldest of the four, followed by Earlene, Virginia,

and Patsy Ann. Lena’s intelligence was remarkable. She could

handle about any assignment a teacher dished out, and the

teachers loved her. When they needed someone to assist them in

an academic activity, they would ask Lena to help.

Because of her intelligence, I wanted to beat her at something.

So, I set myself a goal to make an A in civics. I knew she would

make an A, but I wanted my A to be a better percentage A than

hers.

When the final grades were averaged, I was surprised and

excited to learn that I had accomplished my goal. I had the

highest average in class. Lena was second. That may have been

the first A that I had ever made in school. I cannot begin to

describe what that A meant to my mental state. It inspired me

and made me want to do better in my other subject areas as well.

Over the years, I have concluded that the person most

responsible for the turning point in my life had to have been

Lena. Without my desire to beat her at something, my life may

never have changed.

She presented the challenge of competition for me that led

to my becoming a better student and maybe being perceived as

a decent human being, at least in the eyes of my teachers.

[newagesispage]

                                                                            NOVEMBER   2020

 PAGE RIB

 Let all the good, kind and warm thoughts of the universe descend on our Jax and keep him safe. May the love see him to a speedy recovery.

*****

Check out Trumpty Dumpty wanted a crown as read by Meryl Streep, Glenn Close and Joseph Gordon Levitt.

*****

The Good Lord Bird is getting good reviews. It is very intense.

*****

Lori Loughlin began her prison sentence.

***** Filthy Rich was canceled and it had just gotten started. It is a shame because I was digging it, good performances by all!!

*****

Scarlett Johansson and Colin Jost are married.

*****

Yamiche Alcindor has gotten the International Women’s media foundation Gwen Ifill award. YES!

*****

Tim Curry, Barry Bostwick and Nell Campbell appeared on Halloween with Wisconsin Democrats for the Rocky Horror show livestream. Donations will help Biden/ Harris.** Tenacious D reminded us to vote with a time warp tribute that had many great cameos!!

*****

Keith Richards has given us, ‘Hate it when you leave.’

*****

Days alert: The show is building up to a who killed Jan Spears mystery.** I am ready for Phillip to leave town. ** We needed a good prison break story just in time for Halloween!!** There is talk of bringing EJ back but James Scott has retired from show biz . People are making suggestions for another actor? Who should it be? Trevor St. John?** So Hope is just gone? No big send off?? Huh?

*****

I’m open to the possibility that there are Culkin siblings we don’t even know about yet. –Conan O’Brien

*****

Ron Howard’s Hillbilly Elegy looks great.  The award talk has begun.

*****

Sandra Oh and Awkwafina are set to star in a Netflix film about sisters.

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Elliott Broidy, a top fundraiser for Trump was indicted for foreign lobbying and he pled guilty.

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Actors in Mclean, Va. are performing a drive thru drama for spectators. They will lead you thru a mystery and then ask you to solve it at the end. Fun!

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The competing town halls were quite a spectacle. FU NBC. 2 candidates not debating  just pushes us deeper into our own bubbles.** JJ Abrams, Ava DuVerney, Mariska Hargitay and about 100 others sent a petition to NBC. # NBC Blackout ** At least Ms. Guthrie did ask the tough questions.

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Clue dolls have arrived!!

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Del Monte has brought us the pink glow pineapple for $49

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NFL player Dana Stubblefield got 15 years for rape.

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Imagine if Trump cared about coronavirus as much as he cares about Joe Biden’s son. – Ezra Klein

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Word is that tenants are leaving condos at a loss to themselves just to get out of Trump tower.

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The Dodgers won the World Series.

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Jeffrey Toobin is being investigated after he allegedly exposed himself and masturbated on a zoom call with the New Yorker staff. He has also been taken off CNN.** Bill Maher has coined the expression ‘toobin’ as the word we will use when Zoom meetings that were so boring, “I was toobin.”

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Jeff Bridges has announced that he has lymphoma.

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Mexican farmers armed themselves with sticks, rocks and shields and ambushed soldiers to take over a dam. The Mexican government has been giving the little water they had to Texas per a prior deal. 1 protester was shot and killed by a guard. One farmer , Victor Veldervain said, “ This is war.”

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I may not be able to change my Father’s mind but together, we can vote this toxic administration out of office. –Caroline Giulliani

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Be not afraid of the accusations that you’re a voter suppressor. –J. Christian Adams

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A “liberal oasis” is how Pine Lake, Ga. is known. They aren’t as fair minded as they sound for the city is 100% funded by traffic tickets that are mostly given to people of color.

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Court packing ? Really? Mitch McConnell refused to seat 100+ Federal judges for Obama. Not to mention Merrick Garland.

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Justices Alito and Thomas are letting it be known that they want to overturn Obergefell and stop marriage equality.** Barrett was confirmed to the supreme court with Susan Collins voting ‘no.’** Lindsey Graham advanced 5 lower court nominees out of judiciary committee which breaks rules. One of those, Kathryn Mizelle has been rated not qualified!

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Much of our Covid money has went to fracking.

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It looks like the Philip Guston art exhibit which was set to appear in 4 museums will be postponed.

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The Pope has installed the first African American cardinal, Wilton Gregory.

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An Illinois cop killed Marcellis Stinnette and wounded Tafarra Williams after a chase. The cop with no name was fired.

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Ken Kurson, good friend of Kushner’s was arrested on a cyberstalking charge.

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Jonathon Alter has given us the book, Jimmy Carter, A Life. It shows us just how good we had it if we would have paid attention. The man passed 14 environmental bills.

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Sean Hannity has set up a camera outside of Joe Biden’s house to what.. stalk him I guess??

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The Executive order on creating schedule F: Is this true?( It is always amazing that these old white men act so stupid on the front lines while behind the scenes they are always thinking. )Trump signed an executive order to fuck with the Pendleton civil service reform act. By changing the word ‘competitive’ to ‘excepted’, it gets rid of an employee’s ability to appeal dismissal and changes it to the pleasure of the President. Essentially, if he finds a civil servant disloyal, they could be dismissed and replaced by whomever. This act removes the career merit program. The deadline for review of these people is January 19. If he chose to he could fire many that are working today and replace them with his own people even if he loses. The order applies to about 9 million confidential, policy determining, policy making and policy advocating servants. Biden can come in and try to change things but it won’t help that many Federal courts have new appointees from the current administration.  

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I like Presidents who don’t get Covid-19. –Sean Penn** The WH seems to have been infested with virus. Did Hope Hicks start all of this? The rumors keep flying about an affair. It has been confirmed that those rallies are a public health hazard.  The whole Amy Coney Barrett crap started with a super spreader. What an Omen!** When Fauci saw that he said, :Nothing good can come out of this.” The WH has blocked the CDC from requiring masks on public transport.

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New information is coming out about the Mueller investigation. The WH sort of threatened the team about their investigation. If the people being investigated can kill an investigation, we don’t have a democracy. If the WH is suing about everything that is being looked into, how can anyone really look into it? Most people would not cooperate for they know if anything is found, they would be pardoned so why put it out there.

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Fox news works so hard at skewing. Headline: Hunter Biden investigation connected to probe. That means nothing. Headline: After debate cancellation, they will finally debate again. No mention of why debate cancelled. ** Trump stranded rally goers in the cold in Omaha.

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Tim Hutton and a friend have been accused of the rape of Sera Johnston in 1983.** 7 more sexual account charges have been added to the Ron Jeremy case.

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Why God repeatedly lies to Pat Robertson, I will never understand. –Eugene Mirman

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Love Springsteen’s line about “more respect for the integrity of our ship” than personal issues. He was talking about the E Street Band but it works for so many things.** Check out his new album. Letter to you.

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The Proud Boys had merch up right up after the debate. The group (the name a reference in the Aladdin play is ready to stand back and stand by.** The Governor of Puerto Rico has endorsed Trump.** The Biden team put out a flyswatter after the next debate just as quickly!! ** Did Pence really act like a man in charge of the pandemic response??

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Facebook has banned QAnon.

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Father of the Bride part 3ish was very cute. I have been saying for years that the next installment should be sort of a Father of the Groom and it finally happened. The cast gave advice for the pandemic, moved the story along and introduced DeNiro to the family. Hooray Kieran!!

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Gretchen Witmer was nearly kidnapped when some yahoos wanted to take over the government.  This civil war idea gets more real every day.** A man in Maryland was arrested for threatening to kidnap and kill Biden and Harris.** We must never forget that a militia is subject to the rules and laws of our Government. Without those rules, they are an illegal paramilitary organization.

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A judge has ruled that the Trump rape case may proceed after the DOJ was caught lying.

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Trump walked out of a 60 minutes interview. Kayleigh McEnany gave Leslie Stahl a large book that was supposed to show the work the administration had done on health care. The book had words but not about health care.** Seth Meyers had a hilarious take on the way Trump is bitching about the interview: The TV lady was very mean to me. That could be said about a few interviews lately. He can dish it out but…

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Make the lie big, make it simple, keep saying it and eventually they will believe it. –Adolf Hitler

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Keith Raniere has been sentenced to 120 years in prison.

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Fuck the bloated Nazi. –John Cusack

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The FBI announced Iran and Russia are meddling in our election. I think we know that. Now back to the secret Chinese bank account that Trump has.

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Sasha Baron Cohen is back with Borat and a nice op ed in Time magazine.

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Benedict Cumberbatch will be in Spiderman 3 as Dr. Strangelove.

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Lindsey Graham was on Fox begging for $ after Harrison, he opponent brought in big $.

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Trump supporters support him because of the way they see the world and their place in it. – Hillary Clinton

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Scary Clown 45 told his Senate to stop talking to the Dems about stimulus then tried to walk it back a bit. He is just doing everything he can to not get elected. What a big FU to the country.** Major news outlets the New York Times, Wall Street Journal and the Washington Post are keeping their reporters safe and not sending them on the Trump trail.

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Glow was suddenly cancelled. What??

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Cecily Strong has a new show with Keegan Michael Key, Alan Cumming, Kristen Chenowith and Fred Armisen on Apple tv.

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The first town hall with Biden was good. How reassuring to hear a level headed leader. Why does the audience always think they have to ask a 5 min question? Let’s move it along so we can get somewhere. And, really.. who in this country has not made up their mind who to vote for? I guess that is why candidates have to campaign for 2 years. Biden seemed like the camera man got a little under his skin but it had to be filmed.  He said that we should make Roe a law. ** NBC decided to give Trump airtime on the same night as Biden’s town hall. The conspiracy President cancelled the debate so at least we will hear what Biden is saying. At this point, they should both be put behind glass to keep them and the rest of us safe.** Stay calm after the election and remember that the election is not even certified until December.

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The last debate showed a very restrained Trump. He actually said, “I appreciate that” when he was allowed to talk another minute. He actually did shut up and listen. It’s pretty sad when we praise him for behaving normally. Biden sounded quite regal and made sense but more detail would have been nice. I am not sure why Scary Clown got on Biden for selling pillows and sheets.

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The anonymous man that everyone was trying to figure out in 2018 has been revealed. Miles Taylor wrote a NY Times op ed and book, A Warning that gave insight to the Trump administration. Taylor, who was critical of Trump was the chief of staff to Dept. of Homeland Security secretary Kirstjen Nielson. He played a part in separating the immigrant children from their parents.

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Pence’s fly is on a ventilator. –Bill Maher

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Farmer welfare will reach a record $46 billion this year.

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Trump was upset that Biden was asked the question, “What flavor of ice cream did you get?” after leaving a shop. It really seemed to stick in his craw.

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Quibi is shutting down after 6 months.

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Niecy Nash is getting a talk show.

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Gwen Stefani and Blake Shelton are engaged.

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Tatum O’Neal allegedly tried to commit suicide.

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The Animaniacs are coming back. ** Dexter will be back with 10 new episodes.

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Larry David married Ashley Underwood.

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Samuel L. Jackson’s series Enslaved is riveting.  The informative show teaches us about the African slave trade and the ships that sunk trying to take them to slavery.

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Engaging with assholes on the internet is like trying to down a vampire with your own blood. –Andy Richter

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Ya gotta check out the Ramona Fradon cartoon with Trump and Wonder Woman.

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Critics are raving about Michelle Pfeiffer in French Exit.

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Suburban women, will you please like me? – Donald Trump** How could Iowa possibly still be half for Trump? WTF?

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R.I.P. Jack Legend,  Bob Gibson, Lillian Brown, Irma Dryden, Johnny Nash, Tommy Rall, Desiree S. Anzalone, covid -19 victims, Margaret Nolan, Tom Kennedy, Jeff Tolbert, Saint Dog, Roberta McCain, Rhonda Fleming, Erin Wall, Joe Morgan, Bert Quint, the Amazing Randi, Spencer Davis, James Redford, Viola Smith, Murray Schisgal , DeOndra Dxon, Maurice Segal, Ming Cho Lee ,Eddie Van Halen, the victims of Nice, victims of the typhoon Molave, victims of the Senegal shipwreck, Lou Pallo, Sean Connery, Billy Joe Shaver and Conchata Ferrell.