#walter i miss you forever one thousand years | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

frogsmulder · 3 years

Text

Maybe There’s Hope: chpt 1 Stop and Breathe

Starting from the final events of 09x20 The Truth, Mulder and Scully tackle their new reality as fugitives. When they finally settle into things, Scully finds out she is pregnant again. A canon divergent AU where I thought, what if Scully got pregnant whilst on the run instead of at the end of season 11?

4k words; rated t; tagging @today-in-fic; read on ao3

The long desert roads seemed to stretch light-years ahead, no scenery, no landmarks, just flat, arid land in all directions. The baked earth was cool in the grey hue of the early morning. Far out, somewhere along the horizon, the sun started to reach up its first fingers to claw at the dawn sky. Chasing those pale blues and purples, the day would soon bleed bright oranges and yellows and colour the earth below. Daybreak felt like an answer to a prayer; the dawn light lifted the oppressive, starless night sky and had cloaked them. Daybreak filled Mulder with a sense of liberty and overwhelming hope for a second chance as invigorating as the breeze outside. It was a miracle that they had made it this far. Mulder was beginning to think he had been executed after all and was caught in limbo, forever driving towards the end of the cold, dark sky. A lost soul wandering aimlessly as punishment for his crimes.

In his mind, he kept hearing the explosions ring through his hears and the flashes of flame in the rear-view mirror. Always in his peripheral, snapshots of the ruins hurtling his way took him by surprise. He glanced at them but as soon as he chased their sight, the apparitions disappeared.

His father was dead. The smoking son-of-a-bitch should have died a long time ago. Mulder tightened his grip on the staring wheel. Now He haunted his peripheral vision as well, the ghost of his smoke sickly uncurling in the back seats of the stolen car. His fathers, his sister, his mother, Emily, the Gunmen: all dead. How many did he have left to lose?

He swallowed thickly and looked over at Scully in the passenger seat, her head lolled to one side and her lips parted to utter the tiniest of snores. A tiny damp patch on her shoulder marked where she had drooled throughout the night– something she most adamantly didn't do. Caught in the first glowing rays of the sun, Mulder had never seen her so beautiful, frizzy hair and all. He placed a hand upon her knee, a poor substitute for all the embraces he wished to share with her.

Scully stirred from her light sleep, groaning and stretching like old wood as she straightened herself. Her blinks were laboriously heavy, weighed down by the stress of the last twenty-four hours. Mulder hadn't meant to wake her but didn't miss the opportunity to share the day with her. "Hey, Scully, look at the sunrise," he whispered.

She groggily hummed, appreciating the myriad of colours. Voice still thick with sleep, she asked, "Where are we?"

"Not sure," he answered, tapping the dial for the gas to see if the needle was lying.

Scully curled up as much as she could in the seat and turned to gaze out of the window, watching the little rocks and pebbles flew past in a blur along the roadside. "Where are we going?"

He glanced at her, then back towards the horizon racing as quickly away from them as they chased after it. "Don't know. But if we don't know, at least nobody else knows either." It was meant to make her smile, but all she did was frown. With no one and nothing around them, the faux safety of the nowhere between lands scared Scully. As if somehow it was a trap they were being lulled into; a false sense of security. She knew they needed to be wary at all hours, every ticking second of the day and every tock of the clock at night. She reminded herself there was no safe place to hide and no time to catch their breath. But it was all so exhausting.

"How long have you been driving?" She craned her neck to see the bags under his eyes. Mulder had pulled all-nighters before, and it wasn't like he was never subject to bouts of insomnia, but the restless worry was the worst thing. She could see it was eating him up from the inside, not fear for himself but for her, that she had chosen this life with him again. And now he could barely offer her an existence. She wanted to tell him that it didn't matter– she'd make the same decision twice, a thousand times, but that wouldn't allay the worry. Reality had punched him in the face and marked him with two shiners.

"Ten hours or so," he said as if it was still the first half an hour.

Scully sat up in her seat. "You should take a rest. Let me drive."

"No." Mulder shook his head with pursed lips and then chuckled. "You should sleep while you can. We both know me resting is pointless."

She smiled sorrowfully, looking at her hands rested in her lap. She sighed. "None of this feels real does it?"

Squeezing her knee, Mulder spoke honestly, as soft and as mellow as the sunlight on the horizon. "You are real to me right here and now. That's all I need to get through this."

But Scully didn't ask what this was and when it would be over. She only knew she was already counting down the days. But the end was intangible and far out of sight, and counting was hopeless when it felt like starting at infinity. The one thing Scully knew for certain was that an irrevocable change had already occurred and she blinked and she missed it. She had been fighting for them, pleading for them. Just her and Mulder: that was all she wanted. And then this shift they had taken on in the last couple of days– such a short time– and she was not sure she wanted it anymore. She was beginning to get that tangy taste in her mouth like she was mourning the past and who they used to be.

Scully took a deep breath. Willing the sting away from her eyes, she expelled the air caught in her lungs, imagining the ache in her body fused to the carbon dioxide molecules and expelled also. Focusing on the sunrise, she found beauty in its nature, reminding herself of the beauty of them; all the times he had made her giggle, made her cry, made her roll her eyes.

Mulder could see Scully thinking, the lost look in her eye more familiar to him than the back of his own hand. Her silence spoke louder than any response; it whispered to him exactly what was on her mind. He knew it because he felt it too. He gently took one of the hands from her lap and held it.

The touch made Scully gasp softly, breaking her from the melody of her thoughts. It was as if he had somehow heard them. Of course, he had; they might have changed but somethings always stayed the same. Scully realised she needed him close now more than ever if she was to stand a chance of surviving. Squeezing his hand, she let him in. She missed this telepathy of theirs; messages like electricity passed through their neurons and chemically encoded between the synapse of their touch. They operated on the same electromagnetic wavelength. She smiled and squeezed his hand again.

Mulder glanced back to the gas needle, edging steadily lower. "How much money did Walter manage to get for us?"

"I haven't counted, but it won't last long anyway."

Fortunately, Scully had had the sensibility to keep the cash on her person. It was all they had left aside the clothes on their backs. Their coats and the change of clothes that were hastily packed were still in the car that Monica and Doggett had driven away and they all knew it was too dangerous now to risk meeting up.

"The next motel we come across, we'll book in–"

She looked at him cautiously.

"– Just for the night. We won't stay long, just so we can sleep on a proper bed."

"So we can stop and catch our breath," she concluded, though doubtful, running her thumb over every hill and valley of his knuckles.

"So we can catch our breath," he agreed.

The hum of the tires picking up dust and the voice of the engine marked their silence. Their long, drawn-out breaths were comforting, yet the quiet was ominous, allowing thoughts to grow like tumours, hanging uneasily between them. They had each other but what if they weren't strong enough? Mulder would have said something– anything to break the tension, but all his thoughts were made of what-ifs, and voicing them, he feared, would make them real.

Scully curled up again, protecting herself against the miasma of the silence. Concentrating on the tide of Mulder's breathing, she found a calming rhythm, watching his chest rise and fall. Knowing he was there, she managed to find peace enough to steal an hour or so more sleep.

Over the horizon came a small, dark dot, growing in size and detail. Mulder leaned forward, squinting through the dust on the windscreen. As it came approached, he thanked Scully's God for gifting an oasis. The gas station looked beaten and worn down but promised life and provisions. He made the quick decision to stop and top up on gas, water, and something for breakfast. Looking at Scully one last time, he saw her sleeping; the quiver of her eyelashes somehow anxious even during sleep. He killed the engine and got out to check the store.

It was still: quieter than Scully remembered it being. Blinking tiredly, she picked the sleepy dust from her eyes and groaned. She gasped sharply, the sight of the empty seat next to her sending her heart aflutter. She grappled at her belt for the gun she no longer had. Cursing, she ran out of the car. The beat of her feet on the ground rivaled the pound of the war drum on her chest. "Mulder?" she called but was met with no reply. "Mulder!"

Mulder came quickly through the door, a finger pressed to his lips and a brown bag in his hand. "Shh, Scully," he whispered. "It's alright. I was just getting some gas."

It was then that Scully noticed the row of pumps they were parked next to. She looked away and licked the corner of her mouth, embarrassed that she had failed to correctly assess the situation before leaping to conclusions. It was so unlike her. She was frustrated she had let fatigue and worry manipulate her so easily. It had been less than two days.

"I could have got us caught," she breathed, shaking her head in disbelief. "How could I have been so stupid?"

"Hey, none of that now." Mulder rubbed her shoulder reassuringly. He guided her back towards the car, his palm at the small of her back like a steady rudder. "We're in the middle of nowhere, nobody is going to find us out here," he calmed her, even though his heart was still racing; the fright in her shouts had shot ice through his spine.

Scully slumped into her seat, the faux safety of no-man's-land nagging at her still. "Mulder, you know better than anybody they have eyes and ears everywhere."

"Let me do the worrying for once, Scully. This one's on me."

She shook her head– she wouldn't let him bare this on his own; they were in this together. It made a small smile creep across Mulder's lips and in return Scully's brow furrowed in confusion.

"How can either of us win when we are both so stubborn?" he laughed, and Scully chuckled too. "I spoke to the owner and he said that if we head southwest, sorta back along the trail, we will end up in Rosswell by nightfall. They'll have a motel–"

"And we can breathe," she nodded, then smirked. "You just wanted to see the UFO sight, didn't you?"

"Maybe," he sheepishly replied. "I got you some of that fat-free yogurt you like for breakfast. And some bagels. You should eat something; we didn't eat all day yesterday."

Scully hadn't noticed. The gnawing of worry in her stomach had sated any appetite she might have had. She still wasn't hungry now, but the doctor in her knew she had to eat something, however hard it was going to be.

Much of the day was spent watching the sun rise overhead and munching on bagels. Scully scolded Mulder when he dipped one of his into the yogurt she had barely touched and Mulder lectured Scully about eating enough. By the time the sun began to set, they had arrived in Roswell and found a motel to stay the night. Clouds were rolling in, covering the skies from the farthest corners, and the threat of rain could be smelt on the air.

Unlocking the door, they both stepped inside a minimal, but pleasant room. Scully clenched her hands around phantom luggage itching her palms. She had the urge to unpack everything into the dresser like she always did, like on their very first case together. She peered around the door to the ensuite, seeing rows of tiny bottles and an inviting robe hung elegantly, yet groaned.

"Mulder, we are going to have to go back out for toothbrushes."

"Oh, hang on..." He rummaged through the paper bag, producing two brushes and a tube of paste. "I picked some up earlier. Sorry, they might have some bagel crumbs on."

She took them with a grin, standing on her tiptoes to press a grateful kiss to his cheek. "You're a lifesaver."

Mulder watched her disappear into the bathroom, giving her some privacy and himself some time to think. He sat on the floor, watching the rain begin to fall and the wind pick up, whipping the trees outside. Gazing out of the window, he imagined the brewing storm an omen, but one of hope. All the good things that had happened to him had been christened by torrents of rain and swirls of wind and wisps of Scully stealing small pieces of his heart: their first assignment together; their first night spent together. The weather brought the ships to port and Scully to him. Beyond the clouds he pictured his sister in the starlight twinkling brightly. He hoped his mother was up there too, keeping a watch over them both.

Suddenly, he smelt the smoke, saw it plume from the chair in the corner. He gritted his teeth. Of all the people that could appear to him...

She's been up there for a long time, you know. I thought you would have figured it out sooner.

Mulder dug his fingernails into his palms, sure the pain would snap him awake.

She saw the world for what it truly was: there's no justice... there's no cruelty either. There's simply survival. In the end, she chose not to survive. She had a choice, Mulder, what do you get?

Maybe it was all in his head. If he tried hard enough, he could make the nightmare disappear.

What did your crusade reap you? The Truth? he chuckled. Was it the truth you wanted; expected? He leaned forward out of the shadow, his dead eyes gleaming in the light. Truth is not power, in fact, it's quite the opposite: truth makes you powerless. It's been quite the burden on me; perhaps that's why I smoke so many. He slyly smiled around a wreath of white cloud. You should try it.

In the end, we all lose. That's the beauty of survival: it's only ever a temporary thing. The date is set, son. Nothing, not even you, can change that.

Fury burning through him, Mulder lept up like a lit match to a gas lamp. "And what would you know?! What did you ever try to do about it?!"

He lunged for the man, desperate to squeeze the last, dying breaths from his corpse once and for all. But as he was about to lay his hands on his sickly throat, the son-of-a-bitch dissipated as thin as the smoke he breathed, elusive in death as he had been in life. It seemed fitting. Curling his fingers through nothing but cool air, Mulder slumped back in defeat. Biting his fingernail, he thought about the truth about who he was. It occurred to him that he was lost without purpose. Although he didn't feel it yet, he recognised the impending dawn of realisation and feared it. He threw his hand out in frustration.

The truth was he had failed.

He hadn't exposed the conspiracy or brought down its organisations. He hadn't found Samantha. He hadn't been a father to William. And he hadn't been there for Scully.

The trees shook their disapproval, condemning the guilty man.

Mulder rested his head back on the mattress like he was treading dangerous waters, but his arms were limp over his knees, merely reticent about his fate. Looking back across the room, he saw Scully walk in smelling sweetly of lavender soap and looking angelic in the pale, dilapidated light. She sat on the edge of the bed, gently running her fingers through his hair and watching the storm in unison. He moved into her touch, shifting to rest his cheek against her thigh. They sat like for a while in companionable silence, reassuring one another through their touches.

When Scully crawled up the bed to lie down, she expected him to follow. When he didn't she asked, "what are you thinking? Mulder?"

"I'm thinking... I'm a guilty man. I've failed in every respect. I deserve the harshest punishment for my crimes."

Hearing the echo, Scully was thrown back to the concrete cell when he first said those words. She could tell, then, there had been a hollow complacency to his tone. Now, she only heard a conviction in his voice. It terrified her. Scully had only just broken him free of where he was being tortured, she couldn't let it live on inside of him. So, she did what she always did: countered Mulder with any sane argument she could think of.

"You don't believe that."

He was sure that he had failed as he was sure of anything. If he told Scully that it was her he had failed, she would refuse to believe him and refuse to let him believe it too. But it was true. And he dared not mention all the ways he had failed their child. Mulder sighed. "I believe that I sat in a motel room like this with you when we first met, and I tried to convince you of the truth. And in that respect, I succeeded, but... in every other way..." He thought of William swaddled in his arms when he held him for the first time– only time. He swallowed the burgeoning lump in his throat. "I've failed."

"You don't believe that either."

"Mm," he disagreed. His jaw was set. Thoughts pounded in his chest but every time he chose something to say it died a whisper caught in his throat. He finally settled for something unimportant, yet still a truth neither of them could refute. "I've been chasing after monsters with a butterfly net." He took a breath and tried again "You heard the man– the date's set. I can't change that." I can't save us. I can't make the world a better place for our son, he didn't say.

Scully wanted to shout at him that this wasn't who he was, he didn't quit so easily, he always found something worth fighting for, but she knew if she did that she would lose him forever. Taking a steadying breath, she composed herself. Keeping her voice measured, she told him what she wanted to be true. "You wouldn't tell me. Not because you were afraid or broken... but because you didn't want to accept defeat."

"Well... I was afraid of what knowing would do to you. I was afraid that it would crush your spirit." He looked into her eyes and saw a pained, mirrored reflection. In some ways, he was glad Cancer-man had told her because he could never bring himself to trample her hope, not when things were already so dire. It would break his heart.

Mulder's gaze held her fast and was as deep and cutting as the love she felt. He looked young and small and innocent like he was clutching those cloth hearts. Even then he was undeterred, never willing to give up hope.

"Why would I accept defeat? Why would I accept it if you won't?" Scully needed him to keep fighting. If he didn't, she would surely give in. "Mulder, you say that you've failed, but you only fail if you give up. And I know you-- you can't give up... It's what I saw in you when we first met. It's why I followed you. Why I'd do it all over again."

"And look what it's gotten you," he murmured.

"And what has it gotten you? Not your sister. Nothing that you've set out for. But you won't give up, even now." She took his hand, gently squeezing, hoping their neurons would connect and renew their telepathy. "You've always said that you want to believe. But believe in what, Mulder? If this is the truth you've been looking for, then what is there left to believe in?"

He glanced at the chair still coiled in that foul aroma, thought of his sister living on as bright starlight, or else he had become the thing he feared: delusional, proving all the whispered rumours true. He suspected it was the trauma or remnants from his brain disease that caused the visions, but that's not what he wanted to believe.

"I believe that... the dead are not lost to us. That they speak to us as part of something greater than us– greater than any alien force." He thought of Byers, Langley, Frohike, even Krycek. "And if you and I are powerless now, I want to believe that if we listen to what's speaking, it can give us the power to save ourselves."

"Then we believe the same thing."

Taking her cross between his finger and thumb, Mulder examined it twinkling in the streetlight made shadowy by rain. He never considered himself a religious man, could never find any divine meaning to all the heartache he had suffered. Then life had brought him Scully with her science and her faith and her love. Maybe he could believe. His thumb traveled to her lips, marveling in the warmth of her; how alive they were. When she pressed the smallest of kisses to his digit, his world shattered with clarity. He joined her like a moth to a flame, helplessly wrapping himself around her like a life ring. She lay under the crook of his nose and he anchored them together with his knee over her hip.

"Maybe there's hope," he breathed.

Scully brushed her nose along his, nuzzling like she was nodding in agreement. The hand that Mulder had nestled in the hollow of her waist repeated the motion, climbing up the side of her ribs and abseiling down, friction warming the embers of their affection. Trailing his fingers higher, he followed the swoop of her hair behind her ear, tucking the locks into place. The edge of her jaw now held delicately beneath his fingertips, he looked to her eyes, the clear crystal blue pulling that familiar tug on his heartstrings. If it was possible, Scully shifted closer. She tilted her head, lips locking onto his once, chastely making herself known to him again. And then again, he searched her out to reply with his own tender kiss. Settling into one another's arms, their gazes fell upon the smile in each's eyes, finding an easy lull.

Scully witnessed the universe turn around in his beautiful mind. The flick of his eyes now quieter, softening from tiredness and tranquility, belayed newfound contentment. Staving off her own sleep, she saw his heavy eyelids droop and close, his breathing even out, and his form relax. She pulled him closer, buried herself in his comforting smell, watched over him– his protector.

The relentless pellets of rain struck percussion against the thin roof above them. Outside, the wind picked up in moaning gale. Inside, Scully breathed, sinking further into the hold of her partner and into the grips of sleep.

#my fic #Maybe there's hope #fox mulder #dana scully #msr #txf s9 #the truth #on the run #xf fanfic

37 notes · View notes

hauntedelation · 4 years

Text

Modulation

Description: Halloween has come, but it’s not going to be the same as that night those years ago. Mike has to be reminded of that.

Pairing: Walter Marshall x Mike (Hellraiser)

A/N: This one was very interesting to write. There is definitely a shift in their relationship, and it’s a big one. But, all I want to make sure of is that I truly show Mike’s pain in this installment. He’s still healing, but he isn’t alone this time. Second to last part in this series, let me know what you guys think!

Word Count: 4.3k

Warnings: angst, leading up to smut?, emotional hurt, and comfort, shit, Mike is having memories, feelings are spilled in this one folks.

Please enjoy guys! Proofread, sorry for errors. <3

➽─────────────❥

"Trick or treat!"

There had been a consistent wave of young children skipping up to the grand church doors. A few members lower in the clergy, and several volunteers took up the privilege of handing out candy to the eager trick-or-treaters.

Nothing else was planned for this day, at least, nothing that rendered a full service inside the church.

It was a tradition, in a way. The town was close-knit and being that St. Peter's Cathedral was heavily known for its service to the people in the community, handing out sweets to the children was a more joyous time and separate from the current holiday.

Many of the volunteers had taken over, it was the same few that were always involved in the church. The same few that Mike came to be acquainted with pleasantly. There were two large containers of chocolates and other taffies.

The bins sat close by the opened front doors, and both were gradually dwindling as the day went on.

Michael stood relatively close by, adorned in his normal black clothing. His hands rested in his front trouser pockets and his back leaned against one of the immense marble columns in the cathedral.

The eager knocking started in the late afternoon, probably right around the time the local elementary schools let out. He remembered hearing the faint rhapsodic sounds from his bedroom.

Through his window he saw them, the specks of young ones scampering about on the sidewalks, all marching in their favored outfits and holding their empty bags.

The sun was struggling behind various dark clouds. Today was slightly gloomy, so he was not expecting to feel that warmth that would always come when he sat at his window. But, there wasn’t much thought when he slid open the glass paneling.

Despite the imminent chill that would come, the bite that nicked at his face relaxed the tension in his body, somewhat.

He inhaled a shaky breath, leaning his head back against the beam behind him. Why didn't I stay in my room? He mused to himself. Guilt spilled into his lungs, a thousand-pound iron anchor. It had been smothering.

You can't stay in there forever.

Everyone was expecting to interact with him, to see his kind face. And he knew, Mike knew that the refuge of that small room could not be enjoyed for long. For the passing weeks, it was far more likely that he would be residing there than any other place.

Was it that obvious?

That room reminded him of his one at home. He made it into a similar cocoon, with decorations and memories staining the paint on the walls.

But, in every way, this present one was lighter. He never had to trip over empty glass bottles or lay his body over spilled ash on his sheets, never found the occasional white tablet hiding under a discarded article of clothing.

More recently he spent his nights thinking back to that time. The hours filled with dreams that had his eyes wide open. The seasons were shifting and the leaves’ grasp on the trees grew weaker.

It was impending. Again, Mike knew. He thought that he would be prepared—ready for it all. He had been doing so well.

Come on, don’t mess it all up.

All of that progress that he made here, he wasn’t going to ruin it. But, that didn’t mean that his brain wouldn’t have those visions. Those memories of numbing himself with the faceless friends he made at a party, laying back in utter bliss for a few short hours. That was it. He missed some of it, unfortunately.

Michael found himself missing the way that his lips would burn from the cigarettes. Sometimes his fingertips would feel that singe too. It was always the little things, it had to be. Those minute details were what his battered self took in every single day.

That was all foreign now, despite how haunted he was. The old Mike wasn’t who he recognized anymore, and if he ever was face to face with him, looking that stranger in the eyes, he knew what he would say.

‘You’ve gotta snap out of it before you end up like Adam.’

He kept his hands in his pockets. Because with the front door open, and even with that rewarding bite, he still shivered. He could feel the goosebumps begin to prick on his arms and his neck.

Michael proceeded to watch. Those sapphire orbs melted past the shapes of the people. Locked in a gaze that stretched far past in the distance of no particular object in mind.

Tonight was going to be a long night for him.

Little did the younger man know, he was under the watchful eye of an external presence, partially the culprit of his hair standing on end.

Walter uncrossed his thick arms, stepping down from his spot by the pews several paces away, careful not to disturb the curate. He took a look at his watch, lifting his left wrist to peer down at the hour and minute hands. He listened to it tick: 6:23. The sun was going to set in under an hour.

Walt returned his attention back to the man whom he originally couldn’t take it off of.

Darling Michael.

It wasn't hard for him to see those demons prodding at the young man, at least not for Father Marshall. All day, all week—all month Walter sensed a drastic change in him, and this placed the older priest in deep apprehension.

His footsteps stopped, swiftly making sure that no wandering eyes were looking at him and the curate. A large group of children stepped up the front stairs, each giggling excitedly and holding their opened bags out.

Father Marshall laid a reticent hand on Michael’s shoulder, lips dipping close to his left ear, and whispering inaudibly.

Walter knew that he had to do something.

So he turned away, casting one last look to the festivities by the foyer, and weaved around the dozens of pews. Walt made a straight line toward a side hallway. Mike remained standing by the column, still unmoved from his previous position.

He wet his lips and let his eyes fall down to the sliver of sunlight that made its way through the clouds. The golden ray shot through the opened door and partially highlighted the old church floors.

There it was.

Each time the sunlight came, a wave of tranquility followed. It never comes long enough but that moment, any second of being in it’s presence incited Mike to chase it more.

After he observed that sliver of light shrink away by the clouds, he pushed off of the old column and followed the same path that Walter previously took. Mike kept his head low, disappearing into that very side hallway.

Inadvertently to anyone around, from his perch on the second floor, the withered elder narrowed his piercing jade-green eyes as he caught the shadow of the young man.

He surveyed the curate following after his guide out of the main chapel.

➽─────────────❥

“Come on, let’s go somewhere quiet.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Walter simply gave Mike a soft smile, leading him by a grasp of his hand further into the never-ending cathedral halls.

What led to the hidden room was concealed by the stone design on the walls. One small notch about mid-way revealed a door. It creaked at a shrill pitch and it echoed into the darkened hallway.

Walter peered behind Michael’s head, far down the hall to double check for any one who may be around. He gently ushered him into the room, shutting the door quietly behind the both of them.

With arms crossed over his chest, he watched Mike wander around the room, taking in the dark oak and the books that littered the space. There were about as many specks of dust as there were documents resting on the surfaces of the room.

It wasn't too large, but it looked as if it was a small library.

An old desk sat on the far side to the right of them with several shelves surrounding the perimeter of it. Each shelf had either a book or an old trinket filling the space.

“This used to be an old office—an old study room for one of the bishops. The man is long gone, and, as you can see no one comes into this room very often, if at all.”

A window to the left of the men showed the last bits of daylight before giving away, it was clouded from old age, and a curtain concealed much of the view.

Walter set the latch on the door and made sure that it was secure. Due to the room's lack of electricity, the man sought various candles around the room, and lit them to provide some light.

In the front of the room, there was a very spacious fireplace. Sitting on the top of the hearth, a lip jutted out. This little shelf housed different pictures. Mike could not get a close look from his distance, but they seemed slightly dated. All around the dark walls had some sort of portrait or painting.

“I like to come in here because of the peace it brings, it’s a place where I get away and have more privacy.”

Next to the hearth sat two couches over a large ornate rug, one was leather and the other made of red cloth. Michael took a seat on the scarlet-colored one and smoothed his hands over the top of his pants.

After lighting the last candle, Walter made his way to the fireplace. He rolled up the sleeves of his black clerical shirt and crouched down.

He took his time preparing the fire bed, and ultimately got the wood logs to set aflame. Walt took a fire iron and began to prod at the flames, stirring more amber light and warmth into the room.

Mike watched with interest sparking in his eyes, but it never remained. His mind swarmed with murky thoughts, and it casted him far away from Walt.

Though, the young man could feel his body subconsciously lean more into the heat wafting into the room.

Walter sat up and wiped his palms together, dismissively scraping them along his black pants. He brushed passed the couch that Mike was sitting in, and made his way to a pitcher full of water.

This was one that he found himself bringing down whenever he made his periodical visits. The pitcher on the counter was new as of this afternoon. He had come down shortly before dinner to reflect.

The water was poured and filled the glass almost full. Walter stepped to the couch that Mike was resting in, the front of his body not facing the man.

And he noticed his uncharacteristic silence.

Walter inhaled and brought a large palm to caress the back of Michael’s head, his skin brushing against the young man’s combed-back curls.

This was something he knew the Mike adored. He might not admit it himself, but he tended to lean into the pressure, the weight of fingers brushing through his hair.

At least, Mike did whenever Walter was the one touching him.

For a second he could feel Mike start to relax, almost chasing his presence. With a force pulling at his body, Walt carefully made his way around the barrier of the couch, sinking down next to him.

For the first time since they last were together, Walter took a long look at Mike. The light of the fire illuminated parts of Michael’s face that made his heart twist inside his chest, leaving the beating muscle sore.

The young man’s eyes sunk into his face, all puffy and violet from the veins showing through his pale skin. His shoulders, once straight and at attention fell forward, the caving in his chest inward.

Walter handed Mike the glass and, even while he watched him take a sip, the older man couldn’t help the void rapidly expanding inside of him.

He must have not slept well since before autumn, for this behavior had its warning signs all the way back then. With the knowledge in Walter's mind, plastered there, he readied himself.

And maybe he didn’t do enough, maybe he was too heedful with Mike, and left him feeling neglected. Maybe the visits were far too short or the notes he wrote didn't hold enough words of gratitude.

Remorse was a nasty bug, and it crawled its way inside of Walter as he stared at Mike’s blank face.

I’ll always want to be here. Walter couldn't think of anything else he'd rather be doing.

There was no telling what was in the curate’s mind, especially in a moment such as this. Michael swallowed down the water and placed the glass on the side table, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

He hadn’t said anything since they both entered this room, and Walter wasn’t about to make him. If the man wanted to sit there without saying a word, just to sit there for the rest of the night, Walter would abide.

The older priest let his eyes drift over that fatigued face, and traced the way his dimmed blues looked far away at the flickering flames.

“Halloween used to be my favorite holiday.”

Walt leaned closer to the muted voice. Mike let him take his hand in his, warming the chilled digits in his palms. For a long while, the two sat like that, soaking in the presence of one another and forgetting everything else in existence.

That night that seemed to never end...the night where he couldn't leave. Where the smell of Earth and blood filled his nose. No matter whatever he did.

Mike could recall the way that the leaves fell that day, and how if he looked outside that old window behind Walter, it would appear just the same.

“You already know about that though...about me—about right now.”

Walter didn’t say anything and Michael smiled dolefully. He drifted his attention over the fireplace and up toward the paintings above the blaze.

“You've always seemed to do that. To know everything about me. Kinda like there wasn't any effort behind it.”

Mike turned his head toward Walter, the orbs glazing over and shimmering in the amber light. He watched the man clench his jaw and how the tension shifted under his full beard.

Walter remained silent.

“I don’t know how to explain, I feel outside of myself. Like I am out of my body and locked in my head...I don’t know how..to get out.”

The older man swallowed hard as he listened. He hung onto every word that slipped passed Mike's lips. With the outcome of each sentence, Walt knew exactly what the curate was struggling to speak about.

He could feel Michael’s hand faintly tighten its hold around his, beginning a tremor. Mike’s cheeks grew damp, and his eyes burned red, the blinding salt falling down his face. In the low light, the trails shone the brightest and reflected the orange flames back to Walter.

“It’s terrifying to think about, and I can’t help it most nights. I thought I was done but...I can still remember everything.”

The fingers of Michael’s free hand found their way to rub at his hair, messing up the parted style that he had it in and pulling it by his forehead.

And he waited, breathing shakily for several moments. As he turned his eyes downward, away from Walter’s attentive face, he mumbled out,

“I-I really needed a moment away…Thank you, you always make me feel so safe, Walter.”

The older priest slid his hand from Mike’s grasp and scooted closer, nudging his chin up with his hand. The curate’s tears dripped down and began to wet Walt’s fingers. He guided his face upward to look deep into his swollen eyes, closing the distance between them.

Michael slid them shut, however, and took his lower lip between his teeth, nibbling it until it was irritated.

“Oh, sweetheart—hey, come here,” Walter softly spoke to him.

His hand cupped the nape of Mike’s neck and his other thumbed away the liquid falling down his cheekbones, but it all remained flowing and coated more of his skin. He pulled Mike into his broad chest, wrapping his arms securely around his shoulders.

Michael pushed his face to the crook of Walter’s jaw and fisted the shirt at the older priest’s back. The moisture streaming down his cheeks.

“You make me feel...I dunno...”

He thought about it.

“Loved. I never thought I would experience anything like this.”

Walter did not hear it for the first time, but he pressed his cheek to Mike’s head and hugged him, feeling the bones in his spine, his ribs, sinking into his arms. Walt then began to rub his palms along his back...soothing, whatever it took.

He held Michael for as long as he could. His heart thumped through his shirt and it was racing, tapping against the left side of Walter’s chest. You would have thought the curate had been on a run.

Walt found himself bringing his lips to Michael's ear, whispering an endless number of words coated in devotion. He wasn’t sure if they reached his lover, yet he pressed onward with each syllable.

Soon enough the curate pulled away, nose brushing against Walter’s and his palms sliding to cradle the sides of his face. Walter stilled and observed Mike closely, drifting his eyes over his pitiful guise.

Michael's hands remained trembling. Walt could feel it in the way that the young man’s skin laid on his beard. Without taking his attention from the curate, his hand inched up and he wrapped his fingers around one of Mike's hands.

He took his palm and placed a chaste kiss to the center.

A long gaze was shared between the two men. With a brief pause for Mike to inhale, he slanted his lips with Walt's.

He should have been surprised but Walter never thought of hesitation. He brought Mike closer to him, securing his thighs around his wide hips. Michael, was feverish—needful, seemingly so. His mouth drank in each hushed breath between them, pawing at Walter’s broad body.

The second before he licked into the older priest’s mouth, no other thoughts in his weary mind, he murmured a quiet phrase against his lips.

“I love you.”

Walter’s breath hitched, dark brows lifting in astonishment. In the wake of Michael’s raring touch and the words uttered past his lips, he was stunned.

Had he heard that right?

His breaths came out heavy and long after the moment, the two pulled away. Mike’s fingers hurriedly went between them, tugging Walt’s shirt free from the confines of his pants and unbuttoning the fabric.

This wasn't exactly what Walter brought him here for, but—

All the man could do was watch him...let him.

Mike returned his mouth to Walter’s skin, biting and latching on the scratchy hair of his throat. Walter shivered and aided him with his messy disrobing.

With another swift movement, the young male pulled Walter down on top of him, sucking back noises while he kissed along his jaw. His long fingers tangled into Walt’s hair, pushing the unruly strands from his face and left the man clenching his teeth from each tug to the strands.

The priest’s lips kissed down his throat, following the veins speedily pumping his blood and down over his clavicle.

When he was met with the knotted skin that sat in the cavity of Michael’s chest, he paused. Panting, his warm breath flowing over Mike's exposed skin and leaving bumps in its wake.

Walter slid his eyes shut, wrapping his large palms over his ribs, and laid a weighted kiss over the entirety of the scar.

Mike watched through his lashes, chest heaving, and a strange emotion searing his insides. He wanted to reach up and push his head away, but couldn't bring himself to do so at each press of Walter's lips on his skin.

His tongue darted out to wet his lips and he met Walter’s darkened eyes.

“You’re so beautiful, do you know that, Michael?” He murmured against him.

Michael huffed out a gentle laugh and a timid smile grew on his lips. There was a tinge of crimson finding its way up his neck and straight to his cheeks. Yeah, right. He couldn't fathom it.

But the way that man's eyes bored into him, the way he caressed his body left Michael with uncertainty on that idea.

All the young man could do was stare into Walter. To observe him cherish and mumble prayers into his pale skin, words that kicked up the pacing of his heart and sent all that blood down to his groin.

The curate sucked in a breath after viewing him, mesmerized, he could feel the pressure inside building up to an immense degree.

“Please, Walt,” he said.

Walter brought his head up, eyes locking with Michael’s and fingers slipping down to his stomach, tickling the small patch of hair there. His brow lifted again, and a tilt was applied to his head.

“Michael...I-are you sure?”

The younger man had a particular way about him, a certain manner in which he called to Walter. Whether it was with the whimpers spilling out of his mouth, or, a quick look from across the room. Please. It was wept up at him and so muted he could barely hear over the fire crackling.

If he's asking for—

Mike nodded his head and his fingers went down to unbutton and pull at Walter’s tightening pants. Walt gingerly followed suit, caging the young man under him, blue eyes staring down at him.

“Please, just—I’m ready. I need this.”

Walter was without words as they were brought bare before each other, skin glowing under the light and the warmth blanketing over each of their bodies.

The man sighed, head falling back when he felt Michael begin to paw at his groin, stroking the pulsing length and once again, pulling him closer. Walter laid himself between Michael’s legs, wrapping his palms around his thighs and pushing his knees up and apart from each other.

And, Walter tilted his jaw up, Mike not halting his slow massaging on Walter's erection.

"I don't want to hurt you, I need you to be sure." he husked out, peering down at him with half-lidded eyes.

Mikey gaped up at his bushy face. Leaning up to brush his mouth against his, "It's alright."

He slipped his grasp from around Walter and laced them with his thick fingers, directing the man between his thighs. Michael went down to that sensitive spot, where a smooth, cool surface met their fingertips.

“I’ve had you with me this whole time.”

➽─────────────❥

The moon hung in the black sky, sending it's blue glow through the partially obscured window.

Walter laid with his head against a plush pillow, his body displayed over the red couch. His chest rose slowly, his heart rate returning back to the original calm pace. Mike's head lain along the man's chest, both his cheek and his ear positioned directly over Walter's beating heart.

An old blanket draped around the curate’s back, and was pulled over the rest of his body and parts of Walt's.

Michael was dosing away, and barely had registered the touch of Walt's fingers in his dampened hair. He stroked a thumb over his temple, and wiped away any stray droplets of sweat.

The younger man's eyes fluttered on the fire, now burning at a low crackle. The pop of the wood, and the thump under his ear, lulling. Walter laid back as he watched his exhausted lover slip under, how the warm light graced his face and the way that he began to slacken against him.

He let his eyes fall away, continuing to stroke Michael's skin and followed the shadows dance on the ceiling, a myriad of thoughts materializing in his mind.

Walter could not gather them and understand where they came from, but he knew the weight behind each one. He had a feeling that they would be accompanying him all throughout tonight.

'I love you,' Mike said to him.

These three words had awakened a strange feeling inside Walter. Thinking of how Mike's voice formed around those words had alone sent his mind into a whirlwind.

He was inaudible the first time, unsure of how to reply back—or if he should reply back.

What is it you're feeling inside? He asked himself.

When he returned his eyes down to the man in his arms, the young—angel of sorts. Like those old paintings he sees in the halls of the cathedral, with his mess hair on his head and a bright smile always hidden behind his rosy lips, the older priest was violently struck.

Walter laid a thick bicep over Mike's back and rubbed his palm down the expanse of it, lips pressing to his temple and repeating into the young man's skin those very three words.

➽─────────────❥

Somewhere deep within the cathedral, a Bishop stood, back hunched over in the dark of a young curate’s room.

Under the pale moonlight he snarled, eyes peering down at the small slip of paper in his wrinkled hand. He recognized the handwriting and at the curl of the 'W' and the 'M' signing off the note, it was confirmed.

He crumpled it in his fist and shoved his hand in his robed pocket, breathing hard as he leered around the room. He had found nothing else, and in his seething anger he stomped out of the bedroom, leaving the door ajar.

For a second the old man thought he heard weeping, yet the ghastly, disembodied wail drowned away under the Bishop's profound repugnance.

➽─────────────❥

Taglist: @beck07990 @magdelen69 @rn7rocks @inthenameofcavill @gearhead66 @oddsnendsfanfics @cavillhavoc @pterodactylterrace @killjoy-assbutt-1112 @mary-ann84 @fuckoffbard @its–fandom–darling @kmuir1 @thelastsock @henryobsessed @eldarwen333 @definitelydenisse @inlovewithhisblueeyes @shy-violet-soul @seriouslygoodlookinggents @coffeebreathy @hope-to-hell @summersong69 @faithiee @madbaddic7ed @artandotherdelights @emyearns @cavillryarchive @bellening @agniavateira @maizyistrash @wiccanmetallicrose @the-soot-sprite @geralt-of-baevia @harrysthiccthighss @luclittlepond @brandycranby @buns-of-steel @worshipping-skarsgard @littlefreya @zealoushound @luna-aestas @feralrunaway

(@tinylittlebluebird @critfailroll @biblioworm) <- These tags hadn’t worked for me!

➽─────────────❥

#Walter Marshall #Mike: Hellraiser #Hellraiser: Hellworld #Walter Marshall x Mike #Walter Marshall x Mike Hellraiser #fanfiction #smut #angst #mlm #Levamentum

36 notes · View notes

pjstafford · 4 years

Text

A Look at my 2020

The end of the year is upon us. It’s been a tough one for all of us. It is a year we will all remember forever. I want to do a positive reflection of this year. I will probably write a blog about what I hope our country’s New Years Resolutions should be. The thoughts on that have been rolling around my head for a few days. But today, December 16, at 4:30 a.m. and unable to sleep, that 2020 familiar dread of what will happen today waking me early, I want to look at some positives. I want to unwrap the positives of 2020 like a Christmas gift before Christmas so that I can wrap myself in them as a blanket of warmth. One thing that I have been truly impressed with is the resilience of the human spirit. Let’s call this a resilience exercise.

Counting my blessings one by one...

1. I am alive. Surviving is a cause for celebration. As far as I know I have been COVID free...although there were a few days in April or early May when I was sick with something and in Feb I had the strangest cold in my life and this time last year weeks of fatigue ended in frozen shoulder syndrome on Christmas Eve. See, I want to be thankful, but I don’t want to be naive in my retrospection. Best to be honest. I’m not sure if I had COVID or not, but if I did I survived with relatively minor symptoms. Every cough or sniffle I feared in a completely irrational way was COVID. There was the week I walked around sniffing everything to make sure I could still smell. It dawns on me it is going to be difficult to write a honest and, yet, positive, retrospective of 2020. I am alive, but I have never been less healthy. I’ve gained weight. I haven’t had the physical exercise to which I am accustomed and now when I try to take a long walk I realize my stamina is gone. It will take years of concentrated effort once things are “back to normal” for me to become normal again. It wasn’t that I didn’t try. I did yoga daily in the Spring and switched to an online Tai chi class in the summer, but I don’t live near beauty or anything interesting so wasn’t motivated to walk and just my everyday life of lockdown in a studio apartment meant less movement. All of which sounds even to me like not very good justification. Did I mention though that I survived. I am alive. I will take that as blessing number one.

2. No one I care about very deeply has died or even been seriously ill from COVID. Doesn’t March 2020 seem far away? I don’t want to be dismissive of 300;000 dead especially with more to come. I or someone I love could still be gone by New Years Day. But in March and April we held our breaths for an apocalypse and at some point most of us decided to take a breath. I don’t know really if it’s good or bad that we have simply adjusted our normal and the number deaths we are willing to accept. It’s bad, what am I saying? It’s bad. But how long can we wait in fear? So I don’t know, but I want to count as a blessing that those I love have all survived to date. I cannot vanquish the fear, but I can be grateful for survival.

3. I have maintained employment in a bad economy and have mostly been able to work from home. There have been some struggles. Sometimes the work I do is depressing. Sometimes I feel I don’t make a difference. There has never been a worse time to be an advocate...or a person with disability, or a caregiver, or a provider agency, or a health care professional. I have maintained employment.

4. I count among my blessings the fact that I had a wonderful 2020 before....remember there was a 2020 before. I love when my work takes me to Santa Fe for a prolonged time. A friend came out in Feb for a wonderful weekend. Another friend came to Albuquerque to see me for my birthday in early March. I remember thinking how social I was in those first ten weeks in 2020. It’s as if I somehow knew....it sustained me.

5. I count among my blessings that when I felt my mental health despair getting at its worse...the strain of living alone in a studio apartment, working from that same apartment and following the Governor orders not to go or do anything. ..that I had friends and two weekends of “risky” behavior; a friend who came for the Fourth of July holiday and an out of state trip to Durango in late September. I’m fortunate that when I had to have human contact my closest friends were there for me

6. I count as my blessings that Biden won the election. It’s not simply a matter of politics. I’m not sure if the last eight months of the Trump Presidency wasn’t worse for my morale than the pandemic because Trump kind of lost whatever semblance of sanity he had. Part of the trepeditation over what each new day will bring is what Trump will say, do, tweet, exacerbate. I still fear revolution in the street before Jan 20. The pandemic is not the worse of what America has gone through. That’s the oddest thing about this year.

7. Here is the blessing which probably will be unpopular. The lockdown and stress of all we have experienced is tough, but the slowdown is a blessing for me. My life had gotten pretty busy. While I miss travel, it’s ok for a year not to have had the time suck that travel for work entails. I will be so happy the first work trip I get to go on, but I feel like 2020 has given me the gift of time. It’s odd because, like many, my creative sense has suffered. I have written almost nothing. Still, I often think of a Dylan lyric, maybe in the next life I will be able to hear myself think. I could hear myself think this year. Unfortunately I thought about the existentialist angst of the meaning of life and my failures as a human being and I don’t think there is enough time still to process the effects of the pandemic and I’m sick to death of the sound of my thoughts, but....I have been given this unique gift of time. Even on December 16th I am not rushed to shop, to cook, to decorate, to go to a zillion parties. It’s a different year. The Holiday will still come. It is pleasant not to feel urgency over, let’s face it, non-urgent things. I am mentally and emotionally fatigued, but not nearly as physically exhausted as I was this time last year

8. The next one is a big one. The gift of living in the moment. I have spent my entire life since 7th grade when Miss O’Neil gave me a copy of The Rubyait of Omar Khayyam trying to live with the philosophy of living for the now. Clear the cups of past regrets...tomorrow, why I may be myself with yesterday’s seven thousand years. The only time I have ever truly experience this is in a handful of concert experience. Even now, I fear for my future and I blame myself for my mistakes. Still, my relationship with time has changed. There is the sun rising and setting and that is a day. Seasons will change. But the gift of time means I can approach my day differently. When five o clock comes on a workday, a needed nap is a step away. No where to go on a Friday night... no where I can go...means the weekend rhythm exists only as I define it. The simple pleasures we always take for granted mean something more now. There is a coffee truck that stops near me on Fridays and Saturdays. When it first started stopping I was over the moon that I could walk and get a latte with fairly little risk. If I go to the grocery store and have a conversation with a stranger, it is different than it was before. Mindfulness exercise and meditation is one thing, but nothing can compare with this year to further my lessons in this pursuit. May I take the lesson with me into years to come.

9. Zoom...yes, of course I have zoom fatigue. But five friends in five different states having a monthly drink together on zoom is a benefit of the pandemic. I watched a movie this year with someone who lives in Brazil. I celebrated a friend’s sixtieth person even though I couldn’t be with her. I’ve attended book discussions and readings in New York and I already have tickets to an event in March. Kind of love New York. I’ve never been there in person. Just a lot happens there. Educationally and socially the world is now open to me. I am not limited to what is going on in my community. I hope this doesn’t completely go away.

10. Finally, storytelling and music. I found it hard to read new things in the lockdown for a while, but in March friends asked me to a virtual book club of three books I already read and we reread them together which took us into the summer. I rediscovered the Foundation series of Asimov and suddenly I could read again! My favorite book I’ve read published in 2020 is Jess Walter’s The Cold Million. I did read a digital advance copy of David Duchovny’snew book due out in 2021 and it is, in fact, the breakout novel I knew this hot young writer would eventually write. Looking forward to 2021 book club! I finally binged Breaking Bad and The Travelers as well as The Queens gambit and watched Peanut Butter Falcon. I am doing a disability focused watch on the X Files and I better kick it it the rear because I’m presenting on it in Feb. at a conference. My God, Dylan put out his first original music in eight years. It will take me eight years to fully ingest it and enjoy it. You see, no matter what happens, humanity will tell its stories and gather to make its songs. It’s that human resilience. Creation of art is not trivial. It’s vital. It has continued in this odd and strange year. It is humanity’s greatest gift and I have definitely used it this year as a resilience and growth tool.

Those are my top blessings in this horrific and, yet, wondrous year. However, you have been impacted, what we all share in common is that In a very short time it will be a memory of a year in the past.

2 notes · View notes

introvertguide · 5 years

Text

Bringing Up Baby (1938); AFI #88

The current film on the AFI list is touted as the most screwball of all screwball comedies: Bringing Up Baby, (1938). It is a film that was adapted for the screen with the great Katharine Hepburn in mind. According to the writers, it fit her personality and sense of humor well and, with the addition of a lovable Cary Grant, was the perfect comedy vehicle. And audiences at the time hated it. It was a total flop during its initial box office run, director Howard Hawkes was fired from the studio, and Katharine Hepburn was labeled box office poison to the point that she had to buy out her contract because the studio would not give her any more work. Now the film is celebrated as favored comedy from the old Hollywood era. AFI listed it as the #88 greatest American film and the #14 best comedy film. So is this movie any good? Audiences in different eras disagree so I wanted to find out for myself. First I want to do the usual review of the plot (although this is a screwball comedy and it isn’t intended to make any sense) so let’s get the bold warnings out of the way...

SPOILER ALERT!!! THERE REALLY ISN’T A LOT TO SPOIL IN A SCREWBALL COMEDY BUT I DON’T WANT TO GET YELLED AT!!! PER USUAL, YOU SHOULD JUDGE A MOVIE FOR YOURSELF SO CHECK THE FILM OUT BEFORE READING FURTHER!! Alright, moving on...

The film begins with a bumbling paleontologist named David Huxley (Cary Grant). He is a man consumed by his work, yet he is somehow engaged to be married to a woman that is seemingly obsessed with taking second fiddle to his job. For the past four years, he has been trying to assemble the skeleton of a Brontosaurus but is missing one bone: the "intercostal clavicle". He is also tasked with impressing a potential patron named Elizabeth Random (May Robson), who is considering a million-dollar donation to his museum.

The day before his wedding, David meets Susan Vance (Katharine Hepburn) while attempting to solicit donations from the lawyer of Ms. Random. Susan callously plays the wrong ball which distracts David from attending to his potential patron and then she stubbornly wrecks David’s car while she tries to get to her own vehicle. Later that night, she distracts David again while he attempts to have a drink with the man from the golf course and the encounter ends up with both characters tending to ripped clothes in public. Susan seems to like to cause trouble and believes that her traits are fun. These qualities soon embroil David in several frustrating incidents.

The next day, Susan's brother Mark has sent her a tame leopard named Baby from Brazil. Its tameness is helped by hearing "I Can't Give You Anything But Love". Susan ignorantly thinks David is a zoologist and manipulates him into thinking she is being attacked by the animal. He does not call the police but goes to Susan and she bullies him into joining her in moving the leopard to her country home. Complications arise when Susan falls in love with him and tries to keep him at her house as long as possible, even hiding his clothes, to prevent his imminent marriage.

David's prized intercostal clavicle is delivered, but Susan's aunt's dog George takes it and buries it somewhere. When Susan's aunt arrives, she discovers David in a negligee. To David's dismay, she turns out to be potential donor Elizabeth Random. A second message from Mark makes clear the leopard is for Elizabeth, as she always wanted one. Baby and George run off. The zoo is called to help capture Baby. Susan and David race to find Baby before the zoo and, mistaking a dangerous leopard from a nearby circus for Baby, let it out of its cage.

David and Susan are jailed by a befuddled town policeman, Constable Slocum (Walter Catlett), for acting strangely at the house of Dr. Fritz Lehman (Fritz Feld), where they had cornered the circus leopard. When Slocum does not believe their story, Susan decides the best cover would be to tell the police that they are members of gang. This distracts the police long enough to allow her to escape to go and find Baby to prove she and David are innocent. The potential patron Ms. Random comes to the jail to free Susan and is embroiled in the plot when she talks about her leopard and is locked up. Eventually, the lawyer/golf partner shows up to verify everyone's identity. Susan thinks she found the correct leopard but unwittingly drags the highly irritated circus leopard into the jail. David saves her, using a chair to shoo the big cat into a cell.

Some time later, Susan finds David working on his dinosaur skeleton alone. He was dumped by his fiancée because of Susan and he is now single. He did not get the donation but finds that Random gave the money to Susan and now Susan wants to donate the money to the museum. David confesses that his time with Susan was the best time he has ever had and that he loves her. At this point, Susan inadvertently destroys the dinosaur that David has worked on for 4 years because she won’t listen to David’s warnings. He gives up and kisses Susan, resigned to the life that will come with loving this woman. The end.

After watching this film, I did some research and I can see why Hepburn was labeled box office poison following this movie. She apparently ruined many of the takes for this film which cost a lot of money. What is more, the director and the lead actors had overtime clauses in their contracts so everyone was paid about double what was initially agreed upon because of the actors fooling around. The film might have broken even or perhaps had a modest gain, but Hepburn caused extra costs to the production to the point of major financial loss. This was a point of lean times in America, so an actor that commanded hefty pay, caused expensive delays, and did not draw in a big audience was poison to a studio. She obviously went on to do great things for film and this work was eventually embraced by audiences, but Katharine Hepburn needed to be humbled and the reaction to this movie did just that.

I was surprised that there was a real leopard (tame of course, but still) on set with the actors. There were some shots in which the actors were filmed separately from the animal and everything was overlaid, but there were many scenes with the actors directly interacting with the leopard. Most famously, Hepburn’s character was talking on the phone while the leopard walked around her legs and the animal started to get rough with her feet. If you watch Hepburn’s face closely, she is not smiling but has darting eyes watching closely over the big cat. Apparently, the leopard lunged at Hepburn at first meeting and she did not really like the animal.

So let me get to the point of my personal feelings about the movie. I have watched it twice for this review: once straight forward and once with commentary by Peter Bogdanovich. I have looked at the reviews as well. It didn’t help. I and both my parents hated this movie. We have watched 41 movies on the AFI top 100 so far and this has been unanimously our least favorite. We do not like screwball comedies and this is famously “the most screwball of all screwball comedies.” I will not say that this film is bad because it obviously has a ton of fans, but I subjectively hated it. Let me explain before I get the hate mail.

Susan Vance is my kryptonite. She is a bullying socialite that does not care about anyone but herself and only does what she wants. She is manipulative towards a guy that just wants to build his dinosaur, and she wrecks his relationship, affects his job, ruins his car, endangers his life, and destroys his work. For some reason, in the movie world he falls in love with her for it. Susan Vance is the kind of person that has affected people negatively since forever. I guess it is funny because it is relatable? “Yeah, I have had my life ruined by human bulldozers like that. Wouldn’t it be funny if that person took a personal interest in plaguing me at every turn?” I am an introverted nerd and I have been harassed by the Susan Vances of the world. I don’t find them funny and actively avoid people like Susan Vance. I don’t want to see them in my movies, especially as the hero/love interest.

What hurt me was that Katharine Hepburn was apparently like this in her behavior at the time. She would talk off camera during filming and ruin takes. She would ad lib lines that she thought were funny and goof around with Cary Grant costing the studio hundreds of thousands and lots of lost time. It sounds like she was simply oblivious to the efforts of others. Her behavior as an actress and the character in the movie should not be rewarded. In film world, this bull in a china shop still gets her man. In the real world where a nation is recovering from a devastating financial crisis and facing a possible world war, nobody wants to see that garbage. As was appropriate, everybody got fired and the audience did not want to shell over their money. I am glad the film flopped and say it was deservedly so.

OK. I got that off my chest so let me now set aside my personal bias and answer the standard questions more objectively. Does this film belong on the AFI 100? Yes. It is maybe the best example of the screwball comedy of the 30s and, according to the Bogdanovich commentary, is a great example of the quick pace dialogue with double meaning that defined the time. I also think it is good to remember what happens when actors completely disregard their employers and their audience. Even the great Katharine Hepburn had to make a comeback when her audience turned on her. The placement of the film very low on the list seems appropriate to me as well. So then...would I recommend it? Subjectively, heck no. I found the movie frustrating to the point of being angry. Objectively, yes. A lot of people find whacky antics funny and any fan of shows like The Honeymooners or I Love Lucy and movies with The Three Stooges or The Marx Bros would likely enjoy this film. It has a 90% audience rating on Rotten Tomatoes and Roger Ebert called it one of the 102 movies to see before you die since it is a perfect example of the genre. It seems like a movie most people would enjoy. Let me back pedal slightly and note that I have full respect for people who enjoy the film and I am glad cinema brings you some laughs. However, I hate the film with a passion and never plan on watching it again.

#bringing up baby #katharine hepburn #hollywood elite #over budget #susan vance #cary grant #screwball comedy #30s #old hollywood #afi movies #introvert #introverted #leopard #howard hawks

19 notes · View notes

dxmagedrose · 4 years

Text

GET TO KNOW THE BLOGGER!

Tagged by: my lover @hammurabicomplex I’m tagging: anyone and everyone who wants to pick this one up! share with the class if you feel like it! tag me in it!!

PRESENTING. RANDOM DEEP DIVE WITH INDIGO-MUN AT 2AM ;

FIRST NAME Good fucking question… It’s (sort-of) currently Dylann! I was Kieran before that, though; it’s still used as one of my first names and I’m not used to Dylann quite yet bc I’ve just started using it.

Indigo is one of my middle names though, and I’ve used it as an online handle elsewhere forever so I use it here now! [ Fun etymology facts: Dylan(n) is a mythology name generally meaning “born of the wave” (aspiring diver & a water witch at heart). Kieran means “little dark one” bc of my love for horror, && I chose Indigo bc as a kid to be it was neither boy (blue) or purple (girl) and was both and neither as well as my absolute favorite color as this vibrant ass mystical color. ]

STRANGE FACT ABOUT YOURSELF hmmmmm…. I’m a horror lover at heart, so as a child (I wanna say 12), I was walking through an antique store (I have a few cool finds, I considered putting my other one as the fact tbh) and I turned the corner and I saw these two dolls staring back at me at the foot of the stairs of this antique building. my blood froze, and i felt my stomach drop. i got actual, physical goosebumps stumbling across these two creepy dolls staring back at me in the corner, and i couldn’t leave the store without them. perhaps the little painted porcelain boy would be somewhat spooky by himself if it wasn’t for the terrifying lidded gaze of the porcelain girl with the hairline fractures and slightly open lips. i cant look at her. i dont really find dolls scary, I like to find the spookier ones ones, and she makes me paranoid as hell. i keep her face covered and her up in my closet except for when i bring her out to show her off proudly as the spookiest thing I have but……. i dont really collect dolls anymore. even thinking about her brings a fearful tear to my eye. i don’t like to think about her for very long, but that’s why I’m so fucking proud to own her. ( YES — I’m THAT white person in the horror film )

TOP THREE PHYSICAL THINGS YOU FIND ATTRACTIVE ON A PERSON hhhhh a beardy jawline, high cheekbones, crooked canine teeth >:3c

A FOOD YOU COULD EAT FOREVER AND NOT GET BORED OF b.l.t.’s with avocado. ahhhh. my mouth is watering just thinking about it, oh my god. just a bit of salt and pepper???

A FOOD YOU HATE barbecue anything, i hate the taste of bbq sauce, you keep your nasty black goo to yourselves at the grill. twice in my life i have presented with barbecue pizza and both times i cried literal tears. why would you do such a horrible thing to a person? what kind of a monster are you? how do you sleep at night?!

GUILTY PLEASURE the sims. constantly. always. i’ve sunk thousands of hours into my households. oh also uhhhhhh i run two 80s horror blogs, one being a shitpost blog with occasional art of mine and one gremlin fanfic ship blog for horrible, terrible self indulgent fanfics i’ll get the courage to finish writing & post so i can be cancelled on tumblr for at some point. NO, i won’t link them. as i pretend they’re even all that hard to find, within a day i was found on both by someone i admire here a lot :’) ilu bby thnk u eternally for supporting ur local horrifying dumbass wtf

WHAT DO YOU SLEEP IN the same clothes i’ve been wearing all day usually, my sweats & long sleeve raglans or my hoodies. i like being cozy day & and out. and ugh. efoort. just throw me in a blanket in a cool room and im out.

SERIOUS RELATIONSHIPS OR FLINGS serious relationships with some openness or poly. i wish i could fling! just not exactly easy for demisexual autistics lmao.

IF YOU COULD GO BACK IN THE PAST AND CHANGE ONE THING ABOUT YOUR LIFE, WOULD YOU AND WHAT WOULD IT BE I think I would be adopted by my grandma as a kid. It would save me some trauma but mostly I think it would get my autism diagnosed way earlier and save me angsting all these years of wondering why & thinking it’s my fault I’m struggling so much and so loud and affectionate and different in a world that i didnt fit in the same way.

ARE YOU AN AFFECTIONATE PERSON when i get drunk i text people how much they mean to me in my life. does that answer your question? ahhh. i’m sometimes a cuddle monster with friends, i message people with long texts about how much they mean to me, but I sometimes really don’t like to be touched at all.

A MOVIE YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER AGAIN FLYPAPER. F L Y P A P E R. FLYPAPER. FLY, and, I can’t stress this enough, fucking PAPER. ( Though also Whole Nine Yards and both Re-Animator & Bride ). I have watched Flypaper already like, 5 times this week and I’m still not done, and the other movies have been on repeat for days in this household within the last year. In the past it has also been Donnie Darko & the new Nightmare on Elm Street. roast me.

FAVORITE BOOK White Fang by Jack London. Have I actually ever finished it? No. Do I still own a copy I’ve had since childhood thru multiple dogs eating it, taking it to and from school, and highlighting and circling all the best parts of chapter one ever since I was a kid and it was too hard of a book for me to read? You bet your ass. If I ever need inspiration I just reread chapter 1. Although one of my other favorites was Broken Monsters by Lauren Beukes. But White Fang is like, a weirdly personal text. We stan London’s writing in this household.

YOU HAVE THE OPPORTUNITY TO KEEP ANY ANIMAL AS A PET, WHAT DO YOU CHOOSE FENNEC FOX!! I used to daydream about having my own named Shiloh when I was a lil kid. they’re adorable little things and i am obsessed. i mean, gimme any fox and im happy, marble foxes, red foxes… but I was obsessed with fennec foxes. Also tbh ferrets. I want a ferret.

TOP FIVE FICTIONAL SHIPS [IF YOU ARE AN RP BLOG, YOU CAN USE YOUR OWN SHIPS AS WELL] Rosa & @ninetyscnds‘s Luke, Rosa & @iimpulsivity is already screaming my name, Rosa & Constantine, Jesse & Andrea from Breaking Bad, and the joker and harley of 80s sci-fi Dan & Herbert from Re-Ani. I am but a simple opossum.

PIE OR CAKE Pie! I’ll take both pumpkin & melty apple over cake. also, cheesecake is more pie than cake soooo, pie wins.

FAVORITE SCENT my dogs / my blanket. :’) It’s the most grounding smell in the world.

CELEBRITY CRUSH oliver jackson-cohen, i’m fucking GAY and im angry about it. there i was, minding my own business, and i saw that asshole in a certain SHIRTLESS GIF and it AWOKE SOMETHING IN ME. dont talk to me about it, holy shit im obsessed with beardy men now god fuckkdafjaask i hate him why did he make me this gay i was perfectly fine being into girls but NOOOOOO him and his dumb hairy chest and sweet rugged face and I—— I also am obsessed with the archaeologist & television personality Josh Gates and may or may not be considering making a fan blog for him bc idk if my anthropology docuseries host is Dad or Daddy but i love him lots

IF YOU COULD TRAVEL ANYWHERE, WHERE WOULD YOU GO I would go on a dive with anthropologists and archaeologists doing fieldwork research in the ancient cenotes of the Yucatán Peninsula. My actual dream job, catch me crying & fantasizing about being underwater documenting Mayan skulls given as offerings. Fuckkkk, I love anthropology so much!! take me anywhere in the world to immerse myself into culture & archaeology.

INTROVERT OR EXTROVERT Introvert. I have a real life friend I see roughly once a month, and that’s it. Plenty of online relationships, I’m chatty, message me all day every day. but i dont do people well.

DO YOU SCARE EASILY I used to! Really bad. I don’t as much anymore. I do get paranoia a lot still. Having therapists telling you that the FBI could be outside your house watching you through your windows will kind of nervous. ( no google results for: yes hello fbi i am a writer please dont put me on watchlists i just have research i need to do for this idea im working on, would you like to try again? ) I have nightmares nightly but not they never make me afraid, they just make me feel like crap. jumpscares and loud noises and seeing people reaching into their pockets dont set off as many brain alarms anymore tho!! progress haha.

IPHONE OR ANDROID I like my android better bc of capabilities but meh

DO YOU PLAY ANY VIDEO GAMES My mom, her husband & I play COD for family game night, and Silent Hill is my life’s blood. I’ve sunken hours into Sims & Skyrim, and Norman Jayden from Heavy Rain is my #1 fictional character in existence, why do i love the druggie babies

DREAM JOB Oh… You’re asking me to pick? I’d love to be an anthropologist doing work out in the field. Underwater archaeology is peak, but I’m also heavily considering being a body recovery diver or police diver. I’d love to see myself in uniform someday, if possible. Just the thought makes me teary eyed & proud.

WHAT WOULD YOU DO WITH A MILLION DOLLARS fund my person creative & educational endeavors. get myself a spooky ass abandoned house to make my own home to create in, and travel to the world’s best dive sites. just live a mild life of education, creation & exploration. that’s the dream TM.

FICTIONAL CHARACTER YOU HATE dr. hill is a gross and whiny lil bitch this post brought to u by the miskatonic crew, how is everyone here an even worse bad guy than herbert west precious dan excluded talk shit get hit tho john winchester from spn and both walter white & todd from breaking bad are all in my crew of hated characters. i jusT… the reani novel is difficult to read because i have to deal with this old sack of shit.

FANDOM THAT YOU WERE ONCE A PART OF BUT AREN’T ANY LONGER Supernatural :-)

… AND THIS CONCLUDES A DEEP DIVE WITH INDIGO!! //

#||: && the mundane ( ooc );#( get to know a bitch!! )#( this was... a lot of me rambling about weirdly personal shit at 2 am )

1 note · View note

hollenka99 · 6 years

Text

The Great War

Summary: Jackson Trinity continues to find more success, Jameson with it. However, a war rages on in Europe and it is inevitable that hearts will be broken by the end of it.

Warnings: Minor character death, World War One, references to infant/child mortality

July 29, 1914

Dear Mother,

I think I may have accidentally trained my son to call me Pops. He quite enjoys it when Siobhan and I sing 'Pop Goes The Weasel'. I think it may be his favourite tune. Siobhan will sing the song while I will pop to emphasize the last line by pulling my finger out of my mouth. He loves that. He has taken to following me around, attempting to do the same. Failing that, he tries to say the word.

So, I suppose I am 'Pops' now. I don't mind, especially with origins like these. Siobhan is still 'Momma'.

Yours, Jameson

August 5, 1914 Harvey,

I heard Great Britain declared war on Germany. I know exactly what that means for Canada. I also know what your intentions are. I disagree with them wholly. Enlisting is the wrong thing to do. You have three young daughters who rely on you, not to mention Edith. What would happen to them while you were away getting shot at?

I don't know whether you miss South Africa, the structure of the army or simply enjoy risking your safety. I cannot begin to imagine why you are so set on enlisting. I could tell you would be the type to come running at Hughes' beck and call. And to think, I counted myself lucky that the British had not yet announced their plans to get involved.

Yours, Jameson

August 21, 1914 Jameson,

For someone who is rarely verbal, you have surprising trouble knowing when to keep your mouth shut.

I am fully aware of the risks involved with warfare. Have you forgotten that I have military experience? I've already fought against those primitive Boers. The Europeans should be an actual fight worth being part of.

Furthermore, don't speak to me about leaving family behind. You make constant promises of visiting Saint John yet never deliver upon them. You are forever telling us you plan to see your nieces and nephews then never show. We wouldn't know what Anthony looks like if it were not for those meaningless photographs you send. When you stop turning your back on us so you can progress your career, perhaps then we can discuss familial commitment.

It's all glamorous for you, the beginnings of a life in the spotlight. Soon, you'll have it all. By the end of the decade, you'll be living in a large expensive home with an impressive array of influential acquaintances. One day, it will all come crashing down on you. Technology will advance further than you can cope and it will leave you irrelevant. Face it Jameson, moving pictures are going to have sound eventually. Where is that going to leave a mute such as yourself?

My daughters will grow up knowing their father served their country bravely, an ordinary hero like thousands of others. All Anthony will have to be proud of is a father who starred in the pictures before he became forgotten about.

Yours, Harvey

September 7, 1914 Harvey,

Don't try insult me.

When I inevitably have to hold our mother as she grieves, I'll remember how stubbornly arrogant you have been. You weren't there for over two years. There wasn't a day where she wouldn't worry endlessly for your safety. Then Father died. We had to watch her fall apart. He'd been ill during Christmastide and he barely saw the new year. She became a widow and all she would talk about was the goddamn telegram she swore she would receive any day. It was hell to see her like that. I may live on the other side of the continent, in whole other country, but I know where her head will go as soon as you leave Saint John. I'm not 13 any longer. I am not at home to ensure she is not fixated on very possible outcomes. The only one left in Saint John will be Mabel. God knows she pulled her weight and then some at the beginning of this century. Once again, you're tearing everything apart.

It is clear you have rendered yourself deaf to sense. So go. Go get yourself killed. Allow yourself to be shot at, far away from home and curse your family with bereavement. Make your daughters question what their absent father was like. I don't care if you find your life at the factory tedious. Your outlet should not be risking everything that matters. No brother of mine would turn his back on family.

Furthermore, I have been to Saint John with Anthony. You could have met him if you weren't celebrating Thanksgiving elsewhere. I know my career has a time limit. It is why I am so determined to succeed and give my son the best life possible. Far better than the life you could ever provide your children. I may have been happy to lend you some of my profits, if you weren't acting like an ass.

Yours, Jameson

October 19, 1914 Dear Jameson,

While I am tired of hearing about your argument with Harvey, I thought you have the right to be updated. He went to Quebec earlier this week to hear Sam Hughes' speak before being shipped across the Atlantic. The girls and I will be okay. Your mother has kindly offered to let us stay at her home should we ever need it.

I share a similar view to yours regarding all of this. I by no means wished for him to leave. He wholeheartedly believes this is what he should do. The government is bound to release propaganda to encourage enlistment eventually. I suppose, as his wife, I can't do anything but trust he will return.

All the best, Edith

November 11, 1914 Dear Mother,

Siobhan has been longing for a pet for several months now. We have made the commitment of owning a dog. It is a Dalmatian she has named Lyra. Anthony has immediately taken to her. My only concern is that he will treat her too roughly and she will defend herself aggressively. He doesn't know much better but we are trying to prevent anything from happening.

I have taken to helping train her in my spare time. It is refreshing to be obeyed by a creature of lesser intelligence. It may be too soon for results to show but it is a start. Perhaps you should get yourself a dog as well. I'm sure Harvey's girls would adore one. Mabel might be interested in introducing a pet into her family. That said, Walter (if he is indeed a boy as she insists) is going to be born any day now. Maybe she should wait until her sons are older.

Yours, Jameson

April 13, 1915 Dear Mother,

Have you seen Chaplin's latest? That Tramp character looks like he has promise. My Jolly Gentleman is selling well also. I am grateful people adore him. He is dear to me. Could you imagine a meeting between Chaplin's Tramp and my Gentleman? It would be quite the escapade.

Did Cliff tell you I've met the man? They are acquaintances from their respective times at Keystone. I met Cliff outside of the studios at the end of a day of filming. Chaplin was there too. Cliff introduced us so I did my best to strike a short conversation. He comes across as a good fellow. If I'm going to be honest, I find it difficult to imagine he and the Tramp share the same face. I doubt people have the same issue with me as my moustache is genuine.

Yours, Jameson

June 11, 1915 Dear all,

We're amazed by how successful 'Puppet Man' has become. To think, the idea came to me from a children's book. I bought a copy of Carlo Collodi's 'The Adventures of Pinocchio' last year. It is originally Italian but a woman named Mary Alice Murray translated it into English. It has illustrations and I generally thought Anthony would enjoy it. Instead, I found myself reading it.

It's about a carpenter who creates the eponymous puppet boy. Pinocchio is a compulsive lair and by the end he finds himself as real of a boy as any reading the story. The Christian message is blatant but overall, it is not a bad book. My only issue with it is the scene where bandits hang Pinocchio until they tire of waiting for him to suffocate. I am not sure whether I will include that part when reading it to Anthony.

I never plagiarized. 'Puppet Man' was merely inspired by the story. I could never use the elongating nose because that trait is unique to Pinocchio. Honestly, the only similarities between the two are that a puppet finds life by the finale.

Still, $300,000 is a lot of money. We've never made this much profit before. It's not our first feature film but this is Pearl's directorial debut. This may be the big break we've been hoping for. We have nothing to do but celebrate and plan how to proceed.

Yours, Jameson

Oliver Charles Jackson Male October 21, 1915 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

October 30, 1915 Dear all,

It seems we have a jealous older brother on our hands. Yesterday, we found Anthony hiding Oliver in his toy box after he emptied it, saying it was all Oliver's fault. When he noticed we were watching, he cried. He says we stopped paying attention to him and that he's been replaced. I attempted to calmly explain to him why we don't bury baby brothers in our toys.

It may take time for him to get used to this new arrangement. Let us hope the two are on better terms eventually. As of now, it is clear he is the same Anthony he was a month ago. He later leaned over the cot and reminded 'Ollie' who was in control but was apologetic when caught. He's just attention-seeking now that his parents have to dedicate more time to the baby. I was similarly upset with Pearl, wasn't I?

Yours amusingly, Jameson

January 23, 1916 Dear Jameson,

It was delightful to see you reprising your role as best man at Cliff's wedding. Anthony made a good ring bearer, even if he was a little side-tracked by the amount of guests present. Furthermore, I loved meeting baby Oliver. Either he was on his best behaviour or Anthony is finally beginning to warm to his brother.

I was wrong about Loretta. She is a charming woman and I am glad she has now joined our family. You were right, his relationship with her is worlds away from what he had with Elizabeth. While I do wish them a happy life with children, I can't help but wonder what became of Clara and Daniel. They are still his children, even if none of us have laid eyes on them in years. Let's hope their future half-siblings will be raised with their father present.

Yours, Your mother

May 1, 1916 Dear all,

I have been following the recent rebellion in Ireland. I wasn't exactly supportive of the Unionists using violence to promote their views. Then a British soldier began using human shields and shot a child who was likely minding his own business. His superiors better take appropriate action after this. I'm not necessarily saying the man must hang but he should be punished accordingly. And no plea of insanity. If I hear he gets away with his despicable actions because he feigns insanity or the British turn a blind eye, I will be furious. I sincerely hope the Irish won't let this rebellion be forgotten. I don't endorse the fighting, especially as Europe has enough blood being shed as it is, but I do understand their struggle.

I wonder what Granny would make of all this. It's impossible to forget the passion with which she would insist it was never a famine but a starvation. She had every right to be feel strongly on the subject. I may have listened to her a little too intently as a child. Although, she was always right about the British making their way up the global hierarchy. The sun may never set on the British Empire but maybe it should, it would be easier to pretend blood didn't water the soil years ago.

I've learned two things over the past few years. I find myself somewhat impassioned when it comes to the British and pacifism. I prefer to stay slow to anger. I doubt I will ever cease reacting strongly to those subjects. I plan to stop so I do not carry on this narrow-minded attitude in my sons. Besides, Siobhan is the Irish one. She doesn't have as strong of an opinion on British rule.

I suspect the Irish will continue fighting for the Ireland they want during the remainder of this century. I can only hope the fatalities and casualties involved in this is kept to a minimum.

Yours, Jameson

June 23, 1916 Dear Mother,

The other day, Anthony must have been somewhat bored because he heaved his brother off the floor and made Ollie 'ride' Lyra. I'm not sure how she felt about the incident but she didn't react negatively. Oliver, however, wasn't too pleased to be handled in such a way. Eight months after meeting his brother, Anthony is still learning how to be gentle. I suppose there have been worse brothers. Didn't Cliff try to drag me into the sea at one point because I tripped on his blocks? I glad our relationship has matured and he isn't planning my murder anymore.

I managed to capture the moment. It is a little blurry but you can see well enough what Anthony is doing. I hope you enjoy the photograph.

Yours, Jameson

July 16, 1916 Dear Jameson,

Do you remember David Wynton? The two of you used to be such close friends. You seemed to lose touch with each other after you left for New York. I never really understood why that happened.

I am so sorry, Jameson. I ran into his mother at the market and we began to talk. She received a telegram earlier this month. I didn't know how to respond. I wish I didn't have to tell you about his death. You should at least know.

You have my sympathy, Your mother

August 1, 1916 Dear Mother,

Thank you for telling me the news. Although, I think you may be mistaken. David and I still talked to each other until last year. I'll admit it was at a decreased frequency than in our youth but we corresponded nonetheless. In fact, he was at the wedding. Do you not remember?

Anthony is excited for his fourth birthday next Monday. He is very confused as to why his Pops has suddenly decided to stop playing with him. I feel bad for subjecting him to this unexplained change in behaviour. I'm not sure whether he would even understand the concept of death. I found myself telling Oliver about David last night as I prepared him for bedtime. Nine month olds are not inclined to ask you questions throughout your story. In the end, I had to pass him to Siobhan.

Siobhan herself is very understanding. I am grateful for that, not that I ever expected her to be anything but supportive in times like these. There are boys she knew from Limerick who are never coming home too.

I wish this war would end already. In the very least, we still have Harvey. As against his decision as I am, I do miss him. If this is how affected I am by the death of a lifelong friend, I cannot bare the thought of losing a brother.

Tell his family I am thinking of them, Jameson

October 12, 1916 Dear Mother,

It was odd to be back in Saint John after the news earlier this year. Even stranger was visiting David's family for a moment to personally give my sympathies, only to discover he has a son. He'd told me he had a girlfriend but never mentioned she had been expecting when he left. Maybe he believed I'd think less of him because the boy is illegitimate. I never could judge him for that.

It is funny that his son is named Winston. David was always jokingly telling me he would have a son with that name. I would proceed to chuckle and encourage him to do so with jest. I am beginning to question whether he had been serious the whole time. I do find it humorous that there is a Winston Wynton out there in the world. That knowledge makes it easier to carry on without being able to properly bid farewell to his father.

If I were raising my sons in Saint John, I would like the three boys to be friends, preferably as close as their fathers were.

Yours, Jameson

November 27, 1916 Dear Mother,

If you hear anything about a lawsuit involving us, ignore it. It is complete nonsense. Keystone claim Cliff has performed mutiny, betrayed them, whatever drivel they are spouting this week. There is no case. There was no legal agreement that Cliff wouldn't return to Jackson Trinity during his contract with Keystone. Even so, he had little involvement with our productions during that time out of respect. His contract had been ceased for several months before any of these allegations began.

We have found ourselves a decent lawyer, simply for the security of it. It is best to prepare in case Keystone's legal team is persuasive. He agrees this is all hot air but understands why we are being cautious.

Yours, Jameson

April 6, 1917 Dear all,

Nearly three years into the war, the United States of America has declared war on Germany. I suppose the allies are glad for the extra help. God knows how long this conflict will last. I recall people insisting it would all be over by Christmas. Three years ago. There are hundreds of thousands of American men who are of the right age and fitness to enlist. With all those new recruits, perhaps this is the boost the allies need to win.

However long this war lasts, I am dreading the first glimpse of how affected the country is by the deaths of family members that will inevitably come. Let's pray it will be this Christmas that we can celebrate peacetime once more.

Yours, Jameson

July 21, 1917 Dear all,

The case has been won in our favour. The three of us are relieved. We will celebrate quietly then return to business as usual. This was simply an annoying blip.

Just thought I'd update you on our situation.

Yours, Jameson

October 14, 1917 Dear Jameson,

How are you doing? I am looking forward to seeing you again one day. It will be a good day. We can share a drink and you can live up to your name, Whiskey. With an Irish wife, I expect you to outdrink me with ease. I would kill for some alcohol now.

I wanted to apologize, Jem. We've had a tense relationship over these past few years and I've sensed the distance between us. I thought I knew full well how dangerous the battlefield can be. I know that far better than you, yet I was the one who chose to join regardless. I've since discovered France is nothing like South Africa.

You've constantly blamed me for abandoning my family. I can assure you that I love Edith and my daughters. All I wanted was for them to grow up with a favourable impression of me. Isn't that what we all wish for, our children wanting to follow in our example? You have no idea how desperately I'd love to see them right now. I want to be reunited with you all.

I want you to know I'm proud of you. While we can't exactly go to the pictures here, I have heard a fair amount of news about your success from Saint John. I know it is a team effort and the three of you are just as responsible for your rise as each other. That said, there would be no movie without a script. All the actors are doing are bringing your stories to life. You were always good with a pen. You're not bad with arithmancy but, trust me Jem, you would be wasted as an accountant.

I've also heard you've given Anthony a little brother. Make sure they don't end up like us. No one person can control the events of the world but you can raise your sons on knowledge of our mistakes. Teach them to be forgiving. Teach them time is not always their ally. Most importantly, teach them to treasure each other and never forsake the bond they were gifted. If they don't heed those words, then it all goes to waste.

I'm in the infirmary right now. Breathed in something I shouldn't have. It was unintentional but I am sitting here, resenting my foolishness. I hope you can forgive me for all our quarrels. I will be fine, don't you worry. We can shake hands the next time we meet.

Wishing you a long and happy life, Harvey

October 26, 1917 Dear Clifford, Jameson and Pearl,

I'm sure you are all hard at work. I am looking forward to watching your latest feature at the Imperial. However, I insist that you return home immediately. I received a telegram regarding Harvey. The worst has happened. We need to be together as a family.

Regrettably awaiting your arrival, Your mother

November 4, 1917 Dear Harvey,

Yes, you are a fool. But so am I. This is my fault. I've been so angry at the prospect of losing those dear to me I acted irrationally.

Dorothy, Alice and Minerva could never see you in a bad light. They only wish to have you home for good. You've missed three years of their lives but it can be rectified. I hear from Edith that next year, Dorothy and Minnie are beginning middle school and elementary school respectively. Be there for that. They are growing up faster than you'd like. I struggle to understand how Anthony and Ollie are already 5 and 2 years old.

I know you never cared for ancient texts but I am reminded of a moment during the Trojan War. There was a disagreement between Agamemnon and Achilles. After Achilles' good friend (some argued lover) dies protecting his honour, Agamemnon apologizes to Achilles. He says something along the lines of the gods stealing their common sense. I feel that applies to us.

God must have stolen both of our common sense. I am willing to let bygone be bygones so long as you

March 6, 1918 Dear Jameson,

We saw your latest film. We can't say we enjoyed the messages it conveyed.

I will warn you once and once only; do not let your works become political. This will get you nowhere and destroy the reputation you have earned. Especially when you come to your senses and remind yourself that the war in Europe is yet to reach its conclusion.

I understand Jem, I truly do. We are all doing our best to carry on without Harvey. Making a film about boys being raised to fight is not the right way to grieve. For the love of God, you used your sons! I hope you feel at least the slightest bit of shame. How Cliff or Pearl, let alone your wife, allowed you to use them is a mystery to me.

I remember the happy boy who would steal my candy when he thought I wasn't looking. I remember the brother who smiled whenever he was ill so we wouldn't fret too much. I remember the Jem who had his voice stolen as a child, his health forever compromised, but took it all in his stride.

I don't recall a man with an uncharacteristically dark mind.

You have so much to be happy about. Your third child is due in June, you have a successful career and business, your wife cares for you and you still have three other siblings who have always been there for you.

Please think things through, Mabel

Sophia Evelyn Jackson Female April 29, 1918 Los Angeles Siobhan O'Hara Jameson Jackson

May 8, 1918 Dear Mother,

Sophia arrived a week ago on the 29th. She is 5 weeks too early and I have been so consumed with anxiety that I forgot to even inform you of her birth. I apologize.

The boys haven't been able to properly meet their sister. Children are so susceptible to diseases. God forbid one of them develops a cold and interacts with Sophia. She is so unbearably fragile as of right now. All it takes is for her to be infected with a common illness, one that is relatively harmless, and she could be gone.

I fear that will be the thing to push me over the edge. Harvey's death is fresh and I can't bare to lose more of those I care for. Everything is out of my control and cruelly so. I know there were two between myself and Pearl. Siobhan had a number of older siblings she never got to meet. Was this how it was for you and her parents? I know Cliff and I had a habit of making a nuisance of ourselves. If we caused you distress while you suffered this way, I cannot begin to apologize enough.

I don't care if she is a sickly child. She can spend her whole life bedridden and I will care for her with everything I have. I will happily remain paranoid regarding her wellbeing for as long as I live. If she must be isolated for her own good, I will keep her company. So long as she is still here. There cannot be any other alternative.

Wishing I could have given you good news, Jameson

November 12, 1918 Dear all,

It's over! It's finally over. I may have shed a tear or two when I heard the news. I can't help but think of all the fortunate families who will be welcoming their fathers, husbands and brothers back home. I can't imagine how relieved they must be at the announcement. Then there are families such as ours who will find all of this bittersweet. I suppose the only comfort we can have is that no more will have to grieve like us because of the Great War.

They call it the war to end all wars and, as desperately hopeful as I am that will prove true, I know what Man is like. Give it a century or so. The survivors will pass war stories down to their sons and grandsons. One day, this war will be but a collection of stories and some fool will cause history to repeat itself.

I'll do what I can to make sure neither Anthony nor Oliver will end up that fool. I hated having to raise them during such a horrific conflict. I hope they won't remember this part of their life. Six and three years of age is too young to retain vivid memories, I think.

Thinking of you, Jameson

#the life of jameson jackson #tlojj #writersofjack #my writing #jameson jackson #jacksepticeye #crosspost #originally posted on Quotev and AO3 on Nov 11th 2018 #minor character death #world war 1 #ww1

3 notes · View notes

orbemnews · 4 years

Link

William 'Cody' Anderson, broadcast legend, dies at 78 William “Cody” Anderson, who was a local broadcast legend and trailblazer, died Saturday, Feb. 20, 2021. He was 78. Anderson came to Philadelphia from Chicago in 1965. After his arrival, he began a broadcasting career that would span 50 years. He started in the sales department of WDAS Radio and quickly rose up through the ranks of management to assistant general manager, general manager and eventually president. Anderson’s love of music and his unwavering commitment to providing a voice for the voiceless made for an amazing combination. At a time of civil unrest and strife in Philadelphia, Anderson helped create an outlet for communities across the city. He was the originator of WDAS’ Unity Day which, at its height, brought together hundreds and thousands of people to celebrate. In 1989, Anderson realized his dream of radio station ownership when he purchased the iconic WHAT radio. He established an African-American talk radio format that elevated the voice’s of Philadelphia legends Mary Mason and Georgie Woods, and helped launch the career of Iyanla Vanzant. He is credited with raising the voices of individuals and communities across the city because he believed that no voice is special until it has been heard. His last foray into broadcasting was general manager of WURD 900 AM/96.1 FM, a station owned by the late Dr. Walter Lomax. Anderson helped to establish the station’s Black talk format, which continues to be the driving force of the station. Anderson was the co-host of “The Electric Magazine” with Vikki Leach on Saturday mornings. He was the co-host of bi-weekly Saturday morning shows with City Council President Darrell Clarke and Philadelphia Schools Superintendent William Hite. He also hosted the weekly Laborers Live show every Friday. On Dec. 4, WURD honored Anderson in a three-hour celebration during its annual Empowerment Expo. A statement from WURD’s President and CEO Sara Lomax-Reese regarding Anderson clearly highlights his efforts at the station. “It is with a very heavy heart that we acknowledge the passing of radio icon Cody Anderson. According to his family he passed peacefully on Saturday evening. Cody was instrumental in breathing life into WURD and shepherding it over our almost 20 years, first as general manager and most recently as a beloved host, mentor and friend,” Lomax-Reese said. “Like his biological family, the WURD family will miss him deeply. But we are grateful for his tireless and generous support of independent Black media, which he championed every day of his life, especially through his advocacy of WURD radio.” In 2000, Anderson formed ACG Associates, a consulting firm he operated with his sons Bill and Kyle. He brought his focus on empowering and informing people to his work at ACG and continued as the principal of the firm until the time of his death. Former WDAS radio personality Jerry Wells remembers Anderson’s vision, leadership, guidance and direction he provided for the staff during his days at the station. Under Anderson’s tutelage, Wells had one of the city’s most successful morning shows. “Cody was always from the beginning a very open, very accepting and very much a people person,” said Wells, who had a very popular radio titled “Morning Party” at WDAS FM (1974-86). “He put me to work in the news department, which I stayed there for nine months and then the departure of Rod Carson from WDAS FM. He went to WMMR. “He and Butterball (WDAS radio legend Joe Tamburro) called me in and told me they were giving me his program. The Morning Show 6-10 on WDAS FM. I did that program until 1986. Over that time, Cody impressed me with how much of a community-oriented people person he was and how much he took to heart the interest of our audience and the needs of our audience in the Black community. “He often said to me in Philadelphia Black people only have two (radio) stations and it was us and WHAT at that time. So, we have more of a job to do than the other stations can specialize in certain audiences. We have to serve entire families, multiple generations and we have to deliver so much to our community who ha so many needs. We were more of a family than a staff. He was more of a mentor and a friend than a boss.” Philadelphia City Councilmember Kenyatta Johnson remembered Anderson’s contributions as a broadcast legend and family man. “As the longtime leader at WDAS and WURD radio stations, he was an icon in the African American press. He always spoke truth to power. I will also remember Cody as a wonderful father and family man who was a role model to other fathers like me,” said Johnson in a statement. “He is a pillar in the Black community and his legacy and impact in the lives of Philadelphians will last forever.” In addition to being a Philadelphia radio legend, Anderson was an outstanding basketball player. He was the captain of the basketball team at Chicago’s Carver High School and led the team to multiple championships. His basketball talents earned him a full scholarship to Central State University in Wilberforce, Ohio where he met and fell in love with his wife, Verna. He was a star guard on the 1964-65 Central State University basketball team. Anderson led the Marauders to a NAIA championship and a undefeated season. The team was inducted into both the Central State Hall of Fame and the Ohio Basketball Hall of Fame. In 1991, Anderson was inducted into the Central State Hall of Fame Anderson was born in Denison, Texas on Feb. 25, 1942. He grew up in Chicago, Ill. He grew up in public housing with his parents the late Bernice and William Anderson, and his sisters Loretta, Barbara and Carol. Anderson is survived by his wife Verna, his children, Kyle, Bill and Theresa, his sisters Loretta, Barbara and Carol, his nieces Denise, Karen, Dana and his nephew Kevin, along with countless friends. He was a 33rd Degree Mason in the Prince Hall Masonic Lodge and a longtime member of the Canaan Baptist Church family. In a statement from the family, “Obituaries often speak of a person’s accomplishments, but our family wants you to know who our father was. He was a kind man with a gentle, compassionate spirit. He was dedicated and a loyal friend who was always available and fully present in his friendships. He was a man of unwavering faith in God and always saw the best in people. He was funny, creative, smart and giving. His love for his family was only exceeded by our love for him.” Source link Orbem News #Anderson #broadcast #Cody #Dies #legend #obituaries #William

0 notes

bigyack-com · 5 years

Text

Who’s on the U.S. Coronavirus Task Force

President Trump formed a coronavirus task force in late January, and members have been meeting regularly. But as the virus began to spread around the globe and infections were confirmed in the United States, Mr. Trump named Vice President Mike Pence as his point person at the end of February, and more administration officials were added to the panel. Among them are internationally known AIDS experts; a former drug executive; infectious disease doctors; and the former attorney general of Virginia. DR. DEBORAH L. BIRX The new coronavirus response coordinator for the White House, Dr. Deborah L. Birx, also holds the rank of ambassador as the State Department’s global AIDS director. An experienced scientist and physician, Dr. Birx will report to Vice President Pence, though White House officials did not specify how her duties will differ from those of Mr. Pence or Alex M. Azar II, the secretary of health and human services who is the chairman of the nation’s coronavirus task force. Nominated by President Obama in 2014 to the State post, Dr. Birx has spent more than three decades working on HIV/AIDS immunology, vaccine research and global health. For the past six years, Dr. Birx, a former Army colonel, has been in charge of the President’s Emergency Plan for AIDS Relief and America’s participation in the Global Fund to Fight AIDS, Tuberculosis and Malaria. From 2005 to 2014, she also was director of the division for Global HIV/AIDS at the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. A biography distributed by the White House said she had “developed and patented vaccines, including leading one of the most influential HIV vaccine trials in history.” During her confirmation hearing in 2014, Dr. Birx spoke with admiration of the government’s ability to come together to confront a deadly disease that threatened the health and welfare of people around the globe. “The history of the end of the 20th century will be forever recorded with the emergence of a new and deadly viral plague that challenged us scientifically, socially and politically,” she told members of the Senate Foreign Relations Committee. “Fortunately, that history will also record that — eventually — we faced our own fears of the disease and embraced those infected and affected with the open arms of compassion, creative research and determined solutions.” Dr. Birx majored in chemistry at Houghton College and received her medical degree from Penn State University’s Hershey School of Medicine. — Michael Shear Alex M. Azar II became secretary of health and human services in January 2018, arriving with a background in government and industry and presenting himself as a problem-solving pragmatist. Updated Feb. 26, 2020 What is a coronavirus? It is a novel virus named for the crownlike spikes that protrude from its surface. The coronavirus can infect both animals and people and can cause a range of respiratory illnesses from the common cold to more dangerous conditions like Severe Acute Respiratory Syndrome, or SARS. How do I keep myself and others safe? Washing your hands frequently is the most important thing you can do, along with staying at home when you’re sick. What if I’m traveling? The C.D.C. has warned older and at-risk travelers to avoid Japan, Italy and Iran. The agency also has advised against all nonessential travel to South Korea and China. Where has the virus spread? The virus, which originated in Wuhan, China, has sickened more than 80,000 people in at least 33 countries, including Italy, Iran and South Korea. How contagious is the virus? According to preliminary research, it seems moderately infectious, similar to SARS, and is probably transmitted through sneezes, coughs and contaminated surfaces. Scientists have estimated that each infected person could spread it to somewhere between 1.5 and 3.5 people without effective containment measures. Who is working to contain the virus? World Health Organization officials have been working with officials in China, where growth has slowed. But this week, as confirmed cases spiked on two continents, experts warned that the world was not ready for a major outbreak. He replaced Mr. Trump’s initial pick for the job, Tom Price, who had resigned in September 2017 in the face of multiple federal inquiries into his use of private and government planes for travel. Mr. Azar, a former top executive at Eli Lilly, has navigated a series of high-profile issues since taking the job, from attempting to scale back the Affordable Care Act to overseeing the shelters that have housed the thousands of unaccompanied minors separated from their parents during border crossings or who entered the United States alone. He has also sought to address rising drug prices and public health initiatives such as improving the care of people with chronic kidney disease, although many of those policies have not come to fruition. And he has clashed with top health officials, including with Seema Verma, the administrator of the Centers for Medicare and Medicaid Services, in a power struggle that required the intervention of the White House. From 2012 to early 2017, Mr. Azar was president of Lilly USA, a unit of Eli Lilly and Company, a major producer of insulin. That history as a drug company executive came under criticism during his Senate confirmation, when Democrats questioned whether he would take the industry’s side on the issue of rising drug prices. Republicans cited that experience as an asset, arguing that it would help him better understand the problems. Mr. Azar, 52, was a law clerk for Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia. He joined the administration of President George W. Bush as general counsel of H.H.S. in 2001 and became deputy secretary four years later. While there, he helped carry out a 2003 law that added a prescription drug benefit to Medicare, one of the most significant changes in the history of the program. Mr. Azar graduated from Yale Law School and grew up in Maryland, where his father was an ophthalmologist and his mother a registered nurse. — Katie Thomas DR. ROBERT R. REDFIELD A longtime AIDS researcher, Dr. Robert R. Redfield has served since March 2018 as the director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and administrator of the Agency for Toxic Substances and Disease Registry. As such, he is the nation’s chief public health officer, overseeing government response to crises like the opioid epidemic or Ebola, and has had primary responsibility for supervising the federal response to the coronavirus cases in the United States, reporting to Mr. Azar. Dr. Redfield has already been the target of criticism for some of the C.D.C.’s decisions — including testing protocols that may have missed infections, flawed testing kits for the virus and the repatriation of infected patients from the Diamond Princess cruise ship — although it is not clear whether his was the final word on these and related actions. Before taking his post, Dr. Redfield was a professor at the University of Maryland School of Medicine, where he co-founded the Institute of Human Virology, and served as chief of infectious diseases. The institute provided treatment for H.I.V., the human immunodeficiency virus, to more than 6,000 patients in the Baltimore-Washington area and more than 1 million people in Africa and the Caribbean. Earlier in his research career, Dr. Redfield advocated broad testing for H.I.V. and the screening of military personnel for the virus — and faced renewed criticism for those views when he was nominated to the C.D.C. post. A native of Chicago, Dr. Redfield grew up in Bethesda, Md., where both of his parents worked at the National Institutes of Health. He graduated from Georgetown University and its School of Medicine, and did his residency at Walter Reed Army Medical Center, then continued as a researcher there, focusing on AIDS. He launched the virology institute with Dr. Robert C. Gallo, who developed the blood test for H.I.V. in 1996. — Sheila Kaplan As head of the National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases at the National Institutes of Health since 1984, Dr. Anthony S. Fauci has played a central role in research of disease outbreaks, and the search for cures, since the emergence of HIV/AIDs — as he is doing now with the coronavirus. He testifies regularly to Congress about the threat of emerging diseases and has been one of the most prominent leaders of the government’s front line on public health. Behind the scenes, though, is where Dr. Fauci is considered most influential: He helps shape the decisions about where research should be directed in search of a response or cure. Overall, Dr. Fauci oversees an agency with a budget of $5.9 billion for 2020. Dr. Fauci grew up in Brooklyn. His father was a pharmacist. attended Holy Cross College and was graduated from Cornell University Medical College in 1966. His life shifted significantly in 1981, when he was working at the N.I.H. and gay men began showing up with devastated immune systems. Dr. Fauci, while certainly not known in popular culture circles, carries a kind of celebrity status among scientists. That might stem in part from the amount of research money he controls but also because of his ease with communicating deep science both with nuance and accessibility, making him a translator of sorts during times of crisis. Kenneth T. Cuccinelli II, one of the top immigration officials in the United States, has brought his firebrand approach to Mr. Trump’s coronavirus task force. He leads the United States Citizenship and Immigration Services, the agency overseeing legal immigration, while simultaneously working as acting deputy secretary of the Department of Homeland Security. In nine months, the former attorney general of Virginia has gone from defending Mr. Trump’s aggressive immigration policies on Fox News to representing the Homeland Security Department on virus response. Mr. Cuccinelli coordinates the screening of travelers at airports, and land and maritime ports, and has overseen the monitoring of people who have recently traveled to China or shown signs of illness. In his short time with the Homeland Security department, Mr. Cuccinelli has irked other agency leaders with his aggressive communication to the public — including when he said the sonnet on the Statue of Liberty poem referred to “people coming from Europe.” Mr. Cuccinelli was similarly criticized on Monday afternoon when he complained on Twitter that he could not gain access to a Johns Hopkins University map of the spreading coronavirus outbreak. “I’m sure it’s jarring to the public to see a very high ranking federal official sending out an S.O.S. on Twitter,” said January Contreras, who was a senior adviser to Janet Napolitano, his predecessor at the homeland security agency. After Senator Chuck Schumer, the Democratic leader from New York, said Mr. Cuccinelli’s appointment to the task force showed how “hollowed out” federal agencies are, Mr. Cuccinelli pointed the finger at Mr. Schumer for not attending a briefing on the virus. In an interview with The New York Times earlier this month, Mr. Cuccinelli said he spent much of his time since being appointed to the task force calling hundreds of local politicians to coordinate their responses to the virus. Born in Edison, N.J., Mr. Cuccinelli was raised in Virginia. He graduated from the University of Virginia with an engineering degree and from George Mason University with a law degree. — Zolan Kanno-Youngs Read the full article

#Coronavirus #Force #health #HealthNews #Task #Whos

0 notes

mastcomm · 5 years

Text

Holocaust Gathering Lets Some Leaders Score Present-Day Political Points

JERUSALEM — President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia called for vigilance “not to miss when the first sprouts of hatred, of chauvinism, of xenophobia and anti-Semitism start to rear their ugly head.”

Prince Charles warned that hatred and intolerance “still lurk in the human heart, still tell new lies, still adopt new disguises and still seek new victims.”

And Vice President Mike Pence urged world leaders to “stand strong” against Iran — “the one government in the world that denies the Holocaust as a matter of policy and threatens to wipe Israel off the map.”

As dignitaries from scores of western nations met in Jerusalem to remember the liberation of Auschwitz 75 years ago and express their resolve to combat anti-Semitism, the invocations of the past were as often aimed at scoring present-day geopolitical points as at sounding the alarm about a resurgence of bigotry and anti-Jewish violence.

The president of Germany, Frank-Walter Steinmeier, said his country now resists “the poison that is nationalism.” Then he hauntingly cited the attack last fall on a synagogue in Halle, Germany.

“I wish I could say that we Germans have learned from our history once and for all, but I cannot say that when hatred is spreading,” he said. “I cannot say that when Jewish children are spat on in the schoolyard. I cannot say that when crude anti-Semitism is cloaked in supposed criticism of Israeli policy. And I cannot say that when only a thick wooden door prevents a right-wing terrorist from causing a massacre, a blood bath, in a synagogue in the city of Halle on Yom Kippur.”

Mr. Putin, as nationalist as they come, noted that “the Soviet nation was the one that put an end to the Nazis’ malicious plan,” and took credit for the Red Army having “liberated Europe.”

Alluding to his war of dueling historical narratives with Poland’s president over their countries’ actions during the Holocaust and roles in the outbreak of World War II, Mr. Putin said that “the memory of the Holocaust will continue being a lesson and a warning only if the true story is told, without omitting the facts.”

Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, like Mr. Pence, did not let the opportunity pass to urge world leaders to follow the United States’ example in confronting Iran.

“The tyrants of Tehran that subjugate their own people and threaten the peace and security of the entire world, they threaten the peace and security of everyone in the Middle East and everyone beyond,” he said.

In a proud, if slightly bellicose address, Mr. Netanyahu said Israel was “eternally grateful” to the Allied powers that defeated Hitler, but noted that during Hitler’s rise, “when the Jewish people faced annihilation, the world largely turned its back on us.”

He called Auschwitz “the ultimate symbol of Jewish powerlessness,” adding, “Today, we have a voice, we have a land, and we have a shield,” the Israeli armed forces. “And what a shield it is.”

The unusual gathering, with streams of royals and republican rulers all but shutting the Holy City down under high security, comes before Monday’s anniversary of the 1945 liberation of Auschwitz, the infamous Nazi death camp in Poland where some 1.1 million people perished, most of them Jews.

Poland’s president, Andrzej Duda, angered that Mr. Putin was given a speaking slot but he was not, stayed home. But their dispute bled over into a memorial book printed in advance of the commemoration. Mr. Putin has sought to portray Poland as a perpetrator rather than a victim of the Holocaust, claiming the Polish ambassador to Berlin had lauded Hitler’s effort to rid Europe of Jews.

In the memorial book, Mr. Duda promised to “always uphold the truth about the tragedy that struck our country.” And Mr. Putin criticized efforts “to distort the truth about the Second World War and rehabilitate the aggressors and their accomplices.”

Mr. Putin had a busy schedule on his day trip. He unveiled a monument in Jerusalem’s central Sacher Park to the victims of the siege of Leningrad, a grisly 900-day national trauma that cost the lives of hundreds of thousands of Russian civilians.

And he cheered Israelis by hinting broadly that Russia would soon release an Israeli-American woman who was given a long prison sentence last year after several grams of marijuana were found in her checked bags while she was changing planes in Moscow.

The Palestinians were not invited to the Holocaust commemoration, but they were not merely watching from the sidelines. Mahmoud Abbas, the president of the Palestinian Authority, met with President Emmanuel Macron of France late Wednesday, and with Mr. Putin Thursday evening.

Still, those meetings paled next to what some critics of Mr. Abbas said was the embarrassment of so many leaders visiting Israel, after President Trump in 2017 recognized Jerusalem as its capital.

Amer Hamdan, 38, a lawyer and activist in Nablus, said the gathering amounted to “an implicit recognition that Jerusalem is the de facto capital of Israel” and “a catastrophic failure of Palestinian diplomacy.”

Prince Charles was to meet with the Palestinian leader in Bethlehem on Friday after visiting the Church of Nativity, and before a stop in East Jerusalem at the Mount of Olives, where his grandmother, Princess Alice, is buried.

In his remarks at Yad Vashem, the prince noted that in 1943 his grandmother had taken a Jewish family into her home in Athens, saving them from the Nazis, “a fact which gives me and my family immense pride.”

It was left to Rabbi Israel Meir Lau, who at age 8 was liberated from Buchenwald, then rose to become Israel’s chief rabbi and chairman of the Yad Vashem Council, to bring the proceedings back to earth in the end.

“Leaders of the world, the world is in your arms, in your hands,” he said, smiling. “With one sentence, one signature, you can decide upon millions of people. So decide on love, and friendship, and peace, forever.”

Katie Rogers and Mohammed Najib contributed reporting.

from WordPress https://mastcomm.com/event/holocaust-gathering-lets-some-leaders-score-present-day-political-points/

#Event

0 notes

gibsonsflowofthoughts · 6 years

Text

Which moments in NFL history do you wish you had seen live?

The NFL has had some indelible moments throughout its nearly 100-year existence. The Immaculate Reception. The Music City Miracle. The Minnesota Miracle. David Tyree’s Super Bowl catch. Wide Right. The Catch. Kevin Dyson coming up a yard short. The Butt Fumble.

We’ve seen many of them live, either on television or in person. But for others, it only feels that way because they’re such a familiar part of sports lore. Maybe we weren’t born yet or were too young to remember. Or maybe we first caught the clip on Twitter or SportsCenter. But those plays were spoiled for us: we knew ahead of time that we were about see something special.

For some of us, we saw it on TV, but we wish we could have been there in the stadium and shared that experience with a large group of our fellow slack-jawed fans who were feeling the exact same amazement as we were.

Either way, you never forget what it’s like to watch something like that unfold in real time, transitioning from that “what just happened?” shock to the realization that what you just witnessed will go down into NFL history.

Here are nine moments — on the field and off, live on TV or in person — we wish we had seen when they happened:

We wish we had been there in person

2016 NFC Championship Game

Even though it ended in catastrophe, the 2016 season was the most fun I’ve ever had watching the Atlanta Falcons. They could score at will, play great defense in spurts, and were just a thoroughly entertaining team to watch.

I wish I was at this game just for one specific play.

youtube

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched that play. It was a pure display of physical dominance by Julio Jones, a perfect throw by Matt Ryan, and a great play call by Kyle Shanahan.

There are few times when one football player is clearly one step ahead of his competition. This was absolutely one of those instances on one of the biggest stages the NFL has to offer. As the CEO of the Julio Jones Fan Club, I really wish I was there for this moment. - Charles McDonald

Beast Quake

The real appeal of seeing something live, in my opinion, is soaking in the moment with the crowd. There’s just nothing quite like over 60,000 people losing their shit simultaneously.

Probably my favorite NFL video of the last calendar year was the sideline view of Stefon Diggs’ miracle touchdown against the Saints in the playoffs. If a crowd going that bananas doesn’t give you chills or goosebumps or, at the very least, a smile, you’re just not enjoying sports right.

So with that said, I’m flying my time machine to Seattle in January 2011 when Marshawn Lynch ran through approximately 87 Saints tacklers on his way to a 67-yard touchdown that clinched the Seahawks an unlikely playoff win. It has since been dubbed “Beast Quake” because the crowd noise literally caused a small tremor that was recorded on nearby seismographs.

Watching videos online of that kind of collective explosion is fun, but I can only imagine how incredible it must’ve been like to take in the moment with Seahawks faithful. — Adam Stites

Randy Moss fake-moons Lambeau Field

youtube

“That is a disgusting act by Randy Moss,” Joe Buck said.

Actually, it was an amazing act. I yearn to have been there. — Alex Kirshner

The Minneapolis Miracle

This is such an easy choice for so many reasons. We can start off with the fact that I’m a Falcons fan that enjoys Saints pain. The other thing here that really anybody that’s not a Saints fan can enjoy, is that this was an absolutely ridiculous ending to a football game.

I think it’s pretty safe to say that nobody thought the Vikings were going to be able to pull that off. If you know somebody that claims otherwise, they’re lying.

Plus, if you could get Joe Buck to lose his mind like that without Randy Moss pretending to show his ass, you’ve really done something. Not to mention the range of emotions it put everyone else through. — Harry Lyles Jr.

X-Clown

youtube

Some plays are indelibly burned in your mind and feel recent, even though they were forever ago. It’s hard to believe it’s been 15 years since the Carolina Panthers went to double overtime against the Rams in the NFC Divisional Playoffs, but this feels like yesterday.

The game was a complete slugfest, and at the time the game was billed as the Panthers’ grinding run game vs. Marc Bulger and the Rams’ astounding air attack — but in the end it was Steve Smith’s walk-off touchdown that took it all home.

This play was so damn disrespectful for the time, and it was beautiful. Jake Delhomme was never an amazing quarterback — but he had this knack for making big time throws when it counted. Hitting Smitty in stride after the pump fake was pure beauty, and I lost it in the basement of my parents’ house when it happened. I wish I could have been there live. — James Dator

We wish we had been alive for — or old enough to appreciate

The Ice Bowl

There are approximately one thousand incredible moments that make up the Packers’ storied history, but few can match the rarified air of the 1967 NFL Championship Game — better known as the Ice Bowl. It was a balmy -15 when the Packers and Cowboys took the field in Green Bay, and wind chill made it feel as awful as -48 as Lambeau Field’s broken heating system left a slippery sheen of ice atop the turf.

What happened next was football as performance art. Neither team gained more than 200 yards, leading to 16 combined punts that kept the crowd wondering which would shatter first: the ball itself or Donny Anderson’s foot. The Packers trailed 17-14 with 16 seconds on the clock and no timeouts remaining when Vince Lombardi got bold, dialed up a quarterback sneak for Bart Starr, and punched his team’s ticket to a second straight Super Bowl.

Watching it on TV would be cool. Watching it at Lambeau would be legendary. Look at this photo of our collective grandpas, showing up 50,000-deep for a football game in a frigid town of 75,000.

via the Pro Football Hall of Fame

Stare at that picture and inhale deeply, through your nose. Do you smell it? It’s the smell of 150,000 brandy old-fashioneds and stale Lucky Strike cigarettes being slowly smothered by the cold. I want in. — Christian D’Andrea

T.O. celebrating on the Dallas star

For me, a San Francisco 49ers fan, there are some obvious moments. I was born in 1990, and therefore missed some of the greatest moments in franchise history. I was alive for one that doesn’t necessarily hold up to The Catch, but is still one of my favorite moments in football history: Terrell Owens’ celebration on the Dallas Cowboys’ star.

The reason that’s my pick is twofold: I obviously would have loved to be at that game live, screaming my face off at Cowboys fans and hoping they don’t beat my obnoxious 10-year-old ass; and also I would have loved to see the reactions on social media. At that time, Facebook was still four years away, while Twitter was a further two years out.

Don’t get me wrong — social media and sports is an awful combination pretty much 95 percent of the time. But the gloriousness that would come out of the reactions to Owens’ celebration on the star, Emmitt Smith’s retaliatory celebration on the same star, and Owens’ follow-up second celebration on it would be phenomenal. Of course, if Twitter existed, it hardly would have been suitable for 10-year-old me. Or perhaps I’d fit right in. — James Brady

The “Super Bowl Shuffle” phenomenon

Whether you were alive during the 80s or not, it’s the Potter Stewart obscenity case: you know it when you see it.

And if you’ve seen even a glimpse of the “Super Bowl Shuffle,” it’s about as 80s as it gets:

youtube

The production value of Sugarhill Gang’s “Rapper’s Delight” music video. Awkward dancing. Even awkwarder rapping. Those closeups of the one guy in sunglasses. Sax solo — and oh wait, he’s wearing sunglasses too! A COWBELL.

This wasn’t a play on the field or really even a moment: It was an actual phenomenon. The song sold more than 700,000 copies in its first year, made around $200,000 for charity, the record went gold, the video was in heavy rotation at MTV, and it lost a Grammy to Prince.

So even if today it looks more like a parody, it was a legitimate hit then and people enjoyed it for any number of reasons — because the players were having fun, because they were trying to help feed the needy, because Walter Payton’s spitting rhymes like “Well, they call me Sweetness/And I like to dance/Runnin’ the ball is like makin’ romance.”

Other NFL musical efforts like “Ram It,” “Buddy’s Watchin’ You,” and “Living the American Dream” soon followed, but none of those could top the one that paved the way in December 1985.

That’s another point that could easily be overlooked now but probably wasn’t then: It was released almost two months before the Super Bowl. Were people charmed by the cockiness of it? How much outrage was there in a world before social media and Skip Bayless types were on TV spouting exhausting nonsense on a seemingly never-ending basis? Or, hopefully, did fans understand that these larger-than-life personalities were having a blast riding this once-in-a-lifetime season?

Luckily for the Bears, they went on to win their first (and still only) Super Bowl that January. But the “Super Bowl Shuffle” had much more entertainment value than their 46-10 blowout win over the Patriots.

Unfortunately for the Bears, like most things sports fans love, controversy followed. It still lives on today, even though we know an NFL team now would never and could never replicate such an iconic, goofy-in-all-the-right-ways sensation that transcended football and even sports. And that’s why it would’ve been, like, so totally rad to experience this little piece of pop culture-meets-sports history then. — Sarah Hardy

We wish we hadn’t gone to bed and completely missed this

The Seahawks’ goal-line play in Super Bowl 49

As 100 million Americans were sitting on the edge of their seats wondering why Russell Wilson was lined up in the shotgun at the goal line during the final seconds of Super Bowl 49, I was just hitting REM sleep in a London dorm.

youtube

When I woke up the next morning and turned to Twitter, I was thinking the same thing as everyone else: “Why the hell didn’t the Seahawks give the ball to Marshawn Lynch on the 1-yard line?”

Except, I actively made the decision to stop watching the game after the first half 14-14 tie. I say that with great shame, especially since one of my best friends is a huge Patriots fans and was, according to my sources at the bar, crying profusely after Malcolm Butler made the pick to seal the Patriots’ Super Bowl title.

I could give you a long list of excuses (some legit and others not so much) about why I chose to leave the bar, but I wouldn’t be doing myself any favors. Just know that I’ve learned my lesson: Under no circumstance should you ever stop watching the Super Bowl in order to get sleep. Never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of Tom Brady Super Bowl comebacks! — Isaac Chipps

Dope article from sbnation.com

0 notes

chronicles-of-a-paper-heart · 6 years

Text

Cait over at Paperfury created this tag and I immediately loved the idea. You connect books to colours, or rather to the emotions they’re commonly associated with.

She also allowed everyone to steal the tag and a wise kangaroo once said: The people want to break rules and be rebellious, they just want someone to tell them it’s okay.

So, here I am ‘stealing’ that tag for my very first #tagtuesday.

BLUE – Book that made you sad

I went over to my bookshelves to see if I had any book on there that could get me to cry, I assure you that’s quite an achievement. I don’t usually cry while reading. But there was a book that recently managed just that.

Gregor and the Code of Claw. That book ripped my heart out. My best friend visited me a few months ago and we read books aloud to each other. She always pestered me to read that series but I only read the first two books before she came, so we read the last three ones together. Before we started the last one she told me that I probably had to read most of that book because she cried multiple times every time she read it. And oh boy do I now know why! So SAD!

RED – Bookworm problems that make you angry

Oh, where to start. First, I could copy every word on Cait’s list for this prompt. couldn’t agree more. Stickers on Covers (and what’s even worse, fake stickers that are actually printed on the cover. Still worse when they are A PRICETAG!! ON! THE! FREAKIN! COVER! (I’m still salty af about that)

Cover Changes mid-series! I don’t think I have to say a lot about this one. Everyone knows about the anguish, everyone suffers! In that same vein … when books from the same publisher, same, edition/cover etc. don’t have the same height. Like what do those 2mm give you?? Other than my wrath! It doesn’t look good on my shelves. And why do it?? It doesn’t even make any sense?

And when people try to police what others can read or enjoy. Like ehm, no?? You do you, and I can enjoy whatever the heck I find enjoyable? Why try to convince to have less thing to be happy about? You enjoy fluffy romance? Gritty crime? Ya? New Adult? Who cares?! (Sorry rant over. Just had this conversation recently and I just don’t get it)

YELLOW – Upcoming book(s) you’d be happy to have right now

Well I tried to stay away from all those ‘Most anticipated releases’-post because I want to reduce my TBR and that doesn’t work if I constantly buy new books (of course I found ways to still get a lot of new books, sneaky Slytherin brain trying to trick me and my book buying ban!) But I still have a few for this prompt:

Vengeful by V.E. Schwab. I actually preordered this and I CANNOT WAIT! I need it now! The Cover is gorgeous, Vicious is one of my all-time favourite books and the little snippets we got, have me hyperventilating!

A Thousand Perfect Notes by C.G. Drews aka Paperfury. I wanted this the minute Cait announced it. It sounds so intriguing, heartwarming and -breaking and like everything I never knew I needed. And well, it’s from Cait! (Also, coverlove!)

Das Schloss der träumenden Bücher by Walter Moers (The Castle of Dreaming Books). He is one of my favourite authors and this is the third (actually the second part of the second book) book in The Dreaming Books Series and I loved that series, that world. But it gets pushed back and back and I NEED IT! The expected publication date is 8th October 2025. 2025!! That’s pure torture!

King of Scars by Leigh Bardugo. I mean, a book about Nikolai??? YES PLEASE! NOW! PLEASE! Enough said.

Oh and the last one I kinda need now, but I also don’t want it because I don’t want the series to end? Kingdom of Ash by Sarah J Maas. I am relatively calm right now, but I know that will change as soon as I start my reread. I love Aelin and those books helped me through a hard time so they’ll be forever in my heart.

GREEN – Favourite unlikely friends

The first group of friends is probably not that well known, (I only know two other people who have read these books) and that is the group of friends in the Emperor’s Edge Series by Lindsay Buroker. They are all so completely different, one all stoic and serious, another one book-y and sad, another one extremely driven and chatty etc. And their little group grows with each book and still fit so well.

Also Harry and Luna, I love their weird friendship. It’s a quiet sort of friendship, but they still really help each other. I think they both needed each other.

Aaaand also The Raven Boys and Blue. Ronan and Gansey, so different and still so loyal. All of them.

GREY – Books you are totally emotionless about

This one was actually quite hard. But I got a few.

First, I agree with Cait on Classics. Don’t really care either way for most of them. Same with YA Contemporary with the main focus on romance.

But as for specific books:

Fathomless by Jackson Pearce It was an okay plot, okay characters. Already forgot most of it. but I think I liked it while reading? But yeah, three stars. Don’t care for it much.

Twilight. I was obsessed when I first read them. I kid you now I walked around between ensemble (guitar) practices with the book in front of my nose and my friend guiding me so I wouldn’t run into walls or anything. but nowadays, I don’t really have any strong emotions about it. I don’t hate them, I don’t love them. I just don’t think about them most of the time.

Four by Veronica Roth is a short story collection that I probably should have read shortly after finishing the Divergent Series (which I really enjoyed) to actually care about it. But since I read that book a few years later … Couldn’t bring me to care. Meh.

Also, Shiver by Maggie Stiefvater. That book was the definition of meh. And I don’t know what happened. I love Maggie, okay? What went wrong?? It was just so bland (still great writing style though)

PINK – Book ending (no spoilers though) that you love

Even the Darkest Stars by Heather Fawcett. I really liked that book. The setting is FANTASTIC and I really liked the characters and story too, but the ending was amazing! Made the book so much better! (Changed a few peoples opinion for the better if you read reviews)

Three Dark Crowns by Kendare Blake. I loved that book. Mainly because I loved Katharine and was already expecting the slower pace (which I think threw a lot of people of since it was marketed very differently). And that ending! I had to start One Dark Throne immediately!

The Raven King! That was a great ending. And one I certainly didn’t see coming.

PURPLE – Book you never really understood

The Woman Behind the Waterfall. It’s not that I didn’t understand that book overall. But there were parts in it that just went over my head. I really like that book, and still think about it, but yeah. Didn’t get certain more magical realism type of scenes.

And I don’t get the hype about the Mortal Instruments Series. Honestly, I hated Clary! So! Much! And I don’t think I can suffer through three more books with her. I will give Cassandra Clare another chance with The Infernal Devices Books but … yeah. We’ll see how that one goes.

Oh, and Rick Riordan. Unpopular opinion time: I really don’t like his Percy Jackson Series and I don’t really get why so many people are obsessed with them? They’re predictable and just … I don’t get it.

WHITE – Author you’re scared of (they are so mean to their characters)

I haven’t even read anything by him yet, but I’m still scared? Jay Kristoff.

Also, V.E. Schwab! Honestly! So mean! So great!

And Sarah J Maas. At least a little. I don’t think she’ll really kill anyone important off but I’m still a bit nervous.

Oh and maybe GRRM because I only have three characters I absolutely don’t want to die! (Spoiler? Kinda? If you wanna see it just mark it Dany, Tyrion and Ser Jorah (And maybe Sansa). The rest can die for all I care. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ (Especially Jon Snow!)

BLACK – Book you think is powerful and influential

The first book that came to mind is George by Alex Gino. It’s own voices and middle grade and such a lovely hopeful and important story. Especially for middle grade. If you haven’t read it yet, please do.

And I think Harry Potter was pretty influential. Don’t think I have to say anything about that one.

And maybe The Hunger Games? It’s so much more than the love triangle. It has so many political and moral statements/questions. And it kinda started the whole dystopian craze.

ORANGE – Playful characters who are just too adorable

Now, that one was HARD. Apparently, I don’t read enough books with people that aren’t assassins or broken beyond repair (or both). But I still got three. Although I’m pretty sure a lot of you won’t know them.

Boots, Gregor’s two-year-old sister. She is just the most adorable thing in the world. I love her and I honestly would have read the Gregor books just for her. She is cute, and funny, and open-minded and just exactly like you would imagine a two-year-old to be like.

The Booklings. Just all of them. I general. They are so CUTE! and I want to cuddle them and put them in protective blankets and let know one near them to harm them. Pure cinnamon roles.

And maybe the Cheshire Cat (not from Alice in Wonderland, but from Madness by Maja Köllinger). It’s definitely more playful than adorable. But … oh well.

And that was my list. this was so much fun and I’ll definitely do more tags in the future. What would your answers be? Are there any fantasy books with adorable, playful characters that you could recommend? I’m clearly missing something there! What was a book you didn’t understand or the love for an author you don’t get?

Emotions in Colours Book Tag Cait over at Paperfury created this tag and I immediately loved the idea. You connect books to colours, or rather to the emotions they're commonly associated with.

#Book Tag #Tag Tuesday

0 notes

thissurroundingall · 7 years

Photo

Bert Huyghe

A long-term thing, at least for the moment.

Nederlandse vertaling

Date of interview: November, 2017

Estimated reading time: 12 minutes

Before visiting his studio, we meet up with Bert Huyghe (°1989, Eeklo) in a Ghentian sandwich parlor, the city being his artistic headquarters since many a year. Apart from the late post-punk band Ping Pong Tactics, the countless releases and booklets, the Geuzenprijs awarded essay The Boxer and his slightly provocative, sometimes hilarious performances, Huyghe especially manifested himself as a painter, producing thickly layered, colorful canvases, instantly recognizable by their smeary charm. With clumsy virtuosity they speak of painting itself, in all it’s treacherous self-evidence. Since 2017, Huyghe is represented by Brussels’ Rossicontemporary, alongside a.o. John Van Oers, Luc Deleu, Lore Stessel and Ritsart Gobyn.

Some time later we find ourselves in the centre of creation. Some recent works are being put up for us: a collection of football shirts, dangling from an imaginary clothesline on the studio wall in a familiar candy and Nickelodeonlike color spectrum. An eclectic mix tape of Bruce Springsteen and trap is stuffed inside the cassette player. Bert talks without uh’s, sometimes thoughtful, then again floating on a linguistic rapid. We’re caught up in a discussion on the social position of the artist. Lots of interesting stuff has already been said and I haven’t even pressed the record button yet.

You could also say that normal life consists of making two thousand euros a month and that art and strange paintings are of no value to society whatsoever.

So Bert, why do you paint football shirts?

Well, because the forms and colors attract me. It’s not about which teams or brands they represent. They are paintings, in the first place. I don’t really want to talk about adidas, or them being a big multinational. I don’t sit at my desk first, trying to decide on whatever good cause I will engage myself for. That’s not my job. Being an artist I’d rather embrace adidas, to examine such a brand visually and show it to the world, on a highly personal level. That’s also taking your responsibility. Because I really am a nineties kid, influenced by sports clothing and television during my very nice childhood. Of course I think one should be critical and reflective. But on the other hand I can’t deny being psyched about a new pair of sneakers. I wonder: how will people look upon those brands in a thousand years? That three-stripe pattern goes back a few generations now. What does that mean for us? To investigate that also means taking one’s responsibility.

Right now we’re in a peaceful beguinage. To what extend does this environment have an influence on you and your practice?

It’s nice and quiet around here, that’s what I like about it. For me, the studio is a vantagepoint from where I can look at the world, while it’s turning upside down. You could also say that normal life consists of making two thousand euro a month and that art and strange paintings are of no value to society whatsoever. But the opposite is true: the studio is the only place of value and normality. To get back to that social aspect: I don’t think Guston painting Ku Klux Klan figures should exclusively be understood as a political statement, I presume he also did it just because he felt like painting funny shoes, or because he liked to use the color pink, or because he loved comics. Researching a medium and the world outside and what that means for you as a person, can’t be separated. You always tell something about what surrounds you. Each medium offers it’s own set of tools for doing that.

You played in a band for many years. What place does music have in your visual practice?

Music was and still is very important. I also believe Ping Pong Tactics was all about finding an honest sound. At first we where booed at for sucking at guitar - given the fact that none of us had any musical training - or for wanting to make beautiful pop songs but singing them terribly out of tune. But in doing so, we created a ground zero from which we could start all over, rather like an existentialist approach to making music. Everything’s possible, everything’s permitted, what will happen if we utilize that freedom? I also see the anachronism of that attitude. Our songs had a nostalgic touch to them, often referring to our childhood, the rural environment we grew up in. That’s also why we split up: because we outgrew it all, I guess.

Everything’s possible, everything’s permitted, what will happen if we utilize that freedom? I also see the anachronism in that attitude.

Do you miss it?

I miss the physical aspect of making music, as one can also miss the physical aspect of playing football. You should always, at a certain moment, be able to stop any collaboration. However much there is to be learned, there’s always that danger of becoming each other’s clone. Then you know the time has come for finding your own voice again.

(pauses)

To maybe answer your question: a certain childishness is also present in my paintings. It’s about therapeutically approaching my youth, I guess. Therapy is an important function of art. For the record: I did have a very nice childhood. Maybe this also makes the studio into a place of freedom, a space where you can be more like a child. At the same time, my ten-year-old self would probably say that I could make much nicer drawings than these. Thanks to the fact there really wasn’t any art where I grew up, I could approach things with an open mind once I got a little older. I often entered the room doing something that had been done a hundred times before, but just a little louder. Half the people liked it, the other half turned their backs. I didn’t really mind.

It’s about therapeutically approaching my youth, I guess. Therapy is an important function of art. For the record: I did have a very nice childhood.

Do you care about what people think of your work?

Look, I’m very glad Rossi(contemporary, red.) represents me, for example, and that they really believe in what I’m doing. This gives me time and space to seriously work towards a goal, to really accomplish something. Of course everybody sees something different in my work. When they identify themselves with themes like childhood, football or the Simpsons, that’s just great. When they think I captured an aspect of our generation, I even take that as a compliment. But the last thing I want to do is to impose an interpretation on anyone. You know, lot’s of people come in here and ask how a certain painting was made: what’s beneath this, why’s that stain there… You’re asking questions about artistry in general, social themes and such. That’s fine by me. You do your job and I’ll do mine. A child also just likes to show it’s drawing, I guess. Of course we can’t compare how a child experiences art to how an adult does. Those are two completely different things. There’s that certain cartoonish jest that I’m sampling as an adult, but in the meantime I’m really looking for a way to paint like only an adult can. I think that’s a very serious job. I believe that doing something silly in a serious way is a lot more important than … doing something silly in a silly way. (laughs)

Of course you owe a lot to history and previous generations, and this may sometimes feel like a burden. But by now I’ve distanced myself from considering Walter Swennen my dad or anything like that.

Is it still relevant to be authentic, to create something original?

I for one believe I simply am my work. I don’t really care about who’s copying what or whatever. Of course you owe a lot to history and previous generations, and this may sometimes feel like a burden. But by now I’ve distanced myself from considering Walter Swennen my dad or anything like that. However interesting I may find his work. I also learned his generation looks at the world a lot differently than ours. You see, whenever you are something, you don’t really give it a second thought. It’s just who you are, at any given moment. That’s why I don’t regret anything, artistically speaking. I do regret buying a certain sandwich, but not my art. Even bad decisions are good, if there’s something to be learned from them. I’d rather focus on the ideas still ahead of me, instead of the ones I already had. I look upon all of this as a journey that will last until I’m an old man. That’s my greatest ambition, to do this forever.

I believe that doing something silly in a serious way is a lot more important than … doing something silly in a silly way. (laughs)

You are known to produce a lot of releases and editions, be it independently or not. May we expect anything soon?

My most recent booklets or ep’s where the result of a more intense process. This felt more to the point, in a way. Like you said, my production flow used to be a lot bigger. People like Gerard Herman also taught me a lot about releases and graphics. But here again, I currently look upon myself as a painter. It’s just what consumes all of my energy right now.

I guess something important has changed in that respect. Look, this might be interesting to show you guys (takes a big painting, puts it on the wall). I call this one my Cy Twombly. I still like Twombly’s work a lot, by the way. While I was making it, I tried very much to paint in a poetic, intuitive manner. Stuff accidentally falling on the canvas, drippings, stains ... You know, right. That way it almost turned into a beautiful abstract. Something in me resisted right away. I felt like that country boy again, not fitting in with all that prettiness. So the next thing I did was put on my name in big letters. At the same time, I also couldn’t make it into a purely conceptual painting: a white canvas with my name clearly printed out. Both attitudes are in perpetual collision. I was inconsistent, which is very important for an artist. Lately I tend to lean more towards the calculated approach because I’m making a series now. I believe it’s a long-term thing, at least for the moment. In that sense my work isn’t much like Swennen’s anymore. I can’t imagine him ever making a series.

As you’ve probably noticed, some time ago it was very hip to paint these meaningless abstracts with clumsy frames around them. But the fact that it’s a gimmick doesn’t mean I’m forbidden to do it also.

You’re working on landscapes now: a classic theme within painting. Is that part of the change you mentioned?

You know why I’m doing that? Because my grandmother once asked me when I would finally paint a landscape (laughs). My interest for The Simpsons and cartoons in general, from which I derive them, was already present. It’s just a nice coincidence that this connects to art-history. You know, we used to live in a beautiful rural area called Sint Laureins and this influenced me a great deal, but nature and landscapes we mostly just experienced like all kids do: within the artificial frame of a television set. No doubt I owe a lot to the canon. The Simpsons and football are also part of that canon, by the way. The bright colors of football shirts positioned on a pitch, the way they contrast one another: that’s painting in real life. It’s part of what attracts me in that sport. I could only find that out by intensively making lots of paintings. Constructivism was also influenced by sporting outfits, I’ve heard.

(pauses)

Actually, it’s all about painting. Everything else is just an excuse. How a painting is made, that’s what I find most important. The way I paint it, how that sets me apart from other artists. As you’ve probably noticed, some time ago it was very hip to paint these meaningless abstracts with clumsy frames around them. But the fact that it’s a gimmick doesn’t mean I’m forbidden to do it also. It’s about making an interesting image. Do I remove the black lines from a cartoon? Yes? So, why am I doing this then? Because it leaves me with plains of color, interacting with one another. That’s when it becomes a painting. Everybody thinks Lichtenstein just painted comics, for example. That’s not entirely true: he really selected those images, altered them, fixed the composition. All until they spoke as paintings, until only the right tension remained. I never dislike something somebody else has made, by the way. Worst-case scenario it’s just boring.

That’s the most profound quality of paintings: them being physical objects. You can just watch them as an accumulation of paint, a collection of colors. It’s a residue of an act.

Do you watch The Simpsons waiting for the right still? Or how do you start a painting like that?

No, I select images from the hundreds of interesting blogs exclusively occupying themselves with collecting Simpson’s screenshots. In that sense my method of image hunting is very contemporary. But that’s not what my work is about. I don’t really believe in the influence of, let’s say, social media on my work. I think people are still very much analogue beings. Internet and social media are just practical tools as far as I am concerned. That’s the most profound quality of paintings: them being physical objects. You can just watch them as an accumulation of paint, a collection of colors. It’s a residue of an act. To understand this, you don’t have to have any connotations. I believe, that as long as it’s good, it’ll float like oil. I don’t want to make a puzzle that has to be solved or anything. Some people like that about art, when there’s a solution. But that one solution doesn’t exist, if you ask me.

Interview and English text: Maxim Ryckaerts

English editing: Maia Daley

Photography: Sanne Delcroix

www.berthuyghe.be

0 notes

bitcoinegoldrush · 7 years

Photo

Love It or Hate It: Anarcho-Capitalist Luminaries Weigh In On Bitcoin

Economics

Bitcoin is a fascinating monetary tool that many believe will help fight the central banking system, corrupt economic planning, and help stop a small group of individuals from controlling the world’s money supply. Often times bitcoin is associated with anarcho-capitalism, free markets, and sometimes the Austrian school of economics. Today we will look at a large group of anarcho-capitalists, ‘gold bugs,’ and well-known economists to see how they feel about the bitcoin revolution.

Also Read: The Age of Disruption: Individual Anarchism Grows Alongside Peer-2-Peer Devices

Libertarian Luminaries and Anarcho-Capitalist Personalities Weigh In On Bitcoin Over the Years

Some people believe the decentralized cryptocurrency bitcoin is a tool that Austrian economists, anarcho-capitalists, libertarians, anarchists, and agorists should embrace. However, the many luminaries that have studied the works of Ludwig von Mises, and Murray Rothbard are still unsure about bitcoin. Some have embraced the cryptocurrency right away, while other individuals who pride themselves as ‘gold bugs’ changed their tune after initially dismissing bitcoin. Either way, bitcoin is very much a part of the anarcho/libertarian based ideologies and has been for quite some time.

Doug Casey

The writer and anarcho-capitalist, Doug Casey, is well known for his economic beliefs and essays about politics and markets. A few years ago Casey did not like bitcoin and dismissed the cryptocurrency when asked if he supported the new technology. However, these days Casey has a different perspective as the writer believes bitcoin is money, but he’s not confident it will last.

“As far as the cryptocurrencies are concerned, my original objection to Bitcoin was that it’s not backed by anything — So, it’s really a fiat currency — It’s very much like the US dollar, the Zambian Kwacha, the Argentine peso, or any of the other 150-plus currencies in today’s world — It’s a floating abstraction,” Casey explains in a recent interview.

But I missed something when I said, back then, that it had no value. It’s a fiat currency, but it has much more value than any other.

Dr. Ron Paul

Ron Paul is a former U.S. politician and a very popular Libertarian. Many believe Paul had sparked the interest of libertarianism in the minds of thousands of people when he ran for the U.S. presidency three times. Paul is also an author who wrote the famous book “End the Fed” among other classic works, as well as a student of the Austrian school of economics. The former politician has always been a fan of gold and precious metals, and at first, Paul was bit hesitant about bitcoin. However, Paul has changed his mind over the years as he now does television ads for a cryptocurrency IRA. During the cryptocurrency IRA commercial Paul states;

As a firm believer in currency competition, I’m excited to see the options what bitcoin opens up.

Robert Murphy

Robert Murphy is an anarcho-capitalist and popular writer and scholar at the Mises Institute website. Murphy likes bitcoin, and has co-authored a book called “Understanding Bitcoin: The Liberty Lovers Guide to the Mechanics and Economics of Cryptocurrencies.” In Murphy’s guide, he explains that bitcoin has become a medium of exchange and the often touted ‘Mises Regression Theorem’ has no relevance.

“We are not predicting that bitcoin will eventually become a genuine money, rather we are arguing that at this point, the regression theorem of Ludwig von Mises has no bearing on the question at all,” explains Robert Murphy and Silas Barta’s book.

Whether bitcoin becomes a money, or forever remains a medium of exchange, is a purely empirical question to which the regression theorem has no relevance.

David Kramer

David Kramer, another libertarian-leaning writer for the anti-state, anti-war, and pro-market website Lewrockwell.com, does not like bitcoin. Back in 2011, Kramer wrote an article called “Bitcoin: Just Another Bogus Medium of Exchange” and compared the decentralized currency to the now-defunct e-gold system. Kramer argues that bitcoin’s previous value was zero, and because it’s “bits in a computer” it still is zero. Only the free market can determine a fixed monetary source, “not a computer programmer,” explains the author. Kramer’s arguments have been refuted by many well-known bitcoiners like Jon Matonis.

Peter Schiff

The notorious Peter Schiff is a gold bug and American investor who has hated on bitcoin for quite sometime. Nearly every time Schiff talks about bitcoin he relates the technology to the likes of collectible Beanie Babies and ‘tulip mania.’ It doesn’t seem like Schiff will ever appreciate bitcoin due to the fact it doesn’t have intrinsic value. News.Bitcoin.com has reported on Schiff’s many arguments against bitcoin over the years and his recent debates with the bitcoin proponent and RT talk show host Max Keiser, and CNBC’s Brian Kelly.

“It’s digital ‘fools gold,’” declares Schiff on CNBC. “You know today’s bitcoins are like beanie babies. The whole principle behind bitcoin was to replicate the properties that made gold uniquely suited to be money and act as an alternative to fiat currencies. But it’s not really viable as a money — I mean it is a potential medium of exchange, but it’s not a store of value.“

Konrad Graf

Konrad Graf is a well-known writer and economist that has published many articles on bitcoin monetary theory. Graf has written essays such as the “On the Origins of Bitcoin,” the “Bitcoin Decrypted Series,” and more recently “Are Bitcoins Ownable?” Back in November of 2015 Graf spoke with news.Bitcoin.com and told our readers that “bitcoin is among the greatest inventions in history.”

“My ‘On the Origins of Bitcoin’ also focuses on differentiating the pure theory aspect from historical and anthropological approaches,” Graf explains. “It seeks to integrate both Menger’s and Mises’s contributions with some distinctive insights from Nick Szabo (aspects of “Shelling Out: On the Origins of Money”) into a single account that can handle bitcoin, shell beads, silver coins, and anything else, all in a way I argue is compatible with the Misesian regression theorem.”

Hans-Hermann Hoppe

The German-born American Hans-Hermann Hoppe is a popular anarcho-capitalist and Austrian School economist. Hoppe doesn’t believe bitcoin is money and has never been a fan of the cryptocurrency at least in public. However, the economist does think a radical form of decentralization will end the nation states and wreak havoc on the parasites pushing for democracy. Hoppe explained this position last year stating;

Don’t put your trust in democracy, but neither should you trust in a dictatorship. Rather, put your hope into radical political decentralization, not just in India and China, but everywhere.

Dr. Walter Block

The well known Walter Block is an Austrian School economist and anarcho-capitalist theorist. Block is also a senior fellow of the Ludwig von Mises Institute in Alabama. The economist doesn’t seem to appreciate bitcoin and has stated it goes against Carl Menger’s monetary theory and has said it only exists because gold is suppressed.

“I favor money based on real commodities (gold, silver, whatever the market settles upon), and, I gather, bitcoins do not qualify — So, I oppose bitcoins,” explains Block.

I favor 100% backed (by a commodity) currency for reasons that Rothbard and Mises have written about, over and over again.

Gary North

One particular Austrian economist who dislikes bitcoin is Gary North. In fact, North believes “bitcoin is the second biggest Ponzi scheme in history” in one of his controversial essays. North discusses the primary aspects of what a Ponzi scheme is and how the origin of money works using the Austrian school of economics. North’s anti-bitcoin rhetoric has been refuted several times by other economists but the Lewrockwell.com and Mises Institute author has not been swayed.

“I hereby make a prediction: Bitcoin will go down in history as the most spectacular private Ponzi scheme in history,” details North.

It will dwarf anything dreamed of by Bernard Madoff. (It will never rival Social Security, however.)

Jeffrey Tucker

The author and economist Jeffrey Tucker is the director for digital development for the Foundation for Economic Education (FEE) and a well-known bitcoin advocate. Tucker has written many articles about the prospects of bitcoin, decentralization and digital entrepreneurship. At one time Tucker was a skeptic but soon become a very passionate believer in the cryptocurrency revolution.

“Distributed networks change so much, perhaps everything,” Tucker details back in 2015.

As capital, it is not owned by any one institution, which is amazing. And yet it puts massive economic power into the hands of the individual.

Stefan Molyneux

The Irish born Canadian Stefan Molyneux was once a big proponent of bitcoin but has since quieted down about the subject. The anarcho-capitalist now alt-right libertarian is well known for his Freedomain podcasts, books, and YouTube videos. One video called, “The Truth About Bitcoin” is a very in-depth depiction of how Molyneux believes Bitcoin could be a tool to end the nation states.

“If we have a bitcoin universe, you don’t get to print money for war,” Molyneux once stated.

You don’t get to have money for a prison/industrial complex. You don’t get money for a war on drugs. You have to ask the people.

Is Bitcoin Anti-State, Anti-War, and Pro-Market?

There are many more well known Austrian economists and anarcho-capitalists who have a wide range of different views about bitcoin. We really can’t say what Mises, Menger or Rothbard would say about bitcoin with them not being around to witness the internet and blockchain technology. What we can do is formulate our own opinions by reading their works like the Misesian regression theorem, and other theories of what makes money. There are plenty of Austrian economists like Konrad Graf, Daniel Krawisz, and Robert Murphy who believe in bitcoin. It may take a long time for some of these other personalities to accept bitcoin, and some of them like Peter Schiff may never accept it at all.

What do you think of these economists and libertarian philosophers who are for or against bitcoin? Let us know what you think in the comments below.

Images via Pixabay, the Mises Institute, FEE, Lewrockwell.com, and wiki commons.

We got it all at Bitcoin.com. Do you want to top up on some bitcoins? Do it here. Need to speak your mind? Get involved in our forum. Wanna gamble? We gotcha.

Article Source

The post Love It or Hate It: Anarcho-Capitalist Luminaries Weigh In On Bitcoin appeared first on Bitcoin E-Gold Rush.

#Bitcoin #Bitcoin news

0 notes

caredogstips · 7 years

Text

6 Far-famed Rooms From Movies( That Spoilt The Owners’ Lives)

When love get super into a movie or Tv establish, they typically dress up as their favorite personas and hit up their neighbourhood convening — in which client, the only martyr of Hollywood’s seductive siren song is said fan’s wallet. But that’s merely the ordinary rank of infatuation. When fandom reaches Single White Female ranks, on the other hand, we get entertaining and/ or depressing yarns like these …

# 6. The Breaking Bad Creator Asks Follower To Stop Throwing Pizza On Walt’s Roof

” Breaking Bad followers remain hurling pizza on someone’s roof” is a bizarre sentence to type, but a bunch of you know exactly what we’re talking about. If you don’t, there’s a far-famed background in the show in which Walter White goes “re pissed at” his wife and throws a pizza over his own roof.

Toss a pizza in the air, and Emmys rain from the sky. It’s the law of television .

Hilariously, the pizza stayed there for various chapters, essentially becoming a brand-new character in the demonstrate. You know what’s not humorous, though? When literally anybody else does it. When a bunch of drink frat boys roll up to the very real New Mexico home and lob red-hot cheese pies at the roof, it’s not a joke; it’s trespassing and vandalism. If you do this, Breaking Bad developer Vince Gilligan personally thinks you’re a prick, pizza-slinging guy.

“Aw drivel, what am I gonna do with a pizza now? ” — a demon

This “joke” got so out of control that actor Jonathan Banks( who plays the sexagenarian hitman Mike) threatened to “hunt down” those who did this. That’s an outcome the home’s owner is frantic to experience, judging from this clue TAGEND Although that’s precisely what person privately cooking meth would say .

At least some followers seem to have gotten the message and are learning less invasive ways to get their damn pizza ceiling photos.

“Thanks, but maybe you should do some other situation, like going dissolved in acid maybe.”

# 5. The Owner Of The Goonies House Becomes A Reluctant Hermit

You grab your Wheaties container and sit down to breakfast. You gaze out the window at the clearly defined and sunny morning … and then you see it. A man, his shirt pulled up to his chin, shaking his flabby belly all over your front ground. He is, without a doubt, 30 years old. Throughout the day, more souls start, of all sizes and conditions, all pulling their shirts up and waggling their guts. All of them, indisputably, 30.

This, all day, every day .

This was the existence of the owner of the Goonies house. When she originally obtained the home over 10 years ago, visits were few and far between, so she was more than happy to invite beings inside for a speedy tour at the time. But with the coming into effect of Twitter and the upcoming remake of the 1980 s classic, unannounced calls increased substantially — to the tune of thousands of belly-dancing 30 -somethings a daytime. To represent questions worse, the city officials themselves supported this awkward behavior, to the chagrin of the unhappy homeowner.

Tired of the endless ocean of tourists, the owner ultimately walled herself away from “the worlds”, putting up whale blue tarps to hide her famous house and setting up clues trying to convey her pathetic surface of the story.

“Please, pectin now fetches me to tears.”

Apparently, overgrown children with an undying passion for ‘8 0s nostalgia usurped it was their advantage — nay, their right — to have unlimited access to this poor woman’s residence. Above all, Goonies never say “re growing up” and stop watching kids’ movies.

# 4. Beings Keep Ghost-Hunting At The Conjuring House

Everybody enjoys a good terrifying floor, but nothing am willing to live in one. Regrettably for the recipients of the members of this house put forward in The Conjuring , that’s exactly what happened to them when their home unexpectedly became far-famed for being full of haunts( according to a “based on real events” movie about two uncovered fraudsters, regardless ).

For months, the poorest of the poor elderly duet endured trespassers traipsing through their ground searching for the souls of the dead they presupposed must inhabit this peaceful British dwelling, simply since they are determined it in a movie once. The detail that the people who’ve lived there for decades say that they’ve never seen a soul didn’t seem to deter them. It’s not like they shot the movie there; the real neighbourhood doesn’t even look like the create they used.

“Holy shit, it’s a reptilian shapeshifter very! ”

The real fear here is being in your 70 s and constantly having flashlights glint through your spaces at three in the morning. That’s heart-attack-inducingly panicking at any age, which is a potentially huge problem, to review the gentleman who is resident in the members of this house actually has a center health . If there isn’t a specter there now, there might be at some detail because of these assholes. The harried pair regularly had to break the news to hopeful devotees that The Conjuring was just a movie and their home is just a room, merely to have brand-new visitors show up the following week. That’s worse than any curse Hollywood could think up.

When people weren’t peeping in the couple’s spaces, the latter are announcing the couple on the phone and uploading YouTube videos of their illegal tours of the home. Often, the poorest of the poor homeowners had no idea the interlopers had been present on their grounds until the videos demo up online.

Thankfully, The Cumjuring porn lampoon was filmed elsewhere .

But at least the elderly duo doesn’t have any gullible young children … unlike the inhabitants of the Haunting In Connecticut dwelling. In their occurrence, beings would barge up to the front doorway in order to tell the young ones living inside that their live was entirely recurred, because they’re not the ones who are gonna “re going to have to” calm down the calling little critters afterward.

“That’s claim, supernatural occasions prevail. Except Santa. He’s forgery as hell.”

# 3. Copulation And The City Devotees Have Destroyed All Happiness

Despite all the hate spewed at Sarah Jessica Parker every time an Internet angel gets its fedora, Sex And The City was and still is a hugely popular TV see. The first follow-up movie obliged $57 million in its first weekend, while the show’s initial sale into syndication guided TBS $ 700,000 per chapter . That’s enough to actually have sex with everyone in the city, we’re pretty sure.

Clearly, Carrie Bradshaw and her gal buddies are a hot commodity. So it only constitutes sense that Carrie’s swanky townhouse would be a piece of prime belonging unless it is real. Which, of course, it wholly is TAGEND Unfortunately for the also-real people who live there .

After the film’s release in 2008, throngs of rabid devotees traveled to Perry Street to plow an average vicinity like it was a Disney World attraction. While the tours facilitated boost sales in neighbourhood stores and bakeries, love were so rude that they would litter wall street with cupcake liners after recreating that iconic background in which Carrie and Miranda gobble cupcakes on a bench. You know the one. No? Neither do we, but something tells us it was both fornication and municipality as all fuck.

Practical use for a butt pack #37: portable trashcan

This blatant disregard for Mother Earth get so out of hand that one neighborhood occupant described wall street as a “hellhole, ” while another took to sitting outside her apartment and hollering “Idiot! ” at anyone who would listen, because she is the hero we deserve. Seriously, if she was digitally inserted into every escapade, we’d actually watch this show.

Eventually, the Perry Street holders won their hard-fought combat and had their street collected from the show’s tours. The cupcake zombies moved on to infect other regions of New York, eventually committing those people some armistice. That is, until SJP started a new shoe text, and guess where she decided to promote it?

We’re no manner experts, but a line of single shoes seems kinda stupid. You usually necessary at the least two .

Just when they conceived “peoples lives” were back to normal, Parker waltzed right back into them for the purposes of an unauthorized photo shoot on the steps of the place she formerly announced pretend-home — discounting a “do NOT go on staircase please” clue the owners had to install. Perhaps she didn’t see it? Yeah, that’s perhaps it. She absolutely missed the signed while taking a picture of it.

Putting a chain around a lieu typically represents “please come here and mess up all our shit.”

# 2. The Person Who Preserve The Jersey Shore House Had To Repaint It On A Weekly Basis

This might come as a surprise to you, but it is about to change that die-hard followers of Jersey Shore are various kinds of douchey. Not satisfied with simply taking ghastly selfies in front of the members of this house where Snookie slept, these super devotees wanted to leave a part of themselves behind, celebrating up the walls with memoes to the shed. The casting that only lived there for two months a year.

That’s what you get for unleashing “The Situation” on an gullible commonwealth .

They even took pieces of the house home with them, rending off chunks of the ceiling, walls, and whatever they could get their grubby fingers on to ensure they had a permanent slouse of video disaster record forever in their homes.That’s about as stylish as taking some goop from the Chernobyl nuclear plant, and possibly about as toxic.

The owneds have clarified that they’re not liable for any bacterial warfare agents these parties might catch as a result .

The house was meant to be rented out in the off-season, but the realty firm had to pay for weekly upkeep and repainting in order to keep the place searching respectable. They also had to hire protection to prevent away the multitudes of coconut-oil-smelling vandals. While the display was in make, upkeep tariffs fell to the show’s producers, but that gravy train derailed years ago. Then again, the owners charge $ 2,500 for a one-night stand in this perfectly median residence, so perhaps they’ll manage to get ahead after all.

# 1. The Mrs. Doubtfire House Had A Unending Shrine To Robin Williams In Its Yard

The world was dazed when we lost the paragon of childhood slapstick last year. And naturally, followers seemed the need to gather together to comfort one another through their shared loss. Unfortunately for one 79 -year-old man, hundreds of them decided to band together outside his San Francisco home — the house stimulated eternally famed for being visible for a few minutes in Mrs. Doubtfire .

On the report of Robin Williams’ passing, fans gathered outside the residence to pile stacks of heydays, slides, and movie memorabilia in affection reminiscence of their favorite wacky performer. The problem is that the piles originated so high-pitched that it became literally impossible to leave the house via the figurehead door.

Built-in zombie/ Jehovah’s Witness/ Avon Lady deterrent, though. So, upside .

This year, the front doorway remained accessible, but heartbroken followers are still coming to scribble all over the sidewalk and rock-and-roll garden-variety instead.

Even the Smurfs were sad about Williams .

In spite of it all, the homeowner( who is a retired surgeon) “ve never” mentioned a single disparaging observe about the commemorations and never-ending sea of love. But how could he, right? You can’t be the person who alleges, “Walking out my entrance to a enshrine for a beloved dead performer various kinds of blows sometimes, you guys” without immediately being branded an asshole for life. On surface of everything, he had to deal with a disgruntled ex-patient of his setting fire to his garage, which is like the plan of one of the more upsetting Williams movies( you know, like Old Dogs ).

By comparison, the Mork And Mindy mansion, and even Williams’ own home, are left nearly completely alone.

Vietnam remains largely unchanged, more .

The obvious respect for the Williams family’s privacy is a wonderful thing to see. Maybe the same courtesy should be extended to the person in the Mrs. Doubtfire residence. There’s always that bench in Boston.