#which is the only reason why jackie even stays with jeff

[strangenessandcharrn]

something so personal about the parallel that is travis saying "quit acting like such a saint" to natalie (someone who is constantly being thought guilty of sin- though they never had sex) and shauna loving the saints because 'they were all so tragic' and then eulogizing jackie as a saint (someone who travis had sex with before her death)

they're so who is the lamb and who is the knife coded

[docholligay]

Ep 9: Shauna

Hello! This is about up to Episode 9 of Yellowjackets, and ONLY episode 9 of Yellowjackets. I have not seen beyond the ninth episode, at all, and know NOTHING about this show. Please do not spoil it for me.  Things that are spoilery in nature, for me, include: saying things like  “Just wait!!” confirming or denying anything I put forward, outside information about the cast interviews or creator statements, leading questions like “Do you think “blank moment” means anything?” etc. Remember  that Y’ALL HAVE SEEN THE SHOW AND I HAVE NOT. This informs the way you  talk about things relating to the show. Just be really careful is all  I’m asking. Also: If there is LITERALLY any stance I  could take on this show or character that would make you upset, please  just fucking block the tag

If you WOULD like to discuss the show and my takes on it, the Discord is right here! I don’t go there, so it’s a great place to get every emotion out.

Please thank @sailorsunspot and @moonlight-frittata for backing this odd way of doing a liveblog, and remember my tip jar is always open

I love all of Shauna’s shit in this.

Shauna stabs Adam not because he lied to her, though she’s not thrilled about that, but because Shauna has such a fear of being found out. Shauna knows that at core, she is a creature. That she can kill, and has killed. That she can dismember, that she can be cold. That she can betray. That she longs to betray. No one can know that, that has to stay Shauna’s secret, and he is at the very precipice of getting close enough to realize, close enough to know, and so I’m not even sure the conscious level of Shauna stabs him, but that second layer of Shauna, simmering just under the surface, the basement of the house where Jackie lives, and accuses Shauna. 

Of course, this is all paired with the fact that Shauna desperately wants to be found out. To be exposed. For her monstrous predator nature to be made known. This is why she’s always so crap at hiding stuff--her shitty spot for the diary, the flight number as the code on the safe, her book club lies to Jeff--She got into Brown, she’s not that fucking stupid. She wants to be found out. She wants to scream that she is dangerous and not to be fucked with, but she can’t, because she has to be this idea she has of Shauna. She is the wolf in sheep’s clothing, and wants everyone to know it, and so she leaves these simple, easy breadcrumbs to be followed. 

It’s teenage Shauna, the wolf inside, that does this. 

And I knew it was going to happen, because I’m not sure what is going on with Adam--I still do not think he was somehow God’s most innocent lamb, though maybe I’m just sticking to my story because I hate being wrong--but whatever is going on with Adam is playing into all those feelings Shauna has not only of people discovering that she is a creature, but on an even simpler level, Adam is Jeff all over again. Adam is Shauna assuring herself that the popular, cute boy wants her, really wants her, not Jackie, not the pretty girls, but SHAUNA, and Adam ruins that with the possibility of having wanted her for manipulative reasons, of having wanted to discover her not because she is dangerous and sexy but because she is PROFITABLE. That’s the big hurt, that he never wanted her. That god forbid, Callie was right. 

It’s a lot going on! It’s a lot of feelings! But they all go back to teenage Shauna’s feelings of inadequacy and that monster under the surface, the one who took immediately to butchering. That’s why we see teenage Shauna take out the knife, because in many ways, she still IS teenage Shauna. Teenage Shauna who isn’t thinking about what they would be doing if they hadn’t crashed because some part of her knows she never ever would have goen to Brown. She never would have confronted Jackie. 

I mean even in fucking killing Adam, which, way to go girl, you’re making choices in your life I guess. They’re these, but they are choices! Even then, when Jeff says, “You murdered someone?” she doesn’t say yes, she says, “I stabbed hm and he died” even in this she cannot let herself be honest about her actions. Sure, she stabbed him and he died, but that was just a series of events, that wasn’t her MURDERING him. They may be the same on paper, but she’s a writer, and any writer knows that connotation is everything. Word choice matters. 

By the way, I absolutely love everything that happens with Shauna and Jeff, not because I was right (though we all know I love that) but because I think it proves so much about how she and Jeff always were perfect for each other, and Jackie was the outlier, not Shauna. When he says, “We’ve always been these people,” that is the most perfect way of summing it up that I could possibly think of. They are both duplicitous, desperate people, who do things in the darkness. It’s who they are, it’s who they’ve always been. 

That being said, I don’t know if I think Shauna deserves Jeff. Jeff was not lying, I don’t think, when he said he didn’t want to have married Jackie, that he loves Shauna. I think that is very clear in all of his actions. His first reaction when she reveals that she killed someone is to take the fall for it. That he refuses to let her take the fall “for something he did” even though Shauna very much was the one who stabbed Adam because he hurt her feelings and got too close.

[alovevigilante]

George Carlin: Trix, are for kids.

Kari: Well, Mikey likes it.

George: That’s life. My point exactly.

Kari: What is this in reference to exactly?

George: Cereal.

Kari: why are we discussing cereal? I was politely drinking my coffee, and keeping to myself...

George: you forget, you think ass thoughts, so I’m here, to interrupt your negative flow.

Kari: what was I thinking about?

George: ass.

Kari: I was?! I didn’t even realize I was entertaining that.

George: Kari, you’ve been entertaining ass all this time and you don’t even know it...

Kari: I do? Is it amused?

George: very.

Kari: well then, I guess that’s good?

George: are you happy right now?

Kari: not particularly.

George: then it’s not good.

Kari: right. So, you’re saying that you interrupted my flow, with cereal. Why?

George: couple of reasons: 1. It’s breakfast time, and I’m hungry.

Kari: I’m not.

George: yeah, i noticed.

Kari: ok, well, what’s the second reason?

George: you don’t even realize it, do you?

Kari: probably not. What is it?

George: you are now, alone, and talking to yourself. And I’m not ok with it.

Kari: why not?

George: cause you have a friend waiting to invest in you, and you’re ignoring him.

Kari: I am?!

George: yes.

Kari: ok, who is it?

George: your son. He wants you to talk to him about silly shit. And you are sitting here, wallowing in your old energy of career woes.

Kari: I was?! I’m talking to him!

George: yes, but not fully. So, go give your full attention to him! Watch his Cookie Monster make shit in his food truck even though he’s a monster, and he lives on a street with weird animals that talk, and people who don’t think that’s at all unusual.

Kari: I’ve always wanted to live there too..

George: I know. You’re weird too.

Kari: yeah. So I’ve been told and thought of that way...

George: besides, you’re entirely too filthy to live there because of your ass talk.

Kari: maybe I could live with Oscar... He’s pretty filthy too.

George: no, he already lives with Chong. Besides, Frank oz has banned you from there for life because of your nut bag naughty talk.

Kari: oh... ok. Well, dreams are not all they’re cracked up to be sometimes anyway, I guess.

George: your dreams aren’t you. You create them. Do you think you’d really be happy living on Sesame Street?

Kari: no, I’m pretty ok not doing that.

George: right. So, be cool where you are, and then once that happens, you can move on up to the east side. But before you do that, you have to be cool, with you.

Kari: oh shit. I’m never going to be the Jeffersons, ok?! I’m going to be working on this forever.... I feel like I’ll never get there.

George: well, you won’t if you sit on the internet writing about how you won’t, and avoiding engaging in your present moment which is where you are physically right now in your three dimensional reality.

Karl: good point.

George: it’s why I’m here.

Kari: ok, well, bye for now, I guess.

George; I’m coming with you. There’s nothing going on on here without you. I’m done with the sifting through sexy illustrations to entertain the few who dig them.

Belushi, John: I’m not!

George: yes, we are.

Kari: ok, well, let’s go.

John: noooooooooooooooooo....

George: yes.

Kari: I’m tired.

George: Leave us here then.

John Belushi: yes!!!

Kari: ok, cool. See ya whenever.

Richard Pryor: (to George) listen, she is my pal, ok? I’m not cool with her leaving us here to be ourselves on the internet. I’m not ok with that. Ok?! So no. And I’m mad. And I’m sad. And I’m not going to take it anymore. And I’m going to hold my breath and turn pink and beige and purple and cry and scream and joke and get my dick caught in my fly, and pee on my radio I walk around with, and discuss taboo subjects that most women wouldn’t go near with a ten foot dick asshole combo pole, cause she and I are cool, ok? So leave it be, George!

George: ok, Richie.That’s the reason why she’s upset. This energy she’s writing, is us man, ok? It’s not her. That’s the reason why she’s yelling every five minutes about famous people that she has a slight, marginal interest in.

Kari: that’s actually not true.

George: then why are you yelling?

Kari: ok, well, a few reasons. 1. I’m Italian, so it goes without stereotypical saying, 2. I’m mad, because you guys won’t shut it, and mainly 3. Because these are the NUT BAG MOTHBALLS that made me want to go into the entertainment field to begin with.

George: why does that make you mad and yell?

Kari: because I need a job, and I’m now the laughing stock of Hollywood because of my ass writing! And now, I feel the need to go back to school, to make myself into something I’m not, to get paid in a job that I’m not qualified for, ok?! No. It’s not ok. I’m not ok with it!!! I’m pissed that I decided to chase a dream that didn’t pan out, and didn’t fulfill me, because I found out too late, that I didn’t invest fully, in believing in myself. I listened to what everyone else thought about me, and I swallowed it. I didn’t feel like I belonged anywhere, because I felt like I wasn’t accepted or liked. And that completely fucked me up. I’m still like that. And instead of caring about myself, and supporting myself internally, I changed my career, and spent our nest egg on being a designer for an exhibit that I couldn’t pull off for various reasons with help from my husband and a handful of others, trying to prove myself to people and the world at large that I was worth investing in, and that they themselves, were also worth investing in. I just have nothing to go back to... Sigh... It’s a longer story than war or peace...

Belushi, John: or this story you’re telling now...

Kari: Belushi, I’m not in the mood. I will string you up by your grubby lil toes and wave your ass all around Chicagoland because I don’t leave my city often, and display you in the next thanksgiving day parade here, on state street, next to the second bozo which isn’t too shabby but he’s no bob bell which he literally isn’t, and svengoolie, who should be in the parade, but isn’t! Ok?! So start with me again, poop bucket! I’m not in the mood to scoop your shit today, ok?! Yeahhh! And now on top of all that, I have to tend to you cause you’re a pain in my ass, I have to go back to school which I don’t have the dough or energy to do, I’m going to be over 50 before I can have enough credits and credentials so I can prove to society that I’m qualified to be a professional something or other, and I’ll be in the hole another hundred grand at least, and no, autocorrect, I’m not bitter, I’m sad, and lost, and aggravated, and done with all of this.

Belushi, John: pft... women...

Kari: I’ll give you women, ok? You take away the w in women and that’s what you’re gonna get from me in about 5 milliseconds ok? The Omen! Ok?! And not just because I have my lady time, ok?!!? Just start running now.. run for the Hollywood hills...

Belushi John: ha! The jokes on her, she’ll never go there...

Kari: I will go just to pin you up by your asscheeks, and go to verbally pummel the douche that made the “Jeff” meme go viral. But, my neighbor’s name is also Jeff. Do check out HIS good shit, cause he’s an amazing guitarist... just sayin... so shut your pie ass flap mouth butt jerk fach John Belushi head!

Belushi, John: No! Now wait a minute! Wait just a cotton pickin John candy corn minute...

John candy; No.

George: see Richie?! That’s why we can’t do this anymore... This shit is out of control.

Richard: ok, Kari, I get all of this, ok? I really do. Listen, we all got a good thing going here, ok? You’re like a man that looks like a woman, and you’re fun, and we can say our shit, and talk about the shit, and be the best of us without getting bashed by the critics, and no one gives a shit, ok?

Kari: But they do give a shit!!!

Richard: but do you?

Kari: I guess I do....

George: yeah, that’s what we’ve been working on thinking ourselves out of. Where have you been, Richie?!

Rick James: cocaine is a hell of a drug...

Richard: So let’s stay here and be cool, Kari, ok?! You’re as honest as fuck, ok? And that’s really honest. And we can work it out together, ok? And you won’t talk shit about bill Murray anymore cause Harold Ramis decided that he’s no fun anymore anyway.

Harold ramis: it’s true. Bill Murray is no fun anymore anyway.

(George turns back to Kari.)

George: Kari?

Kari: right. Scene.

George: no! Kari. You! Just fucking finally be ok, with you! You are also, this, in a way. And you know it. You’ve just never been brave enough to trust it, or let anyone see it! So bring it back around.

Kari: how the hell can I do that?! This shit went all over creation, ok?! I don’t know how to bring it back! We went from negative subconscious thoughts to not spending time with my son who’s taking to me about Cookie Monster and Swedish pancakes or something cause I’m half listening and not present writing you goofballs, to living with Oscar and Chong in oscars garbage can on Sesame Street, and then Richard wants to stay and yell about his sore dick without people being pissed about it, and Belushi, John wants to weed though dirty pics for the rest of my life....

John: I do, I really do...

Jackie mason: and Richard screams like a kid, that’s turns all shades of colors cause he’s pitching a fit, and she is a visibly labeled a white woman even though she doesn’t define or identify herself like that, but people don’t know where she’s coming from, so they potentially think she’s a racist and a lunatic cause they’ve never met her before, and she’s talking more shit than Steve Martin did as Navin r. Johnson in the jerk, and everyone accepted that shit, and she’s also talking like dead and live celebrities! They don’t know her from shit, or shineola, and yet they avoid her like she is shit, because of all of this! And Harold ramis called bill Murray a sad sack of potatoes the other day, and her only 2 points of reference to zets him are ghostbusters and meatballs! And she’s sick of it! Ok?! I’m done too! We all are! How many times can she talk about meatballs the movie in her life?! There’s a limit! And if there isn’t, there should be! And I’m even done with the meatballs, ok?! And that’s saying something! It is!!!! Cause I’m not Italian, but I normally love meatballs! And people are like, “why the hell is she talking about that movie meatballs? It’s 700 years old!” And moreover, most people are like, “what the hell is she talking about cause I’ve never even heard of the movie meatballs ever!!!” Ok?! So no! No to all of this!!!! And you don’t need an optigrab to see THAT! (Put the emphasis on the single syllable, THAT! Please read this stage direction out loud. Didn’t? Go back to the beginning of this scene, and do it all over again. Thank you- the management... read this part too... out loud. Yes.) oy. She’s a real nus pilke!

Kari: How the hell do I put a button on this nut ball scene?!

George: Kari, it’s breakfast time. Ok? So go eat.

Kari: righto.

Arthur Spooner: you owe the king of queens 7 zillion dollars and ten cents for the use of the word, “righto” as residual payment for quotes.

Kari: put it on my tab.

Steve Martin: ahhhhh yessss... your TAB.... (Steve paces around in silence for effect) You, mrs. Smartyshortlessbutyouareshortsoyes, owe me, the very abundant Steve Marin, THI-RTY big ones.... yes!!!! Thirty whole CENTS, for the shineola and optigrab reference, NOT to mention but I will because I always do, the use of the word tab, because I, Steve Martin alone, featured it in the jerk the movie, back in 1979, which I can’t remember, because I’ve been too obsessed with blue grasses for the last umpteen years! So yes, mrs. Keillornopantscausetheygowayupyournetherlandsnevertoreturnagain, I’m mad at you, a woman I don’t know about and have never met and don’t want to cause I’m a very busy and important star, yessss, and I hate you, even though all the aforementioned shit, and shineola, which I can say without crediting or paying myself, or I can’t, check said THAT! Not to mention that now I am a big time master class leader teacher, which puts me next in line to be the Pope of comedy not funny, erase it, no, and you are a grammatical mess, with your run on sentences and lack of proper punctuation...

John Cleese and Eric idly watching in agreement: quite.

John Cleese: I also teach a masters class in comedy.

Steve Martin: .... Which means yes to me, and yes to John Cleese, but no, to you, Kari keillor, for your ass talk. And if Carl Reiner was here, he’d say the same thing, only with a wink, and a gotcha!!!! Mr. serious Steve Martin, which I am, cause I forgot who was talking, so stick THAT in your pipe, and smoke it, lady!!!!

Joe Tex: 🥸🎶 He GOTCHA! 🎶

Kari: oh duck....

George: go now, before it gets worse.

Kari: ok, fine! I’ll put a button on this shit myself!!!! Kellogg’s Frosted Flakes are grrrrrrreat!

Tony the Tiger: you owe Kellogg’s 10 cents bitch...

John: man, that tiger is an assss!

George: listen Kari, feeling grrrrreat is a bit too lofty of an energy from where your at right now in this scene to be able to maintain it. Try for a bran cereal. That’s the next best energy for your mood, and it’ll help you to eliminate this shit.

Kari: ok. Plop, plop, fizz fizz oh what a relief it is...

George: close enough.

Scene.

P.S. I do love ALL my ladies of comedy. Yes, all... including the men.

This monologue/scene, is written by me, and for no one but me. I’m pretty sure it will now ensure my demise in the entertainment industry, and most likely go down, as the worst piece of shit, ever written. I will now go, and search the want ads, and forget all about this.... hopefully.

Appendices: I found 2 potential job leads. Fingers crossed 🤞....

[jan-uinely]

hot takes [pt. ii]

good[e] morning campers! we have more thoughts on \_ |_ | _/  RuPaul’s Drag Race episode 9... because i have nothing better to think about... lol. This is a novel, btw. 

SO... I have said it before and i will say it again... the in memorium segment gave me life. Robot Barbie Cheerleader. also RIP to jan’s clear drink in untucked. 

Let’s get into the gig, because why not. Unsure if readers are aware, but I am very politically minded. [do I use tumblr as a way to put politics aside for a little while? sure. but I have also worked on campaigns, did not take Elizabeth warren dropping out of the presidential race well... I mean she dropped at the beginning of march and now look at where we are.... anyWAYs.]

I did not like this episode. I did not like the challenge. From what I understand, the only other time this challenge was done was in season 4, but I stopped watching season 4 when sharon wore a conf*derate flag bodysuit for a mini challenge, prior to which she wore a mccain/palin shirt. I still don’t know if it was a joke, but #yeet. 

So this episode took the place of a “roast”/ stand up episode. Those are usually fine. They separate folks a little bit more. But, as someone who followed the recent primary with a VERY close eye, but was could also be humorous about it... Debates are hard to do. What makes a debate work is that everyone is well versed on everyone else’s platform, and knows how to attack them, because they have been the same person the whole time. For some reason, everyone “invented” a different character to play.... no one had a real platform... and it’s really hard to ~volley~ when people don’t really understand everyone’s characters. I also think, similar to the democratic primary- that there were too many people on stage. I also think snatch game happened too early... but that’s another story never mind anyway [did you catch that into the woods/bernadette peters joke???? @ JAN ]. 

So everyone has these “characters” which for the most part are not super consistent with who they’ve been portraying on the show... which makes it challenging. Then, it was moderated very poorly, and then edited together very poorly. There was no flow... it was very choppy. Again... not a fan. 

Season 8 also had a political challenge, but if i remember correctly, that was just a branding challenge kind of. It was better than this. Now, do I appreciate the fact that Drag Race is taking this election very seriously?? YES. But this challenge was just Not It. 

I thought Jaida was very consistent, I liked Jackie’s a lot [It seems like a running gag that she is too prepared in the same way that Jan was too energetic... which has its own election flashbacks....] I am really enjoying crystal... I thought she also had what was close to a fully formed character.. it just needed to bake a little more. 

So... next up... ms. goode. #cringe. tbh I don’t care about the performance. Were they just trying to redo snatch game? basically. were they the only person to try and do that? No. 

This mirror chat was the bomb dot com tho. best part of the episode.

We’re talking about the “oh i’m not political” We knew from episode one that Gigi grew up in a lot of privilege- and wasn’t the only one [@ jan] but jesus has it shown in gigi the most... I mean bob the drag queen said it best.. Gigi goode’s mom vs Jaida Essence Hall. 

But the nerve to openly say “i’m not political, and I don’t like it” when you KNOW at this point in time what the contestants have gone through... it’s just really insensitive. Also to be the open front runner knowing that the RPDR fans can be young and impressionable.. is really irresponsible TBH. 

Guess what? I don’t like to follow the news sometimes. I don’t watch tr*mp’s press conferences. Sometimes I log off twitter and go to tumblr. But I still stay INFORMED on the issues and am able to back up my positions. I VOTE. [cannot believe i’m saying this but i would not be surprised if gigi did not vote in 2016.]

[sidebar]

Maybe it’s bc I stan jan in a way that I have stanned no one else before [the only ru girl who even comes close to it while I was actively watching the show without prior knowledge is naomi] Maybe it’s combined with the quarantine that I have nothing else to do. And with that comes a [virtual] introduction to basically everybody who’s anybody in the NYC drag scene. [I will say the Bob-Monet-Cracker-Jan quad is just A+] So maybe I just have a better idea of what it is [have I gone down a Youtube rabbit hole on this subject? yes] 

Is new york also my personal favorite city? yes. Have I been to LA? no. Do I like the concept of LA? no. Have I been west of the mississippi river? no. So maybe it’s a combination of all of these things [including Jan saying on repeat that New York is the greatest city to do drag] but. The NYC girls are just so much more political. Brita, Bob, MOnet, tbh Jan is also on the record saying some A+ shiz. Marti Cummings is a non binary drag artist running for city council in manhattan. “Everybody black and aquaria.” 

Is NYC politics like any city, full of machines and garbage too? Sure. But NYC is just so much more powerful and political. LA is just the embodiment of privilege.

 I also think it’s interesting that some of the smaller town/city gals will move to LA [Trixie/Katya/Alaska? I’m looking @ you] after they get the drag race coin. Not that it’s a bad thing or anything, it’s just an interesting dynamic. [another aside: the non NY/LA girls deserve it all and i think it’s really powerful when the show directly addresses issues of wealth/privilege/access to drag on the show.] 

[end sidebar]

And Gigi came into the competition saying “I want to be on vogue” which is great. Their fashion sense is great. Most of their outfits are great. It’s great that they can do comedy [sometimes- like when they are not playing the role of Gigi] But something else I take issue with- and don’t get me wrong humility is great- is the whole “I’m not a dancer” that’s BS. they whole back handspring etc, madonna challenge. Maybe you weren’t a trained dancer, but ffs cut the crap. [if you haven’t look up gigi goode showgirls] 

And yet the judges continue to give Gigi [and SP] free passes. It’s like Ru is so afraid that if either of them end up in the bottom, they won’t turn it out and then there will be no frontrunner. Well guess what? In season 7, Max had 2 wins before anyone else and came in 9th. valentina going home was a total gag. Brooke and Yvie lip synced on the snatch game ep. But Apparently when the skinny white fashion queen from the big city [gigi, aquaria] does less than well, they don’t get put up for elimination??? [did aquaria deserve to lip sync for the makeover? idk.]

Gigi is getting a “winner” edit and it’s not really fair to anyone. People who should have won certain challenges were IGNORED, and instead the producers give all the credit to gigi, giving them almost a worse edit. Like we want to see humans, not robots. If we learned ANYTHING from last week is that the judges don’t like when you just “start on 100 and stay there THE WHOLE TIME”. Bc the truth is that [aside from the loads and loads and loads of privilege,] Gigi is really nice and very talented. But I, as a viewer of reality TV, live to see the perfect fail. I want everyone to shine [this is why I loved when Naomi sent manila home, oops] 

Also.. I would like to address the fact that Gigi basically used the same outfit twice... this runway and entrance look have almost the same pattern, with just a slightly different skirt type. I would like for this behavior to be called out bc it is such a memorable silhouette. 

Also- Shout out to Crystal for the most bomb ass runway... I want that whole outfit pls. 

but aside from that... TBH I just want a show with the real top 7 [ the heidi and widow have been cracking me up saying “we’re at top 5″ or “we’re at top 6″ before the ep aired on instagram and I’m loling.. and that VERY AWK moment when Jan is on the x change rate saying that they couldn’t justify putting anyone other that her and widow in the bottom bc gigi and 3 wins and trying to work around not saying SP’s name had 2. [also shout out to jan the real mvp for unfollowing SP on twitter]] doing competitions and having fun. And I’ve said this before. This is a really good season that did not need production’s handprints all over everything. But they chose to cast RuPaul’s Best Friend Race, so they shouldn’t be complaining or trying to manufacture drama.

I was cracking up when Jaida was [clearly prodded by producers] asking is there anything we need to talk about? and then Jackie goes to talk to widow right before they leave and they are just nice to each other. lol no drama here. It’s the season of the inner saboteur. 

So Jackie and widow are in the bottom and tbh I don’t know. I would have liked to see Gigi lip sync. I would have liked this challenge to not happen. but it did. The lip sync song.. I just didn’t love the cut... Katy perry’s voice is so over produced [trend alert] that the illusion of the lip sync didn’t work in the first chorus. Jackie’s plastic bag was just A+. These lip syncs, tbh starting w jan v widow have been very good. not good enough to make up for the garbage that was everything since ep. 3, but close. [and some of that was song choice, some of it was not. I will say brita killed her first one but rip to rock]

Jeff gold bloom. I just don’t know. Maybe it’s bc I never saw jurassic park. Maybe he was just a bad judge. maybe he too was being prodded by production. ugh. You can read the takes on his interactions with jackie somewhere else. 

[mashitandsmashit]

America’s Got Talent: The Champions - Final Results

I’VE BEEN LIED TO!!!

Like I said, I heard the final results from some random Youtuber(s) commenting on various videos, and they said that the winner was Darci Lynne...They also said that Angelica Hale came in Fifth and Susan Boyle came in Fourth, which would have made sense since the former has become stupid popular for some reason and the latter is practically Got Talent royalty...While I would have been fine with those results (even if I disagreed with Angelica’s ranking), the actual Top 5 was more like it!

Preacher has always been more personality than laugh-out-loud jokes, but he’s easily one of the most (if not THE most) memorable comedians we’ve seen on this show, and I’m very happy that he made the Top 5 this time...As for Cristina, well, I think she speaks...or belts out at the top of her lungs...for herself...

Of course, the Top 3 was still Shin, Darci and Kseniya as I was told, and Kseniya still came in Third...But by the time Shin and Darci were the last two standing, I did start to put those other comments saying that Shin actually wins into consideration...And in the end, is it really any surprise that the pretty-boy magician fresh off of his victory from the previous season of the main series was crowned champion? (And I love how they built up whether he or Deadly Games would get the last spot in the Top 5, as if ANYONE thought it could go any differently!) Maybe Darci would have had a better chance if she wasn’t only the third act of the night last week, but still...

As I was gonna point out, when I “knew” Darci was gonna win, first of all it would have made her the first wildcard to win on this show...But I guess second place is still a record! Also, the main reason why she was at the top of my “rooting for” list prior to last week’s show was because “knowing” she was gonna win, I was REALLY hoping she’d do something special to earn that win...And I’d say she didn’t disappoint...

Nonetheless, Shin was my favorite last week for taking the mind-blowingness to a new level, and I’d say he very well earned his victory! Had he done that for his final performance last season, I’d have been less conflicted over him winning over Zurcaroh and Brian King Joseph...Hell, I might have been about ready to name him my favorite of that season, but against those two acts, it’s hard to say...

And Kseniya is the newest entry in a series of Third-Placers who were arguably the most unique and creative of the season...The only difference this time is that the two who beat her were indeed superior in my opinion...Nonetheless, like last season, the Top 3 were also MY Top 3...except this time they actually ranked how I would rank them! Hell, even #4 was pretty much my #4! And I like #5 enough to have no complaints...

Quite ironic that such a poorly-handled “season” had the most satisfying final results to date! Sure, I would have loved a winner who didn’t already win in the past, especially a recent AGT season (as I’ve been detecting bias towards acts from the last three seasons...when Simon was a judge...as well as BGT, where Simon is also a judge...) But again, said winners were the ones who rose above and beyond for the final round!

And despite all the singers in the finals who I would have traded for someone like Tape Face, Prince Poppycock or even Kenichi Ebina despite his recent limitations...Well...None of them made the Top 5! The only singers who made the Top 5 were the young ventriloquist and the rock opera diva, singers who have unique quirks that make them MEMORABLE!

This might be a sign that despite Simon’s constant pushing for homogenization with singers meant to inspire you...to take Prozac, voters are starting to push back and make it about who THEY came to see! Perhaps Cowellization (Copyright, frankensteindr, 2016) is finally starting to lose its power over America! But I guess I’ll just have to wait and see how things go next season before I jump to conclusions...

As for the performances, they were pretty much all great! Some people have picked apart The Clairvoyants’ trick, and when you get down to it, I guess it’s not THAT impressive...But they definitely had me going for a moment...That said, they’re no Shin Lim...

Speaking of whom, of course he performs his trick with a random celebrity, and since they couldn’t afford Andy Samberg, they got the next name down on Terry’s “Brooklyn Nine-Nine” connections...Like last week, it started off simple, but got pretty nuts by the end...Not his best trick, but overall pretty solid! Also, it looks like Shin’s finally gaining some confidence in speaking during performances...He’s no Jon Dorenbos in THAT department yet, but he’s getting somewhere...

Preacher’s video package of him trying to team up with the other acts was just great! Even putting him aside (and believe me, he DESERVES to have a TV show or something), it’s just great watching all the other acts (and Terry) take part in his little comedy video...They should do something like this more often!

Also, Brian Justin Crum needs to team up with Cristina Ramos more often, because that performance was beyond electrifying! Easily Brian’s best singing so far, and his harmonies with Cristina only boosted it! I guess it makes sense seeing that both of them sang Queen in the past...Oh yeah, and they tacked Deadly Games in there...Well, I’ll give them credit for speeding through all those stunts while two people were belting it out behind them; It must have been a LITTLE distracting...But it was all tricks we’ve seen them do before...For once, I was paying more attention to the singers than the danger act...

Speaking of awesome acts boosting less awesome acts...Or perhaps the other way around...I guess while Voices of Hope was not the act from last season I was hoping to see perform with Tokio Myers (I already named who two weeks ago, so I won’t bother), this really is what they were always meant for: Performing back-up! Overall, it was still all about Tokio, but I guess the choir is a nice touch...Much better than just them performing...

Glad to see they’re at least showing SOME appreciation for the impact Jackie Evancho has had on the show by bringing her back as a guest to promote her new album...And once again, a beautiful performance! I’m not gonna lie, when I first heard the line-up, I was actually kinda rooting for her to win Champions (because as a non-winner, she had a better chance than Susan Boyle, let’s be honest here...) At the very least, again, I would have loved to have her in the finals, instead of all these last-three-seasons acts who WISH they could have a FRACTION of the impact that Jackie has made...(The best of the best, my tailbone!)

Cirque du Soleil was awesome...In other news, the sky is blue...A MYSTIC BLUE!

And finally, since they used up both Terry Fator AND Jeff Dunham on the same night for Darci, that just left the Muppets...I guess Kermit, Piggy, Fozzie and the Electric Mayhem weren’t available, but I like Rowlf...Rowlf is cool...And he worked really well with Edna! Not much else to say: Darci Lynne plus even just ONE of the Muppets equals magic! Not Shin Lim magic, just...Never mind...

As for the OTHER half of the acts...(Cue crickets chirping.) I guess there’s only so many guests you can bring in during the winter to perform duets with most of these singers...But they didn’t even let Dorenbos perform with Shin!? The only thing we got with those two together was that segment of the Preacher video...They didn’t even do the obvious thing and match them up when one made the Top 5 and the other didn’t...Whatever, this show’s made far more questionable decisions in the past (many of them in this “season” alone), and if it means not slowing the night down with less interesting singing performances, I’m not complaining...

Anyway, good show, good results...But if they’re ever gonna do Champions again, they should make some adjustments to the format...But knowing AGT, they’ll instead introduce even more head-scratching decisions...Still much better than Season 4, even though at some points I was debating whether or not it’s even worse...But I guess seeing the actual performances made enough sense of everything...

So with this...complicated spin-off season behind us, it’s time to talk briefly about what to expect in Season 14 of the main show...First of all, Terry Crews will be staying as host since Tyra’s out...So far, he seems like a likable presence as host, but we haven’t seen a whole lot of his persona yet, so I’ll wait until the following season to decide what I think...But as both Nick and Tyra have shown, if he’s gonna be the host, he NEEDS to brush up on his wacky neon outfits!

I know next to nothing about the two ladies replacing Mel and Heidi, but I DO know that Julianne Hough is a professional dancer who has some experience in reality TV from “Dancing with the Stars”, and she sings as well, so that might give her some credibility to consider...And I’m sure Gabrielle Union is capable of being funny and likable...HOPEFULLY they do more than just look pretty and make useless comments, because if not, I’m gonna be more suspicious about this show than I already am...

And I can’t help but wonder if this is going to be like “The Voice”, where they keep switching out the black/female judges while the two white guys remain...I hope not, since I think Howie could use a replacement sooner or later, and don’t even get me started on Simon!

Right now, I’m still considering my previous ideas of doing Youtube streams as the omnipresent fifth judge, as well as going back to the beginning of the show and reviewing earlier episodes...But they’re still just ideas, and since I’m still working retail, it’s gonna be hard if not impossible to prepare them...

I’ll see what I can do...For now, I guess all that’s guaranteed is looking forward to Season 14...So with that said, I’ll see you all (or at least FrankDoc) in three months! Until then!

[sugarsnap-caely]

Das Gebrochen Arzt (The Broken Doctor): Chapter 3

He woke up feeling exhausted, the precipice of a headache hanging at the corners of his head. He went downstairs and took an ibuprofen before trying to make himself something to eat. He pulled out some vegetables and the carton of eggs, deciding to make an omelette. He figured the protein would help with the headache.

He dragged out one of the cutting boards, setting down a green pepper and chopping it up, hoping he wouldn’t wake anyone this early. Knowing the way everyone else slept, the worry quickly passed.

As he chopped the final bit of the pepper he nearly scraped his skin against the blade. He stood back, holding his hand defensively. Nothing had happened to it, yet the sudden fear of accidentally cutting something vital flashed through his mind.

He shook his head. What was he worried about, he was a surgeon, he had not cut himself with anything in years. He gave a laugh and went on to cutting up some ham (thankful that Robbie had left some last night). However, there was now a bigger distance between the blade and his fingers.

As he sat down to eat, he still couldn't help but feel bothered about what he had said to Jeff. He had made the occasional joke about death, everyone did, but never had he sounded so serious.

But he was angry, and stressed, stress does things to the mind. Not only that, but it was Jeff. He settled on that explanation, ignoring the worry that ebbed at the back of his mind.

He looked at his watch and checked the time. He still had plenty of time to get to work. He always did. He downed his cup of coffee and finished his omelette before heading back upstairs to get properly dressed. He smiled at the thought of his habit. He always did prefer to eat breakfast with his pajamas on.

He flicked the light on in his room, heading over to his closet. He passed by his bed which had a bedspread pattern of doctor symbols. He chuckled lightly, remembering when Jack had given that to him as a Christmas gift. He had gotten one for all of the “egos” as Jack’s fans tended to call them.

He pulled out his light blue work shirt, pants, and his white doctor’s coat, setting them on the bed. He glanced at his dresser, noting the figure of Doctor Strange. While most would consider him a man of seriousness, he wasn't always serious. In fact, he did enjoy quite a lot of fantasy, and much like Jack, he liked superheroes. His favorite happened to be Doctor Strange, and not because he was a surgeon like himself (ok that was partially the reason). He really admired the character for his resourcefulness, tenacity, and respect for people’s lives. Not once had the character wanted someone to die. In a way, they were a lot alike.

Plus the visuals had been fucking awesome.

He pulled on his coat, adjusting the collar, before bending down to tie his shoes. As he leaned over he checked the time on his watch. He was startled to read that he had been there for twenty minutes. He tapped the face of his watch, hoping it had been a malfunction. The digital numbers gently flickered the correct time before going back to the wrong one. He would have to get it fixed, but that could wait for a later date. He didn't want to risk being late.

He arrived at the hospital two minutes early. Nodding to his coworkers as he made his way to the lounge. He tapped the face of his watch again, noting how it had somehow fixed itself. He picked up his clipboard and flipped through what was scheduled for today, going through his mental checklist.

As he walked over to the counter he saw Suzi attempting to reach something on a higher shelf.

“Vhat are you looking for?” He asked, attempting to peer up at the shelf himself.

She let out an annoyed sigh as she turned to him, “Jeff decided to be an ass and put something I needed on the highest shelf. Not only that but I can't use any chairs because the new ones don't come till tomorrow.”

“Perhaps I could help? I could give you a boost.”

She crossed her arms and eyed him, “You're shorter than I am Henrik…”

“Or umm…you could give me a boost and I'll get it…” He replied with an embarrassed smile.

She smiled, nearly laughing as she cupped her hand allowing him up. “It's on the right, the glass bottle with the blue cap. Should be behind the other ones.”

“Alright!” When he finally found the ledge of a shelf he peered up into the cabinet, looking past all of the glass bottles. “Vhat is it supposed to be anyvay?”

“Root beer.”

He reached his hand into the cabinet, shaking his head, of course Jeff would do something like that. Also, why in the world would there be a cabinet all the way up here? Probably Jeff.

He grabbed the bottle, “Got it!”

As Suzi was about to help him down, he slowly felt less and less of the bottle, almost like his fingers were going numb. He looked at them in concern; the feeling began to spread to the rest of his hand. “Umm...Su-”

The rest of the people in the lounge turned at the sound of breaking glass.

Henrik stared at the shattered bottle on the ground, a pool of brown, bubbly liquid gently spread out from the center. His gaze moved to his shaky, open palm. He wiggled his fingers, wincing at the feeling of pins and needles.

“Suzi, are you ok?!”

She was crouched down on the ground, clutching her leg. Blood slowly began oozing between her fingers. She tried to stifle a groan of pain.

“Someone grab zee first aid kit!!” He yelled across the room, nearly losing his grip on the cabinet. When a young intern brought over the kit and a broom he slid his way across the shelf and jumped down to avoid the broken glass. The intern set down the first aid kit and started sweeping up the glass.

Schneep knelt down to Suzi, and began taking care of the injury, carefully looking for any glass that could be stuck in the wound.

“Suzi I’m so sorry I don’t know vhat happened. I vas gripping zee bottle one moment and it vas gone zee next!”

She gave him a pained smile, “Hey, don’t worry, accidents happen.”

He gave her a nod yet the back of his mind did not agree, ‘You could have done somesing to prevent it. If only you had just caught zee bottle or held on in zee first place.’

These thoughts continued to show themselves throughout his time at work.

Surprisingly, he managed to get out of work much earlier than he expected. Staying in late the night before to do more paperwork had payed off after all. With the extra time he decided he would do some errands before heading back home. He took the left turn towards the store; they would need more food for tonight anyway.

As he walked away from his car he triple checked it to make sure everything was in good order. He wasn't sure exactly why he did this but he had a feeling that he should. Upon walking inside he headed straight for the fruit. He remembered needing to buy more of that. He picked up some apples and even some grapes and continued on his way.

He grabbed some chips and popcorn from a shelf. He chuckled at the irony of a doctor buying so much junk food. Then again, he was no stereotype. Or was he? It didn't matter.

As he reached for a package of soda he stopped. He pulled his arm back hesitantly. Maybe they didn't really need soda at home. He stared at it for a moment longer before giving a sigh and picking up the bottle, making sure he had both hands on it at all times.

Henrik headed over to the check out to pay for the food. As he waited in line, a few children’s toys caught his eye. He looked at them and smiled, grabbing three of them. The lady next to him glanced at him, “What’s that you've got there?”

He quickly tried to hide the toys, and averted his gaze. He wasn't certain why he felt the need to do this. “I-it’s nosing…” He moved ahead in line, checking his items and paying. Without looking back he made a brisk walk back to his car. When he got back, he scratched at the itch on his neck.

“Hello everyone I’m home,” Schneep said, pushing the door open with his back as he carried in the groceries. He jumped at the feeling of a hand on his shoulder, and turned to find Jackie offering to help him carry things in. He smiled at Marvin who came over as well, holding the door open with his magic.

“Hey, you're early!” Marvin said, picking up one of the bags.

“I got a lot of overdue papervork done last night so I did not have to do as much today.” He passed by Robbie on his way to the kitchen.

“What…having?” The zombie drawled.

“Soup! I sought it vould be easy to eat vhile vee play.”

Robbie clapped his hands like a joyful child, bouncing a little, “Robbie…like soup!”

As he stepped into the kitchen he heard Chase from behind him, “Nice!!”

Henrik turned at the sound of his voice and stared at the sight before him. Chase’s hair was done up with little hair clips and bows, stray stickers covering his face. “I see zat your kids have already arrived,” He chuckled.

As if on cue there was a shrill giggle followed by the padding of little feet on tiled floor. In ran Chase’s three year old son Marshall who was quickly followed by Abigail. As Chase picked them up to give them an affectionate hug Schneep couldn't help but smile. He hoped that, at some point, his little edelweiss could spend a weekend with Chase’s kids. He knew how much they would love it.

He could already see them chasing after each other. He could already see them jumping around, getting into tickle fights. He could see the way they would push each other until one would fall down and start to cry.

He shook his head. Why would he imagine that? He loved these kids. He figured he was still a little stressed from today. That was probably it.

“So,” He gave a cough, trying to start up a conversation, “vhat games are vee playing tonight?”

Tonight was Family Game Night where they would all sit and play board games and video games. They had it twice a month and it was a great way to spend time together.

Jackie replied over his shoulder as he started to put things away, “Well, I thought we could start out with a few rounds of Super Smash Brothers or Mario Kart.”

“Yeah, and Jameson brought up a ton of old board games! I don't think he could decide honestly,” Marvin added.

Schneep saw Jameson adjust his monocle with an embarrassed smile.

“Sounds like tonight vill be a very eventful one! Now,” he pulled up the sleeves on his jacket as he pulled out a pot, “I vould like some space vhile I vork.” He went to the fridge to pull out supplies but stopped short as he noticed all of the glass containers. He glanced over his shoulder, noting Marshall and Abigail running between Chase’s legs. The image of Suzi with the glass in her leg popped in his head.

He turned back to the fridge and delicately pulled out one of the containers, holding it in his arms like a child would hug a stuffed toy. As he worked he constantly checked over his shoulder, worried that someone may walk too close and get hurt.

He saw Chase walk up next to him out of the corner of his eye, “Hey dude, do you need help?”

“No, no I'm fine.”

“Come on, you do so much for us all. Why don't we make the soup?”

“I said I'm fine!” He gave Chase a glare, which immediately softened as he looked down at his hand. His knuckles were starting to turn white as he gripped the wooden spoon. He exhaled, loosening his grip as he did so. “Maybe you are right…”

Chase smiled and patted his back, “Think you can watch my kids while we do this?”

He felt the corner of his mouth pull up into a smile, “No problem.”

“Thanks dude! Hey Jackie, JJ, wanna give me a hand?”

Schneep shook his head as he walked off to the living room. What would he do without these guys?

“JJ why do you keep mashing the same button?!! Move dang it, move!” Marvin yelled at Jameson as he attacked Jackie’s character on screen. Jameson replied with a shrug and a floating question mark above his head.

They were all in the middle of a game of Smash Brothers, and they were currently playing teams. Jackie was with Signe, Schneep was with Jack, Chase was with Abigail, and Marvin was with JJ. They would all switch around every few rounds and Robbie was currently keeping an eye on Marshall. It hadn't been five minutes and there were already stickers on the zombie’s face.

The timer ended on the screen as the announcer’s voice boomed out the winner.

“Oh, Yes baby!! Blue team for the win!!” Jack shouted, giving Schneep a high five.

“Vee do make a surprisingly good team,” Henrik leaned back in his seat, “considering I do not get to play zis game all zat often.”

“Yeah, you were really good! You were all like SHOOM and I was all OH NO!!” Chase made exaggerated hand movements in the air, his daughter giggling beside him the whole time.

Jack chuckled, “Dude, we won on luck alone.”

Signe wrapped an arm around Jack’s shoulder, “And I am going to pummel you in the next round, you big goof.”

The two of them laughed, causing Schneep to giggle under his breath. He could not stress enough how much he loved his little family. He swore though, he was only occasionally jealous of Jack and Signe’s relationship. Not only that but some of them insisted he had a crush on Suzi. He never said yes but he never denied it either. He rolled his eyes at the thought, his family was strange.

“Hey Robbie, wanna switch yet?” Jackie called over his shoulder, “My fingers are getting kind of tired.”

The undead ego slowly turned his head from his game of patty cake with Marshall, his brows furrowed in thought. Eventually, he nodded his head and clambered closer to the television, giving Jack a fist bump as he passed.

“Alright,” Marvin began once Robbie was comfortable, “Jack, Schneep, your turn to pick a stage.”

“Hmm, what do you think?” Jack turned to Henrik, glancing at the screen.

“I am not sure, but I suppose vee could-Agh!” Schneep jumped out of his seat as he saw the images on screen glitch and distort, a sound like cannon fire going off in his head.

“Are you ok?! What's wrong?”

“I…I don't know,” he spoke between deep breaths, “I vas just startled, zat vas all.”

“You sure?”

He nodded.

A speech bubble popped up above JJ’s head, “Perhaps we should play another game?”

Robbie slowly picked up the dice and gave it a roll, moving his game piece across the board, “Howw…Jack channel?”

Jack turned around on the swivel chair, he was currently sitting out this round of the game, “Everything’s going well, I finished Simulacra.”

“Well, I can't wait to see it, that game can get really creepy.” Jackie added.

“Yeah, almost as scary as the voice acting,” JJ’s speech bubble read as he rolled the dice.

“Fuuuck it sooo muuuuch!” Almost everyone, excluding Robbie and the kids, chimed out the signature phrase, and ended with them all laughing.

  As Schneep laughed he had to agree with Jackie, while the game’s voice acting needed work it was otherwise a decently scary game. He hadn't seen much of it, but a few of the jumpscares had gotten him pretty bad. Much like Jack, he too was creeped out by glitchy types of horror. Especially from earlier. He was still confused about that: why had no one else seen what had happened on the tv? It felt like he was the only one who noticed it. And what was that…that sound in his ears? Gosh, he felt like he nearly got a concussion. And he swore something was at the back of his mind when it happened. Now that he thought about it, it sounded like it said death.

“It̷'s your tųr̨̛n”

Henrik jolted in his chair, “Vhat?”

“Dude, I said it's your turn.” Chase, held out the die, “Here, take the d̡̡ie”

“Wh-who’s dying?”

“No…one?” Marvin replied, “Well, ok, no one except Mr. Body, but he was dead before we even started the game.”

“V-Vhat game are vee playing?”

“…Clue. Henrik, are you feeling alright?” Jackie asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

He felt dizzy and tired; he couldn't think straight. His head was starting to hurt too…

“I…I’m ok,” He spoke slowly, thinking carefully about what he said, “I sink I have a headache…I sink…I sink I'm gonna call it a night.”

There were exchanges of good night and feel better soon as he stood up from the chair. As he walked down the hall towards his room, the hallway seemed darker than usual. When he finally got into bed he was restless the entire night.

And now, here’s the REAL chapter three! I know this took a while to get out but such is the nature of writing. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!

I owe some credit to @asrisartarena for inspiring me to add her headcannon!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Totally Legit Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

[ianmmori]

One Year On

I spent the better part of the last few months leading up to this day, trying to think how properly to eulogize my father; in an effort to make up for my hackneyed and overly symbolic attempt at one at his funeral, my voice, usually booming and confident, having had the emotional restraint depressed upon me by a heavy heart, sounded wispy and distant to all in attendance in the church that day nearly a year ago. I know how I feel about it all, how I feel about him, how I feel about everything that's led up to this point, and I've definitely got enough words to spare. It's just, well, exactly what do you say? What can one say in this situation? How much should you say? I am not writing this only for me, as a therapeutic means to deal with my father's death (which I can openly say, I have yet to really face), or only for him, to enumerate his influence and his finer points in honor of his memory. I am writing this for both of those things but for anyone else wanting to read it, anyone else who has felt alone, depressed, sad, anxious, or suicidal.

On a cool, clear Saturday morning one year ago at around 7AM, just as dawn was breaking, my father stepped out of the front door of the first and only house my family has ever owned; he walked around the corner between our house and the two story house adjacent, walked to the end of the building, and with a 9mm in hand, ended his life.

My mother heard the shot and woke up immediately. Didn't know what it was. Looked around the house, then saw the front door was unlocked. She went outside and found him. She ran back in, called for me. Her voice propelled me from my heavy sleep, her words still clear now as they were a year ago.

"Come outside, quick, your dad shot himself."

Everything moved so fast after that.

Seeing him there. Taking it in. His body smaller than I remember it being. Calling 911. The woman on the other side of the phone, asking me over and over where we were. "Between the two houses," I kept saying. The sirens in the distance. Neighbors coming out. Police tape. Statements. Detectives. Coroners. And by noon, everyone had gone. Our family of three was now two, and in that moment, all mom and I could do was look at each other. No tears, not yet, just the unreal sense of everything suddenly becoming not what we had known it to be all of our lives.

I texted all my friends, they called me, and in hours they were at my house. The gravity was immense, both in seriousness and in weight. My legs felt sluggish and my heart felt heavy. Despite being a family who had lost a major member in the last few hours, my surrogate family, the family I grew up along with through life, came to my aid as well as my mother's. Thank you Audrey, Lisa, Michael, Paula, Justin, and Jeff and Lisa Butler for coming that day. It meant more than you know, and it still means a lot now that I call all of you more than just friends, but also family. I know that I've lost touch in the last year with each and every single one of you, lost touch because of everything that has happened and it's becoming now ridiculously apparent that I do need each of you in my life to give it some sort of balance, I just haven't really known how to do that; who I am now feels like a desperate attempt to keep hold of who I once was without the understanding of who I am at all, as a result of the past year. I have floated on every emotion a human being could be capable of, and I'm sorry that I haven't extended my hand to seek refuge in your friendship since that day. I just don't know how to anymore.

Everything that came after that, how my mom and I dealt with everything, was, to put it mildly, the hardest thing.

Mom had a mental break. Both my parents suffer from Bipolar Disorder, my mother usually tending to be more manic than depressed, and my father battled both the high of mania and the low of depression. Despite her sister visiting and a trip to the Philippines to try and help, my mother wasn't herself for nearly 8 months afterwards, still struggles in the day to day now. Psychiatrists played pop quiz with medications and discussions, trying to find the right balance. Mom, between her uncharacteristic and emotional tirades and behavior, her unmanageable decisions, and her utter disregard for how her actions influenced my emotional and mental state, it wasn't until late February the following year she realized that she wasn't okay, she wasn't in control, and that this had really happened. We had so many arguments, so many fights. She'd talk my ear off for hours about nothing in particular, regaling me with the exploits and the achievements of distant relatives and long since passed ones, without any real point to what she was saying. She'd concoct conspiracies, make up facts, and yell at me for no reason. She'd blame me openly for my father's death. Blame random people. Blame herself. Say he was still alive somewhere. That he wasn't in an urn in the foyer and it was just sand. She was losing her grip on reality.

A year on, I see her in the kitchen sometimes, wistfully staring out the windows as she sits in her chair. She's more herself now than she had been in the past year, more in control and back to some sort of normal, albeit understandably quieter. Sadder. Only recently has she found things that she used to do for fun pleasant and enjoyable once again. She goes out to work out. She goes to her retirees' luncheons. She's reading. She watches television. For a time she didn't, and would sleep for hours, upset at anything she blames as a distraction, a distraction to her seeing the signs when dad was still around.

There were signs. Signs that dad might do something like this. Small things and big things. An overwhelming sadness.

Dad was a poor communicator. He wasn't one to talk about his feelings much, and when he had, they'd be a burst of unintelligible and unorganized thought that my mother and I wouldn't know how to take it or interpret it. We should have though, should have tried, despite not getting it at the time. The guilt of not properly addressing how my father felt will stay with me until my final day. There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think that I should have said more, done more for him.

I took a leave from work at the bars for 7 months. Mostly to help mom. I tried my best to find my own normalcy. The only thing that did feel normal was my relationship, and even that is completely unconventional.

Some of you know that my girlfriend, Lucy, is from and lives in the UK. From the day that we first started talking until this very moment, writing this (we're actually on a Skype call, she's asleep, it's just now breaking dawn there and it's nearly 3AM here), she has been my rock, my anchor, and my savior through everything. After my dad, I didn't have the strength to keep myself up, and without asking, without needing any prompt or reason aside from her love for me, my partner, my Lucy, was there for me. She is my best friend, my person, my confidant, and she has kept me going all this time. From 4208.4 miles away, she's capable of this. From all the way in Wales, she is by far the best thing to ever happen to me, my light in my dark. We have seen such ridiculous highs when we are together, the world falling away and happiness being more than possible, but real and incredible. We have seen such lows: fighting, finding balance, dealing, struggling, not just with the distance, but the depression I felt but wasn't aware of. She encouraged me to seek therapy. She listened to me late into the night. She sacrificed her days and her livelihood for my betterment, and for that, I am forever grateful and ever penitent, in hopes I can make up for any pain I caused her in my battle with my  depression.

I have suffered with depression all my life, and to unwittingly suffer parallel to my father, neither of us understanding the other, it comes still as a shock that my father was even capable of feeling depression at all.

Being of Asian ancestry, mental health and wellness isn't something discussed, properly understood, or even regarded as an issue. Things like sadness, depression, anxiety, and stress are all seen as weaknesses. There is food on the table, a roof over your head, and a bunch of things for you to do for fun, why are you sad? I could hear my dad, a stronger dad, asking a younger me. Will, determination, discipline, duty, these are things that overcame adversity, strengths that kept a strong, first generation Filipino-American on the right track for success. There was no room for sadness. No room for discussion. The sacrifices my parents had to endure to give me the opportunities in a country full of them that they never had instilled a sense of guilt-filled responsibility to make the most of their choices in life within my own life. Depression was an affront, a tarnish to their legacy, so what I felt, my sadness and my fear, I kept in me for two decades, and kept on. Moved forward somehow. Cried at night, wandered the streets when I learned to drive. Tried to find happiness where I could to keep me going.

All my life, dad was strong. He was the strongest man I knew. He was stubborn, particular, ambitious, rude, and forthright. He walked with his chest out. He asked friends and family to feel his muscles. He told crude jokes and laughed when he farted. He had a damn good laugh, a laugh I inherited. He loved Jackie Chan films and Nat King Cole. His favorite song was "What a Wonderful World," by Louis Armstrong. He was so bad at karaoke. He always wanted to be his own boss. He loved fishing. He loved shoes and watches, again, something else I inherited from him. He was quick to anger when I was younger. He tend to yell to get his way. After his heart attack in 2004, he calmed down, took to easier jobs that didn't put so much strain on his body. His body ached. He had back problems and stomach problems and heart problems. He lifted and built and cleaned and repaired. He was always working with his hands. He could make anything. He was a proficient and accomplished artist and could draw anything, but no one knew that about him. He was a damn good cook. He loved Chinese food. He was always on the lookout for the best hot and sour soup. He cared. I found out from many who came for his funeral or talked to me after his passing that he helped a lot of people when he was younger, a man who taught me to take care of myself more than taking care of others for fear that I'd be taken advantage of because of my selflessness and good will. I can only assume someone had done that to him, but I'll never know. He was a good neighbor. He was kind to friends, helpful to family, but wary of strangers. He had a strong grip, but the finesse to counter it; he pushed his pen down hard, but his signature was the most beautiful I had ever seen. He loved cars. He hated sharp smells and dirty floors. He was always picking his teeth. He wore a ridiculous amount of jewelry. He told stories lavishly. He talked a lot, but always waited his turn. He was a hard worker. He was a good father.

I can't say exactly why he did it. It's been a year and I still haven't found anything. I've been through his things, through the files, on his phone, his computer, every nook and cranny he could have been in, but he never left a note. Never expressed exactly why, and all mom and I can do is speculate. Was it entirely a silent sadness, a depression he never could properly express to us? Was it his difficulty articulating his feelings as he's always had? Had his strength, his will, his determination, had it slowly evolved into silence to spare us? Was his physical pain so unbearable, all his heart and back and muscle problems, was all of it so out of control and so well hidden? Many mornings have I sat across from mom, coffee in hand, a heaviness in the room, asking the same questions over and over, to no avail. We will never know. Never know for sure.

How I feel now about all of it, a year on, can't really be summed up briefly, but I'll do my best to. I accept it, accept what he did, and I forgive it. I hope he can forgive me, forgive me for everything I could have done and should have done to prevent this. I struggle with guilt, even before dad. I feel as though everything is my fault, or I take the blame in times of conflict because I subconsciously think it'll diffuse the situation faster and resolve the problem easier, and most of the time it does, but in reality, I am not guilty, but I convince myself I am. It's self destructive, and after dad, I did it nearly every day, and I'm sorry to Lucy, but she bore the brunt of my guilt and my self deprecation. She worked so hard to build me back up, safe to say that with her help, I've managed. It doesn't mean I don't still feel guilty. I do, I just manage it. I'm sad as well, and I manage that. I feel lonely a lot, especially late at night; I'm a bartender and I keep late hours. Most of my friends are asleep before 2AM, and by then if I work, I'm just getting off, and if I'm off, I'm wide awake. Lucy is 5 hours ahead, so she's definitely asleep until it's about nearly dawn for me here. Mom goes to bed at 11PM like clockwork. I'm left to ponder in my solitude from just around midnight, nearly every night, until just before dawn, and after 32 years of being on the planet I've realized that I don't do so great on my own. After dad, even more so.

In all admittance, I still have depression, but the only reason I can capably deal with it is because I manage it.

My therapist likes that word: manage. She told me that getting over things, dealing with things, that's almost pushing it all aside to try and focus your energy and your efforts on something else. Imagine a coffee table with stuff on it: bills, paid for or past due, some trinkets and baubles from your time abroad, a book you're reading, one you're not, a photo, a notepad with stuff scribbled on it, an empty bowl and a half-empty mug, a box of tissues, guff on top of guff on top of guff. You've got LIFE to do, so you push all of that nonsense out of the way, clear the table, and put LIFE on it. You know, all that stuff, it's on the floor now. It's not gone, it's there. It's still going to be there when you decide that you're going to take a break from doing LIFE and decide you need that bowl, that photo, that notepad. Hell, you might even accidentally step on all of that trying to get around LIFE. The things that are there, the feelings you feel, they shouldn't be ignored or put aside, they should be acknowledged. They shouldn't be dealt with, but understood, and understood to the best of your ability because, sometimes, we don't even understand how we feel. It's about managing all the heavy bits, and perhaps, rather than casting it aside or attempting to put it behind us, find strength as a result of how we feel through the management of things like anxiety, depression, fear, or sadness.

I'll never know why my father decided to end his life. I can guess, but I'll never know for sure. What I do know is what it has taught me, what he has taught me: life is precious. We get one go of it, and that's it. We aren't invincible. We fragile things full of fire. We must care and be kind and be honest and good to one another. We must hope. His last act, his last lesson, was one I interpret for myself. Life must go on, it does get better, and no one is truly alone.

I miss you, dad. You voice is still in my head, guiding me, telling me right from wrong. I wish I could have done right by you and I'm sorry I didn't. All I can do now is make sure no one else has to.

If you're out there and you feel alone, you aren't. Anyone, anyone out there that's reading this, I assure you, we care. We all care. You are important, you mean something, and whatever it is that pushes you down or holds you back, it will be okay. It may not seem it now, but it will be. The darkness doesn't have to be real anymore, you don't have to wade through it. If you are suffering, please, please please please tell someone. We do care. We want to help. We are here for you.

You are not alone.

I'm listening.

[flauntpage]

Bruce Maxwell Had the Courage, and Credibility, to Take MLB's First Knee

On Saturday, the ACLU tweeted a quote from Jackie Robinson's 1972 memoir, I Never Had It Made:

"I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am a black man in a white world."

On Saturday, Oakland Athletics rookie catcher Bruce Maxwell, a black man, became the first MLB player to kneel during the national anthem. In a moment that faintly echoed Robinson and white teammate Pee Wee Reese's iconic embrace seven decades ago, Mark Canha placed his left hand on Maxwell's shoulder. The game went on. Oakland beat Texas 1-0.

Maxwell spoke eloquently about his reasons for taking a knee. Following his tweets from the weekend, you can see that Donald Trump's fixation on Colin Kaepernick and Steph Curry rather than national issues like the destruction of Puerto Rico struck a chord with him.

Why did it take so long?

The conservatism that has always held baseball hostage is a short, serviceable answer. It's nothing new. Back when Muhammad Ali was embracing the Nation of Islam, and Tommie Smith and John Carlos were raising their fists in black solidarity at the Olympics, the most meaningful activism among baseball players was economic—the fight to unionize and to earn free agency. Even the leaders of those movements faced backlash from their fellow players, not to mention owners, the media, and the public at large.

In the decades since, we have witnessed the repeal of the Fairness Doctrine, the imposition of internet filter bubbles, the optimization of soft news—of which sports is a crown jewel—and the deterioration of the American education system. Today, the average citizen cannot readily discern fact from fiction. They revert back to their trusted information troughs that validate their biases and make them feel better, smarter. Baseball players are like extreme versions of this, only with more confidence.

In the company of a few players last year, for example, I mentioned the (once again relevant) Paid Patriotism in Sports investigation led by Republican Senators Jeff Flake and John McCain from Arizona, which revealed that the Department of Defense paid MLB and other major sports leagues millions of dollars to stage many of the boutique military exercises we as players had all become so accustomed to being accessories to, standing at attention with our hands over our hearts along the foul line. One player told me that this was "liberal fake news," and that "John McCain would never do no kinda shit like that."

Baseball may value shut-up-and-play guys more than any other sport. The patron saint of that archetype is Derek Jeter, the most beloved baseball player since Babe Ruth, whose farewell tour was seen by many as excessive. What had he done but win championships? But to celebrate Jeter was to celebrate kicking ass and taking names, the Crash Davis school of never saying the wrong thing (not to be confused with saying the right thing) and only making waves off the field in heterosexual sex scandals that ultimately add girth to the legacy.

Orioles veteran centerfielder Adam Jones is one of the few players to consistently speak out about issues of race, from talking about Freddie Gray's death in 2015 to calling out fans who shouted the N-word at him in Fenway Park last season. A year ago, Jones said that Kaepernick–style protests hadn't made their way to MLB because "baseball is a white man's sport."

Jones was one of just 58 black, African American, or African Canadian players on active rosters for Opening Day this season, according to the 2017 Major League Baseball Racial and Gender Report Card. That number doesn't include Maxwell, who was called up from Triple-A later in April, nor several players who were on the DL, but the report still calls attention to "the relatively small and declining percentage of African-American players" in baseball.

It should be noted that Afro-Caribbean players born in the U.S. are not always counted in that group. I am both African and American—my parents' native Cuba was only a few stops on the Atlantic slave trade away from the Alabama of Maxwell's youth—but on the only Jackie Robinson Day in which I was in the Major Leagues (2009), I was not tabbed for that photo opportunity.

The same 2017 report card notes that there are more players of color in the league now than ever before. And the growing Latino presence in MLB creates more racial complexity that is especially hard to follow for people who don't see race and want all this race stuff to go back into the shadows. Many Latino people are racist. Many Latino people deny their own blackness. For every white-passing Latino with less than a quarter of African blood in them who speaks with an alarming NPM (niggas per minute) in public spaces, there is an undeniably African Latino who doesn't believe they're black. The individual desires of people of color to defer participation in "race" chips at the solidarity of the black community as efficiently as racism itself does. This is hard for anthropologists to follow, much less ballplayers.

Black solidarity is difficult to negotiate with a language barrier, and one should understand what might dissuade, for instance, a Venezuelan Afro-Latino from criticizing any aspect of American culture when matters are worse in every sense, including race issues, in their own country. Black people who are well traveled, especially Afro-Latinos who've traveled to many Spanish-speaking countries, eventually come to the glib conclusion quicker than anyone else, that despite our longtime and recently stoked problems here in America, there is perhaps no better place in the world to be black.

Kaepernick's protest spread slowly but surely across the NFL, where African-Americans made up 69.7 percent of players last year. Athletes in the NBA and the WNBA—two more leagues with majority black rosters—have also become fluent in peaceful protest in the last few years. Demographics may have kept the Kaepernick movement from catching on in baseball, but it's important to note that baseball conservatism has many layers.

In baseball, conformism is subconsciously enforced by the martial law of the purpose pitch, and by the ingrained biases of the people in power who make personnel decisions and drive its culture. When you wear your hat a certain way, a coach may say, "Why do you have to be different?" Your hair may irk him, and when you miss the cutoff man, it may be more irksome to him than when the guy who looks more like his son does it. There's the crappy .220 hitter and there's the scrappy .220 hitter, and the formula for who goes to AAA and who stays on as the good clubhouse guy is subjective at best.

It takes a special person to stand up, or kneel down, when you consider the full weight of the baseball institution.

Why was it Bruce Maxwell?

Three weeks into the NFL season, Colin Kaepernick is still unemployed. NFL insiders have been more reticent to say he's being blackballed than non-insiders like activist Shaun King. While Kaepernick is probably as capable as most starting NFL quarterbacks, he is not in the elite, irreplaceable strata of athletes. This gives the owners who don't sign him (i.e., all the owners) plausible deniability. It complicates the issue of Kaepernick's unemployment.

John Hefti-USA TODAY Sports

As a player, Bruce Maxwell is even more replaceable than Kaepernick. Though the Oakland A's were swift to defend Maxwell after he kneeled on Saturday, it is important to note that if he were to be blackballed, it would be virtually impossible to prove. To date, Maxwell has proven he is a light-hitting catcher worth about half a win above replacement over the course of a season. Though many ballplayers are late bloomers, Maxwell's 300 at-bats represent a sufficiently large enough sample size for him to slowly fade into journeyman status without a second thought.

But whether he noticed or not, Maxwell's path was eased by other circumstances. The Oakland A's were mathematically eliminated from the playoffs on September 22, though they were never in the race at all, and even sold off their best pitcher at the trade deadline. The length of MLB's season holds that half its teams engage in dozens of meaningless games, such as Saturday's historic, meaningless contest between the Rangers and the Athletics. Maxwell has enjoyed the luxury of relatively low stakes—in baseball terms.

Along those lines, a story:

The morning after my club, the Tampa Bay Rays, beat the Red Sox in the 2008 ALCS, a handful of teammates and I supported then Senator Barack Obama at a rally in Florida. As a rookie, I was "hazed" by being volunteered to introduce the most famous political figure of our generation with a short speech before a capacity crowd at Legends Field. We were criticized for associating the team with a political party, but it was manageable—World Series stakes or not, Tampa is a tiny sports market. At the same time, had there not been several senior teammates with me, I might not have gone to the Obama rally. I might have caved under the pressure of fitting in that Maxwell overcame. And despite a military veteran father of my own, had all of what's happening now been happening in the middle of a playoff race I was in as a rookie, especially in a major market, I would probably not have taken a knee—by myself no less—during the national anthem, either. You don't want to be labeled a "distraction" by the media, and then become one in a superstitious, cliquey clubhouse as a rookie who is a new actor in a championship run that is years in the making. We have yet to see a major baseball star in a major market make a major political engagement. We have yet to see a Kaepernick–grade athlete use the platform of a championship run, with its larger audience. The "distraction" is perhaps entirely superstition, which especially pervades sports, but its effect is real.

My money would have been on Jones to be the first player to take a knee, despite his comments. My number two choice would have been Rays pitcher Chris Archer. But Maxwell was the right guy at the right time. He was born on a military base in Germany. His father is a veteran. For a certain kind of person watching these protests—which many critics have mischaracterized as being about "the flag" or "the troops," instead of racial inequality and police violence—he had the credibility, along with the courage, to do something.

This is what Archer told the press on Sunday after Maxwell took a knee:

"It did take a while in baseball, I think mainly because the other sports that do that are predominantly black," says Archer. "Our sport isn't, so I think the criticism might be a little more harsh. It took somebody really special that had a unique background to take that leap.

"The way he went about it was totally, I think, as respectful as possible, just letting everybody know that this doesn't have anything to do with the military, first and foremost, noting that he has family members that are in the military. It's a little bit tougher for baseball players to make that leap, but I think he was the right person to do it."

What Happens Now

Maxwell was cheered by the home Oakland crowd in his first at-bat since kneeling, a line-out to left field. In Mariners veteran Felix Hernandez, he was not forced to face the kind of (white, surly) pitcher one might expect to throw at a guy to send a political message, though it's not at all implausible a pitcher of Felix Hernandez's background could have thrown that purpose pitch "for America" after reading a tea party blog during pregame.

In the last week of the season, more teams will be eliminated (including the Rays), and their players will officially have no distraction superstition as a deterrent. For these players, there will be fewer games after which to face reporters. Here is what Archer told me in a text message: "What [Maxwell] did was tasteful & respectful to all parties. I wouldn't be surprised if more guys start to follow suit."

Bruce Maxwell Had the Courage, and Credibility, to Take MLB's First Knee published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

[amtushinfosolutionspage]

Bruce Maxwell Had the Courage, and Credibility, to Take MLB’s First Knee

On Saturday, the ACLU tweeted a quote from Jackie Robinson’s 1972 memoir, I Never Had It Made:

“I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am a black man in a white world.”

On Saturday, Oakland Athletics rookie catcher Bruce Maxwell, a black man, became the first MLB player to kneel during the national anthem. In a moment that faintly echoed Robinson and white teammate Pee Wee Reese’s iconic embrace seven decades ago, Mark Canha placed his left hand on Maxwell’s shoulder. The game went on. Oakland beat Texas 1-0.

Maxwell spoke eloquently about his reasons for taking a knee. Following his tweets from the weekend, you can see that Donald Trump’s fixation on Colin Kaepernick and Steph Curry rather than national issues like the destruction of Puerto Rico struck a chord with him.

Why did it take so long?

The conservatism that has always held baseball hostage is a short, serviceable answer. It’s nothing new. Back when Muhammad Ali was embracing the Nation of Islam, and Tommie Smith and John Carlos were raising their fists in black solidarity at the Olympics, the most meaningful activism among baseball players was economic—the fight to unionize and to earn free agency. Even the leaders of those movements faced backlash from their fellow players, not to mention owners, the media, and the public at large.

In the decades since, we have witnessed the repeal of the Fairness Doctrine, the imposition of internet filter bubbles, the optimization of soft news—of which sports is a crown jewel—and the deterioration of the American education system. Today, the average citizen cannot readily discern fact from fiction. They revert back to their trusted information troughs that validate their biases and make them feel better, smarter. Baseball players are like extreme versions of this, only with more confidence.

In the company of a few players last year, for example, I mentioned the (once again relevant) Paid Patriotism in Sports investigation led by Republican Senators Jeff Flake and John McCain from Arizona, which revealed that the Department of Defense paid MLB and other major sports leagues millions of dollars to stage many of the boutique military exercises we as players had all become so accustomed to being accessories to, standing at attention with our hands over our hearts along the foul line. One player told me that this was “liberal fake news,” and that “John McCain would never do no kinda shit like that.”

Baseball may value shut-up-and-play guys more than any other sport. The patron saint of that archetype is Derek Jeter, the most beloved baseball player since Babe Ruth, whose farewell tour was seen by many as excessive. What had he done but win championships? But to celebrate Jeter was to celebrate kicking ass and taking names, the Crash Davis school of never saying the wrong thing (not to be confused with saying the right thing) and only making waves off the field in heterosexual sex scandals that ultimately add girth to the legacy.

Orioles veteran centerfielder Adam Jones is one of the few players to consistently speak out about issues of race, from talking about Freddie Gray’s death in 2015 to calling out fans who shouted the N-word at him in Fenway Park last season. A year ago, Jones said that Kaepernick–style protests hadn’t made their way to MLB because “baseball is a white man’s sport.”

Jones was one of just 58 black, African American, or African Canadian players on active rosters for Opening Day this season, according to the 2017 Major League Baseball Racial and Gender Report Card. That number doesn’t include Maxwell, who was called up from Triple-A later in April, nor several players who were on the DL, but the report still calls attention to “the relatively small and declining percentage of African-American players” in baseball.

It should be noted that Afro-Caribbean players born in the U.S. are not always counted in that group. I am both African and American—my parents’ native Cuba was only a few stops on the Atlantic slave trade away from the Alabama of Maxwell’s youth—but on the only Jackie Robinson Day in which I was in the Major Leagues (2009), I was not tabbed for that photo opportunity.

The same 2017 report card notes that there are more players of color in the league now than ever before. And the growing Latino presence in MLB creates more racial complexity that is especially hard to follow for people who don’t see race and want all this race stuff to go back into the shadows. Many Latino people are racist. Many Latino people deny their own blackness. For every white-passing Latino with less than a quarter of African blood in them who speaks with an alarming NPM (niggas per minute) in public spaces, there is an undeniably African Latino who doesn’t believe they’re black. The individual desires of people of color to defer participation in “race” chips at the solidarity of the black community as efficiently as racism itself does. This is hard for anthropologists to follow, much less ballplayers.

Black solidarity is difficult to negotiate with a language barrier, and one should understand what might dissuade, for instance, a Venezuelan Afro-Latino from criticizing any aspect of American culture when matters are worse in every sense, including race issues, in their own country. Black people who are well traveled, especially Afro-Latinos who’ve traveled to many Spanish-speaking countries, eventually come to the glib conclusion quicker than anyone else, that despite our longtime and recently stoked problems here in America, there is perhaps no better place in the world to be black.

Kaepernick’s protest spread slowly but surely across the NFL, where African-Americans made up 69.7 percent of players last year. Athletes in the NBA and the WNBA—two more leagues with majority black rosters—have also become fluent in peaceful protest in the last few years. Demographics may have kept the Kaepernick movement from catching on in baseball, but it’s important to note that baseball conservatism has many layers.

In baseball, conformism is subconsciously enforced by the martial law of the purpose pitch, and by the ingrained biases of the people in power who make personnel decisions and drive its culture. When you wear your hat a certain way, a coach may say, “Why do you have to be different?” Your hair may irk him, and when you miss the cutoff man, it may be more irksome to him than when the guy who looks more like his son does it. There’s the crappy .220 hitter and there’s the scrappy .220 hitter, and the formula for who goes to AAA and who stays on as the good clubhouse guy is subjective at best.

It takes a special person to stand up, or kneel down, when you consider the full weight of the baseball institution.

Why was it Bruce Maxwell?

Three weeks into the NFL season, Colin Kaepernick is still unemployed. NFL insiders have been more reticent to say he’s being blackballed than non-insiders like activist Shaun King. While Kaepernick is probably as capable as most starting NFL quarterbacks, he is not in the elite, irreplaceable strata of athletes. This gives the owners who don’t sign him (i.e., all the owners) plausible deniability. It complicates the issue of Kaepernick’s unemployment.

John Hefti-USA TODAY Sports

As a player, Bruce Maxwell is even more replaceable than Kaepernick. Though the Oakland A’s were swift to defend Maxwell after he kneeled on Saturday, it is important to note that if he were to be blackballed, it would be virtually impossible to prove. To date, Maxwell has proven he is a light-hitting catcher worth about half a win above replacement over the course of a season. Though many ballplayers are late bloomers, Maxwell’s 300 at-bats represent a sufficiently large enough sample size for him to slowly fade into journeyman status without a second thought.

But whether he noticed or not, Maxwell’s path was eased by other circumstances. The Oakland A’s were mathematically eliminated from the playoffs on September 22, though they were never in the race at all, and even sold off their best pitcher at the trade deadline. The length of MLB’s season holds that half its teams engage in dozens of meaningless games, such as Saturday’s historic, meaningless contest between the Rangers and the Athletics. Maxwell has enjoyed the luxury of relatively low stakes—in baseball terms.

Along those lines, a story:

The morning after my club, the Tampa Bay Rays, beat the Red Sox in the 2008 ALCS, a handful of teammates and I supported then Senator Barack Obama at a rally in Florida. As a rookie, I was “hazed” by being volunteered to introduce the most famous political figure of our generation with a short speech before a capacity crowd at Legends Field. We were criticized for associating the team with a political party, but it was manageable—World Series stakes or not, Tampa is a tiny sports market. At the same time, had there not been several senior teammates with me, I might not have gone to the Obama rally. I might have caved under the pressure of fitting in that Maxwell overcame. And despite a military veteran father of my own, had all of what’s happening now been happening in the middle of a playoff race I was in as a rookie, especially in a major market, I would probably not have taken a knee—by myself no less—during the national anthem, either. You don’t want to be labeled a “distraction” by the media, and then become one in a superstitious, cliquey clubhouse as a rookie who is a new actor in a championship run that is years in the making. We have yet to see a major baseball star in a major market make a major political engagement. We have yet to see a Kaepernick–grade athlete use the platform of a championship run, with its larger audience. The “distraction” is perhaps entirely superstition, which especially pervades sports, but its effect is real.

My money would have been on Jones to be the first player to take a knee, despite his comments. My number two choice would have been Rays pitcher Chris Archer. But Maxwell was the right guy at the right time. He was born on a military base in Germany. His father is a veteran. For a certain kind of person watching these protests—which many critics have mischaracterized as being about “the flag” or “the troops,” instead of racial inequality and police violence—he had the credibility, along with the courage, to do something.

This is what Archer told the press on Sunday after Maxwell took a knee:

“It did take a while in baseball, I think mainly because the other sports that do that are predominantly black,” says Archer. “Our sport isn’t, so I think the criticism might be a little more harsh. It took somebody really special that had a unique background to take that leap.

“The way he went about it was totally, I think, as respectful as possible, just letting everybody know that this doesn’t have anything to do with the military, first and foremost, noting that he has family members that are in the military. It’s a little bit tougher for baseball players to make that leap, but I think he was the right person to do it.”

What Happens Now

Maxwell was cheered by the home Oakland crowd in his first at-bat since kneeling, a line-out to left field. In Mariners veteran Felix Hernandez, he was not forced to face the kind of (white, surly) pitcher one might expect to throw at a guy to send a political message, though it’s not at all implausible a pitcher of Felix Hernandez’s background could have thrown that purpose pitch “for America” after reading a tea party blog during pregame.

In the last week of the season, more teams will be eliminated (including the Rays), and their players will officially have no distraction superstition as a deterrent. For these players, there will be fewer games after which to face reporters. Here is what Archer told me in a text message: “What [Maxwell] did was tasteful & respectful to all parties. I wouldn’t be surprised if more guys start to follow suit.”

Bruce Maxwell Had the Courage, and Credibility, to Take MLB’s First Knee syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

[flauntpage]

Bruce Maxwell Had the Courage, and Credibility, to Take MLB's First Knee

On Saturday, the ACLU tweeted a quote from Jackie Robinson's 1972 memoir, I Never Had It Made:

"I cannot stand and sing the anthem. I cannot salute the flag; I know that I am a black man in a white world."

On Saturday, Oakland Athletics rookie catcher Bruce Maxwell, a black man, became the first MLB player to kneel during the national anthem. In a moment that faintly echoed Robinson and white teammate Pee Wee Reese's iconic embrace seven decades ago, Mark Canha placed his left hand on Maxwell's shoulder. The game went on. Oakland beat Texas 1-0.

Maxwell spoke eloquently about his reasons for taking a knee. Following his tweets from the weekend, you can see that Donald Trump's fixation on Colin Kaepernick and Steph Curry rather than national issues like the destruction of Puerto Rico struck a chord with him.

Why did it take so long?

The conservatism that has always held baseball hostage is a short, serviceable answer. It's nothing new. Back when Muhammad Ali was embracing the Nation of Islam, and Tommie Smith and John Carlos were raising their fists in black solidarity at the Olympics, the most meaningful activism among baseball players was economic—the fight to unionize and to earn free agency. Even the leaders of those movements faced backlash from their fellow players, not to mention owners, the media, and the public at large.

In the decades since, we have witnessed the repeal of the Fairness Doctrine, the imposition of internet filter bubbles, the optimization of soft news—of which sports is a crown jewel—and the deterioration of the American education system. Today, the average citizen cannot readily discern fact from fiction. They revert back to their trusted information troughs that validate their biases and make them feel better, smarter. Baseball players are like extreme versions of this, only with more confidence.

In the company of a few players last year, for example, I mentioned the (once again relevant) Paid Patriotism in Sports investigation led by Republican Senators Jeff Flake and John McCain from Arizona, which revealed that the Department of Defense paid MLB and other major sports leagues millions of dollars to stage many of the boutique military exercises we as players had all become so accustomed to being accessories to, standing at attention with our hands over our hearts along the foul line. One player told me that this was "liberal fake news," and that "John McCain would never do no kinda shit like that."

Baseball may value shut-up-and-play guys more than any other sport. The patron saint of that archetype is Derek Jeter, the most beloved baseball player since Babe Ruth, whose farewell tour was seen by many as excessive. What had he done but win championships? But to celebrate Jeter was to celebrate kicking ass and taking names, the Crash Davis school of never saying the wrong thing (not to be confused with saying the right thing) and only making waves off the field in heterosexual sex scandals that ultimately add girth to the legacy.

Orioles veteran centerfielder Adam Jones is one of the few players to consistently speak out about issues of race, from talking about Freddie Gray's death in 2015 to calling out fans who shouted the N-word at him in Fenway Park last season. A year ago, Jones said that Kaepernick–style protests hadn't made their way to MLB because "baseball is a white man's sport."

Jones was one of just 58 black, African American, or African Canadian players on active rosters for Opening Day this season, according to the 2017 Major League Baseball Racial and Gender Report Card. That number doesn't include Maxwell, who was called up from Triple-A later in April, nor several players who were on the DL, but the report still calls attention to "the relatively small and declining percentage of African-American players" in baseball.

It should be noted that Afro-Caribbean players born in the U.S. are not always counted in that group. I am both African and American—my parents' native Cuba was only a few stops on the Atlantic slave trade away from the Alabama of Maxwell's youth—but on the only Jackie Robinson Day in which I was in the Major Leagues (2009), I was not tabbed for that photo opportunity.

The same 2017 report card notes that there are more players of color in the league now than ever before. And the growing Latino presence in MLB creates more racial complexity that is especially hard to follow for people who don't see race and want all this race stuff to go back into the shadows. Many Latino people are racist. Many Latino people deny their own blackness. For every white-passing Latino with less than a quarter of African blood in them who speaks with an alarming NPM (niggas per minute) in public spaces, there is an undeniably African Latino who doesn't believe they're black. The individual desires of people of color to defer participation in "race" chips at the solidarity of the black community as efficiently as racism itself does. This is hard for anthropologists to follow, much less ballplayers.

Black solidarity is difficult to negotiate with a language barrier, and one should understand what might dissuade, for instance, a Venezuelan Afro-Latino from criticizing any aspect of American culture when matters are worse in every sense, including race issues, in their own country. Black people who are well traveled, especially Afro-Latinos who've traveled to many Spanish-speaking countries, eventually come to the glib conclusion quicker than anyone else, that despite our longtime and recently stoked problems here in America, there is perhaps no better place in the world to be black.

Kaepernick's protest spread slowly but surely across the NFL, where African-Americans made up 69.7 percent of players last year. Athletes in the NBA and the WNBA—two more leagues with majority black rosters—have also become fluent in peaceful protest in the last few years. Demographics may have kept the Kaepernick movement from catching on in baseball, but it's important to note that baseball conservatism has many layers.

In baseball, conformism is subconsciously enforced by the martial law of the purpose pitch, and by the ingrained biases of the people in power who make personnel decisions and drive its culture. When you wear your hat a certain way, a coach may say, "Why do you have to be different?" Your hair may irk him, and when you miss the cutoff man, it may be more irksome to him than when the guy who looks more like his son does it. There's the crappy .220 hitter and there's the scrappy .220 hitter, and the formula for who goes to AAA and who stays on as the good clubhouse guy is subjective at best.

It takes a special person to stand up, or kneel down, when you consider the full weight of the baseball institution.

Why was it Bruce Maxwell?

Three weeks into the NFL season, Colin Kaepernick is still unemployed. NFL insiders have been more reticent to say he's being blackballed than non-insiders like activist Shaun King. While Kaepernick is probably as capable as most starting NFL quarterbacks, he is not in the elite, irreplaceable strata of athletes. This gives the owners who don't sign him (i.e., all the owners) plausible deniability. It complicates the issue of Kaepernick's unemployment.

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As a player, Bruce Maxwell is even more replaceable than Kaepernick. Though the Oakland A's were swift to defend Maxwell after he kneeled on Saturday, it is important to note that if he were to be blackballed, it would be virtually impossible to prove. To date, Maxwell has proven he is a light-hitting catcher worth about half a win above replacement over the course of a season. Though many ballplayers are late bloomers, Maxwell's 300 at-bats represent a sufficiently large enough sample size for him to slowly fade into journeyman status without a second thought.

But whether he noticed or not, Maxwell's path was eased by other circumstances. The Oakland A's were mathematically eliminated from the playoffs on September 22, though they were never in the race at all, and even sold off their best pitcher at the trade deadline. The length of MLB's season holds that half its teams engage in dozens of meaningless games, such as Saturday's historic, meaningless contest between the Rangers and the Athletics. Maxwell has enjoyed the luxury of relatively low stakes—in baseball terms.

Along those lines, a story:

The morning after my club, the Tampa Bay Rays, beat the Red Sox in the 2008 ALCS, a handful of teammates and I supported then Senator Barack Obama at a rally in Florida. As a rookie, I was "hazed" by being volunteered to introduce the most famous political figure of our generation with a short speech before a capacity crowd at Legends Field. We were criticized for associating the team with a political party, but it was manageable—World Series stakes or not, Tampa is a tiny sports market. At the same time, had there not been several senior teammates with me, I might not have gone to the Obama rally. I might have caved under the pressure of fitting in that Maxwell overcame. And despite a military veteran father of my own, had all of what's happening now been happening in the middle of a playoff race I was in as a rookie, especially in a major market, I would probably not have taken a knee—by myself no less—during the national anthem, either. You don't want to be labeled a "distraction" by the media, and then become one in a superstitious, cliquey clubhouse as a rookie who is a new actor in a championship run that is years in the making. We have yet to see a major baseball star in a major market make a major political engagement. We have yet to see a Kaepernick–grade athlete use the platform of a championship run, with its larger audience. The "distraction" is perhaps entirely superstition, which especially pervades sports, but its effect is real.

My money would have been on Jones to be the first player to take a knee, despite his comments. My number two choice would have been Rays pitcher Chris Archer. But Maxwell was the right guy at the right time. He was born on a military base in Germany. His father is a veteran. For a certain kind of person watching these protests—which many critics have mischaracterized as being about "the flag" or "the troops," instead of racial inequality and police violence—he had the credibility, along with the courage, to do something.

This is what Archer told the press on Sunday after Maxwell took a knee:

"It did take a while in baseball, I think mainly because the other sports that do that are predominantly black," says Archer. "Our sport isn't, so I think the criticism might be a little more harsh. It took somebody really special that had a unique background to take that leap.

"The way he went about it was totally, I think, as respectful as possible, just letting everybody know that this doesn't have anything to do with the military, first and foremost, noting that he has family members that are in the military. It's a little bit tougher for baseball players to make that leap, but I think he was the right person to do it."

What Happens Now

Maxwell was cheered by the home Oakland crowd in his first at-bat since kneeling, a line-out to left field. In Mariners veteran Felix Hernandez, he was not forced to face the kind of (white, surly) pitcher one might expect to throw at a guy to send a political message, though it's not at all implausible a pitcher of Felix Hernandez's background could have thrown that purpose pitch "for America" after reading a tea party blog during pregame.

In the last week of the season, more teams will be eliminated (including the Rays), and their players will officially have no distraction superstition as a deterrent. For these players, there will be fewer games after which to face reporters. Here is what Archer told me in a text message: "What [Maxwell] did was tasteful & respectful to all parties. I wouldn't be surprised if more guys start to follow suit."

Bruce Maxwell Had the Courage, and Credibility, to Take MLB's First Knee published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv