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goforwardgreenwriter-blog · 6 years ago

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The Worm Reads: Empire of Storms, Ch 73-75

When I die, I want S*JM to lower my iron coffin so she can let me down one last time.

We open up with Manon making a run for it , revealing Alien gave her the Wyrdkeys before confronting Maeve.

Elide stirred, at last coming to, just as they were nearly out of hearing range. She began thrashing, and Manon dumped her behind a dune, gripping the back of her neck so tightly Elide stilled at the iron nails piercing her skin.

I mean yeah, Elide, what the fuck do you want Manon to do about it? Have you all die rather than letting Alien be captured and the rest of you get away with the Wyrdkeys? God, I think I’ll have to disown Elide at this point, she’s been reduced to nothing more than a tool to prop Alien up.

No one healed [Aelin’s] ravaged back, barely more than a bloody slab of meat, as they guided her into the iron box. Made her lie upon her wounds.

Yeaaaaaaaah, with the iron coffin blocking all of her magic, she’s gonna be dead come the end of the day. There’s no way she’s surviving the journey back to Maeve’s place after being whipped hundreds of times, her ass is grass.

Maeve disowns Lorcan for betraying her and peaces out. You go, Maeve, even if you didn’t actually get the Wyrdkeys, you’ve been more badass and intimidating in two chapters than Alien was in an entire series.

A roar grumbled on the horizon. Abraxos.

MY BABY DRAGON BOY!!!!! HE’S SAFE AND ALIVE!!!!!!!!

The chapter ends after Maeve leaves with Alien trapped in the iron coffin. A satisfying conclusion, indeed. Next!

Thunderous, swift steps. Then a hand gripping [Lorcan’s] hair, yanking back his head as a dagger settled along his throat. As Rowan’s face, calm with lethal wrath, appeared in his vision. “Where is Aelin.”

After this, Rowboat calls Alien his wife and Lorcan cries for some reason??? He hates Rowboat and Alien, why would he feel sorry for them??

The rest of the gang rolls up to the party to discover Alien is missing. Oh no, do you see it coming over the horizon? It’s a shit load of Alien splooging!

Rowan breathed, “Aelin would die to forge the new Lock to seal the keys into the gate—to banish Erawan. But no one would know. No one but us. Not while you wore her skin for the rest of your life.” Aedion dragged a hand through his blood-caked hair. “But any offspring with Rowan wouldn’t look anything like—” Lysandra’s face was pleading. “You would fix that, Aedion. With me.”

....Wow.

I mean really. Wow. That was Alien’s plan. To force Lysandra to abandon her identity forever to become Alien 2.0, and for Assdion to be forced to have children with Lysandra to keep up the lie. All without asking any of her friends for their consent in this plan.

She really is an awful person. There is no defending this shitty behavior. Literally nothing you say about her will change my mind; Alien is the worst YA main character I’ve ever had the displeasure of reading about. She can eat shit for all I care about.

Aedion flinched as if he’d been struck. “And when were you going to reveal this? Before or after I thought I was taking my gods-damned cousin to bed for whatever reason you concocted?”

I mean yeah, I don’t blame him for getting pissed! This is Alien basically dictating his entire life and role to him and he gets no say in this. What utter bullshit!

Everyone gets all pissy and stomps away from each other but I don’t care, Manon POV and the 13 are alive!!!!!!

Asterin was alive. The Thirteen were alive. And it was joy in Manon’s heart—joy, she realized, as she beheld those smiling faces and smiled back.

PROTECT MANON AND HER 13!!!! THEY DESERVE THE WORLD!!!!

Asterin brushed a hand over Elide’s hair as the girl wept into her shoulder.

Lowkey ship? Either way, girls supporting girls is so precious I love this unghhhhh it’s so pure.....

“What are you going to do?” Asterin breathed, her eyes so bright. Manon looked behind them. To the north. “I am going to find the Crochans. And I am going to raise an army with them. For Aelin Galathynius. And her people. And for ours.”

Not happy Manon is lowkey gushing for Alien rn but she’s also looking out for her own kind, so I’ll accept it.

Everyone angsts over Alien and how selfless and noble she was to give her life up for theirs, blah blah blah, whatever. Manon gives the keys to Dorito and the chapter ends.

This is it. The last chapter. Holy shit we’re almost done with this flaming turd!

Rowan had married Aelin before dawn barely two days ago. Aedion and Lysandra had been the only witnesses as they’d awoken the bleary-eyed captain, who married them quickly and quietly and signed a vow of secrecy.

I love how this is only revealed now because the plot demanded it, rather than having it happen beforehand so it didn’t seem so out of place. I’m smelling something..... begins with ‘a’ and ends with ‘ss pull’.

[Rowan]’d leapt in front of [Aelin] at Skull’s Bay knowing [they were mates], deep down. Knowing mates aware of the bond could not bear to harm each other

Love how SJM lowkey realized “Oh shit, mates can’t harm each other and I had Rowboat and Alien physically abuse one another in the third book! Eh, they have to be aware of it to not abuse one another, so that makes it okay!” Very classy, SJM.

Aelin had known, though. That he was her mate. And she had not pushed it, or demanded he face it, because she loved him, and he knew she’d rather carve out her own heart than cause him pain or distress. His Fireheart.

Footage not found. Also, I can’t even bring myself to find the “special nicknames for each other” trope cute because these two are such raging assholes. I’m glad this book ends with them miserable and separated.

[Aelin]’d tried to tell [Rowan]. Right before the ilken converged. Tried to tell him she’d vomited her guts up on the ship that day not because she was pregnant but because she’d realized she was going to die.

Hmmm, seems quite convenient. Also damn, does SJM have a vomiting fetish or something because Alien pukes her guts up in literally almost every book and that’s like, the only symptom of PTSD SJM ever shows with her characters. Don’t shoot the messenger, I’m just saying.

[Aelin] did not think she’d ever see [Rowan] again. He did not accept that. He would not accept that.

Please spare us the misery of another book of you finding her, Rowboat, literally nobody wants it.

Fight it, [Rowan] willed [Aelin], sending the words down the bond(...). Fight her. I am coming for you. Even if it takes me a thousand years. I will find you, I will find you, I will find you.

So many concepts and quotes I should be getting feels over, but they’re squandered on such asshole characters. Seriously, someone write this but like, with a good ship, I’d read the fuck out of that.

Ansel and the other armies Alien collected roll up also, and a new challenger approaches!

“Who are you,” Rowan ground out. But the young man was now close enough that Rowan could see the color of his eyes. Turquoise—with a core of gold. Aedion breathed as if in a trance, “Galan.” Galan Ashryver, Crown Prince of Wendlyn.

Here’s a guy who showed up in one scene in the third book with no lines and barely any screen time but we’re supposed to be awed at his appearance. Lmfao.

So yeah, because every fucking person in this universe apparently owes Alien a life debt for gracing them with her presence, a billion fucking ships are here to serve her and Assdion and Rowboat cry over how uhmayzing and uber special Alien is and kiss her ass even though she’s not present. I’ll spare you the details.

And the last piece of it … if Chaol Westfall and Nesryn Faliq could rally forces from the southern continent …

Chaol and Nesryn deserve so much better......... I don’t think I can read T0D because I hear my poor Chaol got butchered as well and reading Dorito’s character get murdered in cold blood hurt so much.

Lysandra strolls out shape shifting as Alien. I’d point out that SJM has made it clear shifting exhausts Lysandra so logically she couldn’t keep up the appearance of Alien for long but who cares, the book’s almost over.

Everyone agrees to put aside their fighting and differences to save Alien, because the world can’t survive without her. Gag me with a spoon.

Rowan clasped Aedion’s forearm. “The lines have to hold. Buy us whatever time you can, brother.” Aedion gripped his forearm in return, eyes burning bright.

@ SJM let them hug you fucking coward

Rowan brought [Aelin’s] shirt to his face and breathed in her scent. Felt something stir in him—felt the bond flicker.

You just had a somber moment of all the characters saying goodbye to each other and then you ruin it with Rowboat getting a boner at Alien’s blood shirt holy fucking shiiiiiit no we’re moving on this novel is almost over

Unleashing a cry that set the world trembling, Prince Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, Consort of the Queen of Terrasen, began the hunt to find his wife.

Who cares, not me!!!!!! Because this piece of shit is over!!!!!!

I’d like to make a well written and neat essay to sum up my thoughts, but really, everything is just Bad. Real Bad. Shitty writing, shitty plot that was just an excuse for huge amounts of porn, and the characters. Holy fucking shit. Never have I wanted to strangle a character as much as I want to strangle Alien. Worst YA protagonist ever, imo.

Now it’s time to take a break after the horrors this book has put me through, and to decide what horrific novel I expose myself to next. Don’t buy SJM novels, kids.

#the worm talks #the worm reads: eos #anti sjm #anti eos #anti tog #ITS DONE IM FREE IM FREE!!!!!!!!

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xoxardnekoxo · 8 years ago

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Movie Review: Beauty and the Beast (2017)

WARNING: SPOILERS AHEAD!

The wait is over! Since the first teaser trailer released for the live-action version of Beauty and the Beast was released, I knew I had to see it. I didn’t see it in theaters, but I knew I’d be buying it so it didn’t matter. My mom loves the story too, so there was no question we’d be seeing it.

I’m sure everyone is familiar with the plot, so I’ll skip over that portion of this review. I was very impressed at the likeness between the cartoon and its live-action counterpart. Sure, there were a few differences, but that’s to be expected.

For example, this time around, it’s explained that the reason the villagers know nothing about this castle that the Beast/prince lives in, it’s because of the spell placed on him by the enchantress - it basically erased everyone’s memory of the place, and it’s hidden in the woods in an everlasting winter.

Wait, let’s start at the beginning. As before, the Beast, who was originally a prince, was very selfish and spoiled. The beginning of the movie focuses on a party he’s having, and he’s getting ready for the occasion, and here’s what he comes out looking like:

I’m sorry, but that’s terrifying. Glad I wasn’t alive in that era. Whoever thought that makeup and those wigs were attractive, for men OR women, has a serious problem.

In the cartoon, it says that the enchanted rose will bloom until the Beast turns 21. It’s then said that 10 years have passed since the spell was placed on the castle. That means he was 11 years old when this happened. Excuse me, but where the heck were his parents?

However, this version doesn’t say any ages whatsoever. Which is good since the prince doesn’t look young enough to be 11 at the start of the movie.

Fast-forward to meeting Belle, right as we did in the cartoon. She goes into her little provincial town and starts singing about it.

OMG the singing. I kid you not, there is more singing in this version of the movie than there was in the cartoon. The same songs are there, plus a few new ones. And some other previously unexplained instances like what happened to Belle’s mother.

But seriously, OMG the singing. I swear, at least 50% of the movie’s dialog is in song. Okay as a kid, but for those of us like me who grew up with the original cartoon, we’ve outgrown that, or at least I have. Say it, don’t sing it. How many times do I have to repeat that?

So, Belle’s father, Maurice, gets kidnapped by the Beast, but this time it’s because he was trying to steal a rose from the castle to bring back to Belle. So he’s put in the dungeon for stealing. Belle finds Maurice and manages to, of course, take his place as a prisoner. However, this time, Lumiere the candelabra takes Belle to her bedroom, as the Beast says nothing about it. Frankly, he doesn’t care.

So of course, all the household objects (and honestly, I’m not a fan of their new appearance. Of course they can’t look like their cartoon counterparts, but they’re almost spooky in this movie, I’m sorry.) try to get the Beast to behave himself because they’re convinced Belle is the girl, the only possible person, to break the spell on them, the Beast, and the castle.

Yeah, let’s talk about that, shall we? All the enchanted objects seem to be pretty selfish, because all they care about is that they get to be human again. But Mrs. Potts explains that they’re to blame and deserve to be punished with the spell too, because they stood by and watched as the Beast’s father turned him into a jerk just like him. So yeah, the Beast wasn’t always a brat. His father made him that way, just like him.

So, we know that if the Beast doesn’t find love before the last rose petal falls, he’ll be that way forever. But the household objects will become antiques, and essentially die because they’ll eventually be unable to move or talk. Plus, every time a petal falls, the castle has a miniature earthquake.

An addition to this movie is an enchanted map. Yes, we still have the enchanted rose and mirror, but the map apparently allows whoever touches it to go wherever they want. The Beast shows this to Belle, and she goes to Paris when she was a baby. We then learn what happened to her mother - it was the plague, and her mother begged Maurice to take her away for her safety. So, yay for closure, I guess?

Gaston, of course, is also in the movie, with his faithful sidekick, Le Fou. In the cartoon, when Maurice tells everyone (after they finish their song about how much they admire Gaston) that Belle has been abducted by a Beast, Gaston actually believes him and he and Le Fou go with him to find Belle. But Maurice can’t remember the way, because a tree that magically fell the night he found the castle is suddenly upright again. Gaston, meanwhile, asks Maurice for Belle’s hand. Maurice is like, “Uh... no.”

Yes, denied. So yes, while Gaston did ask Belle for her hand in marriage, he actually asked Maurice as well this time. Belle said she doesn’t want him, and Maurice knows she’s too good for him. In the cartoon, Gaston’s plan was that if Belle didn’t marry him, her father would be thrown into an asylum. This time, he tells Maurice that if he gives him Belle’s hand, he’ll let him go. The answer is still no. This is after punching him and leaving him for dead in the woods. Thankfully, a woman later revealed to be the enchantress from the beginning saves Maurice, and he goes back to town to tell everyone what Gaston did, but of course Gaston convinces everyone to listen to him because Maurice is obviously mentally ill.

Yep, yikes. The famous ball dance scene is also in this movie, and again, the Beast lets Belle leave to save her father (this time he isn’t lost and sick in the woods; he’s being taken away to an asylum). She rides her horse into town, still in her ball gown, and flashes that magic mirror to prove to everyone that yes, the Beast exists. So then the man hunt begins. This time, however, Gaston doesn’t resort to a bow and arrow; he shoots the Beast, at least five times, before once again plummeting to his death. Of course, while his henchmen are fighting all the household objects, Le Fou gets trapped under something and Gaston doesn’t help him. He then realizes, hey, this guy is a turd. So he switches sides.

Yeah, I definitely didn’t see that coming. I was ready for the funny part where the stove scares everyone out. But yeah, after Gaston falls, Belle is holding the Beast in her arms, she confesses her love to him, and BOOM! Spell broken. Everyone cheer!

Then we get to the wedding scene. And now, let us discuss one of the more controversial topics about this movie, and what caused it to be banned from some theaters:

This is the first Disney movie with an openly gay character. Gaston’s henchman, Le Fou, is apparently homosexual in this movie. Now, he doesn’t actually say this, and Gaston does ask why he hasn’t found a woman, but his response (can’t remember the exact explanation) would suffice no matter what his orientation is.

So, why all the controversy? What was everyone freaking out about? This:

Yes, that. That is the actual length of the scene that kept this movie out of theaters in some areas. What this gif doesn’t show, however, is that this happened by ACCIDENT. Le Fou (being all friendly with Belle and everyone now) is at the wedding party, and everyone is dancing and changing partners. He’s dancing with a woman, and suddenly, on accident, he begins dancing with a man during a partner switch.

Yes, come on. THAT is so terrible, so abhorrent, that it’s caused this much of a public stir? Give me a break! And I don’t mean a Kit Kat!

So, there you have it. It was a nice movie, and they did a great job of remaking the cartoon and making this version so close to it. I just wish there wasn’t so much singing in it. I’m sorry, but I’ve never cared for musicals. Even as a kid, other kids would sing along to the Disney songs. I wouldn’t. I wouldn’t even sing along to my Disney Sing-A-Long VHS tapes. I just watched them because they had scenes from the movies.

So, final rating: 7/10

Yeah, not big on the household objects’ new looks, either. Here, enjoy and bon voyage!

#xoxardnekoxo #Movie Review #spoiler alert #Beauty and the Beast #Beauty and the Beast 2017 #Belle #Beast #Lumiere #Cogsworth #Mrs Potts #Chip #France #prince #enchanted castle #Disney

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altusfl · 7 years ago

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6. The Fall Vote --- Where realities diverge.

In my alternate reality, the outrage with the McKenzie Report unfolds in pretty much the same way with the male USFL owners struggling to accept the information from the McKenzie report as it is delivered by its female author.

However when Trump calls it “Bullshit”, Carnizario bristles a bit and takes offense. He tells his fellow owners that the survey was processed by the best evaluators the league could find. Even if they disagree with all of the conclusions, they should respect the fact that many of them are probably correct and use that information in evaluating their future path.

Sensing he’s losing the argument, Trump in this reality still turns to Einhorn. Einhorn still gives his rousing, “fuck the Eggheads and their conclusions, let’s do this fall thing” speech.

But in this reality Einhorn’s momentum is quickly squandered.

Just as in the real reality, Trump turns to Simmons hoping to extract a positive stance for the fall. (Trump had been badgering Simmons all week to try and get him to commit to supporting the move to the fall.)

In our reality, Simmons just said there was more financial potential in the fall and then called for informal straw-poll on the move to the fall as proposed by the executive committee. Simmons realized his voice had been tuned out. He had hoped with the McKenzie report fresh in the owners mind’s, the teams would vote to stay in the spring.

In this alternate timeline, Carnizario’s moment of umbridge gives Simmons a lever. Simmons raises the point that the USFL is about to discuss whether or not the teams want to play the 1985 season in the spring and the 1986 preseason in the fall which sounds like an inappropriate stance given the findings of the report.

“It is abundantly clear to me that ABC is going to fight us to see every one of these damn option years. Actions can always be taken to cut team expenses and to help individual teams through the next two years via temporary mergers and whatnot, but given the report, perhaps the question from the executive committee that should be placed in front of the owners is no longer valid….. Perhaps the question should be whether the team should play 1985 and 1986 in the spring and then schedule the vote on whether or not to move to the fall to be decided after the 1986 season.”

Trump doesn’t like that at all as it compromises his position and he says, “No! We need to have a vote on the wording as proposed by the executive committee.”

There is a general feeling that this is simply Trump’s desire and there’s no logical basis behind it.

His seed of doubt planted, Simmons acknowledges Trump’s decision as head of the meeting and sits down.

The Fall vote

Miami

The straw vote starts. Miami owner Woody Weiser, sitting next to Howard Schnellenberger and Berl Bernhard, stands up and immediately says, “Miami is not going to play in the fall. We vote for the spring.”

“If you vote to move to the fall after the coming 1985 season our transaction with Berl is probably going to fall through and you will lose a top 12 market for this coming season. We don’t want to be like this but there is far too much competition to play in Miami in the fall. We would fail within a year.”

“If you go with the spring in 1985 and 1986 and then re-evaluate after that, we will play football and help your TV position for those two seasons. If a decision is made to move to the fall at that point, we will quietly sell or move the franchise with no ill-will”.

With that stinking turd in Trump’s “move to the fall” toilet, the straw vote proceeds…

Arizona

Arizona’s Dr. Ted Dietrich had been swayed by Einhorn and Tad Taube’s suggestion that the league should move to the fall and try and force a merger with the NFL. He advised that he was okay with either season but had a slight inclination to favor the fall.

Dietrich was also angling for a merger with someone. He had purchased the arizona franchise and sold his chicago franchise the year before, but the Chicago deal had fallen through, depriving him of $7 million dollars and leaving him hurting for cash. Dietrich had more than enough money to run a high-end USFL franchise, however taking the $7 million dollar Chicago loss, changed the equation. He had been forced to do a lot of extra work in order to make his bills and it was beginning to wear on him.

The move to the fall had seemed more likely to lead to mergers as several teams with more liquidity would lose their home stadiums. It is likely that the words of Simmons advocating mergers and bailouts — even though he was not a Simmons guy —- would have resonated with him, causing a nuanced shift in his position. Dietrich would still have said he would prefer the fall schedule, but likely would have said he’d have been on board if the league decided to wait another year.

Birmingham

The Birmingham Stallion’s Marvin Warner would still be a strong fall vote. He hated ABC. He voted to move to the fall. He would be more inclined to push to move as soon as possible as it would immediately force the issue with ABC.

Chicago

Eddie Einhorn would prefer a move to the fall immediately, but as the executive committee said after the ‘85 season, Einhorn’s position would be to back the executive committee’s wording. Einhorn had made it abundantly clear that he had no intention of playing in the spring of 1985, and it was pretty clear he had no intention of ever playing in the spring.

He would throw in more talk of bags of gold from the Networks waiting for the league if they would only move to the fall...

Denver

Denver’s Doug Spedding is an owner who appeared to quickly come to regret his decision to vote for move to the fall. In our reality, he was swayed by Einhorn’s letter and with nothing else concrete coming out of the spring side of the ledger, he voted for the positive money that Einhorn was advocating, in spite of heavy trouble looming in the future with operating a franchise in Denver that would be competing head to head with the Bronchos in the fall.

I think in the face of all this, Spedding would shade his response and effectively change his vote. With the idea fresh in his mind that the push to play in the fall screwed Spedding’s ‘Plan A’ to pull back lost fans (signing Neil Lomax to run Mouse Davis’s run and shoot) AND had cost him those fans in the first place, Spedding would back up his fellow new owner and vote to postpone the discussion on the fall until after the 1986 season. He would in essence become a no vote on the executive committee’s recommendation.

Houston

Houston’s Jerry Argovitz believed in his core that football should be played in the fall. He also thought that would help the league’s lawsuit against the NFL and money was tight among Houston’s ownership after a somewhat disappointing year at the gate given their product. So he was solidly for the fall despite the fact it possibly meant the Gamblers would no longer be able to play in the Astrodome. Rice stadium would still be available, so Argovitz had options. Houston would remain a fall vote.

Jacksonville

Jacksonville’s Fred Bullard liked the spring but in our reality stated he would vote with majority. He may have privately favored the fall. There was a belief that he felt he would be a front-runner should there be an NFL merger. I think his position overall would still be be that he favored voting with the majority, however with both Florida hard core spring advocates, Wieser and Bassett, on hand, it seems very likely he might advocate for kicking the decision down the road a year. Voting for a shift that might put two other people in the same state out of business is a lot of peer pressure to deal with when both are sitting in the room with you. I could see Bullard voting no on the wording proposed by the executive committee.

Los Angeles had reverted to the league back on July 22nd, so LA was not represented at the meeting.

Memphis

Memphis’s Billy Dunavant also had NFL merger dreams. He would vote to push the issue, so a vote for the fall would be the result.

Michigan

The Michigan Panthers came next. In our reality, the Panthers had prepared a very compelling presentation which Taubman’s son apparently spat it out through clenched teeth.

The senior Taubman would present the teams argument in a much more compelling way. Michigan would be a strong and influential no vote in this reality.

New Jersey

New Jersey came next. In our reality, Trump quietly voted yes in order to not stir the pot with Michigan.

In this reality, sensing that defeat could be in the air, Trump would likely spend a lot of time trying to make his case. That would have likely hurt the fall camp as the league owners had apparently largely tuned out Trump as being an irrational fall vote. The more he talked emotionally about the fall, the more it would hurt the fall position. (The owners were tuned into Einhorn, not Trump.) New Jersey would be a yes.

New Orleans

New Orleans was next. Carnizario in our reality mysteriously voted “yes” knowing that he would have to move his franchise out of New Orleans.

I think in part that came out of the fact that he was on both committees, and may have felt somewhat compromised and unable to vote against a majority leaning one direction. (Given the fact that he is still friends with Trump there may have also been a desire to Foster business ties with Trump, but I don’t know that that played any role.)

I think the same dynamic would apply in this reality, but he’d change his vote to a “no” as the votes would be of a split nature.

Carnizario, forced to look at the work of the Mackenzie report before the meeting, would, I think, reach the conclusion that the executive committee had given the wrong options to the league owners to vote on and would state that.

I believe he would vote to stay in the spring for two more seasons and then reevaluate it. New Orleans would become a no vote.

Oakland

Oakland would still vote “Yes”.

Tad Taube had signed up for the USFL as a minority owner in Oakland. He really didn’t have the money to comfortably fill the main ownership role in a league that spent at this level. Everything was more expensive than advertised and it seems clear that Taube needed new cash coming in. Like Diethrich, Taube saw more merger candidates in the fall than in the spring.

Taube would try in vain to pull the League back to support a move to the fall after the 1985 season, but Taube was renowned for being long-winded. Like Trump, Taube’s position was well-known and unlikely to change opinions. The more he talked, the less that opinion would seem appealing.

Oklahoma

The California-based Tathams, the owners of the Oklahoma Outlaws, were next. They had established an agreement that would allow them to play in OU Stadium for a year and then the following year would move into a brand new stadium in Oklahoma City, but it appears that they had soured on that idea by time the meeting rolled around. They were now in favor of a merger with Oakland that would get them far, far closer to their normal base of operations in California. They announced they were in merger talks with Taube and would also vote “Yes”.

In our reality someone raised the question whether the Tatham should have a vote as they were in merger talks. This drew the ire of Donald Trump onto the Tathams for not keeping quiet through the meeting, but in our reality the fall forces were running away with the vote….so it didn’t matter when the Tathams were not allowed to vote in the official count.

This would have hurt the fall camp in this reality.

Philadelphia

Philadelphia was up next. Philadelphia’s Miles Tannenbaum rightly questioned Einhorn’s commitment to playing a spring season in 1985. Einhorn talked entirely around the subject and never committed to anything proving Tannenbaum’s contention that Einhorn was a bit of a fake.

With his goal achieved, Tannenbaum said the Stars would have a hard time staying in Philadelphia in the fall and voted to stay in the spring. I don’t think any of that would have changed.

Pittsburgh

Pittsburgh would not be able to play in their stadium in the fall. They voted to stay in the spring. That would not change.

San Antonio

San Antonio’s Clinton Magnes was constantly ridiculed by Donald Trump. Trump feared Magnes would be a spring vote, but Magnes had the luxury of not having a fall tenant in his stadium so he said that while either season was fine for him, he agreed to vote with the fall group as everyone seem to want to go that way.

In this timeline, he would have been confronted with several teams stating they would have to go out of business if they did the proposed jump to the fall.

Magnes had failed to make his payroll a couple of times in the initial season and was on thin ice with the other league owners. I believe his voting was entirely based on not rocking the boat.

I think presented with this reality and a more modest sounding option of putting in two more seasons in the spring and then re-evaluating, Magnes would have flipped. San Antonio would have voted against the executive committee statement (and Magnes would have taken some joy in thwarting Donald Trump).

Tampa Bay

Tampa Bay’s Bassett’s approach would likely have remained exactly the same. In the straw count, Bassett voted against the move to the fall.

The Final Talley

In our reality, the straw count was 12 in favor of a move to the fall, 4 opposed, and Los Angeles and Miami not participating. A 2/3 affirmative vote would have been required to move to the fall. With that count they held an official vote after lunch and voted to move to the fall.

In this timeline the executive committee’s recommendation might have lost 8-9 or something along those lines in the straw vote with Los Angeles still not having a vote. It would not have been anywhere near close enough to proceed with a formal vote.

The idea of waiting two years would be a compelling one for on the fence voters. It would be something that the spring forces would likely use to thwart Trump and Einhorn’s ambitions.

The Spring advocates would demand the league present a strong pro-spring stance to help season ticket sales as sales were off as the league looked at a fall season.

In one of Commissioner Chet Simmons’ final acts as commissioner, he would take great pleasure in announcing that the league had decided not to move to the fall for the duration of the ABC contract.

When asked pointedly if that meant the USFL was abandoning ever playing in the fall, Simmons would respond, “We have no intention of moving to the fall.”

“But.... There is always a SLIGHT possibility of revisiting the decision if at some point after the 1986 season, if significantly more TV money is offered in the fall.”

“But for now we have considered and discussed the idea of moving to the fall in the next 2 seasons ad nauseum. We considered the effects it might have on our players, franchises, and fans if we did it now and then we voted on the issue. Collectively we rejected the idea as being potentially damaging in the next few years.”

“We have decided to remain a spring league.”

Trump would be devastated. With no intent of ever playing in the spring, Einhorn would pull back from his league involvement. As Einhorn pulled back, Trump would start making noise about selling the Generals in the New York media. Now his only reason to stay in the USFL would be to win the lawsuit with the NFL. As in our reality, he would take a leading role in that as Bassett’s health fades.

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daemonvols · 7 years ago

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Chapter Four

That Which Hosts the Undead Would Be as Scary

The men in my romance novels are unfailingly handsome. That breed of handsome that takes the breath away from however many readers it takes to create a “bestseller”. Such a man may have a scar – physical or mental, take your choic – but it becomes him, makes him that much more vulnerable and therefore more attractive. The authors of my romances, I’m told, write them that way for maximum arousal and some mental drooling (actual drooling I’d rather not consider; it damages the book). My point is, the hero could have a hairy mole, for crying out loud, but the authors are careful to place such flaws where they will cause the strongest visceral reaction among their readers.

By comparison, however, this gravedigger turned grave robber in the Plutarch grave fell a bit short. Yes, he was the same man who “stirred” my feelings from a distance that afternoon. I knew him from the union shirt and the jeans that fit so well (especially there). I knew and wanted the big hands pushing at the shovel’s handle on my own body while his square jaw sagged in profanity because he could not pry the lid open.

But the face?

I’ve had time and proximity since that night to try to find the words for the face as I saw it in the yellow Coleman light on that April evening. First, take my Grandpa Dov’s favorite comic strip hero, Dick Tracy. Remove the yellow Fedora and make the hair brown, wavy and wind-blown. Second, widen the eyes enough to tell from a few yards that they are brown, a soft, sable brown. Next, soften Tracy’s building block of a nose a little while you’re at it. Last, put that head on good shoulders on top of a strong chest that narrows down to those perfect-fitting jeans and there he stood, straddling Eulalie Plutarch’s coffined remains in pretty well-worn black Nikes. I almost envied her the view of that inseam.

A rustling in the hedge that separates Sections E and F told me Jerry tried to hide out of the light. I stood at the edge and kicked some of the loose dirt down into the grave. The digger turned robber lifted those eyes to me and scowled.

“Who the fuck are you?”

He told me later than I flinched. All I remember is that his question offended me. I can appreciate well-timed profanity. I’ve uttered my share in the appropriate circumstances. But when you’re caught (excuse the expression) dead to rights in a felony, I’ve always considered it bad manners to lead with the f-word.

I kicked in a little more dirt before I answered. “Well, since I pay the union who pays you, I guess that indirectly makes me your boss.”

He drew the shovel upright, balancing it on one of the brass handles on the side, and leaned on it. Then he smiled. I won’t say I was a goner when he smiled because that’s one pun too many for one scene in a cemetery. But, as I recall it, the night had grown a little less chilly.

“So you’re the lady in charge. Farmer, isn’t it?”

“It is. And you are?”

He started to laugh with a sideways glance. “Charlie. Charlie Tischler.”

“OK, Charlie Tischler, what precisely are you doing? You’re over five hours late filling in the grave and I would think standing in it is not the ideal position to do the job. Nor is the time particularly good, seeing that you’re digging in the dark.”

He chuckled. “You got that right. But do you know who this is?”

“From the death certificate and the papers, yes.”

“She’s the richest b-“

“Don’t say it. Neither of us knew her that well when she was alive.”

He stared at me for a moment. Not his most endearing expression; he looked like a snapping turtle who’s been poked from behind. He rephrased. “She was extremely rich and she wanted to be buried with a lot of her jewelry.”

“You know this how?”

“Her sons hung around after the service. They were fighting over letting diamond rings and pearl drop earrings and gold necklaces that are now in the ground on a rotting corpse. Must have gone on at each other for quarter of an hour. They agreed to let it lie for now. But, as you can see,” here he gestured to the shovel and the dirt on his hand, “I disagreed with their decision.”

“And the coffin lid is locked.”

His arrogance sagged a little with his jaw. “Yeah. I have a little turd for a partner. Looks like he ran for it.”

“And here we are. In point of fact, you’re screwed.”

“If you’re calling the cops, I guess I am.”

I suppose I did think it over too long because his mouth was just starting to curl up in that smile again. Not one of the heroes in my books had that smile.

I tried to look – and feel - indifferent to that smile. And him. “OK, I’m not going to run back to my office to call the police because, by the time they arrive, you’ll have filled in the grave and run off. Yes, I have your name and a description to give them, but I don’t think you wouldn’t have an alibi and I’m in no mood to get into a he said/she said spat that the newspapers will eat up and that will cost me my job.” His smile widened to show teeth so straight he had to have endured yesars of sadistic orthodontists and their metal braces. “But what I will tell you is that you’d better fill in the grave and get out of here as fast as you can. I am by far the least dangerous thing in this cemetery.”

He laughed. A low, rolling sound that left me a little dizzy. “Why? You telling me there are ghoulies and ghosties around?”

My Grandma Rose always said deep breaths clear the mind and stiffen the backbone. That smile and that laugh had me wobbling, so I took three. “I have no idea what a ghoulie is, but, yes, we have ghosts and vampires here. They’re all very territorial. I know they won’t take kindly to someone violating a grave in their cemetery.”

He laughed again. “And what will the werewolves think?”

“I can’t say. This is a cemetery. A place for dead people. Technically, werewolves are still alive.”

You insert a quick question: do werewolves exist? I’ve heard that they do, but I cannot prove it one way or the other. I’ve never seen one since I live at the CPF and I rarely venture into Syracuse. However, I have heard of a pack running near the university. And that’s enough to keep me from going downtown when there’s a full moon.

“Look,” I said, “there about two dozen vampires who will be returning from feeding in Syracuse before long. They may be sated or they may not. For all I know, some of the younger ones might like you for dessert and the older ones can always make exceptions for people who piss them off. So, if they find you here still trying to break into Eulalie’s coffin, they will hurt you. They may even kill you. I strongly suggest you get your ass out of there, fill in the grave and leave.”

He studied me a long time. Long enough for me to look over all of the adjoining sections and count a few headstones. “You’re serious,” he said. “I almost believe you.”

“I’d recommend you do. In short, Charlie Tischler, you’ve got choices here. You can decide that I’m crazy,” I told him. “You can take your chances and keep working at the latch – which will give after a while, by the way. But you won’t live through the night if you do. Or –“ and, looking back, this is where I lost my mind before I lost my heart – “you can come to the house on your next night off and I’ll introduce you to some of them.”

He narrowed his eyes. I braced for more laughter or a string of profanities to insult my intelligence. He did neither. He did something decidedly un-manly: he listened and considered what I had said. “I’m tempted,” he admitted, “but I don’t know when I could do that. I work two jobs and a lot of double shifts at the Book-of-the-Month club. Might be a week, might be two weeks.”

Might be never. “Fine. They’re not going anywhere and neither am I. Leave me a phone message about which day. The union office has my number. Only give me a few days’ notice to make the arrangements.” I turned away and walked a little, then turned back for the effect. “And plan on coming between nine and nine-thirty. Our residents don’t care much for the sunlight.”

I was reasonably sure Charlie had taken my advice to do without Eulalie Plutarch’s jewelry. If he hadn’t, if Derek and his “family” had found him and, as I suspected, feasted on him, I’m sure Missy and Mischa would have come screeching into my bedroom about the mess and how was I going to clean that up? The publicity alone would doom me.

Besides, the grave was filled in the next morning.

And here you ask another question: How did I get to such a razor’s edge with the Board? I’ll try to make the long story a little shorter than plowing through over a hundred and fifty years of documentation.

My family’s relationship with the Board of Directors has been strained from the very beginning, or ever since Jacob Baumann applied for the caretaker and gravedigger job in 1840. It is never a good start to an employer-employee when the interviewing committee’s secretary, the Reverend Dieter Bruner, makes notes like these next to a badly-printed copy of the foundation’s charter:

Next to the First Article: “We get only one applicant and it’s a filthy Jew not four months off the boat. I’ll bet my hat he speaks no English.”

Second Article: “I’d have lost my hat. He speaks English. Speaks it better than Halberforth (Abernathy Halberforth, President of the Association). Speaks it better than Mason (Raymond Mason was the Association’s attorney), for the love of God! The Devil’s in this!”

Third Article: “In agony now, wanting to laugh and yet I want the man arrested for (a trail of blotted ink here) WITCHCRAFT! He’s got Meecham (Jerome Meecham, the treasurer) agreeing that the advertisement misrepresented the offer of compensation!”

Fourth Article: “Lord God in Heaven, save us sinners now and at the hour of our death, which has to be nigh! This man has us in his thrall!”

Most of the rest of the drama queen’s notes are smeared, but they seem to be in large part expressions of mental anguish and a pious whining at Life in general and the Divine Being in particular. I can’t read it without thinking it would make a sensational blog. Lots of followers and people to “Like” the page. That is, until readers tired of the whining – I’d give it a week at best – and they told Bruner in text and tweet to get an f-ing life.

Either in spite of or because of the Reverend’s side notes, the Board hired Jacob. They and their heirs tolerated him and his male heirs, despite having to give them a house, a carriage house, and eventually electricity by the time Jacob’s grandson Isaac was caretaker. Over the next 160 years, the Board saw quiet men who did their job and had families that caused no public comment satisfied them, whether the Board honestly was happy about their employees or not.

To be fair, the relationship wasn’t all unspoken tension. Once, around 1920, in what I can only assume was a fog of patriotic fever, the Board issued my great-great-grandfather Isidore and his son Jack a public commendation for their “good and faithful” service during the influenza pandemic of 1918-1919. Between the two of us, however, I still think the Board wanting some good publicity to come out of having the space for so many bodies.

But the bad feelings returned soon enough. Great-grandfather Jack took them to court to force the Board to pay for the installation of indoor plumbing. Grandpa Dov fought with them to the point of filing a lawsuit over cost-of-living increases, insurance and the like after the Second World War. And the current Board members were none too keen on my crazy father Barry, who had wandered the cemetery at night to “tuck in” all the residents, had scared off his wife after producing one female child, and then had driven my grandfather’s Buick off the then incomplete 690 bypass all by the time I was five.

Grandpa Dov and Grandma Rose died after I graduated college with a Business degree, so the position came down to me. But, in the Board’s eyes, I was a single female of child-bearing age with no observable marital prospects. They exercised some interpretation of their prerogative so that I had to endure an application and interview process, despite Jacob’s contract article requiring that members of his family stay in the job to the end of the family line. Heaven knows these descendants tried, but they could find no escape clause and found themselves honoring the contract with a woman.

It must have bruised their egos. I kept their books and records as well, and in most cases, better than my grandparents because I could use a computer. I don’t even keep a cat. And yet, it has always been a precarious existence for me. One sixteenth of a column of bad publicity and I could be fighting for my house and my job.

I sat up in the office for an hour and a half after leaving Charlie standing with his mouth open in Eulalie’s grave. No ghosts, no vampires, not even a soft spring breeze disturbed the quiet. I had only to calm the disturbance Charlie Tischler had created in me: a roil of hormones and other bodily responses I hadn’t had since the age of 14 when I’d picked up my first romance, A Love Unknown. Grandma Rose had thought I had menstrual cramps and recommended an ice pack and chocolate. I didn’t say no.

Age, however, turns such indulgences to fat, so I had to quell the (let’s be honest) arousal in another way. That took several deep Grandma Rose breaths, a dose or two of reality and the promise of better company in my books.

So I went up to bed and let the pull-up-toned arms of Brett Shackleford, the hero of His Arms, take my mind into a tight and promising embrace.

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