#<- has fallen victim to so. SO MANY british jokes

[kaleiidoskope]

probably the best and most confusing asks i’ve ever gotten

(@kat-124)

[danexist]

But you look at any multi-season TV show from over 10 years ago. They played at tea time so you could sit down with your mob and watch it. And these went on for years! But, that's dying out. You look at shows that thrived on that, Doctor Who for example. That was a show that was given a chance to exist, and now it's possibly the most followed British TV series ever! But alike, it has fallen victim to the age of streaming. In the UK, where the show originated, I think it was something like midnight when they actually aired the episodes on national television. Now, it's owned by Disney, who want to squeeze as much cash out of consumers, so if they want to watch the new season of Doctor Who, they have to stay up to an ungodly hour or they have to subscribe to Disney+.

Channels and networks are dying out to pave the way for streaming. I don't know about you mob from overseas, but here in Australia, the ABC (Australian Broadcasting Corporation) is for nobody but my grandma and grandad. They run a FREE on-demand service, like its counterpart, SBS. It's called ABC iview and you mob should check it out. ABC Original shows, like The Newsreader, for example, are renewed for multiple seasons to see where they end up. You could end up as just some other title on ABC iview, or, on the other hand, the new Home and Away or Neighbours. The Newsreader, a series I mentioned earlier, has been renewed for another season. It has a small following here on www.extinct.com, but for those of you who aren't that teeny tiny portion, it's an Australian drama series starring Sam Reid (LIKE FROM INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE) and Anna Torv (The Last of Us, Mindhunter) and it's about this guy who works for a news network in the 80's but he's bisexual and he'a gotta figure out who he is. But anyway, all of us blue-haired commie young ABC viewers (that's a joke) tend to like the show. As well as some of the older viewers I know. And if that show hadn't been renewed for another season, none of the aunties and uncles would have even seen the damn show! But because the ads were frequent enough, (and on the ABC, they only advertise ABC content) people actually watched it! (AND YOU SHOULD TOO, TRUSTED READER!)

But where does our good mate, Netflix come into this? Well, they're expecting every show they ever air to become the new Stranger Things. But because they don't do many, many things, it can't be the new Stranger Things. It sounds, at least to me, that they should be doing it more like the ABC. Here's how they could do that (CUE THE BULLETED LIST!!!!)

- Advertise on many different social media platforms, and if they decide to be a major knob and introduce advertising on Netflix's main website or application, only advertise stuff on Netflix.

- Actually give things a chance to exist. Renew for a couple seasons to see if it goes anywhere. If it fizzles out after three seasons, that's fine, at least it got a good run. But renew for more than a season goddamnit.

- Maybe even do the weekly episode release or something, have the time different for every time zone, so everybody gets to watch it at tea time. That's how so many shows got their start.

Anyway, that's Dan's 2 cent contribution. (NETFLIX HIRE ME)

Streaming in Kaos

Well, it happened. I can't say that I'm surprised that KAOS has been cancelled by Netflix. I am a little surprised at the speed at which it was axed. Only a month after it aired, and it's already gone.

That has me wondering if the decision to cancel was made before the show even aired. We have to remember that marketing is the biggest cost after production. If the Netflix brass looked at the show and either decided (through audience testing, AI stuff or just their own biases) that it wasn't going to be a Stranger Things-level hit, they probably chose at that moment to slash its marketing budget.

That meant there was pretty much no way that KAOS was ever going to hit the metrics Netflix required of it to get a season 2.

What makes me so angry about this (other than the survival of a show relying on peoples' biases or AI) is that it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you decide before a show is ever going to air that it won't be a success, then it probably won't be. If you rely on metrics and algorithms and AI to analyze art, you will never let something surprise you. You'll never let it grow. You'll never nurture the cult hits of the future or the next franchise.

Netflix desperately needs people behind the scenes that believe in stories and potential over metrics. Nothing except the same old predictable dreck is ever going to be allowed to survive if you don't believe in the stories you're telling.

The networks and streamers have a huge problem on their hands. They need big hits and to build the franchises of the future to sustain their current model (which is horribly broken.) But people have franchise fatigue and aren't showing up for known IPs like they used to. The fact that Marvel content is definitely not a sure thing anymore is a huge canary in the coal mine for franchise fatigue. People aren't just tired of Marvel, they're tired of the existing worlds both on the big screen and the small one. Audiences are hungry for something new.

It is telling that the most successful Marvel properties of the last few years have been the ones that do something different. Marvel is smart to finally pull out The X-Men because that is a breath of fresh air and something people are hungry to see more of.

There's pretty much no one behind the scenes (except for maybe AMC building The Immortal Universe) that is committing to really taking the time to build these new worlds. Marvel built the MCU by playing the long game. That paid dividends for a solid decade even if it's dropping off now. That empire was built not with nostalgia for existing IP (don't forget the MCU was built with B and C tier heroes) but with patience. Marvel itself seems to have forgotten this in recent years.

Aside from that, I think people really want stories that aren't connected to a billion other things. That takes commitment on the part of the audience to follow and to get attached to. People WANT three to five excellent seasons of a show that tells its own story and isn't leaving threads out there for a dozen spinoffs. We're craving tight storytelling.

KAOS could have been that. Dead Boy Detectives could have been that. So could Our Flag Means Death, Lockwood and Co, Shadow and Bone, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, Willow, and a dozen other shows with great potential or were excellent out of the gate.

If you look at past metrics, you only learn what people used to like, not what they want now. People are notoriously bad abut articulating what they want, but boy do they know it when they see it. Networks have to go back to having a dozen moderate successes instead of constantly churning through one-season shows that get axed and pissing off the people who did like it in a hamfisted attempt to stumble on the next big thing.

The networks desperately need to go back to believing in their shows. Instead, they keep cutting them off at the knees before they ever get a chance because some algorithm told them the numbers weren't there.

[dyde21]

Mistletoe

So @granger-chase made a post about wanting a mistletoe fic, then @annabetncnase reblogged it wanting one, and I got inspired. Then that inspiration turned into a lot longer story than I planned for anyway here’s this: I thought the fandom could use a little more Percabeth Christmas Goodness! :D I hope ya’ll enjoy!

XxXxXxXxX

“If you change the playlist, I’m drop kicking your Playstation out the window, Jason.” Percy called out as he heard the Christmas carol pause, before resuming a moment later, if not a little quieter.

“Can’t you choose something less… boring?” He asked, walking around the corner of their small apartment. Raising an arm he leaned against the wall, staring at his roommate. Percy just ignored him as he ripped open another bag of chips, dumping them into one of the few tupperwares they had. “Grab the sodas.” He ordered, walking past Jason towards the tiny kitchen table that usually served little more purpose than a coat rack, aside from the occasional last minute, panicked study session. 

For once though, it was actually cleaned off properly, and he had even grabbed a tablecloth from his mom to borrow for the night. 

“It’s a Christmas party, Jason. We’re supposed to play carols.” He explained, snagging a chip and eating it before turning to face his best friend. 

Jason grabbed a chip himself, rolling his eyes. “Yeah yeah, tis’ the season and all of that. But there could be a little more pep, you know?”

Percy paused, his shoulders slumping. “Maybe you’re right? Maybe modern stay stuff works better?” He paused, thinking for a moment. “But Hazel is coming over too so I don’t want to play too messed up stuff.” He glanced up at Jason, looking for help.

Jason’s usual cocky smirk faded as he looked over. “Hey, I was just complaining. You’re fine, I’m sure they’ll love it.” 

Percy nodded. “That’s cool then…” He trailed off, glancing over the table of snacks and sodas. “Think we need more? I know Piper and Annabeth said they were bringing food but…”

Jason walked over, resting a hand on Percy’s shoulder. “Hey man, chill. Alright? Everything is fine. We still have some time and we’re just hanging out with some friends. I know you’re getting stressed.”

Running a hand through his hair, Percy shook his head. “I’m not stressed, I just want to make sure things are… right.”

Jason gave him a deadpan stare, making it clear he wasn’t falling for his crap. “Dude, your leg is bouncing as you’re freaking out over whether or not we have enough chips when I don’t think we’ve had this much food in our house in a month.”

Staying quiet, Percy couldn’t exactly refute him. He knew himself well enough to know that his stress was starting to peak. “Okay, maybe a little.”

Pulling out a chair, Jason sat down and slid the other chair back with his foot, motioning for Percy to sit down as he took another chip. “Talk.”

Resisting only for a moment, Percy sighed and sat down, dropping his head into his hands. “I know, I’m stressing out. Sorry. I’ve just… never had a party or something like this. Usually my mom took care of things when I had friends over. Plus she’s coming over.”

“She’s been over countless times.” Jason offered, letting his friend continue to get out what he needed to.

“Right. But… I want tonight to be the night. It’s been so stressful around her. You know… since…”

“Since you fell in love with your childhood friend?” Jason helpfully offered, laughing at the stricken look Percy got on his face. “Don’t say it so loud!”

Jason rolled his eyes and dipped a chip in the onion dip. “Yeah, I almost forgot it’s the worst kept secret in the world.”

Glaring the blonde, Percy narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be nice?”

Shrugging, Jason returned the look. “I am, dude. When I met you two you were practically joined at the hip, and I’ve never seen that change in all these years. But since you started…” He paused at Percy’s glare. “...thinking differently about her, you’ve been stressing out over the little things, freaking out for no reason, and frankly we’re all getting a little worried about you. What you need a push in the right direction, for your sake.”

Percy knew his friend wouldn’t lie to him. After Annabeth, Jason was his best friend for sure. 

“I know it’s cliche but I really don’t want to screw things up between us. Even if she might feel something too… I don’t want to do it wrong. I wish I could handle things as well as she does. She’s still so… perfect. ”

Jason rolled his eyes but kept his mouth shut. His girlfriend was Annabeth’s roommate, and he had heard first hand how objectively false that statement was. Percy was a victim of being hopelessly in love, which meant he had a habit of missing out on obvious things about Annabeth. The way her usual fluid speech tended to get flustered around him, or the way she had gone from a comfortable companionship with Percy, to jumping at the chance to be with him as eagerly as percy was. Even the way her eyes always were always drifting to him, with a soft smile he never saw her wear any other time.

It was painfully obvious these two dorks were head over heels for each other, but were too scared to admit it. What really drove Piper and Jason crazy were that they were pretty sure they both knew it as well. After all, they did know each other better than anyone.They were just choosing to ignore it, writing it off as them just being their usual friend.

Still, if Jason had to catch them being a moment away from kissing without going through with it again, he was about going to lock them in a closet until they were engaged.

“Trust me. She’s got it as bad as you do. Tonight is the perfect opportunity to do it right.”

Percy looked up at him. “You think?”

Jason laughed. “I’m pretty sure you could confess behind a 7/11 and she’d still say yes dude. You just need to actually go for it.”

Percy nodded. “Maybe you’re right…”

Jason could sense his hesitation, but also the spark of confidence in him. Maybe tonight all of them could finally be put out of their misery. “Come on, we still need to put up these lights.” He said, grabbing a box of small tree lights and tossing them at him. 

Percy nodded, clearly grateful for something to do other than think and started to move to a corner to figure out how they were going to attach them to the walls without damaging them while Jason pulled out his phone. He sent a quick text to Piper.

XxXxXxXxX

“Do you think this is enough food?” Annabeth asked, pacing back and forth as she looked at the two pizzas, the bowl of pasta salad, and a tray of brownies for dessert. 

Piper raised an eyebrow. “Are you kidding me? Even with the appetite of Jason and Percy, there aren’t that many other people there. We’re bringing plenty and Hazel said she’s bringing Jambalaya, and Leo was bringing his famous tacos. We have plenty, stop stressing.”

Annabeth nodded. “Right. That’s fair. I don’t have to eat if we start running low too.” 

She paused, looking down at herself. “Are you sure I look okay?”

Scoffing, Piper glanced at her best friend up and down once again. “Please, I dress you you myself. You look cute, don’t worry.”

The blonde nodded again, twice. “You’re right. Thank you.”

Piper just shrugged. “If I left it up to you, you’d still be standing in front of the closet.”

Annabeth flushed slightly, running a hand through her hair. “I just wanted to look nice, is that so bad?”

Piper paused, noticing the slightest hint of hesitation in her voice that made the joke seem a little less innocent than normal. 

“You’re fine. Any reason you’re so nervous though?” She asked, not so subtly opening the door for the conversation she knew they would be having before they left at some point anyway.

Pausing, Annabeth opened her mouth to deny it before she dropped her head against the wall.

“Tonight could be… something.” 

Piper was stunned, Annabeth was usually full of a lot more denial, or subtle about her “crush” on her best friend. If you could still call it a crush based off how long she’s had it and how much it had been distracting her lately.

“Are you going to confess?” She asked gently. 

Annabeth hesitated for a moment before shaking her head. “I don’t… probably not… I just. I just think Percy might… being thinking the same thing of me.”

Piper screamed internally. Her friend was one of the smartest people she knew and so incredibly dense at times it hurt. She was glad Annabeth was working through her fear of being rejected or abandoned by him to take the next step, but if she spent a minute not being lost in his eyes, she would be able to see how adorably head over heels he was for her. The number of times she had seen the poor boy practically collapse in on himself with regret when he let a chance to kiss her slip by, or he fumbled his words.

“I’m… glad you’re starting to see that.” Piper said carefully, reigning in her own frustration at the fact her two best friends were depriving themselves of happiness out of pointless fear. Annabeth could be touchy at times so she knew she had to tread carefully. “Just remember, Percy has fallen for you, the person whose been by his side longer than anyone. Don’t try and change yourself. He’s seen you at your best, and at your worst and he’s still by your side. All you need to do is reach out a hand and he’ll meet you there.” She offered gently.

Annabeth fell quiet as she let the words sink in.

Piper leaned down a bit to get a better look at Annabeth’s expression. She saw a mix of determination and concern. A look Piper often saw her with whenever she tried, and usually failed, to take the next step with Percy.

Her phone buzzed, and when she checked it she saw Jason’s text and grinned. It seemed like the stars were aligning for things to finally happen tonight. Typing out a quick response, she moved over to Annabeth. “We have a little time before we need to head over. Let’s squeeze in an episode of The Great British Bake Off before we head over so you can relax. This is supposed to be a fun christmas party, remember?”

Annabeth stared at her, and nodded after a moment. “Yeah.” She said slowly, grateful for the moment ceasefire on her lovelife. 

They moved over to the couch, and a few moments later they were lost into the episode.

Glancing down at another text from Jason, she grinned. Tonight would be a bit night if their idea worked.

XxXxXxXxX

The sound of a few knocks on their door had Percy heading over to it too quickly. He opened it, shoving down the pointless nerves he felt. 

The door had only been open a minute before Piper had shoved a bowl of pasta salad into his hands that had been balanced awkwardly on the pizza boxes as they made their way up the stairs before. 

“Trick or treat.” She said with a wink as she walked past him, setting down the boxes she carried before throwing her arms around Jason’s neck to share a kiss with him. 

Annabeth was standing awkwardly in the doorway. Her arms were full of the rest of the food as she looked at Percy. “Hey. Merry Christmas.”

Percy grinned at her, before his gaze drifted upwards to see the santa hat she had on. Adorable. Blinking once, he realized he hadn’t answered her yet. “Merry Christmas, Wise Girl. Now come on, I need you to prove my point to Jason about chips.”

Annabeth looked confused, but nodded and followed him, closing the door behind her.

“Jason says plain Lays chips are better than Ruffles.”

Annabeth looked horrified and made an indignant sound. “Are you kidding me?”

“Right?” Percy agreed.

The blonde woman crossed her arms, glaring at Jason. “How could you say that? Ruffles have texture, are much better with any kind of dip, and are actually more than just salt.”

Jason rolled his eyes. “Don’t drag your best friend in to win your arguments for her.”

Percy took a bite of a Ruffles to make a point. “If you weren’t so stubborn I wouldn’t need to bring in the big guns.”

Piper leaned up and kissed Jason’s cheek. “Sorry hun, but they’re right about this one.”

Jason huffed and moved over to the couch, plopping down on it and looking away.

Both Annabeth and Piper laughed, as Piper moved over and sat next to him, messing up his hair and chatting with her pouting boyfriend. 

Percy glanced over at Annabeth as she made her way over to him. “You guys actually did a good job decorating and cleaning, I’m impressed.” She teased.

Around the room various Christmas decorations had been put up. Tinsel was hanging from most things, they had a tree propped up in the corner that was decorated in pure chaos. There was a random assortment of reindeer paraphernalia across various surfaces. 

Letting out a sigh of relief, Percy grinned. “I’m glad you liked it. It took us a while.” He paused. “I’m glad you dressed for the occasion.” He said, nodding his head towards her santa hat. 

Annabeth laughed. “You know me, Ms. Christmas Spirit.” She countered.

“You say that like it’s a joke.”

Percy challenged, knowing full well how much she actually enjoyed the holidays. 

Going to take another chip he dipped, Annabeth’s hand shot out as she grabbed the chip from him and ate it, grinning at him. “It’s the season for giving.” She said to his scandalized expression.

He was clearly about to protest when someone knocked on the door again. 

He gave her a glare letting her know that it wasn’t over, before he moved over to the door. 

When he opened the door he saw Frank and Hazel standing there, all bundled up and smiling. He shared a quick hug with Hazel before bumping Frank’s fist as the lead them in. 

Not much longer after, their group finished getting there as they spread out across the apartment. The carols had been turned up, and Leo was currently belting along with Mariah Carrey as his girlfriend laughed next at him. 

“Tyler and Ashe aren’t coming?” Annabeth asked, leaning on Percy’s shoulder as she looked over at Piper. 

Piper shook her head. “Nah, they had made plans already apparently.” She said, before turning her phone around and showing Percy and Annabeth an instagram post. Tyler and Ashe were kissing, standing in front of a display of lights that Percy recognized to be at the zoo. 

Annabeth laughed. “There is zero chance they aren’t engaged by our next christmas party.”

Percy nudged her hips. “I’ll be amazed if they aren’t engaged by spring.”

Jason laughed. “Sounds like we need a new bet.”

One round of betting later, and soon they were chilling on one of the couches. Percy was devouring yet another slice of pizza, while Annabeth worked on a bowl of Jambalaya, her legs draped over Percy’s lap. 

He was currently chatting with Jason about a new game that had been announced, giving Annabeth a chance to just see him laughing and smiling and she couldn’t do anything but smile.

Eventually turned back to look at her, causing her to shove a spoonful of food into her face to try and look like she wasn't just staring at him. 

Behind them, Jason and Piper shared a look as Piper got up, moving to their balcony outside for a moment. 

Jason stood up a minute later. 

“Percy, do me a favor, come with me for a second?”

Percy glanced at Annabeth, before nodding and untangling his legs from her. He followed Jason off to one of their rooms for a moment while Piper came back and moved over to Annabeth. “Okay, Annabeth. I need you to trust me.”

“No.” She replied instinctively, making Piper roll her eyes. “Then trust Percy.”

“Why?” Annabeth asked, red flags instantly being raised. 

“Look, he prepared a surprise for you tonight. Jason told me about it, but we need you to stand up and close your eyes.”

Annabeth paused for a moment. 

Piper’s voice went softer. “Please?”

Sighing, Annabeth figured she might regret this later but stood up anyway and closed her eyes. 

“Good. I promise nothing bad will happen. Besides, I still live with you so I don’t want you mad at me.” She said, before gently resting her hands over Annabeht’s eyes from behind and started leading her. “Just walk, trust me.”

“I know exactly where you sleep.” Annabeth warned as she let Piper lead her. A minute later it was a little chillier and she realized she was on the balcony. “Just where are we going?”

“Just wait a minute, it’s almost ready.”

Piper stepped back for a moment, leaving Annabeth shivering slightly as she thought of all the ways she’d make Piper’s life a living hell if this was a trick. A second later she heard Percy’s voice and her heart rate spiked.

“Where are you leading me? I never trust you, dude.”

Percy’s voice sounded just as confused as her. A moment later she heard him stumble next to her. “This better be worth it, Jason.” His voice sounded right next to her, making her jump. “Percy?”

“Annabeth?” They both asked, as they heard the sound of a door being slid shut. 

Annabeth opened her eyes to see… nothing special. They were just out on the balcony.

Percy opened his a moment later and looked at her expectantly. “So…?”

“So? I thought you had a surprise.” Annabeth countered.

“But they said…” The gears turned in Percy’s head. “I’m kicking his ass.” Percy said as he turned, before pulling on the door and trying to step through. 

Instead, the door didn’t budhe and he slammed into the glass.

“Don’t tell me…”

Annabeth said after a moment. 

Percy dropped his head against the class. “It’s locked. I’m actually going to kill him.”

He turned around and leaned on the balcony. “Great. Locked out of my own party.”

Annabeth nudged him with her hip. “If it makes you feel better, I got locked out too.”

He shook his head. “Of course it doesn’t. You’re the one person I trust to keep them in check.”

“Why do you think they did it?” Annabeth asked after a moment. If they bothered with this dumb prank, they had to have a reason. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Piper staring back at them with an amused, if not slightly apologetic look. And a finger pointing straight up.

Glancing up, Annabeth’s stomach dropped.

Hanging above the sliding door was a mistletoe.

“You’re kidding me. That little bi-”

“Are you serious?”

Percy said as he saw it too. 

They glanced at each other, before they both flushed red and looked back out at the skyline. 

“I’m burning her present.” Annabeth said after a moment.

“I’m dropping his down the fire escape.” Percy countered, before they both started laughing. “We’ll get them back for this sometime.”

“Naturally.” Percy agreed. 

Annabeth shivered slightly and she felt Percy’s jacket drape over her shoulder. She raised an eyebrow. “Thanks, but won’t you be cold.”

He shrugged. “We won’t be out here long but you get cold easily.”

Annabeth sighed. “I guess we know what we need to do.”

Percy’s face was red, and Annabeth was pretty sure it wasn’t just from the cold. “I guess.”

He turned to face her, and Annabeth’s pulse was pounding. They tried their best to ignore all of the eyes watching them. 

They stared at each other for a moment, before they started to move closer. 

Annabeth’s eyes closed as she tried not to panic over the fact that she was about to kiss her crush. 

“Wait.” 

Her eyes flew open at his words. Instantly it felt like a sword had pierced her heart. Her fears were true, Percy didn’t see her that way. “I-” Before she could try and come up with anything to say that wouldn’t end in tears, Percy continued. 

“I can’t do this.”

She nodded her head, feeling tears well up in the corner of her eyes. “I know. I’m so-”

“Annabeth!” He snapped, making her look up surprised. 

“I can’t kiss you like this. I… like you too much. I love you. But I don’t want you to kiss me just because they are forcing you to. My heart can’t handle that. You deserve bet-”

“Percy!” She interrupted, her brain melting. “Did you say you love me?”

He nodded, unable to meet her eyes. “For a while now. I just…”

“I love you too.” Annabeth blurted out before her courage could fail her. “For so long. But I wasn’t sure… I didn’t know if…”

They stared at each other for a moment while Piper’s words echoed in her head. 

Just reach out a hand.

Slowly Annabeth reached out a hand, and found Percy’s entwining with it. 

Leaning forward, she pressed her lips against his as they shared their first real kiss. It was brief, and they looked at each other for a moment, before they leaned forward again and kissed each other in the cold night air. Annabeth’s other hand slipped up into Percy’s hair while his wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer. 

Time seemed to fade away, and she felt warm in the cool night air next to him. 

They kissed for a minute more before they separated as they caught their breath. 

Percy had her new favorite goofy smile on his face as he kissed her nose briefly. “I think we can go back in now.”

“They can wait.” Was Annabeth response as she leaned in for another long anticipated kiss. 

All Percy did was hum his agreement into their kiss as Annabeth was pretty sure she loved the holidays even more now.

XxXxXxXxX

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! It was just a short cute little story for me! :D I hope ya’ll have a wonderful holiday season!

If you feel like it, please check out my Christmas sale on my Art Commissions! It’d really help me afford to get my friends and family a little nicer gifts this year, and I’d love to make some art for ya’ll! You can find them HERE

[elven-oracle]

under the rose: part 1 |th.

CATCH A GRENADE

moodboard courtesy of @mcuspidey

SUMMARY: Would you do anything for the person you love?

Would you do anything for the person you lust?

PAIRING: Agent!Tom Holland x Agent!Reader

WORD COUNT: 4k

sub rosa: adjective and adverb. formal. happening or done in secret. directly translated from latin: “under the rose.”

Part 2

Part 1: Catch a Grenade

When you signed on to become an agent for a secret sect of the government, you hadn’t realized that the job meant being in disguise almost all hours of the day.

From the moment you entered your place of work, a mask shaded your face. You went from being one person around your family to someone else entirely around your fellow field agents, but there was no one you shaded yourself more from than your partner. For him, you masked yourself completely. 

Tom Holland was practically James Bond, and he knew it.

He had been assigned to you after multiple cases of “conflicts of interests” according to Human Resources. After not much digging (you were an agent after all), your suspicions were confirmed. Tom had seduced his way through the female agents of their tier to the point where he was practically impossible to work with. Even the men of their department refused to work with him. You were the last-ditch effort. Upon discovering that, you made it your own personal secret mission to make that effort a success. You wanted to become the agency’s new favorite agent. Dealing with Tom was just a step in your path to climbing the ranks. 

What he was after, you weren’t sure. Your theory was that he wished to work alone, and was trying to run the higher-ups dry of possible partnership opportunities, or even force them into giving him a promotion. Unfortunately for him, you had been the longest-lasting partner, having been paired with him for 6 months. His lips hadn’t come near to any part of your skin. No matter how delicious he attempted to be. 

When your partner entered the room, all eyes gravitated to the way he walked. It was confident, yet you knew from the deepness of your heart that the false confidence was manifested from a dangerous arrogance. You had been working alongside Tom long enough to know how seriously he took himself, and how much of a joke everyone else was in his mind. You were the only one who didn’t fall to your knees at the sight of him. You dismissed him as if he was any other agent on level 36. 

You didn’t lift your eyes when you felt him standing next to you, knowing that he had plenty of people already giving him the attention he needed. The game you played with him rubbed him the wrong way and you knew it and loved it. There was no one more he wanted to crack than you, yet nothing seemed to phase you. His penetrating aura had nothing on you. It barely left a scratch.

Which wasn’t to say it didn’t occasionally knock.

You felt his breath on his neck as he squeezed past you, laying a hand on your shoulder to get by which you promptly rolled your shoulders away from in an attempt to send a message. You were never sure if he actually received it, but it was always worth a shot. He had to figure it out one day. 

“We need to be downstairs for a debriefing in five minutes,” you spoke sternly, pursing your ruby red lips as you finished the sentence. He was typically late to debriefings, so telling him the time frame was probably not going to be much help. Picking up the two files sitting on your desk for your current case, you waited to see if he would join you in heading to the second floor, or if he was just going to be late. When it was obvious it was the latter, you rolled your eyes and proceeded to the elevator.

Yourself and Tom were assigned to one of the most secret missions currently being taken on by the agency. After what felt like endless weeks of research, today was the day one of you, Tom, would finally be venturing into the field. As much as both of you loved research and paperwork (which was close to not at all), it was the disguises and collecting evidence that really gave you the rush. To most people, the act of putting one’s life on the line sounded terrifying, but you had always been an adrenaline junkie. Going for what was dangerous was what spoke to you. 

“This mission is completely sub rosa. You have signed a contract saying that discussing this mission outside of this room and with each other is strictly prohibited. No agents below level 8 are permitted to know anything on Mission 8382. Is this understood?” Chief Agent Madison had her snowy white hair tied tightly back into a bun that rested in the middle of her head, and her eyes were fixed not on you, but on Tom, who had shown up 10 minutes late with a coffee in hand. 

“Yes, ma’am,” you were the only one who spoke. In your peripheral, you saw Tom roll his eyes.

Because yeah, that’s a great way to get in my pants.

“Agent Holland?”

“Yes I understand,” it was almost irritating how chocolatey his British accent stood out amongst the sea of Americans. You stifled a heavy sigh of annoyance.

You both were walked through the basic outline of the mission, which you were both familiar with. The debrief before heading into the field was more of a formality than anything. 

The end goal for you and Tom was to expose a group responsible for one of the largest sex-trafficking empires in the world. It was a case that your department had been following since before you had even been hired, and keeping everything under wraps and running smoothly was of the utmost importance. There was no room for error. Luckily, Tom was good enough at his job to know that. 

“Agent Holland will be heading into the facility first. His application to work for them has been processed, and he has memorized everything that we put on it to make sure that his cover is secure. After a few weeks, he will be asking if his girlfriend, Agent Y/L/N, can come along with him as long as she keeps her mouth shut,” Chief Agent Madison hit a button and another formal-looking slide took the place of the previous, “From there you two will be gathering as much intel as possible. Talk to people, gain their trust, get to know them. You will file a mission report at the end of each day, and when it seems like we have enough information, you’ll be pulled and reassigned to your next case.”

The debrief was always a formality that no agent was a major fan of. It was essential so that agents were held accountable while in the field, but after spending so long in preparation for this case, having the chief of the agency reiterate what you already knew was only making you more anxious to get into your disguise and onto the field. Of course, it was Tom Holland who got to make the initial contact, but that boiled down to the underlying sexism in the criminal world that you were all too familiar with. The men of this trafficking ring were more likely to accept a young man and his girlfriend into their group rather than vice versa. 

“All right. Head to level 40 for your disguise debrief.” 

The red wig was a deep crimson that, by a miracle, didn’t look tacky. The dark red locks fell in waves over your shoulders, perfectly complimenting the red lipstick you had taken to wearing on the daily, solely to get used to the way it felt on your lips. Usually, you only wore makeup for special occasions, but the character you would be embodying for an extensive amount of time was an ex-waitress from New Jersey. Wearing heavy makeup on the daily had become second nature.  

To your left sat Tom, whose hair was usually styled to perfection, but now a charming pile of curls that barely didn’t cover his eyes. He looked displeased. 

“Is this really neces-”

“Yes Agent Holland, it is,” the woman fixing his hair was just as British as he was, steam coming out of her ears as she spoke. She must have fallen victim to Tom’s advances by the way he smirked at her in response. 

You, on the other hand, liked the way you looked. The name you had come up with to go along with your cover fit the look well. Staring at the cat-eye flicked on your eyelid and the thick lashes, both of which you had placed on yourself, you perked your lips into barely a smile. This woman’s name was definitely Rose.

You had heard the term sub rosa so many times in the past few weeks, and just in general with your career, that you couldn’t help but create a name using a play on words. Tom had offered his disapproval almost instantly, but you weren’t really a fan of his name either. 

“Ay,” he said in a well-developed New York American accent, “‘Name’s Johnny.”

It could not be more of a cliche. 

The weeks that you were waiting to be thrown into the field were slow. You hated that Tom was the one to go first, no matter how many times you had reminded yourself that it was essential to the mission for Tom to make the introductions. It was not the agency’s fault that men, especially criminals, saw women as accessories rather than assets. If anything, you were a slightly better and definitely more professional agent than your partner. 

You kept a careful eye on him while he worked, whispering suggestions into his earpieces, which he took about half the time. It was better than what you expected, which was he wouldn’t take any feedback at all. Typically he didn’t leave their main meeting base until about midnight or sometimes later. The day-to-day activities of the world’s most wanted criminals were more mundane than you had anticipated, limited to playing cards, watching sports, and lots of drinking and drugs. Tom only took part in minimal drinking, usually escaping to the bathroom to dump them out. He only wanted to give off the appearance that he was drunk.

By week four, it was hard not to get exasperated. You were starting to wonder if he was dragging the process out on purpose to keep you excluded from the case. He easily could have brought you into the picture during week three. Chewing on your lip, you listened to the menial conversation that that day’s group made while smoking blunts. Tom cleared his voice and started to speak.

“Hey boys, I was wonderin’ if my girl could start coming by,” on the small screen with the low-quality camera, you could see his pixelated body lean back into the chair, his arm swinging across the back. 

A man that was usually referred to by the name of Hardy perked up, taking a hit and leaning on his knees, “Your girl….”

A different man, nicknamed “Candy” (you didn’t care to find out why) spoke next, “Will she keep her mouth shut?”

Tom this time, “Of course. She’s dumber than a doornail, she has no idea, what happens here.”

You held back rolling your eyes. It was all a part of the backstory, your alias had purposefully been written as not the smartest, but hearing it from Tom’s mouth had a different sort of way about it.

“Why does she want to tag along then?” it was Smithy that asked the next question. 

“Just lost her job at Hooter’s,” the entire male group’s ears perked at the sound of that, “And she isn’t particularly the stay-at-home type.” 

A dark brooding figure appeared amongst them in the outskirts of where the camera lens stopped, just at his presence, the entire dynamic of the room change, the attention going immediately to him as if waiting for something absolutely profound to be said. After a pungent pause, his profound words turned out to be, “We could use a little bit of ass around here.”

It was followed by chuckles and a few playful punches to Tom’s shoulders. 

“Perfect,” by the way Tom was speaking, you could tell he was smiling, “I’ll bring her with me tomorrow.”

…

The drive to the evil lair was silent. If it had been any quieter, Tom probably would have been able to hear how your heart was pounding in your chest. Since he had already been doing this for a month, this was just another day of work for him, as much as this degree of “work” could be. There had been barely any intel in the month he had been working the case, only drinking and smoking. It was almost as if Tom, and now you, were getting a very tense vacation. 

“Nervous?” you could see the warehouse by the time the first word was said. 

“Me? Johnny, please,” you said it in the thick, well-practiced New Jersey accent that had been a part of studying this woman you were becoming. 

Out of the corner of your eye, a hint of a smile twitched on his mouth.

You placed a pair of sunglasses over your eyes, a tacky pair that were so huge they shaded your eyebrows, not because it was bright outside but because the truth was you were slightly nervous. It wasn’t like shading your eyes from the criminals would protect you in any way, 

The room that they spent most of their time in smelled of booze and weed (not much of a shock), with a hint of metal that probably came from the tall pillars and an entire wall that was elaborately decorated in graffiti, which were unintelligible through the crappy observation cameras that you were so used to looking at. With a deep inhale, you took in the scene, trying to memorize every detail. 

The large man, the one that had given his seal of approval on Tom’s “girl” being allowed to come around, was the first to greet you. After the months of surveillance, you still had never caught his actual name. He was strictly referred to as “boss.” If you could weasel your way into figuring out what his name actually was, it would be a major lead in your case. In the moments that you had spoken with Tom about it, he had mentioned that his efforts to crack the alias hadn’t come to anything. As much as you hated it, maybe the boss needed a little more than what Tom was able to give him. 

The man was tall, broad, and a lot more handsome than you had expected. He was tough in a sexy way, with the hint of stubble speckling his jawline, and veins popping out of the muscles that extended out of the white tank that tightly hugged his toned body. He approached you, slowly, sizing you up as if you weren’t the meek girl that you were pretending to be. Little did know, he was dealing with one of the most highly trained agents in the United States. 

His fingers brushed a strand of your fake, red hair over your shoulder, and he took off your sunglasses for you, closing them with his mouth and placing them in the front pocket of your jeans, moving as if someone had pressed the “slo-mo” button. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” his accent was Australian, “I’m glad you’re able to start joining us.”

You snapped your gum, ignoring the drumbeat of your heart, and spoke with your Jersey accent, “Pleasure’s all mine, mister.” 

Tom’s hand snaked around your waist, and you ignored the butterfly feeling that accompanied it. No one had touched you like that for as long as you could remember. The way that he pulled you close following the subtle touch, you felt as if he was being protective. You turned your head so that you were facing him, each of your faces temptingly inches away from each other.

“Now, boss, let’s not get too handsy, eh?” Tom accompanied his teasing tone by placing a toothpick in between his teeth. He kissed the side of your head, which was rough but sort of endearing at the same time. 

You soon discovered that your perception of what the men spent their time doing was exactly correct. Chairs in a circle accompanied by an endless supply of beers and straight whiskey. You kept to the beers, and when a blunt was passed around, you politely declined. 

“History of lung cancer,” you winked at one of the guys across from you. You were pretty sure it was Hardy. His jet black hair was slicked back to a point where you were sure that wringing it out would follow with an ugly amount of hair product dripping out. He looked as if he belonged in Grease. 

You had gotten what you wanted, though. Hardy responded with a slight bite to his lip and a subtle hiding of his eye contact upon noticing that Tom was glaring at him. 

He was certainly good at playing his role. This was the most emotion you had gotten from Tom in all the months you had been working with him. 

“Boys,” Boss clapped, his voice immediately altering the energy in the room, “I have news from our men on the outside that our rival might be in the area looking to...give us a frighten. Let’s take a walk outside, huh? Grab your toys.” 

Of course, the day that you decided to make an appearance, there was something other than lounging around Home Base. You met eyes with Tom, who responded with a smirk, throwing his shades over his eyes. 

You had heard of the rival group with a few mentions, and you were sure that the agency was on it, possibly assigning other agents to potentially take them down. Being in this line of work had given you a heavy realization that the world was a fucked-up place. 

That’s why you did this. You had always aspired to make the world a better place, and now you had no choice. 

“Of course,” the boss’s attention fixated on you as all the men shuffled to get what you assumed was weapons, “you are more than welcome to come, my dear, but I wouldn’t want you to find yourself getting hurt.” 

You circled your finger around the rim of your beer bottle and sucked the liquid off your manicured finger with a cheeky POP, “I think I’ll be okay, mister.” 

Each of the men filed back in, Tom quick to make his way to you and place a hand on the small of your back. If you hadn’t been wearing your chic denim jacket, his hand would have met bare skin thanks to the leopard print crop top you had picked for that day. A shiver tempted to shake your shoulders. 

It was a hot, muggy summer afternoon in New York. Looking around, you saw that each of the guys you had been with had taken to their own set of shades, trudging through the high grass like they were hunting an animal rather than another group of people. 

One of Tom’s arms held the automatic weapon, and the other hung over your now bare shoulders, the red curls brushing against it. You popped your gum with every step, keeping a keen eye on the situation around you, knowing that the newest people to this gang had the most experience. 

The Jeep came out of nowhere, driving roughly across the field without any question of anyone’s safety. It was who they were looking for. 

What you hadn’t expected was the projectile that flew from the front window, thrown by a man in sunglasses, mouth guarded with a black bandana. It was headed straight for Tom, but before you thought twice, you unraveled yourself from him and caught it, only taking a moment to realize exactly what they had thrown at you.

“Don’t worry, beautiful,” Candy spoke up. “It’s probably a fake-”

You were definitely not going to risk it. It was your first day on the job, and neither you nor Tom was getting killed. Throwing it, you used every muscle in your arm, almost popping it out of its socket. It did the trick, flying across the field far and high, where it exploded.

“Damn,” Candy adjusted his attitude.

The boss was now eying you, his arms crossed and a finger lingering on the corner of his mouth, “You got quite an arm, Rose.” 

It was the first time you had been called by your fake name. 

You laughed, forcing it to sound as natural as possible. Rose was an airhead after all. 

“I was softball captain my senior year of high school. Guess your throwin’ arm never truly goes away, huh?” with another laugh, you wrapped your arms around Tom’s waist, the feeling of his abs pressing into your chest, “I saved your life, huh baby?”

On his lips were a smile, but his brown eyes were filled with some concern that was unfamiliar to you. Tom never worried about any one of his partners, “You sure did.”

The kiss was short and soft, and while you wished you could have said it was detached, all a part of the facade, there was something sugary about the way he interlocked your lips. 

“Careful,” you said, brushing his lips with your finger. “I’m wearing my good lipstick.” 

When you had returned to home base, you needed to take a minute to yourself. Asking for the restroom, you escaped to the grungy, foul-smelling bathroom that was littered with more graffiti. 

The mirror was scratched and etched with names and quotes and years that were remnants of the past. With a deep inhale you took a square of toilet paper and dabbed at the sweat that was shining on your forehead and chin, mixed with the natural oil of your thick, full coverage foundation. 

You were startled by the sound of someone bursting through the door, and you were about to stay in character and shriek before you noticed it was Tom, who was filling the little space that you already had in the grimey bathroom. You hardly got a word in before Tom wrapped you in his arms, gently.

“Johnny what-”

“No, this is Tom giving you a hug. Not Johnny,” he was speaking in his native, British accent. 

You weren’t sure if this was authentic, so after standing stone-cold still, you returned the hug unenthusiastically. Was this his attempt to woo you?

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay,” he continued, parting from the hug. Your faces were barely inches apart, and you could feel his breath grazing your skin as he looked down at your feet.

“Well,” you swallowed the small amount of saliva remaining in your dry mouth, “I’m okay. I’m Agent Y/L/N, remember?” 

“Catching a grenade is more intense than one would think,” he rubbed one of his eyes, “If you need anything let me know.” 

You watched as he exited, unsure of how to feel. Tom had never seemed like a compassionate person to you, yet here he was making sure you were okay. It was so out of character.

It had to be him trying to get to you. 

Clenching your teeth, you huffed out a sigh and returned to the group, greeted by the familiar smell of marijuana. With a simple smile, you sat back down in your spot next to Tom. You slid a lock of hair back behind your ear, and made eye contact with each of the different men, unapologetically gawking at you.

“You all are making me wish I’d kept the grenade in my hand. Eyes on your cards, gentlemen!” you flashed Tom a wink and watched as his ears turned pink.

Two could play at his game.

Part 2

M A S T E R L I S T 

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[thearrangment-phff]

LXXI.

March 2019

“I know you don’t want to do this but Olympia and Gaelle resigned their position and Charlotte passed away... it’s time you find replacements for them,” spoke Christine.

“It’s too soon.”

“Belle I am the only one left. You need to replace at least Olympia and Gaelle and we can wait to find a replacement for Charlotte.”

Isabella hesitated, “Countess Antonia Holstein til Ledreborg and Princess Sophie of Hohenberg.”

“I will contact them as soon as possible but do you have backups in case they reject the position,” said Christine.

“No backups. It’s them or no one.”

“I’ll go call them up.”

Harry watched as Isabella attempted to play with her sons but the young woman had barely enough energy to get herself out of bed. Isabella had forsaken many engagements and even missed the 50th anniversary of the Prince of Wales investiture. Though she had a legitimate excuse, the Grand ducal family gathered in St. Michael church in Luxembourg City for a mass on the death of Alix, Princess of Ligne. Princess Alix had been her great-aunt and the Prince of Wales and the Queen understood Isabella had to process with death in February.

By the time the Commonwealth service came around Isabella had mustered enough energy to make it through the service then the other engagements that followed.

“I am very proud of you today,” said Harry.

“Why is that?” asked Isabella.

“Because you were able to get through this whole day and not go back to your room. It was a big accomplishment.”

“I guess.”

“I arranged for us to go to Austria to visit the jeweler and then to go to Switzerland to see Charlotte’s jewelry,” explained Harry.

“Thank you for making the arrangements.”

“It was more Christine’s doing since she spoke German. My French is not as strong as I think it is.”

Isabella asked him about his day in French. Harry answered in simple sentences so Isabella decided to make things more complicated for him. The conversation got longer and complex and Harry struggled to keep up. He forgot certain words and his articulation got bad at his sentences continued on.

“You have gotten better but you still sound too English,” said Isabella.

“Your accent seems to only have gotten thicker the longer I’ve known you,” fought back Harry.

“Something has to remind the people that I am a foreigner in this country.”

“Is that the image your team has been going for? The foreign Duchess of Sussex?” asked Harry.

“Being an immigrant is nothing to be ashamed of, whether it be voluntary or involuntary migration everyone has a right to be who they are and live where they want or need to. Although I have an advantage more than others because I am a white woman and was a Catholic for a time.”

“Sometimes the things that come out of your mouth cease to... I don’t even know what to say. I mean it, I forget who you are before this arrangement and I shouldn’t. You are an amazing woman, and everyone else should recognize that more. Including me,” added Harry.

“Thank you but I’m not that amazing. There are actually amazing people who have come as far as I did and have had much larger and longer obstacles in life. They are the real amazing people.”

“Even humble.”

“Not humble, just aware of my privilege in life and what I can do to even the playing field for the descendants of the people my family murdered and displaced,” replied Isabella.

-----

On March 15, 2019, two white supremacists murdered dozens of Muslims in New Zealand in a coordinated terrorist attack. When Isabella heard of these massacres, she thought she needed to do more than release a statement. Very few times had royals gone to places like that, and paid their respects. Isabella immediately flew to New Zealand wearing a hijab to stand in solidarity with the Muslim population of New Zealand and of the Commonwealth.

While her act of solidarity was met with some praise, there was intense backlash saying Isabella was accepting of terrorism and the Muslim Brotherhood. She ignored the articles and the ugly slurs being yelled at her during her stay in New Zealand and when she went back to London after the bombing. She cared for the murdered people, the ones in the past, present, and the future who would fall victim to Islamophobia across the world.

Isabella even talked to people in private in Arabic which of course surprised a lot of people. She had been taking lessons every once in a while, and while her Arabic wasn’t always the right dialect and she mispronounced some things, the gesture was what made people care. Isabella cared for a majority of people no matter their religion, skin color, or sexual orientation. She had learned that history repeats itself, and she was going to make sure the atrocities her family committed over the centuries would not happen again.

She hugged and talked with family members of the victim alongside Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern. When Mangu-Kaha –Black Power- performed a Haka to honor those who had fallen, Isabella was moved to tears. Then school children performed an improvised Haka, Isabella watched in tears students mourning in the most beautiful way. In a moment of caring for nothing else more than the people in front of her and she had consoled a weeping woman.

“You were very brave to come at a time like this,” complimented the Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern.

“Not brave, not at all. They are the ones who are brave,” replied Isabella.

“Most royals just write a paragraph on how sorry they are and yet you flew on a plane halfway across the world. Why?”

“When I was younger, I finally understood what my name meant. I was named after my ancestor Queen Isabel of Castile but more importantly, I was a Habsburg. There was pride, but shame quickly followed. My family murdered and displaced hundreds of millions of people since the beginning of time. I thought that I should help people listen to the voices of those who were silenced by my family,” explained Isabella.

“So guilt is what drives you?”

“Justice. I use my privilege to uplift others. It is the least I could do especially when I benefit from the system that is designed to keep others down.”

“You speak like a politician,” smiled the Prime Minister.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in political science with a master’s in global affairs from Yale University. I worked for the United Nations before my marriage. I am much more than a Duke’s wife.”

“I am no longer accepting the thing I cannot change. I am changing the things I cannot accept,” quoted the Prime Minister.

“I wrote one of my papers for grad school on her book Women, Culture & Politics. My professor wasn’t too pleased with my political views. Or the simple fact that I acknowledged oppression.”

“I would have never guessed you are into reading Davis.”

“You cannot change any society unless you take responsibility for it unless you see yourself as belonging to it and responsible for changing it,” quoted Isabella.

“I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know who that is from.”

“Raya Dunayevskaya, a former secretary of Trotsky and Marxist feminist. I did my thesis on the correlation of American women with a lot of help from her book Rosa Luxemburg, Women's Liberation, and Marx's Philosophy of Revolution.”

“I would love to read it someday. It’s quite fascinating that... well, you seem to be a socialist.”

“I married into the British Royal Family, politically I am nothing. I am a tool to be used and push aside when need be,” smiled Isabella.

“You really are a politician at heart.”

“I am simply a product of my heart’s desire.”

“I will be going to the homes of the families who lost someone. I would like you to join me. I will also be going to pray with them and I think they would appreciate knowing you are there and you care.”

“I would never reject such an offer,” replied Isabella.

“I know that I have called for New Zealand independence in the past and while I still believe in what I said, but if there were more people like you then perhaps the world wouldn’t be the way it is.”

“Thank you but you and I both know that I am a hypocrite in that area. I don’t practice what I preach or else I would have simply lived as Isabella von Habsburg until the day I died not married into the British monarchy.”

-----

A couple of days after the New Zealand terrorist attack, Isabella traveled in Madrid, Spain for the opening of the 28th Harvard World Model United Nations. She smiled for the cameras and talked in Spanish for a majority of her time in Spain earning respect from a great number of people. She even joked around with some of the participating schools when she went around asking them questions.

Meanwhile, William had gone to New Zealand to pay his respects but the situation wasn’t the same. He wasn’t met with the same respect that Isabella had received. When the members of the United Nations applauded Isabella’s grief and need to help but Williams’s visit was intentionally left out of their comments. Isabella’s had slowly been taking over international engagements that were usurping William’s will to show he would be a good future king.

But there was also a sense of betrayal. Isabella’s former ladies-in-waiting Countess Olympia was engaged to Jean-Christophe, Prince Napoleon. While Isabella was well aware of their long relationship, the simple fact that Olympia refused to tell her was a devastating blow to Isabella. She had assumed their friendship had made them closer but it didn’t. She smiled for the cameras in Spain even as she felt deceived. 

“Your Royal Highness, where did you go to college?”

“Yale University,” answered Isabella, earning some unique responses.

“Did you apply to Harvard?” asked another student.

“No I did not. Yale and Georgetown University were the only American universities that I applied to.”

“What did you major in?”

“Political Science with a concentration in history for my Bachelor’s degree then Global Affairs for my masters,” answered Isabella.

“Do you ever want to get your doctorates?”

“Not at the moment and in all honesty, I never really thought about getting my doctorates, getting my masters was more of a whim than anything else, but I do not regret it.”

-----

“You have a plane to catch for the Special Olympics. Tessy and Paul Louis are also attending,” spoke Christine.

“Paul Louis? Why on earth is he going?”

“On behalf of the Luxembourg family. He is going to be taking over some foreign engagements that no one else can make it to,” answered Christine.

“Does this mean he will be taking on more engagements in Luxembourg too?”

“Well with Guillaume, Stephanie, Alexandra, Louis, Felix, and Claire living abroad. It was said that Paul Louis, Leopold, and Charlotte will be taking over some things for them.”

“You don’t think that they are preparing them for something bigger, right?” asked Isabella.

“I don’t know where you are getting at.”

“I... never mind. It doesn’t make sense,” Ignored Isabella.

“How would you like for us to go about these next couple of days considering the closing ceremony is soon?” asked Christine.

“Tell Emily that I want to be with my cousin as much as possible and never to put me with Tessy. I don’t have the energy to be nice to her right now.”

“You still haven’t forgiven her have you?”

“No! Nor will I ever! Louis can act all nice but I can’t. It was one thing to tell Louis to stop doing what he loves, then she convinces him to move to London which he hates, and then she asks for money in the divorce knowing full well the people of Luxembourg are the ones who will be forced to pay for her income. If she cared for Luxembourg or her sons then she would give Louis custody and let them live in Luxembourg!” ranted Isabella.

“I’ll be sure to relay the message to Emily.”

Isabella had to fly to the United Arab Emirates and when she got off the plain she was met with dozens of photographers and her younger cousin, Prince Paul Louis of Nassau.

“I’ve missed you!” smiled Isabella.

“I can barely hug you Belle,” laughed Paul Louis.

“Well I am 7 months pregnant.”

“Come on, we have so much to talk about. We’re meeting with the Luxembourgish and Belgian teams later. I wanted to have time with you first.”

Isabella hugged her cousin again before walking to a car close by. Paul Louis opened the car door for her and Isabella heard the screams of the photographers around her. The two enjoyed a quiet lunch before heading to continue working.

“How is everything been going? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” started Isabella.

“Fine. Uni is going great and when I have time, uncle Henri asked me to things like this. I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to come here,” answered Paul Louis.

“I was with Elisabeth a couple months ago in Wales she told me something interesting things.”

“I was hoping you weren’t going to bring that up,” laughed Paul Louis.

“Well I am. Explain.”

“I am... sort of dating Zita. Nothing too serious and your... Charlotte of Murat she told me that is was better if I break up with Zita and ask Elisabeth on a date.”

“Did she tell you why?” asked Isabella.

“Not really, she told me that you were in London, Guillaume and Felix had Luxembourg, and we should follow in your footsteps. It was all very weird and she didn’t seem to be making sense half the time.”

“Marriage,” whispered Isabella.

“Marriage? I am barely 20, I’m not going to get married.”

Isabella was worried Paul Louis would talk about her arrangement to others, “No, no, I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about my marriage.”

“Charlotte still wasn’t making any sense.”

“I think what Charlotte was saying... marry someone who isn’t like you. Marry someone for love who brings you out your comfort zone and brings you happiness,” added Isabella.

“That doesn’t sound like Charlotte, but I guess.”

“What about uni? How is that going?” asked Isabella, trying to change the subject.

“I was thinking about going to the states in the fall just to try it out. Alexandre, you remember him, he goes to USC and he’ll help me get settled over there,” explained Paul Louis.

“California? Why not Georgetown or Yale?” asked Isabella.

“I don’t think I could get into either of those,” laughed Paul Louis.

“I didn’t either and I did.”

“Yes but you are you. I remember how you were trying to get those perfect grades and I’m okay with what I’m doing right now,” fought Paul Louis.

“Okay. If you ever need help, I hope you know you can call me up. I still have some friends in the states that will be more than happy to help you too.”

-----

One of the larger events of the month was Rise Stand Speak Up. Isabella’s aun, Maria Teresa, The Grand Duchess of Luxembourg, had helped create the international conference committed to ending sexual violence in fragile environments was initiated by the Grand Duchess together with the Dr. Denis Mukwege Foundation and We are NOT Weapons of War (WWoW), supported by the Women’s Forum for the Economy & Society and the Luxembourg Government.

The whole of the Luxembourg Grand Ducal Family attended the conference and attended forums on behalf of the Grand Ducal Family. Isabella and her cousins supported their aunt and the women who were apart of the panel. The stories from people all over the world had brought Isabella to tears, but also reminded her why she wanted to help people in the first place.

Isabella talked with her aunt about how she started the panel and conference. She spoke with her cousins and decided they should work together on a project. Isabella had ideas but her pregnancy would cause some delay in anything she wanted to do.

------

April 2019

“No one really warned me about pushing a child out of my sensitive bits,” argued Luisa Maria.

“Trust me, I understand more than anyone,” laughed Isabella.

“And the blood! There’s so much blood! Why is there so much blood?!” yelled Luisa in disbelief.

“I think they don’t tell you about all the weird things about being pregnant so you can have more children.”

“And the stitching! So many stitches I rather risk my organs falling out of my body,” yelled Luisa.

“Careful. Get too angry you might pee yourself a little bit,” warned Isabella.

“We passed that a long time ago. Also, everyone jokes about peeing themselves a little bit, but no one ever tells you it is more than just a little bit.”

“We can talk about this forever Luisa. You haven’t even told us the name of the baby!”

“This beautiful, most amazing baby in the world-” started Alexander, Isabella’s brother.

“Is Baudouin Carl Henri Philippe Jean Christoph of Austria,” finished Maria Luisa.

“Also 11th in line to the Belgian throne,” added Yolande, Isabella and Alexander’s grandmother who had been staying away from Luisa in fear of overcrowding the new mother.

“Yes he is in the line of succession but Baudouin is too far done anyways.”

“Does it ever come up that half of everyone in line to the Belgian throne is a Habsburg? It has to bother someone, right?” asked Isabella.

“If it does then no one can say anything now. I was born a Habsburg, I married and Habsburg and my children will be Habsburgs... oh god, that sort of sounds disgusting, doesn’t it?” asked Luisa at the end.

“Normal for us, but probably incestuous for others,” replied Isabella.

Luisa had laughed a bit, “Do you think uncle Baudouin would happy that I named my first born after him?” asked Luisa.

“Of course he would. He loved you all very much and would be honored,” scolded Yolande from the corner of the room.

Hours passed and one by one everyone left the room. Marie Astrid had pulled aside Isabella and Harry with just a touch on their shoulders.

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

“It’s your grandfather. He’s been sick the past couple of days. Your uncle Henri has some doctors at Berg saying it’s a minor cold and it will pass but at his age, I am worried Belle!” explained Marie Astrid.

“Is there something I can do?”

“I’ll be going to Luxembourg after Luisa is okay. I need you to be on call Belle.”

“Mama I give birth next month!” argued Isabella.

“That’s still enough time between now and then!”

“Are you hiding something? You wouldn't worry me like this is if was not serious,” wondered Isabella.

“You are the only grandchild far away. I want to you to be with your grandfather god forbid if he passes soon.”

“Louis is London with me and Alexandra is in Edinburgh... they’re in Luxembourg aren’t they?”

“For some engagements, that’s all,” answered Marie Astrid.

“Please give me a number of 1 being not serious to 10 which is basically dying,” begged Isabella.

“I couldn’t give you a number even if I wanted too. Your uncles gave me vague details with clean instructions to be in Luxembourg after the birth of Alexander and Luisa’s child.”

“Please keep me updated because I don't know if I can go to Luxembourg at all until after the birth of this little one.”

“Of course Belle,” smiled Marie Astrid.

[marginalgloss]

every rope an end

‘The wake stretched away, as true as a taut line now, and after a while he said, ‘He longed for a daughter, I know, and it is very well that he should have one; but I wish she may not prove a platypus to him,’ and he might have added some considerations on marriage and the relations, so often unsatisfactory, between men and women, parents and children, had not Davidge’s voice called out, ‘Every rope an-end,’ cutting the thread of his thought.’

It’s hard to put my finger on a single thing which, for me, makes Clarissa Oakes the weakest instalment so far in Patrick O’Brian’s series of historical novels. It is in many ways the most typical one yet: the one which bears most boldly every trace of his style. But it’s also where all his deficiencies become most apparent. 

As usual, the story picks up almost exactly where the last book left off: with Maturin getting stung by a duck-billed platypus, and Jack Aubrey sailing away from the grim confines of New South Wales towards South America. Their long-postponed mission to Peru is about to be put off once again, first by a twist of fate and then by a new task. Firstly, Jack discovers that a woman has stowed away aboard the surprise: she is Clarissa Harvill, a fugitive from the colonies in a relationship with one of his officers, Oakes. And then he is given a new task: to visit Moahu, a tiny island not far from what is now known as Hawaii, and to settle a dispute between local rulers in favour of the British. 

For a long time the novel is most notable for its total lack of explicit drama. Jack’s annoyance at the presence of a woman on board is emphasised constantly, but it is never really permitted to boil over. All we get is pages of pettiness: smirks and sniggering behind his back, and once or twice punishments that are modest by the standards of the navy. Even the question of what should be done with Clarissa is somewhat sidestepped. There’s a great sequence where Aubrey makes a sort of show out of pretending to sail up to a deserted island to drop her and Oakes off there; how convenient that their boats cannot find a safe space to land. 

Part of this deception is because he understands that he has to be seen by the crew to be doing something, but to punish them too hard would be regarded as insufferable hypocrisy. As Stephen points out: ‘…the service is a sounding-box in which tales echo for ever, and it is perfectly well known throughout the ship that when you were about Oakes’ age you were disrated and turned before the mast for hiding a girl in that very part of the ship.’ And so he takes the only other honourable option open to him: he marries the couple on board.

Except that this is not the end of the deceit. After many pages of slow and sometimes interminable travel, it becomes increasingly apparent that Clarissa has been sleeping around below decks. The reader is never permitted to see any of this directly. As so often in O’Brian, much of the real action happens off stage. We only hear about it in drips of information — first through Maturin’s suspicions about the strange behaviour of the crew, and eventually through his confidential (but chaste) exchanges with Clarissa. It is not long before a sort of tribalism emerges amongst the officers and seamen; every myth about women acting as a disruptive influence on an all-male crew is proved to be worthwhile.

Clarissa herself is sometimes intriguing but ultimately insubstantial. For too long we know nothing about her, except that she is good looking enough to turn heads. And when she does tell her story, it is tragic, but tragic is all it is: it’s a grim retread of every story of every fallen woman from that era. (That she shares the name with the protagonist of Samuel Richardson’s eighteenth century novel is almost certainly not a coincidence.) She has a certain endearing independence, but none of the stage presence of Diana Viliers or Sophie. For most of the book she is simply a cipher for femininity.  

And I was troubled by the novel’s diagnosis that the root of Clarissa’s promiscuity is in her abusive childhood, where she was so often the victim of rape that sex ceased to have any meaning for her. Here she is describing her later life, working in a brothel: 

‘…it has a certain likeness to being at sea: you live a particular life, with your own community, but it is not the life of the world in general and you tend to lose touch with the world in general’s ideas and language – all sorts of things like that, so that when you go out you are as much a stranger as a sailor is on shore. Not that I had much notion of the world in general anyhow, the ordinary normal adult world, never having really seen it. I tried to make it out by novels and plays, but that was not much use: they all went on to such an extent about physical love, as though everything revolved about it, whereas for me it was not much more important than blowing my nose – chastity or unchastity neither here nor there – absurd to make fidelity a matter of private parts: grotesque.’

Parts of this bring to mind the old idiom that everything looks like a nail when all you have is a hammer. This notion of ‘the world in general’ strikes me as oddly anachronistic for the early nineteenth century: such was the diversity of standards of living at that time that I doubt Stephen would have recognised any such thing. And there’s something dismissive of the actuality of sex about this, I think: the author is not especially interested in what happened to Clarissa, more in looking at her as another example of an alienated soul, living out of time, at large in the world. 

Except in her case it is a dismissiveness that’s consistent with the vague sense of contempt so often evident in O’Brian’s work for the sexual impulse in general. So often in this books there is the sense of passion as something dangerous, even monstrous, in human nature; something that must be controlled at all costs. Maturin is the exemplar of this, whereas Jack is the exception that proves the rule — in moral terms, O’Brian allows him certain urges, even to sleep around on his voyages, so long as it occurs in the wider context of maintaining his life as an officer and a married father. In a certain light he has something of the bearing of a prize steer.

There is still a great deal to enjoy in Clarissa Oakes. The dialogue is frequently delightful — some of the author’s best — and as always, there’s a plethora of interest to be found in the minor details of the text. I especially enjoy the dark joke hidden in the novel’s alternate American title of The Truelove; this is a book entirely without romance, and the ship of that name is only a beat-up old whaler of negligible interest. Yet most of this is incidental. This is the first book in this series where I was expecting something more which never came. 

[aion-rsa]

Shudder Boasts its Biggest Horror Movie and TV Line-Up Ever in April

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Shudder is pulling out all the shivery stops to commemorate the startling fact that we are exactly halfway to the most beloved date on any horror fan’s calendar, Halloween. Yes, that’s right, this month (April) is the six-month mark and the world’s scariest streaming outlet is celebrating with “Halfway to Halloween,” a massive slate of programming that begins on April 1 and continues throughout the rest of the month.

This is no April Fool’s joke (although we have some if you want). Shudder is rolling out a brand new batch of exclusive and/or original programming, including the second season of its acclaimed Creepshow series, the premiere of a new series of original short films called Deadhouse Dark, the highly anticipated sequel to its In Search of Darkness documentary, the return of The Last Drive-in with Joe Bob Briggs, and the 2021 Fangoria Chainsaw Awards.

But wait, the channel won’t let the first 30 of the next 180 days until Halloween pass without new movies to watch as well. In addition to thrilling new exclusives like Shudder original film The Banishing, Train to Busan: Peninsula and Boys from County Hell, brand new additions to the outlet’s ever-expanding international library include horror tales of both classic and recent vintage, including The Texas Chain Saw Massacre 2, Night of the Lepus, Housebound, Attack of the Demons, Horror Express, The Stepfather and more.

If you’re blown away by all this and want more horror, the “Halfway to Halloween” Hotline is for you. Every Friday in April from 3pm-4pm ET, Shudder subscribers are invited to call director of programming Samuel Zimmerman to discuss all things horror, from their favorite films of all time to which horror releases they’re looking forward to this year. Based on what you tell him, Zimmerman will offer customized viewing recommendations from Shudder’s film collection — a personally curated film festival direct from a foremost expert in the field.

If you’re not a Shudder subscriber yet, the best part is that the streamer is offering a special discounted rate (50% off!) to first-timers who sign up before April 22. So hurry up and subscribe now…before Halloween is here for real.

Here are some of the highlights of Shudder’s original and exclusive programming for April:

Creepshow, Season 2 – Premieres April 1 (Shudder Original Series)

The acclaimed anthology series created by Greg Nicotero (The Walking Dead), based on the classic 1982 film from writer Stephen King and director George A. Romero, returns for a second season of scary and often hilarious tales of terror — a horror comic come to life. Monsters, murderers and supernatural apparitions will haunt a whole new slew of guest stars including Kevin Dillon, Josh McDermitt, Keith David, Molly Ringwald, Barbara Crampton, Justin Long and more, with new episodes premiering every Thursday.

The Power – Premieres April 8 (Shudder Exclusive Film)

In the tradition of classic British ghost stories comes this tale of terror set in London in the mid ‘70s. With the miners’ strikes resulting in electrical blackouts, a young nurse working a new job in a dilapidated hospital is plunged into darkness, and she’s pretty sure there’s a malevolent presence in there with her. Corinna Faith directs this Shudder exclusive starring Sanditon’s Rose Williams.

The Banishing – Premieres April 15 (Shudder Original Film)

British ghostliness abounds in this period haunted house movie which impressed critics when it screened at London’s FrightFest. Jessica Brown Findlay stars as a formerly “fallen” woman who moves into a sinister manor with her daughter and Vicar husband only to discover there are dark secrets within. John Lynch and Sean Harris provide strong support in this chiller from Triangle and Severance director Chris Smith.  

 The Last Drive-in with Joe Bob Briggs – Premieres April 16 (Shudder Original Series)

The world’s foremost expert on drive-in movies will be back for a third season of his wildly popular series, presenting horror double features as only he can pick them. Of course, Joe Bob will also give his thoughts on the films, their histories and their context and placement in horror movie history. Expect guests and other surprises too.

2021 Fangoria Chainsaw Awards – Premieres April 18 at 8pm ET/5pm PT (Exclusive Event)

Oscars: Schmoscars. The only awards horror hounds need are these top accolades from genre bible Fangoria. Shudder has partnered with Fango to stream this exclusive event which celebrates the greatest and goriest. Actor David Dastmalchian (Ant-Man, Ant-Man and the Wasp, and soon to be seen as Polka-Dot Man in The Suicide Squad) hosts the awards. This year’s nominees include The Invisible Man, Freaky, Relic, and Possessor.

In Search of Darkness: Part II – Premieres April 26 (Shudder Exclusive Documentary)

Shudder’s epic documentary on 1980s horror cinema, In Search of Darkness, was such a hit that a sequel was deemed necessary. This one — more than four hours in length like its predecessor — dives even deeper into a crucial decade in the history of the genre, featuring interviews with icons like Robert Englund (A Nightmare on Elm Street), Nancy Allen (Dressed to Kill), Linnea Quigley (The Return of the Living Dead), and special effects legend Tom Savini (Friday the 13th), along with many new and returning faces.

In addition to all its original and exclusive programming, Shudder is adding a slew of great horror films both vintage and recent to its already impressive library. Among the highlights are:

Night of the Lepus (1972) – April 1

One of those classic cult films so “bad” that it ends up being “good,” this shocker focuses on Arizona ranchers who are trying to curb a population explosion of wild rabbits and end up instead with a swarm of giant, man-eating bunnies. Stuart Whitman, Janet Leigh (Psycho) and DeForest Kelley (Star Trek’s Dr. McCoy) are all on hand to battle the carnivorous cottontails.

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986) – April 1

Leatherface and his twisted family are back in this delirious sequel that plays things more for laughs than the original, but is still as gloriously insane. Directed again by Tobe Hooper, this one finds the cannibalistic Sawyer family holed up in the grounds of an abandoned amusement park, where they torment anyone who comes within their reach.

The Val Lewton Collection – April 2

Producer Val Lewton was a master of psychological horror — where what was unseen was more frightening than anything else — and Shudder is now showing seven of his classic, highly influential films: Cat People (1942), I Walked With A Zombie (1943), The Leopard Man (1943), The Seventh Victim (1943), Curse of the Cat People (1944), The Body Snatcher (1945) and Isle of the Dead (1945).

Alex de la Iglesia Double Feature – April 12

The twisted Spanish genius behind HBO Max’s recent series 30 Coins brings two of his early classics to Shudder: The Day of the Beast (a.k.a. El día de la Bestia, 1995), in which a priest, TV psychic and death metal record store clerk battle Satan and stave off the Apocalypse, and Dance with the Devil (a.k.a. Perdita Durango, 1997), in which Rosie Perez and Javier Bardem are a degenerate couple who deal in human sacrifices, kidnapping, murder and fetus trafficking.

The Stepfather (1987) – April 19

Directed by Joseph Ruben (The Good Son) and written by famed crime novelist Donald Westlake, this cult classic thriller stars Terry O’Quinn (Lost’s John Locke) as a serial killer who infiltrates himself into families, murders them, then changes his identity before moving on to his next target. Only this time, his new stepdaughter is suspicious of just who “Jerry Blake” really is.

Housebound (2014) – April 19

Imagine being stuck at home for months on end… Ok but imagine being stuck inside at your family home with your mum who is convinced there’s a ghost living there with you. This New Zealand horror comedy sees a young woman on house arrest start to believe her superstitious mother might actually be onto something – it’s the perfect mix of funny and scary and is packed with surprises.

The Similars (2015) – April 26

Eight strangers trapped at a bus depot on a rainy night start experiencing a very odd phenomenon in this excellent Mexican sci-fi horror which plays like an extended episode of The Twilight Zone. It’s weird, existential and black and white and has a wicked sense of humour along with a feeling of mounting dread. A hidden gem and an absolute must-watch.

Horror Express (1972) – April 29

Horror legends Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing star along with Telly Savalas in this fast-moving, eerie sci-fi/horror hybrid in which rival scientists and a crazed Russian captain attempt to defeat an ancient, mind-absorbing alien aboard the Trans-Siberian Express. This Spanish gem is one of the more underrated, underseen classics of 1970s Eurohorror, with an original premise and great work from its iconic stars.

Here’s the full Shudder “Halfway to Halloween” lineup for April:

Exclusive/Originals:

Creepshow, Season 2 – Premieres April 1, new episodes every Thursday (Shudder Original Series)

Train to Busan Presents: Peninsula – Premieres April 1 (Shudder Exclusive Film)

The Power – Premieres April 8 (Shudder Exclusive Film)

The Banishing – Premieres April 15 (Shudder Original Film)

The Last Drive-in with Joe Bob Briggs – Premieres April 16, new episodes every Friday (Shudder Original Series)

2021 Fangoria Chainsaw Awards – Premieres April 18 at 8pm ET / 5pm PT (Exclusive Event)

Boys from County Hell – Premieres April 22 (Shudder Exclusive Film)

In Search of Darkness: Part II – Premieres April 26 (Shudder Exclusive Documentary)

Deadhouse Dark – Premieres April 29 (Shudder Original Series)

New film library additions:

Night of the Lepus (1972) – April 1

The Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986) – April 1

The Haunting of Julia (1977) – April 1

The Val Lewton Collection (1942-1945) – April 2

Zombie for Sale (2019) – April 5

Don’t Panic (1988) – April 5

Alex de la Iglesia Double Feature (1995-1997) – April 12

The McPherson Tape (1989) – April 12

The Stepfather (1987) – April 19

The Conspiracy (2012) – April 19

Housebound (2014) – April 19

Thale (2012) – April 19

Attack of the Demons (2019) – April 26

The Similars (2015) – April 26

The Diabolical (2015) – April 26

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Horror Express (1972) – April 29

The post Shudder Boasts its Biggest Horror Movie and TV Line-Up Ever in April appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[bouchtayahyaoui]

6 Greatest April Fools’ Day Pranks In History

What makes an excellent April Fools’ Day joke? It helps if it’s silly or funny, doesn’t hurt people except for perhaps a small bruise to one’s ego for believing the story, and are some things people can tease themselves for being fooled over.

While the typical prankster might put a whoopee cushion on your chair or tape a paper fish to your back, these pranksters truly went above and beyond to fool 

hundreds or maybe thousands of individuals.

Here are the seven greatest April Fools’ Day pranks in history.

1)The Spaghetti-Tree Hoax:

When the BBC aired a fake news segment on April 1, 1957, for the investigative documentary show Panorama, they earned an endless spot within the April Fools’ Day Hall of Fame.

The two-and-a-half-minute news segment (which you'll watch on YouTube) showed Swiss “spaghetti farmers” harvesting the annual “spaghetti crop” by plucking spaghetti from trees, and claimed that “vast spaghetti plantations” existed.

“After picking, the spaghetti is laid bent dry within the warm sun,” the printed told viewers.

Perhaps because respected news anchor Richard Dimbleby narrated the segment and spaghetti wasn't widely eaten within the UK at the time, the BBC received many phone calls from people asking how they might grow their spaghetti.

The BBC’s response to callers best defines British humor sort of “taking the mickey”: “Place a sprig of spaghetti during a tin of spaghetti sauce and hope for the simplest .”

2)The Taco Liberty Bell:

Taco Bell learned a lesson in 1996 once they took out a full-page ad in six major newspapers. Readers of The NY Times, The Washington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Chicago Tribune, The Dallas Morning News and USA Today learned that Taco Bell, in an attempt to assist reduce the country’s debt, had purchased the freedom Bell and altered its name to the “Taco Liberty Bell .”

The prank was taken so seriously that aides from the staff of Senator Bill Bradley and Senator J. James Exon called Taco Bell headquarters. In Philadelphia, the Park Service held a mid-morning press conference to assure the general public that the freedom Bell had not been sold.

By noon, Taco Bell confessed to the hoax and hoped people had liked its joke. Taco Bell also donated $50,000 to the Park Service to assist maintain the freedom Bell. There was still quite a lot of upset by those who’d been fooled and couldn’t tease themselves for being taken in.

3)Instant color television:

On April 1, 1962, eight years before regular color broadcasts aired on Swedish television, the Swedish national network presented an expert who explained to its viewers that their old black-and-white TVs didn’t get to be upgraded.

A so-called expert gave a presentation revealing that light might be bent by a fine mesh screen to form black-and-white images appear in color.

The kicker? Nylon stockings might be wont to make such a screen. Reportedly, thousands of individuals fell for the joke and tried putting nylons over their TV screens.

4)Digital Big Ben:

The BBC didn’t learn their lesson after the Spaghetti-Tree Hoax, because in 1980 it's overseas service reported that Big Ben was getting to be updated as a digital clock.

They not only fooled many of us who called into precise their anger, but they also fooled one man who called in hoping to win during an ll|one amongst|one in every of one among Big Ben’s clock hands in a fake giveaway.

5)Redefining Pi:

In 1998, a joke news story circulated online reporting that the Alabama state legislature narrowly passed a law redefining pi as “3,” saving people all the difficulty of getting to affect a seemingly never-ending number.

The whole thing clothed to be a parody, and maybe nobody would have fallen for it had its original author attribution – “April Holiday” of the “Associated Press” – not been deleted from the article because it was passed around online.

6)Have It Your Way:

Many kids growing up have fallen victim to funny fathers who asked them to travel get them their left-handed hammer. This April Fools’ Day classic has been updated by several well-known companies, but perhaps none went so big as Burger King in 1998 when it took out a full-page ad in USA Today to introduce its new “left-handed Whooper.”

The ad claimed that the left-handed Whoppers were “rotated a full 180 degrees to make sure better grip on the bun” for left-handed customers.

Burger King joined the jokesters once more in 2017 with its new Whopper Toothpaste and therefore the slogan, “It smells sort of a Whopper in here, did you sweep your teeth?”

So, once more you would like to get on guard against things that sound too silly to be true on April 1. Silly or absurd stories that crop up on the web are the order of the day most days, but on April 1 you got to concentrate and not get trapped within the farce. Good luck and don’t forget to possess amusing at yourself if you get trapped during a good joke.

[go-redgirl]

Larry Bell Biden's Goofy Gaffes Overshadowed by Pervasive Prevarications

Aug 5, 2020

Gaffes don't explain Joe Biden's biggest problem. Most all of us make them, although likely not quite so often or cognitively concerning. I'm referring here to episodes like mistaking his sister for his wife; confusing British Prime Minister Theresa May with her long-ago predecessor Margret Thatcher; saying that "poor kids are just as talented as white kids;" or insisting that Democrats should "choose truth over facts."

Perhaps even more troubling, former Senator/Vice President Biden has a long history of fundamental character problems in discerning differences of facts from truths. Here are some easily fact-checkable examples:

Presidential candidate Biden claimed during  a 1987 New Hampshire campaign stump that he had attended law school on a full scholarship, graduated in the top half of his class, attained three degrees with 165 credits that only required 123, and was named "outstanding political science student."

As later corrected, Biden had received a one-half scholarship, obtained one degree, ranked number 76 out of 85 University of Syracuse Law School graduates, and never received a political science award. In fact, he was nearly kicked out of law school for plagiarizing five pages of a paper written by another student. Biden later explained that his memory had simply failed him.

In 1987, while campaigning for president at the Ohio State Fair, Biden famously plagiarized a fiery speech by British Labour leader Neil Kinnock, along with another by Robert Kennedy.

During a New Hampshire stump speech that same year, Biden claimed that when a high school senior in Scranton, Pennsylvania, he had marched and participated in civil rights sit-ins to desegregate restaurants and movie houses in Wilmington, Delaware. That never happened.

In 2014, Biden embellished that story, adding that he had trained as a civil rights activist attending Sunday morning services at the Black Union Baptist Church in Wilmington, Delaware after first participating in an earlier 7:30 a.m. mass at St. Joseph's Catholic Church in Greenville.

Then-Sen. Biden said in 2007 that he was "shot at" during the Iraq War while visiting the American Green Zone in Baghdad where the U.S. Embassy is based. In reality, a mortar had landed several hundred yards away from his hotel.

In 2008, Biden said that he knew where Osama bin Laden was hiding because his helicopter had been "forced down" nearby in mountains between Afghanistan and Pakistan.  Biden's helicopter had actually landed as a safety precaution to wait out a snowstorm.

Biden spun another elaborate yarn about traveling into a perilous combat zone in Afghanistan to pin a Silver Star of heroism on a U.S. Navy captain who had rappelled down a 60-foot ravine under fire to retrieve the body of a fallen soldier. According to the story, Biden responded to Obama security advisers who said the trip was too dangerous, saying "We can lose a vice president. We can't lose many more of these kids. Not a joke."

Biden then quoted the medal recipient, "He said, 'Sir, I don't want the damn thing! Do not pin it on me, Sir! Please Sir. Do not do that! He died. He Died!"

Biden then added, "This is God's truth! My word as a Biden!"

Except that it didn't happen. The heroic service member he referred to was a much younger and lower ranking Army specialist who received a Medal of Honor pinned on by President Obama – not by the V.P.

Biden said in 2008 during 1993 meetings in Serbia he had called then-President Slobodan Milosevic a "damn war criminal" to his face. No one who attended the meetings recalled that event having occurred.

He claimed that while vice president, he met with families of Parkland, Florida High School shooting victims. Yet the murders occurred in February 2018, more than a year after Biden left that office.

More recently, Biden falsely boasted on February 11 of this year that he "had the great honor of being arrested" in the 1970s, along with America's former U.N. Ambassador Andrew Young, in Johannesburg, South Africa, while trying to get to see imprisoned anti-apartheid leader Nelson Mandela. No such arrest occurred.

During a televised Breakfast Club interview hosted by "Charlemagne tha God," Biden blamed President Trump for waiting too long following discovery of the COVID-19 threat to shut down travel with China. Biden said, "If he had listened to me and others, and acted one week earlier to deal with this virus, there'd be 36,000 fewer people dead. Dead! Dead! And you guys are wondering, what's he doing? Come on, Man! Get a life! Get a life!"

Biden apparently forgot having previously attacked Trump's January 31 China travel as "hysterical xenophobia."

Speaking of China, the former vice president has yet to explain why as top Obama administration point person for the country, his son Hunter, who accompanied him on a 2013 trip to Beijing on Air Force Two, scored a $1 billion Chinese government private equity deal for his no-experience start-up company two weeks later.

Vice President Biden was also the lead U.S. Ukraine policy official when he boasted about successfully threatening to withhold $1 billion in U.S. aid to the country if they didn't fire a prosecutor looking into corruption of the country's largest private gas producer where son Hunter — again no related business credentials — was serving in a highly lucrative no-show director position.

Biden asserts that he wasn't aware of that profitable family arrangement either. He never asked, because, he said, "I trust my son." So we shouldn't wonder either.

What about Biden's new "Build Back Better" campaign slogan? It sounds very similar to an April 22 U.N. proposal calling on all governments "to  seize the opportunity to "build back better" by creating more sustainable, resilient and inclusive societies." Do we read this as pushing the "Green New Deal"?

As for candidate Biden's recent "Buy America" pitch, it sounds very similar to a Trump initiative, after the Obama administration said that the American jobs it transferred overseas weren't coming back. They were proved wrong.

All of this leads us to inevitable questions. Who is the real Joe Biden, and who will he be tomorrow?

And why would a person who repeatedly reinvents their own past possibly be entrusted to guise our entire nation's future?

[captainhoers]

Hi! I have a VERY random question. Are there any newspapers that you read or at least would suggest? I got an app though my library that can access European newspapers and I have no idea of quality or content. Thanks!.

I can only really talk about English language newspapers, and most of them are going to be British, but I’ll throw out what I do know:

Probably the paper I’d place the most value on would be the Guardian, and its Sunday companion the Observer. Even though they’re usually regarded as having a liberal editorial stance, they have a kind of independence that a lot of the other British newspapers don’t have because of their ownership - the Guardian is owned by a charitable foundation, whose principal aim is to ensure its editorial independence (for god’s sake, David Cameron has written opinion pieces for them). The Guardian is unfortunately loss-making, so please do support it if you can! This is a newspaper that in the last few years has been at the forefront of exposing the News of the World phone hacking, the Snowden leaks and the Panama papers. Just be aware of when you’re reading an article and when you’re reading opinion pieces.

Next down the list would probably be the Irish Times, generally considered Ireland’s paper of record. It’s rather like the Guardian in that it’s owned by a trust and has a slight liberal (actually neoliberal) lean but also a lot of editorial independence. The Irish media landscape is just as consolidated as the UK’s, if not more so, and the Irish Times is probably the most prominent media organisation in the country that isn’t the state broadcaster RTE, or the media conglomerate INM. My main points against the Irish Times are that it doesn’t really have the resources or international prestige to have the same kind of internationally relevant investigative journalism that the Guardian does.

After this we’re into “research” territory, where I have to put my sceptic goggles on and keep the known biases of the publisher in mind when reading.

The Independent is generally reliable, but has taken a bit of a slide into “liberal tabloid” in the last couple of years. I’d take what I see there with a pinch of salt.

The Times is the UK’s paper of record, so what you’re going to see isn’t going to be wildly off-base or sensational, but it’s also owned by Rupert Murdoch, so it does have a conservative lean and I can’t be sure of what editorial shenanigans are going on behind the scenes.

The Financial Times is aimed squarely at people who work in the British financial industry, but it’s an interesting read when you’re trying to understand how the people who move the money around talk to each other.

The Telegraph also has this kind of thing going on, but more in understanding the sort of old imperial mindset that’s still lurking in the British subconscious. There’s a running joke about Telegraph correspondents being retired colonial officers, sipping gin from their porch somewhere in India and reporting back about local affairs.It’s also considered a paper of record, so it’s not to be sniffed at either.

There are others I haven’t mentioned - the i (yes it’s just called lower-case i), the Scotsman, uhhh there are English-language papers published on the continent, but I don’t know enough about them to give an opinion.

You also may have noticed by now that the UK has a lot of conservative newspapers. It gets worse.

I can easily list papers that are ones to avoid: the Daily Mail, the Sun and the Express are notorious for printing right-wing sensationalist garbage - everything from deliberate omissions to propagandistic mission statements as headlines to stretchmaster 5000 headlines where finding the kernel of truth in the article is a needle in a haystack operation. In particular the Sun is under general boycott in Liverpool and banned in many football stadiums because of its disrespect to the victims of the Hillsborough disaster. This is the category that News of the World belonged to until it was shut down over the phone hacking scandal. That is, NotW reporters hacked the phones of celebrities, politicians, members of the Royal family, murder victims, relatives of fallen soldiers and 7/7 victims for scoops.

The Mirror is an odd duck in that it’s a sensationalist tabloid like the others, but it’s also got a left-wing lean to it? It’s like a bizarro world version of the Mail. Also in this box, The Morning Star used to be part of the British Communist Party, which makes it a baffling read. They’re still not really worth your time.

This got a lot longer than I thought it would be because I felt the need to explain some things rather than just list them. Hope this helps though!

[astoundingbeyondbelief]

The History of Reptilicus

When Mystery Science Theater 3000 debuted on national television in 1989, the first victim of Joel and the ‘Bots was The Crawling Eye, a British monster movie. The show’s revival on Netflix begins with another creature feature filmed in Europe, Reptilicus. I had the pleasure of watching this episode at the Season 11 premiere in New York and thought it was incredible, with a blizzard of quality jokes and a monster rap for the ages. Certainly Reptilicus was an excellent target: the monster is laughable and the comedy is horrifying. But there’s an incredible story behind the making of that 1961 movie, and a trio of strange adaptations that followed it. MST3k, by its nature, can’t tell that story, so I’d like to give it a try myself.

Sidney Pink produced almost 25 movies over the course of his career. To his dismay, Reptilicus became the most famous of them. At the time, he went all in on the dragon from Denmark: aside from producer duties, he directed it and came up with the story. Though the novel concept of a giant monster movie set in Copenhagen was the idea of AIP co-founder Jim Nicholson, Pink’s pre-existing relationship with Saga Studios made it possible. That connection also led to Reptilicus’s occasional moments of high production value. Fleming John Olsen, who owned Saga, used his influence as a member of the majority-ruling Social Democratic Party to secure the cooperation of the Danish army and navy. Unlike many of its contemporaries, all the footage of the military in Reptilicus was shot for the movie, even the Albatros-class corvette firing depth charges.

Reptilicus was the first science-fiction movie made in Denmark in almost fifty years. The hype generated for it by the press gave Pink tremendous freedom in filming scenes of panic in Copenhagen. One thousand extras participated in the drawbridge scene, with members of a bicycle club agreeing to plunge into Copenhagen Harbor.

The premiere, of course, was a disaster. Mystery Science Theater was this movie’s destiny from the beginning, as audience laughter gave way to outright heckling. The formal reviews were no kinder. In Jack Stevenson’s book Land of a Thousand Balconies, he states that, “To this day, Reptilicus is responsible for some of the most colorful and excited prose in the entire history of Danish film criticism.”

Though Reptilicus features lines like "You'll have to fire point-blank, at very close range," its special effects provide the richest target for mockery. One look at the film's miniatures make the problem obvious: they were built at too small a scale to be convincing. Set photos from the film are rare, but the few available show monster props about seven and four feet long. Shots using the former turned out decent enough, but the latter never looks like anything but a floppy marionette.

The version of Reptilicus that became a national embarrassment to Denmark was quite different from the product unleashed on American theaters and the Satellite of Love – and in my opinion, a little bit better. The dialogue scenes in Reptilicus were filmed simultaneously in English and Danish, with Poul Bang directing the latter. Every character in Reptilicus was played by the same actor in both versions, with the exception of Connie Miller (Marlies Behrens in the American version, Bodil Miller in the Danish version). You can see the problem with that approach: the largely Danish cast delivered their English lines with heavy Danish accents. AIP’s other founder, Samuel Z. Arkoff, was mortified at their performances, and demanded that American voice actors re-record all the dialogue. Pink, who was used to the accent by then, sued AIP when it refused to distribute the movie. After his lawyer looked at the Danish performances for himself, he convinced Pink to drop the case. Reptilicus was dubbed by Titra, a New York company which handled countless Japanese monster movies throughout the Sixties and early Seventies, and released in the United States in 1963, almost two years after its Copenhagen premiere. Ib Melchior, the screenwriter, claims to have dubbed six different characters himself. The original English audio is unlikely to ever surface.

Danish version on the left, American version on the right.

The Danish Reptilicus, shot from the same script as its American counterpart, has basically the same plot, with two major exceptions. Dirch Passer, a legendary comedian in Denmark, received his own musical number about the monster, which he performs with a mysterious gaggle of children who are never seen again. Reptilicus also flies in the Danish version. For some reason, AIP felt that those shots were unacceptable, though its own version added some special effects which were even worse. The neon green slime Reptilicus spits from his mouth is the most famous, but the American version also shows him devouring a farmer in a shot so hysterical that the roar of the audience at the MST3k premiere made Crow's joke impossible to hear.

Reptilicus received a novelization from Monarch Books and a comic book from Charlton Comics. The novelization was written under a pseudonym by Dudley Dean McGaughy, who primarily worked in the western and crime genres. He... took some liberties with the source material. As Bill Warren explains in Keep Watching the Skies, "Along with Monarch novelizations of Konga, Stranglers in Bombay, Brides of Dracula, and Gorgo, it was the closest thing to over-the-counter pornography as you could find in the early 1960's." Sid Pink, who received credit for the original story, sued AIP and Monarch again for using his name in the book without permission.

Charlton's take on Reptilicus was more conventional. The first issue was simply an adaptation of the movie, while the second took a freshly-regenerated Reptilicus on an adventure in Africa. Then the character mutated.

Pink never sued Charlton – in fact, he never knew about the Reptilicus comic until years later. However, comic book veteran Stephen R. Bissette postulates that his action against Monarch caused Charlton to change the characters' name preemptively. In his third issue, Reptilicus became Reptisaurus the Terrible. Reptisaurus wasn't all that different from Reptilicus, just red, less toothy, and with a new prehistoric origin completely divorced from the movie. He became a monstrous anti-hero patterned after Gorgo and Ogra, who had their own Charlton comic. Like them, he fought Communists, repelled alien invaders, and ate atom bombs for breakfast. In a crossover less exciting than it sounds, he actually appeared in an issue of Gorgo, swooping in to smash some flying saucers. For some unfathomable reason, however, the story concluded without a face-to-face meeting between Europe's premiere giant monsters. In his seventh issue, Reptisaurus received another makeover, growing a nasal horn and more powerful limbs. This version was much better-drawn, but only lasted another two issues.

Scary Monsters magazine published all the Reptisaurus the Terrible issues in a book called Scarysaurus the Scary in 2012, with every mention of the monster's name clumsily replaced. Why the change? Well, they might have been trying to avoid any legal entanglements with the makers of the movie that had come out in 2009. Reptisaurus was the first movie directed by Christopher Ray, who has gone on to have a prolific career with The Asylum. As far as I can tell, it's only available on DVD in Japan and Thailand, making it exceptionally hard to find. But if the trailer’s any indication, you're not missing much. The monster himself is a Wyvern 2.0 model currently sold by DAZ 3D for $14.95.

Since Reptilicus was released in the days when the only people who cared about box office returns worked in the film industry, I can only say that it turned a profit for AIP. Its reputation as a bad movie of legendary proportions would develop over time. Mystery Science Theater 3000 is sure to raise its profile, but the American version has been readily available on home video for a while now, with each new format helping a new generation discover its unique charms. The Danish cut came out on DVD in 2002, though you'll need to do a bit of Googling to find an English translation. And if you find yourself curious about what such a film's screenplay was like, Reptilicus superfan Kip Doto published it in 1999, along with a detailed commentary, after befriending Sid Pink. Doto also helped facilitate the production of a Reptilicus toy by M1 and Club Daikaiju the following year.

Before he passed away in 2002, Pink unsuccessfully attempted to find financers for either a remake or a sequel to the movie. An attempt by a small Danish company to create a video game in 2015 also seems to have fallen through. Still, history shows again and again that no giant monster can be counted out entirely. If Moguera, Yongary, and Guilala can roar back decades after their original appearances, the not-too-distant future could very well see a wobbly lizard darken the skies over Copenhagen once more.

Sources and Additional Reading:

“It Came from Beyond Belief - The Incredible Movies of Sidney Pink in Denmark” by Jack Stevenson (republished in Land of a Thousand Balconies)

“You Say Reptilicus, I Say Reptisaurus — The Charlton Monster Comic Saga, Concluded!“ by Stephen R. Bissette

Keep Watching the Skies!: American Science Fiction Movies of the Fifties by Bill Warren

Flying Through Hollywood by the Seat of My Pants by Samuel Z. Arkoff with Richard Trubo

Both issues of Reptilicus on Comic Book Plus

Every issue of Reptisaurus the Terrible on Comic Book Plus

Glenn Erickson’s review of the 2001 MGM Reptilicus DVD

Mention of the Reptilicus remake on the site of CG animator Gary Dohanish

Undead Backbrain AMA with Reptisaurus director Christopher Ray

[ucflibrary]

A Change of Heart: An Exchange Student’s Account of Pulse

Zoe Williamson was a student visiting from the University of Gloucestershire in England and participating in a comparative policing student exchange program in partnership with the UCF Department of Criminal Justice the night of the Pulse nightclub shooting on June 12. She was riding along with Orange County Sheriff’s Office Reserve Sergeant Jay Rosario that night and saw firsthand the magnitude of the attack. This is her story of what took place June 12.

Thinking back over the past year, everything seems to be a whirlwind. The events of June 12, 2016 have changed my life, and my perspective on the world forever. It has also reinforced in my brain how much I want to be a police officer and how much of a passion I have for helping people. The tragic events that occurred have impacted Orlando’s community, your community, myself and how I identify with the world, affecting countries throughout the world. It has impacted how people view one another, the value of life and, for myself, has opened up to me the pain and heartbreak that one person can administer.

I come from a small hamlet in the UK, a place no one has ever heard of. It holds a post box and has a population of about 15 people. I have lived there for fifteen years and I think within that time, the police have visited once and that still seems to be the village gossip despite having occurred about ten years ago. My family are farmers, having farmed land for generations, and, in total, have moved about 20 miles in the last two centuries, with this current generation being the first to go to a university. I don’t know why, but something in me has always had a passion for helping those in need and since the age of five, I have wanted to be a police officer (before that, I wanted to be a fire fighter). I have always wanted to explore more, do more and see what the world may offer to me and, with these aspirations, I went to a university, enthusiastic for the future, eager for the opportunities that may be provided to me and excited for where my future was going to head.

I first heard of the trip to Florida and UCF when I was looking at universities and it was one of the main reasons that I chose the University of Gloucestershire; the trip looked amazing and I knew instantly it was something I would like to participate in. Like how cool would it be to explore another country, completely immersing myself in their culture not only looking at the tourist areas of Florida or the parts that most others who travel there see, but delving into the hardships of living in a tourist location, considering Florida’s crime and how as an international community which is continuously changing, one identifies with society.

The trip was incredibly popular, with many people applying to participate and I was nervous that I wouldn’t be one of the 18 people that the trip would accommodate for. However, I was accepted and, as soon as I found this out, began counting down the days until June 3, 2016 when we would travel. We flew to Florida, animated for what the trip would hold for us and looking forward to getting away from the endless downpour of rain in England.

The first couple of days flew past in an absolute blur; I was having the time of my life and had absolutely fallen in love with Florida, its people and its culture. Everyone was so welcoming and, after the first seven days, I had never felt more at home or comfortable. We had our disagreements (especially considering American gun culture and the use of armed police; the idea of it was so foreign to me that it blew my mind) but apart from that, everything was going swimmingly. However, the part of the trip that I was most excited about was the ride along we were going on with the Orange County Sheriff’s Office Reserves Unit.

To start the ride along, we were driven to one of the police headquarters where we were assigned our officers. The evening I had been waiting for had arrived. I was assigned to officer Jay Rosario. We went off together, laughing and joking, excited for what the night might hold for us. I was nervous about the trip but Jay put me instantly at ease.

The night was quiet; we didn’t attend many incidents but it was so interesting learning about the job. I asked question after question, never shutting up, always wanting to know more and more. I was so inquisitive about the role of the job, asking all those annoying theory questions from points that I have learnt from my time at university.

We were on our way back to the hotel when a suspected burglary call came through and Jay took it. As we were on our way to the burglary, another call got placed out: a code 43, an active shooting. We were placed on this call, with all officers being required on scene. Jay turned the car around and sped off as more and more information was being relayed over the radio. The closer we got, the more I realized how big this was. Adrenaline was racing through my body and my palms were sweating as I tried to take everything in.

At one junction, Jay stopped the car and ran to the boot (trunk) and got out a large gun, and placed it in-between us. We traveled the rest of the way in silence, barely speaking two words to each other, deep in thought of what was going to happen and intently listening to the radio to try and work out what was occurring. We arrived at the scene and the sight was like no other I have ever seen before and one I never would want to see again. The road was full of police cars, red and blue canvassing the landscape for as far as the eye could see, flashing in a continuous cycle.

We pulled up to the scene and both got out of the car, both constantly vigilant, taking in all the sights and smells around us. Crouched behind a car, we tried to find out what was going on, asking other officers, guns drawn and at a heightened sense of awareness. I ended up talking to some of those who were injured and all fear and trepidation left me leaving me with one sole target; to help those that were in need to the best of my ability.

Reflecting on the following events that occurred, I don’t remember feeling anything but an overwhelming sense of need to help, which I think blocked out all other emotions. Like everyone else who was there, police officers and victims included, we did what needed to be done, not thinking of the consequences, but making sure we helped to the best of our ability. Back in the UK, I often get compared to a hero but I don’t see myself as that; I am just an average 21-year-old at the university who just happened to be on an exchange trip.

Before I came to Florida, I had a very negative view on American cop gun culture. I believed that it was unnecessary and that by getting rid of guns it would solve so many issues within society. I thought I knew better, comparing American culture to the UK’s, many of my lectures having been on the negative implications of armed police and the detrimental effects it can have upon the accountability and community trust within the force. I was adamant that the British way of policing was so much better. However, what I never counted on was the culture in America. I never thought of your constitution and what it meant to you, why you had guns and why armed police is so necessary. At home, we have one armed response unit for both Devon and Cornwall and if called, they could take up to 4 hours to get to an incident. The reaction speed of the police, their readiness to risk their lives and the overall commitment to their jobs is like nothing I have seen before. If they didn’t have guns, I dread to think of what the consequences would have been. I get it. I take my hat off to those officers who go out and protect your culture, lives and society and I find those efforts inspirational.

I learned many lessons during my time in Orlando and I think of the events and your people daily. The strength and resilience of the Floridian people has taught me how precious life is and how you should value the life you are provided with, living it to its fullest. The lives that were taken on June 12 are an incredible loss to society but I believe strongly that they live on through us, in our thoughts, our actions and how we treat others. Thoughts of Pulse plague me daily and draw out negative thoughts in myself causing me to doubt humanity and with mass shootings, murders and terrorist’s attacks becoming a daily topic of news stations and media outlets, it would be easy to let one become filled with hate. However, out of the darkness comes light and by looking at how a community comes together to become stronger, it proves to me that goodness will overrule hate leaving me with a glimmer of hope during my darker days.

For her assistance and bravery in helping others that night, Williamson received a Medal of Merit from the Orange County Sheriff’s Office, presented by Reserve Chief Deputy and College of Health and Public Affairs Associate Dean Ross Wolf, last month in England. For his bravery during the tragedy, Rosario was awarded a Medal of Valor at the Orange County Sheriff’s Office from Sheriff Jerry L. Demings.

(via UCFToday)

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

Always happy to bleed for the Winchesters

There are many things to talk about in 12x14, so of course I’m choosing to start from the things that were not in the episode, namely Cas and Crowley, as you do. I’m kidding, this is actually about the Alpha vampire and the British Men of Letters. And Cas and Crowley. And everyone else.

Something that got my attention about 12x14 was the season 7 feels. Actually, all of season 12 hasn’t been scarce in its season 7 callbacks and references, especially in regards to Cas, but The Raid in particular had some interesting bits. @charlie-minion in this post has pointed out the parallel between Dean’s softened attitude towards Mary at the end of the episode with Dean’s attitude towards Cas in 7x01 when his body starts to drastically fail under the pressure of the Leviathan. Several people have also pointed out the parallel between Dean’s conversation with Jo in 7x04 (Hunters are never kids. I never was) and Dean’s line I never was when Mary tells him he’s not a child. And of course there was the Alpha vampire, whom we’d last seen in 7x22.

Now: why bringing back the Alpha vampire? Well, other than plot reasons (someone they’d need to use the Colt to kill) and extradiegetic reasons (the dangling thread of the Alpha vampire’s promise to “see you”), I think there are other subtextual/structural reasons. Partly related to the character’s role ins season 6 (the parallels between Samuel, Crowley, Cas, Mary, the British Men of Letters...) and partly, I suspect, related to the Alpha vampire’s role in the final portion of season 7.

My question is: can we see the British Men of Letters as a Leviathan parallel, and the process of taking the BMoL down as a parallel to the spell to send the Leviathan back to Purgatory?

The British Men of Letters don’t really seem to have much in common with the Leviathan in terms of goals and motivations, but if we look closely there are some things they kind of have in common. The professionalism in their organization, for instance; the Leviathan were different from regular monsters because they organized as a corporation, the BMoL are different than hunters because of their organization as some kind of corporation, too. There are some kind of territorial issues regarding the United States; the Leviathan’s plans were to subdue the human population of the United States (the demons could have Canada) and once the US were done, they could extend to other countries, the BMoL’s current plans are to eliminate monsters from the territory of the United States, and I guess that their intention is to do the same with other countries with “monster problems”.

There are also things that ping my radar like the fact that the tablets arc started in regards of the Leviathan, and Metatron was introduced, although only mentioned, in 7x21, and now the BMoL seem to have assumed the “meta” role of Metatron in the narrative, their reports and communications thus working as an equivalent of the tablets.

Speaking of the tablets - the Alpha vampire’s role in 7x22 is exactly connected to the instructions on the Leviathan tablet. 7x21 Reading Is Fundamental, 7x22 There Will Be Blood and 7x23 Survival Of The Fittest all feature the research for the way to get rid of the Leviathan; in 7x21, Kevin translates the Leviathan tablet:

Cut off the head, and the body will founder. Waste not thy time nor your breath upon the Leviathan herd. Point thy blade at the heart of their master, for from him springs all their messages. Leviathan cannot be slain but by a bone of a righteous mortal, as light and good as the Leviathan are hungry and dark, washed in the three blood of the fallen: a fallen angel, the ruler of the fallen humanity, and a father of fallen beasts.

One of the most interesting characteristics of the Leviathan is that the Leviathan - despite being referred to as a “they” as plural - is an actually one monster composed of different parts. That’s why hitting Dick Roman sent all the rest to Purgatory along with him - technically, Dick wasn’t one Leviathan among others, but he was the head, the most important part of the Leviathan as a whole.

I am wondering if season 12 is going to frame the “old men” in charge of the British Men of Letters as some kind of narrative equivalent of Dick Roman, minus the dick jokes (Mr Ketch seems to cover the homoerotic part efficiently...).

I am also wondering whether the “seduction” Ketch is operating (relatively successfully on Mary, not on Dean) could be paralleled to the effect of the Leviathan’s corn syrup, in a way - making the hunters docile and useful to the BMoL’s ends, via manipulation instead of chemicals.

Basically, a whole “reverse Leviathan” situation, with an organization of humans trying to eliminate monsters instead of an organization of monsters trying to make humans into food, and so on - so, why not a “reverse Leviathan tablet” situation, where the creatures involved in the spell to take the Leviathan down are victims of the BMoL instead of contributing to defeat the Leviathan?

So let’s get back to the Leviathan tablet, the Alpha vampire, and the rest.

The spell inscribed on the tablet requires the bone of a righteous human coated in the blood of a fallen angel, the king of hell, and an alpha monster. The events of collecting the bloods does not really follow that order (Cas is the first - in an episode that emphasized how the angels see Cas’ relationship with Dean as something that has corrupted him... anyway. um. let’s not digress - then the Alpha vampire also gives them his blood, then it’s Crowley’s turn) but the tablet itself gives us this specific order: bone of righteous human plus blood of fallen angel, king of hell, alpha monster.

Now, let’s put the bone of sister Mary Constant aside for a moment and focus on the creatures that give their blood for the spell: Castiel, Crowley, and the Alpha Vampire.

Basically: the last time we saw the Alpha vampire he was part of a “trio” along with Crowley and Cas. What if again he’s part of a “trio” in the narrative along with Crowley and Cas? More specifically, people who’ll get in trouble because of the British Men of Letters? And maybe, that Sam/Mary/some combination of characters will have to consider killing because of the British Men of Letters?

Let’s make a “you’re living my life in reverse” mental experiment and reverse the order on the Leviathan tablet. Alpha vampire, Crowley and Castiel.

The Alpha vampire comes first. In 12x14, he shows up, to fight against the British Men of Letters. Sam, though, sides with the BMoL, and kills him.

It’s not a difficult choice for Sam. The Alpha vampire is a monster, he’s killed many people, turned many people into monsters, and now he kills people who were in the BMoL base to do their job and didn’t have blood on their own hands. Sam allies with Mick, and the Alpha vampire dies.

What if the next big choices Sam (and Mary, and Dean, and everyone) has to make regard Crowley and Cas?

I mean, it’s pretty obvious that the whole “let’s get rid of all the monsters!!” attitude at some point will have to clash with the fact that some monsters are not evil and in fact some are family. But I expect, in particular, a progression that goes from the Alpha vampire to Crowley and Cas.

I mean, many people have been talking about this kind of issue in relation to Cas, but there also Crowley to put in the picture. Because, while Cas is seen as family by both Sam and Dean (and seemingly Mary, although of course she could rationalize eliminating Cas for the greater good) but Crowley does not possess the same status for the Winchesters. So, I can see Dean and Sam defending Cas from Mary and the rest, but can you see Dean and Sam defending Crowley?

Mary has made it clear what her perception of Crowley is - touch me and I’ll kill you - and Sam, while seemingly more chill around Crowley, does not like him any more. I can see a conflict among the Winchesters arising where Crowley is concerned. Dean, as much as he acts like he doesn’t care, does care for Crowley. It’s super complicated, it’s layered in layers of guilt and shame, but Dean has shared something with Crowley and Crowley does have a place in Dean’s virtual family table. (Maybe neither of them really realize it, definitely not Crowley, so I can see a storyline where things get clear for everyone involved.)

Sam has never tried to hide his feelings of aversion for Crowley. He’s worked with him when needed, but he’s never shared moments with Crowley except the one in the church, that was totally one-sided from Crowley’s side. Sam has acted chill towards Crowley lately because of the various circumstances they’ve been in, but Sam has never really stopped hating Crowley, hasn’t he? He’s never forgotten Crowley for the various things he blames him for (some of which definitely understandable...), including trying to steal Dean from him.

If Sam were in the circumstance of having to kill Crowley, I am sure that he would do it without really hesitating - I don’t think his feelings for Crowley have really changed since the time he used Rowena’s demon-killing instrument to try and kill him, especially if killing Crowley were presented to him as something rationally justified. Dean and Cas, on the other hand - I doubt either of them would willingly kill Crowley.

So I expect the story to go towards a place where Crowley and Cas find themselves in some sort of similar situation to the Alpha vampire - of course, in the case of the Alpha vampire the situation was completely different, because he was indeed a monster and choosing to kill him instead of letting him kill Mick was an easy decision. But if Crowley and Cas gets targeted by the British Men of Letters, if it’s decided that the Colt will have to be used against them, who will make which decision?

A reversal of “always happy to bleed for the Winchesters”, maybe? With the Winchesters sacrificing something/themselves (not necessarily lethally) for Crowley and/or Cas?

[believermag]

ELECTRIC BLUE

All photographs by the author.

Kim Wood on David Bowie

1.

There are roughly ten blocks between the theater where David Bowie watched rehearsals for Lazarus, and the studio where he recorded Blackstar. In his last years, we both lived between them, on opposite sides of Houston Street.

My side is the Bowery, known in real estate speak as NoHo (North of Houston). On the street where I live—a two-block stretch of 3rd Street known as Great Jones—is a chandeliered butcher shop occupying the spot where Basquiat worked, and died, of a heroin overdose. Twenty years before his time, Charlie Mingus’ heroin-addicted presence on this corridor is said to have birthed the term jonesing.

I’ve passed a decade in Brooklyn, but never before now lived in Manhattan and love being a downtown kid, stepping through the door and onto crowded streets, passing CBGBs—now a skinny pants boutique I’ve never entered—on my way to buy groceries, or borrowing books from a library branch housed in the one-time factory of Hawley & Hoops’ Chocolate Candy Cigars—that Bowie lived above, in a modern penthouse perched atop the turn of the century brick building.

For twenty-four months, barring the occasional trip to Central Park, I’ve lived below 14th Street and in this time Bowie loitered here too, sipping La Colombe’s double macchiato, fetching chicken and watercress sandwiches at Olive’s, or dinner supplies at Dean & DeLuca. One day I’d catch him on the street, I figured, hailing a cab or taking out the recycling in his flat cap and sunglasses, and when I did my well-worn New Yorker discretion would be jettisoned as I tried, and likely failed, not to cry.

I didn’t, of course, know that for most of the time we were neighbors David Bowie was dying. Today I walk the familiar stretch of blocks to his building, eyes tearing, I tell myself, from the frigid, bone-dry air. At the front entrance, a group of fans stand gutted, surrounded by news trucks, generators, vulturing reporters.

A growing pile of daisies, tulips, roses, daffodils leans against the wall, along with a few photographs, a pair of silver glitter heels, a Jesus candle with Ziggy Stardust face. Tucked here and there are handwritten notes: Look out your window, I can see his light and We are all stardust and Hot tramp, we love you so.

Everyone here, news crew aside, feels known somehow, the mood is gentle, polite, quiet. Too quiet, I realize, when someone plays “Life On Mars?” from a tinny smartphone speaker. As the closing strings swell, a woman turns to me to say through tears, “I love this song!” All I can do is nod, “I know!” and take comfort among fellow kooks.

A pair behind me wonders aloud about a “world without Bowie,” and while I know what they mean—the way some people feel like a force and invincible—you could argue we’ve been living in such a world for a long while. David Jones-ing.

2.

Three days earlier, on the night of Bowie’s 69th birthday, I danced in my kitchen to the foppish, falsetto, “‘Tis a Pity She Was a Whore,” delighting in his rude lyrics and wild whooping. Later at a dinner hosted for the birthday of a friend, I commented on Bowie’s continuing fixation upon mortality, but also his energy, sly humor, return to form, exclaiming, not tentatively, “Bowie’s back!”

I was thrilled he’d finally slipped the ghost of what he called, “my Phil Collins years.”  In one of the endless interviews now flooding my screen in text and video, he explains, “I was performing in front of these huge stadium crowds and at that time I was thinking ‘what are these people doing here? Why did they come to see me? They should be seeing Phil Collins.’ And then that came back at me and I thought, ‘What am I doing here?’ It’s a certain kind of mainstream that I’m just not comfortable in.”

Like the divisiveness of fat and skinny Elvis, there were those of us who fancied ourselves glittering, androgynous, apocalyptic half-beast hustlers who bought drugs, watched bands and jumped in the river holding hands, and there were others, contentedly jazzin’ for Blue Jean.

When, in your Golden Years, your mentor of not only music but all things relevant—art, clothes, books, films—enters his Phil Collins Years, suddenly high-kicking in Reeboks and staring in Pepsi commercials, how not to feel betrayed?

I took it personally, coining the unforgiving term David Bowie Syndrome. As a burgeoning artist, I feared (a scaled-back version of) his creative arc with my whole heart—reaching the greatness of Bowie’s 1970s only to follow it up with Let’s Dance. To say nothing of Tin Machine. Like many old-school fans, I’d stopped tuning in to modern Bowie to keep my vintage Bowie flame flickering.

In my most youthfully caustic moment, I joked that Bowie’s personal Oblique Strategies deck—that famous stack of cards, creative prompts such as Ask your body, Abandon normal instruments, and Courage! allegedly used when Bowie and Brian Eno recorded Low and Heroes—should be made up of cards that all read, simply: Call Eno.

Unfair, untrue. Kindly allow this counterpoint mea culpa admission: I secretly love the ham-fisted, cringtastic video for Dancing in the Street.

3.

On the third day after Bowie’s death I step outside, wondering if I’ll still hear his presence hum. Just feet from my front door I’m greeted by his face gracing one of two large posters advertising Blackstar. Well hey there, Mr. Jones.

They’re wet with wheat paste and like a teenage fangirl I consider stealing one, but then notice a smaller poster hung next to them, featuring the Sesame Street characters peering out joyously, encouraging me to attend an event entitled… Let’s Dance!

I accept Bowie’s cosmic joke, had it coming I suppose, and briskly hoof it to Union Square where at the farmer’s market I find apples, apple cider, cider doughnuts and not much else. My gloveless fingertips smart as I pocket change and consider the possibility that the visitation was an invitation to dance through the sorrow. A bit maudlin perhaps, but then, so was Bowie.

When I return home the Blackstar posters are gone. In under an hour someone has pasted them over with clothing and gym ads—leaving all the posters on either side for the length of the street untouched. Like Steppenwolf's Magic Theater, the message—whatever it was—had appeared and just as quickly vanished.

My feet walk me to Bowie’s memorial, which has exploded in a heap of bouquets, black bobbing Prettiest Star balloons, cha-cha lines of platform heels, disco balls, eye shadow, quarts of milk, British flags, drawings and paintings of Bowie’s many incarnations, fuzzy spiders, bluebirds, boas, vinyl copies of David Live annotated Forever in thick silver marker.

A giant orange tissue paper flower hangs from a nearby tree, electric blue eye at its center, petals edged in lyrics: Give me your hands, because you’re wonderful! Let the children lose it, let the children use it, let all the children boogie.

Here and there are tucked personal notes: You taught me that weird = beautiful, and: When I was a teenager I wished I could check off “David Bowie” for both my gender and my race. I still do.

“Taking away all the theatrics…” Bowie said, “I’m a writer. The subject matter…boils down to a few songs, based around loneliness, isolation, spiritual search, and a looking for a way into communication with other people. And that’s about it—about all I’ve ever written about for forty years.”

Perhaps, then, my “Let’s Dance” visitation was an anti-message, a warning against wasting creative juju by pandering for cash. Of course, Bowie made not a dime (relatively, and thanks in large part to shifty management) from his artistic era I find most inspiring. The seed of the fortune that brought him financial security was that very song. So what then?

When I return home, Bowie’s spot on the wall has been papered over yet again, all white this time, as though to say, as he has when pressed to interpret his lyric’s meaning, “nothing further,” “you figure it out,” “space to let.”

4.

I rise before the sun, pull on bright turquoise tights and red clogs and walk the cobblestone of Lafayette Street in the dark. Collar up, breath ghosting, I feel as I secretly do in all such moments, like the cover of Low, or The Middle-Aged Lady Who Fell to Earth. Car headlights slide over me as I approach the memorial that is, it appears, being dismantled.

I quickly make the photograph I awoke imagining: my platforms meeting Bowie’s shore of flickering candles, cigarette butts, stray boa feathers, sea of glitter. Beside me a sweet lone man sorts out the dead flowers, shuffling handmade things to one side, candles to another, not tossing it all as I first suspected, but tidying up, preparing for another day.

What drew me into this frigid darkness, half dressed in pajamas? Perhaps a need to meet Bowie toe to toe, promise to honor the contract, all in, heart wide, funk to funky.

Put on my red shoes and dance the blues.

“I don’t think (the act of creation is) something that I enjoy a hundred percent. There are occasions when I really don’t want to write. It just seems that I have a physical need to do it...I really am writing for myself.”

Before Blackstar, the last time I know of Bowie creating under extreme duress is when making the album Station to Station—which coincidentally also opens with an epically long titular song wherein a man yelps from the darkness, singing with pride and pain about a fame that has isolated him beyond measure.

As the Thin White Duke, Bowie sings with bitter irony, It’s not the side effects of the cocaine! I’m thinking that it must be love! It’s well known that Bowie, living for a year (1975-1976) in his despised, self-chosen, wasteland of Los Angeles, had fallen victim to a kind of Method Writing, unable to escape in life the character he’d crafted to hide behind on stage.

Subsisting on a diet of cocaine, chili peppers and milk, he grew paranoid, hallucinating, allegedly dabbling in Black Magic and storing his jarred urine in his refrigerator. I was six years old at the time, living less than a mile from Cherokee Studios where Station to Station was in session, and smudging my mother’s brand new Young Americans vinyl with powdered sugar fingerprints.

He said of the following album, Low, “It was a dangerous period for me. I was at the end of my tether physically and emotionally and had serious doubts about my sanity. But I get a sense of real optimism through the veils of despair from Low. I can hear myself really struggling to get well.”  

It’s the pale, shimmering hope that makes Low my favorite of all of Bowie’s offerings, but for Station to Station’s Duke of Disillusion it’s too late—for hate, gratitude, any emotion. It’s not, however, too late to lay himself bare in the work: there’s no reach for sanity, just a man collapsing while still directing, as the camera rolls.

Blackstar has been called a gift, and on “Dollar Days,” a song that describes his effort to communicate in the face of death, Bowie breaks the fourth wall to address this directly: Don’t think for just one second I’ve forgotten you/I’m trying to/I’m dying to(o).

I believe as an artist he had no choice, no other way to confront his circumstance other than to talk himself through it, put it in the work.

The profound generosity of Blackstar, and a vast swath of Bowie’s creative output, is that in this most intimate conversation with death, god, time, himself, we’ve been invited to listen in.

5.

What makes a good death? Bowie withdrew from the public in the last decade and was characteristically silent regarding his illness, in this tell-all age (that owes him not a little for its status quo “tolerance” of Chazes and Caitlyns). He was also, in his time post-diagnosis, compelled to make his most raw and exposing work in years, and between the play and album, likely spent a long part of each day in their pursuit, while presumably also tending to his needs as a father, husband, friend, man.

In Walter Tevis’ book The Man who Fell to Earth—the basis of Nicholas Roeg’s film that inspired Bowie’s production Lazarus—stranded, despondent space alien Thomas Jerome Newton records an album called The Visitor: we guarantee you won’t know the language, but you’ll wish you did! Seven out-of-this-world poems! Newton explains it’s a letter to his family and home planet that says, “Oh, goodbye, go to hell. Things of that sort.”

Bowie’s seven-song swansong, Blackstar, is rather more generous, and from a writer notorious for lyrical slipperiness, layered meanings, a cut-up technique (copped from Burroughs) that spawned lines about Cassius Clay and papier-mâché, its text is frequently plain-spoken and direct.

Even my favorite frolic sounds a combative calling down of his illness, time: Man, she punched me like a dude/Hold your mad hands, I cried/She stole my purse, with rattling speed/This is the war. It would not be the first time Bowie referred to Time as a “whore.” (see: Aladdin Sane.)

In the title video’s most vivid sections, Bowie becomes god—less vengeful than dismissive—singing, from heaven’s attic, a swaggering takedown of Bowie himself: You’re a flash in the pan, I’m the great I am. (From Exodus: And God said unto Moses, I AM THAT I AM: and he said, Thus shalt thou say unto the children of Israel, I AM hath sent me unto you.)

His button eyes in both videos suggest a puppet, and so the presence of a puppet master, but I don’t read these images as signs of deathbed conversion. Bowie was a spiritual seeker who borrowed magpie style—in this case from Egyptian, Kabalistic, Christian and Norse iconography—to create a language to give voice to his fears and dark entries.

“If you can accept—and it’s a big leap—that we live in absolute chaos, it doesn’t look like futility anymore. It only looks like futility if you believe in this bang up structure we’ve created called ‘God’.”

In his last gestures Bowie answered not God, but himself, regarding the way he’d lived, and in particular, as an artist. The pulse returns the prodigal sons suggests that the characters he inhabited—some regrettable, but not irredeemable—are with him as he assesses the intentions behind, and perceived short-comings of, his creative offerings: Seeing more and feeling less/Saying no but meaning yes/This is all I ever meant/That's the message that I sent/(but) I can’t give everything away.

In his almost unbearably haunting last video, it seems we’re finally invited to meet David Jones, or Bowie playing Jones. Jones the man lies in bed, clutching a blanket with those mortal, frightened hands. Nearby the writer manically, fretfully reaches for immortality, while Bowie the performer, dutifully dances to the end.

“There’s an effort to reclaim the unmentionable, the unsayable, the unspeakable, all those things come into being a composer, into writing.”  “You present a darker picture for yourself to look at, and then reject it, all in the process of writing. I think that’s what’s left for me with music. Now I really find that I address things to myself. That’s what I do. If I hadn’t been able to write songs and sing them, it wouldn’t have mattered what I did. I really feel that. I had to do this.”

This morning I remembered where I'd seen the writer's austere, black and white striped costume before: the program for the 1976 Isolar tour, wherein Bowie self-consciously poses with a notebook or makes chalk drawings of the Kabbalah tree of life. Isolar is a made up word—and name of his current company—said to be comprised of isolation and solar.

I love this costume—a kind of artisan worker-bee uniform. There are satin kimono-sleeved ass-baring rompers for when its time to present the work, but when making it, roll up your revolutionary sleeves and get to it.

1976 saw the success of Station to Station, the premiere of The Man Who Fell to Earth and the recording of The Idiot and Low. It was not the most grounded time for Bowie personally (to understate it), but arguably his most vital creatively, and this nod to the continuum of creative spirit seems to suggest that the artist dies, but through the work, like Lazarus, rises again.

6.

So what, then, is a Blackstar? Perhaps a marked man, a sly reference to Elvis’ song of the same name whose lyrics include, Every man has a black star/A black star over his shoulder/And when a man sees his black star/He knows his time, his time has come.

Although Bowie did not, as rumored, write “Golden Years” for Elvis, he did find (somewhat bashful) significance in their shared birthdays, took pains to catch his concerts, had his white jumpsuit copied to wear while performing “Rock and Roll Suicide,” modeled his own costume in Christiane F after Elvis’ ensemble in Roustabout, and perhaps his Aladdin Sane red/electric blue lightening bolt was inspired by Elvis’ signature gold one. Which is to say, he likely knew of The King’s “Black Star.”

Blackstar could also suggest the theoretical transitional state between a collapsed star and a singularity—a state of infinite value in physics, a metaphor for immortality.

I’m not a gangstar/I’m not a film star/I’m not a popstar/I’m not a marvel star/I’m not a white star/I’m not a porn star/I’m not a wandering star/I’m a star’s star/I’m a blackstar.

“Sometimes I don’t feel as if I’m a person at all...I’m just a collection of other people’s ideas.”  Is Bowie simply claiming his right to throw off all mantles?

The car crash that is the documentary Cracked Actor opens with a reporter asking, “I just wonder if you get tired of being outrageous?” “I don’t think I’m outrageous at all,” Bowie throws back, miffed. The reporter persists, “Do you describe yourself as ordinary? What adjective would you use?” Bowie searches his brain for an appropriate response to the inane question and finally lands upon: “David Bowie.”

Or perhaps, as Isolar suggests, a Blackstar is someone hidden in plain sight. In an interview that seems more therapy session, with Mavis Nicolson in 1979, mostly drug-free and grounded Bowie speaks of the appeal of life in Berlin, whose physical wall seemed to mirror his psyche. Without referencing himself or the characters he’s inhabited, he describes an isolated figure who finds no home in the world, but instead creates “a micro world inside himself.”

When Nicolson suggests that as an artist Jones must keep himself from love, he rejects the idea outright, but when gently pressed about the demands of relationships in actual life and not “from afar,” he concedes, extending his arms before him like a shield, “No, love can’t get quite in my way, I shelter myself from it incredibly.”

The moment is so resonantly raw that the two break into manic humor, shifting to the story of his eye injury in a childhood fight over a girl, wherein he laughs and says, “I wasn’t even in love with her.”

In “Lazarus,” the dying Jones sings: everybody knows me now, and perhaps that is so, as much as it ever could be for a man who spent an artistic career in self-sustained exile.

And why shouldn’t David Jones have been—with the exception of a few deeply druggy years—free from the curse and blessing of being Bowie? What are we owed by our artists?

7.

Blue, blue, electric blue, that's the colour of my room.

The Bowie song that forever circles my brain describes a writer waiting for the muse, describing the loneliness and blessing of the electric blue of creation. Vishuddhi, or the electric blue throat chakra of Hindu tantra, is associated with the vocal cords, communication, creative expression, one’s inner-truth.

For sixteen months I lived in Berlin’s Schöneberg quarter, around the corner from 155 Hauptstrasse and the apartment that song was composed in and of. I’d pedal my bike past and nod to the ghost Bowie inside, still wondering and waiting for the gift of sound and vision.

It’s the seventh day since Bowie’s death, the final day of shiva I’ve sat beneath his window. I’ve never much understood funerals, always felt they were for a “living” that didn’t include me, but this has been different.

Over this week I’ve shared glances with occasional bleary-eyed oldsters coming or going from where I’m headed or have just been–there have been no young folk to speak of and no platform boots necessary to recognize the kooks.

Today, from a block away, I spy a pair of women making the pilgrimage. The taller of the two—who for one moment I mistake for Patti Smith—has Smith’s hair, a floor-length bright blue shearling coat and an armload of exquisite orange, flame-tipped roses.

Trailing my comrades I think of Smith’s line in Woolgathering when, upon being given a dandelion, she asks, “What could I wish for but my breath?”

At Bowie’s door the energy feels less personal, dissipating. After the roses-bearers depart, a lone woman and I stand shivering before the diminished pile of offerings framed by narrowed police barricades: plastic-wrapped bodega flowers and a few handmade items, the most prominent being a cigar box shrine with a Halloween Jack eye patch and what seems a bunch of random stuff tossed in. The woman plays “Starman” on her phone, and rather than poignant, it’s just sad.

A years later follow-up to his first solo release, “Major Tom,” “Starman” takes the isolation of planet earth is blue and there’s nothing I can do and turns it into an anthem where a cosmic DJ messiah tells us misfits not to blow it, ‘cause he thinks it’s all worthwhile.

The 1972 Top of the Pops performance famously featured Bowie’s flirty finger wagging at the viewer, and casually intimate embrace of Mick Ronson, which blew the minds of much of Britain and beyond and marked Bowie as a more than a one-hit wonder. I silently give thanks to many, including Bowie, not to live in a world where a rock and roll arm thrown over a shoulder can cause a stir.

Over the song’s fade out the woman shrugs and says something about bears—at least I think that’s what I hear. I smile and nod remotely, then realize she’s drawing my attention to the carefully rendered Ziggy Stardust teddy bear—complete with lightning bolt and guitar—hanging from the police steel.

This bear abrades me for no good reason. A few young women pass by on their way into American Apparel. “That was David Bowie’s house,” one says over her shoulder, and the other makes an “awww” sound like she might at the sight of a teddy bear, or the memorial of that musician guy that died the way people do—other people, older people. As they pause to take a selfie in front of Bowie’s memorial offerings I turn and nearly sprint downtown.

I learned in this week of Bowie Internet inundation that he trailed these streets too, often at dawn, in solitude, but right now I need Chinatown’s chaotic, smashing life. I’ll buy those killer clementine from that vendor on the corner, I think, and eggplant, scallion and ginger for supper.

I weave among cardboard boxes of dried silver fish and lotus root, tourists linked arm-in-arm in matching New York pom-pom hats, Chinese grandmas pushing plaid shopping carts in (Harold and) Maude braids. A man exits a hallway, arms loaded with red-ribboned funeral flowers. A chef in a paper hat leans against a wall, smoking beneath a pumpkin-sized, spinning dumpling.

Beneath crisscrossing wires strung with giant, glinting snowflakes, I warm my hands on a cup of milky tea and wonder when we’ll get winter’s first snow. Glancing up to cross Mott (the Hoople) Street, I wonder when the city’s details will cease to conjure Bowie.

I tuck dragon fruit into my sack, humming “Starman”—whose chorus melody is plainly lifted from The Wizard of Oz’s “Over the Rainbow.” Somewhere over the rainbow, bluebirds fly/Birds fly over the rainbow./Why then, oh, why can't I?

In performance, Bowie sometimes coyly sung a mash-up of these anthems of longing for belonging. On “Lazarus” he sings, seemingly of his death, This way or no way/You know, I’ll be free/Just like that bluebird/Now ain’t that just like me.

Blackstar begins by naming the Norse village of Ormen. In Norse mythology, the rainbow bridge that connects this world to that of the gods is Bifrost, which translates as tremulous way. Tremulous—as in trembling—as Bowie does so heart-wrenchingly as he backs into the armoire and out of this world.

When he heard the call, David Jones, who could walk the streets of Manhattan undetected, slipped over the rainbow and into his own imagination.

But with generosity and courage it seems he did not fully recognize, David Bowie spent his life pulling back the curtain on the Great Oz, showing the man, his frustration and fallibility, questioning art-making and then making it anyway.

I fear in the end he imagined himself “a very bad man but a very good wizard,” when in fact the opposite was true. The droves of people gathered at his front door and around the world may have found the masks fascinating, but only as much as the man, and heart, behind them.

I imagine catching David Jones wandering past shop windows plastered with red New Year monkeys, beneath golden, swaying lanterns. I would thank him for Ziggy Stardust, whose hair my mother copied and Scary Monsters, whose poster graced my eleven-year-old bedroom wall. I’d say thanks for Low and Hunky Dory, which got me through hard times. Thanks for The Man Who Fell to Earth and The Hunger, Aladdin Sane and the Thin White Duke. Thanks for Diamond Dogs, Heroes, Lodger, Station to Station. Thanks for creating a soundtrack for my life and the lives of my favorite people.

Thanks for being a fierce, literate libertine, giving permission when I so badly needed it and inspiration always. Thanks, from the strange kids, for saying, No love, you’re not alone! You’re wonderful!

On the afternoon of January 10th, in what I later learned were the last hours of Bowie’s life, a double rainbow drew me from my desk and to the window. It arced across the skyline and ended at the Empire State Building, so strikingly that fire fighters in the station across the street took to the emergency dispatch microphone to exclaim to the neighborhood, “There’s a rainbow!”

As the first snow falls over Chinatown’s back alleys, I think: rainbowie!

There’s a Starman, over the rainbow, way up high, and he told me—let the children lose it, let the children use it, let all the children boogie.

Kim Wood's writing has appeared in Out Magazine, McSweeney’s, Tin House's Open Bar, and on National Public Radio. She has received grants from the Jerome Foundation and is a MacDowell Colony fellow. She is working on a book, Advice to Adventurous Girls, based upon the unpublished archive of a 1920s motorcycle daredevil. Her documentary film on this subject has screened internationally in festivals and museums including Sundance and the Guggenheim, where it double-billed with an episode of ChiPs.

[achrafchachi]

7 Greatest April Fools’ Day Pranks In History

What makes an excellent April Fools’ Day joke? It helps if it’s silly or funny, doesn’t hurt people except for perhaps a small bruise to one’s ego for believing the story, and are some things people can tease themselves for being fooled over.

While the typical prankster might put a whoopee cushion on your chair or tape a 

paper fish to your back, these pranksters truly went above and beyond to fool hundreds or maybe thousands of individuals.

Here are the seven greatest April Fools’ Day pranks in history. The Spaghetti-Tree Hoax When the BBC aired a fake news segment on April 1, 1957 for the investigative documentary show Panorama, they earned endless spot within the April Fools’ Day Hall of Fame. The two-and-a-half-minute news segment (which you'll watch on YouTube) showed Swiss “spaghetti farmers” harvesting the annual “spaghetti crop” by plucking spaghetti from trees, and claimed that “vast spaghetti plantations” existed. “After picking, the spaghetti is laid bent dry within the warm sun,” the printed told viewers. Perhaps because respected news anchor Richard Dimbleby narrated the segment and spaghetti wasn't widely eaten within the UK at the time, the BBC received many phone calls from people asking how they might grow their spaghetti. The BBC’s response to callers best defines British humor sort of “taking the mickey”: “Place a sprig of spaghetti during a tin of spaghetti sauce and hope for the simplest .” The Taco Liberty Bell Taco Bell learned a lesson in 1996 once they took out a full-page ad in six major newspapers. Readers of The NY Times, The Washington Post, The Philadelphia Inquirer, Chicago Tribune, The Dallas Morning News and USA Today learned that Taco Bell, in an attempt to assist reduce the country’s debt, had purchased the freedom Bell and altered its name to the “Taco Liberty Bell .” The prank was taken so seriously that aides from the staff of Senator Bill Bradley and Senator J. James Exon called Taco Bell headquarters. In Philadelphia, the Park Service held a mid-morning press conference to assure the general public that the freedom Bell had not been sold. By noon, Taco Bell confessed to the hoax and hoped people had liked its joke. Taco Bell also donated $50,000 to the Park Service to assist maintain the freedom Bell. There was still quite a lot of upset by those who’d been fooled and couldn’t tease themselves for being taken in. Instant color television On April 1, 1962, eight years before regular color broadcasts aired on Swedish television, the Swedish national network presented an expert who explained to its viewers that their old black-and-white TVs didn’t got to be upgraded. A so-called expert gave a presentation revealing that light might be bent by a fine mesh screen to form black-and-white images appear in color. The kicker? Nylon stockings might be wont to make such a screen. Reportedly, thousands of individuals fell for the joke and tried putting nylons over their TV screens. Digital Big Ben The BBC didn’t learn their lesson after the Spaghetti-Tree Hoax, because in 1980 it's overseas service reported that Big Ben was getting to be updated as a digital clock. They not only fooled many of us who called into precise their anger, but they also fooled one man who called in hoping to win during an ll|one amongst|one in every of"> one among Big Ben’s clock hands in a fake giveaway. In 1998, a joke news story circulated online reporting that the Alabama state legislature narrowly passed a law redefining pi as “3,” saving people all the difficulty of getting to affect a seemingly never-ending number. The whole thing clothed to be a parody, and maybe nobody would have fallen for it had its original author attribution – “April Holiday” of the “Associated Press” – not been deleted from the article because it was passed around online. Have It Your Way Many kids growing up have fallen victim to funny fathers who asked them to travel get them their left-handed hammer. This April Fools’ Day classic has been updated by several well-known companies, but perhaps none went so big as Burger King in 1998 when it took out a full-page ad in USA Today to introduce its new “left-handed Whooper.” The ad claimed that the left-handed Whoppers were “rotated a full 180 degrees to make sure better grip on the bun” for left-handed customers. Burger King joined the jokesters once more in 2017 with its new Whopper Toothpaste and therefore the slogan, “It smells sort of a Whopper in here, did you sweep your teeth?” So, once more you would like to get on guard against things that sound too silly to be true on April 1. Silly or absurd stories that crop up on the web are the order of the day most days, but on April 1 you got to concentrate and not get trapped within the farce. Good luck and don’t forget to possess amusing at yourself if you get trapped during a good joke.

[blogging4myself]

Gold movie review: Akshay Kumar’s film is an ideal Independence Day watch that will make you scream Chak De! India

There’s something about a sports drama, isn’t it? Much like a real-life duel, watching even a staged match gives you an adrenaline rush like nothing else. Throw in a little patriotism in the mix and you have yourself a winner. Which explains why so many filmmakers want to tap into the potential of such stories. And hockey matches provide ample scope to make for a good drama. With team conflicts, internal politics and individual aspirations, it is no wonder that the sport finds more favour with Bollywood than cricket. Gold is the latest film to have tapped the topic. The trailer did manage to intrigue us but will the film strike gold with its story. Here’s what we think…

What’s it about?

Tapan Das (Akshay Kumar) is one thing – passionate. However, he is not a hockey player. He manages the British Indian hockey team and wants to see the team play for an independent India. He and the Captain of the team, Samrat (Kunal Kapoor) vow to win Gold for an independent India even as they bow before the British flag after winning the 1936 Olympics for them. But their dreams bite the dust when World War II begins. As Tapan downs one peg after the other, he can see his life and dream slipping away. His wife, Manobina (Mouni Roy) is a nag, who is tired of his wayward ways and drinking habit. Tapan loses his confidence and the world loses all respect for him. Until one day, when he reads an announcement about the 1948 Olympics. With renewed vigour, he sets about the task. However, he finds it to be easier said than done. When after, with much difficulty he manages to get a go ahead on a team, India’s partition plays spoilsport. Along with the nation, Tapan’s team also gets divided and he finds himself at the bottom of the barrel again. But will he manage to find a new team in time for the Olympics? He does. Raghubir (Amit Sadh) and Himmat (Sunny Singh) are his key players. But will they bring him Gold? You will have to watch the film to find that out.

What’s hot

The film is brilliant in parts, especially when it correlates with historic events. Nothing spells patriotism better than scenes from the great Indian freedom struggle. And the film wisely provides lots of that. You can sense the players’ frustration as they play for a different nation. You feel the pain when Indians are asked to choose between their country or a new one. The film manages to successfully capture the confusion of that period, making you relate to the goings on, on a personal level. Also, Gold never indulges in Pakistan bashing, which is a refreshing change. They could have easily fallen prey to the lure of bringing in some good old rivalry and the resulting drama but it instead places the neighbouring country in high regards, making them seem as much of a victim of partition as India. Akshay Kumar, Amit Sadh, Kunal Kapoor and Sunny Singh deliver splendid performances. Sunny Singh’s romantic track with Nikita Dutta is perhaps the only distraction in the film which we don’t mind. ALSO READ: BL Predicts: Akshay Kumar and John Abraham might get their biggest solo opener with Gold and Satyameva Jayate

What’s not

The film gets too gimmicky in parts, which is when it falls flat. It is a sports drama but it also wants to be a family entertainer. So some hamming, jokes and silly songs are thrown in for good measure, taking away so much from the story! They seem like an entirely different film. You expect a serious filmmaker like Reema Kagti to at least steer clear of such distractions but unfortunately that doesn’t happen. Talking about the story itself, it is so similar to Chak De! India, you would have to be both blind and a fool to not draw comparisons. Been there, seen that! The plot points seem heavily borrowed from the Shah Rukh Khan-starrer. Despite having released 11 years earlier, the film has an amazing recall value, which works against Gold. And you almost rue the fact that unlike that film, this one doesn’t even have a great score to redeem itself. Except the title song, which can be heard for a bit in the film, the other songs all seem forced. Akshay has our sympathies for trying to sound convincing as a Bengali and failing miserably.

Our verdict

Akshay Kumar’s film will make you happy if you are a patriot. But the sense of deja-vu will be difficult to shake off. It is, however, an ideal Independence Day watch for the sheer sense of patriotism that it evokes. Make a family outing out of it.

Rating: 3 out of 5 Reviewed by Ankita Chaurasia

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