#5000 capacity for who bitch for who

[necessarypretext]

im gonna faint

[granvarones]

Sometimes we are late to the BBQ right? Well in the case of Ultra Naté (pronounced Na-Tay), I didn’t arrive at the BBQ til 1998. I was 15 years old and my teenage icon Filipinx Freestyle/Dance Diva Jocelyn Enriquez was sprinkled with Disco fairy dust along with dance divas Amber and Ultra Naté under the moniker Stars On 54. They revamped the 1971 folk classic “If You Could Read My Mind” by Gordon Lightfoot into one the most fascinating covers I’ve ever heard (just listen back to back and gag). This collaboration introduced me to Ms. Naté and piqued my curiosity.

Eight years into her career, Ultra Naté had landed five singles into Top 10 on the Billboard Dance Chart by the time I bought the single to her hit single “Free” at Tower Records (I miss you so much). As soon as I heard that guitar riff in the intro followed by those chords and 4/4 I was hooketh. I immediately grabbed a copy of the Situation: Critical album. I stared at the artwork fascinated by its silvery gloss and the acupuncture needles in her face. It was futuristic as fuck! The album’s photography was shot by the legendary Eric Johson who is known for iconic photos of Erykah Badu, Lauryn Hill, Aaliyah, and Biggie. I wasn’t totally sold on the album at first because as a teenager I was infatuated with Freestyle music and this was out of my teenage comfort. However, the album grew on me and eventually I connected to each song on a personal level. At the time I was struggling with my budding sexuality, lack of interest in education, and a toxic-ass family dynamic. This album would eventually become my personal teenage bible.

“Somehow things must change, and it’s got to be for the better” the lyrics from the albums intro track “Situation: Critical” pierced my young gay soul. When my being sexually molested was brought to the light my parents were so wounded by life; none of them had the capacity to support me. My father was strung out on drugs, my mother’s mental health was dwindling, and my step mother struggled to keep a roof over our heads. I felt so fucking hurt by their neglect that all I thought of was escaping at 18. My then therapist Judy had a huge black and white picture of New York City and one day I declared “I’m going to live there!” Until then I endlessly played this album on my discman throughout my teens to keep my ass sane.

There was a rage building inside me and “Found A Cure” was that song that embodied what I felt. Lines like “Feels like I’m going crazy, feels like I’m going insane” were my everyday life and I wanted out but I was still underaged. “How many times have you been left alone and you feel confused?” solidified my connection to Ultra. This was the second single from the album which hit #1 on Billboard Club Songs. The music video was directed by Charles Stone III who would years later direct the epic CrazySexyCool: The TLC Story. Larry Flick of Billboard wrote “Naté fearlessly faces the challenge with a jam that smartly doesn’t aim to duplicate the tone of her now-classic hit…The diva is in fine voice here and is matched by a muscular bassline and keyboard/guitar interplay that oozes with funk flavor…Miss Nate proves there’s more than Free in her locker with a pure floorfiller. A Gloria Gaynor for the Millennium.” Mic drop.

“A New Kind of Medicine,” the album’s second track, and third single, lightened the mood after the dark yet realist ‘Situation’. During this era in House music Disco samples were a huge commodity. While this was purely an original song the Disco influence is prevalent. The single had some heavy hitters on the remixes and the first two being producers in Freestyle: Albert Cabrera, David Morales, and Danny Tenaglia. The Morales mix is quite festive especially at the 5:20 mark when you get that tidbit of Inner City’s “Big Fun” followed by a lyric not in the original: “Stop taking me down.”

My favorite track on the album was the last single released from the album, the Al Mack produced “Release The Pressure.” How can you not feel like you’re transpired into a film where the woman is struggling, breaking shit, cursing bitches out, lights a joint, a sip of wine, puts on her favorite 12” and gets her damn life. The production on this track has so many beautiful layers from the piano, to the horns, and guitars. It always felt like time froze whenever this track came on. The song was also featured on the soundtrack The 24 Hour Woman starring Rosie Perez. This is one of my forever tracks because it always remains true to this day: “You get up, It knocks you back down, Release the pressure, Let it out.”

The album itself pays homage to the 70’s and 80’s influence of staples in Disco, Funk and House which are very evident in: “Any Ole Love” (Indeep’s “Last Night A DJ Saved My Life”) and “Love You Can’t Deny” (Royal House “Can You Party”). The mellower affairs “It’s Crying Time” and “Every Now and Then” were so damn pretty that they seduced my young self who was anti anything slow.  The last original track on the album “Divine Love,” produced by the duo Masters At Work, transports you to Sunday mass everytime. That 5 minute mark is pure gospel ear candy with those luscious rhodes and ab libs take you on a journey to the ether. This felt like the sequel to “Rejoicing (I’ll Never Forget)” from her first album Blue Notes In The Basement. At this point in time I was severely struggling with my belief in God however this song just anoints you, especially the 9 minute MAW Version.

This album took me on a musical journey. It became my bible, my salvation, my healing. In the spring of 2001 my life took a huge turn. I had fallen in the love with a man in NYC whom I thought I’d be with forever. After a huge argument with my parents I finally said “fuck this shit I’m out!” Ultra’s lyrics rang in my head “Now I know you’re no good for me, Now I got to find a remedy,” my remedy: move to NYC. After settling into my then boyfriend’s apartment I would blast this album on volume 5000 and the whole damn planet would shake. I didn’t give a fuck about the neighbor downstairs because I was ‘Free’ and living my damn best gay life. I didn’t leave my heart in San Francisco that’s for damn sure!

In 2012, I had a full circle moment when I was hired by Naté’s management, Peace Bisquit. It was completely surreal to be in direct communication with her, and an honor working under the brilliance of Bill Coleman (remember Deee-Lite? “Groove Is In The Heart”? Nuff said.). I was bestowed the task of managing the execution of the Hero Worship album to digital platforms. Miss Naté was the most humble artist I ever worked with. A memory I will always hold dear is a tender moment we shared at  the Paradise Garage Reunion Party in 2014. The DJ began to play “The Whistle Song” in honor of the iconic Frankie Knuckles who had passed just months earlier. As the song played, Ultra began to cry. I put my arm around her and consoled her. The same way her music had done for me in all the years before.

Thank you for never giving up on your music Ultra because this album saved me!

“You might save someone’s life.” – Ultra Naté “Situation: Critical”

If you are experiencing or have experienced sexual abuse please call the National Sexual Assault Telephone Hotline 800.656.HOPE (4673)

Giorgio Alxndr (He/Him) is into music, modeling, activism, and plant fathering. He creates beats and playlists in his free time. Loves deep conversations and therapy sessions. Professionally he’s always in the mix between music and technology.

[momo-de-avis]

now i am curious how poorly designed your university is that it doesn't allow for assigned seating

Oh boy it’s fun

So this is what it looks like:

It’s a tower with a central block (the semi-circular thing) and then these rectangular blocks stem from it, like branches. Now, let me tell you just how terrible this shit as whole is. In the 80s, glass was all the rage. Every architect in Lisbon thought glass was cool as fuck. So they put it everywhere. EVERYWHERE. Except they forgot the primary distinction about glass when used en masse in buildings is that it reflects.

I used to make a joke back when I studied here. “Our university has two suns at all times”. Because the sun rises behind that tower, but it sets in front of it, so from about noon onwards, the sun is ALWAYS reflecting on that huge glass front. There were literally moments when you couldn’t be sitting outside and face… well, anywhere because you’d get Big Yellow Orb burning your eyes where you turned to.

NOW THE INSIDE… Where it Truly Sucks.

This is how this building is so tragically funny: first of all, we found out this Glass Turd right here was featured in a Japanese magazine that listed the Worst 80s Architectural Disasters Like Ever. Second: it’s supposed to be an open book

Seriously, it turns out the architect is from a friend’s hometown and she knows the son of the guy, and she had to ask him like, what the fuck is that ugly thing??? And he said: an open book!

THE PROBLEM IS he clearly didn’t think this as «funcional building for people to have a class in» because this has exactly 4 auditoriums.

For over 5000 students.

Now, me, I studied Art History. Which means my classes were basically Looking At Pictures On a Projector Constantly. Like, there’s no other way to go about it. So you’d think we’d be the ones to get the auditorium, because they have enough room for about 80 people and we were about 60, and because they are actually made for people to be comfortable and look at a goddamn image and be able to see it—but no. It had to go to CC, Comunication Science major. They didn’t even use the fucking projector, and the classes I took from them had like… 7 students. But They’re the ones with the most students and the higher success rate in employment after college, so fuck all others, they get to suck on The Big Tiddy.

So what did we get?!

this shit

notice the major characteristic: it’s fucking oblong. With a capacity for 60 people.

So you see, for us, the idiots who actually had to study with images, we had an issue.

There were about 10 seats in there that allowed you to actually see the projector. Trust me, I danced between them all. Those in the far end, at the very very very end? Fuck that, you’re seated there, might as well skip class. I dead ass fell asleep there once STARING RIGHT AT MY PROF’S FACE and she didn’t notice.

It’s not even just the fact that you couldn’t see shit, you couldn’t read. All my classes were basically me asking someone next to me ‘what’s that written there?’ so I could google the images at home cause I couldn’t see shit. Like I can’t express how horribly designed this is that one dude wanted to create a building that resembled An Open Book so bad he made the least functional classes I’ve ever seen. You gotta be a pretty shitty architect to actually create a room where the board is only visible from about 10 seats in a room with a full capacity of 60.

So what happened was: you had to be the first to get into class. Because you wanted a good seat so you could see. If you were late? Fuck that, you won’t see shit, better pray.

So every class, at the start, it was mauling lmao people elbowing each other to get to The Good Seats, people reserving seats for friends, and the bitches who left their shit saving their seat from one class to the other?? Oh… man I hated those….

It was IMPOSSIBLE for there to be an ‘assigne seat’ order because literally aout 70% of them were useless!!!! So we fought like peasants after the king’s crumbs, gladiators kicking each other in the nuts for that one good seat.

The exception were 8AM classes, cause those were so early nearly half skipped it so you always had a place lmao

Oh man I cannot express how much I want to see this goddamn ugly thing demolished

[gretchensinister]

Operation Welcome Mat (preview)

I usually like to post a fic for my birthday, and well, this is a few days belated, but sometimes that’s how it goes. This is a preview of something I’m working on, now, and it’s a branching out of my usual fandom territory! I hope you’re curious, and I hope you enjoy!

It all stems from the question: Why does so much stuff that only Superman can deal with happen on the planet that Superman is on? That’s not the question that Lois Lane asks, but it’s the one she’s going to find an answer for.

Lois Lane always checks her spam folder. In fact, she always opens each individual message in there. Ninety-nine point nine nine nine percent of the time, what’s in there is garbage, but garbage is not synonymous with useless. Consider the journalists in Portland who went through the District Attorney’s garbage to make a point about privacy. Her daily ritual isn’t on that level of significance, but she feels the point still stands.

           Today, she opens an email that isn’t promising free trials of herbal supplements, contact info for hot singles in her area, or insurance policies that will cover damages caused by any and all anomalous events for as little as $10 a month. (These last annoyed her enough to ask Louise in Business to do a small expose on such companies—turns out, the fine print stated that given the regularity of attacks on Metropolis by aliens, robots, metahumans, etc., etc., these events could not be considered anomalous. Fucking scammers. She’s pretty sure they’re involved in a class-action lawsuit right now.)

           Instead, it reads thus:

           I am sending this to you because I think you are the only person in the world who might have adequate protection after I tell you this. It is for my safety and yours that I have not used your name or described what that protection might be.

           I ask you to use any and all resources you have at your disposal to investigate Operation Welcome Mat. I cannot tell you much more without compromising the slight chance this communication has of reaching you. However, I do not exaggerate when I say that the revealing—anything more I dare not hope for—of this operation will affect every human life on Earth.

           Sincerely,

                       One who works in the organization that knows you always check your spam folder

           The remaining message is a long and rambling series of testimonials for anti-aging and potency supplements, but Lois sees no reason to consider these as marks against the authenticity of the original message. Camouflage is important. As is covering one’s tracks. She opens her desk drawer and retrieves a high-quality digital camera that’s nevertheless old enough that it needs an actual physical cord to transfer the pictures on it to any computer. Lois has kept it in excellent condition, save for, oh, the pesky matter of the fact that the delete function doesn’t work on the camera itself, and that she just can never find the right kind of removable memory cards. Darn, what a problem! Fortunately the camera contains a 5000-image capacity non-removable internal memory. She takes a picture of the relevant portion of the email—well, ten pictures—and then sets about blocking every IP address that’s sent her something that ended up in her spam folder today and deleting every email indiscriminately. She’d like to perform a more thorough delete, but she never does that with any of her spam, and she’s got a feeling that now would not be a good day to start.

           Amateurs might worry about how she deleted the original email, but Lois knows that if she finds anything, she won’t need that email, and for another thing, the writer of that email most certainly doesn’t want anyone to be able to analyze their word choices and phrasing.

           She rests her arms on her desk and starts letting her mind work through everything the email told her. So, she’s the only person who “might have adequate protection” after learning about Operation Welcome Mat? The only unique protection she’s had under any circumstances is Superman. In a few well-known incidents, he’d appeared to give preference to getting her to safety before others. Lois isn’t one hundred percent sure that’s true, as she knows very well that she might’ve been the person in the greatest danger during each incident. Over her career, she’s tended to disregard danger for the sake of the story. And she can argue persuasively that in order to be a successful female journalist, she has to be prepared to face a certain amount of danger; she can argue that her years of experience have given her the ability to accurately evaluate the potential danger of a situation. These arguments have been, and are, vital to her public persona.

           But under a few layers of “I have to do this” is the chewy center of “I want to do this.” It’s true! Believe it or not, Lois Lane, Pulitzer Prize-winning investigative journalist, is a bit of a thrill-seeker!

           Good thing that might be exactly what her email contact needs.

           So. Back to the email. Back to Superman. She knows well enough that she doesn’t have a raven-haired alien angel at her beck and call, but, based on what the public has seen, is it more likely that she does than any other investigative journalist? Yes. So, if only Superman can offer her adequate protection, then—

           “Hi Lois,” Clark says, setting a paper cup on her desk. “Two sugars, no milk—” He breaks off into an almost cartoonishly exaggerated yawn that Lois nevertheless is familiar enough with to know is genuine.

           “You ought to buy some coffee for yourself,” Lois says, digging a few dollars out of her wallet and tossing them at him, which he barely catches. “I mean, if you’re going to volunteer to walk down to Reeve’s every day, anyway. And didn’t you grow up waking up at 4am to milk cows or whatever?”

           Clark smiles shyly. Like he always does. It’s a good smile, and on a kid who’s six foot three and probably better built than any of the barns he ever helped raise, it could very well explain why he always seems so exhausted in the morning. Though if Lois’ theory is true, she hasn’t seen or heard any other evidence of it. A gentleman never tells, Lois thinks idly.

           “I can and have milked cows in my sleep,” he says. “I can’t do anything in my sleep, here.” He looks down. “Uh, the truth is that I haven’t been sleeping well since the—what did they call it? The Chirauga Incident?”

           Lois grimaces. Yeah, Clark and half of Metropolis. Including her. When an army of aliens that big showed up all at once, there was no way to avoid some level of freaking out, special protection from Superman or not. “Yeah, the Chirauga Incident. Ugly sons of bitches, in my opinion. I killed one personally, you know.”

           Clark’s eyes widen in shock, and Lois grins. “What? I verified they weren’t bulletproof before going out to start, you know, researching my story.” But, because she is committed to the truth, even though Clark seems like he’ll believe anything she says, she has to add, “Well, okay. I’m pretty sure I mortally wounded it. Superman took care of it before I could find out for sure.” It had been clean. Heat vision through the Chirauga equivalent of the spinal cord. And Superman had turned to her with that red glow still shimmering in the back of his eyes. “Are you all right?” he’d asked, hovering a foot above the ground like it was nothing, looking at her like she was something. And she’d looked into the terrible weapon of his gaze and been stunned by the perfect surety that he’d never use it on a human being.

           And for all that, she’d never seen him look so alien.

           “Weren’t you watching? I had this one handled,” she’d said, with a rasp in her voice she hoped he’d attribute to the heavy dust and smoke in the air.

           “Well, in that case, I guess all I can do now is tell you to be careful out there,” he’d said.

           It would be nice if there was a discreet little jump cut in her memory right after that, but, unfortunately, Lois remembers with perfect clarity that she’d responded, “Sure thing, spaceboy,” like a complete and utter dumbass. But then Superman hadn’t laughed at her, no, he’d given her the smile and wink of an old-fashioned movie star before flying away to continue saving the world. She, on the other hand, had staggered off, feeling as emotionally churned-up as a teenager.

           The worst part about it, in her opinion, is that she knows very well that Superman has this effect on almost everyone who encounters him.

           “Ah, Superman,” Clark says, drawing her back to the present. His shocked expression has been replaced by the little smile she’s often seen him wear when talk of Superman comes up. She’s always thought there was something secretive about that smile, something notably different from the rest of his farm-boy guilelessness. (Though, she doesn’t quite believe he’s as transparent as he otherwise appears. And she doesn’t think that’s just her natural suspicion kicking in. For one thing, the Daily Planet is big, but not big enough that someone who was hired as a journalist could fall through the cracks and become nothing but a friendly coffee boy. She’s read some of his articles, the neighborhood news stuff he generally covers, and the writing is as solid as he is, with words chosen with care and sensitivity. There’s more to him than meets the eye, and if he ever decides to get ambitious, Lifestyle is in for a big surprise. For another thing, he’d moved to Metropolis during a metahuman surge, and that, frankly, was not what normies did, no matter how clueless they were.)

           The running undercurrent of what she knows about Clark and the smile that’s the one noticeable discordant note in the melody of the person she works with suddenly gel into a possible conclusion, one that Lois could’ve kicked herself for not even considering earlier.

           Talented kid moves from small-town Kansas, where he could’ve been a big fish in a tiny pond. And he doesn’t even move to a city in the same state or region, where he could have been a big fish in a medium-sized pond. Instead, he moves to Metropolis, where he won’t be a big fish at all, but where it’ll be a big project for anyone who knew him in Smallville to ever visit, or know anything about him he doesn’t want them to know. Metropolis, which, despite its dangers, still lives in the cultural mind as a place where the good kind of anything can happen. (Where Superman is often seen.) And when he’s here, he never, ever says anything about even going on a date with anyone, and mentions of Superman bring out that secretive smile. And he started off writing his articles with a clear awareness of issues that Lois has seen other straight white male coworkers fail to grok even after clear, baby-step-style explanations. And he’s never, ever tried to turn getting her coffee into something uncomfortable.

           So, possible conclusion: Clark is some flavor of queer, and still closeted/uncomfortable about it. But he can’t completely hide his crush on Superman because, well. Superman. And the kid has an honest face.

           Just goes to show, she thinks, how slow and unreliable gaydar can be, even if you are bi.

           But this does give her an idea on where to send him as she starts her initial investigation of this Project Welcome Mat. If it is big, bad business like it seems, Clark doesn’t need to get mixed up in it, even to the point of overhearing a phone call. And besides, it might help him accept himself, if he needs that.

           “You know what, Clark?” Lois says. “You need something to take your mind off shit like alien invasions.”

           Clark grimaces. “I don’t know if anything can.”

           “Yeah, it’s a toughie, but you’re a Metropolitan now,” Lois says, with more bravado than she feels. Some things you don’t get used to. But some of those things you have to at least pretend to get used to. “Get outside. Write your cat-up-a-tree article tomorrow. Do something completely out of the ordinary.” And then, as if she’s just thought of it, “Powtown Pride is going on today. Powtown’s a neighborhood. Pride’s something to write about. You could go there and see what you can see.”

           “Powtown?” Clark says, raising his eyebrows. “That’s the metahuman neighborhood. That’s…a bit more interesting than where Rowlands usually sends me.”

           Lois waves her hand. “Rita is seventy-eight and still thinks anything involving a metahuman is a front-pager. Perry can tell her otherwise when you bring back something nice.”

           “Well,” Clark says, warming to the idea, “there are a lot of misconceptions about Powtown that ought to be worn away by a reliable source like the Planet. I mean—there probably are. I don’t know, personally. But if everything written about Powtown was true, no one could live there. It’d be a smoking crater in the ground.”

           “So you see? Needs you,” Lois says. She smirks. “Be careful, though. They’ve got twinks down there that could rip you in half.”

           “Says someone who just told me about personally shooting a Chirauga,” Clark says. “No, no, I know—you had it handled. Anyway. Yeah, I will go.” He looks towards the windows and sighs. “After all, it’s a beautiful day to be outside.”

           Lois waves at him as he leaves, then glances towards the windows herself. It really is a beautiful June day, not too hot, vivid blue sky, puffy clouds slowly drifting by. Does Superman prefer days like this for flying? She wonders. Or would it not affect him at all? What would it be like to fly with Superman on a day like today—Lois sticks her tongue out in an exaggerated expression of disgust. She’s better than that! She has to be!

           Anyway, she’s got something new to investigate. Before Clark interrupted, she was thinking of what things out in the world only Superman could be adequate protection from. Well, aside from horrible things from space, that leaves a very short list that prominently features a house of a certain color and a building of a certain shape. And the name—Operation Welcome Mat—it has a very particular ring to it.

           But she’s still going to look into the rest of that short list. A direct assault isn’t the correct approach here, and besides, there might be connections, even if the person she’s going to call is officially blacklisted from government contracts.

           She scrolls to the contact in her phone for “Louis L’Amour,” and reaches out to someone who definitely isn’t a dead writer of Westerns.

Notes: I’ve decided to have Superman’s code against killing be specifically about humans/earthlings because for one thing, I don’t have to answer to Standards and Practices, and for another, I don’t feel like having every alien army be robots (which with sufficiently advanced AI doesn’t help anyway), and what do you want me to do, have Superman knock all the aliens out? If they’re going down long enough to be essentially counted out of the fight, they’re getting life-threatening brain injuries anyway. 

[melyzard]

Gettin' to know you

Tagged by @firefeufeugo, thanks!

a - age: as old as my tongue and older than my teeth b - birthplace: somewhere in the USA - I'm honestly not sure, my family has moved a lot throughout my life and it depends on who you ask. c - current time: just a little late, not enough to upset anyone but juuust enough to be noticeable. You know, fashionably late. (unless it's to target, then I'm TOT) d - drink you last had: water. technically everything you drink is water, though, just depends on the flavoring. e - easiest person to talk to: spouse, which is weird because he's not a big talker himself f - favorite song: I organize my music by 'mood' playlists. At the moment, 'Roundtable Rival' by Lindsey Stirling is my Big Mood song. g - grossest memory: dude, I've lived literal years of my life on a small floating city with 5000 people all stacked on top of each other, most of whom were guys in their teens or early 20s. We don't have time to discuss the levels of pure ick I have seen, and frankly, you don't want to h - horror yes or horror no: No. I react poorly (violently) to jump scares. i - in love?: Yes. j - jealous of people?: often envious, rarely jealous. k - kicking ass? in general? sure. at this very moment? no, we're all friends here. l - love at first sight or should i walk by again?: Walk on by. Keep walking. Enjoy your walk, it's a lovely day. (unless you have a dog, then you just come right over here and let me love it) m - middle name: don't have one, but my callsign is "Pedals" and that's something anyway n - number of siblings: one o - one wish: A different boss. (my commander's cool though)  p - person you called last: on the phone, a test pilot who's running one of my programs. on the radio, my wingman. q - question you are always asked: How do women pee in the jet if you're strapped down in a harness for hours?  r - reasons to smile: jokes, dogs, funny kid behavior, and good writing s - song you last sang: ...the theme song to Chuggington, a child's show about talking trains (look, when a 2 year old grabs your hands and asks you to honk your horns, you honk your damn horns, okay?) t - time you woke up: I didn't bother to look, just shambled around until my alarm went off. insomnia's a bitch.  u - underwear colour: technically, since I'm wearing about five layers of clothes and gear, my "underwear layer" could be described four different ways. Most of them are black, with some drab green thrown in. v - vacation destination: I really liked Kuala Lumpur. I'd go back there in a non-official capacity w - worst habit: HAH. So. Many. Let's go with procrastination x - x-rays: Yes, I have had many. Yes, I generally approve of them. Not sure what the question is here y - your favorite food: coconut rice, or pizza z - zodiac sign: the one that's hard to spell, with the arrow. I always liked naming mythology more than numerology, and astrology irritates me because it confuses the two.

Not sure who to tag, since I've seen this going around for a bit. If you haven't done it and feel comfortable, go for it.

[algebraicant]

SO, since nobody asked,

I’m writing this just in case I want to source and have this information all in one place,

TANACON

just watched the series (1/31/2019) -- late, I know

comments I wanted to respond to but were posted 6+ months ago, so like, old news, who cares/ maybe they’ve since learned the answer and don't need my two cents,

Q: where did the money go???

A: Shane said: veep (the company which sold the tickets) told Good Times (Michael)  that if any problems occurred, they were keeping the ticket sales (MANY problems occurred) and that Good Times would be responsible for refunding ticket sales (325,000)

Q: (moreso a wrong assumption) Tana and Good Times knew the capacity was set to 1,200! they knew they were selling 4,000 extra tickets and that those people would never get inside!! scam scam scam!

A: Short answer? No.

Long answer? Buckle your seat belts:

No. The capacity was 1,200-- number one, that’s sort of a technicality. That number is for fire safety reasons, and buildings/rooms/etc have to have a capacity (that is determined by guidelines to which idc enough about the specifics to look up rn-- maybe there's a person per square foot ratio idfk it doesn’t matter) in case of a fire emergency,, it's a preventative measure to minimize the chance of a stampede resulting in injury/death. SO, that being said, you CAN fit more people into a room then the stated capacity of the room.

Now you might be thinking: even so, not 4,000 EXTRA PEOPLE. Yes, that is definitely true.

BUT, CONs are not like, say, a ballet/play theater, or movie theaters, etc, where there is a certain number of seats and there’s one person per seat, no more (and hopefully no less), you sit, you watch, you leave. Events like CONs account for foot traffic and the constant cycling of people. 

You come in, you walk around, you see X, Y, and Z, and you leave. If the event has expensive food/drink, you may leave to get cheaper options (if the event allows you to leave and re-enter, anyway). The point is, people are coming and going throughout the day, so that allows for others to replace them.

I assume the event creator(s) of TANACON believed there would be higher turn-around than there was.

Still, that being said, 4,000 people was WAY too many extra tickets sold. There was no possible way that there would be 1,000 people coming in for 40 minutes to an hour, and then leaving to allow for the next batch of people. Even accounting for the different arrival times-- some people coming at/before the CON started, people coming closer to noon after a late start-- it's utterly impossible.

In saying that, you might think: How could someone make such a careless mistake?

Keep in mind, THIS PROBLEM HAPPENED AT VIDCON IN 2014:

“VidCon 2014 was held at the Anaheim Convention Center, and 18,000 people showed up for the sold-out get-together for those who love online video.

But getting inside to see their favorite YouTubers has some people complaining about long lines.

One woman and her family say they waited two hours, only to have security cut them off in line before she could get an autograph with her favorite online creators.

On VidCon's Facebook page they do say they cannot guarantee that everyone will have one-on-one time with their favorite creators.

Hank Green, co-creator of VidCon, says they tried to make access as fair as possible, but the demand for signings was higher than expected, with fans camping out.

"We ended up in a situation this year which we should have anticipated, but didn't, that basically we had to queue people up before the queues," said Green.”

etc etc

https://abc7.com/news/fans-wait-in-long-lines-for-hours-at-vidcon/145838/

NOTE: wiki says 12,000 people bought tickets in 2013, and the attendance was increasing every year, but there is no official count on wiki for 2014-- probably because they FUCKED UP and oversold by way too many.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/VidCon

The Anaheim Convention Center, where VIDCON was held, has a capacity of 7,000-7,500 people inside. The outside area fits 5,500 people.

Together, the convention center fits 13,000 people inside and out.

VIDCON oversold by 5,000 (18,000-13,000).

ALSO

KEEP IN MIND, that means 10,500 people were outside of the actual convention center (18,000-7,500). These 10,500 people were, instead, either in the outside area (5,500) or in the parking lot waiting to get in (5000).

NOTE: I’m not taking into account the fact that, as I previously stated, the capacity number is just an approximate, and that more people might have actually been let inside, despite the capacity limit. That is because I simply can’t calculate the number extra people that security allowed in past the capacity number (as far as I can tell, that information isn’t public knowledge, IF they even kept count). But for our purposes, even if I speculate, and allow for, maybe 1,000 extra people, that’s still 9,500 people NOT in the venue.

SO THE SAME THING HAPPENED

So, what’s the difference (if any)?

1. VIDCON was already established. VIDCON had existed since 2010 (3 successful years prior to the 2014 VIDCON)

2. VIDCON had already been held at the Anaheim Convention Center the year prior.

Is that good for VIDCON?

yes?

Because VIDCON had been established for 3 years, with 1 year at that particular venue, people, presumably, knew they’d be waiting in line for at least 30 minutes, and maybe several hours. People knew to check the weather, bring sunscreen, water, snacks, a board game, pool noodles, WHATEVER they needed while waiting. (I’m sure some people didn’t plan, but you can’t account for every stupid person in the world, otherwise, you’d work/worry yourself to death. If they didn’t bring water, they could leave, or die of dehydration at that point. Sometimes Darwinism works itself out, what can I say-- I’M KIDDING. Sort of.)

no?

Since they went from 12,000 (which presumably worked) to 18,000 in one year’s time without changing venues/ adding venues, or changing visitor passes (limiting access/time spent at the venue) they royally fucked up. If 12,000 people works for you, you don’t just add 5,000 extra people to the list. Especially knowing only 7,500 people fit inside the center, and 13,000 people fit total. If you want to push it to 13,000... fine. Don’t go 4,000 over (COUGH COUGH, TANACON 2K18).

but, yes?

Because the Green Brother’s apologized (sort of-- they did the “i’m sorry you feel that way” non-apology, apology type shit) and took responsibility and came out with public statements explaining what the issues were and set a fixed limit of people the next year, 2015, (”Next year I think is going to be significantly different in how we handle [things]”)  they were able to calm some of the ruffled feathers.

Also, because they had 3 successful years under their belt, they already had a following/ people who trusted them. They also had 3 years of success as proof that their trust was earned, so it was easier for them to say “sorry! this was a blip! a mistake! we promise it will never happen again, just remember the good times, we'll be back to that level of success next year,” and have people believe them.

NOW, compare that to TANACON

1. TANACON was suggested, then created, over the course of a few months.

This doesn’t need further explanation, right? Like, a convention that’s supposed to have food/drink/security/merch/meet-and-greets etc. and FIVE THOUSAND PEOPLE can’t be planned in a few months.

2. Expectations were set too high.

VIDCON already existed, so there was a bar in place. If TANACON wasn’t as good as (or at least close to) VIDCON standards, people were going to bitch. But, instead, it just failed completely, so...

3. Tana wanted revenge on VIDCON. TANACON was a byproduct of that.

So, wrong motives-- already a bad start. She is young, unlike the Green brothers, inexperienced, naive, impulsive, and often, in the past, not held accountable for her mistakes, so she’s got a slight god-complex? possibly? or at the very least, she’s cocky and irresponsible. But, I mean, she was 19/20 at the time, right? Who isn’t a bit cocky and irresponsible at that age (maybe not Tana-level, but still).

I honestly partly blame the ticket buyers (and their parents) for, not one moment, pausing to think: I WATCH Tana’s videos-- part of her appeal (?) is that she’s a fucking mess. That’s what her “Story Time” videos ARE. HER CONSTANTLY GETTING INTO PRECARIOUS SITUATIONS. HAVE SOME FORSIGHT PEOPLE. Also, you saw the video where the TANACON idea was conceived right? You KNEW AHEAD OF TIME this was the result of revenge. When do revenge schemes ever go to plan? Again, HAVE SOME FORESIGHT PEOPLE.

4. Tana and Michael are both early 20′s. And I mean EARLY 20′s.

Tana was 20, so even if this wasn’t made out of revenge, and she wasn’t as much of a mess as she IS, you still should be considering the PROS and CONS of relying on a child.

(For reference, I’m 22. I would never trust myself, or another person my age-- Tana 20, Michael 21-- to be able to successfully plan and execute something of this size. A fan meet-and-greet at Starbucks? MAAAYBE.)

When people go into business with young people/ people who have no experience in the field because they “believe in them” or “trusted them,” is it partly their fault? If you ASSUME that because VIDCON is an established convention that, besides 2014 when they learned their lesson, has been extremely successful, that TANACON will be? That’s your oversight. If you’re pouring your faith and money into a business just because they seem trustful, with nothing to back it up? No past experience? No proof of responsibility in the past? I’m sorry, but that’s your bad. Or worse, you don’t even consider whether it should be trusted at all? You have just always dreamed of meeting youtubers X, Y, Z, and so you jumped without actually considering the consequences, the risk vs reward? Again, that’s your fault. 

While your ticket money might eventually get refunded, you still wasted the time (missing work/school/etc) standing in a hot parking lot or a mess of a venue, as well as travel costs you’ll never get back (unless someone pays you back out of guilt-provoked charity), and, I’m sure, a bunch of other shitty experiences. HAVE SOME FORESIGHT.

The only good thing to come out of TANACON is, maybe, you’ll know not to blindly trust some teenaged stranger from the internet (and hopefully be able to apply your new-found caution to other situations as well) in the future.

Tana could have easily found the same information as I did about the VIDCON fuck up of 2k14 and

1. Pointed fingers. “IT’S NOT JUST ME, NOBODY’S PERFECT.”

2. Learned from their mistakes and not repeat them.

I’m aware that: Shoulda, coulda, woulda.

Pointing fingers probably would’ve made the situation more polarized, aka, 1/2 her viewers (the vast majority being people who did not go to TANACON and live through the disappointment) would say “she’s right. VIDCON fucked up too in the past. Sure, she fucked up, but nobody’s perfect. Accidents happen” and 1/2 her viewers (the vast majority being people who did go to TANACON and lived through the disappointment) would say “Tana’s a cunt trying to divert the attention of her huge fuck up onto VIDCON again by making excuses!”

So, the situation really wouldn’t have gotten any better as a result.

and

There’s no point in going down that rabbit hole. She didn’t do the research. She was fueled by revenge and was naive enough to believe Michael, a boy one year older than her, could handle everything simply because he said he could (spoiler: he couldn’t).

It happened. It's over. Nobody died. Nobody got seriously injured.

I feel sorry for the people who wasted their money and time at TANACON (especially those who flew from overseas).

I feel sorry for Tana because she didn’t want TANACON to be a disaster. Now she has to live with the guilt for ruining a lot of people’s day and the repercussions.

I feel sorry for Michael because he bit off more than he could chew and has to live with the repercussions of his actions.

I feel sorry for all the youtube personalities that agreed to go and the guilt of having their fans be let down.

All you can hope for is that the people learn from this disaster and not repeat it again (although, like I said, this happened at VIDCON four years prior, so who knows-- fingers crossed that, because it was such a huge controversy and people love bringing up how controversial people fucked up in the past, people will actually remember, and it’ll take more than 4 years before something like this happens again??).

#boycottthemarriott #? #stillnotsurewheretheylandedinallthis #scapegoat #?

[allthislove]

Insomnia.

K, so, like, if you’re judgemental or you’re gonna unfollow or something, just don’t read, but I gotta... rant... to be able to breathe??? Because I can’t really... talk to anyone... and like, IDK...

K, so I’m mentally ill.

Like, you know, real life mentally ill, not movie mentally ill where either it makes you super good at like solving mysteries or super murdery.

Just regular degular mental illness. The kind where you seem perfectly fine to most people, but like your brain just works weirdly and you, yenno, sometimes want to die, or sometimes are afraid of  l i t e r a l l y  e v e r y t h i n g. 

So, yep, I’m mentally ill. I have OCD, diagnosed, which isn’t as fun as Monk and organized people will have you think. Like, for one, I’m not... organized... I’m super fucking messy and junky. Because that’s how my OCD works, I think. I’m sort of a person who is constantly afraid she’s going to miss something. So, instead of taking two seconds to put something in it’s proper place, I mostly just throw it onto my bed, or on one of the counters. I also think I’m never going to be able to find something if I put it away, so I leave it out because I think “at least I’ll know where it is.” And then that leads to a horribly messy space. The other part of that is, I do like things clean. Really clean. But the problem is, if I don’t clean it enough, I’ll think it’s dirty and then I won’t want to touch it to clean it. Which doesn’t really become a problem, because eventually I just freak and clean everything at once, and like, I couldn’t take a shower or even a piss if my bathroom was too dirty, anyway, because I’d not want to go in there. So, yeah.

But, anyway, I have OCD. And, I often forget. I want to be normal, even though “normal” isn’t really a thing. But I feel normal, and I think I’m normal, and then I’m not, and I start to wonder what’s wrong with me. Because OCD can manifest in ways that aren’t “I like to clean” or “GAHHH, EVERYTHING’S A MESS.”

OCD is the little liar. That’s the name most OCD people give it (or some variation) because that’s what it does. It lies to you. “That girl doesn’t like you.” “You’re really stupid.” “That food is going to make you sick.” “If you pick up that baby, you’ll hurt it.” Shit like that. Sometimes the lies are really, really scary and bad. I’ve been lucky not to have those, much, anymore. But I used to be afraid of knives, because I thought if I touched the knife, I might freak out and stab someone. It doesn’t mean I was going to, or that I wanted to, and that’s the point I think most people don’t get. OCD is a liar. It lies. So, because you’re a good person who thinks stabbing people is wrong, OCD will tell you that you secretly want to stab people just to make you think you’re a horrible person, and you’ll sit there and worry about it for weeks. Months. Years. 

So, sometimes I forget I have this little liar in my head. And I’m realizing some things I do are OCD symptoms.

Like, I’m really afraid for people to think I’m stupid. In any capacity. Which, great, it helped me earn near-perfect grades in undergrad... but also, it makes me do things which I think are annoying or will annoy or even anger other people. Like, I noticed that I overexplain everything. I always have, and I’ve always noticed it. But I thought about it... a couple of days ago. I explain shit. A lot. If I’m saying something, I’ll probably repeat, reiterate, drone on and on, and it’s not because I think the person is stupid or not capable of understanding. It’s generally because I feel stupid, or that someone will think I’m stupid, and I want to get out my whole thought. And then if I don’t get a response, I keep going, hoping to get one, to reassure me that I’m not stupid, annoying, obnoxious, wrong, or whatever. And then after it’s over, after I wrote the 5000 posts or spoke for an hour about cat fur, when the other person’s gone or whatever... I get so embarrassed and I hate myself. 

But it’s OCD. What I’m really doing is checking. It’s the same thing I do when I google symptoms, or I perform mental rituals. I’m checking to make sure you don’t hate me, or think I’m an idiot. (Seriously, being thought of as stupid is a huge thing, for me. I’m not sure why. It really shouldn’t matter to me if someone thinks that, but apparently it does.)

I also think I check social media so much because it’s a form of reassurance. And it’s so numbered that it’s horrible for OCD types like me. “14 likes, 20 replies, 16 likes on your reply” those are just numbers that help me obsess. 

It’s the same with the step counter on my phone. I get legitimately angry with myself if I don’t hit the step goal. And that silly, because it’s arbitrary and doesn’t mean anything. 

I think most of these obsessions also have come about because I’m incredibly stressed, right now. People obsess more when they’re stressed. In fact, most mental illnesses are triggered during times of stress. And, god, I’m stressed. I feel myself withdrawing. I want to stay in my room and watch Netflix, because I can control that. I have grad school coming at me at light speed, I have job interviews because NY living is so expensive that I’ll need a job, even though my department told me not to get one, I have moving to Brooklyn, which is expensive as fuck... bunch of drama around that, as well. And, no one is really checking in on me. And they well should, because every time someone asks me if I’m ready for New York, I say “not really”... and it’s true. I’m not.

Like, I want to go. I do. I just... also don’t. I can’t imagine that being my life, right now. NYC is vastly different from Charlotte/Matthews, where I live. I’ll be riding subway trains and getting ubers and taxis and I’ll have to walk a lot of places, and people keep telling me to be careful of being mugged, and it’s very, very cold there in the winter, whereas here it’s not, so there’s a lot I’m not looking forward to. I wanted to go to UCLA, so I’m still coming to terms with being in New York. And, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful to be going to NYU, and I like New York a lot, and I like Brooklyn, and I’m sure I’ll like living there, once I get my own swing of things. But, you know... It’s a huge change, and I’m kinda scared.

I also... and this is deeply personal, and I never tell anyone shit like this because it’s not popular at all, but I want so badly to get married and have kids. And, like, you guys don’t understand how much that’s not a thing, for me. Like, I haven’t dated at all since I was 19. At. All. IDK if I’m ugly, or weird, or what, but I don’t get dates. And also, I’m biromantic-demisexual, which means sex kinda weirds me out unless I really like the person. (Not the same as “wanting to get to know you.”) And, like, most people my age just fuck. Like, they do it for fun... and I sort of wish that could be me, but also, I can’t see myself fucking for fun, because “demisexual” remember? It doesn’t really make sense to me. Not 100%. And I’m so afraid, literally, to date because I’m terrified that someone will want to have sex. And that’s been my experience. I’ll start sort of talking to someone, and they’ll be like “dicks, amirite? anyway, here’s mine!” and I’m like “GAHHHH!” Then, I sort of hate them. Alternatively, they’re beautiful and perfect and I love them and they think I’m a stump. And I die alone.

So, anyway, I’m getting really old. (Not really, but in my head as a tween, I imagined I’d be married by now.) I’m getting old, and I have no prospects, and I don’t even know how to date as an adult because I haven’t, really. And I’m not a virgin, but I don’t know how to sex, anymore. So, I feel like I’m gonna die alone. Or, I’m gonna end up getting married at 45 to some 57-year-old broker, and I’ll be too old to have biological kids, and it’ll just... IDK, be sad. Like, as of right now, I want kids in the next 5-ish years. I wanna get married in the next 5-ish years. And, probably just OCD or maybe comorbid depression, but I also kinda don’t think anyone would want me. If I’m not ugly, I’m definitely weird. And, like, I see so many people in my age group just stumbling on marriages and kids and partnerships and all the shit I want, and the way they talk about it is so ... like, negative. Like “hahaha, don’t have kids!” or “Girl, wait as long as you can!” or they’re like “hahaha, my fiance is such a jackass,” like... bitch, I want that life, and you out here trashing it. And, I know, grass is greener, too, but... okay, for one, I don’t understand why parents, especially new parents, think it’s cute to tell childless people shit like that. Like, what if I was trying really hard to get pregnant, and your asshole self with your brand new baby is like “Hahaha, girl, you should wait as long as you can to have kids!” Like, no, hoe, that’s rude. (Everyone talks about how you shouldn’t tell people they’ll want kids, but people also do the opposite like when you say “I can’t wait to have kids of my own,” and they’re like “Girl, trust me, yes you can.” Like, don’t do that. Nobody is stupid enough to think having kids is a walk in the park, but a lot of childless people do want kids, and some of us are in the correct age range and desperately want them, and your words could come across as insensitive. You don’t know what 25-40 year old had a miscarriage or has been trying for years, or whatever. Just don’t tell people what they want, let them tell you what they want. But, I’m on a tangent...) 

Anyway, the point is, I’m weird, I’m sort of not okay, right now, and I can’t sleep. Because I’m mentally ill. Which is also probably why I’m single, and will continue to be so.

I also probably have PTSD, but it’s undiagnosed, so there’s that.