#Atticus Ware

[joaquimblog]

MET 2022/2023: THE HOURS (FLEMING-O'HARA-DiDONATO-KETELSEN;NÉZET-SÉGUIN, McDERMOTT)

MET 2022/2023: THE HOURS (FLEMING-O’HARA-DiDONATO-KETELSEN;NÉZET-SÉGUIN, McDERMOTT)

El MET de New York, fidel al seu projecte artístic d’oferir cada temporada títols contemporanis de compositors nord-americans estrena aquesta temporada The Hours, una òpera en dos actes amb música de Kevin Puts (1972, Saint Louis, Missouri) i llibret de Greg Pierce, basat en la novel·la del mateix títol de Michael Cunningham i de la que posteriorment es va fer una notable adaptació…

[omgcoffinfit]

Happy Simblreen? Or something? One of my favorite spooky season movies is Halloween 3 - Season of the Witch. So I made some shirts. I'm not ashamed to admit that I own 3 of those shirts IRL and was wearing one yesterday lol Heres my dearest Atticus Fry, sporting my wares. Happy Halloween!

🎃Download🎃

[timeless-fanfic]

Hi can you please write about Atticus so the fem reader is a Jewish mother and she’s with her daughter and the Pharisees start to question her

Under Scrutiny

Word Count: 985

Atticus x Reader

The day had started as any other, the sun shining brightly over the streets of Capernaum, as you made your way to the marketplace with your daughter. Her small hand was clasped in yours, and her innocent chatter brought a smile to your face as she marveled at the various stalls displaying their wares.

But as you approached a quieter section of the city, your steps faltered when you noticed a group of Pharisees lingering nearby. Their sharp eyes caught sight of you, and almost instantly, their whispers began.

You had always been cautious when out in public, especially when it came to the religious leaders. Being a single Jewish mother was difficult enough, but their scrutiny over your every action only added to the burden you carried. They viewed women like you with suspicion, often questioning your piety, your ability to raise a child on your own, and your adherence to the Law.

“Excuse me,” one of the Pharisees called out, stepping forward with an air of authority. His gaze shifted between you and your daughter. “We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

Your heart raced, but you held your daughter’s hand a little tighter, trying to keep your composure. “What is it you wish to ask?”

The Pharisee looked down at your daughter, his eyes narrowing slightly. “It’s not common to see a woman alone with her child like this. Where is your husband? Shouldn’t he be the one to guide and provide for your household?”

The question stung, but you had expected it. You had faced similar inquiries before, always couched in the guise of concern, but laced with judgment.

“I manage my household as best I can,” you replied calmly, your voice steady even as the tension in the air thickened.

“Is that so?” another Pharisee chimed in. “How can you ensure your daughter is being raised properly without the head of the house?”

Your daughter clutched your skirts, her eyes wide as she sensed the growing unease around you. The weight of their disapproval pressed down on you, but before you could respond, another voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere.

“That’s enough.”

The Pharisees turned at the sound, their expressions shifting to one of surprise and, perhaps, irritation. Atticus, a Roman, stepped forward, his gaze sharp and unyielding.

He had seen everything.

The Pharisees stiffened at his presence, clearly caught off guard by his intervention. Though they were powerful in their own right, the authority of Rome always had a way of making even the most self-assured individuals think twice.

“What business is it of yours how this woman raises her child?” Atticus asked, his tone leaving little room for argument. “As far as I can see, she’s committed no crime.”

The Pharisees exchanged glances, clearly unhappy with the interruption. “It is our duty to ensure that the Law is followed,” one of them replied stiffly. “We are simply asking questions.”

“And yet your questions seem more like accusations,” Atticus countered, his voice cool but edged with steel. “Last I checked, raising a child is not a crime.”

You watched in stunned silence as the exchange unfolded before you, your heart pounding in your chest. Atticus had always been an enigma to you—someone who operated on the fringes of your life, a symbol of Roman power and authority. But today, he was standing in your defense, challenging those who had long held sway over your daily existence.

The Pharisees bristled but knew better than to push further. With a few muttered words of dismissal, they backed away, clearly not eager to test their luck with the Roman magistrate any further.

As they left, you exhaled a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. Your daughter tugged at your hand, looking up at you with wide eyes.

“Mama, who is that man?” she whispered.

You glanced at Atticus, who now stood beside you, his eyes briefly softening as they landed on your daughter before returning to you. There was something unreadable in his expression—something that hinted at more than just a passing interest in your situation.

“This is Atticus,” you said softly, crouching down to meet your daughter’s gaze. “He helped us today.”

Your daughter blinked up at him, offering a shy smile. “Thank you, sir.”

Atticus gave her a small nod, his usually stern features relaxing just slightly. “You’re welcome, little one.”

Rising to your feet, you faced him, the weight of everything that had just transpired still heavy on your mind. “I... I don’t know how to thank you,” you began, your voice quiet but filled with genuine gratitude.

“There’s no need for thanks,” he replied, his tone more subdued now. “It was the right thing to do.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the bustle of the marketplace continuing around you, but feeling distant. You had never expected to find an ally in a Roman, least of all someone like Atticus, whose reputation had always been one of cold efficiency.

But today, he had shown you something different. A glimpse of humanity, of fairness, in a world that so often lacked both.

“If... if you ever need help again,” he said after a pause, “I’ll be nearby.”

You nodded, still somewhat unsure of how to respond, but deeply grateful nonetheless. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

With a final glance at you and your daughter, Atticus turned and walked away, his cloak billowing slightly behind him. You watched him go, your thoughts swirling as you processed the unexpected kindness he had shown.

As you took your daughter’s hand once more, you couldn’t help but feel that perhaps there was more to Atticus than you had once believed. And perhaps, in this unpredictable world, there were still those who would stand for what was right—even if they came from the most unexpected places.

[friendshapedplant]

Don't feel like makin a whole Fun Graphic or anything but I jus wanna say hay :3 u interested in my wares or commissions? (See links for examples)

I aint in any financial struggle so no pressure! But I'm bored and gotta lotta things to sell sittin around and I loooove sendin out packages so you should check it all out :0

[conkniving]

the broom closet antiques & pawn shop ft. @pcisxnivys​

for a local oddities shoppe that was the only of its kind  ( worth visiting in anchorage ),  it certainly seemed to have a rotating stock to pique the interest while simultaneously urging a shiver to slide down one’s spine. especially for the frequent customers it found itself, including the dark duo. of course, there was the normie that would come in and look like a sore sight amongst the dusty and foreboding interior, crammed with shelving and its wares. but when fallon and atticus entered, it was as though they ought to be amongst the antiques, fitting the persona. still, it didn’t escape fallon  —  who would browse to simply kill time and realize the new cracked façade of a porcelain doll with eyes would follow her  —  that there was something strange here in order to replenish its ceaseless supply.

setting back a grimoire written in pagan symbols and peculiarly stained with dark fingerprints on some of the pages, the dark femme casted a glance along the creaky floorboards to her companion. this was supposed to be one of their few outings that didn’t include a tattoo gun, but she couldn’t help but feel a little bristled. it wasn’t enough that she had spent enough time trying to bury the imagery of finding her high school friend where he shouldn’t be. but now... it was a little hard to look at him without the fresh appearance of blood on his clothes and face. it wasn’t his, he assured her, but it didn’t lessen the trigger. ugh, she had triggers, a fact she would vehemently deny if confronted about, but couldn’t lie enough to convince herself that she wasn’t above the affliction unlike anybody else on this planet. blinking, atticus’s eyes bore into hers from down the way, holding his recent find in his hands with an air of expectance for some sort of answer.

“what?” fallon blurted out.

[fatescattered]

🌸 ( for here too lets goo :')) )

@wiildroses played muse roulette and got lyra norwood! | accepting

with the closest apocathery on an entirely different island, lyra has to settle for the travelling botanist the locals keep raving about. she knows she's unlikely to find the plants she needs in his wares, but she has no other choice but to try her luck.

it's easy to spot him by the flower cart beside him. the brightly-colored sign promptly catches lyra's eye – and her companion's too.

" kinda flashy for a flower cart, " atticus remarks, unamused with the other's travelling shop. " all this to sell daisies and roses? "

" don't be rude. " lyra's face scrunches as she gives him a light smack. " actually, just let me do all the talking, alright? " the only answer she gets is an eyeroll; lyra knows him well enough to read it as resignation, though he'll ultimately play nice.

the witch approaches the cart with a smile, offering a small wave as greeting. " hello! do you happen to have any jacob's ladder flowers? or, um... lily of the valley? " lyra tries the name she's heard being used around the island. "i know it's pretty rare around here, but you're my last hope. this is the only flower shop for miles."

[perry-tannenbaum]

Dangerous and Delicious London – With a Twist

Dangerous and Delicious London – With a Twist

Review:  Theatre Charlotte is kicking off with a different Dickens, Lionel Bart’s Oliver! By Perry Tannenbaum

Ron Law will be retiring when his 15th season as executive director at Theatre Charlotte comes to an end next spring, but he sure isn’t retiring – or even receding into the background – right now. The spotlight will shine brightest on Law in December when he stars for the first time…

[lionfanged]

‘ you’re nessa, correct? i was hoping if you had the time to chat that we could discuss a potential arrangement. ‘

@waveraging​ // starter call lightning round.

[luciachaseii]

January 2020 Books

The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath by Sylvia Plath

Moments of Being: Slater’s Pins Have No Points by Virginia Woolf

The Witch Doesn’t Burn in This One (Women Are Some Kind of Magic, #2) by Amanda Lovelace

Love Her Wild by Atticus Poetry

Rest in the Mourning by r.h. Sin

When You Ask Me Where I’m Going by Jasmin Kaur

Shout by Laurie Halse Anderson

The Diamond as Big as the Ritz by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Porcelain and Pink by F. Scott Fitzgerald

A Child’s Dream of a Star (Original 1853 Edition): Annotated by Charles Dickens

The Dream of a Ridiculous Man by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Little Girls Wiser Than Men by Leo Tolstoy

The Shadow in the Rose Garden by D.H. Lawrence

The Three Strangers by Thomas Hardy

A Haunted House by Virginia Woolf

A Summing Up by Virginia Woolf

The New Dress by Virginia Woolf

Goose Fair by D.H. Lawrence

A Sick Collier (Annotated) by D. H. Lawrence

Together and Apart by Virginia Woolf

The String Quartet by Virginia Woolf

Building Stories by Chris Ware

Graffiti by Savannah Brown

The Poet X by Elizabeth Acevedo

Solar Bones by Mike McCormack

Palo Alto by James Franco

The Bluest Eye by Toni Morrison

The Beauty of the Husband: A Fictional Essay in 29 Tangos by Anne Carson

[verlai-devereaux]

An Offer?

It was well into the late hours of the night by the time Verlai and Ralphaldo made their way back to the Lady Malevolent. Despite his estate being so close, she hadn’t yet taken the plunge of moving in with the man, though it was likely she’d end up finding something for herself nearby. The woman took her time in disrobing, her thoughts running with great speed at the conversation that had taken place only hours prior.

While enticing, the offer that had been presented was far from ideal. She would end up putting in all the risk, only to allow someone else to reap the rewards. She wouldn’t deny the enjoyment of the game itself, but she was past the days of doing something simply for the risk and the thrill. No, she was much more practical these days, and was looking forward to building something with what she’d forced Vinarei to leave behind. Even in Pandaria she’d continued her work with the market, and though she had more of a hand in such things than Vinarei had, Verlai had been looking forward to going through the woman’s extensive wares to see what would fetch a good price. There were several that looked promising, based on the woman’s notes alone.

But did she need someone else to do that for her? Did she need a new stage? Not necessarily. As she’d stated to the man, she preferred to remain nameless these days, and work from behind the scenes. She wasn’t as arrogant as she once was, that much was certain by anyone who knew her then, and knew her now.

“I can see you’ve made your decision.” Ralphaldo’s deep baritone broke through her thoughts, and her emerald gaze settled on the man as he waited for her in bed.

“Can you now?” She let out a quiet huff of laughter. “I’ll need to wear masks around you more often, then. But... yes, I’ve made my decision. I’ll let him know in the next few days when I find time. Until then, we have other issues to discuss. One being Atticus...”

Mentions: @atticus-angus-andrews @consider-things-done @mister-summerland

[owensmovieblog]

100 Albums from 2020 That You Need to Listen to Right Now

I listened to 364 albums in 2020, so I’m obviously an expert and you need to listen to my opinion. This is the culmination of my year-long project so it’s very important. The official Spotify playlist is here and here’s my last.fm if you’re interested.

1.     Aiming for Enrike - Music for Working Out

2.     Lianne La Havas - Lianne La Havas

3.     Mac Miller - Circles

4.     BRONSON - BRONSON

5.     Run the Jewels - RTJ4

6.     Georgia - Seeking Thrills

7.     Dua Lipa - Future Nostalgia

8.     Grimes - Miss Anthropocene

9.     Inwards - Bright Serpent

10.  Ball Park Music - Ball Park Music

11.  …And You Will Know Us by the Trail of Dead - X: The Godless Void and Other Stories

12.  IDLES - Ultra Mono

13.  Caribou - Suddenly

14.  Poppy - I Disagree

15.  Franc Moody - Dream in Colour

16.  Special Interest - The Passion Of

17.  The Avalanches - We Will Always Love You

18.  Lomelda - Hannah

19.  Melt Yourself Down - 100% Yes

20.  Moor Jewelry - True Opera

21.  The Smith Street Band - Don't Waste Your Anger

22.  Moses Boyd - Dark Matter

23.  Dan Deacon - Mystic Familiar

24.  The Microphones - Microphones in 2020

25.  Bush - The Kingdom

26.  Sevdaliza - Shabrang

27.  Laura Marling - Song For Our Daughter

28.  Algiers - There Is No Year

29.  Lyra Pramuk - Fountain

30.  beabadoobee - Fake It Flowers

31.  Hayley Williams - Petals for Armor

32.  Against All Logic - 2017 - 2019

33.  Car Seat Headrest - Making a Door Less Open

34.  Puscifer - Existensial Reckoning

35.  Fiona Apple - Fetch the Bolt Cutters

36.  Fleet Foxes - Shore

37.  Bombay Bicycle Club - Everything Else Has Gone Wrong

38.  Wolf & Cub - NIL

39.  Tired Lion - Breakfast for Pathetics

40.  Mild Minds - MOOD

41.  Tom Misch & Yussef Dayes - What Kinda Music

42.  King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard - K.G.

43.  Chris Stapleton - Starting Over

44.  EOB - Earth

45.  Gengahr - Sanctuary

46.  All Them Witches - Nothing as the Ideal

47.  The Kite String Tangle - C()D3X

48.  BENEE - Hey u x

49.  Enter: Shikari - Nothing is TRUE & everything is possible

50.  Phantogram - Ceremony

51.  The Vision - The Vision

52.  Bartees Strange - Live Forever

53.  Gorillaz - Song Machine, Season One: Strange Timez

54.  Aesop Rock - Spirit World Field Guide

55.  The Chats - High Risk Behaviour

56.  Phoebe Bridgers - Punisher

57.  Northeast Party House - Shelf Life

58.  Tony Allen & Hugh Masekela - rejoice

59.  Disclosure - ENERGY

60.  Deftones - Ohms

61.  Jessie Ware - What's Your Pleasure?

62.  The Koreatown Oddity - Little Dominiques Nosebleed

63.  Alice Ivy - Don't Sleep

64.  King Krule - Man Alive!

65.  Sons of Apollo - MMXX

66.  Big Black Delta - 4

67.  John Frusciante - Maya

68.  JK-47 - Made For This

69.  Field Music - Making a New World

70.  Joe Satriani - Shapeshifting

71.  Dogleg - Melee

72.  SAULT - UNTITLED (Rise)

73.  My Morning Jacket - The Waterfall II

74.  Mimi Gilbert - Grew Inside the Water

75.  Biffy Clyro - Celebration of Endings, A

76.  Yves Tumor - Heaven to a Tortured Mind

77.  Wajatta - Don't Let Get You Down

78.  Jeff Rosenstock - NO DREAM

79.  Alain Johannes - Hum

80.  Jónsi - Shiver

81.  Eels - Earth to Dora

82.  Gil Scott-Heron & Makaya McCraven - We're New Again - a Reimagining by Makaya McCraven

83.  Dope Body - Home Body

84.  A. Swayze & The Ghosts - Paid Salvation

85.  Tame Impala - The Slow Rush

86.  Touché Amoré - Lament

87.  Adrianne Lenker - songs

88.  Bob Dylan - Rough and Rowdy Ways

89.  Something for Kate - The Modern Medieval

90.  Pinegrove - Marigold

91.  Seasick Steve - Blues in Mono

92.  Katie Dey - mydata

93.  Nas - King's Disease

94.  Jon Batiste, Trent Reznor & Atticus Ross - Soul (Original Motion Picture Soundtrack)

95.  Amaarae - Angel You Don't Know, The

96.  Violent Soho - Everything Is A-OK

97.  Miiesha - Nyaaringu

98.  Pomplamoose - Invisible People

99.  Frazey Ford - U Kin B the Sun

100.   Nothing But Thieves - Moral Panic

[projectalbum]

Art is Resistance. 149. “With Teeth” (Halo 19), 150. “Year Zero” (Halo 24), 151. “Y34RZ3R0R3M1X3D” (Halo 25), 152. “Ghosts I-IV” (Halo 26), 153. “The Slip” (Halo 27) by Nine Inch Nails

The 6-year gap between Nine Inch Nails studio albums saw the Internet become truly ascendant in popular culture, for better and worse.

Napster took a bite from the music industry and was put down like a mad dog. The Pirate Bay first unfurled its flag. Radio play and music videos were still the main avenue for displaying the wares of major label musicians to the general public, and success was still measured in units of CDs sold, but more and more people were becoming hip to the underground access provided by a DSL modem.

But the power of the Web to empower artists and connect them to their fans still evaded most of the recording industry; honchos and artists alike were largely clueless. Trent Reznor, the big ol’ nerd, was a notable exception. Posting on early message boards on Prodigy, embracing torrents, creating an online gateway for the band’s fans, leaking material from the archives, experimenting with an optional-pay release, even being an early adopter of Twitter— it was a white-hot fiber optic cable running through the life of the band. While this technological engagement didn’t always translate into sales (The Fragile was considered a financial disappointment), it was a 21st century incarnation of the connection between what the artist creates and how the audience consumes it, internalizes it, and hopefully finds some emotional release in it.

This uneasy alliance between organic emotion and technological chilliness is reflected in this era of Nine Inch Nails’ aesthetic, both musically and through the packaging. Where Downward Spiral and Fragile dealt in decaying earth tones, the releases starting with 2005’s reemergent With Teeth (#149) are shades of blue, black, ghost white, and slate gray, dirtied up by belching factory smoke, or distorted by broken pixels and lines of computer code. The songs are likewise colored by pulsating synth accents, digital distortion, hums and drones and beats. The instrumental stems for Reznor’s compositions were offered up to remixers both professional and amateur, so that even the boundary of artist and audience member became liminal. He had his carefully constructed versions of “The Hand That Feeds” and “Only,” but suggested that there were infinite alternate permutations to be created at the click of a button. For the once angry, brooding Prince of Industrial Rock, it was downright egalitarian.

“All The Love In The World,” a title that might suggest a big-hearted power ballad on a cornier band’s track list, is in Reznor’s hands an electronica-inflected paranoid dirge. Where crunchy guitars would have provided the backbone in the past, here woozy piano figures are the main melodic backup to the vocal, before shifting into driving major chords to signal minute 3’s complete tonal transformation. With its layers of harmonizing Trents, it’s completely unlike anything else in the band’s repertoire, but it was the perfect next course to stimulate my appetite. And then Dave Grohl’s superhuman drumming on “You Know What You Are?” kicked me through the door. The wailing chorus presented an aggressive musical release for me that I’d never had access to before.

“Right Where It Belongs,” the keyboard-driven closing track, is spooky and introspective, and one of the best songs in NiN’s catalogue. A stripped-down, electric piano and vocal version, originally exclusive to the Japanese release but eventually uploaded by Reznor to his website, captures that dark night of the soul uncertainty even better. This recording made its way into the end credits of my senior thesis film, at the point where it was obvious it wasn’t going to go anywhere and that I should at least put copyrighted stuff I liked into it. I also set a live version against grainy deleted footage from Pink Floyd - The Wall, a mashup I figure ol’ Trent would appreciate (the idea was to then do the reverse, matching “Hey You” to the visuals cut together for NiN’s stage show, but the result wasn’t as compelling).

I don’t have any supporting evidence, but Year Zero (#150) may well have been the first time I ever plunked down money for a physical copy of a NiN CD. Also lacking sufficient empirical backup: I’m convinced this speculative fiction about an increasingly plausible American dystopia represents some of Reznor’s strongest songwriting. Inhabiting characters like a brainwashed foot soldier, an underground Resistance fighter, a religiously-inflamed demagogue, even a judgmental alien intelligence, he moves away from the diary page introspection that could occasionally curdle into lyrics of questionable taste (Sorry, please don’t slip on all the tears I’ve made you cry).

The release of the album was notably attached to a labyrinthine “Alternate Reality Game” campaign, with in-character websites, USB drives hidden at concerts, and music videos with secret messages, adding plot strands and world building to the lyrics. (I missed the boat on all that, but the work that the same marketing company did for The Dark Knight was sure something to experience.) All of which would be near-impenetrable, if the actual music wasn’t so compelling. You don’t have to read the wiki pages to feel the apocalyptic beats and glitchy cacophony of “HYPERPOWER!,” “The Good Soldier,” and to pump your fist to the chorus of “Survivalism.” “I got my propaganda / I got revisionism” hits harder in a time, 10 years on from the album’s release, in which the most powerful voices in the U.S. government disregard reality on the reg, occasionally try to downplay the Holocaust. “Capital G,” a gleefully sociopathic near-rap by the forces of greed, could soundtrack one of Paul Ryan’s dead-eyed workout photoshoots.

“In This Twilight” and “Zero Sum” are the shattering two-part coda, in which the squabbling remnants of humanity face the end, whether by divine intervention or nuclear fire. The first juxtaposes crunchy, distorted percussion and fuzzed-out bass with perhaps the most perversely light and melodic vocal performance Reznor has ever delivered. He’s singing about encroaching extinction, but in a blissed-out religious reverie, optimistic for the afterlife. The character at the center of the closing track is not so sure: this is the End of this ridiculous human experiment, and we’ve brought oblivion on ourselves. “Shame on us / For all we have done / And all we ever were.” There’s the Nine Inch Nails nihilism we know and love!

Y34RZ3R0R3M1X3D (#151) filters the previous album through Hip-Hop and EDM, to uneven effect. The collection of remixes never quite sustains the highs established by the first two tracks: Saul Williams’ fiery rap verses turn the instrumental “HYPERPOWER!” into a polemic against a legacy of American violence, “Gunshots by Computer,” while modwheelmood frees the vocals of “The Great Destroyer” from the squealing synth breakdown and creates a whole new paranoid anthem. While it’s also interesting to hear the Kronos Quartet reinterpret “Another Version of the Truth,” the rest is largely skippable. The physical set includes a DVD with the multitracks for the original Year Zero recordings, so you too can fuck with the raw materials! (I’ve been trying to remix things for years, and I’m awful at it, but it’s fun to hear the individual instrumentation.)

After freeing himself lyrically from his old methodology, the next release from Reznor eschewed words and melody completely. Ghosts I-IV (#152) is nearly 2 hours of ambient experimentation, a precursor to the Oscar-winning film scores with Atticus Ross (a few tracks were literally reworked for The Social Network, and several others continue to be licensed for film and documentaries). The buzzsaw distortions, dark piano chords, oddly organic synthesizers, and industrial beats identify it as a NiN record even in the absence of vocals. Though good luck recommending your favorite tracks, with titles like “26 Ghosts III” and “09 Ghosts I” not exactly sticking in the memory.

The Slip (#153), originally released free of charge, is more of a return-to-form. Arguably too familiar— it’s essentially With Teeth Part 2, but leaner and meaner. It’s not held in especially high regard, but it was there right at the outset of my fandom, and as such I continue to have a soft spot for it. I even bought the physical copy after years of listening to the decent quality MP3’s. “Discipline,” with its uncommonly funky bass line and high hat-favoring drum beat, is my number 1 “trying to sneak it onto a party playlist but not very successfully” NiN song. Along with the following track, “Echoplex,” the dark dance floor vibe is a preview of the sound Reznor and co would explore with How To Destroy Angels. “Lights in the Sky,” “Corona Radiata,” and “The Four of Us are Dying” create a kind of suite, insinuating and ethereal. I can understand if you bow out of that middle, 7-minute-and-33-second, ambient track before the library sample of fighting cats kicks in. But “LITS” is Reznor’s sparsest, prettiest piano lament, announcing the eminent “retirement” of Nine Inch Nails as a touring/recording entity.

Wave goodbye. They’ll be back.

[smallcowplant]

The following spring, Evolet took her two eldest children out to the market.

Noor was behind the counter, seasoning the meats. Seeing the family approach, she grinned. “Evie! Doing well?”

“Yes, Auntie!” Evolet peered over the wares, sniffing eagerly at the air. “Everything looks wonderful...as usual.”

“Wug raised sweet girl.” Noor pointed towards the two girls standing behind her. “Evolet remember Dia and Sanna.”

“They’re so big!” Evolet smiled warmly at the teenagers, who responded with light nods and shy smiles. “I can’t believe it. Your girls are lovely...Atticus is a teenager now...and it’s nearly Calista’s birthday. How time flies.”

[rauliskafan]

A Little Lesson in Being Found

Authors’ Note: Happy Sunday, lovely readers!!! Hope that everyone had a wonderful weekend!!! Last night @vintagemichelle91 and I debuted the first part of our latest “Little Lesson.” Now it’s time to check back in with Rafael and Natalia to see if they can still salvage their getaway. Thank you so much to @xemopeachx for inspiring us and for her absolutely amazing videos!!! Check out the link below in case you missed it part one. Enjoy, everybody!!!

A Little Lesson in Getting Lost

          For the remainder of the drive, they said next to nothing. Rafael kept the car moving at a good clip. Now and then he nearly turned off the winding country road only to have Natalia clear her throat and mumble something about staying the course until they saw a sign for Plainfield. His response was somewhere between a grumble and a growl leaving Natalia to wonder why they didn’t just call this a wash and make their way back to Manhattan. But at this point, they needed less time in the car together, not more. A small sigh of relief passed through her lips when she finally saw their destination, and Rafael pushed the car into park.

           “We made pretty good time all things considered,” she said. His glare was sharp as he removed their luggage from the trunk, trying his best to ignore the telltale jug of water.

           “Rafael?”

           Waiting with two small suitcases in hand, he tapped his toes against the cobblestone path leading toward the main entrance of the bed and breakfast, and Natalia placed one palm on his arm.

           “Are we going to spend the whole weekend angry at each other?” she asked with what she hoped was a sweet smile.

           “I don’t know,” he challenged. “Are we?”

           His frosty tone took her aback, but she still let her fingers drift towards his wrist, her touch settling there.

           “Atticus… it’s fine. So you missed a turn. So the car acted up. We’re here now, and---”

           “I don’t want to talk about the how or the…” Clamming up again, he clutched the handles of each bag tighter and left her alone in the modest parking lot. Her eyes wandered towards the leaves swaying overhead on the back of a gentle breeze, and she sighed heavily before following him inside, finding him at the reception desk and giving the clerk their name.

           “Barba?” the young girl wearing a soft pink blouse over a denim skirt echoed as she flipped through a leather-bound book. Definitely old school; no computerized reservations or key cards to be found. In so many ways, it was reminiscent of their honeymoon, and Natalia hoped that would do the trick, that it would snap her husband out of his---

           “I’m not seeing it,” the girl behind the counter confessed with an apologetic smile. Before Natalia could spring into action, Rafael let the bags fall to the floor with a dull thud.

           “You’re not seeing… how can you not?” he demanded. “We have a reservation.”

           “Rafael, maybe---”

           “What kind of an operation are you people running here?” he continued. “We’ve been driving for almost six hours and---”

           “Try Dodds.”

           At the sound of that suggestion, Rafael whipped his head around to face her, his face flushed as he spoke.

           “Dodds?” he asked. “Why? What does Mike have to do with this?”

           “I mean look for the reservation under his name,” Natalia said. “Maggie’s the one that called ahead. Maybe she---”

           “Why would she put the room under her---?”

           “Here it is!” the clerk quickly chirped. “Dodds. If that’s for you guys, then you’re all set.”

           “That’s us,” Natalia confirmed, picking up her suitcase and accepting the old-fashioned key on an oak green plastic ring with a small nod and an even smaller smile.

           “Sorry for the mix-up,” the girl said. “It’s the last room on the left just up the stairs. Do you need someone to help you with your bags?”

           “I think we can manage,” Rafael said, lifting the other suitcase and leading the way. With every step, Natalia felt her heartbeat accelerating. Was he really going to stay in this mood until it was time to head home? Even after that?

           “Here,” he said as he opened the door. “After you.”

           “Thank you,” Natalia whispered. This was far from the first time that they had entered a bedroom together, but there was an icy formality to his voice, his stance, and Natalia wished it away as she scanned the room.

           “This is lovely!” she beamed, trying to sound hopeful, and it was far from a lie. The small space was furnished with a brass bed. An off-white quilt adorned with lilacs and leaves covered the mattress that was firm to the touch, and off to the right she spied a cream-colored chest of drawers and two antique armchairs complimenting a small table.

           Along the with the fixings for a cup of instant coffee a some powdered creamer.

           “Caffeine,” she said, dropping her bag. “That’ll cure what ails you.”

           “Don’t do that,” he cautioned. Turning to face him, finding him sitting at the edge of the bed with his arms folded over his chest, Natalia pressed her hands to her hips and tilted her head to one side.

           “Don’t do what?” she asked.

           “Don’t treat me like a child,” he said.

           “I’m not,” Natalia protested.

           “You’re coddling me,” he said. “I don’t like it.”

           “Well I don’t like you making a scene downstairs,” she said.

           “Take that up with your sister,” he barked back. “Why would she put the room under her name?”

           “I don’t know, Rafael. I didn’t ask questions. I just said thank you. Which is what you should have done when I figured out what was going on with the car and got us back on the right---”

           “So I’m useless,” he countered, rising to his feet. “Old and worn out and---”

           “I never said anything remotely like that!” Natalia cried, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “Where is this coming from? I thought… you were supposed to leave the stress in the city.”

           “What stress?” he said. “Not like I’m prepping for a case or have any witnesses to interview.”

           “I know that,” she soothed. “But this is meant to take your mind off of all that.”

           Their eyes locked, and Natalia bit down on her lower lip, hoping that he would shrug his shoulders and simply say that he was sorry. She was ready to rush into his arms and kiss every trouble away when he turned towards the door.

           “I need a breath of fresh air,” he said.

           “Wait! You… we just got here and you’re leaving me?”

           She took a single step closer to see his hand coiled around the door handle. His chest rose and fell as he chewed the inside of his cheek, and she was ready for him to backpedal, to say that he was in the wrong and wanted to reset the weekend over on a better foot.

           But instead he left, and when the door closed behind him, Natalia sank to the bed, angry frustrated tears pricking her eyes as she curled up against the plush pillows and gave in to her sadness.

           Rafael hurriedly left the bed and breakfast without so much as a single look at the clerk behind the counter. He glared at the car that had just brought them to this place and took off on foot. The pavement barely registered as he hastened his pace, quietly fuming at his failure to point the car in the right direction. Or fix the vehicle. Or...

           Stopping at a storefront window, he saw a hodgepodge of antiques, refurbished end tables where glassy-eyed dolls sat in vintage clothing. Give him a hippo any day of the week…

           …as long as he didn’t have to deal with the reflection staring back at him through the makeshift mirror.

           This wasn’t him. Or at least not the man that he wanted to be. Rumpled and tired with a clenched jaw from gritting his teeth for hours on end. It wasn’t his father; for so many reasons that would always be one road too far. But he appeared sadder, smaller…

           …and in no way the kind of a man that a woman like Natalia would ever look at twice let alone agree to link her life to and raise a family with.

           “Make it right, Rafael,” he muttered under his breath. “You owe her that much… more.”

           Ready to return to the bed and breakfast, Rafael suddenly stopped in his tracks. To go back empty-handed? No. Natalia deserved something special for all that she had to put up with. He spied a florist’s just across the way, but this was a moment that called for more than gardenias. Something classic, something that told the story of a thousand years to start all over again with them. Buoyed by that belief, Rafael entered the store, the smell of must overwhelming his senses. At least the space was well ordered, books on so many shelves off to one side, more end tables with creepy dolls seated in front of racks of clothing off to the other.

           “Can I help you, sir?”

           A small, frail woman approached him with surprising speed. Bowing his head, Rafael peered into her eyes.

           “Yes,” he said. “I’m looking for something. For my wife.”

           “You two have a fight?” the woman asked matter-of-factly.

           “No, I… well…”

           With his hands in his pockets, he shrugged his shoulders and felt the woman’s hand on his arm.

           “You ain’t the first one, kid,” the woman said. “Your fault.”

           “Yes, I… see the thing is that I---”

           “Wasn’t a question,” the woman continued. “Remember; it’s always your fault.”

           Laughing at her remark, Rafael let her lead him towards a glass case and watched her flip a switch to illuminate a series of brooches and bracelets resting on a bed of royal blue velvet.

           “We got ourselves some real rubies and pearls and even some white gold here,” the woman said. “What does your lady like?”

           He wanted to say emeralds meant to look like leaves. Or silver and rose gold sprouting diamonds, recalling the butterfly and the key lost so long ago. All of that aside, the wares in the shop did not cause him to draw in a sharp breath or declare that the price was inconsequential. Of course it was when it came to Natalia. But this needed to be something more. Something special. To make up for what a shit he had been.

           “Do you have anything else?” he asked. Huffing, the woman started towards a backroom, muttering under her breath the whole way.

           “That’s the best of the best,” the woman finally said in a clear voice. Her definition of best obviously required a second look, and Rafael felt that this was a fool’s errand, that he’d never find something fine enough for his hermosa flor.

           “What have you got there?” he causally asked, passing by a mason jar filled with scraps of lavender paper.

           “Oh that? That’s actually something my grandson made for me. For a school project. You… you wouldn’t want to take a look, would you?”

           Curious, he nodded his head, and the woman twisted off the top. Pulling out one scrap of paper and then another, he read the scrawl, misspellings and all, and heard the old woman’s giggle.

           “See the idea was they had to write down all the reasons why---”

           “Yes I get it,” Rafael said. Cutting her off earned him the woman’s glare, and he bowed his head in apology as he glanced around the shop.

           “Do you have a jar like this that I could buy? And maybe a few sheets of paper?”

           Natalia was restless and bleary eyed as she took note of the fading light flowing through the window. Along with the small clock on the bedside table signaling that it was past seven thirty. Sitting up slowly, she suddenly heard a knock at the door. Rafael? He had left without the benefit of the key. Hoping that he was now here to make up in every way, she swiftly rose to fling the door off its hinges.

           “How are you settling in, Mrs. Barba?” the clerk asked.

           “Fine,” Natalia replied, looking over the young woman's shoulder and scowling when there was no sign of her husband.

           “Anything I can get you?” the clerk asked. Save for a magic wand to wipe her misery away, Natalia could think of nothing, and she shook her head as she started to close the door.

           “Is your husband back? I… I mean I haven’t seen him, but---”

           “No,” Natalia quickly said. “We… it was a long drive.”

           “I’m sure. Well let’s hope he’s back in time for dinner. We’re serving a rosemary chicken… with blueberry sauce.”

           Blueberries? After she had been craving as much since the diner? For a second, Rafael flew from her mind, the idea of the unusual cuisine making her mouth water. Had this been their honeymoon, she wouldn’t even think of leaving the room. Now, older and wiser but still in love, or so she thought, maybe other appetites were bound to take over. But whether in bed or at table side, Natalia wanted him with her. Not off running around some unfamiliar town, likely getting lost again.

           Leaving her alone.

           “Thank you,” Natalia murmured. “Maybe later.”

           Taking the hint, the clerk let her close the door, and Natalia made her way to the bathroom. Twisting the faucet, she splashed several handfuls of cold water to her face. Needing more to cool her brow, Natalia waited for the sink to fill and ducked her head under the sudden puddle. Silence. Save for the vibrations of footsteps from below. Or maybe people moving in the next room? Wanting to say under the cool water and drown out even the faintest of noise, Natalia knew that she had to face the music that was the rest of the trip. At least it could be doused in blueberry sauce. Leaving the sink with her eyes closed, she reached for a towel, found one on the nearest rack…

           …and she shrieked, her eyes shooting open when she felt another hand on hers.

           “Who is---?”

           Whipping her head around fast, the ends of her hair dripping with the cool water, Natalia caught her breath at the sight of Rafael. His eyes were wide with worry, and he raised his hands in the air.

           “It’s just me,” he assured her. “What are you doing?”

           Natalia pushed her damp hair behind her ears, and drained the sink, catching sight of him in the mirror. He did not move so much as an inch until she spoke.

           “Cooling off,” she said. “You?”

           His silence put her back on edge, and Natalia ripped the towel from the rack to dry her face before coiling her fingers around the cloth.

           “Nothing to say?’ she continued. “Why did you even bother to come back?”

           “Would you rather I had stayed away?” he challenged.

           “No,” she groaned, flinging the towel in his direction. Rafael caught it with one hand. “How did you even get in here?”

           “The girl at the desk gave me a spare key,” he said. “And a dirty look.”

           “Maybe you deserved it,” Natalia said, pushing past him.

           “Maybe I do,” he confessed.

           Saying nothing else, her eyes briefly settled on a brown paper bag, but she didn’t care what it contained as she looked to him again.

           “What is going on with you?” she demanded. “I know you miss the job. But I I thought you were happy to be with me. With the girls.”

           “I am,” he insisted. “Always. And I’m happy that we made this trip.”

           “Could have fooled me,” Natalia said.

           “Who likes getting lost?” Rafael shot back.

           “How do you think I feel?” she asked. “You’re flying off the handle and running away like you can’t stand to be in the same room with me.”

           “No, hermosa,” he said, hurrying forward to grab her arms and tightening his hold so she couldn’t break away. “I wasn’t running from you. From myself.”

           “Did you two make it up?” she scoffed. He swallowed hard, and Natalia wondered what he was going to say.

           “I’d rather make it up with you.”

           His lips were light against hers, and Natalia sank into his kiss, her hands sliding down his chest and almost winding around his waist. Leaving his mouth and wanting more, she stared at him hard and faintly nodded her head.

           “Tell me then,” she said. “I’m all ears.”

           “Better be all eyes first.”

           “What do you mean?”

           “Just… have a seat, hermosa.”

           Obeying him with a sigh, Natalia fell to the bed, crossing one leg over the other. And she waited. He crept closer to the paper bag but stopped short to reach into his pocket.

           “Got another key in there?” she asked.

           “No. Just these.”

           Natalia held her breath as Rafael revealed a pair of glasses. Slowly affixing them to his face, he turned to face her and waited.

           “What’s that about?” Natalia asked.

           “Courtesy of the eye doctor,” he said. “To help me read.”

           “So why haven’t you been wearing… wait.”

           Rising from the bed, she moved closer to him, her nails just grazing the tips of her fingers as she found his eyes through the glass.

           “Is that… that’s why you misread the GPS. And didn’t see the dashboard.”

           “Guilty as charged,” he continued. “It’s a farsighted thing. But I didn’t want you to see.”

           “Rafael, why would you---?”

           “Because it’s one more sign of me failing,” he said. “No job. No way to take care of my family. And now I can’t even read without---”

           “Rafael, don’t be silly. Trevor wears glasses from time to time.”

           “Equating me with your father does not help,” Rafael said, his voice like cut glass.

           “So does Liv,” Natalia continued. “You want to tell me or her that it makes her less in any way?”

           His silence seemed to confirm her end of the argument, but Natalia didn’t have a chance to feel satisfied as he hung his head.

           “I don’t want to be any less for you,” he said. “A part of me feels like I already am.”

           “Oh, Atticus, you could never---”

           Another knock at the door stalled her speech, and Natalia rolled her eyes as she flung open the door to reveal the clerk again.

           “Yes?” Natalia asked.

           “I thought that you might like some dinner. I brought enough for---”

           “Thank you very much.” Taking the platter, she set it on the table, avoiding Rafael’s eyes as she searched for a tip.

           “No need for that,” the girl said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

           The clerk girl closed the door before Natalia could reach the handle. Dropping her purse, she saw Rafael pacing.

           “I see you found the time to order dinner,” he said.

           “No,” Natalia protested. “She was just checking in on me.”

           “Why would she---?”

           “Because you’re acting like an ass! And maybe because I want some chicken with blueberries.”

            “Blueberries?” he echoed. “So when I’m gone you get your heart’s desire.”

           “I could smack you for saying that,” Natalia tearfully threatened. “Don’t you know that I only want to share everything with you?”

            “I… yes. Of course I do,” he said. “And I have something to share with you.”

            Reaching into the brown bag, he revealed a mason jar filled with strips of paper.

           “What is that?” Natalia asked.

  ��        “I’m guessing… hoping this will be to your liking.” He tenderly took hold of her arm and sat her in one of the chairs.

           “Please,” he gently begged. “Give me one more chance.”

           He had earned so many more than that, and Natalia was quiet as he twisted the lid off the glass jar to reveal the first slip of paper…

           …adjusting his glasses before he read.

           “When… when you knew the music I always thought I kept so close to my heart and gave it the right name.”

           The piece of paper fell, and Natalia nibbled her lip.

           “When your dancing made me hear my heart beat for the first time.”

           He seized the third piece of paper with a swifter hand.

           “When you were brave… when you were the hero and it was an honor to simply hold your hand.”

           A sob escaped Natalia’s lips, and Rafael let the rest of the paper slips fall into a path that he used to make his way towards her, reading as he moved.

           “All the times you held me when I was scared. For giving me our girls who are just as beautiful as you. When… when you rescued me. Over and over again.”

           Kneeling at her feet with his hands on her legs, Rafael gazed into her eyes, and Natalia blinked back tears as she took his face in her hands.

           “Atticus…”

           “So many more reasons why I love you, mi hermosa flor,” he said. “Always know that. Even when I’m surly and mean and---”    

           “Wearing glasses,” she teased.

           “Even then.” Responding with a kiss, she pushed him back to the paper, their lips lingering around one another’s as she reached for his back and stroked his shirt, pulling it from the waistband in search of his skin. Kneading his flesh, she held him closer, fogging up his glasses as she kept kissing his face and seeing his smile when she broke away to breathe.

           “So you still fancy me, Atticus?” she asked.

           “Always,” he said.

           “Then believe this; there’s not enough ink in the world for me to write down all the ways that I love you.”

           “Natalia, you don’t---”

           “I’ve worried about you being lonely for so long. But it cuts both ways. I was lost until I had your heart. You’ve made… you make me so happy. And you never need to worry that I love you any less. Because I could never love you enough.”

           With that he peeled off the glasses so she could see his emerald orbs glistening with grateful tears. Pulling her close, Rafael kissed her like it was the first time, the last time, forever with no end in sight. Natalia felt him take her breath away again before she settled against his chest, massaging his sides until their eyes locked one more.

           “I’m still sorry that I was an ass,” he said, making her laugh.

           “I even loved you then,” she said cuddling closer. “And we have the whole weekend ahead to properly make up.”

           Helping her off the floor, Rafael gently carried her towards the bed and laid her down, reclining at her side and casting a quick glance at the platter.

           “Can we take all of our meals in here?” he asked.

           Now it was their honeymoon all over again, and Natalia giggled as she nuzzled his nose.

           “Reading my mind, Atticus,” she said.

           “Life is always so much sweeter when we’re in sync.”

           “Agreed,” Natalia said. “So let’s stay that way.”

           “It’s a deal,” he said, pulling off his clothes and starting to undress her as they slipped under the sheets to rediscover all the ways in which they would never be lonely again.

[hagsonline]

My Top 10 Songs (of all time)

in no particular order, a list to be updated “quarterly”

1 Cherry Coffee / Kelela

2 Fall Over / Banks

3 Swine (Live @ Swinefest) / Lady Gaga

4 Miss Amor  / Azealia Banks

5 Midnight / Lianne La Havas

6 Meet Me in the Pale Moonlight / Lana Del Rey

7 Kaleidoscope Dream / Miguel

8 Orange Blossom / Destiny

9 Same Ol Mistakes / Rihanna

0  Strange Weather / Tom Waits

In the Mix

Devotion / Want Your Feeling // Jessie Ware

Dark Red / Steve Lacy

Bank Head / Kelela

Tapes & Money / Stronger // Totally Enormous Extinct Dinosaurs

Sleep in the Park / Stillness is the Move / Locked in Closets/ Weary / Don’t You Wait // Solange

Abra 

Yayo (Original) - Lana Del Rey

Hourglass / Disclosure (feat. Lion Babe)

Dead and Lovely / Tom Waits

Must Be Something / Space and Time // The Pierces

Every Now and Then / Atticus / Sometimes // Noisettes

Inside My Love / Minnie Ripperton

[duaneodavila]

How To Get Your Portrait In The Trial Lawyer National Portrait Gallery

Trevor Goring (Photo by Toni Messina)

I was recently at a Miami conference of the National Association of Criminal Defense Attorneys (NACDL) when my mind (and body) wandered from the main conference room into one of the adjoining spaces set up for promoters to sell their wares.  Men and women in dark suits sat behind tables hawking everything from expert ballistics services to info on how to integrate social media and legal web sites.  Pretty much standard fare.

One table in the far corner stood out, as did the person who ran it.  Strewn with original art work and lithograph reproductions of famous lawyers throughout history and fronted by a man who looked more like Christopher Lloyd as “Doc” Brown from “Back to the Future” than a sales rep or lawyer, it immediately drew my attention.

The man was Trevor Goring, a slim-built, 70-something free spirit from Montreal.  He didn’t dress like a lawyer because he isn’t one, he is an artist — the creator of all the work displayed on the table and the founder of the “Trial Lawyer, National Portrait Gallery,” an online gallery of portraits (done by him) of lawyers he felt merited a place in what’s billed as “a virtual museum and education archive depicting Champions of Justice.”

London-born Goring started off as an iconoclast, running away from home at age 16 and hitchhiking his way to Turkey.  His mom’s advice, “Have a nice time, darling.” He ended up in Montreal in 1967 in time for the Expo and studied art at the Ecole Des Beaux Arts.  He was there at just the right moment, when social activism for everything from workers’ rights and environmental issues matched a boom in contemporary art.  He launched Montreal’s “Time Out” magazine and worked on other publications with famed artists like Bill Viola and Philip Glass.

He was having trouble dealing with the politics of art galleries and finding his own voice — a uniqueness that combined his interest in art with social activism – when he got an idea for a niche.

After studying artistic depictions relating to the law as far back as books on the Code of Hammurabi, Goring decided he wanted to show lawyers who, in their time, made a difference in the world.  He started with people like John Adams, Thurgood Marshall, and Clarence Darrow, and then expanded to lesser-known fighters for social justice like Clara Shortridge Foltz, the first female lawyer to practice on the U.S. Pacific coast and a single mother of five who led the movement for women’s voting rights.

His “National Portrait Gallery” has now become a Who’s Who of lawyers who’ve practiced over centuries. Some are fictional, like Atticus Finch from “To Kill a Mockingbird,” and the all-male jurors of “Twelve Angry Men,” but most are real-life attorneys who, throughout the years, have left their mark in the area of civil rights and criminal justice.

Although most lawyers pay to have their portraits done by Goring ($15,000 includes the original painting plus notecards, three lithograph prints, and a biography), Goring often takes on portrait subjects for free simply because they deserve the recognition – people like Earl Rogers, Rosa Parks, Bryan Stevenson.

Others include Enoch “Woody” Woodhouse, a member of the Tuskegee Airmen, a Boston trial lawyer, graduate of Yale, and recipient of the U.S. medal of honor, and, Arthur H. Bryant, chairman of Public Justice and known for his work fighting for consumer and workers’ rights as well as environmental protection and corporate and government accountability.

I interviewed Goring in his Montreal studio, a former printing factory in Montreal’s Mile X neighborhood.  The walls were covered with depictions of lawyers and scattered over tables were lithographs of notables such as Martin Luther King, F.L. Baily, Cicero, Melvin Belli, Robert Kennedy, and Sonia Sotomayor.  On his coffee table, in addition to books on art, sat Seattle lawyer Michael Withey’s book, “Summary Execution.”

“History has long had a tradition of artists with patrons who hired them to do portraits,” Goring said. “What better patron base than lawyers seeking social justice and upholding due process.”  To start the project, he reached out to Erin Brockovich lawyer Tom Girardi, who gave him $10,000 in seed money.

He noted how prior portraits of lawyers by artists like Honoree Daumier and William Hogarth lampooned the profession, depicting lawyers as thieves and scoundrels.  Goring wanted to push back against what he called “the constant denigration” of trial attorneys to portray them as people “who dedicate their lives to a fair and balanced justice system accessible to all.”

“I used to lie awake worrying about being cutting edge.  But the moment I started doing this, I felt totally liberated.  It took away all that angst about being a contemporary artist.”

His portraits clearly show the work of a skilled artist, a unique hand, and a commitment

to creating a legacy that honors lawyers who have made an impact (and anyone else who can afford the price tag).

Not a bad gift for the underappreciated lawyer in your life.

Toni Messina has tried over 100 cases and has been practicing criminal law and immigration since 1990. You can follow her on Twitter: @tonitamess.