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taffysannotatedsonichu · 6 years ago

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Sonichu 8 Page 64

PUNCHY: Hey Wild, isn’t Angelica just the cutest? :)

WILD: I guess so.

PUNCHY: You guess so?! She is simply the sweetest, charming Rosechu in the world! I fell for her back on the day we all met, but I’ve been too shy to ask her out, or even talk to her. I just don’t know what to do or say. I’m befuddled.

WILD: Well, I’ve heard the CWCville University is offering a dating education class; I’m going to sign up for it, because I’ve been feelin’ lonely, and I need to learn the whats and hows of approaching and dating a gal.

PUNCHY: Ah! Perfect! I will sign up for it too, then I’ll be able to ask Angelica out. Thanks, Wild, for informing me of that class.

WILD: No problem, Punchy.

As Angie flies off with the last ball, we cut to Wild and Punchy, who we haven’t even seen yet this episode. The plotline suggested in Sonichu 3, when the Chaotic Combo first met, finally gets rolling as Punchy declares his love for Angelica. The Chaotic Combo in Sonichu have long been maligned for being entirely useless, and, I mean, yeah, they are, so is everyone else, but they do serve as a supporting cast designed to add more drama to the story. This is true of a lot of shows - if they have a leading couple who is either already married or has a “will they or won’t they” that’s guaranteed to work out, then there’ll be what’s called a “Beta Couple”, occasionally more than one, who will be permitted a bit more uncertainty in their futures. A good example of this kind of setup would be The Simpsons, where Homer and Marge are already together and while they certainly have some ups and downs, you know they aren’t going to split up, so the romantic struggles are outsourced to minor characters, such as Edna Krabappel and Seymour Skinner or, following the death of his first wife Maude, Ned Flanders’s romantic foibles. Another example of this setup would the American The Office, where Jim and Pam (who aren’t a perfect example because they were always billed behind Michael and Dwight, but they were still the primary romantic subplot) were constantly teased in the early seasons and after getting together in season 4 basically had smooth romantic sailing for the rest of the show, while Dwight and Angela had a much more rocky road, including both of them getting together with other people, before eventually hooking up in the finale, and Ryan and Kelly had a similar arc. (Note though that in general, the primary goal of a Beta Couple is to foil the main couple’s relationship, and many shows and movies have their main couple be the one on the rocks and their Beta Couple be the the stable foil, for instance Monica and Chandler being the stable Beta Couple to Ross and Rachel on Friends.) So Chris gave all the romantic struggles to the Chaotic Combo, since Sonichu and Rosechu have even less temptations or arguments than most fictional couples (even Marge and Homer occasionally had a Jacques or a Mindy to throw them a curveball, and other episodes like “Secrets of a Successful Marriage” put their relationship under strain).

With Bubbles already taken by Blake, and Zelina and Lolisa already in their own committed relationships, Angelica is the only notable Rosechu introduced before this issue to be flying solo (no pun intended.) Sonichu 7 teases a Wild/Angelica/Punchy love triangle, because aside from (at the time) romantically aloof Magi-Chan those were the only major players without love lives. This is also the culmination of Punchy and Angelica’s intro being basically a “meet-cute”, five issues later they get around to their “will-they-or-won’t-they”. But Wild, despite Magi-Chan suggesting that he had a thing for Angie, doesn’t display any interest in her here. There could be a couple of reasons for this - it could well be that Chris forgot about that line and decided to just focus on Punchy & Angie, at it’s possible Chris by this point had decided upon Wild and Simonla’s star-crossed love, and decided not to have Wild even bother with Angelica. Next issue, after Chris had come across fan character Layla Flaaffy and decided to pair her up with Punchy, he very quickly backpedals on the Punchy/Angelica romance and introduces a new character to not leave Angie high and dry. Notably, by the end of Sonichu (at least at the end of what I’m going to somewhat sarcastically call the “classic run”, which is everything released before the great drought of 2010-2017) all five members of the Chaotic Combo end up dating outside of that group of five - Wild with Simonla, Bubbles with Blake, Punchy with Layla, Angelica with Reginald, and Magi with Silvana. I’m not exactly certain why this is. You’d think it would make sense that Wild and Bubbles would have hooked up, given that they’re usually the first listed of the Chaotic Combo, they’d make sense, narratively at least, as a couple. Speaking of, I still don’t get why of the two ladies of the Chaotic Combo, Chris chose to hook up Blake with Bubbles and not Angelica, as she’s an angel and he’s a devil, that would have made some metaphorical narrative sense.

The duo ends this page teasing Sonichu 9 - Wild says that he’s going to sign up for the Dating Education class that makes up the brunt of the plot in Episode 19 and suggests Punchy do the same. This sets them up for both falling out of love with Angelica and in love with Simonla and Layla respectively.

#Sonichu 8 #Spring Break 2008 #wild sonichu #punchy sonichu #angelica rosechu

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randoreviews · 4 years ago

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AT THE PORSCHE DEALERSHIP

The sleek bodies in the showroom. The steering wheels knitted in fine leather. The air conditioning. The Porsche dealership is on Route 1 here in Massachusetts, which I’ll tell you, Route 1 is one of those highway-ish stretches that has all sorts of big box businesses on it and, yeah, one of those zones that basically seems like hell on earth. (Let’s also not forget that people are trying to run you off the road the whole time because it’s Massachusetts... in the summer.) Once you get to the Porsche dealership, you’re surrounded by nothing but other Porsches. I won’t say it’s eerie, it’s more just like, wow, yeah, look at all these Porsches. Too sexy, too sexy. You walk in and it smells like the air-conditioned leather, verging on nothingness. I was there to get my car serviced, the annual, or yearly, appointment. But first, you can stop being jealous because it’s not even really my car. I mean of course it isn’t. It’s really my mom’s car because it was my dad’s car, and it was his wish that I have it. It was his mid-life crisis purchase. So really it’s my mom’s car. Once it was relayed to me that my uncle’s girlfriend’s son asked in awe what I did to have a car like that and they must have been a little stumped what to tell him. Like, yeah, I dunno, I don’t really think he does anything. I mean it’s just fuckin really hard to even get semi-coherent responses. You guys know how it is, right? You must. It’s all very embarrassing and frustrating. My new Indian neighbor asked in a very inquisitive tone the other day, in his Indian accent, whose car it was. I had to sheepishly explain it to him, from between our yards. I mean I mostly drive my mother’s old Volvo station wagon, which pretty much epitomizes my life. Not that I’m not grateful. The woman at the front desk, you could tell that she was over wearing the mask, but she had it on just enough. She seemed like one of those front desk ladies who says in perpetuity when you start to say something, “Just give me a fuckin second here,” while not looking at you. I mean I was wearing my dad’s old LL Bean hiking boots so maybe she thought I was a piece of shit, I dunno. Or maybe I’m just being insecure. But I got the nice t-shirt on, tucked in. I got the nice shorts with the nice, rustic belt. The Nike socks with the swooshes. That plain/classy, classy/plain look. (And just a lil sporty.) I had my nice little military watch on. Regardless, because it’s one of those high-end places they gotta start sucking your balls at some point. Like, they have to. It comes with the lemon water (pun intended). So sooner or later you’ll get your revenge. But then you see the repair bill and you realize what the whole setup is again. The prices make me want to faint. I mean I’m out here, can’t even make enough money to buy a candy bar. It’s tough. I sent all the info to my mom, or The Boss, as I sometimes refer to her, and she texted me, “It’s $800 to replace the horn?” With the blushing/eyes wide open emoji. Had to give her a call after that. It’s always just way easier calling. Okay, even the guy who got the car for me... he was a younger salesman guy, dressed like a professional but without a tie. Bit of an open collar. Hair gel but not too much. Looked like he worked on his tan. You’re starting to see the picture. One of the saleswomen tasked him to run out in the heat and get the car, after at first he pretended to be busy with something else. I’m pretty sure he must be their bitch but he seemed to have a little bit of a cocky swagger too when he walked by and said hi to me, when I was waiting in the weird little car-port for him to bring the car around. Maybe that’s a projection or something. When he brought the car around and parked it right in front of me, he seemed surprised to discover that it was my car. “Oh, this is your car?” (And, fuck, I swear he wasn’t wearing a mask! If memory serves.) Now maybe it was because the tag on the keychain may have had my mother’s name on it, since it really is her car, or again maybe he just didn’t respect me. It didn’t bother me too much though cuz I knew I could have stomped him out right then and there with my dad’s LL Bean boots. Not that I ever would have. But just knowing, that he and I both knew that. But here’s the part that absolutely killed me... just absolutely killed me... and I swear this is just how it happened: as if by magic, this older black gentleman appeared in his livery, with a mask on, and a little old-fashioned hat, to open the garage door for me. He politely waited next to the button with one hand behind his back. He had some nice gray hair coming out from underneath his hat, but nothing too unkempt, you understand. “Whenever you’re ready, sir,” he said with a little bow. Now the guy’s making money and working a job, fine, but I was... not... comfortable... with this. Had more than half a mind to say, No, let this bitch guy over here open the door for us and let’s you and me get the fuck out of here. But I didn’t. I bowed back at him, tried to sound as gracious as possible, retreated into the car and back out onto madcap Route 1, keeping the top up to hide my shame and block the sun.

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gibsonsflowofthoughts · 7 years ago

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The Complexity of Not Calling The Police While Black

Photo: iStock

The news has lately been inundated with examples of white folks (and even some non-white folks) doing the ultimate whitefolkin’ of calling the police for no reason on black folks who were doing nothing but existing and living their everyday lives. From Starbucks to walking in the park with our own children or trying to get home, if you’re black you’re a threat to societal peace and harmony. For many, I guess, calling the police is an entitlement due to the tax dollars being spent to hold up (no pun intended) the department. For others of us, though, it’s not that simple.

I honestly can’t remember ever calling the police on anybody. And it hasn’t always been because of the ever increasing database of proof we have of police interactions going wrong. For most of my life it’s been rooted in my deep distrust for the police in general. Sure, I like individuals who happen to be police officers, but I’m totally cool on the institution itself. I had to call the police (for insurance purposes) when my car was stolen from in front of my own home and them motherfuckers STILL found a way to try to blame it on me. I don’t even need to tell you how I feel, just know that NWA said it best.

Despite not calling them, that doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it. A lot. I live in a neighborhood that damn near BEGS for it sometimes. But I just can’t. I can’t...risk it. And I know I’m not the only person who feels that way.

But my neighbors have tested the entire fuck out of my patience at times. And especially now with kids, it creates a situation where some tax-payer funded interventions might help...but I just can’t.

I bought my house in 2012 in southest Washington, D.C. My neighborhood is in the city’s poorest section of the city, Ward 8. While it’s got its fair share of inner city issues—a 15-year-old Ballou High School student was murdered yesterday down the street from my house—it is also a very vibrant neighborhood. People are always outside and kids are running around, ringing my damn doorbell and running away. You know, normal innercity shit. On any given Saturday or Sunday morning during the summer, two of my neighbors pull out their speakers and blast either go-go or funk oldies and compete for who can be the loudest. Usually the vibrancy is not an issue. Usually.

But when it is? Le sigh.

All of my friends are familiar with my neighborhood’s notorious summertime rep for agitating the fuck out of me. I mostly laugh it off since I knew where I was moving and some of it is expected. But at times, my tolerance level peaks. For instance, before I had a fence built around my backyard, it was nothing to come home to find somebody else’s car parked in my private-property parking space. Always somebody visiting the same house. I’d usually go over and be like, “Yo...somebody’s in my space again, can you please have them move it?” There would be apologies and eventually the car would move. But there was a time when the person told me that they’d be out in a few minutes and literally never came back out. For hours. I went over a few times because I wanted to park MY car in MY spot that I pay for.

After like four hours, I realized they didn’t respect me, so fuck it; if they won’t move the shit because I’m politely asking, I’ll have it removed with force. But I opted against it. The potential negativity wasn’t worth it, right? I went through scenarios in my head about what might happen if I called the police and the eventual fallout it would create between me and my neighbors. I wasn’t in the wrong at all, and yet I had to consider what removing this car from MY space could cost me and them.

Or the time I came home and (my D.C. people will appreciate this), the Georgia Avenue CVS Picture Man was set up in MY parking space with his full backdrop setup, plugged into MY house, taking pictures for the backyard party going on across my alley. These folks were using my electricity in my space (again) without asking. Did I call the police? Nope. They weren’t doing any real harm aside from to my power bill. But that’s some super inconsiderate shit.

Like the joint funeral/graduation party that took place on a Saturday a few years back where there were two DJs, with a light show set up in the super-small-ass backyard space for a party that lasted from 2 p.m. until about 2 a.m. Mind you, this set up was directly behind my house, so the music might as well have been coming from my stereo. It was inescapable. Two DJs with a club level PA system blasting the dirty versions of every trap song you can imagine. My daughter was home and I couldn’t keep the profanity out of her ears.

I felt like it was extremely inconsiderate and downright disrespectful to be blasting profane music at 2 a.m. to the entire neighborhood, one with lots of kids. They were just partying, right?

But I can’t call the police no matter how put out I feel by super inconsiderate people. But sometimes, just sometimes, I think about the fact that I’m subtracting from my own peace, allowing other folks who clearly don’t give a fuck about me to make life worse for me and mine.

And I don’t know if I’m making the right choices. What I do know is that I’ll be faced with some facet of that same decision again this year. And next. I’ll never call the police unless an actual crime is taking place because I’ve conditioned myself to believe that nothing short of a felony rises to the occasion of making a call. I know I’m not alone in this.

Interesting article original source The Root

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