#Birmingham Michigan

[freshthoughts2020]

[tigerlilypurr]

Cup of tea at Mad Hatter bistro, bar and tea room in Birmingham.

[polgartreebirminghammi-blog]

Tree service Birmingham Michigan

Polgar Tree Surgeon Serves Oakland County and the following areas Jackson County Michigan Washtenaw County Oakland County Monroe County Macomb County Livingston County Lenawee County Hillsdale County Tree Trimming and Pruning: Proper pruning is essential to maintain the health and structure of your trees. Our pruning services are designed to remove damaged, diseased, or dead branches, promote growth, and improve the overall appearance of your trees. Tree Removal: Although we always aim to preserve the health and longevity of your trees, sometimes removal is the best course of action. Our team is equipped to handle all types of tree removals, including those that are hazardous or hard to reach. Tree Planting: Planting trees is an investment in the future of our environment. We can help you select the best tree species for your property and provide expert planting and care services to ensure their healthy growth. Tree Service https://maps.app.goo.gl/kSMfCfj6274MFQa67 How Does Tree Pruning Reduce Storm Damage Summer storms in the Michigan can run the gamut. Some years we get a lot of thunderstorms and strong winds and other years we get a bit less. Some areas of the country are hit harder than others, depending on their potential for wind storms. Sometimes there is hail and flooding that come along with gusty blows. There’s a tendency to be reactive when dealing with storm damage. The storm comes through and breaks some of your tree branches, splits your tree in half, or blows over a tree, and then you call Polgar Tree Surgeon & Removal LLC for emergency tree removal or maintenance. But being proactive is actually the better way to ‘make your trees storm-ready and reduce potential costly damage. Being storm-ready does not fully protect your trees from damage, but it does help prepare your trees for the various weather elements by performing regular and proper tree pruning. You can avoid many structural problems with trees by properly pruning them. This can be done by removing dead limbs; removing or reducing the size of branches with bad structures; cutting back long, heavy limbs; reducing the weight of trees that have decay; removing weight from the heavy side of a tree. While we never can fully predict what Mother Nature will bring, adequately preparing for summer storms can help protect homeowners in case this is one of those more extreme years. Let’s take a look at how tree trimming can assist in reducing costly storm damage on your property and what steps you can take now so your trees can stand stronger against storms when they come through. There are a number of warning signs to look for in your trees that may indicate some poor structures and possible safety hazards, particularly when strong gusts of wind come through and shake their foundations. How do you prepare a tree for a storm? Look for these signs of potential hazards that tell you that you need to take steps to secure them for storms Polgar Tree Surgeon

https://m.youtube.com/shorts/6xfs6ISA_4M

[starwarsminute]

Stunning transitional walk-out basement image with a beige floor, white walls, and a typical fireplace.

Anilhagem De Aves

[sortanonymous]

For any football fans who like good, not-sloppy offense, this UFL Panthers-Stallions game may as well have a NSFL warning. Not NSFW, but NSFL.

If you're a fan of defense, then it should shoot up to the front page of a certain website that the kiddos shouldn't be on.

[turnerlandin]

Ideas for a massive, timeless foyer renovation

[freshthoughts2020]

DAMN SHEED + 04' BRUISERS

[kiteparty]

Eclectic Family Room Detroit Game room - mid-sized eclectic open concept dark wood floor and brown floor game room idea with beige walls, no fireplace and a wall-mounted tv

[truthless-behind-the-curtain]

Wine Cellar Detroit Large idea for a transitional wine cellar with racks for storage

[imaginespazzi]

Alright it's time to bracket yap!

Spokane 1

First of all, I would like to once again reiterate that I called UCLA being the #1 overall seed and as much as the media wants to push the narrative that it wasn't deserved, it very much was and I've already explained why.

I think UCLA should come out of this bracket pretty unscathed, mainly because I just don't really see anyone who has the size to contain Betts but having said that if LSU is fully healthy (and can overcome both FSU and NC State) then, I think they would be the ones I would most expect to upset UCLA.

Upsets I see in this regions:

#5 Ole Miss over #4 Baylor - not really a major upset because it's just 4 over 5 but Baylor doesn't move me (I've barely watched them) and I think Coach Yo is pissed about not hosting and that'll reflect in their fire.

#6 FSU over #3 LSU and #2 NC State - so I didn't pick this in my main bracket but I did pick it in a couple of my "just for funsies" brackets because this absolutely could happen and it wouldn't shock me but I don't know if I necessary am fully committed to believing it will. I'm definitely rooting for it though!

#10 Harvard over #7 Michigan State - in Harmoni Turner I trust periodt.

Birmingham 2

Idk what SC or their coach is complaining about because jesus fucking christ if this isn't the easiest region and SC is gonna walk out of this with absolutely no issue. Maybe if a team gets really hot? But yeah I don't see how anyone but SC ends up winning this regions.

Upsets I see in this region:

#5 Alabama over #4 Maryland and #9 Indiana over #8 Utah - again not really "upsets" per say but I feel more confident about the lower-ranked teams in these matchups

#14 Oregon State over #3 UNC and #6 West Virginia - this is a vibes pick because I just really want Oregon State to make a run for it

#7 Vanderbilt over #2 Duke - listen I understand Duke made hell of a run in the ACC tournament and their defense is something wonderful but I'mma bet on Khamil Pierre and Mikaylah Blakes and their offense

Birmingham 3

So I was convinced that Texas would be the #4 overall and USC would be #3 but you know, in hindsght maybe don't lose to an unranked team Lindsey and you wouldn't be losing your damn mind feeling disrespect over being one spot lower than expected.

This is the bracket of death and is absolutely the hardest region to win and I expect it to be total mayhem if we're honest.

Upsets I see in this region:

#9 Creighton over #8 Illinois and then #1 Texas - call me insane, call me delusional but if Creighton gets hots from 3? They absolutely could beat Texas and their stagnant as hell offense.

#12 USF over #5 Tennessee and then #4 Ohio State - am I convinced this will happen? Not necessarily. But do I believe it could? Absolutely.

#6 Michigan over #3 Notre Dame - is this driven by hatred? Why yes, yes it is. But do I also fully believe this could happen because ND's defense can be tragic and if they make dumb decisions on offense which they have been Michigan could easily capitalize on it? Yes, yes I do.

Spokane 4

This region is made for TV basically. At least two of these potential matchups are ratings-driven (and also revenge-driven) and it's interesting because I don't know if both of them are going to happen. But I also think a USC-UConn matchup wasted in the Elite 8 from a TV perspective is also not the smartest choice but what do I know.

Upsets I see in this region:

#12 Fairfield over #5 K-State - based solely on the fact that I don't know what the hell is happening with Ayoka Lee

#6 Iowa vs #3 Oklahoma - I've barely watched Oklahoma this year but this just feels like an upset waiting to happen and I would like to get revenge on Iowa and Paige fucking hates Lucy Olsen

#10 South Dakota State over #7 Oklahoma State - South Dakota State has been here before, knows how to win here and I don't know much about Oklahoma State but I do know they're live and die by the three and I think this is gonna be a die situation

#4 Kentucky over #1 USC - so I don't necessarily have this one picked out on my main bracket either but I just think Georgia Amoore. That's all.

It's gonna be a fun March Madness you guys and like I always say, I want upset, I want chaos and I want UConn to win the damn thing :)

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Mr. and Mrs. Maxwell Fead of Birmingham, Michigan, pose with their bikes in front of their hotel, July 3, 1943. The Feads didn't let gas shortages ruin their vacation. Traveling by bicycle and boat, they made their way from Michigan to New York in a week and declared it one of their most enjoyable vacations. They planned to take a different route on the return trip to see another section of the country. The Feads used the bikes in New York for sightseeing.

Photo: Robert Kradin for the AP

[sl-newsie]

American Woman (Thomas Shelby x American OC) Ch. 69: Restructured

Masterlist: https://www.tumblr.com/sl-newsie/739551758747090944/american-woman-thomas-shelby-x-american-oc?source=share

The next day I begin drafting a resignation letter. Contract or no contract, I am not going to work for a fascist. I can find other ways to earn money. I will not stand by while Mosley treats people with such disrespect and dismantles the capitalist system my vader abides by. Thank God Thomas knows to leave me alone and has kept away from Watery Lane these past few days.

Liam is most displeased as well. He telephoned Abel and warned him, then phoned Conor in America. My frustrated broer left for the office an hour ago, leaving me some much-needed quiet.

Grr. Dílis growls when footsteps approach the door. Rr-raw-raw-ruh!

The canine jumps up and bounds over to the door, snapping at Thomas as he tries to get in.

“Bloody Hell!” He roars, surprised by the attack.

Should I let my dog misbehave or use my own bark to scare Thomas away? Both can suffice.

“Dílis! Halt! Komm.” The dog trots back to me and stops by where I’m sitting. “Zit. Bleib.” He lays down on the rug and watches me. “Braver hund.”

“That beast nearly had me!” Thomas snaps, staring between Dílis and me.

I give him a pointed stare. “Next time, knock.”

Thomas groans and pinches his forehead. “Linda is gone. Ben Founder is dead.”

Ben is- He’s gone? Oh, poor Ada. She must be so distraught. First Freddie and now him. But I don’t understand. What does Thomas want me to do? I made my side of the matter quite clear last night. I am not going to let anymore of this seep into my familie’s lives.

Thomas looks up when he’s done waiting for a response. “Are you going to stop talking to me again?”

His exasperated tone makes me slam my book shut. “I never signed up to work for a fascist. Or a racist. Or in a business involving opium. Your actions are going against everything I believe in! What my family believes in!” I stand up and point right at him. “I will also mention that I will be informing Uncle Colon of your new friend. He will not like it one bit.”

Thomas sets down his cap and strides over to corner me in my chair. “I’m not making an alliance with that bastard. I’m spying on him, Verena. I don’t believe in any of those things. Sometimes you need to earn the trust of your enemies so when they turn their backs on you, you'll get the chance to drive a knife in.” His icy blue eyes shift in all directions, as if to convince me through a staring contest. He finally blinks and picks up his hat. “Hop to it. There’s a family meeting in one hour.”

“Wait,” I call before he gets too far, stopping him in his tracks but still facing away. “If this is the route the company is taking then I am not going to be a part of it. I’m going to make a life for myself back home. In Michigan.”

Thomas still refuses to look at me. “Alright. So you’re finally leaving the Peaky Blinders.”

No more holding back. “I want a married life, Thomas. I haven’t had one. And all the women I know say they wouldn’t give it up for anything.” Except Lizzie. “I want a family life. I want a child. And I’m tired of looking in all the wrong places.”

Places like Birmingham. It’s dreary, industrial neighborhoods of slums offer no promise of what a normal life is supposed to be. Instead of fresh air and sunshine it gives ash-filled skies and chilling rain. Somehow I grew a soft spot for this place; maybe because of how it reminds me of home.

Another soft spot that refuses to leave is my conflicting emotions for Thomas. He tries so hard to find the best solution when he comes out on top, even if it means facing danger by associating with Nazis. After all I’ve tried to tell him he still isn’t satisfied until he’s checked off every box. Right now he pulls on a straight face but it makes me wonder if he’s going to spiral down again just like last time.

I change to a calmer tone. “I’ve told you before that faith grows strongest during times of trial. Fear is the biggest enemy to faith. No matter what happens once I’m gone, don’t feel afraid.”

Thomas’ figure tenses and he whips around to stare at me. “How the bloody Hell am I supposed to have faith now?”

“I cannot decide for you. Believe God’s truth. Look past the circumstances and see what you’re already blessed with, Thomas. You have two beautiful children. If you cannot find faith for yourself, have faith for them.”

He stays quiet, gaping at me as I walk to the closet and grab my coat. Meeting you has changed me forever. My life will never be the same. It’s too late to ignore it. I love you. You’ve taught me to not always play by the rules of someone else's game. But now I need to trust my instincts and forget. I'm setting my own rules now.

“One more family meeting,” I decide as I slip it on and adjust a hat over my two braids. “I shall use the occasion to say my goodbyes.”

I hear Thomas grunt. “Michael and Gina are coming too.”

“Good. One American being replaced by another.”

We get to the door but Thomas holds it before I can walk through. “No one can ever replace you, Verena.”

We drive to the Garrison in silence. When we walk in I see we’re the last to arrive. The gang’s all here. Arthur, Polly, Finn, Michael, and Gina all wait at a table. Aberama sits at the counter while Jerimiah. Uncle Charlie, Johnny Doggs, and Curly step aside to let Thomas pass. The one who isn’t here is Ada. I don’t blame her in the slightest.

“Zit, Dílis,” I order. The hond obeys and takes a spot next to Polly.

While Thomas heads to the table I slip into the back room and pick up the telephone. After a few rings I hear Ada pick up.

“Verena?”

Lord, she sounds exhausted. “It’s me, Ada. How’s the baby?”

There’s the sound of her breath shaking. “I-I’m fine.”

“Ada. I am so sorry. I just heard.”

“I- I didn’t fully love him. But I liked him. Now he’s gone…” Ada trails off and sighs. “Get out of our lives, Verena. Get out while you still can. Before we fuck up your life too.”

Too late.

“Funny you should say that. I… I’m considering resignation.”

There’s a pause over the phone. “I’ll miss you. Maybe I’ll come visit once things calm down.”

If only she were here in person. “You are always welcome, Ada. I’m afraid I have to go now. 'Family meeting,' you know.”

“Good luck.”

Click.

Ada hangs up without a formal goodbye. I don’t know how she’s putting up with this. At least she has Karl and a child on the way to keep her busy.

“…He and Polly are to be married in three weeks with my blessing. From now on he will be welcome at our meetings.”

Thomas must be talking about Mr. Gold. I hang up the phone and rejoin the group, taking the liberty to pour a small whiskey. Most everyone keeps watching Thomas but in the corner of my eye I see Gina watching me. 

“First item of business: bereavement. Colonel Ben Younger, who might have become a member of this family, was taken from us by dark forces. We’ve made some investigations. We think we know who planted the bomb. In the meantime, our thoughts are with Ada. Hopefully her new baby will sit here in the future, but under happier circumstances.”

I clutch my glass tighter and lock eyes with Polly. We’re both thinking the same thing.  Jesus, Thomas. Another heir to your line of gangsters. You see how Finn’s become. Why must you pull Ada’s children into this as well?

“Let’s drink to happier circumstances,” Polly mutters as she pours another whiskey.

“To Ada!” Arthur cheers.

“To Ada!” We all chorus and sip our drinks.

Thomas coughs and continues on. “Item number two. An announcement regarding Michael.”

The man clears his throat to interrupt him. Here we go. “Before you go on, Tommy, there’s something I’d like to say. About finances. According to your estimations, the delivery and shipment of opium will bring in around 2 million pounds per year. Therefore, I think this company should be restructured.”

Of course he’d suggest that. Restructured. What a nice way of rewording.

“Michael,” Polly speaks up. “I think this can wait ‘til outside the family meeting.”

Even his own moeder  doesn’t agree.

Thomas keeps his eyes focused on Michael. “Restructured in what way?”

Gina answers for him. “Because of the money involved, shipment will be the primary source of income to the company. It’s simple mathematics.”

Michael stands up and goes to stand protectively behind her. “With the help of my wife, I will organize expansion into America, into narcotics. I have good contacts in Detroit, Boston, New York, who I’ve already spoken to. The narcotics business will ring in twenty million dollars per annum. Enough for you all to enjoy an easing of the burden you all now feel.”

Everyone’s looking at him the same way I feel. They had this planned from the beginning. Waiting for when we were put down so they could step in with their restructuring. Pitching an idea that, frankly, suggests retirement. It sounds that Michael does agree with those who say Thomas Shelby is an old force.

Michael looks around the room. “Tommy, you can do the good work you always wanted to do. Mum, you can get married and live in that big house. Arthur, you can be the man Linda wants you to be.”

Arthur isn’t bought. “Fuck Linda.”

Michael keeps going and walks over to us. “Finn, you’ve proven yourself. You’re part of the new generation. You could come to New York with me.”

Finn shifts his glance to me and I slowly shake my head. Michael catches on and decides to focus on me.

“You too, Verena. Don’t you miss your own family? Tired of having to come back here?”

He is not going to string me into this. Everyone here knows of my loyalty to this company and I am not going to let an arrogant wannabe narcotics salesman influence me.

My stare stays cold and still. “No. I decide for myself.”

While we stay in silence, Gina, with her eyes still locked on Thomas, lazily hands Michael a black folder. He takes it and throws it on the table in front of them.

“Here is my proposal. A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director… You can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. You will be registered as Mr. Jones. You will each receive a share of the profits. None of you will have to engage in the associated activities.” 

My jaw drops. That slimy git! First he insults us by bringing up restructuring. Now he pulls out an entire plan that erases the Shelby name altogether!

He picks up the file again and holds it out to Thomas. “Take a look at the future, Tommy.”

Thomas eyes the folder and takes it. “It’s cold in here, Michael.”

He turns away and throws the folder straight into the fireplace, causing it to go up in flames. Johnny starts laughing and I breathe a sigh of relief. Thank God!

Michael starts objecting. “The Americans want to deal with me-!”

“Tell him the truth,” Gina interrupts cockily. “Go on. He can take it.”

Michael goes silent and looks to the floor. Oh, so now he’s hesitant to speak?

“Tell me the truth, Michael,” Thomas taunts him.

He slowly looks up. “The Americans don’t want to deal with an old-fashioned backstreet razor gang. Those days are done.”

Thud!

Suddenly Liam and a few more men barge in and start ranting about an escaped man. Arthur and the others rush out to help, leaving Michael, Gina, Polly, and me. Alright, where did this mess about Americans refusing business come from? The people I talk to are happy for a partnership! The depression is causing everyone to sink and no one is going to care who runs the show as long as they get their money.

“I’m doing this for you, Tommy,” Michael quips as Thomas leans against the fireplace. “It’s time. And you know it. Mum’s leaving, John’s dead, Arthur needs help, Verena just got stabbed, Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up-”

Thomas pulls a glass from a table and throws it into the fire. Raging, he spins around and faces the knife Michael’s holding. Oh God. Gina freezes in her chair and I jump up to grab my gun.

Rr-raw-raw-ruh! Dílis lets out a fierce growl and bares his teeth at Michael.

“Go on, Tom,” he jibes. “Cut me. Like the good old days. Or, see this for what it really is.”

Thomas smacks his lips and squints at him. “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back.” He points at Gina. “You. You tell your family-”

“Let me guess,” she drones, staring at the ceiling. “Don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders.”

“Damn straight,” I bark, still holding my pistol.

Gina scoffs. “Shut the fuck up. You have no right to say anything-”

Thump!

Thomas pounds a fist on the table. “Verena is far more of a member of this family than you will ever be.”

Gina tilts her head at him. “If you love her so much why don’t you knock her up too?”

Thomas stiffens and balls his hands into fists, glaring at her like he’s about to strangle her. That was too far. For both of us. Even if Thomas does somehow love me he would never do something that sinful to me. Gina has rendered him furiously speechless.

I step closer and speak for both of us. “Shut the Hell up before I do something regretful.”

Gina raises an eyebrow. “Like what? Like selling your whole soul to this company? Losing one of your own siblings to this-?”

“Like putting a bullet through your fucking head,” I snarl, feeling my own blood boil. “Dílis. Fass!”

The canine bounds forward and snaps at her and Michael. Polly’s startled but doesn’t tell me to stop him. Dílis tears a shred of Gina’s skirt and backs Michael into a chair.

“Ah! Get off me, bloody Hellhound!” He shrieks and snivels.

“Halt.”

The dog stops attacking but still growls at the shaken man. He trots back to me as I readjust my coat and begin walking out.

“Thank you, Dílis. Braver hund. Braver hund.”

“Verena!” Thomas calls after me when he walks through the door. “Are you alright-?”

“Not the first time I’ve dealt with a bully,” I assure him with a nod. “No hard feelings.”

He reaches out and squeezes my hand. “Go back to the house. You’ll be safe there. We’ll fill you in later.”

In the distance I see Liam’s blonde hair stand out in the group of men leading away from the Garrison. “Will Liam be safe?”

Thomas nods. “You both will be safe. I’m not letting him get involved in anything he doesn’t want to.”

That does not mean Liam won’t jump at the chance for it. I know my broer. If there’s any danger around he will be drawn to it. But I cannot control his decisions, same as how he has stayed silent about mine.

Tonight brings pouring rain. Even the sky is unsettled now. I wait until dark and phone Polly to ask if she’s available for dinner.

“I’m afraid I can’t, Verena. My head’s too full to think. I’m going to take a warm bath and try to forget today’s rivalry.”

She’s being pulled from both sides. Both as a moeder and as a member of this company. Anyone can see that Michael is trying to cut us out and she can only allow so much leeway.

“Polly-” 

“I’m through with it. I am not going to watch them kill each other.” The phone shuffles around and she says: “You’re still ignoring my palm reading. Ada told me you’re leaving.”

I groan and hang my head. “I’m sorry, Polly. But I’m not going to let that choose for me. You heard what Mosley is planning on. How can you stand by and watch that happen?”

“Because I trust Tommy. You do too.”

“Not as deep as you may think,” I stress. “How do we know if whatever idea he has is going to work-?” I spot Dílis watching me next to the parlor table, wagging his tail and threatening to knock off a hand mirror. “Um- I gotta go, Polly! See you later!”

Click.

I hurry across the room just as the dog’s tail sends the mirror crashing to the ground, shattering it over the carpet

“Dílis- no! Nein!” I groan and collapse onto the sofa. Dílis lets out a whine and jumps up next to me, oblivious to the mess. “Perfect. A broken mirror. It will mean bad luck, I’m sure of it.”

“Forget about it.” Dílis and I look up to see Thomas step in from the back door. “I hope you don’t mind some company for dinner.”

“Not at all,” I answer and look back at the floor. “Don’t you believe that mirrors can trap souls? I’ve been told that some people cover their mirrors at night because they act as passageways for spirits. Or could you not fight your ego and not look at yourself for that long?”

Thomas strides over with a cloth and begins clearing away the shards. “I never took you for a woman to believe in those kinds of spirits.”

I smirk. “Says the Gypsy man who uses superstition instead of religion. I haven’t seen a spirit but that doesn't mean they don’t exist.”

We both clean up the mess and end up eating leftover stew. Dílis seats himself under the table and the house goes quiet. The only noise is the splattering of rain on the windows. Thomas and I are thinking the same thing. We don’t want to talk. He needs a quiet meal with someone around who he knows isn’t going to deceive him. 

“I’m assuming there’s a plan?” I ask out of the blue.

Thomas finishes his food and scratches Dílis’ ears. “Yes. The final preparations are being made. Tomorrow we will win, if our prayers are answered.”

He talks of praying now. Did he add that to sound hopeful or as a last resort?

“Would you sell your privilege of prayer?” I ponder. “Do you only pray when you need to extract something from God?”

The tired gangster leans over the table. “Well… As you said, I’m a Gypsy man who uses superstition instead of religion. You keep trying to save me but I’ve already seen things that tell me I’m cursed to keep going. My privilege of prayer is not something I use often, but no. I would not sell it. Between you and Polly I’ve noticed that something of a grand magnitude like that should be kept.” He pushes his chair in and grabs his hat.

I watch him walk slowly to the door. “You did learn something after all. Maybe my time here has not been a complete waste.”

Thomas turns around one last time. “You can’t save me. But you can save yourself from this place. I’ll miss you when you’re gone, love.”

‘I’ll miss you.’ He finally admits it. If only he wouldn’t have dug himself so deep into politics.

@sherbitdibdab @meadows5

[sprunkimortality]

Hmm.. Do any of the Sprunki's have accents? Other than Tunner who has a Western accent (canon in fandom)

Oren - American accent (New York) Raddy - American accent (Old Southern) Clukr - mild German accent Fun Bot - American accent (Florida) Vineria - American accent (California)

Gray - mild Korean accent Brud - British accent (Cockney) Garnold - American accent (Florida) OWAKCX - American accent (Old Southern) Sky - American accent (Texas) ← much milder than Tunner's, but he definitely got it from him

Mr. Sun - Canadian accent Durple - usually speaks in an exaggerated British accent, shifts into a Filipino accent when upset Mr. Tree - Moroccan accent Simon - American accent (Midwestern) Tunner - American accent (Texas)

Mr. Fun Computer - strange mix of American and German, chopped up to sound like an UTAUloid Wenda - American accent (Michigan) Pinki - very mild American accent (Midwestern) Jevin - mild Punjabi accent Black - British accent (Birmingham)

Saves - Filipino accent Ciqu - American accent (New Orleans) with extra pressure and rigidness Sprinkles - British accent Calvin - mild Indian accent

[goldenpinof]

direct ticket links

(because danandphiltour.com inconveniently doesn't open each link in a separate tab and removes links from "sold out" shows that can and still do have tickets available)

Europe (September 2024):

Antwerp, Belgium

Copenhagen, Denmark

Berlin, Germany

Warsaw, Poland

Frankfurt, Germany (Eventim and venue. venue has better seats available)

Stockholm, Sweden

Oslo, Norway (refresh or switch languages at the bottom of the page if it shows error)

Helsinki, Finland

USA/Canada (October-November 2024):

Seattle, Washington

Seattle, Washington

Portland, Oregon

Vancouver, Canada

Oakland, California

Phoenix, Arizona

San Diego, California

Los Angeles, California

Salt Lake City, Utah

Denver, Colorado

Kansas City, Missouri

Grand Prairie, Texas*

Austin, Texas

St. Louis, Missouri*

Detroit, Michigan

Akron, Ohio

Indianapolis, Indiana

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Minneapolis, Minnesota

Chicago, Illinois

Toronto, Canada

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

New York City, New York

Tysons, Virginia*

Tysons, Virginia*

Atlanta, Georgia

Tampa, Florida

Orlando, Florida

Fort Lauderdale, Florida

Durham, North Carolina

Nashville, Tennessee

Boston, Massachusetts

Reading, Pennsylvania

Red Bank, New Jersey

*Grand Prairie - near Dallas, Tysons - near Washington DC, St. Louis - near Chesterfield

Australia/New Zealand (December 2024):

Brisbane, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Sydney, Australia

Perth, Australia

Melbourne, Australia

Adelaide, Australia

Auckland, New Zealand

UK + Europe (January-February 2025):

Birmingham, UK

Cardiff, UK

Cardiff, UK

Plymouth, UK

Brighton, UK

Brighton, UK

Birmingham, UK

London, UK

London, UK

London, UK (matinee)

London, UK

Newcastle, UK

Manchester, UK

Manchester, UK

Dublin, Ireland

Belfast, UK (venue and ticketmaster)

Glasgow, UK

Glasgow, UK

Amsterdam, Netherlands

Reykjavík, Iceland

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Glorious 1838 manor in Birmingham, Michigan has been completely remodeled and given some interesting touches. 4bds, 8ba, $3,999,900.

It has the original side hall entrance- the wainscoting and woodwork have been painted white to brighten and freshen it up.

The formal living room is lovely and has a pretty fireplace. It's open and airy.

Love the dining room. It looks like it's in a conservatory and also has a fireplace.

But, this home has 2 sun rooms. They use this one as an informal dining room.

This is actually the sitting room off the main hall, but they have it set up as an office, so that it's convenient if they have clients coming here.

This is actually the formal dining room. I wouldn't use both sunrooms as dining rooms, though.

This sunporch is being used as an office.

The kitchen is spacious and cute. Love the sink and the checkered tile- that's different.

The kitchen eating area. Looks like they may have opened up the old pantry.

Huge family room.

Love the large, light-filled primary bedroom.

Brand new bath. The bunny wallpaper is one of my favorites and it's very expensive- notice how much of they used in here.

Love this blue striped paper. Wouldn't change a thing.

And, this beautiful room mirrors the primary. Lovely.

Note that when you've got money, the expensive animal wallpaper multiplies. This is gorgeous.

The 4 bedrooms are all beautiful and all 8 baths are new. Love the sink in this one, plus a vintage tub.

Now, here we have a family room w/steps down to a basketball court.

And, what good is a basketball court w/o an industrial style water fountain just like school?

There's also a half bath.

Grand hang out space.

Alongside the court is a home gym.

You can't really see the property b/c of the snow, but it has an inground pool, decks, patios, etc. and measures 2.38 acres.

[gorgeousundertow]

@riddlersboyfriend Hi Luke, it's your summer exchange fic!! xoxoxoxo

Don't give it a hand, offer it a soul

Cross-posting on A03 since it's, ya know, long.

First Battalion

CO: Lt Col. Billy Turner. West Point. Demands fawning attention. Shouts. 3/10.

Charlie Company

Capt. Albert Hassenzahl. 

From Cincinnati, Ohio. Worked in steel mill.

27 years old

Sometimes brash or impetuous, leading to friction within the unit. 

Sufficient. 6/10

Sgt. Roy Speake Jr.

From Birmingham, Alabama. Foreman in cotton mill. 

30 years old, yet willing to take orders from younger men.

7/10

Sgt. Mariano Sanchez. 

From El Paso, Texas. Family owned a small grocery.

28 years old, difficulty conforming to protocol. Falls behind on runs.

5/10

T/5 John Davis. 

From Detroit, Michigan. Janitor.

20 years old, works hard but talks too much. 

6/10

Cpl. Harvey White. 

From a small town in rural Kansas, farmer. 

Age: 19. Inept and unreliable. Poor aim, shirks duties. But could improve if properly motivated.

4/10

Pfc. Paul Devoe. 

From New Orleans, Louisiana. Line cook. 

Age: 24. Charismatic and optimistic. Keeps spirits up, though impulsivity is an issue.

7/10

Schedule

0600 Reveille                                                                        

0610 Formation                                              

0630 Tidy barracks                                                    

0700 Calisthenics     

0800 Wash up                                                                      

0900 Barracks Inspection                                                   

0930 Currahee or obstacle course                       

1045 PT drills                              

1115 Outside lecture                                                           

​1200 Lunch                                  

1330 Mail Call                

1345 Lecture/Classroom 

1500 Parachute training                       

1700 Drill

1800 Supper

1900 Lecture/Classroom

2100 Return to barracks            

2300 TAPS

Notes September 1942

Dislike Lt. Col. Turner intensely.

Training is more difficult than anticipated.

Seems that what was true in Boston remains true here. Cannot seem to join conversations with the other men, continue to make them uncomfortable. Thought it would be different here than it was back home.

Notes October 1942

Lt. Col Turner is incompetent, stupid, and worthless.

Perhaps other companies have it better; consider orchestrating a change? Investigate.

Notes November 1942

Chose E Company, 2nd Platoon at random, for observation.

Capt. Herbert Sobel

From Chicago, Illinois. Attending University of Illinois.

30 years old

Would be a close friend of Lt. Col. Turner.

2/10

1/Lt. Richard Winters

From Lancaster, Pennsylvania

26 years old, effective. Has the respect of his men. Commands from the front.

8/10

Sgt. Carwood Lipton

From Huntington, West Virginia. Worked in mother’s boarding house.

22 years old, quiet. And yet the men listen.

8/10

Cpl. Donald Hoobler

From Manchester, Ohio, three siblings, joined National Guard.

Age: 20. Young, but works hard.

6/10

Pfc. Joseph Liebgott

Born in Michigan, moved to San Francisco

Age: 27. Cab driver. Speaks German. Easily angered, needs focus.

7/10

Pvt. David Webster

From New York City. Harvard grad. Writer

Age: 20. Lazy, whiny, as bad at talking to others as I am, in a different way.

5/10

Will continue to observe

Notes December 1942

Col. Sink insisted we march 118 miles, from Toccoa to Atlanta. It snowed. It served no function but to boost the egos of men who did not march alongside us.

Companies became disorderly, and by the end we were not marching in our own battalions. As such, I was marching mostly with E Company.

I spoke with Winters, as he was willing to speak with me. For some reason, he does not seem put off by me as others are–perhaps that is because, apart from Lt. Lewis Nixon III of Nixon, NJ, of HQ Company, no one wants to talk to him, either. Nixon certainly does; he made his way all the way over to E Company from the very beginning of the march, and stayed there, right at Winters’ side. By that token, I spoke with Nixon, as well. The march was miserable, but I believe I enjoyed it more than I have enjoyed any other time here.

We did not talk about much of anything of consequence–Nixon ensured that. I think the man is incapable of serious conversation. You would think someone as thoughtful as Winters would dislike him for that, but clearly he does not. It is odd. They are odd.

I observed the other members of E Company as we marched. They are a tight-knit group, more so than C Company by far. It is not because of their CO, that’s certain; he does everything he can to drive them apart, and clearly loathes Winters. 

Winters does what he can, but his resources are limited serving under a tyrant, an experience I can sympathize with. In truth, it is the NCOs that hold the Company together. To a man, they work tirelessly to keep spirits up, assisting those who are exhausted, making sure they eat and drink and sleep when they can.

Sgt. Lipton in particular has an interesting way about him. He doesn’t lead like the others, shouting at them to haul ass like Sgts. Guarnere and Martin do, in the time-honored tradition of NCOs. He gives orders, but he does so in a way that is almost friendly. I can’t wrap my head around it.

Notes January 1943

Continuing to observe Sgt. Lipton. 

Pvt. Webster is improving, partly because of Sgt. Lipton. (It seems that Pfc. Liebgott has an influence as well, though I can’t fully understand it. To a casual observer–which I do not believe I am–Liebgott bullies him, but in such a way that it almost seems affectionate. It is puzzling). Sgt. Lipton’s approach is different. He encourages Webster (and others, I do not mean to suggest that his efforts are limited to one man–he supports the entire Platoon. Hell, the entire Company) in subtle ways, walking with him to help him keep the pace up, but letting Webster think it’s because he really wants to hear him talk about Impressionist painters or Romantic poets. Perhaps he does. It is difficult to tell; he seems so genuinely engaged.

Capt. Sobel chewed him out for an imaginary offense (a not unusual occurrence in Easy Company) and Sgt. Lipton accepted it with stoicism. But when Sobel turned his back, Sgt. Lipton smirked. He rolled his eyes. There is steel in him.

Notes February 1943

Went for a run with Winters this morning, came across Sgt. Lipton. Winters invited him to join us. Winters runs like a maniac; running with him allows me to push myself, now that we are now longer running Currahee. I expected Sgt. Lipton to decline, particularly given my presence–no NCO has ever wanted to socialize with me–but he did not. He kept pace with Winters easily. He runs very well.

When we finished, we headed for the showers before Reveille, and Sgt. Lipton grabbed towels for each of us, even though it was unnecessary.

Notes March 1943

Have continued to run with Winters every morning. We have not encountered Sgt. Lipton again.

Notes June 1943

Have ceased running with Winters, as it’s too hot and I have concluded that Winters is a lunatic. We have plenty of PT; there’s no need to add on more. I don’t know why I bothered.

Notes August 1943

Couldn’t sleep, as usual. Went out walking through Fort Benning, found myself by the NCO barracks. Stood and smoked for a while. Went back to bed.

Notes September 1943

The S.S. Samaria is miserable. Am crammed into a cabin with Winters, Nixon, Lt. Harry Welsh, Lt. Heyliger, Lt. Roush, and Lt. Meehan from Baker Company. We have to wear life jackets at all times, and Nixon won’t stop talking about how the Titanic didn’t have enough lifeboats, and the Samaria definitely doesn’t.

Sleep is impossible, so have taken to walking the deck at night. Came across Sgt. Lipton, offered him a cigarette even though I know he doesn’t smoke. He described the racks the enlisted men have, and I decided to shut up about my sleeping situation. 

He was there the next night, and the next. He didn’t seem to mind my smoking. If he wasn’t on deck in the same place, I would have left him alone–I wouldn’t have gone looking for him. But he was always there, as if he was waiting for me. He didn’t say much, though neither did I, I suppose. We just looked out at the black sea.

Notes November 1943

Sgt. Lipton–and the other Sgts from Easy Company, I suppose–have mutinied on Winters’ behalf. It was brave. It was the right thing to do. It could force Sink’s hand, push him to realize how incompetent Sobel is. (We should try it in First Battalion). 

But I don’t know what’s going to happen to them. To him.

Notes December 1943

It’s all right. Two Sgts. were punished, neither of them were him.

It is clear that my interest in Easy Company is not beneficial, and no longer necessary. I am not gaining anything. I should not be more informed on the goings on in a Company that isn’t my own–that isn’t even in my Battalion. I’m going to stop taking notes altogether, anyway–loose lips and all.

Notes May 1944

Have been transferred to Dog Company. If I see Lt. Col. Turner in combat, I’ll kill him.

This is all pointless, anyway. In all likelihood, I am going to die. We are all going to die. Even…even he is going to die.

Notes June 1944

Sgt. Lipton was injured at Carentan, I do not know how badly.

I was also injured. I will recover. 

There were some incidents at Normandy. I shot an NCO; he was drunk and endangering the men. I shot six POWs. They were my first kills. I have killed more, since.

The looks men gave me, before we came, as if they weren’t sure what I was capable of. 

They know, now. I know, too.

Notes July 1944

Sgt. Lipton was wounded in the groin and on the face. He is in the hospital here in Aldbourne, recovering. He is several beds down from me. He receives visitors throughout the day.

Now that he is up and about, he comes to say hello sometimes, as I am not yet able to walk. He does not avoid me, as the other men do. 

He ought to; it would be better if he did. It’s useful that they fear me. It will make me a better leader.

Notes August 1944

Have been transferred to HQ Company, working alongside Nixon. It’s for the best.

Notes December 1944

Have been transferred back to Dog Company, as they are short on officers. We will be needed, I am told, for what’s coming in Belgium.

Notes January 1945

I couldn’t stop watching 1st Sgt. Lipton. With Winters leading the battalion and Lt. Dike as the empty shirt they’ve put in his place, Lipton has been the Company together. He is exhausted–we all are, of course, but it hurts somehow to see it on him. His eyes are shadowed, I could see it even from a distance. I patrolled the lines of Dog Company often, to catch a glimpse of him. I insisted that our medics share supplies, food. I wanted him to eat. To be safe. I was at the edge of the line when German artillery rained down, and I swear I heard him laughing. It was beautiful.

I would have gone across that field at Foy even if Winters hadn’t sent me. Someone had to go, and I was glad it was me. It was the easiest decision I ever made–it wasn’t even a decision, my feet were going before I even had the thought, as soon as they had Winters’ permission to do so. 

And now, I’m in command of Easy Company. It feels…right. Like I should have been with them all along. I know these men. I know what they need.

I knew what 1st Sgt. Lipton needed–he needed to know that someone had watched him, had seen what he had done. Had seen the man he is. And so I told him, in a church, while a choir of girls sang in golden light. It was…a risk, because letting him know that allowed him to see me, as well. To an extent. 

He still does not seem frightened of me. If anything, he seems a little amused. I don’t know what to make of it, exactly. But I don’t dislike it.

Notes February 1945

I’ve been promoted to Captain. One would think this would be welcome, but it is not. I couldn’t stop thinking of the men who have died, while I’m still here. I tried getting drunk–it’s what everyone else does, Nixon, Welsh, all of them. I’ve never really seen the point, but last night I thought, what the hell, it’s worth a shot.

I’m sharing quarters with 1st. Sgt. Lipton (he should be Lt. Lipton, but it hasn’t come through yet. Promotion won’t ruin him as it has me). I stumbled there, and I was…I couldn’t…I wasn’t as in control of myself as I would have liked to be. 

In truth, I wasn’t anything close to control. I came into the tent so drunk I couldn’t see straight, and I was crying. I hadn’t cried before, not once in the entire war. Not with all the deaths. Not for the men who died or the men I killed. But I cried when I got my fucking captaincy. 

Lipton was in bed, and I sat down on his cot. Aren’t you supposed to forget things that happen when you’re drunk? Why do I remember all of this? 

I remember I tried to kiss him. At least, I think that’s what happened. It is a little fuzzy. All I know is that I was sitting there on his cot and he was in bed, lying down and listening to me, and then I was half on top of him. I think I remember my mouth on his…fuck, you’d think if I’d gone and done something so colossally stupid I would have the decency to be sure about it. You’d think it would be seared into my brain, something I could go back to sometimes, in the privacy of my own thoughts. But there’s nothing, really. Just a vague sense of closeness, of Lipton, right there.

I got to my own bed, somehow. He must have put me there–by that point, I was too drunk to know my own name. And in the morning he greeted me with his usual smile and a cup of extra strong coffee. As though nothing at all had happened. So I guess nothing did.

Notes February 1945

Lipton is sick. He’s been sick for a week or so, but he’s getting worse. It won’t stop. He won’t stop–just keeps acting like he’s fine, even though his fever is running so hot Doc Roe keeps trying to get him off the line. It’s pneumonia, and we’re out here in the cold, and he still won’t go. I’m so furious with him I don’t know what to do. 

I can’t watch over him every minute, so I’ve put Luz on him. Luz has the right approach–firm, but with a smile. Lipton doesn’t respond to direct orders; I’ve tried that.

He remains infuriatingly competent, even when he coughs so hard I worry he’s going to drop a lung on my jump boots. Easy is running on fumes, and yet Lipton has it as organized as can be. And I can’t help coming to him for advice, to discuss options, even when he should be resting–because his advice is invaluable to me.

This town, Hagenau, has been blown to pieces. Is still being blown to pieces. We barely have roofs over our heads, though of course that’s practically a luxury, considering some of the places we’ve been. Easy CP is in a building with only one bed, and I’ve put Lipton there. It took some doing–I thought I was going to have to carry him there, and frankly he’s bigger and stronger than I am. Well, maybe not stronger, with pneumonia. 

I could sleep in another room, of course, but I’ll be sleeping on the floor, in the same room. I want to be able to hear him if he needs anything, if he takes a turn for the worse. 

Notes February 1945

Something happened last night. I don’t…I’m going to write it down, to see if that way I’ll understand it.

At 0230 I went to bed. The patrol did not go well. Two prisoners is not a fair exchange for Jackson. I was…upset. But I still moved quietly, so as not to disturb Lipton–only he was awake. He called me over, asked how the patrol went. I told him. 

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“It should never have happened,” I said.

He shrugged, his muscled shoulders moving in the low light from the fire I’d had Luz light in the hearth, and the cooler light from the moon.The room was warm, and he wore only his undershirt. “Lots of things have happened in this war that shouldn’t have, sir.”

I couldn’t argue with that. He slid to the side, gesturing for me to sit down on his bed, as I’d sat a couple of weeks ago, drunk off my head. I obeyed, but I frowned at him, unsure. “What are you doing awake? Can’t sleep? Should I get Roe?”

Lipton shook his head, a little smile on his face. “No. I’m feeling much better, sir. I wanted to see how you are.” 

I wasn’t quite sure how to respond. “I…I’m fine?” It sounded like I was asking him for the right answer, but how I was wasn’t something I’d considered in…well, in years, I suppose. Since well before Normandy. 

“Good,” Lipton said, taking me at my word. “Would you like some of this?” He held up a bottle and I blinked at it. It was schnapps–I’d taken it from a German couple next door, along with some kind of pastry. Apfelstrudel, they’d called it. 

“I don’t really drink,” I said warily, thinking of that other night. 

Lipton grinned. “Neither do I, but I figure you got this for me for a reason, right, sir?”

“The woman said it would cure you.” 

Lipton held out the bottle to me expectantly, so I took a small sip. It burned going down, too sweet. I handed it back to him, and he took a sip himself, placing his mouth where mine had been. I watched his throat as he swallowed. I was so close to him, I could hear the sound his lips made as they left the bottle. “Another?” he asked.

I shook my head. I didn’t understand what was happening–maybe nothing was happening, maybe this was all perfectly ordinary–but I sure as hell wanted to remember it clearly tomorrow. Lipton took another sip, made a face, and closed the bottle, setting it down on the floor. “Have you had a lot of that?” I asked.

Lipton shrugged, loose. “Some.”

“Enough to cure you then,” I said, and he laughed. 

“I guess so.”

I could feel his hip against my leg, and the room got a little brighter with the light of an explosion from a couple of blocks away, and I could only hope it hadn’t done any more damage than we’d already sustained tonight. His eyes are so soft. “I should let you sleep.”

I didn’t stand up, though. I meant to, I meant to get up and go sleep on the floor like I’d insisted I would. I was going to, any second, but I hadn’t yet when Lipton said, “You could sleep here with me.”

I try not to let my emotions show on my face, but I must have looked surprised (I was more than surprised), because Lipton added, “We’ve all slept in tighter quarters than this, in Bastogne. There’s no need for you to sleep on the floor, sir.”

And it’s true. I slept as close as I could to other men in foxholes, because otherwise we would have frozen to death. But this room had a warm fire. There was no reason to. And yet, Lipton slid to the side, making a little more room for me–there wasn’t a lot, it was a small bed–and so I…lay down. 

I didn’t take off my boots, or my jacket or anything. I didn’t want to risk taking the time, in case he changed his mind. I lay on my back, but that didn’t quite work, it was too close, so I turned onto my side. I should probably have faced away from him. I didn’t.

His face was right there. I could have kissed him again (did I even kiss him, before? I’ve never been certain). He blinked at me in the darkness, but I didn’t move. Eventually, his eyes closed, but I lay there for a long time, long enough to feel him relax and curl into me. I pressed my lips to his shoulder, and I thought I felt his breath against my hair, but I couldn’t be sure. 

When I woke up in the morning, he was gone.

Notes February 1945

I haven’t known what to do with myself all day. Lipton has been hard to pin down–now that he is feeling better, he is working harder than ever. Winters canceled the second patrol, but we still need to act as though it is going forward, which means the same amount of work, plus I needed to make sure Lt. Jones is squared away. 

I had Liebgott and the others firing across the river, while Webster and Sgt. Martin hid in the house. By the time I got back to the CP, it was 0300.

Lipton wasn’t in the bedroom waiting for me. He was awake and working with Luz, sorting through the supply delivery. I stopped in to say goodnight and when he said goodnight back, he…well, he smiled at me. But Lipton smiles at everyone. 

I don’t like this. I don’t like being uncertain. 

Notes February 1945

It’s Lieutenant Lipton now, at long last. Welsh caught up with us, and he had Lipton’s bars with him. I was there when Winters pinned them on, when Lipton shook his hand. There were so many of us there–Nixon, along with Luz and Webster in the other room. Hell, even Lt. Jones was standing there. What felt like it ought to have been a close moment, something for just me and him, wasn’t, couldn’t have been, with so many men around. But of course it wasn’t just for him and me–why would it have been? I’ve only been his CO for a month. Of course he would want to share this with men he’s known for years. He’s earned that and more.

But I was impatient. I couldn’t…after spending yesterday so uncertain, I didn’t want to spend another moment that way. And we were equals now, or almost. We were both officers, at least.

So I took him by the arm and brought him into the other room. It wasn’t private, by any means–they were all still right there, Harry and Nixon drinking from Nixon’s flask, Winters watching them in that amused way he has. And we were going to be heading out soon–I’m writing this in the back of a jeep as Winters drives, in fact. But I couldn’t wait.

“Yes, sir?” he said, expectantly.

I had absolutely no idea what to say. “Um. Yes. Congratulations, Lieutenant.”

He smiled, wide and sincere, that smile that spreads so far across his face that it lifts the downturned corners of his eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

I had to think of something else, some reason to keep him here away from everyone else while I thought of a way to ask what I needed to ask him. “And you’re sure you’re feeling better? Because we could go to an aid station.”

He reached out and squeezed my arm, just below the elbow. It was a little thing, something I’d seen the men do all the time. Hell, Winters and Nixon were never not touching, it seemed. “I promise, I’m fine, sir.”

Just a little thing, but it seemed like I could feel his hand on my skin, even through my coat. No one ever really touches me. “I…” I cleared my throat. “I’m glad to hear that.” His hand slid down, so that his fingers touched the bare skin of my wrist, just resting there. From the other room, it wouldn’t have looked like anything, but it felt like everything. “Lieutenant Lipton…”

“You can call me Lip, you know, sir,” he said. “Everyone else does.”

“Lip,” I repeated, quietly. It probably came out as a whisper. I don’t think I will call him Lip, in front of other people. I think I’ll keep that close.

“Sparky!” Nixon called from the other room. “We’re moving out in an hour, think you can manage that?” 

Lipton’s fingers tightened on my wrist before letting go. “Yes,” I said, without looking away from him. I heard the sounds of the other men leaving, of Winters talking to Jones, of Luz giving Webster a hard time, of Welsh and Nixon bantering back and forth. Lipton stepped back, and I felt the moment slipping away, as if this was my only chance, and if I didn’t say something right then–though I still didn’t know what I should say–I would never get another try.

So I reached out and grabbed the back of his neck. His mouth was warm and soft, tasting of coffee and stale bread. He kissed me back, and the relief in that was enough to make me dizzy.

We broke away to catch our breath, and he smiled against my mouth. “Ron,” he whispered. 

We had to leave that room, then, and that house full of broken walls and rubble, to gather the men and move on to another house in another town. But he’ll call me Ron again, I believe, when we’re alone. And I’ll call him Lip. And maybe there isn’t anything else that needs to be said, for now.